Hoist the Spinnaker

Economics

2012-01-11T13:56:00.003+10:00

Economics gets a bad wrap in some circles these days. And rightly so, as a system that claims to follow a scientific method it is, generally, a shambles. There are a number of sub-schools of economics that do apply more rigour to their analyses, and as a result tend to lean towards a looser, more pragmatic application of economic theory than neoclassical theorists would like.

I reckon that the criticism of economics usually comes from two camps. First, there are those who dislike the concepts used in economics of quantifying the value people gain from various aspects in life (utility) and the subsequent trade-offs with money. This is more a repulsion at the idea that everything in life can be assigned a dollar value, and the dominance of that valuation in decision making.

The second camp, to which I would mostly align myself (I empathise with camp 1, but it is a little bit naive and irrational), has a problem with the mechanics of economic theory and its application. If economics (I am now referring to the foundational macroeconomic theories) were a physical technology instead of a social/political technology it would be a black and white TV, with a fuzzy picture and only one channel tuned in. It has become a religion that people try to adapt to a world that it doesn't fit. Many of the principles and tools are invaluable - like a religion - but as an overarching framework for guiding government policy it is outdated. Not outdated because the world has changed too much for it - but because the inherent errors were never corrected as they would in a physical technology. There has never been a shortage of economists pointing out these flaws and offering their corrections (e.g. Minsky, Schumpeter and Krugman more recently - and of course Steven Keen). But, like a religion, economics remained unchanged at its core, growing like a weed from its internally inconsistent origins.

Most worryingly of all is the blind adherence to neoclassical economic theory by US Fed Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke. Because he wrote a thesis on the Great Depression and the economics of its resolution - he is now unable to waiver from his conclusions. So he insists on the formula of quantitative easing without new regulation of the finance sector (not that he can do anything about that other than lobby for it) and the result is that in the US bank reserves are increasing, while lending to productive activities is declining and private deleveraging continues.

Australia hit half the nail on the head with the stimulus payment to the public. This allowed a small amount of deleveraging to occur without replacing consumption - which may have been the kick required to avoid the spiral of recession and further deleveraging.

Anyway - I'm going home now. This was by no means an anti-capitalist rant. But unless economics as a whole genuinely attempts to develop using a scientific approach it will be unable to explain the capitalist economy and the cycle of unsustainable growth followed by huge busts and greater wealth inequality will continue.

Net emotion

2011-12-09T11:41:00.002+10:00

Music has the power to inspire emotions and thoughts that would otherwise not have existed in that moment or many moments beyond. I've never denied that. I have questioned the authenticity of a musically inspired emotion compared to feelings generated from the usual course of interaction with the 'real' world. Whatever 'real' is, and that is of course the gaping hole in my proposition.

That aside, the question I ask myself sometimes is 'what are those emotions swirling around when a piece of music gives you tingles on your skin, a lump in your throat or a tightening in your chest?'. The labels we give emotions may not describe all there is to feel, just as there isn't a word for every colour (but I suspect there are more words for colours than there are for feelings). It's the blend of emotions that come together to create a unique feeling at that moment in time - and mostly it is probably inaccurate to suggest a particular emotion explains that feeling. But I still find it an interesting puzzle to solve, a forensic investigation into what it is that feeling is and why it is there.

What do you get when you mix happiness with sadness? Or are they inseparable? Sadness trailing in the wake of happiness like a comet's tail. The joy and awe at some beauty or perfection fringed with the sadness at the transience of the moment and the absence of others to share that moment. What is the net emotion? Can it be described? Or do we just take a deep breath and carry on, never quite sure what it was that just lurched forward from deep within.

Sprung Spring

2011-11-01T09:44:00.003+10:00

It had seemed like the transition from winter to summer was a seamless one. A few little flowers tried calling out 'Spring!', but withered soon after in the baking sun. The bouganvilleas were also a clear indicator that the weather should be warm, with a cool breeze, rather than hot with a warm breeze. But a tremendous thunderstorm struck on Sunday night - marking our transition out of our, now sold and settled, little apartment. We'll now be at mum's place for the next couple of months until all the cards have fallen and our fate for next year is revealed.

But this morning I woke up to a cool Spring morning. Almost like a warm winter morning but there must be a climactic measure I'm not considering that differentiates the two. Perhaps the humidity was a percent higher, the breeze a knot slower, the air a whiff more fragrant from blooming jasmine, the birds a tweet louder and the sun at a declination more conducive to relaxation. A great time of year - Spring.

A moment

2011-10-12T13:10:00.002+10:00

There are moments where you can feel the entire direction of your life shifting. The weight of hopes, plans and daydreams tossed away as if they never were - because they never would be.

Sometimes you feel yourself to be the driver of your fate, othertimes merely a witness to events that change everything around you.

As I sat on the chair outside the first of 10 interview rooms that I was about to pass through for my medicine entry I was flooded with the feeling that what I was about to do would decide the fate of myself, Heather, our children and who knows who else. Then I entered the first room and began to respond to the task in front of me, and I became a witness to myself - there was nothing I could have done to prepare for scenarios presented, and there was barely time to read the problem. It efficiently and effectively stripped away the potential for a carefully considered response, but drew out my instinctive reaction. I just listened to myself talk.

Intelligent emotions

2011-06-24T14:18:00.002+10:00

The term 'EQ' or 'emotional intelligence' has been around for a little while now. It has various definitions, but mostly commonly refers to the ability to identify, assess, and control the emotions of oneself, of others, and of groups (thanks Wikipedia). What has sparked my jaunt this afternoon is an idea related to this concept of EQ, but deals more with foundations of the concept - namely that emotions are a facet of 'intelligence' and/or add to our 'intelligence'. And I'll probably end up promoting the subconscious again, but let's just see how this ones evolves....

Several weeks (or months) ago, I was lamenting (on this blog and to someone else) that people who claim to be divorcing their emotions from their opinions or decisions (thereby being 'rational' or 'objective'), are in fact so blinded by their emotions that they are unable to discern the extent to which their thoughts and actions are based purely on emotion with a brittle veneer of patched together rational arguments.

There are very few facts in life that can be self-verified. You don't know that the air you breath is various percentages of oxygen and nitrogen without your own lab to test it. You believe what you have been told. Even a scientist can only verify their own small patch of evidence - even this requires a belief in the instruments used for measurement, or the validity of the measuring scale.

Beliefs can only be rooted in emotion.

What I'm driving at is that every single thought you have is nothing more than an interaction between your emotional response and a stimulus. Paradoxically, being highly reductionist leads to emotions as the root of all thoughts, but I suspect that being infinitely holistic will yield the same result.

So that is my introduction. So if we acknowledge the role of emotions in driving prejudices (bearing in mind that virtually all judgments are 'pre-judgements' - judging before there is irrefutable evidence - and not all prejudices need be negative), then we can start to appreciate the immense power of emotions as a source of intellect that far exceeds any attempt at 'rational' thought (which operates like a cumbersome, slow, inaccurate calculator that gives answers without being given adequate input information and can also change answers).

The next step in my train of thought suggests that emotions and the subconscious are in fact one and the same. What we call emotions are actually the format in which our ultimately sophisticated subconscious is sending us messages. Being attuned to and interpreting these messages is the key to accessing our reservoir of knowledge.

I think I have said everything I have to say on that. The catalyst for this post was the 'go back to where you came from' documentary - one of the participants concedes at the end of the series that even though people say that you shouldn't consider such issues with an emotional involvement, how can you not? I concur, claiming to have no emotional involvement when forming an opinion or making a decision either makes you obtuse or a robot - and what is the value of an opinion from a robot without all the facts?

Rational analysis

2011-04-21T08:22:00.003+10:00

I am becoming increasingly driven to flights of frustrated fury by claims of 'calm rational reasoning' supporting a particular opinion. And by 'opinion' I mean the irrational selfish insecure bias dressed up as informed opinion by people who can find a way to interpret their meanness as a rational evidence-based response to the world before them.

Some points to consider:

Is our conscious mind the captain of our ship? Can we assume that our conscious thoughts and decisions are sourced and analysed with pure fully informed reason, with adequate knowledge of circumstances and consequences?

- The evidence suggests not at all. We are driven by our biology and the vast amounts of our brains that don't get used in conscious thought. It is a bitter pill for people who like to think they are in control of their thoughts and actions. On a meaninglessly superficial level - indeed we do exercise some control, but anything requiring a rational thought process will end up with the same result no matter how you try to dress up your clever rationality. This of course cannot be tested scientifically without a time machine.

In the absence of rationality how are we to respond to a complex world that requires us to make decisions, and where we like to opine to those who will listen (or read)?

- A book by Malcolm Gladwell called 'Blink' suggests that we should rely on an informed intuition. However, Gladwell's conclusion relates to the gut feeling of experts in their field of expertise - on something that is knowable. Unfortunately the crystal ball world of public policy is rarely afforded the circumstance where the impact of policy instruments and their outcomes is truly knowable. Sometimes history will provide some clues, but often not.

The Northern Territory Intervention is a case in point of how public policy was driven by rationality, itself driven by hidden prejudice - hidden to those supporting the actions - not to the victims of the policy. And yes, they are victims. Reports have highlighted that the meagre health improvements in the populations targeted are so heavily outweighed by the catastrophic social, emotional and spiritual damage to these societies that this intervention will be remembered as another vile attack on indigenous populations by heartless ignorant colonials.

Rationality from the minds of the social and cultural elite is a futile tool in devising strategies to assist indigenous populations. Intuition by an expert is most likely the answer (the rational case will of course follow as it would for any course of action). The key to developing this expertise is to spend time listening and learning from the people themselves - not a three day visit to remote townships for a round of consultations. This will take time and thought and energy. And for those to be given in adequate quantities the policy makers must care enough. But that care is often quashed by rationality.

What are you afraid of?

2011-04-08T12:10:00.003+10:00

As reported late last year, and now published - brain structure is predictive of political tendency in over 70% of subjects tested (n = 90).

Nature Reviews Neuroscience 12, 231-242 (April 2011)

The key findings were that those deemed most conservative (self identified) had larger amygdalas (the part of the brain associated with the fear response and aggression). Whereas those who considered themselves more progressive had larger anterior cingulates (the area of the brain used for problem solving and dispute resolution).

The main question is the chicken-egg dilemma. Did environmental factors shape political views thus moulding the brain, or was the shape genetically determined?

Either way, the findings add weight to my ever increasing body of evidence that demonstrates that conservative politics (social and economic) is driven by fear - not by a transparently rational evaluation of objectives and instruments. I use the word 'transparent' because the fear drive is so insidious in conservative politics that it's role in shaping (often aggressive) responses is mostly denied.

Further - it is this hidden motive that creates the belief that 'progressives' have a hidden agenda of their own. To paraphrase someone wise "we see ourselves in the world" and "we hate ourselves through other people".

So the next time you think Tony Abbott might have a point or decry the need the for a price on carbon (come on, it is triple bottom line accounting finally), or even having a moment of introspection evaluating your political tendencies - be honest with yourself - what are you afraid of?

Couple of quotes

2011-03-11T14:30:00.000+10:00

“The constant assertion of belief is an indication of fear.”

"It is not a sign of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society."

J. Krishnamurti

Mining tax

2011-03-09T08:29:00.002+10:00

____________________________
By David Collyer:

Australia is delighted to hear our two world-leading miners, BHP Billiton and Rio Tinto, announce record profits and giant capital investment programs.

Our pleasure ends right there.

Both these titans are majority owned by foreign interests through the London Stock Exchange. They are effectively headquartered out of London. Management wages are spent there. Most of their dividend streams are channelled through there. The majority of capital gains driven by their swollen profits are enjoyed there.

Can you hear the sucking noise as billions of dollars leave our country every year, never to return?

When mining meant grizzled prospectors panning for gold on remote creeks, it made sense to leave their earnings untaxed. Our world is more complex now.

Mining in Australia is a Goliath. The engineering works to dig up, simply process and move the ore to port are staggering. Rio produced 224 million tonnes of Pilbara iron ore last year; BHP shipped ‘only’ 150 million tonnes. Sure they paid company tax like other corporates. But they didn’t pay for the resource, which belongs to you and me, through the Australian government. And the royalties they pay state governments are laughable.

The new mining tax negotiated by the Gillard government weakens again the proposal in the Henry Review, Australia’s Future Tax System. Treasury estimates the government has sacrificed $60.5 billion over the next ten years. This gap in government revenues will be filled by taxes on you and me, and by providing lower services.

Australian citizens would be rioting in the street if they understood this conspiracy.

The weak new tax falls only on iron ore and coal. BHP’s Olympic Dam contains $1.3 trillion in copper, gold and uranium at current prices. None of this will be subject to the mining tax.

We could sack the Gillard government for being such gormless twits, but the Liberal-National opposition are against the mining tax. They prefer the grossly distorted system we currently have.

Money wasted on the school halls program in the middle of the financial crisis drew strident criticism, yet $60.5 billion in uncollected taxes passes without comment.

___________________________________

The secular state of Israel-Palestine

2011-03-08T12:22:00.003+10:00

A brilliant snippet of this....regarding the future in Israel/Palestine.

____________________________

A century ago, G.K. Chesterton identified the fundamental paradox facing critics of religion:

"Men who begin to fight the Church for the sake of freedom and humanity end by flinging away freedom and humanity if only they may fight the Church ... The secularists have not wrecked divine things but the secularists have wrecked secular things, if that is any comfort to them."

Does the same not hold for the advocates of religion? How many defenders of religion started by attacking contemporary secular culture and ended up forsaking any meaningful religious experience?

Similarly, many liberal warriors are so eager to fight anti-democratic fundamentalism that they will throw away freedom and democracy if only they may fight terror. Some love human dignity so much that they are ready to legalize torture - the ultimate degradation of human dignity - to defend it.

As for the Israeli defenders of Jewish purity: they want to protect it so much that they are ready to forsake the very core of Jewish identity.

Self-satisfaction

2011-03-07T09:29:00.003+10:00

You'll often hear some people from one political persuasion suggesting that others from a sub-group of another political persuasion are driven by their own sense of self-satisfaction - a sense of self-righteousness that they are doing the 'right' thing while others less thoughtful or sensitive than they are doing or believing the wrong thing.

I am of course referring to the accusations directed at what is thought to be the recycling-organic-yoga-welcome-to-country-green-voting-etc-etc clique

Do they wallow in a sense of self-satisfaction? Well, when they dwell on the righteousness of their lifestyles - yes. But...do people who make these accusations also wallow in a sense of self-satisfaction? Whilst they engage in their labelling and categorising, yes again.

It starts to look like a nasty cycle. One group feels judged, so in an attempt to derive some self-satisfaction (to which we are all entitled, but often struggle to attain), they label another group. The act of labelling and categorising others can generate, even temporarily, a feeling of being above such categorisation - being aware of all points of view and therefore not driven by the same uninformed biases - oooh how self-satisfying!

Feeling thus judged and perhaps a little diminished, the other group (they are starting to sound like opponents now...) dig their righteous heels in, seeking more self-satisfaction. The cycle continues.

One of the catalysts for this nasty cycle is the elephant-in-the-room assumption in the above words - 'groups'. 'Groups' don't make judgements, people do - and usually only a small number of people driven by insecurities. When one feels judged by a categorisable group, rather than an insecure individual - they feel judged by a portion of society - which they can then choose to draw a circle around and find error with.

So if you feel the urge to create a name for, or define and group of people in society based on their lifestyle choice, remember that that 'group' does not believe itself to be living in any way better than you, let them be and deal with the isolated cases of people who consider their way the best way.

"We" are better than "them"

2011-03-03T12:22:00.002+10:00

An excellent article by Anthony Lowenstein about Western media and government's two-faced labelling of foreign leaders. When our interests are secure, their atrocities, which our own governments commit on a greater scale to citizens of other nations, are excused . But when their usefulness expires or their actions threaten our interests (e.g. oil price, or idealistic government) they are condemned, quite rightly, as mad men, despots and butchers.

Why? Because of our implicit value judgements that "we" are better than "them".

A lazy post by me, but please read the article and you can make up your own mind.

http://www.abc.net.au/unleashed/44618.html

Floods

2011-01-11T15:43:00.002+10:00

Why 'flood' isn't pronounced like 'food' with an 'L' was unclear to me so I etymology dictionaried it. It is derived from the old English 'flod'. A mass of water, sea or wave.

With numerous Sydney harbours worth of water charging down the Brisbane river towards us I am contemplating whether to go to the gym. I have a sneaky medical trial that I'm doing before commencing the new job and I've been instructed not to partake in strenuous activity 7 days before dosing. Another directive said 'no new/unaccustomed strenuous activity', so I'll go with that one. The reason is that physical activity can result in increased liver enzyme production - possibly for lipolysis or other metabolic function - and this drug affects liver enzyme levels so they want a clean slate for a baseline reading. It's an antimalarial, not unlike doxycycline I suspect, as it has photosensitivity side effects.

Rain easing slightly so I might make my dash for the gym now, if only just to escape from spending the entire day in our 40sq metres of unit.

Land ahoy!

Maintenance

2011-01-10T15:57:00.004+10:00

A recent trip to the dentist evoked that most boring of life's necessities - maintenance. Nothing too wrong with the teeth, just needs thorough consistent maintenance so that my genetically likely gum problems do not eventuate.

The work of keeping something in proper condition. No progress or development on the horizon - just the treadmill of working to keep things the way they are. There is without a doubt some pleasure in the metaphorical and literal greasing of a finely built machine. Restoring something to it's former glory, probably more enjoyable than maintaining something glorious. But both trump the tedium of brushing, flossing and mouth washing teeth that are only a couple of hours away from another assault of fodder.

A couple of weeks before I start my new job at Griffith Uni, so I have some spare time to indulge in writing some of my ramblings and relieve Heather of the burden of listening to them all.

Land of the half built house

2010-08-17T17:20:00.008+10:00

That was going to be the title of the post I wrote about our brief visit to Tanzania. It's now been half a year since I was due to write, and I thought about writing five separate posts, but the title still seems relevant and stringing it together may be long but hopefully illustrate better the ride we had. So, I left off with my impressions of new york, what a world away, how little did I then appreciate both the adventure at hand and the comfort of life at home.

Leaving New York

A 10:30am flight required an 8am airport arrival with an allowance of one hour to get public transport. At 7:50 we were still running through the streets of lower Manhattan with our packs on trying to find an open subway station, eventually finding one that was not the express train we had anticipated. To our great relief everything went as clockwork from then on and we checked in with about 20 minutes to spare, although we were put in separate seats for the flight to Dubai and the next one to Nairobi. Perhaps not such a bad thing as it meant I could inflict my passive aggressive arm rest battles on someone other than Heather. 24 hours after leaving the USA we landed in familiar territory - Africa.

Back to Africa

The apprehension about returning to the place that has dominated our dreams and nightmares for so long was washed away with my first lung full of African air in Nairobi. Just as I had tried to inhale Africa when last departed, I now felt it again washing through my body as the familiar smells and sounds rang like an alarm clock to my senses. As always however, the senses quickly attune to more immediate matters of transport, accommodation and food. An overnight in Nairobi was only interrupted slightly by our hotel room being flooded by a faulty toilet, wet socks the only consequence. A seven hour bus ride on corrugated dusty roads past countless roofless, doorless buildings confirmed that half building a house hadn't gone out of fashion in our absence. Finally the bus deposited us in Arusha and we took a deep breath, ready to be hit by whatever emotions would roll over us like a tsunami. We were met by the current manager Sarah and that infinitely wise and gentle man - Mudi. I could easily recount every moment of our time there as I tried in 3 days to soak in as much as I could while watching old habits re-emerge that I forgot I had learnt - like saying "pole" to almost anyone for almost anything. I desperately wished my
Swahili could resurface enough to chat comfortably with the men, it was okay but never as natural and easy as it used to be. The progress of Kesho Leo was a great thrill, to see the building lived in and everyone so happy and healthy was a relief and a joy. I also spent a lot of time thinking about Darren and dad. It was again with sadness that we left again, and we didn't get to say goodbye to Aggie. Mudi dropped us at the bus station and I swore again that I would be back - for longer next time.

The Turkish Gambit

Nine hours at Nairobi airport, five hours to Dubai, six hours in Dubai, five hours to Istanbul. At 5pm we staggered past the blue mosque and Haghia Sophia and into the arms of mum, Gini, Scott, christian, Mel, and Henry. For three days and nights we moved as a unit around Istanbul, exploring for the first timers and reminiscing for the returned. We spent Rob's anniversary together and sprinkled some of his ashes into the Bosphorus - thinking how he would have loved to have been there with us and us to have him there. The next afternoon the boys said farewell to their girls and left into a speeding taxi to the airport, bound for the unknown lands of Kyrgyzstan and beyond.

Kyrgyz shashlyk and the Chon-Kemin

Scott, Christian and I could between us speak one or two words of Russian and Kyrgyz. So when customs and immigration took an eternity, my fishing rod was lost and our driver didn't arrive we were feeling a touch out of our depth - which of course is one of the primary goals of travel. The taxi ride from the airport revealed that half building a house was not unique to Africa but also had caught on central asia. After making our way to the guest house we collapsed to sleep for a couple of hours before setting out to explore Bishkek in the scorching heat. We then slept and explored again in the evening, eagerly anticipating our fishing and horse riding tour due to commence the following morning. Luckily, my fishing rod was delivered by Turkish air at the same time that our guide arrived to take us into the Chon- Kemin valley for a week of fishing and horse riding. The location for our first night camping was determined more by the disappearance of the sun and an uncrossable river than by it's merits. It was however as good as any spot in the valley. Stunning views up and down the valley to snow capped peaks, gushing streams and Kyrgyz horsemen by their yurts were ubiquitous. For two days we stayed there, enhancing our fire building skills and exploring the slopes above our camp. It had been patently obvious from the start that no living organism was currently inhabiting the river, but we still kept our lures in the water for a respectable period of time, perhaps more for the zen nature of fishing in remote locations. No need to explain that no fish were harmed or seen during the course of the trip.

The horses arrived late on day three and we saddled up early the next morning, the first challenge was to cross the uncrossable (by car) river. Which, when we had no idea of the ability of a horse to maintain footing in a roaring stream, was a minor baptism of fire. The next challenge came when the horses had to cross a steep rocky slope, just after it had rained. The kind of purchase a big hard hoof gets on a slippery jagged rock had me ready leap from the saddle in the event the horse tumbled down the slope, but the old boy did it easily. And that was just the beginning. Six hours of riding later we arrived at the top of the valley - a glacier and bright blue glacier-fed lake at 3000m altitude. A 30 minute hike to the lake saw us frozen by the icy wind and then drenched on the return trip. Other items of clothing were also damp from rain earlier in the day, so we carefully hung some essential items of clothing in an attempt to dry them overnight. After a chilly night (understatement) of wearing every piece of dry clothing in my bag, we woke to find the wet essentials, the wet non-essentials and just about anything else containing moisture, such as the tent, was frozen stiff. But to our relief there wasn't a cloud in the sky - so the thawing and partial drying process happened quickly in the hour we had to pack up camp, saddle up and start out through the 4000m Aksu Pass through the southern side of the valley to Lake Issyk-Kul. But after some slipping and sliding by the horses and the lack of a discernable trail, the guide and horse handler deemed the pass 'closed'. Which meant a 50km return ride almost to where we had started the previous day and attempt the other 3600m pass through to Issyk-Kul.

Other than Christian's horse having a roll in a patch of dirt - while he was still on it - the ride back to the foot of the alternative pass was uneventful. Sore bottoms, legs, and lower backs among the ailments besetting our team. We set up camp, building the necessary fire in preparation for another cold night ahead in the shadows of our narrow valley. Once more the next morning greeted us with a crispy cold tent, socks and anything else exposed to frigid night air. We watched the sun slowly creep down the other side of the valley and eventually across the river to our camp where it immediately began warming our chilly bones. Shortly afterwards we mounted our trusty steeds and began the winding ascent through the pass.

Wherever the guide deemed it possible he skipped the winding road and pointed his horse directly up the steep scree, we of course had to follow - by now confident in the ability of our horses to do anything.

As we neared the top the road narrowed as a result of melted snow refreezing as icy slopes across the road - leaving barely a hoof-width of stable ground above the now dizzyingly steep tumble over a thousand metres to the bottom. At times the horses were forces to walk on the ice - again I contemplated the kind of grip a hoof gets on solid ice - probably the same as an ice skate I suspected. But as each horse crossed the perilous sections of slope we again grew more confident in the knowledge of the guide and competency of the horses.

Then, the guide decided to take a diagonal short cut up a snow-covered section of ice. The horse-handler and the pack horse he was leading went first. After five or six metres of seemingly easy climb the hooves of the handler's horse gave way and he came crashing to the ground in a flurry of equine panic, the horses slide - careering directly towards Christian and his horse - fortunately ended quickly and the two horses and handler gingerly retraced their steps to the relative safety of the road. Our three hearts were now beating loudly, perhaps cursing under our breaths at what we still might have to attempt as the guide seemed insistent it was possible. However, the handler prevailed and - after some more fancy footwork from the horses - we found a short cut that the horses could handle and within 20 minutes we were crossing the crest of the range at nearly 4000m altitude and looking through another valley to Issyk-kul and the Tien-Shan border range with China.

The downward ride was certainly more painful - jolting for hours - but no less nerve wracking as we constantly had to force our tiring horses down steep slippery short cuts between road sections. After a few hours more of riding we dismounted, loaded ourselves up and trekked most of the way down the final 1000m metres of descent in the scorching sun. But finally arriving at the shores of Issyk-kul for a swim in the cool waters of this crystal clear titanic freshwater lake.

On arrival at our guesthouse in Bishkek the following evening we immediately set off for a russian - or kyrgyz as it turned out - Banya. A unique experience it was to disrobe with 30-ish other kyrgyz men and rotate between sauna and cooling pool - with the obligatory birch leaf beating whilst sweating in the sauna. The teamwork in this birch leaf ritual was an eye-opener, and then eye-diverter as the bunch of leaves began to be used more sensually.

That evening we bade farewell to Scott as he left for his flight back to Istanbul to meet up with Gini and Heather. The next day Christian and I negotiated our way to Naryn in the south-west of Kyrgyzstan, for one night before our Torugart border crossing - described as the most unpredictable border crossing in China or Asia or the world, or whatever - it's supposed to be unpredictable.

I'll leave it here for now. And will return to a description of the final two weeks in China with Christian at a later date.

The Largesse Apple

2010-07-17T11:19:00.003+10:00

Pics of Toronto and New York - also a couple of Oliver pics in the Seattle gallery

Everyone in New York looks down towards your feet, though not from shyness. It is a familiar phenomenon that I've experienced in London, though less frequent. It took me a while to recall why so many people, instead of looking you up and down, as the less subtle people watchers are prone to doing, they just glance straight down at your feet before moving on. I'm not wearing bright pink clown boots so it is of course a shoe obsession - everyone gets judged by their shoes. Primarily a female obsession that has inevitably crossed over to the male realm as a result of the biological drive to reproduce. Men now wear their status on their feet (everywhere else too of course, but they finally figured out shoes were the surest method of seduction).

That observation alone could usually sum up a smaller city (like large swathes of Sydney perhaps - image conscious, materialistic and money-centric. But NYC has vastly more layers, in fact, when you arrive in NYC you leave the USA and enter what feels like the sovereign nation of New York. Perhaps its the size of the buildings in lower Manhattan, that makes you feel like Manhattan is one state in the nation of New York. The skyline of Manhattan is indeed astounding - even for a anti-big city cynic such as me. Even more gob smacking is the enormity of the old buildings - with Gothic architecture they rival the heights of many of the new skyscrapers - now the Twin Towers are missing. The phrase 'concrete jungle' must have been coined in NYC for it is indeed like walking through a forest of massive buildings.

Walking through Lower Manhattan however is also like going to Disneyland, everyone seems to be a tourist, the New Yorkers are probably hiding in the tall buildings waiting for dark so they can scurry home without bumping into fools like me standing still staring upwards.

To quickly recap the past week - Lukas and Oliver dropped us at Seattle airport and we bade them farewell after a much needed relaxing week with them. It was great to spend time with Lukas and to really consolidate in Oliver's mind that we're his Aussie family who love him too. On arrival to Toronto we were met by Lucas and Farah (refer to the first couple of hundred posts for details of our escapades) and were whisked off to Niagara Falls - a spectacular must see that also kept us from falling asleep after not getting a wink on our overnight flight. We were spoiled rotten with rooftop BBQs, cooked breakfasts, a swim in Lake Ontario at 'The Beach' on a glorious summer day, and a thorough guided tour of Toronto. But Sunday evening was time yet again for a sad farewell and we boarded our overnight bus to NYC - not before I caught an emergency taxi back to Lucas and Farahs apartment to get my wallet!

After a couple of days of intensive sight seeing in NYC I come away with mixed feelings, Times Square and the Empire State Building were monumental let downs - some bright lights and big screens - woo. hoo. But the buzz of kids on summer holiday programs and the community service advertising further redeems the US, probably local governments mostly, in terms of their approach to educating and guiding those who need support.

Also 9/11 ground zero, the size of the buildings and imagining their collapse was mind boggling, just beyond words. I also found the general architecture of the apartment blocks here in Harlem where our hostel is, and around the outskirts of central park, to be constantly lovely and half makes me wish I could live here for a little while - but I get over that pretty quickly the next time someone looks at my feet.

Seattlites

2010-07-09T04:48:00.002+10:00

Seattle pics up.

I've only just noticed the title of the last post was Seattle to San Fran. The direction of travel was of course the opposite to that, and we've been in the Seattle for the past week. During this time, my position on the state of affairs in the US has softened a bit. In fact, I've found myself quite taken by the Seattle (and the Pacific Northwest in general). A city that spawned grunge culture with bands such as Nirvana and Pearl Jam might either be a highly conservative industrial society that was being rebelled against, or a left leaning, thoughtful and progressive society that fosters creativity and self-analysis. The latter appears to be the case.

The city is built between Lake Washington and Lake Union, snow-capped mountains to the east and west and the largest and whitest, Mt Rainier, looming in the south. Hiking, skiing, fishing, hunting, mountain biking, horse riding and other outdoor pursuits abound from just the city fringe. The city itself has a variety of cultures and architectures that vary hugely between suburbs.

We were told that after the 4th of July the sun would come out, and has it ever. Cold, damp days have been banished to day dreams by the now apparently irrepressible sun. The cloudless days and more subtle nature of Seattlites has most likely made this city (and the USA in general) feel vastly more livable. And for some reason I'm evaluating everywhere I go in terms of its livability - rather than what it offers to the temporary visitor.

But our week here with my brother Lukas and his little boy Oliver finishes today and we move forwards, and ever more eastward, this time to Toronto to visit Lucas and Farah. So in the words of a guy called Rudd (not Kev though), goodbye to the west and hello to the east.

Seattle to San Fran

2010-07-03T05:06:00.003+10:00

It’s been barely a week since my last update but already feels like I’ve been in America for an eon. Has a day gone by that I haven’t eaten fries? Not that I can recall. As I expected, the portion sizes are generally gargantuan and the smothering of salt, fat and sugar into everything is beyond belief. How anyone survives without a finely tuned shopping and eating strategy baffles me. Surprisingly, the size of the people hasn’t caught my attention – perhaps the obesity problem in Australia explains why. Many Australians eat just as much rubbish (perhaps in less enormous quantities) and just as little fruit and veg, and exercise less than a dead person. My complaints with the USA could extend to how annoying, loud and ignorant the vast majority of people I’ve come across are, the few exceptions to this make the generalisation more than fair in my view.

The positives in the USA, where they exist, are also staggering. The landscapes on offer include every conceivable environment – and I haven’t even been far. Deserts, rolling fields, agricultural monocultures, permacultural diversity, alpine meadows and hills, snow capped craggy mountains and dense concrete jungles are what we’ve passed through in a week, including a temperature varying by nearly 30 degrees Celsius. The forces for good in the US are also powerful. The extremes of the US make Australia appear a lumbering mass of apathy being poked at with sticks by the tiny rabid left and right wings. But of course the strong progressive nature of the US is counteracted by the howling conservative army led by the religious right, racists and republicans.

The wedding we attended in Sonoma was a success and we had a fun few days together with friends. We’re now with my brother Luke in Seattle, watching the rain set in this afternoon following a quick hike (1000m gain in altitude) up and down Mt Si.

I should mention that of all the many buses I have ridden on, the greyhound bus from Vallejo (near San Fran) to Seattle was the worst with the loudest, smelliest, most disturbing passengers I've ever seen.

Photos are up of the past week

Ahh travels

2010-06-24T11:39:00.002+10:00

This morning (despite it being over 24 hours ago), we jumped on board our delayed flight from Brisbane to Sydney, connecting to San Francisco. The delay meant we had 15 minutes to disembark in Sydney, transfer to the international terminal, get through immigration, security and then board the flight. We managed to do this with about 3 minutes to spare, thanks to Qantas express lanes. Unfortunately my backpack wasn't so keen to make the dash between planes and was still hiding at Sydney airport after I had already gone through immigration in the USA (not without some lengthy explanations of why I have a Pakistani visa in my passport).

The actual flight -13 hours, went by without major incident - such as sleep. But I did almost throw a bowl full of sultana bran on the woman behind me. After a long night of knees in my back she (obese) and her husband took the last two hot breakfasts, leaving me with fruit and said sultana bran. My devastation caused some turbulence in the air around the plane and storm clouds gathered, but after staring, desolated, at my little box of bran, I finally forced the 4 spoonfuls of milk and sultanas into myself. And I felt slightly better afterwards.

Negotiating the public transport to our hostel was simple, meeting Hobbsy there to watch the Socceroos pull off a fantastic but pointless (in terms of the WC) victory over Slobodans serbs (probably a horrendously thoughtless comment, just popped in). Fighting to keep the eyes open, we walked the length and breadth of downtown San Francisco, in the sunny but chilly (15C! in summer!) weather.

This is the first real backpacker hostel I've been in for several years now, and it has reminded of how you need to swallow your pride when you become instantly intimate with an eclectic group of strangers. It's like breaking the seal on our comfortable private lives, once it's done you hardly think twice, but I think it's a necessary leveller so we don't get around with our head held too high.

Photos + leaving

2010-06-21T13:59:00.002+10:00

I've finally organised the photos of our unit renovations and put them in the photo gallery:

Nick and Heather Photos

Less than 48 hours until we finally get on the plane for a new batch of travels. That is assuming my passport is returned from the Pakistani consulate before then. Applying for a Pakistani visa all but required John Edwards to communicate with Benizir Bhutto to grant me permission to travel there. The Chinese visa process was marginally less troubled but equally as fastidious in its need for a moment-by-moment pre-paid itinerary. Perhaps we will be shadowed by spooks whilst there.

So once again I'll be posting some tales of intrigue and discovery, or just how hungry I am in my search for the next meal. I daresay any old readers are long gone, nevertheless I shall persist.

GAMSAT sat

2010-03-26T13:57:00.002+10:00

The building must have trembled and a gust of air blown open the doors as 1800 aspiring medical students threw down their pens and exhaled heavily with relief. As one of those dreamers envisioning themselves with stethoscope around their neck doling out life saving advice I must say the exam wasn't as bad everyone makes it out to be. Such famous last words bound to send a ripple through the cosmos, causing a change in my result from a pass to a fail. But even then I would have to maintain that it wasn't too bad. For an ESL speaker I can see that the humanities section* would have been a complete nightmare, having to fumble around with concepts and words that are vague and abstract - much like I felt for many of the science questions.

Having done over 500 practice questions in preparation I was confident with humanities section, neither confident nor in fear of the essay section, and apprehensive about the science section. Fortunately for most of the questions it is possible to use common sense with some limited background knowledge to figure out answers - the tight time frame meant that the more background knowledge you had, the less common sense and calculations from first principles was required. There were probably only a handful of questions where I was forced to consider the probabilities of B's versus C's (or A's and D's). I usually went with C in that case. By the end of the day I felt like I had learnt something interesting from all the questions, engaged in a challenge with a vague atmosphere of camaraderie and competitiveness, and wasn't too exhausted. In fact, compared to a day in the office it was a lovely day out.

Since then I've been delighted to see the health reform bill pass in the United States (I'm now opening myself up to death threats). I heard a Republican (anti-reform of course) saying "the US has one of the best performing health systems in the world".

WHAT??!!!!

It would be a miracle to find a single statistic that supports such a blatant lie. The only way it isn't a straight-faced lie is if the man is unaware of a world outside of US borders - or thinks that the goal of health care is to reduce quality of life. One can only hope that when people see the benefits of this small step in the right direction the flood gates will open for a wave of socialist reform.

I'm kidding. Or am I?

*Exam in 3 parts:
1. 100 minutes - 75 multiple choice questions on literature and humanities comprehension
2. 60 minutes - 2 essays responding to two sets of five quotes.
3. 170 minutes - 110 science (biol, chem, physics) questions.

Happiness - Essay 2

2010-01-25T11:30:00.003+10:00

The belief that youth is the happiest time of life is founded on fallacy. The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts, and we grow happier as we grow older – William Lyon Phelps

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years – Mark Twain

The young suffer less from their own errors than from the cautiousness of the old – Vauvenargues

It is better to waste one’s youth than to do nothing with it at all – Georges Courteline

A majority of young people seem to develop mental arteriosclerosis about 40 years before the physical kind – Aldous Huxley.

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Reflective essay on one or more of the quotes
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Perhaps the most certain thing about happiness is its elusiveness. To define, isolate, pin-point or just wave a hand in the general direction of happiness is impossible. It can be constantly moving away from us, yet we know it's always in the same place. To suggest that happiness is the result of single inputs, such as the interesting thoughts prescribed by WL Phelps, is an oversimplification that takes us no nearer to this goal. Surveys attempting to quantify happiness generally do find that it increases with age. Some people suggest that this is more due to a realisation than it is to a specific circumstance or stimulus. They say we are already happy, like the man who travelled around the world only to find what he was looking for when he returned home, we are already there but are so focused on deciphering the directions we haven't noticed yet. How this explains the increasing distance one can feel from happiness, after once being certain they were happy, is not clear. Proponents of 'realisation' theory, may then invoke the caveat of 'truth' - True Happiness. True happiness comes from within, so if you were once happy, but are not now, that happiness was a house of cards built on objects and people that assured us that we had what we wanted and were therefore happy. Others suggest that happiness comes from helping others. Some of the happiest times in my life have been involved a combination of shared adventure, learning new skills, helping people and achieving goals. The stark ommissions from that list are clearly the aspects of my life I take for granted - health, security, feeling loved and having someone to love. And the list is probably longer.

My feeling is that, like most things in life, there is a place in between the theories on happiness - although the two dimensional spectrum of a 'grey area' is again too simple. A multidimensional (including time) kaleidoscope may be more appropriate. From within and without, through time and space - we may recognise happiness when we see it, but the chaotic course of events may spin us around, leaving us disoriented and bewildered now unsure of what happiness was. Our fuzzy memory of how it felt to be happy only serves to distract and confuse us more in our pursuit of it. But what use is a discourse on happiness without a road map to its location or a tip on where the maps are hidden? I would suggest that we can take action to create an environment that we enjoy (which for me are those four variables above), but without the belief that we are already at our destination, we won't get there.

Society/Politics Essay practice 1

2010-01-12T15:40:00.004+10:00

This is essay number one – this is difficult and took me longer than the allotted 30 minutes. Quotes are from the official GAMSAT preparation guide from ACER.
*********************************************************
Technology is the science of arranging life so that one need not experience it – Anonymous

The machine does not isolate from man the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them – Saint-Exupery

If there is technological advance without social advance, there is, almost automatically, an increase in human misery – Michael Harrington

The new electronic interdependence recreates the world in the image of a global village – Marshall McLuhan

Only science can hope to keep technology in some sort of moral order – E.Z Frieberg
*************************************************
Critical comment/review task in response to one or more of the quotes
Criteria: Quality of ideas, organisation and presentation of argument, effectiveness of expression
Attitude or viewpoint will not be judged.
*************************************************

Just as true happiness cannot be purchased neither can it be synthesised through technological advance. Indeed as Michael Harrington points out, without some meaningful guidance to technological advance provided by a society that has at least kept pace with the threats and opportunities provided by new technologies, misery will ensue. These essay will discuss two underlying reasons why this is so. These reasons relate to the motivation behind a technological advance and an understanding of the broad implications of its application.

The motivation behind specific technological advances necessarily determines in what field the advance has been made and to whom the benefits of the advance will accrue. Social advances have generally accorded with the French national motto of liberté, egalité, fraternité, or, increases in freedoms, equality or social cohesion – reflecting the evolution of the social conscience. Where society has momentum in these directions, technological advance will be more likely to serve such principles. Thus creating as least an opportunity for improvement to the human condition. Where the momentum of social change is towards socially fractured, individualistic, or even fear driven reforms and behaviours, technological advance is likely to be motivated by private gain or antagonistic ends and will be less likely to promote happiness and at greater risk of contributing to misery.

Understanding the implications, at the broadest level, of adopting new technology is the second vital role that social progress plays. Awareness of the potential uses of new technology will guide its development, dissemination and adoption. Social advances such as those outlined above will improve the chances of these technologies being used to enhance social welfare. The discovery of nuclear energy and its potential uses highlights a society lacking the insight and conscience to foresee and break the chain of events that led to the development of nuclear weapons and their use. The result, as Saint-Exupery says, did ‘not isolate from man the great problems of nature but plunge[d] him more deeply into them’.

So if social advance at least equal to technological advance may prevent an automatic increase in misery, how is society to know whether its advances are sufficient? The answer is that it can’t. At best society must thoughtfully and imaginatively reflect upon the two considerations outlined above – what is driving the change and what impact will it have? Bearing in mind the noble aims of liberté, egalité, fraternité.

Back for more

2010-01-11T12:35:00.002+10:00

It has been such a long time since I've written a paragraph that attempts anything other than communication of information. Assignments, journal articles, emails - creativity or pleasure squeezed out under the pressure of necessity. Considered, evidence-based writing a straight-jacket on the excitement of a finger-pointing rant or an indulging introspective wallow. I can feel rusty synapses creaking (some snapping perhaps) as the brain attempts an old routine that has become unfamiliar.

There are two main reasons for this unexpected return to blogland. First (and maybe foremost), I am going to sit GAMSAT on March 20. Perhaps a reason for my prolonged absence here is the degree of uncertainty that has been surrounding my plans for the future. Career options have been changing daily, the stockmarket more predictable than my next idea for a job. As such it has seemed pointless in constantly providing updates, with an occasional tangent bemoaning the quality of commercial media journalism. So how is GAMSAT and blogging related? Approximately 20% of the test is two short essays (about 25 minutes each to write). And the best practice for writing them in the appropriate style under the appropriate time constraints is to do so on this blog (and hopefully get some critical feedback on the writing - and the ideas if one feels the need).

There are two essays - the first is a more structured critical response to a set of quotes relating to a socio-political issue, while the second is more a reflection or consideration of a set of emotional/personal quotes. So I hope to follow each of these styles every other blog.

The second reason to write only revealed itself after I'd already decided to start writing again - or does this invalidate it as a 'reason' and make it a consequence/side effect?

Upon opening Hoist-the-spinnaker for the first time in many a month I thought I'd check the activity of other bloggers on my side bar, first was Beck's blog. Suddenly I was transported back to Tanzania - not the Tanzania that I remembered most clearly, but the Tanzania that existed for the first 6 months of 2008 - the Tanzania that was relegated to distant memory, a previous life, that was overlaid by the events of mid-2008 that split life into two separate parts. It's a cliched start to a book, dividing life into 'before' and 'after' a specific event (or sequence of events in this case). But that is how it is.

So there I was, 10 minutes and 2 years ago, amid the energy, excitement and wonder of those first six months. Juxtapositioned against life as I see it now, the impassioned interest in life and the unknown seems replaced with an academic scrutiny of appropriate options. Or maybe I just look and feel older. Am I superimposing an innocent youthful energy on images of the past? Either way, I figure that by once more venting what needs to be vented and letting my knee-jerk reactions to events jerk unrestrained - something might happen, don't know what, but I'll wait and see.

Time vice

2009-05-21T12:48:00.003+10:00

The office is very quiet, the loudest noise is the humming of the air-conditioner, some female laughter down the stark corridor briefly interrupts the panicked silence. I feel like I'm in a slowly closing vice, a compaction machine that turns automobiles into ten cent coins. Now until June 15 - 35,527 minutes. Now 35,526 as I lose a minute listening to the clock ticking above my head. The gap closes just a little more, the wall of 'the now' slowly pushing me forwards towards June 15. How do you dig your heels in against time? It just...keeps...on...going. At exactly the same speed, nothing can slow it or hasten it. Except our minds of course, the obvious caveat to my self-pity inspired suggestion. Time flys when you're having fun. I didn't know that writing a thesis would be so rip-roaringly fun, although I admit the fun is eluding me somehow.

But of course, I exaggerate. Deadlines are a bugger and sitting at a computer all day is an even bigger bugger, but I chose to climb this hill so I'll just keep walking, one foot after the other.

Did I mention rain in my last post? That was a mere spring shower compared the drenching we've recently recieved. I swam home from work yesterday only to find Heather on the roof catching Barra that strayed from Milton road. She'd lost most of my tackle on snags in our annoying neighbours garden. The sun is back out today and the water has receded, fish flipping frantically about in little puddles.

It seems the best way to keep in touch people is by getting a virus that emails everyone in your address book - try it yourself.

What's the time, ahhh time to keep working on the dreaded document.

Rain, Pain & Vain

2009-04-13T14:24:00.002+10:00

Rain: The wettest April on record! That is what I expect the news to read in a couple of weeks if this rain doesn't desist sometime soon. A slow steady drenching of the everything in Brisbane, including the insides of our now soggy heads. I've taken the Honda for a spin, but the water immediately found its way into the motor, so it's resting again until fairer weather strikes. The Honda is of course my 1981 Civic - it has been on it's last legs for around a decade, but it just keeps on going. A little bit of attention a few weeks ago revealed some things that I am trying to ignore - until I go straight through some bend in the road or am forced to travel only in second gear, but these are the joys of the Honda, for those who know it.

Pain: Since starting work again and getting into the gym routine once more I've been pushing it a bit hard I think. Some parts of the body can't keep up with other parts that gain strength more quickly. This has lead to some tendonitis and nerve pinching in some joints. A bit of rest this weekend and taking it a bit lighter over the next few weeks should help with the recovery.

Vain: Who can honestly say they've never felt the pressure to 'keep up' with those around them. As friends accumulate property and then the necessary crap to fill the space, I find myself looking at furniture and furnishings, imagining them placed elegantly in the house we've just bought. Note: we haven't just bought a house, but they are practically giving them away at the moment (low rates, first home-buyers grant, blah blah....), so we're on the lookout for a box to fill with rubbish that is supposed to be aesthetically pleasing to us and somehow make us more relaxed and happier with where we are at in our lives. I can understand investing in a comfortable bed or sofa - something that cradles our bodies. But to spend time picking out something to put on a shelf that has no purpose other than to hold the unnecessary item that we've just purchased, totally bewilders me, not least of all because I feel the same urges lurking within me to buy this useless shite. What do we do? Fight these urges to have a stylish statue of an unknown Grecian sitting on our mantelpiece equivalent? Or wallow in the imaginary world that we are eclectic, sophisticated beings with an eye for colour, space and texture? I don't know. I guess much of it depends on how much that Heather and I can convince ourselves we can do without.

Lunch cancer

2009-03-18T13:07:00.002+10:00

; the growth of items in your lunch box that have a high sugar and/or saturated fat content.

It is also what you get when you mistype 'lung cancer' and autocorrect picks it up. I've been avoiding lunch cancers well and have recently made an exciting discovery. Mountain Bread. Like a lavash or square tortilla, but lighter, stronger, more wrappable and healthier - organic whole wheat flour, water, salt - that's it (in the variety that I have the moment, there is also rye and corn options). It's a great step towards eliminating lunch cancer.

My salivary stone has also passed (more like a sharp little seed in density than a stone).

Time puzzle

2009-03-06T08:23:00.015+10:00

When time management consists of a few large pieces that slot easily alongside one another with rose smelling time in between, life is pretty relaxing. But when you throw a bucketful of extra pieces into the puzzle it suddenly becomes more complicated. The unknown factors, the uncertainties, require more certainty so that they can be fitted into the right slot. Failure to correctly place each piece results in leftover pieces that must be squeezed in elsewhere (squeezing out the rose smelling time), or the puzzle requires cropping - cutting out what isn't considered essential at the time of consideration. But it seems that the essentials are exactly what get cut (yep those fragrant roses).

Perhaps this is the whinings of someone who suddenly returned to work and study after several months living in the country with mum and magic fridge that re-stocks itself. There was plenty to be done and was done in those months - but the pieces were large and the roses everywhere. But is it possible these moments of transition, as we pass through the door or window, allow us to look forwards and backwards with as much clarity and balance as we'll ever have. But then again, perhaps the reverse is true. The roses of the past may never smell better than when we have just moved out of nose-shot. And the roses of the future seem all too inapparent when you're standing at the foot of the mountain taking in the entire vista. What is more likely to be the case is a blend of the two. Some insights are clouded by emotion while others are illuminated by those same emotions. But what is what, and which is which and how the hell am I going to get to work more quickly so that I have more time to go food shopping, go to the gym, write a thesis and scrabble around looking for roses to smell, are some of the pieces that I'll try to fit in without cropping too much of the puzzle.

The current and a salivary stone

2009-02-19T15:29:00.002+10:00

The word is out it seems, Cypriots and Italians have started arriving like moths to a flame, wanting to pick fresh olives for pickling, drying and roasting. One chap has reserved the entire remaining harvest of the small grove (table fruit) for himself, and will be coming back soon to pick the lot with his wife. In the meantime I've been slashing the groves in preparation for the upcoming harvest festival, mum and Heather have been pruning and we'll have a working bee (where does that saying come from?) with some others on Sunday to finish the pruning and weeding.

I've had a little extra time to do some work as we were released early from the medical trial. It was actually cancelled (still getting full pay) as a couple of chaps had elevated liver enzyme levels. And immediately after the relaxing two weeks of isolation I was swept into the current of responsibility, obligation and necessity. The current drags you along occupying the vast majority of your time. There aren't many activities that don't fall into those three categories, lucky is the person who can add 'leisure' in similar amounts.

Ever heard of a salivary stone? Neither had I until yesterday. Much like a kidney stone, although lodged in your largest (usually) salivary gland (parotid) - clogging up saliva and potentially leading to infection. As it turns out, I have one. There isn't much you can do except hope that it passes soon and the swelling in your cheek goes down and the pain of salivating (excruciating for a person well suited to pavlovian trials) desists. So it's been hot packs and vigorous cheek massages to attempt to dislodge, break or pass the stone through the salivary duct. Quite boring.

Finding somewhere to rent is the final major box to be ticked for settling back into life here. Jobs and Uni starting again soon and then it'll be flat out for another 12 months!

The Medical Trial Diaries

2009-02-05T16:43:00.003+10:00

1/2/09 - Day 1 of 19

I read the final few pages of Simon’s diary again today. Something I do occasionally. Simon is my mum’s brother who took a wrong turn on his motorbike down a dead end piste in the middle of the Sahara desert in 1984. I also flip to random pages and enjoy his observations of his surroundings and himself as he rode down through Europe to Africa. Something about the way he wrote stirs an interest in me in the smaller details that surround me – in the characters, interactions, the unusual and the usual.

I’ve blogged sporadically in recent times as I’ve been focused on other things. Focus is often considered a virtue and I suppose it does assist in the achieving specific goals – but excessive focus, bordering on myopic is not so good and is something I am guilty of all too often. When life revolves around the completion of the to-do list in order to achieve a chosen objective it no longer becomes life – but just a process. Undoubtedly the use of singular focus is a useful coping mechanism that I’ve employed, but perhaps instead of focusing on one thing to avoid focusing on another it would be more sustainable, and enjoyable to focus on all things (as far as that is feasible) in order to not focus entirely (but just a little on a broader canvas) on the object of distress.

And with that small shift in outlook I can feel a small shift within as well. The sudden irritability, frustration and anger that has been appearing from nowhere in the last few months now feels a little more distant than it did just yesterday while inspecting potential rental properties.

On the other hand it is much easier to be blasé about life when you’re locked in a comfy little hospital room with nothing but reading and watching movies and sport for the next 18 days – and taking some diabetes pills. That may sound like I’ve come down with a nasty case of something, but in fact I am donating myself to science (not really donating – selling is more accurate, at least my soul is still my property even if my body isn’t for the next 18 days – hmmm how much do souls go for during a financial crisis....?). I have a twin room with a chinese chap from southwest China whom I plan to befriend and then visit during the Chinese leg of our next travels. We have an ensuite, internet, cable TV, PlayStation, regular meals, books, games – and a bunch of blokes hanging out as we go through it. A bit of blood letting and a couple of biopsies is compensated handsomely by the company trialling this new drug. I’ll miss the girls (Heather, mum and Gini) while I’m in here, but I’m allowed to coincide our occasional outings with visitors which is something at least.

The first chap I met was Henry – a very talkative and somewhat eccentric wild eyed fellow from Innisfail – he travels down for these medical trials. Initially I thought he was a bit ‘you know’ touched in the head. But he has grown on me quite quickly with his left of field remarks and tales of fishing jobs off Vancouver Island – and then I discover he is a parasitologist – one of Rob’s main fields under the broader banner of microbiology - and it all clicked.

I have some tennis to watch now and some cricket to ignore.

2/2/09 – Day 2/19

It’s an odd feeling grabbing a large bottle of urine out the fridge before going to the toilet – and then not actually needing to be in the bathroom (although it is still done) because all the urine goes into the bottle along with all previous ‘short calls’ as Aggie calls them, that day.

I have been being a little mischievous with my heart rate measurements. At last ECG my heart rate was 44bpm – a bit slow apparently so they waited three minutes test it again – three minutes of deep breathing and concentrated relaxation later and my heart rate had dropped to 42bpm – must be all that lying around and movie watching.

We were dosed today – about three hours of since dosing and am feeling fine – just very hungry as we’ve had to fast since 10pm last night and can’t eat till midday. The drug is supposed to suppress cortisol production – which should be running rampant in this food deprived state converting proteins and lipids into glucose – so any catabolism will have been reduced but also any lipolysis as well. Am wondering if I’ll be able to last the full 19 days – I keep eyeing the floor thinking of doing pushups, I’ve also been testing the weight bearing capability of the steel bar overhanging my bed which would usually be used to elevate broken limbs – and thoughts of sprinting with my heart pounding or straining to lift a heavy bar have already become regular day dreams. We did get onto the table tennis table yesterday which was fun – Henry is a handy player and we had some exciting rallies.

Heather and Mum are dropping by soon to deliver headphones and network cable so I can get on the internet. Perhaps we might get to go out for a walk this afternoon – maybe I’ll surreptitiously walk on my toes and get a bit of burin in the calves. One of the guys is using this trial to quit smoking – 2 days is the longest he’s been without a cigarette in 10 years. I wonder who will crack first....

Just over an hour till lunch.....

20:14 3/2/09 – Day 3/19

I’ve spent most of the day on the internet looking at various things – mainly journal articles on exercise and nutrition, and also cheap flights to different destinations. I am supposed to be horizontal at the moment in the 5 minutes prior to ECG – so am trying to type in an awkward position. But nothing much else to report. I ate all my salad which was like gnawing on a tree branch, but the pink cheesecake for dessert made up for it.

16:30 5/2/09 – Day 5/19

Yesterday we went to play mini golf across the road. It was almost exactly like stepping out of an airport after 4 days of air-conditioned transit – the heaviness of the humidity in the air and the heat of the sun on my skin was more noticeable than usual. If not an air traveller then I felt like an albino lab mouse brought out into the bright sun. All with our orange wrist bands on people probably ran for cover at the sight of potentially insane inpatients on the loose. In fact this whole experience does feel a little like a voluntary committal to a mental institution. The escape from the outside world was very welcome at the moment and is some forced relaxation time without the pressure of feeling like I should be doing something.

Today we went for a walk to the park and invented a game like tennis using thongs and a rubber ball being hit over some goal posts – with volleyball rules. Good fun. Then home for lunch, another movie, some more table tennis and now some internet time.

Another ending, another beginning

2009-01-09T19:58:00.002+10:00

The rain was still falling when our plane touched down at Coolangatta Airport. The grass stands still when you're watching, but as soon as you turn your back..... Cloudy, humid, hot-ish and green - nothing like the place we left two and a half months ago - yet exactly the same as it was 12 months and a thousand life-times ago when we first left for Tanzania.

For the first 48 hours I was excited by the flat roads, wide array of food choices, fast moving orderly traffic and comfortable sofas and beds. But that very quickly turned to boredom with the predictability of too many aspects of daily life, anxiety at the pressures and complexity of the social web that we are tangled up in, and loneliness on behalf everyone living here at being anonymous to even the closest neighbours despite having been in and out this particular house for nearly 10 years. Feeling attached to a local community is certainly one of the aspects of life that add depth and meaning.

I find myself now in front of a TV show about independent share traders - people who devote their lives to making money for themselves. While I refrain from passing judgement on how people choose to live their lives it does throw chains on your heart to listen to the wealthy laugh with glee as they get richer. But then one minute later there is an ad for an inspiring documentary or an uplifting story. The rollercoaster ride continues.

So now as our feet are carrying us forwards (as usual), with our hearts a bit behind us in Sinon, my head is skipping forward to the next adventure.....

Xin-Jiang, China - also known as the Uyghur Autonomous region and Chinese Turkestan (in days gone by). It's more Central Asian than Chinese - no Mandarin, only Uyghur - a Turkic language like the other Central Asian 'stans. June to October is the ideal time to visit, so it'll either be this year or the next and I've already started to teach myself Uyghur. It's written in Roman, cyrillic and Arabic alphabets. Learning the cyrillic alphabet while commuting in London will finally come in handy, although it was cut short after an odd conversation with a stern Russian professor on a park bench in a lonely leafless park in the backstreets of London.

But in the meantime there a jobs to start, houses to find, savings to save, subjects to study and of course lots and lots of grass to cut.

You can't see feelings

2008-12-30T20:18:00.003+10:00

I've finally plucked up the courage to tackle a Rwandan keyboard and to write a blog and after 15 minutes of growing rage at searching for @'s and _'s I've managed to convert it to a US configuration, phew. There has also been a little apprehension in writing this blog as it was always going to be the last one from Africa and this year, the events of which will no doubt resurface and stir up emotions (and it'll be a long one). But fear in all it's guises should be confronted and vanquished whenever possible, so here goes....

Picking up from where the last blog left off - Heather and I bickering, which was all too common given our exhausting and different experiences. Heather with all the emotions of returning to Tanzania and the impending farewell to the mamas she had grown so attached to. And my total mind and body exhaustion in the final surge to finish the structure by 20th Dec.

The Visitors
The first of our much anticipated visitors, Gini and Scott, arrived on Dec 5th at the peak of the short rains. Thick mud and general dampness characterised their first few days before their flight to Zanzibar on the 8th - although the vicious sun came out for Scott's stint on the roof with me, a tough return to Africa for him. They arrived back on the 12th in time for a night at Stiggy's to say farewell to the Stratti's from the wazungu in town. They next day Christian, Mel and Mum arrived on a day totally contrasting to Gini and Scott's arrival. Hot and dry, barely a cloud to be seen. It was so exciting to have them all with us in the place we'd talked so much about and where we'd done and learnt so much. I tried not to feel sad at absence of another member of our team, things were as they were meant to be and I was happy with having the beloved family with us.

The Farewell
A week later the roof was all but done (one minor trimming job that didn't happen due to a grinder blade shortage), the workers and I congratulating each other on completing such a monumental job. They had also suggested that it would be appropriate to slaughter a goat to give thanks that no one was killed during the construction of the roof - lifting 500kg roof pieces into place by hand up to 10 metres above the ground was indeed dangerous and we sent two men to town to select a good looking goat. The morning of the slaughter coincided with my last day on the building site - an emotional day and I was glad that the goat slaughtering took the men's attention away from it. After a big shared lunch of goat and rice, eaten with hands in the glorious dining room facing up to Mt. Meru, it was time for the Kwa heri (farewell) ceremony for Heather and I. I was anxious at the event taking too long as I'd seen the men often getting bored after their sodas and slinking back to work on their farms. I also didn't want the men to see any tears in my eyes - Heather was already red eyed from frequent tears as she watched the mamas sing while they cooked the goat.

The first part of the ceremony was to given a masai shuka (blanket) from the men, which Roger Moore and Onesmo wrapped around me in the correct way, then Mudi presented me with a masai sword with sheath and belt which was also added to my outfit. Finally the mamas, as they had just done with Heather, sang a farewell song and danced around and wrapped another shuka around my shoulders. Then, quite unexpectedly, one of the men got up and started a masai dance - head bobbing, low pitched vocal 'HEEE'. Then another and another of them got up until the air was filled with the sound of the mamas singing and the men facing them, leaping into the air making their noise with the occasional high pitched shriek. As I stood between the mamas and the men I was partly embarrassed at such a fuss being made of me and partly bursting with pride that the men I had worked so hard with were giving me such a special gift. On the outside I was smiles, on the inside I was weeping to be leaving these amazing men that were sort of friends apart from the language barriers, and I was sort of their boss much of the time, but our experience of learning together from Darren and then continuing with what he had left us to build something none of us could even comprehend when we first began had created a unique bond.

Two days later we were driving out of Sinon bound for Mt Meru and I was trying to breath in as much of Sinon as I could in each breath before we left it's welcoming arms.

Mt Meru
This keyboard is almost as difficult as Mt Meru, and Meru was tough. Not so much physically as it was mentally. After the midnight start and hiking for 6 hours, the last hike to the top was faced with false peak after false peak and the guide kept saying '10 minutes, just around the corner'. Total bollocks, it took another 2 hours and was a bit cloudy up top during our 15 minute rest on the peak. It then haled on us during the descent to where we had started that night. It's doing the hike a disservice to gloss over it like this, the views into the crater were breathtaking - the craggy ridges awe inspiring and the enormous ash cone remarkable (hence the remark). But arriving at Kigongoni lodge was heavenly and we had a lovely relaxed Christmas - the exotic location helping to alleviate some of the absence I felt. On boxing day we caught a taxi to the airport, and again I inhaled Tanzania into my mind and soul as deeply as I could before our final departure from this life changing place.

Rwanda
Arriving in a country on boxing day is not ideal, especially when it has no ATMs that accept foreign cards, and the following two days are also public holidays. Despite traipsing around Kigali (exciting for those who ever played WITW is Carmen Sandiego) for a day or two, we got a bus to the Virunga mountains where the Gorillas live. Events unfolded and Heather and I didn't go to see the gorillas, but I climbed a volcano with Christian which was fun.

You can tell I'm tiring, so must you dear reader. Perhaps I'll leave some final thoughts, recaps, highlights, complaints and accusations for another blog when I get back to Australia and whatever I'm going to feel is felt.

Merry x-mas to everyone and I hope the new year is exciting, unexpected and productive for all.

More toilet philosophy

2008-12-10T01:38:00.002+10:00

Twenty-nine of the 35 upside-down boats that we call roof trusses have now been built - with six to go the finish line is in sight and enormity of the roof unfolds after each lifting session. Motivation is starting to falter amongst many of the men, morning chapati and chai has become more popular (lucky for Mama Elizabeth) and slightly more drawn out, and the workers are less eager to throw themselves into the many tasks I am dishing out over the day. I don't blame them, I'm also exhausted and have to grit the teeth to begin each new roof piece and drag 5 or 6 poor souls out into the sun to do it with me. We have a couple of days of roof sheeting ahead of us now which I think is easier work for the guys on the roof as they don't seem to feel the heat of the sun as much we thin skinned wazungu.

So after collapsing at the volunteer village this afternoon, having some toast and a generously donated bowl of weetabix from Joel and Robbie and then showering I stopped off at our ever rising compost toilets. There's certainly no tectonic forces at play but the mountain is rising faster than anyone finds comfortable and a brave person will be required to soon level the playing field as best they can. The toilets are composed of two cubicles, each with two seats on varnished timber benches facing each other. Despite it appearing to be a new social experiment in toileting the seats are only supposed to be used in isolation - using one side when the other is full and has been closed off. Acoustics are good though and Heather and I often carry on conversations between the cubicles. This afternoon's conversation concerned the virtues of music and lyrics as opposed to purely instrumental music. I was suggesting that lyrics impose a thought pattern on the listener while pure music allows the mind to creatively take from the music whatever it may. While not totally disagreeing with my spontaneous conclusion Heather suggested that the lyrics allow the listener an element of escape from their life/mind/location.

Aha! I cried. And why would anyone want to escape from their life? For many reasons I suspect but if I draw the circle around Heather and I and all those people we know and are related to I can't find it reasonable to suggest that any of us should need to escape from their life/mind/location for an instant - even when having a really bad day. Regardless of how long or short life is, you've only got one and to desire trading it in for another even for a moment is like drinking a delicious cold beer and spitting it out occasionally because you fancy a soda or milk instead. What a waste! A simplified generalised analogy and comment on life, but I am a general sort of chap and quite simple as well.

Time for food. Yum.

Worlds best tiles. Worlds lowest prices

2008-11-23T22:47:00.002+10:00

This was the large sign at the back of parking lot. After making the assumption that the extraordinarily low prices being referred to was for the tiles I began to wonder where on the planet I might find better tiles for a lower price. I decided that possibly the marble tiles from Agra like those used in the Taj Mahal would probably be better – and cheaper if you were the right person in the right place. That got me to thinking about advertising standards in developing countries. It certainly wouldn’t be high on the list of priorities for a government like that in Tanzania. It is, nonetheless, an important area of government intervention. The establishment of institutions that facilitate transactions and reduce transaction costs (in the broadest sense) is without doubt one of the cornerstone roles of a government. The debate over the extent to which governments should intervene in a nation’s affairs is one which I think wastes a lot of breath – a bit like arguing how much milk should be added to tea – it’s such a subjective topic and theories abound in support of each shade of ideology. This little topic has been gnawing at the back of mind since the onset of the ‘FINANCIAL CRISIS’. If ever unregulated greed has turned back and bitten the snouts of those digging deeper into the trough then this is the time. And I consider this event to be another reason for steps towards global integration culminating in a globally regulating government – setting up institutions for the betterment of humanity.

Meanwhile, as the world's affairs continue without my guiding hand, I've been slaving away with a crew of our workers (and newly arrived plumber - Lee) building the passive cooling roof frames and putting on the mirror-like roofing sheets. It's hot work when the midday equatorial sun is tearing into you from above and below as you try to avoid hitting blistered hands too many times with a hammer. I go through phases of feeling jubilant at the progress we are making and thoroughly exhausted and fed up with this entire continent. But the lifting of the roof pieces have proven that some of the magic that existed earlier in the year is still around. The shared explosion of adrenalin and exertion as we heave the roof pieces into place gets everyone buzzing at this shared achievement, it's the one moment on site that used to bring everyone together under Darren's command. And now we are lifting again I feel (and I'm sure the labourers do too) both Darren's absence and his presence.

Goodbye dust, hello mud

2008-11-07T16:31:00.000+10:00

It has been feeling like each day over the past two weeks has been just a little hotter, and a little more muggy than the previous one. The dust has been continuing to rise from the ground like a misty lake in the morning, but on the horizon clouds have been quietly but ominously gathering, and Mt Meru has had a grey sombrero pulled over her head.

Two days ago a thick black front – tinged with brown – was advancing upon Sinon. Rain at last! we squealed with excitement in anticipation of a thunderous storm. Then to our surprise a dust laden gale blew through instead of rain. A dust storm from the south east, carrying cool air off the approaching rains. Some locals claimed rain would now not come until December, others said it would be here tonight. But the smell of rain and cool air suggested an imminent fall. Sure enough there was rain, but only a little, barely wetting the ground. Will we have to wait until December for rain?

Yesterday was again a hotter and more oppressive day than the others – I spent the day lifting concrete slabs (although nowhere near as many as our labourers – Jonas ad young Franki in particular) and placing them on the walkway we’ve been building around the outside of the accommodation block. In the evening everyone felt drained – it wasn’t a great day, not a bad day, just okay – but we were all flattened by the day. Then, moments after collapsing into bed last night - the heavens opened. The rain thundered for several hours before settling, like a middle distance runner, into a steady pace that still continues at 9am this morning.

The pressure has been lifted from our sinuses and now drags at our feet in the form of sticky mud. It sounds a bit like a transfer of complaint, but despite the delay the rain has caused to the building progress and possible damage to timber, it is such a fundamental part of life here that it would be grossly unfair to begrudge it any way. I can almost hear the ground and the plants slurping and sucking up the delicious cool rainwater.

If only such rain would fall a little more regularly at home on the farm. That it where my thoughts focus whenever I have a moment to rest. I’d become so accustomed to Rob’s projects and developments at the farm while I’ve been away, I’ve always been excited to return and see the changes, be talked through them, to help out with them and to discuss ‘the next phase’ of Rob’s jobs. I know that this week mum and Christian are working hard spreading urea and painting the timber storage shed among other things. In fact mum has been working hard on the farm the whole time. These jobs getting done – progress being made, is comforting. I’ve come to a new realization recently (part of the grieving process I suppose). The doctors at the hospital where Rob died told us how hard he fought to stay alive, the incredible strength for his age as he held on to life for as long as he could. His fight would have been for us, not for his own desire for life, but to share it and enjoy with us, to assist us with our own wherever he could. I wouldn’t want him to feel bad that he couldn’t win this final battle for us. Not making people feel bad was one of Rob’s principles. So I’m going to try and make sure that we don’t make Rob feel bad for having a Barry (or Gazza as Rob called it).

Relentless dust

2008-10-24T18:19:00.005+10:00

The short rains are due and a dust with a consistency of smoke hangs in the air and covers everything in a thin film of brown. It hasn't rained since before we left 4 months ago, and despite the crops surviving due to the centuries old mfareji (irrigation ditches) the untended shrubbery has withered into the dust. The nights are cool, the days gradually heat as the ferocious sun slow cooks anything not safely in the shade, but a cooling afternoon breeze - laden with dust - blows through as the sun dips.

The 'home-coming' to Arusha and the village of Sinon was filled with mixed emotions. Bleary-eyed we staggered off the Ethiopian Air (rubbish airline) flight at Kilimanjaro airport and found that Heather's backpack had gone astray en route to Tanzania. It was a minor miracle that our other bags did arrive considering the amount of plane hopping required. Whether it went to another airport coded similar to JRO (Johannesburg, Jordan?) we don't know, but it has safely made it to Arusha now and Heather can change her trousers.

The Kesho Leo mamas were at Edmund Rice school doing sewing lessons, so we popped in there first. We knew they would be pleased to see us, but I wasn't sure if males and females hugging was culturally appropriate. But when the mamas rounded the corner where we were standing they almost knocked the wind out of me with crash tackling hugs and tears. And Heather, she was nearly trampled as the women virtually piled on top of her weeping and wailing and holding onto her. The greeting with the labourers was a little more subdued - just big smiles and lots of 'pole' (sorry) and hand shaking and some gentle hugs.

The developments at the Kesho Leo site have been incredible - the permaculture farm has come on leaps and bounds under the superstar guidance of the new volunteer, horticulturalist Eve. The building is also racing along as the Stratti brothers and Robbie work like men possessed to get is built by Christmas. Corky and Ben have also been doing an incredible job with the Volunteer Village renovations. Some of the labourers are now almost skilled tradesmen and the 'dollar for dollar' matched savings plan for capital purchases has already had some men buying cement to build better houses for their families. So despite some tensions that exist at times between FWS and the Stratti team everything is racing along and spirits are high. A pair of actors from the BBC came to the mama meeting yesterday to teach acting games to the kids and children.

Plenty to ramble about, but at the moment we are just preparing ourselves to get back into the routine of work and try to avoiding getting as malnourished as I recently realised we must have been - and to pray for the rains to come and dampen the intoxicating oppressive dust.

Back to Africa

2008-10-20T20:45:00.002+10:00

Is that the title to a movie? Surely I've heard a title similar to that before.

Tonight is our final night here in sleepy Biddaddaba valley before our ever-changing return to Tanzania. How many return dates have I had? 26 July, 20 September, 24 October, 23 October - the final change only being a minor aberration in airline timetabling, while the other two were probably the most dramatic events that have befallen me in my short life.

I have been very busy being the best farmer I can be. Developing rapport with each of the olive trees, with each row, each bay, each grove, each variety. From the short time I've spent working with the trees I have no doubt that each one of them has received as much time, money and energy as many children do. Indeed the passionate investment in each tree makes their future so important to the investor.

Perhaps I've gone a little mad spending too much time on my own up on the hill or in the shed, feeling fatherly towards olive trees is a little odd. Then again I've also developed a liking for trousers (khaki) in place of shorts and tucking my shirt into my trousers. So I'm either growing up (or getting old) or pretending to be Rob. No doubt part of my coping has been to be out in the grove 'with Rob', being Rob - knowing some of the things he knew - but mostly wondering what he wondered about during those long days of repetitive activity on the tractor or walking in the grove. Did he ponder, contemplate, dream or scheme? Or was he focused purely in the moment, on what he was doing, on each tree, on the rolling hills as the sunset over the valley? I suppose you can tell a lot about a person by the ramblings or lack thereof in their mind when they could otherwise be being mindless.

So Tanzania, yes, I've scarcely thought about it in the past couple of weeks, it will be wonderful to do the Tanzanian handshake with the labourers, to do the rounds of morning greetings, to sit on the back of the ute as we rattle along the potholed roads, banana trees waving in the cooling evening breeze. Everyone used to speak of those moments of 'wow, I'm in Africa, look where I am and the adventure I'm having'. Perhaps that was tinged with an edge of invincibility - we existed in a story book where everything turns out for the best. I wonder if that edge will be there when we return?

But I mustn't forget to remind mum and Christian to spray the thistle, and prune the suckers, and use mainly dam water for irrigating, and to be careful on the tractor, and to buy Kocide for a December spray, and to...........

?

2008-08-12T12:01:00.006+10:00

I decided that I had better write a post in an effort to cut short my streak of eulogies to two, hopefully there won't be another any time soon. I've also been advised that the best way to deal with certain events is to express them through some outlet - seeing as this blog has been an outlet for several years it's probably a good time to make use of it.

The plan is to describe in an unspecified level of detail the somewhat life altering events of the past two months so as to piece together (for myself as much as anyone) what the hell has just happened. So this may be quite a long post, or it may end shortly in a fit of bewildered shrieks.

Cue shimmering fade to flashback:

Thursday June 26, 3 days before my flight home to Australia.

After finally being finished with the concreting of the footings for the accommodation block and health clinic it was time to start cutting and bolting on the 4"x4" muruka (type of timber) support posts that will hold the building off the ground. Earlier in the week Daz and I had done all the measurements for the post heights and he was now spending most days in town bargaining with suppliers and picking timber in preparation for the arrival of an additional carpenter or two and the final haul to finish construction by September/October.

So Thursday was spent with a spirit level, chainsaw and drill (the you-beaut new power drill we'd just got) as I put the first 15 posts up. It was one of those exhausting days that makes you love being alive. The men (our local labourers) were working efficiently, the weather was perfect, Aggie had cooked a great lunch and the progress towards the finish line was tangible. The only thing missing was a lunch time chat to Daz (in town shopping) and I was required to listen to Elvis ramble on about 29 different topics while trying to ask a simple question.

After arriving home that afternoon I began working on the June monthly accounts, the system of tracking who spends money where was working well and things were looking good at the time I stopped for some dinner. The next day was a bank run and shopping with new volunteer leader Georgina - sometimes a tedious experience for me when the shopping hasn't been well organised. Luckily George was an organisational maestro and had little snap lock bags with each person's money and shopping list. The bank queue was non-existent ($6,000 withdrawn as per usual every couple of weeks) and shopping was done in a jiffy - and off home we went. And back to monthly accounts I went. By dinner time my head was about to explode, the numbers just didn't add up - we were missing almost exactly $300! Was I going mad? How could I lose this much money? Then Darren asked whether I'd counted the money they had in their safe? Miscommunication - I thought there was none left in their safe, in fact there was $300 - problem solved, beer had, off to bed with the June accounts slowly trying to travel from my outbox into cyberspace and off to Australia.

Saturday morning came around and I hadn't done the weekly wages for the labourers yet, so I didn't go to the building site. Work usually finishes at 1:30pm on a Saturday, but Darren came home early frustrated with the labourers who had just cut through the power cable in the brand new (and not hand-threateningly dangerous like the previous one) circular saw he'd just bought. So around midday I toddled up to the building site with my little packet of pays to give the men. Roughly $15 a week each for their weeks work. Not a bad salary, although most of it would go on soda, beer, cigarettes, hash and phone credit. My idea to offer a matched savings plan for the labourers to buy tools or other equipment to earn an income or benefit their household was taking a long time to get the green light - so for the time being it luxuries that it was spent on. I said my farewells to the men (I was supposed to be away for 4 weeks) and went home to pack.

My previous post - 'Q: have you ever used recreational drugs' describes some of the moments and thoughts then leading up to my flight out of Nairobi.

Nairobi - Doha: 7 hour stopover in Doha - very boring and cold airport. Most of the time was spent walking laps around the terminal or trying to sleep lightly in the Prayer Room.

Doha - Singapore: 7 hour stopover in Singapore - amazing and entertaining airport. The baggage carousels have gardens planted in the centres - the suitcases going on safari through the jungle. The queues were dwarfed in the vast tranquil spaces - serenity was everywhere. Then there was the showers, movies, rainforest walks (and probably good shopping, I wouldn't know). I emailed Heather again - no reply, which was odd, I half joked to myself that perhaps the computer had been stolen.

Singapore - Sydney: With Qantas. Better movies, better food.

Sydney- Brisbane: Change of terminals for a domestic flight, yummy cheese and herb breakfast scroll. A light sleep until touchdown.

My head was racing with excitement, the stories to tell of Tanzania, the building, the labourers, the kids, the volunteer village. Mum and Dad would be visiting in 2 months and I wanted to tell them all about it and discuss the Rabbit Breeding plans with Rob (aka Dad). I wanted to tell them about the other volunteers, Darren in particular as he was looking forward to meeting Mum and Dad. I'd lost nearly 10kg, hair was longer than it had ever been. We'd joked about them recognising me. The wedding would be great fun and I was going to do some building and other work on the farm with Rob.

I walked out of the tunnel and saw Mum and Dad waiting - wearing their cold weather clothes. It must be cold I thought. They looked a bit tired, and something else, I couldn't pick it. We hugged each other, not much was said, then as we turned to walk towards to exit they stood either side of me, holding tighter than usual, making walking a little bit awkward. After a few steps they slowed their pace, looking at me with eyes wider than usual. "There was an armed robbery at the volunteer village, Heather is okay, but Darren was shot and killed". Their eyes widened and grip tightened. I stared ahead, mind spinning with lack of sleep.

Wasn't I supposed to be telling them about Darren? They spoke like they knew him, he couldn't be dead if they didn't know him. What was going on here? I could imagine a robbery happening, and checked to make sure that Heather was definitely unharmed in any way. But Darren couldn't be dead, if it were possible for anyone to be invincible it was Darren, he was like superman. Hours later I was still trying to believe it. How could my two worlds - Tanzania and Australia - collide so devastatingly? Caught in a limbo between which world was the real one. What was going on?

In this slight daze, worrying about Heather, with grief occasionally slipping through the cracks, I went through the motions as visitors arrived for the wedding, and then the wedding came with more people offering condolences. Emotions were high, tears were plentiful, there was beauty and love and joy in abundance. I swung like a pendulum between my two realities, and two poles of emotion.

Dashing out of the reception for a few hours I collected Heather from the airport. Relief. Reality - a connection to Tanzania. This had actually happened. Was happening. We returned to the reception and poured alcohol into ourselves like everyone else.
___________________________________
I've now returned to writing this after a couple of weeks, so the following will be more brief.
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Plans had been made for Darren's funeral and we made our way down to Sydney to convene with all FWS and Stratti related people. The entire event was gut wrenchingly sad for everyone involved. The more you try to 'celebrate' the life of someone the greater the sense of tragedy and magnitude of loss is felt.

Heather and I made the drive back up to Brisbane again on Saturday 19th July. Exhausted from travelling and grief we were looking forward to some quiet time on the farm with Mum and Dad (aka Rob). We had our flights back to Tanzania booked and were thinking constantly of Sinon, FWS, Daz and Beck. I went to the gym with Rob on the Tuesday, amazed at how a 66 year old man could still heave such heavy weights. I think he was also enjoying himself, realising the pleasure of loading up a bar and pushing or pulling with all your might until the muscles fail. I was also a little concerned that he was over exerting on some of the exercises, pushing too hard can raise the blood pressure very high during the exercise and maybe lead to a burst vessel and possible stroke. I planned a new routine that would help rehabilitate his shoulder, continue to improve his fitness but not require such a monumental effort.

25 July. The date is loaded with meaning now as I type it. Rob knocks on my door to enquire if I was coming to the gym. I dragged myself out of bed and lurched into the kitchen. Rob was just coming out of the pantry, I walked over and placed my forehead on his chest. "tired". He stroked the back of my head and said he usually is out of the door by now and on the way to the gym, but he was running a bit late this morning and would probably be another 20 minutes before he was ready.

20 minutes later we were on the road to Beaudesert and talking about the honesty that politicians seldom produce. Into the gym and first up was a the rowing machine for a few minutes and the bike for a few minutes.

Going through these motions in my head now I can't detect anything abnormal in his demeanour or actions - but my mind screams for him to stop, lie down, get to a hospital.

The first set is a warm up on the dumbell bench press, he uses the 15kgs for 15 reps. "I probably could have done about 30 reps to extinction with that one". The correct term is working 'to failure', but Rob had adopted the term 'extinction' instead - a more vivid and entertaining description - a Rob trademark.

The next set was a rotator cuff movement - 2kg dumbell. "I can feel it working the joint but it doesn't hurt". I was full of optimism that some rehab would return the shoulder to full working order and improve his gym and work capacity. But now I am full of dread as I recall that moment, seconds from the end. The six or seven paces back to the flat bench. Picking up the 15kg dumbells again, holding them close to his chest as he lies back down on the bench. I am standing near his head, just to the right, checking his form. He presses the dumbells up.

"Oh dear". The last words.

Now he's putting the dumbells back down in an awkward fashion - I'm thinking "he's hurt his shoulder, he shouldn't be putting the dumbells down that way". But he's looking up at me while the dumbells roll from his fingers, wide eyed. The same wide eyed look as he told me about Darren, now telling me about himself. Then he was gone.

The gym employee and I performed CPR until the ambulance arrived.

Rob died shortly afterwards at the Beaudesert hospital while Gini and Christian were desperately making their way here.

We spent the rest of the day in a small room with him. His presence still so tangible - just having a snooze while we wept into his hands and on his chest - right were I'd put my head that morning.

It seems like grief is the status quo these days, in fact it is just that every day all over the world. But we try to balance grief with happiness and find joy wherever it may reside.

I've been working on the farm since then. Tracing Rob's steps that he had walked and was soon to walk again. Listening to his advice as I estimate the correct concentrations of fertilisers and chemicals, or which tool to choose for the various little jobs that keep popping up.

We return to Tanzania on October 22nd. Will Darren be there? Will Rob be an email away with an anecdote from his African adventures? It is a road that must be walked in order to silence the part of the mind that still hopes for the answer to be yes. Another small shift in our internal world as it tries to realign itself with the external one.

Rob

2008-08-01T17:57:00.002+10:00

That was what we've been calling him since we were teenagers - not sure why, a one syllable word similar to 'Dad' that indicates that he is a friend as much as a father and a role model. The amount of wisdom and knowledge that was lost when he closed his eyes for the final time is incomprehensible. The amount of love in his heart that couldn't keep beating was boundless. There isn't much I can say other than thanks to all those who have offered their condolences and those who have would like to offer condolences but can't get in touch. And also apologies to all those who wanted to attend the service last Tuesday but we weren't able to get a message to in time. Instead of thoughts offered to me and my family I would prefer people to reflect on or even imagine the wise, gentle lion that is my father. We are so proud of him and everything that he is.

I don't want to write a thousand words on the gentleman that my father is or I'll ruin this keyboard with my tears. So I'll just copy in the speech that I read at his service.

My mate Rob.

People have spoken about the many wonders of my father, and there are so many more people touched by his magic who could tell you of those shining attentive eyes, his vast knowledge that he imparts to those seeking to learn, his voracity for hard work and his sweet softness that touches us all.

But the thing about my father that has fascinated me ever since I was a small boy are his hands.
He has always had these broad brown leathery hands with strong sturdy fingers.
I often wondered whether I might have hands like his when I grew up,
but even as an adult my hands are like a child’s again when he holds them.

They are such powerful steady hands.
Capable of simultaneous feats of strength and delicacy.
He can lift a boat up onto a trailer and tie ferocious knots with coarse rope, or bowl a seaming bouncing off cutter.
He can fix a hearing aid, play the guitar and put stitches in a mouse –
but he has never quite got the hang of the remote control.

His hands showed me how to hold a cricket ball, how to grip a golf club, and how to tie different knots in our fishing line.

He speaks with his hands, always with poise and elegance.

If I would fall asleep early he would gently carry me to bed, or if I couldn’t sleep at night he would stroke my hair until I slept.

I held his hand as he lay on the floor of the gym, and I held it as he lay in his final doze.

My cheek will always be against your big soft furry face and my hands will always be in those big warm hands.

Daz

2008-07-06T18:10:00.004+10:00

A wave was flowing along in the ocean, very happy, enjoying its time, watching the sun and moon and seeing other waves, some bigger some smaller. Then one day it was approaching land, it could see up ahead all the other waves crashing into rocks and disappearing back into the ocean. Panicking he cried out to the other waves, stop! can't you see what is happening? We're all going to get broken up on those rocks and disappear back into the ocean!! Are you joking? said the other waves. Look at yourself, you are part of the ocean, where does the ocean stop and you begin?

Daz told me that.

How can a tribute be paid to such an enormous being without lapsing into reminisces? Of the times he laughed, so often. The times he cried (well at least got a little misty eyed), the times he towered over those who tried to trick him, charging mzungu prices. Or the times he shared his boundless enthusiasm for the potential of humans to be as great as he was. No, he is still great, not was. He is still working for FWS, for Engo Sengiu, for Beck. Mostly I think of the times he taught, our labourers and me how to build. Ever patient, with such high standards but kind when I made a mistake, the pride I felt and he reinforced about the work I'd done. The honour and privilege of working with Daz on the building site is something that I'll never be able to express through words. Finishing the building (still under budget), and continuing to learn the trade - perhaps building my own house one day is something I think Daz would have liked to see me do. Actually he would just have wanted me to be happy.

If the outcome from this event is the heightened profile of FWS, more money for the project, and the chance for those he loved to look into their souls and evolve spiritually then he would be delighted. Even if none of those things happened, he still wouldn't be too bothered (maybe a couple of grumbles at the start but then he would be at peace knowing that this has happened for a reason, the moment is perfect, as it should be).

Easy to say what he would and wouldn't have thought. I suppose his honest and fearless sharing of his world view has made many of us feel like we know what he would say. I take comfort from that.

Perhaps I'll finish with a reminisce. A moment that filled me with more pride and joy than I'd known.

We'd just finished nailing the last iron sheets on the first half of the common building's roof - we'd worked over time in an effort to get the rubbish plywood covered before the rains caused irreparable damage to the roof. Lucky today was a warm sunny day and we finished the work quickly with a couple of our best workers staying back (for an extra 50 cents each). After packing up, we jumped into the ute with the labourers climbing into the back, Daz paused for a moment, looking at the roof and said "great job mate, you've done awesome". I tried to quash my pride, thanking him but pointing out the imperfections in the roof and how I think it'll be better on the other half. Then he said "you know what mate, you and me are gonna build this whole thing together". And with what Darren has left of himself in me, we will.

Q: Do you ever use recreational drugs?

2008-06-30T15:47:00.004+10:00

A: No, but I get a natural high when my children's daily needs are met.

This was a conversation that Heather had while doing the health history of one of the soon-to-be Kesho House Mamas.

Everyone here has moments where a certain stimulus suddenly brings home the reality of life here in all it's desperate struggle climb out of the pit of poverty and hopelessness. This was one of those moments for me.

I also happen to be reading a book about Che Guevara's life post-Cuban revolution until his death in Bolivia. The first part of the book is the factual account of his movements and actions during that time. The rest of the book is extracted from his diary and the report that he wrote (in entertaining style) for Fidel Castro regarding the failure of the Congolese revolution intervention. The experience of Guevara in Africa, in particular dealing with politicians and men reflects the all too common problems that we see here. The culture of men needing to appear manly, the wealthy (or often not) needing to appear wealthy, the powerful needing to demonstrate their power - is not something unique to Africa, the problem dominates the globe. But how men, the wealthy and the powerful are defined and the manner in which these traits need to be expressed in the African context often has devastating effects on any endeavour. We have already witnessed the trait of short sightedness alone ruining the lives of many we've come into contact with. The quick bonus through theft, or the weekly pay blown in a night at the pub see men losing jobs, time at work or opportunities for education and ultimately more money.

But this was not at the forefront of my mind as the never ending savanah sunset lit up the long lion-coloured grass, umbrella like acacia trees and my minivan to Nairobi as it tore along corrugated dirt roads. I felt numerous emotions, frustration, sadness, affection, awe and emotions I'm not articulate enough to name or don't even have a name - maybe 'leaving Africa' should be introduced as a word describing an emotion. But this still wasn't what dominated my conscious thought. Rather my mind turned back to Cuba. I thought of the food and housing that every Cuban is entitled too. The education and health care that every Cuban gets as a right. Then I think of this House Mama, and I imagine asking her "Mama, I can offer you and all the mamas in Tanzania food, shelter, education and health care - all that you will sacrifice is your right to protest against your government and chance to leave Tanzania". What would she say?

"Never in my life will I be able to afford leaving Arusha, let alone Tanzania. My voice is not heard anyway as I am black, I am a woman, and I have no money - for god's sake please give me these things you are offering".

Wealthy, comfortable Australians and Americans need their ego to be listened to and validated, they want to feel 'free' to catch a plan to another country to take photos of other people's desperate grind for existence - to feel their pain so that they can feel something in their life other than the call of the self-satisfying ego.

The fear ridden anti-socialist doctrine of the US during the Cold War and the subsequent intervention in countries striving for an egalitarian ideal has merely added to the death count of innocent women and children through poverty related diseases. Now what is left is the creation of the western ideal, the capitalist ideal - hard work in the pursuit of money and material possessions driving the economy. The lucky ones work less and buy more and become more western every day, they still listen to Bob Marley like everyone else, but also watch him on the plasma screen TV while drinking a Heineken. The unlucky ones work harder and get less. And they still listen to Bob Marley, 15 men standing on a dirt road around an ancient crackling radio with a banana beer that is poisoning them.

Why do I bother to write this? Did I change your mind? Does your mind need changing? I don't even know who you are.

Bus, Barack, Betrayal

2008-06-12T23:50:00.003+10:00

ahh yes love the alliteration.

That was pretty much the order of things over the past week - plus a bit of stuff in between the 'bus' and 'Barack'.

It was a chilly drizzly pre-dawn departure from Arusha last Tuesday. Bound for the West Usambara mountain range - specifically Lushoto. Recommended by others who had travelled Tanzania before, Lushoto was sold to us as a highland town with some stunning hikes in the vicinity. We arrived mid afternoon - about an 8 hour ride in cramped rock hard seats - the cool highland air was pretty much the same as the cool highland air in Arusha - similar altitude just more undulating than Arusha. We found a hotel, popped out for a chipsi-mayai (chip-egg omlette), booked a hike for the following day and then back home to bed early. The hike was nice, not extraordinary or boring, but nice. Having a guide takes away from the adventure somewhat. Having a guide wearing those air-holed new fangled sandles, billabong t-shirt and designer jeans takes away from the adventure a lot. But it was still nice. Some really lush, dense rainforest sections, the highlight being the Irente viewpoint cliff that snuck up on us and nearly saw me toppling several hundred feet to a splattered demise. I enjoyed shuffling as close to the edge as Heather and the guide would let me.

Should we hang out in the tranquil Lushoto surrounds for a week or push on and explore closer to the coast? Exploration or staying put? Obvious choice. We caught the bus the following morning to Tanga. Previously one of the largest towns in Tanzania as a bustling port, but trade and tourism changes saw Tanga fall behind. Still a great launching pad to explore islands, north coast and head up to the Kenyan coast. After arrival we jumped onto the soonest daladala (minivan) south - destination: halfway to Pangani. After 90 minutes of the most genuinely tooth-rattling ride imaginable we stumbled off the dala into Peponi beach resort. Price was negotiated with the old expat who runs the place and we settled in. The next morning we realised that we wouldn't have enough money to last the three nights we wanted so I headed back to Tanga to find an ATM. Daladalas don't run on a timetable so it was a matter of waiting for the next one to turn up. So I started walking (it's 30km to Tanga).

The conversation that took place during the hour before a dala picked me up:

"Unaenda wapi?" - Where are you going
"Naneda mjini/Tanga" - I'm going to town/Tanga
"kweli?! kwa mguu?" - Really? By foot?
"siyo, nasubiri kwa dala" - No, I'm waiting for a bus
"haya bwana, karibu!" - Okay mate, you are welcome (to stop and rest with them)
"asante!" - Thanks

Bone rattling bus to Tanga - Visa/internet dead. No money. Bone rattling bus back to Peponi. Can only stay two nights. We leave the next morning only to be ripped off by the expat (grrr... expats who've grown up in Africa and treat everyone like slaves). Bus to Tanga, bus to Moshi (only 2 hours shy of Arusha - base for Kili climbers). A bus ride through Tanzania is a non-stop drive-thru mall. As the bus slows down the merchants swarm around the bus selling their wares, or getting you whatever you feel like at the time, hmmm samosas and mishikaki.

It was at this time that the 'barack' part of the story begins, and ends about the same time. We discover the Obama has won the democrat candidacy for the US election later this year. We and most of the rest of Africa it seems are thrilled by this outcome. I worry that too much hope is placed on one man - there is still so much he can't change and pinning the future to him is bound to end in anger and accusations of unfulfilled promises. But I am still delighted that Obama won and that Clinton gave an superbly supportive speech.

So we return, relaxed, refreshed, ready to go.

Our farm manager has been fired. For coming to work drunk
Our 2 night guards have been fired. For coming to work drunk. Both necessary terminations of employment. But the devastating news was that 4 of our workers - including our daytime guard at the building site have been involved in hiding and stealing bags of cement for god knows how many months. After so much praise was given to the men about the honesty and trustworthiness, to find out about the thieving was kick in the guts. Darren and Mudi gave uplifting speeches about how this project is not for us, it is for this community and they will be remembered as the men who built Kesho Leo, creating employment and wealth in the community, so stealing from the project is only stealing from one another. They were all very roused by the speeches and spoke of how bad the theft was and how proud they are of what they are contributing too. How long this sentiment lasts until the opportunity for some easy money next presents itself is another question.

Language and cultural differences makes the interpretation of emotion and attitude almost impossible. But for now they are working like mad and the building and permaculture farm are steaming ahead.

The last few days

2008-06-02T21:31:00.004+10:00

An inspired title indeed. But when life makes twenty twists a day and nothing happens quite as you would imagine, there is no common thread that links each event therefore allowing some summary title to be provided. Not the first time I've pondered titles - I must admit the title is one of the highlights of blog writing.

First of all - a couple of new pics up - nothing of great excitement in terms of breathtaking photography or thousands of words being said in a single pictures.

Well......ummm.....hmmmm. I seem to write 10 blogs a day in my head and when I'm about to fall asleep, but when I'm stationed in front of the computer in the most uncomfortable of all positions - sitting (what a boring way to hold yourself - why not lie down or stand up, or run or swim or hammer a nail - anything but sitting!) - my mind empties of all anecdotes, tall tales, short tales and monkey's tails - speaking of which we had a monkey meandering across our driveway the other day.

Birthday the other day. I don't find birthday's particularly exciting - all that attention and well wishing. I much prefer Christmas. Reminds us all of how Jesus committed suicide in a barn on our behalf, and something about SIM cards?? I dunno. No actually I prefer Christmas because it's usually the time when The Family gets together and the focus is on Jesus, I mean presents, I mean eating, I mean winning the annual decathlon - much more fun than pondering years coming and going and whether my sons will have a beard before me.

So I went to the gym on my birthday - squats and leg presses among other exercises. Then arrived home in time for some dinner and a banana cake and another rendition of Happy Birthday (had one in the morning meeting as well). Then it was time to continue plugging away on my final uni assignment for the semester – got it finished – bit of a shambles – not going to study next semester – external study is not conducive to learning or enjoying study. Then being the end of the month it was time to input the 300+ transactions, 99% paid in cash, mostly with no receipt and mostly by a variety of people with different styles for recording how they’ve spent FWS money. Luckily everyone had been good recording their expenditures and I was only 60c out of balance. Just finished doing all that and uploading the transactions into our budgets last night.

Heather has been suffering from a bit of fatigue recently – struggling to get out of bed. So we’ve been instructed to take a week off. Taking the 6:30am bus to Lushoto tomorrow – a quaint old German (like everywhere here) town in the highlands. Going to do some hiking, resting, reading – and responses to reviewers comments on the paper I might get published. Such unpleasant people, Reviewers.

Doesn’t sound like much has happened when I explain it like that – I suppose those twists are so commonplace I don’t know which to include. Here’s a couple:

Rebecka’s computer died (yes president Rebecka with all her work on the computer)
Some planned volunteers pull out
A labourer drops a concrete sleeper on his shoulder
A labourer is suspended for a week for racist comments about Warusha tribe – the punishment saving him from being beaten overnight by some of the other men.
Our much feared Safari auction winner (feared because she might not like it here after spending a fortune on coming here) loved the project and has gone home intending to raise $70k for the fitout costs. She also sewed everything that needed sewing and made cushions for our wooden benches.
The worsening roads suddenly become driveable.
The mfareji suddenly becomes a rushing torrent after weeks without water.
Our new guard Laizer continues to sleep soundly all night.
The office gets painted by some labourers
The office gets repainted by the two Becks.

Perhaps we feel each minor change in fortune more acutely than we would at home, the success of the this project is not hanging in the balance, but is still by no means a guaranteed winner.

The roof going up

2008-05-27T01:10:00.001+10:00

Video and music by Darren Stratti

Happiness is free

2008-05-06T03:17:00.002+10:00

Those are the words of our 21 year old communal lunch cooker and Friday food shopper - Aggie - or Agatha Christie as she now likes to be called. A kind, intelligent and hilariously entertaining single mother and member of the FWS team, Aggie is one of those people that we all feel privileged to know and have in our home every day. Fleeing from Kenya only a week after marriage that became nightmare, somewhere inside her is the memory of terrible pain and humiliation. But all that seems to exist in her is an enjoyment of every moment.

Nancy. 3 years old. With two lovely sisters and a delightful big brother. All within 7 years of each other. She can perfectly parrot your English back to you. Is forever dressed in tracksuit pants and a shiny (yet ripped and stained) satin/polyester pink party dress - always with a bead of sweat on her forehead. Loves to play chasing games and always joins her sisters and brother in running out to the street to wave whenever our car passes. Her mother Elizabeth was on death's door with Malaria and Typhoid when we arrived - but now is one of the hardest working and most dedicated mothers in the group. And Nancy as always, just runs and runs with a big smile on her face

Roger Moore. Also known as Moore Technique, Rasta or Zambia, but seldom his real name - Abel Lota. Held a burial for his dreadlocks not long before we arrived - burying the rasta lifestyle. But still continuing to be a vegetarian and gentle Bob Marley loving soul. Providing for his 5 dirt encrusted children and his nieces and nephews after his wife-beating brother ran away. He'll gently ask to have your gumboots if you aren't taking them when you leave Tanzania - or if he can drive the car down the road. But never does he ask for more money or complain that work is too hard.

Just three of the characters that make every day interesting, funny and inspiring.

Bodies and bara bara mbaya sana

2008-04-21T22:44:00.003+10:00

bara bara mbaya sana = very bad road. I spent 7 hours sitting in or driving our Hilux today.

Task #1:

Starting at 8am I picked up our local friend Nolasco to take him and a couple of other elderly gentlemen to the morgue. His wife's father had died a few days earlier and today was funeral day. After a quick stop to get the copious amounts of mud blasted off the ute we arrived at the morgue. Today was a Monday, and the morgue is closed on a Sunday, and people are dying in greater numbers than ever before. So it was organised chaos for several hours before the coffin was finally slid into the back of the now bougainvillea and ribbon covered Hilux.

With choir in full song and hazard lights flashing the procession of ten utes and old minivans crawled through town, through the Unga slum, down the bumpy coffin bouncing road to where Babu was to be laid to rest.

By now it was midday and being only 1km from home I removed the adornments and sped home for a quick belly full of lunch.

Task #2:

Property boundaries in these parts are invariably marked by sisal plants - aloe vera looking plants with great long trunks that rise up out of the middle. During the recent maize planting season one of the sisal plants marking our property was knocked down and moved further inside our actual boundary line. To replace the sisal is not a matter of moving it back into the straight line that made the boundary, but rather is a discussion between all interested parties, past and present and their families. So today I drove to Njiro to collect one of those parties (which is only 1km over the river but requires an enormous loop through town - or a you could take the short-cut that I tried today, but will refrain from doing so again in future. As Homer Simpson would say - let us never speak of the shortcut again.

Going through town means bitumen road, bridges and a bit of traffic. Taking the shortcut through some slums means a more direct route, dodging pull-carts, bicycles, pregnant dogs, goats, and Tanzanians who choose not to move out of the way of an approaching car. After some narrow lanes, deep potholes and swiftly flowing river crossing I thought I was through the worst of it when we arrived at the bitumen road in Njiro. Not so. The bitumen continued for 500 metres before the car started shuddering and rattling again on a corrugated, potholed, heavily eroded dirt road. Nothing new, just take it slow and pick the smoothest route, dodging oncoming trucks and vans that want to take the same smoothest route. Gradually the road got worse and worse, finally becoming a sandy bog that required me to shift down to low-range (thank heavens for the 4WD). When the road vanished but was visible across a swampy marsh I had no choice but to plough ahead keeping momentum up. Barely making it across I thought that I was through the bad bit and (according to my companion - Joseph) there was a better route that I could take coming home. This is was around when the now dry road became quite steep. Steep going up and down, and steep sides with a large and growing chasm in the middle of the road. With each side of the chasm too narrow to drive on, I was forced to drive with a wheel on each side - gradually it got wider and wider as I moved along. With all four wheels teetering on the edge of the great gully beneath the car it would have taken a slightly wrong ling for the car to slip and drop sideways into the canyon. Luckily the road evened out and I was again convinced that the worst was over. To some degree it was, but the threat of being bogged or slipping into bottomless puddles continued until we found ourselves on the hardest, widest, flattest dirt road I've ever seen. Within moments we found our man, and all his drunk old mates. They all climbed in the back and we headed home, dropping them off along the way. As we neared home the funeral was attracting a growing crowd and I ended up with a cohort of mamas in the back of the ute. After dropping them at the funeral and squeezing perilously close past the cars parked haphazardly in the narrow dirt road I made it home and am now a bit Africa'd out for the day. Back at the site tomorrow to do some more roof making and slab laying.

Habari za safari

2008-04-03T15:18:00.006+10:00

I'd never really thought seriously about doing a Safari while we were here in Tanzania. It was something that I thought we probably should do, but wasn't that excited about the prospect of an all inclusive package deal to crowd around some poor animals and pay an exorbitant price for doing so. But we did. The exorbitant price was about $200, which was the cheapest we could find for a two day Safari to Lake Manyara and the Ngorongoro Crater.

Our 8am pickup turned into a 9am (expected of course) departure, with various stops along a convoluted route through town picking up unexpected passengers. A couple more stops at souvenir locations to 'pick up ice and coal' before we got to Lake Manyara. On arrival at the gate to the park (Safari parks are a bit like drive-through zoos) there was another small delay before the roof went up and we began our Safari in earnest.

The first animals spotted were the ubiquitous baboons. We probably would have taken photos of a dog had there been one - such is the state of mind when in a Safari park.

Next up were some gazelle (still a bit boring at this stage - saw some birds of some kind too but I just wanted to see big, angry, hungry, dangerous animals). After some more driving I was beginning to think that all the animals had packed up for the rainy season and gone to Algeria. Then, as we rounded a corner we surprised a luncheoning elephant in the bushes. Startled, it spun around and charged towards the middle of the Jeep, right were I was standing.

All I could do was take a couple of steps backwards and brace myself for impact - all the while I felt like I was looking deep into the eyes of the charging elephant. There are stories of elephants flipping Safari Jeeps, luckily (actually unluckily in my mind) this was not to be one of those stories. Mr Elephant halted inches from the car before backing up again and plodding off into the bushes. It wasn't long until we passed another elephant standing with it's back legs crossed in very camp fashion.

That was the highlight for me - so I'll summarise the rest quickly.

Animals we saw in Manyara:

Hippos mating
Buffalo standing
Giraffes staring, eating and running
Zebra thinking, and
Lions sleeping in trees

Animals we saw in Ngorongoro:

Elephants trying not to forget things
Hyenas sulking
Warthogs wallowing
Wildebeest feeling awkward
Zebra crossing
Storks waiting to collect babies
Flamingos being boring, and
A pair of female lions trying to sleep while surrounded by 8 Jeeps

The other highlight was another nearly injurious event. After a little while of the Jeep driving over some particularly bumpy road I decided to sit down (as everyone else already had wisely chosen to do). Perhaps five seconds after I had pulled my head down did the elevated roof suddenly de-elevate and slam down furiously. The roof remained in that position for the remainder of the journey.

We are now in the middle of our first border hop into Kenya for the purposes of renewing the Tanzanian Visa. Apparently we can obtain Residency status as 'missionaries' (HA!) - which we will do before this Visa expires. The original hotel we were booked into advertised Internet (for my Uni assignment) and Fitness Centre (for my gym addiction) - which turned out to be an Internet cafe that we had to pay for and a Health Club around the corner from the Hotel. So we moved to another hotel - actually paying a bit more and still having to pay for the internet - but in principle we had to leave the previous pack of fibbers. So I've just had my first shower with running water in 3 months - I'm happy with our bucket showers - but I do feel a bit cleaner having had a good scrub.

Interestingly, Nairobi has 23 Fried Chicken and Chips shops per square metre - all of them packed with hungry kuku eaters. The chips are also the best I've had yet in Africa.

Five hour bus back home to Arusha tomorrow. More roof to be built.....

The ideal battle

2008-03-23T17:41:00.002+10:00

The ideal battle is supposed to be one that is won before a single life is lost. By amassing such a formidable arsenal of weaponry as would deter any potential attacker, a country considers itself to be engaging in this ideal battle.

People talk about which fighter jets, tanks, submarines we should and shouldn't have bought (because there are ones with 'more advanced technology') in such an earnest fashion that the conclusion that we really need a engage in this psychological warfare has long since been forgone.

Obviously the prompt for this post was the recent $10b (over ten years) cut from the Australian Defence budget - despite a real 3% per year increase in spending on defence (ie. 3% over and above inflation). Which in actual fact means the 'cuts' are just a reduction of the even greater increases in defence spending that were already planned by the previous government. Hardly a brazen piece of policy making, but still gets one thinking about why so much needs to be spent on defence.

I don't believe in the preservation of culture for the sake of the culture itself. Cultures have evolved throughout time, as has the maturity of humanity's collective consciousness. Through out that time there is a gradual clarification of a line between right and wrong, with no room for relativism. The International Declaration of Human Rights is the best example of this maturity. So, I would agree with the argument that a military presence on peacekeeping missions is required. When faced with militia (like government sponsored ones such the Sudanese janjaweed) or other armed forces that are committing crimes against their society, international intervention is required. I would even go so far as to put myself almost on the fence when it comes to the invasion of Iraq - obviously done for the oil, but perhaps there may be some good come out of it in the long run - but then again perhaps not - time will tell. The military intervention of the Japanese whaling boats (did that happen in the end? last I saw it was ordered to be done) is another example when military technology and equipment are useful.

But the investment in a defence force that can achieve these basic needs would only be a small portion (and I refer less to Australia than I would to other nations) of the amount spent by countries in fighting their ideal battle

Events, non-events, photos

2008-03-16T22:25:00.004+10:00

I've finally uploaded some more photos into the gallery - new albums (Meru, Construction, and More Mamas and Kids) so there is no need to sift through old albums. I'm trying to get some more videos up onto Youtube - but internet here is very slow.

http://lucas.intercate.net/gallery/Jantanz

Events:

More pieces of roof keep going up, tanks getting plumbed and water being collected.
More health and finance lessons for mamas (and now labourers), land lent to mamas, business plan provided to us and money lent - currently being ploughed.
Alterted by neighbours of unscrupulous characters wandering around the area.
Fence cut the other night and a small water tank stolen - guards too slow or too asleep to catch them.
Theft considered a scoping activity in preparation for a bigger heist.
Security systems improved and ready for attackers. Neighbours advise that they will kill any thiefs they catch.
Watched the documentary - 'Three Peaks, Three weeks' - charity climbs for NGOs in this region - definitely worth a look if you can find it. Not bad, but irritating for those who live here to see it all generalised and crammed into some nutshells.
Looking forward to visitors.

Non-events:

Shopping today - all closed. Will have to invent something interesting for dinner tonight.

Another day another dala dala

2008-03-09T01:03:00.002+10:00

A day with a hot sun burnt the back of my neck a bit as I wasn't wearing a collar today. The shade of a tree or the ever expanding roof are delightfully cool as the breeze floats down from Mt. Meru and dries the sweat from a labourers brow. A mid-afternoon shower (literally a cold bucket of water for me and one sent by Engai) as we again catch the edge of a torrential downpour in the Rift Valley. The sky clears, barely a particle hangs between my eyeball and the peak of Mt Meru as the shadow from the setting sun hikes up the southern slope. The birds are in full song (including some roosters), a pair of curious children have just departed after a solid hour of staring and my mind is turning to dinner (and blogging).

Hard to describe the calm, peaceful happy feeling of the last couple of days. Starting with yesterday afternoon. Darren was busy on Friday afternoon so I had all the tools and all the men at my disposal for building the roofing A-frames that have become my speciality. In the space of 3 hours we almost built an entire A-frame - which usually takes a whole day. The swahili communication was more accurate and diverse than I had managed previously and the men followed my directions exactly as well as showing enthusiasm, initiative and even urgency in building as much as they could before the end of the day. We finished work five minutes overtime and began wandering home, men peeling off to go into their homes on the 1.5km walk back to the FWS volunteer village. Valley Martin (most developed tape measurer and 2nd in charge A-frame builder) lives past our house by a couple of kilometres and we walked home together with thunder storms raging in all directions except on top of us.

The mouth-watering good bolognaise that Heather and I made for dinner was a surprise that ended a superb day. I woke this morning excited with the prospect of continuing to build with the energy of yesterday. And did they ever! The A-frame was connected and prepared for lifting in about 2 hours, lifted into place in 30 minutes and then immediately the building of the next A-frame began and was half finished by lunchtime. Saturday is only a half day of work at the building site, so I paid the men their weekly wage. Pay day is a bittersweet time - I enjoy being able to hand over cash ($15-$18 a week) to farmers who would usually be waiting on their crops to supply food and income. But when they miss days of work or have to make a loan repayment to us and the amount of cash I can pay them shrinks (to less than $10) I feel concerned for their week ahead - will they eat properly? will they drink from the nfareji? will they borrow too much? I remind myself that this income is generally a bonus for them (although they do spend less time working on their farms).

Did I mention it was dinner time?

Construction and attempted consummation

2008-02-29T02:06:00.002+10:00

My diligence in blogging has been as slack as a our bathroom banana leaf walls. But that is not to say that events have not continued to occur in hectic, hilarious or heavy style. As is the trend in writing styles across the world, the title is written in reference to the content of the text and I've maintained this sensible tradition in the typing of such a text, namely this one. Construction has indeed been the activity around which my life has been revolving. My developing carpentry skills under the occasional watch of Master Builder Daz have been used in the construction of six 700kg and 20 metre long A-frames. Each one is hoisted on the shoulders of 20 men and lifted bit by bit with the help of scaffold onto the roof. Six down, 18 more to go. The battens are then marked and cut before the tin roof is placed on this cutting edge designed 'passive cooling' ceiling insulation. I've been helping Valley (aged 31, 10 kids), Moses (25, wants a mzungu girlfriend) and a couple of others master the reading of a tape measure and a few other subtleties of building - most of which I learn moments before from Darren. Never have I enjoyed a job so much. Building really is an enjoyable profession, particularly in this context of having to use careful problem solving to overcome issues of horrendous quality of material.

On Thursday afternoons I run money management classes for the House Mamas, and they slowly using hitherto unused parts of their mind to consider their lives in terms of income and expenditure and both of these in the future. The main concept that has really hit home with some of the slightly more 'affluent' mamas (ie. $15 a week income) is that you don't have to live to the extent of your means and money can and should be saved for the future.

The attempted consummation was the occurrence of a rather more serious event. One of our Tanzanian employees, Aileen (age 19), was the victim of an attempted marriage. Which as far as we know actually means rape and possibly also marriage, maybe. Ambushed by 4 men, they tried to drag her away before one of our House Mamas, the noble Mary, came to her defence only to be kicked in the chest, knocking her down in front of her children. She managed to let off the danger cry (woooooeeeeeeeeee) which set the community running to her defence. Some were more infuriated than others by the archaic and misogynist practice. The following week was filled with community meetings, fugitives, back room deals being protested against and finally....who knows, it all kind of petered out after a little time and people began to get on with their daily lives again - the recent past or the approaching future are matters that do not concern most here and are things the most will probably never consider. This is one of our jobs in educating not just our mamas and our labourers (who we give lessons to after work), but this entire little community of Engo Sengiu.

The kiswahili is improving and I had an excellent lesson with Gertruda - a lady who lives down the road - today. Already after a couple of months the question is not how will we survive the next 10 months, but how will we survive leaving.

Familiarity and waves

2008-02-11T23:55:00.000+10:00

One of the worst things about being in one place for too long is the restricting feeling of familiarity. The ignoring of things that you know are there but don't require your conscious attention.

One of the best things about being in a place for a while is the increasing familiarity you feel with your environment. The awareness of everything around you and the gradual revelation of its interdependence.

That's the difference between being somewhere for a long time and for too long. If you know what I mean.

I've recently reached the point where (I think) I am more in touch with reality of where I am and what's going on. The first three to four weeks was a mixture of fascination, excitement and relief with survival instinct imposed feelings of fascination, excitement and relief. That survival instinct was the knowledge that we are here for 12 months and if our first thoughts are ones of "Oh my god what have I done? What the hell are we doing here?" then we're going to have a very tough first few weeks of adjustment. So no doubt there were/are some elements of our time here that will be difficult - my constant search for regular meals and a exercise will be hard. Heather's desire for occasional comfort food may or may not subside. It is also difficult sometimes having to constantly wave and smile as every single person wants to say hello. Which is a good thing, but tiring

So with the exception of the odd day where I feel hungry or I quietly yet furiously disagree with a house decision, I am very happy here. I am asleep within minutes of going to bed (an obvious sign of contentment) and wake easily when the rooster starts crowing at sunrise. The afternoons feel remarkably like those of Spring or Autumn at Tabragalba Grove where we wander to the top of the hill to watch the sun set. Quiet, peaceful, the occasional cow mooing or goat having a horrible nightmare. Only the smell of fresh earth and fruit trees. And so I feel divided sometimes, between wanting to be there, but not wanting to give up being here. Leaving Australia for South America last time was easier because I was leaving Canberra and a job, this time I am leaving home.

On a different note, something for the individualists, I heard this recently:

A wave was flowing along in the ocean, very happy, enjoying its time, watching the sun and moon and seeing other waves, some bigger some smaller. Then one day it was approaching land, it could see up ahead all the other waves crashing into rocks and disappearing back into the ocean. Panicking he cried out to the other waves, stop! can't you see what is happening? We're all going to get broken up on those rocks and disappear back into the ocean!!

Are you joking? said the other waves.
Look at yourself, you are part of the ocean, where does the ocean stop and you begin?

Hash House Harriers and a Tanzanian Wedding

2008-02-03T21:45:00.000+10:00

As was noted in the previous blog, so much is happening every day that it is a difficult task to recall what happened only two days ago. So, I'll try and work backwards and see how much I can remember, starting this morning.....

Heather and I drove Ester (one of the house mamas for the childre's village) to the AICC Hospital to get a decent doctor to look at the nasty infection in one of her breasts. Previous doctors had prescribed all sorts of ridiculous treatments when she explained that she could not afford the antibitotics they recommended. As with all our employees we offer to loan them money for medical expenses which is then repaid in small amounts by making deductions from their wages - and they always accept and repay the money. I'm suprised it took development experts so long to formulate a plan like the Millenium Development Goals that focus on health as the key to development. The huge cost in fees and lost time at work is catastrophic for almost all families. Investment in health education and prevention strategies would save both the government and families money. There are of course other structural issues with the economy and corruption (not that I've seen any yet) - but to live a decent life all people need is their health.

Yesterday:

At midday we meandered up to the Catholic church at the top of the nearby hill and attended the four hour wedding ceremony of Doctor Simon and Elizabeth. Doctor Simon is the son of Gregory, who is the young father (uncle) of Nolasco - the local Chaga (entrepreneurial tribe) businessman who's wife teaches us Swahili. After the arrival of a brass band playing the back of a ute, the ceremony had an african gospel choir which sounded amazing in the small concrete church overlooking the Arusha region. After hearing the 14 days of Jesus (or something like that) in Swahili we jumped into a minivan for the wedding procession to a well flowered roundabout in town where the photos were taken for about 10 minutes, the procession then returned to the Edmund Rice hall where 500 Africans and four Mzungu (us) waved hankerchiefs, cheered, shook hands and at one point - after being introduced as Doctor Simon's friends who have travelled from Australia for the wedding - danced down the centre of the hall waving our presents in the air for the bride and groom while loud African pop music deafened us all.

The day before yesterday (Friday):

Drove into town with a few guys in the back of the ute to collect some timber for the building. Did some banking and food shopping along the way. Heather and others went to St Jude's school for orphans to see how they run the place. Came home and wandered down the road to Gregory's place to watch the wedding cow get slaughtered. The slaughtering was postponed until the following morning so we stayed for a beer (Eagle - normal beer) and another beer (banana - smoky horrible stuff) from the beer brewing cauldron in his lounge. Then walked the 1.5km to the dala dala (minivan) stop. Rode the dala dala into town hanging out of the door holding onto the roof. Crammed inside for a second as we passed the traffic police. Then switched dala dalas to head across town to Stiggy's - a mzungu hang out where the Hash runners meet every Friday afternoon. Ran the Hash, too many 'checkpoints' where we had to wait for others to catch up, and felt like a shocking mzungu running through village's without stopping and greeting people properly. Saw some stunning views from the hill we ran up and down. Got back to Stiggy's for a dinner that took 3 hours to arrive due to a jazz night attracting a big crowd of people. Met a 12 year old American girl with Downs Syndrome, her father was playing the piano and her brother waiting to get on and play the guitar, her mum was at home so she was left to fend for herself amongst the people jostling for table space. We were fortunate enough to pull up a chair next to her and I was besotted from her first smile. She was the sweetest little girl and it almost brought a tear to my eye every time I made her laugh.

The day before that (Thursday):

I spent the morning drawing life size internal organs and tacking them to a human body I drew from stuck together paper. These were for Heather's health education classes that run from 2-5pm Monday-Thursday. The first day these classes were run (about a week ago) it was a very emotional experience for everyone as we saw the excitement of the Mamas to learn and the feeling that something was being imparted that would make a real difference - and that the wheels of change were in motion. The energy back at our volunteer accomodation was incredible. The way that Heather interacted with the women, teaching them with respect, compassion and understanding was something that everyone was in awe of. I don't like to gush stuff on a blog, but she really did something that I don't think she even knew she had in her and made me feel so proud for her and of her. I also fitted in the end of month accounts wrap-up, uploaded some photos of the first afternoon of teaching the women (and the game playing and education with their children).

I've lost track now. Still looking for a gym. Found an egg source down the road. Loving the diet of beans and lentils and rice and occasional meat.

The Big Brother House

2008-01-25T21:37:00.000+10:00

When we imagined what it would be like living in Africa we didn't stop for a minute to consider that our enjoyment would be critically impacted upon by our housemates. That's not to say they are rubbish housemates. Far from it. There are moments when some thoughtfulness from someone will lift the spirits enormously. But is an interesting mix of people that, had we not come here, would have otherwise never found ourselves living with.

There is Heather (age: 26) (who you know), I'm not sure what her 'image' or reputation is in the house yet - works hard (as we all do), makes funny little comments - is the nurse to whom everyone turns when they feel a bit off.

Me (age: 27). I've gotten the reputation of being the quiet one with good general knowledge.

There is Rebecka (37) - FWS President and our fearless leader and morning 'toolbox' meeting chairwoman.

Her partner Darren (37) - or Daz - the builder of everything, overlord of the worksite and labourers, laid back karate expert, supplier of the occasional cold beer.

Robert 'Corky' Cork (28) - environmental engineer, disciplinarian of the staff, occasionally rude and blunt, burnt out and sometimes irritable workaholic country boy.

Clare (54) - lovely woman in her mid-50's, hearing impaired child teacher, education coordinator along with Heather. Provider of tea and biscuits in the evenings.

Her husband Warren (55), or Woz, or Babu (grandfather in swahili). Desperate to work hard, in a tizzy sometimes, often forgetful, crooner, unaware of occasional offensive comments.

Lili (26) - friendly and well travelled German girl, with German sense of humour and German tolerance for excessive flambuoyance.

Janelle (42) - Excessively flambuoyant Aussie woman. Which most find humourous most of the time, except when tired. aka: Cash Cow, as she has a sum of money from another organisation that she may or may not give to us.

Jenna (19) - Just departed back to Aus. Mature beyond her years, avid fund raiser for FWS in Australia. Blunt in a good way, never rude.

Plus all our Tanzanian staff who are in and out of the house all day:

Mudi (Mohammed) - FWS Assistant Manager - Softly spoken, intelligent, caring, hard working superman.

Aggie - Bubbly Kenyan cook and occasional cleaner - always asking about English words ('notorious' was today's word). Source of numerous anecdotes (ie. about her)

Our 20 labourers - a variety of characters - all friendly, trustworthy men.

I should describe some of the goings on - but this is getting long enough, and every day is completely different so I forget what happens two days ago.

Working the nfaregi

2008-01-19T22:07:00.000+10:00

Every week, or every other week, or once a month (not sure of the schedule yet) 50-70 of Sangui's (the village) men get their pangas (machetes) and mattocks and spend half a day tidying up a section of the nfaregi.

The nfaregi is the traditional irrigation system, which is a network of trenches varying from 50cm to two metres wide into which the water from Mt Meru flows. To irrigate your farm you dig a connecting trench from the main line into your own network of trenches in your farm. There must be some etiquette surrounding its use because it would be easy for someone upstream to hog all the water. The nfaregi is also used as a rubbish bin (rubbish floats away - out of sight out of mind) and a toilet. Most of the illnesses around are a result of people drinking nfaregi water, which is laced with typhoid and cholera causing bacteria. The town water, which is on for about 30 minutes each morning is also very dodgy, and it is too expensive for people to boil their water. This is particularly a problem now that coal burning for cooking has just been outlawed. The old Masai women who carry bags of coal on their donkeys to sell, have had their coal confiscated by the government. And no policies for alternative fuel sources appear to exist.

So, this morning at 7:30am, Corky (Robert Cork - environmental engineer) and myself headed off to the meeting point for this round of nfaregi work. I was in the front group with the panga and Corky was in the back group with the mattock. For about 4 hours I and 40 other men waded upstream hacking the grass, plants and branches away from the sides of the nfaregi. The murky grey-brown water littered with rubbish and excrement would splash up into my eyes, mouth and gradually increasing number of cuts in my arms and legs. Sounds a bit putrid and no doubt put my vaccinations to the test, but the scenery we passed on our (roughly 2km) wade up the nfaregi was like something out of an Indiana Jones or Tarzan movie. The dense banana trees (and thousand other types of plant) overhanging the nfaregi, the steep slopes of the hill we traversed overlooking the shambas (farms) in our village and surrounding areas. When we reached our end point we stood in a line in the water and gathered the rocks off the bottom and piled them on the edges (we only did this for about 10 minutes before everyone got bored of it). We then wandered (there is only wandering here - no purposeful striding) back down to the village and sat under a huge Acacia for the nfaregi meeting. The meeting discusses who didn't show up and what to do with the fine (for not showing up) money - and they have decided to build 4 mini-weirs around the area to better manage the water flows.

As Corky pointed out, we are probably one of the first mzungu to ever have helped work on the nfaregi and the appreciation it earns us goes towards the security of our accommodation. The more people we can have on 'our side' then it is less likely that any organised raid of our house and land will happen (which is a distinct possibility given the number of laptops in this house and general wealth that surrounds a group of mzungu).

This afternoon and tomorrow (Sunday) are the rest days. Got some pics of a couple of kiddies in the gallery now too.....

The Report

2008-01-18T18:54:00.000+10:00

I've just received some fairly exciting news.

From September to November last year I was rising at 6:15am most mornings (early for me) to start work at 7am, go to Uni, write essays or do a combination of these things throughout the day. It was the busiest I've ever been in my life and was under more pressure (mainly from myself) than ever before.

The job I was doing was a cost-effectiveness analysis of the regulating the solarium industry in Australia. Basically the number of melanomas that would be saved and how much it would cost to regulate the industry - plus all the background on UV light and skin cancers. 'The report' (as it infamously became known to Heather and anyone else feeling the brunt of my rapidly burning out mind) was finished in mid-November (as I was doing final exams) and presented to the government a week later.

The report was released publicly this previous Monday and has got a fair amount of attention from the media. Louisa Gordon (the woman I wrote it with) went on the TODAY show the other day and has been chased by the media for interviews and comments.

So anyway. I was just feeling a bit proud (deadly sin I know) of 'the report' given how hard it was to write in 2 months while trying my best at full-time Uni.

If anyone is interested in reading bits of 'the report'.

http://www.arpansa.gov.au/pubs/rhc/QIMR_solaria07.pdf

I wrote Chapters 1, 2, 3, half of 4 and 6 (this the cost-effectiveness analysis).

Some pics are also up of our first few days.

Mambo? Poa, niaje

2008-01-12T19:01:00.000+10:00

After nearly a week sleep in our little volunteer room and a million smiling interested people, we feel like this is home. The countryside is incredible. Not so much breath taking - but the lushness and variety of plants and the rich soil provides a sense of serenity that is difficult to explain. Perhaps it is the lack of artificial (or should I say highly processed) objects around us. Almost everything is locally made from local materials for local people. The community we live in is part of the wider Sinon area which is a rural area 7km outside of Arusha. Across the road is a row of properties owned by four brothers and is teeming (like our whole area) with excitable little children screaming 'Good Morning' at all hours of of the day or 'mzungu' (european), and wanting to hold hands or wave.

The people are very friendly (partly out of strict code of etiquette) and they really appreciate every word of our limited Swahili, which is going through a vertical learning curve at the moment. The project is also so 'real', there is no bureaucracy, no set rules, everything is negotiable and can be changed if you have a good idea. But there is an excellent plan and a thoughtful approach to sustainability and cultural sensitivities.

We crawled in last Thursday night an exhausted wreck`after a couple of long days of airports and aeroplanes. We spent all day Thursday walking around Arusha with FWS employee Lucas - a young Tanzanian chap who speaks great english and we are teaching Spanish as well.

Every evening I wander through the cool air with my bucket of hot water to our banana leaf cubicles for a much needed and enjoyable wash beneath a bright crescent moon and watch the final rays of sun disappear from the peak of Mt Meru.

My head is a blur at the moment and I need to have a think about how to describe where we are and how it works. And also to put some photos up.

It is a very different life, and at times the idea that 'this is it' for the next 12 months can be a fraction daunting, but there are sufficient moments every day that make me thankful to be here.

Dossing in Doha

2008-01-10T01:27:00.000+10:00

It's 6:30pm here in Doha International Airport (and I assume in the rest of Qatar as well) and the jet lag has drawn Heather into the Prayer Room. She may be prostrating herself in the direction of Mecca through religious devotion or inadvertently as she dozes. I'm fighting with the jet lag as I take advantage of the free wireless Internet available here in the airport. We've been here six hours and still have another 15 hours to go before our flight to Nairobi. Our budget backpacker highly restricted Internet fare does not entitle us to a hotel in Doha. We could have paid US$25 each to leave the airport and find somewhere to sleep, and the prospect of exploring Doha a little was appealing. But since I have less than $3k to live on for the entire year, we decided against it and have been killing time with the laptop, playing my x-mas guitar and listening to old Muslim men sing songs all afternoon,

To quickly recap the last couple of days: (a couple of pics are in the gallery)

Day one on Bangkok was Heathers birthday, which was spent striding around downtown Bangkok in hot, hazy and humid conditions in search of the Grand Palace. We managed to encounter and evade a number of the scams we were pre-warned of and also see several of the sights by accident on our convoluted route to the Grand Palace. Exhausted at the end of the day we had dinner at our delightful hostel and I was enjoyed perhaps the best Thai Green Curry I've ever eaten. I'd heard that 'Thai food' in Thailand is supposed to be very very good. Up to that point I'd only experienced various disappointing combinations of flat noodles, vegetables and meat. I attempted another green curry the following day and was sorely let down - surely the worst green curry I've ever eaten. None of the creamy coconut from the night before, just a handful of chili, ginger and coriander in an opaque fluid. Not wanting to waste food or be dominated by a plate of chili I force fed myself the lot until fire was flickering out of my nostrils. Even Heather's highly dubious prawns (I encouraged otherwise at the time) in her Phad Thai would have been better than that. So that was day two - sleeping, reading and recovering from dreadful food (I could mention the sliver of fat and soggy frankfurter that passed for bacon and sausages that morning).

I like the word ubiquitous, and when I visit somewhere new there generally seems to be something that jumps out as being ubiquitous. In Thailand, with the exception of the taxis, mopeds and tuk-tuks that are common in most Asian countries - it seemed like 7-11's and hair salons were EVERYWHERE. One street near our hostel in an outer suburb of Bangkok had four 7-11's in the space of 200 metres and probably double that number in hair salons.

Day Three - which happens to be today, even though this morning is literally half a world away and metaphorically another lifetime. Up at 4:45am to get to the airport. Convolution seems to be a theme for us, as our somewhat convoluted and semi-doctored evidence of onward travel nearly had us denied admission to our flight, but we managed to negotiate onward passage.

Several movies later and we cruised in over the expanse of whitish-yellow sand that dominates this region. I expected heat, but upon stepping out onto the top of that stairs leading down to the tarmac, and momentarily feeling very Lawrence of Arabia as I cast a searching look across the vast desert, I was received with an air temperature and dryness that gave me flashbacks to Canberra in early Autumn - 17 C at midday!

Now just after 7pm Doha time - or 11pm Bangkok time - or 3am Australia time - not sure where my body clock is at the moment - maybe I'm in Burma somewhere.....

The Departed

2008-01-07T10:34:00.000+10:00

The journey has begun after a veritable obstacle course of natural, political and administrative disasters endeavoured to prevent our departure from Australia and journey to Sinon, Tanzania.

In order of hurdle:

1. Civil unrest in Kenya turns violent after a dubious election victory by the incumbent president. Claims of genocide are made and large numbers of Kenyans flee the machete wielders. As our route passes through Nairobi we decide to fly our of Nairobi rather than gamble on a bus that may be an easy target for angry mobs. Luckily Shona, FWS member, is able to secure us tickets through their cash only purchasing system.

2. The final packing up of our worldly possessions is hampered by consistent rains. As the rains continue to fall and intensify we depart from Brisbane in our chock-a-block little cars bound for my parents place near Beaudesert for a final day of reflection and preparation. The Honda, for those who know it, is a dry weather high performance vehicle. Driving through the heavy rain and puddles inevitably resulted in the loss of one, then two and at times three of the cars four cylinders. Barely keeping it above 80kmph on the highway I tried to keep Heather's car in view through the fogged and poorly wipered windscreen. All cylinders dropped out just as we exited the highway, still with 30 minutes of country backroads ahead of us. Two cylinders availed themselves to the task just before the car rolled to a standstill and we were off again. After 25 minutes of treacherous corners, dips and humps and were faced with the final and deepest dip, which by this stage was a coursing torrent of rainwater and debris. It was only a relatively short crossing of a few metres so I ploughed through in Honda. Just as the car was pulling itself out the other side, all cylinders finally drowned and went to a better place. Luckily Heather made it through okay and we made the final couple of minutes to Mum and Dad's place, who used their 4WD to tow the Honda out of the rapidly rising water around it.

3. Severe flooding in the rivers of South East Qld meant our usual route to the airport on Sunday was cut off, which required a diversion south to get onto the Bruce Highway again. And we were fairly sure the alternative route would not be blocked off by rising floodwaters.

4. Administrative errors within Qantas and JetStar meant that we had no seats on the plane when we tried to check in. After some heart palpitations and some rushing around we secured our seats on the plane and shortly afterwards were airborne bound for Sinon via Kilimanjaro via Nairobi via Doha via Bangkok via Melbourne.

5. On collection of my pack in Bangkok airport, somebody's soap gel had leaked out all over the top of my bag, so it was all nice and foamy and smelt pleasant as we tried to wipe it off.

So here we are in Bangkok, with two days of sightseeing before the final jaunt to Tanzania. Our Hostel is a lovely little place between the airport and the city. The clientele are pleasant, unlike the vast majority of those on our flight into Bangkok - mainly football teams or other groups of loud and overly attended to hair males.

Thank you to everyone who has given us such thoughtful and useful gifts, advice or encouragement, it would have been much harder without it.

Free Rice!!

2007-12-01T16:33:00.000+10:00

Improve your vocabulary while earning rice for the poor. 20 grains of rice are given for every word you know.

You pay nothing, you learn new words. The system automatically adjusts to your vocabulary level.

The advertising space on the freerice.com page pays for the rice - the longer you spend on the site and the more people who visit the site ie. the more words people get right - the more money is given for rice.

What a brilliant idea.

www.freerice.com

Crikey

2007-11-27T18:50:00.000+10:00

Crikey, the internet news/review site. Generally aims to be even handed although has a mix of regular authors with an angle.

During the thorough routing of the Liberal government on the weekend there was talk about the debt owed to Howard and the respect he deserved for his '2nd longest serving PM' stint.

I can agree on one point only. Private agendas and corruptions aside, working in the public service is an honorable pursuit. Regardless of ideology, the desire to work in the interests of the public is a noble one. That is the only piece of credit to which John Howard is entitled. A short article from M. MacCallum from Crikey sums up the recent events to perfection:

The Dubious Legacy of John Winston Howard

John Winston Howard was Australia’s second longest-serving Prime Minister, presiding almost unchallenged over the political landscape for well over a decade. His time in government can not be dismissed lightly. However it can be dismissed heavily, so here goes.

Even on his political deathbed, Howard insisted that his government had delivered great economic reform. In fact in almost 12 years he implemented just three important changes, all of highly dubious merit. The first was to move the responsibility for monetary policy from the elected government to the government-appointed Reserve Bank. This meant that he no longer had to take the blame for rises in interest rates, while of course continuing to demand the credit for falls. This early switch developed into a pattern: throughout his prime ministership, Howard steadfastly refused to accept responsibility for anything. Only on Saturday night, with nothing left to lose, was he prepared to own up.

Howard’s second legacy was the never-ever GST, a particularly nasty piece of regressive taxation whose only virtue is its universality; if a GST is absolutely comprehensive it is impossible to avoid. By compromising with Democrats to exempt some so-called essential items, Howard destroyed even this advantage. The GST remains an unfair and lazy way of collecting revenue, and has led to an immensely complicated series of benefits and hand outs to compensate for its ill effects. It is now entrenched as monument to Howard’s political dishonesty and economic incompetence.

The third innovation was, of course, WorkChoices. Unheralded and badly thought out, this grab-bag of ideological thuggery was thrust upon a startled electorate when an unexpected opportunity arose, and the results are now clear. Some of its worst features have already been quietly disposed of, and most of the rest will go as soon as the senate allows. What is left will indeed constitute reform of the industrial relations system; but it will not be the “reform” of which Howard boasted.

Howard’s other claim is that he leaves Australia a stronger, prouder and more prosperous country than he found it.

Stronger? Well, that it depends how you measure it. Howard huggers have always claimed that in international affairs, Australia now punches above its weight. What they actually mean is that Howard was duchessed by George W Bush, who found him a very amenable acolyte. The rest of the world saw us in that light. Stronger should mean more independent, and self-confident. The only bit of Australia in which those qualities are more obvious is the Australian cricket team.
Prouder, then? Certainly more arrogant, less tolerant – the pride that is counted among the seven deadly sins. But prouder of real and lasting achievement? What achievement?
And more prosperous – some people certainly are, much; and the country’s overall wealth has grown, although Howard has had very little to do with that. But we are also far, far deeper in debt, and less secure as a result. By an economist’s measure, our material wealth has grown; but if prosperity is seen as a wider indicator of quality of life, as genuine happiness, Howard failed us badly.

And if we are wealthier, at what cost? We are certainly not the people we were in 1996 when the government last changed.

For more than eleven years, John Howard led us on a voyage driven by greed and fear, into parochialism and paranoia, selfishness and racism, bigotry and corruption, and other dark places in the Australian psyche where we never should have gone. It was a mean and ugly trip, and it will take us all a long time to recover.

As he left the Wentworth hotel on Saturday night surrounded by his weeping and cheering entourage of orcs my main feeling was not of exultation or even euphoria, but of relief—the same sort of reaction I had to Cathy Freeman’s win at the Sydney Olympics, or at the moment, 17 years ago, when I stubbed out my last cigarette. The result was long-anticipated and entirely welcome, but how dreadful I, and many others, would have felt if it had not happened.
And on that note spare a thought for Labor’s patriarch, Gough Whitlam, who against most expectations has survived to see another Labor government in Canberra. The final word should be his: a great quotation which he used in another context altogether, but which is utterly appropriate for November 24, 2007: E quindi uscimmo a reverder le stelle.

It is the last line of Dante’s Inferno, describing the poet’s return from hell, and it means: And thence we emerged, to see the stars again.

But if Howard was wrong about most things, he at least got Peter Costello right.
For eleven years the man sat there drooling, lusting after the leadership of his party, talking up a storm to his credulous colleagues, plotting with sycophants, sending out his dwarfish messenger Glenn Milne to relate improbable stories of his talent and support. He never actually had the guts to do anything about it, but by golly he let it be known that when the opportunity came, he would show us all.

And when his party was not only ready to offer him the prize, was indeed in real need of his services, Costello spat the dummy right out of the ground. Prime Minister, with all the trappings of office and all the resources of government, would be just fine; but leader of the opposition, the challenge Kevin Rudd took on at precisely Costello’s age before sweeping to victory in less than a year, looked just a little too much like hard work. Poor Petey-pie, too old at fifty, too lazy at any time.

When his colleagues are considering a farewell gift for him, they should pass over the gold watch and all chip in for an iron lung. This would at least remove any lingering doubt over whether Peter Costello would work in one.

YouTube

2007-11-23T20:32:00.000+10:00

YouTube has given me an incentive to start piecing together all the assorted multimedia on my computer. On the side panel is a new set of links to videos that I'll put up on you tube. And just as a test for the embedding option here is a little video.

That Bolivian Miner

2007-11-22T22:34:00.000+10:00

I lie here trying to sleep at night and as it so often does, my mind turns to the miners of Potosi in Bolivia. Since Heather is away for the night and I've finished uni for the year, there is no reason why I can't get out of bed again to release the thoughts.

Before I go on, I want to ask any conservative readers (or self-named realists/pragmatists) to try, for the moment, to divorce their minds from their passion for free-market economies and distaste for anti-US sentiments.

Ask yourself, is it fair, in this day and age, with the wealth that the world holds, for a man to spend his entire life toiling deep underground. For days, sometimes weeks on end he will try, often in vain, to chip away at a possible mineral vein that might earn his family a little extra income. His wife brings him food and water while he works, he sleeps when he can work no longer, in the same crevice in which he has been chiseling away at for weeks and will continue to do so for weeks. It is a life that the any animal in western society would be saved from. Perhaps I'm not portraying the image clearly enough in all it's horror to properly conjure up this sad, sickening and disturbing reality for the miners of Potosi.

The mine is foreign owned and the workers are paid a pittance for the minerals they extract from this antiquated mountain of death and misery. Some might argue that you can't blame the company, others might not. Some think the nationalisation of Bolivian industries like this one is a backward step and a crack at the US administration, others consider it a necessary step to improve the quality of life of some of the hardest workers on the planet. Isn't that fair? Isn't it just that hard work be rewarded?

I feel ill when I realise how many people will try and justify why they think this scenario is fair, or perhaps just retort - life isn't fair. Then another wave of sadness hits when I realise that no appealing to these people's emotions will make a difference, they don't care if they are called heartless. Water off a duck's back. Another dead child, 'hmm a sad reality', another dead miner 'hmm life isn't fair'. If I argue with these people and try to understand and communicate with their self centred universes I get nowhere. If my anger boils over I get called a communist. Note that 'self-centred' implies the fact that they place decreasing importance on people and things the further they are (geographically or cognitively) from themselves (my theory of the concentric circles of compassion). Did these people never think about the principles expounded in the children's stories they read growing up? or the bible if they are christians, or the Qu'ran etc etc. Isn't being self-centred a bad thing? An uncharitable, selfish character trait? Why is it so acceptable? I hear people say about voting 'I vote on how the policies will affect me' Answer: What is 'selfishness'?

I take some heart from the expanding EU and the possible development of similar international co-operation in other regions. Some conspiracy theorists think the Rockefeller foundation is behind a push for a global government. I doubt this, but a convergence towards a system of international co-operation that makes decisions based on the human interest, rather than the national interest is something that I wish for.

That's about all I have to say about that for now. Maybe a quick macroeconomic discussion.

Government driven rises in wage rates (due to those damn unions!) is often blamed for driving up inflation. But what about market driven wages rates - ie. the massive salaries paid to undeserving executives (let's not pretend they deserve it - it's who you know, not what you know). The inflationary pressure caused by this mechanism is sure to rival, if not exceed the pressure from meagre wage rises for teachers and nurses.

"Money for all"

2007-11-14T13:01:00.000+10:00

Seems to be the subtext to the policies of the major parties during this election period. And thank goodness our level headed Liberal party policy makers have had the decency to ensure that not only will the wealthiest echelon of society receive some free money for their kiddies education in their tax rebate, but those people who do not earn enough to pay tax will, quite rightly, get nothing. Because, in this land of opportunity, it is all about choice. If you choose to work hard then you too can own a house one day. If you don't earn enough to negatively gear your investment property then that is your own fault by being a selfish lazy bugger.

In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic (Homer).

So while Tony Abbot continues his drive to include self-flagellation in the core curriculum for Year 7 students, John Howard continues to insult the intelligence of the Australian public - or perhaps he has gauged it correctly? On the one hand he claims the credit for the growth of the Australian economy, while on the other he refuses to take responsibility for the rise in interest rates. It doesn't take a high school certificate to realise that first, John Howard and every policy that he can conceive is not responsible for the growth in the economy or the rise in interest rates. The economy is far more complicated than that. Second, a growing economy = inflationary pressure = rise in interest rates. Perhaps that is the fact that eludes our master manager of the economy? The most fundamental macroeconomic principle that virtually the entire public service could have personally briefed him on, or perhaps all cried out in unison, whatever Herr Howard prefers. If the team of Abbot and Costello return to power we can say goodbye to the fading remnants of a decent society that values the outcomes of other peoples lives instead of the money driven rationalist fanaticism - dare I say - extremism of the most elitist self-righteous antipathetic animus cohort of politicians that one would care to imagine.

On the flip side, Kevin Rudd has been disappointing of late. A bit quiet and boring really. But can't blame him, all he needs to do to win the election is smile at the camera and not start using the word 'adumbrate' like our incumbent cucumber.

Only three days left of political advertising, praised be Allah.

I've started packing boxes in preparation for the Tanzanian tater. Uni results come out in a week. Roughly when I start my summer semester. The sun is hot and the skies are clear. Time for a gym session I do believe.

What has changed

2007-10-31T16:05:00.000+10:00

Yes, two posts in quick succession. What else am I to do when stuck at a computer and bored with work? Going to get introspective, so press your reset button now, quick!

One of the main reasons I keep this blog going is because I like to read back to old posts. Like a diary that I don't have to lug around with me everywhere. It doesn't offer too much about the real monsters lurking in my mind, but you can see a tail poking out from beneath the curtains sometimes.

So, I was reading some old posts just before - mine and Lucas' from the last couple of months in London - March-July 2006, almost 18 months ago. I was suddenly struck with nostalgia. Not necessarily for London, but the freedom and breadth of thought that we shared in those days. That's not to say we were philosophers with unprecedented insight, but in comparison to the humdrum methodicism of my thoughts these days....there is a big gap.

One of the main reasons for this is that I am becoming more of a realist. Something that we are supposed to do as grown ups, be balanced, considered, informed. But really, becoming a realist has meant losing the fire of inspiration that I gained during that 17 months of discussion, debate, discovery and inquiry with Lucas. Nothing turns you into a realist more than academia. No comment can pass without a reference, no opinion without evidence from studies. Sure, it is 'right'. But it feels like a big pile of Lego that people are building ideas out of - rather than an adventure. And what's the point in doing anything if it isn't going to be an adventure?

I want to have a dream that I can mould into a vision, rather than an acceptance of what is possible and to work around that. Perhaps that's the crux of what I'm thinking. Or maybe I'm just sick of writing essays for lecturers to mark.

I've lost my train of thought now. To much reading about the history of solariums. We can thank Coco Chanel for popularising the suntan and causing generations of sunburn, skin cancer and premature ageing. Another achievement for the fashion industry.

The End is Nigh!!

2007-10-30T09:16:00.000+10:00

Very nigh. The end of the semester that is. Only a week and a half until the final exam, followed by another couple of weeks until my contract finishes as work, and then I'm partially free. Still an eight day intensive Burden of Disease* summer semester, a volley of 'to do's before we depart for Tanzania.

It has been a tiring semester, I know I'm struggling when I resort to drinking coffee as a life sustaining tool during the early afternoons. During the slog I've come across some interesting comments/stuff that tickled me.

1. According to a 'Hillsong' (a subsidiary company of Religion Inc.) representative on one of those 'morning news and other assorted crap' shows - the christian bible (dictated chiefly by god I presume - indirectly or otherwise), states that you 'should give 10% of your income to the church' - which is why they all do it in the Hillsong suburb of Sydney.

Hmmm, I can just see it now.....'and the lord said, ye shall commit to a direct debit plan whereby ten of every hundred units of thy pre-tax income net of deductibles and excluding foreign earnings shall be given to my most tuneful disciple and he shall spend it on grand Colosseums wherefore I may be entertained with thine singalongs with hands in the air, yeah yeah'.

2. Amagi - the earliest known written word for 'Freedom' or 'Liberty', is 4300 years old, written in the Sumerian city-state of Lagash. It appears to be an arrangement of 24 golf tees. Co-incidence? I think not...

Brisbane is glowing green at the moment after several days of evening downpours and thunderous lightning storms. It is cooler today - signalling a dryer period ahead. I have a group meeting shortly with my international student comrades to discuss our assignment due this Friday. International students are very shy - which can come across as aloof and anti-social. But when they realise you are interested in their country and you aren't going to get frustrated with their sometimes difficult to understand English they are friendlier and more helpful than domestic students. The more international students we have, the better, I say.

*Burden of Disease: Is a study of the total burden of mortality (deaths) and morbidity (illness) on a society from various afflictions. For example, combining mortality and morbidity puts cancer as the biggest detriment to Australia's health, closely followed by cardiovascular disease and then....mental health disorders. While mental health disorders have a low mortality rate, the level of morbidity associated with poor mental health and its prevalence makes it such a huge problem in our society - and across the world - even in developing countries. The 'weight' given to morbidity from specific illnesses is calculated using various survey techniques. The output is a Disability Adjusted Life Year (DALY), which forms the basis for evidence based healthcare and economic evaluation of health programs.

Returning, staying and leaving

2007-10-12T07:51:00.000+10:00

The tunnel that encloses us is such a comfort. We can see a little to the left, a little to the right, some milestones up ahead and know, with some certainty, where the tunnel will lead. And we are happy with that. Our successes and failures only exist in comparison to the achievements of others, so our tunnels all run in the same general direction with the same milestones and the same final outcome.

I don't suppose anyone has followed the journey of the man who was walking from the bottom of South America to Alaska? He had to postpone his journey as he entered Colombia due to a lack of funds. He has now returned to the 'normal' life with 'normal' people and is quietly going insane. The futility of the daily motions, the fretting over luxuries, the 'sameness' of everyday and everyone. A society of narcissists who ultimately loath themselves. I can hear the optimists' rebuttal - there is uniqueness in every day and everyone, it is the responsibility of the observer to find it. Perhaps it is the repression and avoidance of uniqueness that is drilling into his head, the way more people try to fit into the mould and show surprise, shock and suspicion at those who don't.

To wake up each day with a blank canvas, but with purpose and vigour is perhaps the luxury beyond all other luxuries. A poor man on the slopes of the Andes may enjoy wonderful views, and the satisfaction of a well worked field and food in his belly, but in the end, the views become the same, the people become the same. But his work and the opportunities available to him means he won't suffer from the problem of leisure, and contemplations of success, failure and achievement (in the sense that we do in our society). He suffers from many other plights, better and worse, it depends.

So what does this man do (the traveller that is)? Keep walking, keep travelling. What does he gain? What does he lose? In a cost-benefit analysis you would assign values/weights to the implications of each decision. Not really possible when you don't know the happiness or opportunities that you might miss out on from each choice. Maybe it is his own narcissism that drives the desire to be different, and his fury at the ignorance of others to his greatness in being different. Perhaps it is his ego rather than his 'spirit' that desires 'freedom' and beauty and reality. Why else keep a blog....

Terrorism more threatening than climate change: Howard

2007-09-28T12:12:00.000+10:00

John Howard has stated outright that he considers the threat of terrorism (to Australia) to be greater than that posed by climate change, although climate change does pose a significant threat.

Leaving aside the small minded nationalistic angle from which he is speaking, his prioritisation suggests something more sinister lurks in the mind of John Howard and those that share his view.

If you have an inclination towards paranoia, conspiracy theories, or just general fear - terrorism could be considered to pose an immediate threat to the lives of some Australians and small groups of people (using 50,000 people as the definition of 'a small group') in other wealthy Caucasian nations. We are in a period of conflict between religious ideologies (or governments using religious ideologies as an excuse to raise suspicion and xenophobic ire). How long can this last? For eternity? No. For the next 100 years? Let's hope not, but for the sake of this example lets assume that the highly unlikely event of Muslim-Christian (ie. US and lackeys vs Islamic nations) conflict continuing for the next 100 year will indeed do so. And, over those 100 years, each year the nation of Australia (taking the narrow-minded perspective) will face a certain size and probability of loss (however you choose to define them - life, liberty etc) due to terrorism. Therefore, over the life of this improbable 100-year conflict we get an undiscounted value for expected losses of 'T' (the sum of each year's loss multiplied by it's probability of loss).

But, some might argue, terrorism could also exist for eternity - there are always people willing to blow up themselves or other people in the name of something or someone. But haven't we always faced this threat? Of course. So, be careful to remember that this analysis is looking at the marginal increase of terrorism threat based on the current conflict that has sparked the hysteria and knicker-knotting over national security in recent years - and to which John Howard is referring.

Now - climate change. This will be a bit quicker now the framework for calculating expected losses due a specific threat has been shown. Remember the formula, probability of loss in a year x size of loss in a year, summing them up for the total number of years that the loss may be expected to occur. If we assume that the world (or Australia) will exist for say, ummm approximately...forever, then the undiscounted expected losses due to climate change, 'CC', (in comparison to a world without climate change) will be equal to INFINITY.

These are calculations which people subconsciously make all the time. The key difference between how we then prioritise various threats is based on our personal discount rate. Your discount rate is the rate (much like an interest rate) at which you value NOW versus the FUTURE. Quick example - if you could have $500 now or be given $500 next year, what do you prefer? How much do you need to be given next year to be indifferent between that amount and $500 now? The same concept (but with different rates) applies to all aspects of our lives where we make decisions that affect the future. A high discount rate means you value the present much higher than the future. This is a feature common to children, adolescents, people living in poverty, low socioeconomic groups, criminals, people with mental health disorders and people with a high level of fear.

Now - to my point. The only factor that can result in terrorism being a greater threat than climate change is if a high rate is used when discounting the relative threats. This means that our current Prime Minister is either a child, adolescent, poor, criminal, mentally unstable or very afraid. Which one do you think?

Nationalism revisited

2007-09-19T12:31:00.000+10:00

This article is interesting, but the comments that follow are better (each one of them for different reasons) - and I would say 'reassuring' if the commenters (or is that commentators?) weren't already ABC viewers.

Please read.....

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2007/09/19/2037215.htm

Hot air or hand wipes?

2007-09-17T12:47:00.000+10:00

Ultra-violet radiation has numerous detrimental consequences including a significantly increased risk of cutaneous malignant melanoma - the most common and fastest growing prevalent cancer in developed nations.

In the past two weeks I've read similar such statements as that as the first sentence in countless journal articles (this is my new job). Why then did I let myself get sunburnt this weekend? Probably because I didn't think I would and an hour or so in (finally) warm Spring sunshine at the beach was a delight that I would happily pay for with a squamous cell carcinoma engulf my face in a few years.

Meanwhile I have a dilemma, several actually, but I'll stick to this one for now. Having been to a public bathroom, washed my hands and now about to dry them I have the option of a paper towel or the hot air blower. Which is better? Does the portion of lopped tree and energy used to produce the paper towel outweigh the fairly high energy use of a hot air blower? It probably wouldn't amount to much, just thinking is all.

Semester two is about three quarters finished, with about one third of the required work out of the way - with lots of assessment due soon and this new job consuming most of my weekly non-uni hours I am struggling to keep my head above water - but the end is in sight and a good challenge never killed anyone (probably did actually).

The new job is doing research for the Queensland Institute of Medical Research, I'm the second Health Economist (almost) working here as most people are Epidemiologists or lab-based research scientists (nine floors of laboratories and one floor of offices). Even though I feel like leaping in front of a bus every afternoon that I finish work, I start the day with enthusiasm and ideas and I try and to remember that there is only a couple of months to go before we go to Africa.

Africa?? Yep, Heather and I just found out the other day that we've been accepted to work in an orphanage near Mt Kilimanjaro. For 6-12 months, as of January, Heather will be the nurse and I'll be doing some book-keeping, and we'll both probably be feeding the goats, collecting eggs and harvesting produce from the crops. It's a self-sufficient orphanage co-founded by John Arneil's sister (Shona). It's the first project for a new NGO called Food Water Shelter (www.foodwatershelter.org.au) - it needs as many members as possible ($40 to join). So if you've ever thought of donating some money or joining a charity - please do.

Enough begging for money, sorry about that. Anyway, that is my lunch break over (there is nothing else to do during lunch).

Eat healthily and do some exercise - looking healthy on the outside does not mean you are healthy on the inside.

A Wedding and the Whitsundays

2007-08-23T17:39:00.000+10:00

Over a week after the resumption of 'normal life' and my head is still spinning a little from the whirlwind week and a bit that just past. It seems like an eon ago that I was sitting at the computer trying to put together some words toasting the Bride and Groom.

And so began the week that is best summarised by the title of this post.

Friday morning began like I expect most Friday's this semester to begin, a quick breakfast of Home-Brand Wheat Biscuits and Home-Brand rolled oats - then off to the hospital for my final three hours of Uni for the week. The difference today is that not only will Benny Mayo - a friend I haven't seen since his wedding two and half years ago - be arriving, but the infamous John Arneil of Cromwell College, Canberra and Central London was getting married. The reception of which I was deemed to be the Master of Ceremonies.

And so, drawing on all my Masters skills acquired at University this year I endeavoured to mediate the reception to the best of my ability.

For the vast majority of the evening the six inches of anti-perspirant under my arms prevented me from drowning all those spoke to me. I was roughly as nervous as I was when I was about to jump off a twenty metre cliff in Turkey without knowing exactly whether I would reach the water or if it was indeed safe to jump into. I made every effort, however, to make it appear as though I MC a wedding every other day and twice on Sundays. I clearly didn't though - having only been to one fairly informal wedding before in the past.

The night proceeded without major incident (other than two people getting married - my god!), and my sole slice of humour was accepted with polite laughter. During the course of the evening the title of my role evolved into 'chairman', then made the obvious progression to 'Chairman Mao'. In true John and Lani style they joined us all at the pub straight after the reception before retiring to their marital suite to do the final paperwork, or something. Thank you John and Lani for the honour, see you when you get back! (or maybe in Arusha).

Saturday was a recovery day and time for final packing for the trip north. Did I mention I was going on their honeymoon? As was Heather and 15 others. A week of sailing around the Whitsunday Islands was the plan, as it had been for over a year eager anticipation. Everyone was flying up on Sunday midday. But oh no, in the interest of saving money and making life difficult for myself and Heather we had decided to drive up instead. After an early night on Saturday night we were on the road by 3:15am Sunday morning - 12 relatively uneventful hours later we cruised (literally - cruise control saved me a few speeding tickets I'm sure) into Airlie beach and our hostel for the night.

As I always say, there is only one first night so may as well make the most of it. Which we did, much to my regret the following day as sea-sickness x hangover = a green faced young chap for most of the first day. The intolerable nausea was interrupted sporadically by breaching whales, playful dolphins and some snorkeling among colourful coral. With the option to camp ashore at night we evacuated the boat each evening at bedtime (which was really quite early - all that fresh air was obviously tiring, now that I think of it, after two years in London it was indubitably the fresh air that had John retiring white-faced to bed on some nights, some time inhaling CO in the engine room would have sorted him out).

The routine was similar each day - breakfast, sail on our 72-foot wooden ketch, lunch, snorkel, sail, set up camp, dinner, play various board games (trivial pursuit being the most popular), back to shore to camp. Just as it seemed we were all (except James) getting our sea-legs and the girls began adjusting to a life of moderate uncleanliness (or perhaps not) it was all over. The boat nearly ripped in half and sank as we docked back in at Airlie Beach - an alleged rotted piece of wood on the starboard side was to blame for the 10 second snapping and crunching noise that shocked everyone as the top edge of the boat was peeled back. An unfortunate and horrified Pricey was in charge of pulling the rope that had done the damage, but the captain quickly assured him that he had played no part in the carnage. We concealed muffled giggles at the atrocity, but Mike, the captain appeared unperturbed and we allowed smiles instead of solemnity.

Relaxed, rested and not looking forward to the 12 hours in the car home and the responsibilities of daily life that awaited, but we did it anyway, with a stop-overnight in Rockhampton.

So a week and half later I'm again lost in a world of economic analysis of health care markets and cost-effectiveness. But, I have just landed myself a new job. No more will I be unloading and unpacking boxes of notebooks and then selling them to over-financed students. I'll be working part-time as a research assistant for the Queensland Institute of Medical Research - and, dare I say it - earning more money to travel with (and buy vegetables with - they are so expensive these days).

The Great Climate Change Swindle

2007-07-13T19:07:00.000+10:00

Good evening learned blog surfers, I watched on our glorious ABC television last night some of the best and worst journalism possible.

Martin Durkin - a shockumentary maker of the most repugnant variety pulled together a group of attention seeking contrarians and some unashamedly manipulated graphs to present the following conclusion (note: it was a 'conclusion' being presented, not an argument or a review of any sort):

1. Following the fall of the Berlin wall and the Soviet bloc, neo-Marxist anti-capitalist peaceniks and Eugenics-based organisations divert their attentions to the environment, and more specifically, the halting of industrial production and development of the world via the notion of anthropomorphic (made-made) climate change.
2. Scientists, in the pursuit of research funds, totally ignore the basic fundamentals of their craft in order to prove that human produced CO2 will affect the climate. The swindle.
3. Thousands of genuine and morally outraged scientists reject the notion of human driven climate change.
3. CO2 is an insignificant element in greenhouse gases and the sun has always and always will determine the climate on planet earth.

With the exception of the paranoid assertion about 'anti-capitalists', the science was starting to get me a little worried, "was it as cut and dried as I had thought".

Luckily for me, and for everyone in Australia (not so lucky for the people in England), the ABC also ran a panel of scientists and journalists to discuss the film after it was shown.

Enter Professor David Karoly. With a barrage of well cited and sourced information he comprehensively discredited every attempt by climate change deniers to use flimsy evidence to support their cries.

I think everyone should try and watch the documentary and the discussions, just to get a feel for how climate change denial presents itself, and why it is wrong. The funniest and/or scariest element during the evening was the young man yelling that masked Hilterian eugenics is the evil behind climate change science - no doubt he also thinks anti-capitalists are involved as well. What fear the poor man must live in.

There are three people in this debate - those who will refuse to accept climate change is man-made, those who will refuse to accept that climate change is not man-made (both using whatever evidence suit their argument), and sceptical rigorous scientists - the majority of whom (98% in fact) conclude that a significant (enough) amount of climate change is man-made.

I've stopped asking why people keep denying the effect we have on the environment - all we can do is ignore their silly cries for attention and work towards a more sustainable and responsible world.

Semester one......OVER!!!!!

2007-06-22T16:12:00.000+10:00

Three icy cold days with winds like I've never seen in Brisbane preceded my final two exams. Daily treks to the UQ Library were made to allow me to focus on nothing but Asia Pacific Development and Microeconomic Analysis. Each day I would return home, unable to focus my eyes properly on any luminescent object after hours of reading and writing. Never did I think it would be possible that I could spend that amount of time seated, concentrating on a topic which, although essential to the bigger picture - was not all that riveting. There must have been something else in my mind that did keep me riveted to my seat - possibly the pressure I've put on myself to perform after a very laid back and cruisy undergraduate life.

Less than 24 hours ago I was sitting at the main refec at Uni doing some last minute revising - (thought bubble) - "individual rationality constraint is setting the expected utility, based on probable outcomes due to a high effort induced under contract, equal to the utility from the second best alternative. Incentive compatibility constraint is setting the aforementioned expected utility equal to the expected utility based on probable outcomes under low effort despite contract designed to induce high effort. Substitute IR in IC constraints to solve for the wage level required to induce high effort, thereby avoiding moral hazard". Not rocket science, but with enough of these little rules and equations to remember it was going to be a tricky exam. A hot chocolate later and I was away. Difficulties due to the ambiguity that lecturers like to throw into questions was my main problem - the above formula being the most heavily weighted question with the relevant information being, as mentioned, ambiguous.

So I staggered out of that exam at 8pm, only to find a parking ticket on the car (I noticed it flapping at me as I drove home - half hoping it would fly off the windscreen to be forgotten about until a reminder notice arrived). After shoving some sausage and mashed potato into my hungry belly I collapsed in front of a very interesting documentary about Pamela Churchill (daughter in law of Sir Winston) - obviously delirious, I decided to get into bed to prepare for my next exam (8am the following morning). Twenty minutes of revising my notes somehow turned into a deep slumber and I must have groggily turned the light off during the night. Luckily I had already set my alarm in case of such turns of unconsciousness.

Six am arrived just, it seemed, as the bed was warming up and the pillows got softer. I use the same phone alarm that I first used on those cold London morning (dididididududududededede bzzzz bzzzz BIP! BIP! you remember that one Lucas!). So I dragged myself into the shower, had some excellently cooked eggs on toast then warmed my innards with a large strong black coffee. Hopped into the car and headed to uni just as the sun (as last!) was hitting the tops of the sandstone buildings. I sat in the car for a quarter of an hour re-reading my notes - (thought bubble again) - South Korea used these policies....Taiwan used these....India used these.....a developmental state is this.......democracy is not good for a developing country, benevolent autocracies like those in the Asian Tigers is the secret to ignoring self interested lobby groups and having a successful economy. Confucianism is cool. etc etc.

I checked the coins in my pocket (so as to avoid another parking ticket) and jumped out the car to buy my ticket for a couple of hours of parking. As I was closing the door I simultaneously noticed the keys in the ignition and the fact that the door was locked. I tried to catch the door, but too late - it just clicked closed before I could stop it. My immediate instinct was to throw my gloved (due to the cold) fist through the window and retrieve the keys. If it was just my car I wouldn't have hesitated in doing so - but I knew Heather would think punching a hole in her car window to be a little brash.

Now I'm not usually a coffee drinker, so after a big black coffee my nerves were jangling and it seemed like my blood was trembling with nervous energy and now adrenalin. Twenty minutes before the exam begins, no pen, no photo ID. I ring Gini from the nearest phone (the gym). She packs me a pencil case and Scott does two trips to bring me the pencil case and my passport just as I headed into the exam. Suddenly realising that I never bought the parking ticket - I rush back down to the car park and buy a ticket with the coins in my pocket - stick it under the windscreen wiper and dash back up the hill to my exam room.

Heart pounding from the exercise, adrenaline and caffeine, I sit down at my allotted desk just as the time begins. I empty my brain out onto paper, scribbling furiously for the whole two hours, hand cramping and almost wetting myself (caffeine being a diuretic). The exam ends. I leave, no euphoria yet - still high from the caffeine I power walk up the steep hill to get home, and take the Honda and a coat hanger back down to Uni.

Five minutes later I feel like a dangerous criminal as I use a coat hanger for the first time to unlock a car door. I go home, I eat, I go to the gym, I go home, I garden furiously for three hours, I have a shower, I eat, I sit down at the computer - I don't think the caffeine has worn off yet. I hope I sleep tonight.

Darfur

2007-06-14T09:20:00.001+10:00

It was always going to happen (a blog about Darfur).

The question is, do I really need to point out the hypocrisy, ignorance and racist nationalism that is prolonging the worst humanitarian crisis of our time?

400,000 Sudanese have died during the government sponsored ethnic cleansing of the Darfur region in West Sudan. The international community has tremendous power to intervene and prevent the continued slaughter of civilians. But they choose not to. UN resolutions have been pushed through by the US and Britain, but China blocks further action and the Sudanese government resists efforts to allow a UN peacekeeping force into the country.

Where is brave George Bush and his War on Terror now? Isn't genocide even worse than terrorism? It seems the Sudan government has too much oil it wants to sell to the West (as opposed to the cantankerous Arab nationalist Saddam) and no threat of WMDs. If ever there was ANOTHER reason to pull troops out of Iraq, it is to move them into Sudan where military presence is needed.

But you know what the problem is? That kind of action isn't in the national interest of the US or Australia. It wouldn't be strategic to do the right thing because it is the right thing.

On average 21 civilians are murdered every day, almost a Virginia Tech or Port Arthur every day, in the same region. Why does everyone keep ignoring it?

Here's a question to test how racist and nationalistic you are. Hypothetically, how many Americans or Australians would you have allowed to die in order to prevent all 400,000 deaths in Darfur? Not even considering the rapes, stolen children and displaced people. Would you allow 200,000 Australians to die? Not even half the total death toll in Darfur? Effectively valuing a Sudanese person as half that of an Australian? Most people wouldn't even go that far, 200,000 Australians is way too much they think. How about as a proportion of the country's population? Sudan has roughly 36 million people, which as a proportion would mean that 226,000 Aussies would have died, would you make this trade?

Okay, to appeal to the most heartless and money hungry of you - how about if we made a trade per dollar value of each person? Using a measure of income distribution and per capita income I estimated that those 400,000 dead in Darfur have the same wealth as the poorest 12,000 people in Australia. Would you make that trade? Twelve thousand dead Australians, it seems large doesn't it - but in the place of 400,000 Sudanese it is nothing. If you still consider that 12,000 dead Australians/Canadians/Americans/British is too much then you are a filthy racist and you don't deserve to breathe the air on this planet.

The God's Must be Crazy

2007-06-04T20:02:00.000+10:00

It was the funniest movie I had ever seen when I was little boy. And it was on midday TV the other day. Primarily slapstick there was some more subtle humour in it that would have eluded me at 10 years old. Two things stood out to me the most though.

First, the low-level of technology used in shooting it somehow added something realistic to it - less movie-like and more documentary-like. But the camera work and the shots taken was remarkable, I don't think I've ever been as amazed at the African landscape as I was at some of the footage in this movie (set in Botswana), it really was like nothing I had ever seen and was so beautiful. The African people also, filmed probably more than 20 years ago, before the ravages of AIDS had truly taken hold, seemed so much more real than any other African based film I've seen. It was inspiring dreams of travel there - which Lucas and Farah will be doing soon (and climbing Kilimanjaro!!! ah I'm so jealous).

The second feature that struck me was the story of the little Kalahari bushman. Again a subtlety lost on the younger me. His gentleness, his affinity with nature, indeed his dependence upon nature to sustain his spirit. It made me feel so separated and out of touch with the truest and most beautiful thing on the planet - nature. The importance of doing everything we can to conserve it goes without saying, that much should be obvious to the most ignorant of troglodytes. But I would love to go a step further - perhaps explaining my latent desire to be a self-sufficient farmer. Really being part of nature, understanding the intricacies of the animals, the microbes, the plants, the clouds, the turn of seasons - co-existing rather than dominating and reaping surpluses from the land. That is my dream.

I think humankind has gone too far down the path of individual comfort and leisure to be able to backtrack and choose a path of harmony. I suggest that as human consciousness becomes further enlightened we will move towards that ideal, not all the way - but closer is better.

That is my microeconomics study break. Back to it. SWATVAC at the moment (STUVAC, for NSW people).

Photos

2007-05-26T16:30:00.000+10:00

No I haven't put any up. Not for ages. I was just looking at some.

Do you ever look at yourself in a photo and think "gee I was different back then", sometimes you know what has changed, sometimes it is just a funny feeling, looking at yourself and not knowing what was going through that person's mind at that time.

I always thought that as time goes on a person (particularly a young one) will inevitably become a better more rounded person. More confident, more intelligent, aware and knowledgeable. But not always. There is the obvious case of the person getting hooked on damaging behaviour (drug abuse etc), that goes without saying. But what about as you get older and you become more certain about what you believe, what you like, what you consider right and wrong, and I guess in the end, the awful realisation that you have ideas and concerns about how other people should live. Self-righteousness. There is clearly an element, and probably needs to be an element, of self-righteousness in everyone. Parents and Governments for example, it is their job to make value judgements and impose those judgements on their underlings.

I've always had some difficulty in expressing concern, offense, insecurity, stress and other such negative feelings, in a form other than anger. The more bitterness and hate with which the anger can be spat out the better. Condescending, belittling, and furiously forked tongue lashing out.

Fortunately I don't have those negative feelings too often. But a side-effect of education and some experience has brought to life feelings of self-righteousness - people spending too much, using too much electricity, ignorant of the how the media manipulates them, unaware of their own greed - thinking that buying presents for people makes them thoughtful and caring. Already I can feel the poison rising to the back of my throat, into my fangs, one eye on the victims jugular.

But the poison remains within me, the only fruit of the anger is frustration and a further withdrawal from the society that doesn't feel the way I do. I don't want to be angry anymore. I want to be that laughing semi-inebriated boy standing on a table that I see in photos.

Weekly Newsletter

2007-05-10T14:27:00.000+10:00

If you've ever complained inwardly or to someone else about 'dole bludgers' or someone 'getting something for nothing', chances are that you're no better. The opportunities you've been given in your society FOR NOTHING, the environmental resources you consume damage and destroy FOR NOTHING. That's the problem with people who lack empathy and want more for themselves and their inner circle of friends and family, they can't take a look at themselves and extrapolate on their own assumptions. There is nothing wrong with being born with these privileges and opportunities, just recognise them and be fair, or perhaps even generous, to those who didn't have your luck.

Anyway.

This is an excerpt from the weekly newsletter that I get from an old weightlifting icon in the US, Dave Draper. Always fun to read, I thought I'd share this week's edition and see if it can't add a little motivation to somebody's excercise regime.

> Is your exercise time an obligation, a responsibility?

Why not? Obligation and responsibility develop strong women and men. Strong men and women undertake obligations and responsibilities. One's strength and health is a responsibility, a major responsibility and a largely neglected one. Look around you and what do you see? Seven out of ten feel neither obligated nor responsible for their strength and health, shape or well being. We all lose, we all pay and it doesn't stop at their waistlines. For you and for me, our exercise is an obligation, one we embrace with open arms as it streamlines our life. And, I suspect, the iron is far more than responsibility alone. By itself responsibility is a chore, and chores can get old and redundant, imitated and boring and lifeless and bitter. Our workouts must never take on the characteristics of a chore, lest we become an image of what we do.

> Is your training a habit, a blank, going through the motions without emotion?

Good habits are very good. In the door, to the weights, sets and reps, sweat and strain, hi-goodbye, out the door and home. The workout doesn't have to be a ritual, a production, a ceremony, a major project. Just do it. It's the emotionless blanks who need a nudge. I know people like that. They're zombies walking heavily through the gym with their arms extended, mouths open and their eyes like galvanized quarters. "Take me to your exit." From the stationary bike, magazine in hand, they make a lap around the gym floor before sitting on the leg extension for an extended length of time thinking of cookies. If only we could inspire them to grasp a barbell, dumbbell and pulley. They would come alive, their vacant eyes would see and they'd grunt audibly with their once-silent open mouths. Nice sneakers, though... clean, snappy. Cool iPod.

> Is your time on the gym floor recreation, playtime and talk time?

Nothing wrong with a little fun, mixing business with pleasure and few friendly words with your buds and chums. Intermingling is healthy, supportive and fulfilling. I know some hard trainers who can carry on meaningful conversations throughout their workouts with tacit nods, grunts and a few key words. I seldom feel alone or abandoned in the gym, amid a crowd or at the solitary crack of dawn. I don't have much to say and I do have a lot to do. But there are some who enter the gym, look about earnestly, as if seeking inner training direction, and adroitly zero in on a sucker, the most likely to respond to grandiose conversation. Sports are a favorite (bearable), opposite sex is in the top five (pitiable) and politics slither in like a venomous snake (deplorable). Just leave the magazine in the rack and the cell phone in the locker-room. This is a gym. Starbuck's is down the street.

That doesn't mean you can't have fun. Feel the steel.

> Do you love the deed?

Not once have I not loved the idea of weightlifting. The practice itself holds other experiences. The early attempts to move the iron are novel and exciting, curious and mysterious and inventive. Continued applications of force against steel yields rewards that multiply and are most desirable. Don't you love the pump, muscular growth and regular increases in strength, the designing of workouts, their smooth execution and the last engaging rep? Obstacles and plateaus be leveled by cannons; they test the body, mind and soul. Enduring them lifts us to new levels of completeness, physical, mental and spiritual. Who among us doesn't appreciate endurance and its plentiful fruits?

Appreciation borders on love.

As if these delights were not enough, there are more: the comfort of expression and freedom and the understanding born of discipline and purpose, compromise and patience, no matter the abundance or scarcity indwelling your bones. These joys are difficult to distinguish from love.

> Do you skip workouts without disappointment or guilt or total collapse?

Did you pause to think about the answer? Or did you say with assurance (indignation, perhaps), "I don't skip workouts, Bub." The answer is usually somewhere in between. We all miss workouts. Life has a way of inconveniencing us from time to time, demanding our attention. Family, job, TV, weddings, funerals... it's always something. One postponed training session is tolerable, two is unmentionable, three threatens sudden implosion and four borders on death by firing squad; five, they seize the spouse, kids and dog, and, six, the western hemisphere is vaporized. No seven... no... none! If you don't agree, I can't help you. You're doomed.

> Are those hours and days of the week with the iron a passion?

If you don't know what passion is, go on to the next question. You don't need passion to exercise; ordinary interest, common sense and responsibility will do just fine. But to train vigorously and enjoy it, passion is essential. Passion is the inner fervor, the burning desire, the lust-less love, the insatiable zeal that causes the lifter to lift beyond his limit, to train when the castle walls are burning and to grin as the bar bends on his back and crumbles his shoulders. The passionate trainer never misses a workout, even when he should. One more set leads to another, one more rep to another, and another. Passion is one degree short of obsession. Obsession is a disease; passion is love. Don't you love to work out? Of course you do!

> Do you train and leave it in the gym, or do you pack it up and take it with you?

I've actually seen people leaving the gym as if nothing had happened. They're fresh and bright and smell good. Not staggering, not red-eyed, no bruises, no gasping. "You forget your high heel sneakers, Sue?" I say under my breath, hunched in the dark corner by the rusting metal, sagging bars and cobwebs.

www.irononline.com

Arabic and Persian Languages

2007-05-07T12:55:00.000+10:00

When I read the translations of media releases/exclamations/proclamations/condemnations emanating from Persia and its surrounds I am struck by the strength of the passion in the words. Whether it be from fundamentalists, moderates or women's liberation advocates - the language used is, to an extent, extreme.

The Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan 'celebrate' 30 years of struggle this year. I am sure it is a feature of the translation issues between English and these Turkic and Arabic languages, but anyone who is a good guy is always 'glorious' and 'brave', and the array of adjectives used for the bad guys is a rage-filled shower of burning arrows at every opportunity.

So much intensity of anger and love seems consistent with thousands of years of warring and artistic achievement across that land. I don't want to suggest that inhabitants in that region are always on the brink of madness, but there is an underlying passion that I think our somewhat teutonic caucasian nature fails to understand. Lack of understanding that results in misunderstanding.

(just procrastinating from writing a pretty boring essay on the determinants of Singapore's economic growth)

All for one and one for all

2007-04-29T12:25:00.000+10:00

I went for a little stroll this morning. Past the newly planted vegetable garden where the beans have just poked their heads above the soil, through the citrus orchard heavily laden with oranges, lemons, grapefruits, kumquats, guava and mandarins. The guinea fowl crept along behind me, huddled like conspiring criminals - plotting my downfall. While Willy the Border Collie nuzzled my hand wanting a pat and some reward for outstanding obedience, Rupert fell over while trying to bite his testicles, no doubt also plotting some fiendish scheme to infiltrate the house and steal some tasty morsels.

As I wandered down into one of the dry-bottomed cracked-mud dams the loudest noise was the buzzing of beetles and the odd crack as a dry branch finally succumbed to the will of gravity. I stood still and listened and looked, as I like to do when I'm home. In this drought ravaged little corner of small slice of the Gold Coast hinterland there was such an abundance of life. Insects, who knows how many hundred varieties scuttled and buzzed in any place one cared to look close enough. The cry of a multitude of birds suddenly came on the station that my ears were tuned into and Rupert tore off after a Kangaroo, Willy trailing behind. One old heifer was standing on a ridge in front another 15 or so heifers, giving what appeared to be an information session on food rationing during the drought, others ignored the attempt at group survival and continued munching at the greenest grass, "We'll be 'right, we are rich, we can just buy more food" they mooed smugly at the increasingly exasperated civil-minded heifers, concerned that the price rise for food would starve the poorer cattle out of the market.

At first I wasn't sure whether to be more concerned about the fact that this situation with the small-brained starving heifers (while others ate like pigs) closely mirrored the way the human species behaves or the fact that I was hearing cows speak to one another. Then I decided the former was of a more frightening nature than the latter.

Ragnar Frisch (1931) said "the world is like a ship loaded with the goods of life, but the crew starves because they don't know how to distribute the food". And this is what countless of humanitarians have been saying before and after Frisch, and today. The rich have too much. I am still appalled at the way people waste their money, clothes, haircuts, handbags, matching napkins and table cloths. NOBODY deserves that much and NOBODY deserves to be forced into civil war at the age of 12, murder or be murdered by countrymen and die young of malaria, TB or AIDS.

The foolish, greedy and uninformed immediately blame the 'corrupt' governments of these violence and disease ridden countries. The 'Asian Tigers' of East Asia and their rapid economic growth was achieved under corruption greater than any African Nation. The finger pointers ignore the international order and institutions that ensure the 'national interest' of the most powerful countries is considered before the development and empowerment of the weakest and poorest. It is a mature, humble and wise human being that accepts the worlds problems as the fault of themselves, their families, their friends, their heritage and their society. It is an insecure and cowardly person who hides behind the status quo, blames the weak for being weak and accumulates wealth to bury their fears beneath.

The human consciousness is ever evolving and maturing, we will get there. I would just like to see it in my lifetime.

Hmmm, and I was going to write about planting a veggie patch on a mild and sunny Sunday afternoon.

Life is a funny thing

2007-04-14T21:23:00.000+10:00

As I finally get a handle on how I'm going to squeeze the solution to the world's problems into 2500 words I have the urge to blog. Maybe my writing fingers are feeling warmed up and want to run free for a moment before returning to the regimented academic world of referencing. I see some journalists (in the true sense of the word - those who write for Journals) are able to include anger, wit, passion and philosophical reflection into their academic writings - which gives me hope that the world of academia is not a soulless information hungry battle between opposing ideologies.

Christian (my elder brother) has just departed for a new career and new-ish life down in Canberra. I wasn't sure what advice to give, I spent all my time at work, in the gym or in the pub - much like London. And therefore wasn't able to offer much other than to suggest a few of the coping mechanisms I used - sport mainly. But I'm certain that added to the fact he will enjoy his job, he will have more internal resources than I did at age 22 when I started my life as a public servant. And as such should derive more pleasure from the environment that Canberra has to offer.

Committing to something changes ones perspective on so many things. The most pertinent 'thing' being you realise what you have just before you lose it. Committing to a travel plan, a career path, a partner, anything. I remember how I felt when I got on that early morning bus from Prague to Istanbul after saying goodbye to Heather for what we expected would be 3 months until we met again in India. As night fell on that first night I still had my teeth clenched and tears dripping down my cheeks as I swore at myself for being such a fool to chase fanciful dreams across Persia at the expense of being away from Heather. It was really only two weeks later when I about to buy my train to ticket to Tehran that I was once again fully committed to what I wanted to do - which was when it was suddenly snatched away by consular officials. 'Tehran says no'.

A similar feeling is in my bones now, as I am taken on as a volunteer on the current Global Burden of Disease study, and my Head of School sets up an internship for me with the WHO in Geneva, I can feel myself being sucked (or am I walking into it - semi-consciously which makes me feel like I am being pulled) into a career, and a life that I don't know enough about to make a judgement about whether I want it or not. An edge panic, performance anxiety, homesickness, boredom, insomnia, - pressure - rattles in my bones. Why didn't I just become a carpenter? Simple pleasure of building something. But my brain needs work, but not too much, but how much, but, but, but.....

Know where the exits are and keep them clear has always been an automatic mindset for me, although to this date I've never abandoned a ship (not counting finally escaping Dept of Finance). But with my twenties slowly edging away from me I feel the need to find what I'm looking for before I commit to something that leaves me angry, unfulfilled, frustrated and unable to support the family that I plan will win Cricket World Cup 2030....maybe.

But in the short term, I would just like my sense of humour back - too much work and no play has made Nicky a dull boy. I can't help using big words when I talk and am becoming a menace on the roads - I drive like I own Brisbane and am above the law. I wonder if perhaps I've accrued too many brain cells and need to dispense of some before I go totally bananas.

10pm Saturday night - enough time for a little more essay writing before bed, then up at 7am to collect Heather from night shift, go to the gym and....spend the rest of the day studying. I'm loving the learning, but hating the lack of time I have for the rest of my life.

If I gave one piece of advice to someone, it would be this.....turn your lights off and have shorter showers.

Widgets, Weights and the WHO

2007-04-04T21:24:00.000+10:00

I get the occasional bout of hyper-excitement as the temperature starts to drop here in Brisbane.

What? Excited about cold weather? Actually, excited about how cold it isn't going to be. The nights are cooling down and with the mercury (not that anyone uses mercury anymore) dipping below 20C overnight I'm tempted to put on a long sleeve shirt after my post-work/gym evening shower.

The days are still long, brilliant blue skies in the high 20C, with a perfect balance of humidity and dryness in the air. The fragrance of eucalypts and autumn bloom flowers drifts along in the gentle breeze. During the 20 minute stroll to the beautiful St. Lucia Unversity campus I can hear birds twittering and the far off sound of a house being built. I alternate between walking in the direct sunlight and mottled light on the footpath - getting myself to a perfect temperature.

That early morning (8am is pretty early....) walk is one of my limited chances these days to stop and look at the world around me before plunging back into the world of economics, development, governance and international public health......and stationery (being the dedicated bookshop attendant that I am).

The Widgets referred to in the title are those undefined units of production that microeconomists base their lives on. How seemingly neat and intuitive the concepts of demand, supply, marginal costs, optimal firm sizes and indifference curves are. And how easy is it to apply those concepts to the real world and have defined answers to our problems of poverty and underdevelopment. But what seems to screaming out of every book, journal and magazine that I read is that there are no clear cut answers. And the more one tries to find a single solution, or a formula that is based on limited education and ideological underpinnings the further one will find themselves from the solution.

Neoclassical economics is a case in point of a simplified attempt at solving problems with no real effort at addressing the complexity and subtlety of the real world. People do not act as rational agents in accordance with economic theory, that much is obvious, so why the persistence with one dimensional theories? Sure it can be argued that people are inherently rational, but their preferences and decision making processes are too complex for any model or equation.

Strong governments and regulatory insitutions are certainly one of the greatest contributors to the development and economic growth of a nation. The autocratic regimes of Singapore and China (as well as the less autocratic ones of Taiwan, S. Korea and Hong Kong) are examples of strong state leadership and intervention (less so in Hong Kong). Highly protectionist import substituting policies defined these countries in the early stages of their development, only when the industries were strong did the government allow competition with the world market. In this case they had a comparative advantage in terms of the international product cycle (ie. they had large quantities of cheap labour and could specialise in labour intensive manufacturing). The confucianist culture of saving for the future (delay of gratification) also played an important role.

The unmitigated disaster that was the structural adjustment programs for developing countries in the 1980's is further evidence of the failure of neo-liberal economic theory in its application to non-theoretical dilemmas. Anyone who doesn't cringe at the horror committed by the World Bank and IMF in designing, implementing and then excusing themselves from, doesn't realise the tragedy that is occuring in places like Brazil. The inequity is ludicrous, and no level of economic growth will make up for it - no money can filter into the rural sectors when the insitutions are designed in such a way to ensure all profits are captured by the wealthy urban sector.

I'm digressing from whatever I was going to write about initially. But as you can see, the dominant theme occupying my thoughts is economic development - and how it relates to health - which in fact is one of the biggest factors in development. No economy will grow when 25% of the workforce has AIDS and another large proportion are dying of Malaria and TB.

The gym is still being frequented but I can feel in my joints that more care and precision will be required than a few years ago when I could twirl a barbell round my head without fear of straining a back/forearm/shoulder.

We also had our inaugural Tabragalba Grove Olive Picking Festival 2007, a couple of weeks ago. Here is a little montage of the day.

Olive picking

Update

2007-03-08T20:00:00.000+10:00

Can this be so? Just an update about recent events without a flaming arrow being shot at some section of the community and their beliefs? Well, maybe - I'll see where this takes me.

So I am now a full-time student once more - after four years in (and out of) the workforce I have put the foot on the brake of my ongoing lack of postgraduate education and thrown myself back into Uni land.

The emotions have been mixed to say the very least. From the top of the world in every sense to its polar opposite in the space of 24 hours was a common feature of the past couple of months - but now that I have a routine (yes a ROUTINE!) time is flying by and am feeling like I am making progress towards something. Not exactly sure what it is, but something that is slowly gaining clarity in the swampy depths of my mind with every lecture I attend, every article I read and every other mind I engage.

I am working nearly a full-time job at the UQ Union Bookshop on top of my study - and the all important gymnasium routine has not been forgotten either - so after the contact and non-contact hours of study that I have committed myself to, I have not nearly as much time as I would like to spend with my equally hard working little nurse (who has had the worst tempered bugger of a patient recently with a sore back and stiff neck.....me).

I think that if there is only one thing in my entire life at the moment that I would change, it would be to have more hours in the day - there just isn't enough time to do all that I want to do and so I feel like there is a portion of life that I am missing out on. Current affairs and cultural activities have dissipated to a trickle of Simpsons, the occasional quiz show and The Biggest Loser (yes, I watch - it's health and fitness, albeit dramatised excessively). Being aware of time passing can be both a useful tool and mental torture at the same time. It makes you endeavour to do all you can before all the grains of sands have fallen, but results in an element of desperation in the mind to achieve all that needs to be achieved before it's too late.

The other thing I have discovered (you'll like this one Lucas) is that 'the customer is always wrong, and an idiot'. My customer service work in the bookshop has made me a cynical customer hater - but I also love them when they do everything perfectly. It is great to be able to compare the behaviour of a massive cross section of the University community through the multitude of tiny interactive differences.

Some empirical data thus far collected goes as follows:

- International students always want plastic bags
- Females almost always want plastic bags - unless they are trying to be enviro friendly
- Males almost never ever want a bag
- Females are more picky about their products
- Females are more impatient
- Middle ages females are the most impatient and demanding
- Old women are the most patient
- Japanese/Korean students always give you that extra 5 or 10 cents so that they get a note or gold coin back in change (good on them I say)
- Nobody ever reads signs in the shop - no matter how big or how often they are in front of their face.
- Boys these days must spend as much time as girls in the hairdresser - the variety of specially coloured/spiked/twisted/blow waved hair do's these guys get around in would make a rock star embarrassed for them.

And that is all I have to say about that for now.

Round pegs in square holes....

2007-02-18T21:07:00.000+10:00

...that was the little geometric quandry that was occupying my mind for a about 6 minutes this afternoon.

Then I realised it was because I was eating four poached eggs on two peices of toast.

hmmm poached eggs.

Words, Anger and Hypocrisy

2007-02-11T11:20:00.000+10:00

The power of words is something that I have come to understand and appreciate more fully over the past couple of years. This has been primarily the result of this blog and how it draws certain reactions from readers and myself based on the way it is written.

The pleasure of writing and playing with words has made the act of reading even more enjoyable. I've come to love how a change of word here or there can paint a picture more vividly or the bite of sarcasm can be deeper with a touch of alliteration and onomatopoeia. They are just Year 10 English techniques but so often they spring up in the right places to draw you into a world beyond the words on a page. Dickens' art of describing the random irrelevant detail is well known for this, but I prefer the politically minded writing of Orwell that can only be appreciated if you understand his ideology (as is shown by people who can't see the scathing attack on capitalism in Animal Farm)

What I enjoy most about writing is the passion that could be invoked. To turn a thought or a feeling into what appears to be a raging anger or an acidic spit in the face. Furious, desperate anger. Why so much anger? Why not passionate love and kindness? In all honesty - who wants to read about someone elses love? A Mills & Boon will do for that.

But there is also something very tangible and real about such an active emotion as anger (unlike the passive emotion of contentment). I would almost go as far as to say that for me, and indeed others, while witnessing your mind consumed in fury there is something almost art-like in the emotions invoked - like a booming furious Requiem inside your body. And so I endeavour to pour that Requiem onto pages of my diary and this blog.

Much of our passion as humans manifests itself as our ideology. And the direct result of any ideology is hypocrisy. No one who believes in anything can claim to be totally free of hypocrisy. We see it in ourselves and those around us, but we have yet another spare blind eye in our kit bag which we hurl at the mountain of our own and our loved ones hypocrises.

Is that a bad thing? Is there a subjectively determined level of acceptable hypocrisy? What would happen if everyone monitored everyone else for a slip up in their principles? Then again what would happen if everyone cared about the world instead of themselves.....

What's in the news?

2007-02-04T13:52:00.000+10:00

The latest report from the UN is apparently yet another significant piece of evidence proving the effect of humans on climate change.

How much longer can people keep denying this? Is this going to be another version of the evolutionary theory debate? Except in this instance the future of the planet as we know it could be at stake.

What a generation to be alive - possibly one of the last to witness the world as it once was? The shift of the human psyche to one of rampant individualism couldn't be better expressed than the destruction of the planet, thereby ensuring we are the most remembered generation of all - possibly and ironically, with no-one left to remember us in a few generations. Perhaps all the prophecies of Armageddon style weather patterns will actually prove themselves to be vaguely accurate?

My prediction is that as the desperation for rapidly diminishing natural resources takes hold, and eventual economic decline in the US occurs - fear will grip the hearts of populations and governments alike. Fear of losing the quality of life we once took for granted, fear of change and fear of the unknown. Like a pack of animals, countries and individuals will climb over each other, trampling the weakest as they make final lunge for the remnants of a past life. Economic invasions such as the ones already witnessed in developing countries and protectionist trade policies will be the start of the economics warfare - then what? Foreign reserve dumping, trade embargoes and alliances between countries amongst all of this. Eventually leading the defence agencies to 'prepare for the worst' and make sure their missiles are pointed in the right direction - prompting 'the enemy' to do the same. And rest will be history - possibly discovered by another species that may evolve in a few million years.

Sounds dramatic? It's already happening and it won't take much to take the blocks out from under the wheels and allow the machine of humanity to career off into oblivion.

That is unless something is done now. If people stop making excuses for the lifestyles we have become accustomed to, if fingers are pointed, if action is taken, if policies are implemented.

What is the point in denying that this is an essential course of action? To be contrary? To not be called a 'greenie' by cretins? To tow the party line of conservatives and their white hooded friends?

If you are in denial that radical action is required, ask yourself why. Why ignore the facts? Why take the risk? Why gamble with the future of humanity for the sake of your own petty comforts?

I just hope we have a Crimes Against Humanity tribunal in 50 years that will bring some justice against the polluters and the excessively wealthy.

The familiarity slump

2007-01-20T12:19:00.000+10:00

Between loads of washing, doing the dishes, tidying up around the house and twice daily trips to the Hospital to drop off and pick up Heather from work, I've been doing little else but read and go to the gym. Someone once said that dull women have immaculate homes. The house isn't quite immaculate, but almost, so I'm either a women or dull or both.

It might sound quite luxurious to many - pottering about on hot summer days with no immediate pressure to do anything. But in reality my mind doesn't work like that. How I wish I could put cruise control on and let the RPM's of my brain ease along at around 2,000 as I navigate my way down this flat straight stretch of life I find myself on.

Alas, no.

I have been going to the gym but the body still isn't ready for proper lifting sessions that leave the mind shattered and the muscles clinging to the bones by a thread. And without a job or any other diverting project my mind and body is left under stimulated. The foot as always is flat to the floor, the RPM's are at 6,000 but I'm going nowhere fast and am analysing the life out every minute detail of the world around me. Trying to ignore the fact that I wish I was surrounded by people who don't speak English in a country with customs that would make Marco Polo run for cover.

Life is just too easy, the only challenge is being motivated to tackle the daily administrative tasks of life to the best of ones ability. Indeed I believe I have found myself in that most treacherous and soul spoiling of places - The Comfort Zone. "God, Allah, Vishnu and pals get me out of here", I plead as I 'tsk' at the price of red capsicums in Woolies, then drive home and watch TV until bed time.

The answers to this problem are always easy. But in a way the answers are really just another nail in a coffin that tessellates with everyone else's coffins of normal society. Get a job, join a club, blah blah blah - ie. do what everyone else is doing to forget that they are living the same lives as each other - just ensure there is a veneer of difference to perpetuate our individualistic society.

I just got offered a customer service job for Medicare - I'll have to take it, but the conflict with my Uni course which starts in a few weeks will probably result in my resignation after a month. I've also started planning more travel for 18-24 months in the future - to anywhere that takes my fancy as I stare at Google wondering what to look up.

In other news, we have just got a car for Heather - a little Ford Festiva with air-con and power steering (the only features that differentiate it from the greatest car in the world - '81 Honda Civic) and it is red. Heather must have been looking a little tired when we paid for it because the dealer got her confused with Methuselah and put her age as 925 years old, which required correction for the contract to be valid. Of course.

The road will get windy and tricky again, with potholes to zip around - but in the meantime I'll try not to fall asleep at the wheel or drive too dangerously during this stretch of the road.

The Consumption

2007-01-12T14:30:00.000+10:00

OECD Consumption vs Millenium development goals.

Planet earth: dying of consumption

Food transportation across the globe is making a significant contribution to climate change.
Food in the UK travels 65% further than it did two decades ago.
Heinz ketchup eaten in California is made with California-grown tomatoes shipped to Canada for processing and returned in bottles.
In one year, the port of New York City exported $431,000 of California almonds to Italy, and imported $397,000 of Italian almonds to the US.
In 2004, the UK imported 17,200 tonnes of chocolate-covered wafers and exported 17,600; imported 43,993 tonnes of potatoes whilst exporting 85,652; and imported 25,720 tonnes of milk and cream, only to export 27,125 at the same time.

The Shopocalypse

2007-01-10T18:49:00.000+10:00

A short sermon from Reverend Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping .....

As the Devil’s logos force us up on to the Interstates, we’ll be damned if we can tell – hey, am I just driving home from work again or is this the FINAL MOMENT OF HUMAN HISTORY? It’s so hard to know, because the Shopocalypse is coming through the dash in the form of a sexual whisper, and it says: ‘This is Convenience’.

We believe this – as the ocean rises and shoots through our windows. And we keep believing it, as our families are clicked-and-dragged across miles of pavement into Free Speechless big boxes. Do I have a witness? As the Smart Monks from here at the 'Slow Down Your Consumption' School of Divinity have said: ‘Stop! Stop shopping!’

Now, children, we are all Shopping Sinners. Each of us is walking around in a swirl of gas and oil, plastics and foil. We should all hit our knees and weep and confess together. We are not evil people, but somehow we allowed the Lords of Consumption to organize us into these mobs that buy and dispose, cry and reload. Yes the Rapture of the Final Consumption, the Shopture, is under way.

The fundamentalist consumers are lifted way up into the air, into the Supermall of Eternal Convenience, where there are thousands of chain stores above the clouds, and where even breathing is on credit. Stadium-sized crowds of the Saved, entire qualifying hordes, are ‘shoptured up’ into a staggering array of discount opportunities. Those of us down here below have been left to die because we have an uneasy feeling from all the Chosen People talk coming out of Davos and Bentonville. Yes, we walked away from the BLOW-OUT CLEARANCE SALE.

As we witness more hapless consumers vortexing straight up into the Supermall of Eternal Convenience, we must grab their ankles and pull them down, screaming, from their advertopia. They will think we’re Devils, of course. They may slap at us as we cling to their shoes and as the sales pass through to the sky. But be gracious. Simply say, ‘Hello, we are from the Church of Disturb the Customers. Your shopping is ending the world.’

Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping are based in New York. The Rev, accompanied by the Stop Shopping Choir, undertakes ‘retail interventions’ (also known as transgressing in chain stores), lectures, and revival services in a bid to stop the Shopocalypse, and bring ‘changeluyah’ to the lost souls who shop at Wal-Mart, Starbucks and Disney. Join the congregation at http://www.revbilly.com

Dehydration and soft drinks

2007-01-08T10:35:00.000+10:00

For any one at all interested in their health and quality of life I have been noticing an interesting phenomena.

I'm not a soft drink drinker - juice, cordial, coke, pepsi, solo, sprite - whatever, I generally don't drink it (unless mixed with something else on the odd occasion).

However....over the past few weeks I have been drinking far less water than I usually do (I normally drink about three litres of water a day). While I'm not finding myself dehydrated or 'thirsty', I have been getting urges, yearnings, cravings, desires, or whatever you might feel, for a sweet and/or fizzy drink.

My conclusion from this inadvertent experiment is that when we are dehydrated (note: you don't know if you are dehydrated - if you feel thirsty then you are well beyond the early stages of dehydration) your body tells you it needs water + electrolytes (sugar and salt) - hence the craving for a sweet bubbly drink.

The obesity pandemic driven largely by our addiction to sugary drinks (especially 'healthy' fruit juice - bah!) could be slowed by a greater effort on drinking more water. More water, less soft drink, less diabetes, less drain on society - and people think Centrelink gives away too much money. I say we tighten the criteria for helping people with late onset diabetes and other lifestyle related illnesses - if you can't bothered to keep yourself healthy (at no expense to yourself - in fact saving you money on alcohol, cigarettes, soft drink, junk food, expensive leisure activities, big TV's etc) then don't come crawling to the government asking for subsidised insulin shots or any other support.

Hmm, and I want to be a public health policy maker?

It can't hurt to drink more water, and ignore the naysayers who claim drinking too much strips vitamins and minerals from your body - rubbish. Eat a healthy diet full of vegetables, legumes and lean protein and you'll have all the vitamins and minerals you need.

The more I think about it, the more I would like to be able to create a 'Human Scorecard'. A little template that takes into account your lifestyle, income, education, career, etc etc and tell you exactly what your impact on the world is - economically (including environmentally). My guess is that most people would have a negative impact on the world - especially those of us in OECD countries (the new word I will use for 'the West').

Life out of balance

2006-12-30T16:53:00.000+10:00

After a cold and rainy few days in Brisbane the weather has returned to normal. I'm looking out the window as the warm afternoon sun glints through the trees, and following an exhausting session at the gym (a couple more plates on the squat bar today) I am suddenly in a writing mood.

It seems as though our culturally determined end/beginning date of our orbit around the sun has arrived once more. It always makes me reminisce about New Years eves gone by. The last one was in London - not long after the shortest day of a cold, dark winter and some light snow - and was one of the best days/night during that 11 month stint in the UK.

This year I am back in Brisbane of course. No firm plans yet about what I will do. Heather is working the night shift (it had to be Christmas or New Years) and a lot of people are out of town. There are a couple of little gatherings going on and mum and dad are also coming up for the night to see the fireworks at Southbank. I'm not too fussed about what I do - really I just want to reflect on the past two years (something I have been doing a lot of lately) and quietly welcome in the New Year while thinking about what everyone I've met overseas might be up to in their various parts of the world.

Amongst the daydreams I've been having of South America there have also been some little questions I've been pondering, such as the issue of 'extremism'. The most common definition of 'extreme' refers to the excessively large divergence of behaviour or belief from an 'average' or 'norm'. Which can only lead to the most important question - what is normal?

For non-statisticians (and people who can't remember their Year 10 maths) there are generally three ways for determining a middle ground. Mean, Median and Mode.

MEAN:

The Mean is your classical 'average' - add everything up and divide by the number of people/things - only possible if you can create a Belief Index (100 = the utmost extreme in one direction of belief and 0 = the utmost extreme in the other direction) and then using a large enough sample of mankind and a clever enough survey to accurately calculate a person's Belief Index score.

MEDIAN

The Median is the middle number - more specifically - if you could put everyone in a line starting with the most extreme person at one end (Osama bin Laden maybe, closely followed by George W) and the other most extreme person at the other end - such as Jesus or Karl Marx - you would find the person who is exactly in the middle of the line and they would be the median.

MODE:

The Mode is simply the most common. So again using our Belief Index, whichever score occurred the most frequently would be considered the mode belief.

As you can see it would be utterly impossible to calculate what is 'normal' accurately using statistical methods - and that's not even mentioning the complexity of a persons 'beliefs' and the ways in which conservatives can sit in left wing camps sometimes and religious extremists can promote equality and socialist ideals. But if you keep those methods in the back of your head and do some generalisations about what we know of the world and its demographics, some estimates of what is 'normal' would be very suprising to a lot of us wealthy white folk.

It could be that 'normal' is a Mandarin speaking Sunni Muslim who works in a manufacturing job to support his elderly parents.

Just a minute. I've totally lost the thread of my discussion. Getting back to my Belief Index. And applying it specifically to attitudes towards capitalism, consumerism, tax, and government intervention more generally. I think that we would find that what we believe currently to be normal would actually fall at the lower (or upper) end of any index. The consumer economy in its full glory (sarcasm) is only a recent phenomenon. If people abhor extremism then why do they allow advertising to infiltrate every corner of our lives and constantly live to the extent of their wealth instead of giving back to the world (not state/country) that provided them with that opportunity for wealth. How much more extreme could our consumer lifestyles become?

Know your scales before talking of balance.

Una fin de semana muy buena

2006-12-19T12:23:00.000+10:00

It is one of those almost-hot mid-December days, any physical exertion would result in a sweaty afternoon. But to potter about inside a wide open Queenslander, the gentle breeze wafting through the front doors, is a delight.

Heather is hard at work at the Intensive Care Unit at the Royal Brisbane and Womens Hospital and I, after a lovely sleep-in on our new mattress, have been doing some leisurely tidying, cleaning and organising of the house - making it more our home - consequently, I must be a homemaker. A pleasant role for the short term, but I am already getting restless in mind and body - a good gym session will solve half the problem, but a rewarding, satisfying and not-too-stressful job would solve the other half. I am on the case, but often need to remind myself that the urgency for employment is not the same as it was in London and I can bide my time while hunting for the right one for me.

I flew back to Brisbane yesterday afternoon following a pleasant weekend catching up with Lucas and Farah - and meeting Lucas's friends and family and taking a trip with him down memory lane to his adolescence in Wollongong.

After a hectic and frantic end to our time in London together, and indeed to our travel experiences to that point, it was great to catch up again and ponder the difficulties of the world and how they should be solved as well as learning more about the latest countries we had visited in our travels.

The big news from the weekend, however, was the engagement of Lucas and Farah. I want to wish them the best and say how I excited I am for them and all the amazing opportunities and adventures they have before them to tackle together.

As for the minutiae of the goings-on in my cerebrum - I have just finished the oft advertised 'Freakonomics' - basically an economist doing some statistical analysis on data sets requiring some ingenuity to uncover, and some lateral thinking to approach and interpret. His most controversial topic being how the 1973 Roe v Wade decision in the US resulting in the legalisation of abortion in most US states was the key underlying factor causing the reversal of growing crime rates in the 80's and early 90's. Backed up by further case studies of similar effects in various European countries it appears almost unrefutable. The book doesn't make any moral judgments about rights or wrongs and doesn't advocate any ideal - purely using the data and some unbiased common sense to draw conclusions.

Ah, the Spanish program on SBS radio is beginning. Time to move on.

The unsettlingness of settling

2006-12-09T21:54:00.000+10:00

This evening is the second time since I have been home that I have been gripped by a sense of panic, unease and a strange feeling of claustrophobia - or is it more that feeling in a dream when the brakes of your car won't work as you approach stationary vehicles.

The first time was after I had been in Brisbane for a few days before Heather flew back up from Sydney. I think being back in the house I lived in for a year and a half at University without any connection to anyone from my recent past made me feel like I had regressed six years. Some people might enjoy revisiting their youth, but I feel like my life gets better every day and I wouldn't turn the clock back if I was given the chance.

The second attack of itchy feet (this evening) has been after a long day of moving things into the house (like last time) and expending a large amount of brain power on how the furniture in the rooms should be arranged.

On both occasions I have suddenly had an intense desire to once again own only what I have in my backpack and get on a plane to distant country that doesn't speak English (preferably Spanish). Life is so much simpler while traveling - the only things that matter are where the next meal will come from and where you'll sleep that night. It becomes more complicated when you have to start earning an income - but even in London when you can keep your purchases of bulky items to a bare minimum and make do with what a rental house has to offer things remain pretty simple. I suddenly feel like I am the owner of a vast array of furniture, clothes, memorabilia from my past and other non-essential junk. It makes me feel cluttered and over-burdened with material possessions. No wonder people buy home and contents insurance - they get so paranoid about all this 'stuff' that they've invested their souls into considering, purchasing, carting home and setting up in exactly the right spot to match the rest of their 'decor'.

So as I was sitting in our newly rearranged lounge I wondered why on earth it matters that everything 'fits' or 'looks right' (bearing in mind that those questions had been at the forefront of my mind all afternoon). This is also on top of an ugly visit to IKEA - people strolling about considering how best to waste their money on matching suites for their homes, I felt physically repulsed as I navigated us through this behemoth warehouse of SHITE to clog up peoples homes an relieve them of their money that they worked to hard for so that they could get that 'Windsor Lounge Suite' they've had their eye on for months.

Surely a house, if it is indeed the nest which baby birds are to raised in, should be expression of the people who own it - a collection (mismatching most likely) of items from the past and present that tells a story about who these people are. Bear in mind I think I am being EXTREMELY lenient by even suggesting that people should waste natural resources on expressing themselves through interior decoration - there are plenty of other environmentally friendly ways of expressing yourselves.

But we want to be comfortable? Firstly we have an obsession with comfort, and extreme comfort at that - our leisure time becomes condensed so we need to intensify the R&R so that we feel like our bodies are floating through heaven before we consider ourselves properly comfortable. Squatting on your hind legs is an extremely comfortable position if you are taught to sit like that from a young age - or cross legged on a carpet. But no, we need cushions (matching ones), just the right shape and firmness couch and the TV at the right angle so we don't need to use another calorie of our energy while we 'relax'.

Okay I've gone on a tangent there.

I don't want to get caught up in the game of desire for 'nicer' things just because I can afford to. This is a bit of a pointless post because I don't think there is answer or a way to stop people from spending all their incomes on pursuing 'comfort' - it will always happen and is what drives our individualistic capitalist economies. I just want to be free from the cycle of consume, work, consume.

On another note - as I knew I would, I regret every second of my time (much of London excepted) traveling that I didn't stare wide-eyed at everything around me and soak in every ounce of atmosphere, language, music, custom and food. I envy those who are still in a 'foreign' land. I say 'foreign' like that, because really there is no such thing as a 'foreign' land. We are all people, we all eat, sleep and go to the toilet - in different ways and Australia has it's own ways just like any other country.

Have also put some photos up from home and the cricket

Funny......

2006-11-24T19:36:00.000+10:00

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

2006-11-22T17:37:00.000+10:00

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.

2006-11-08T16:52:00.000+10:00

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

2006-11-05T14:57:00.000+10:00

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.

Hello my Darjeelings

2006-10-29T16:05:00.000+10:00

After a long sleep last night, an upgraded hotel (paying an extra $3 each) and a chance to explore Darjeeling today as well as plan in more detail our final 10 days in India we have come to be quite fond of Darjeeling. The Chinese and Tibetan influence, not quite as obvious as in Leh, I think has some sort of calming influence as the Tibetan/Chinese men don't stare as intently and the women actually smile and say Hello when they pass you in a lane.

Photos are up of Amritsar, Delhi, Agra and Darjeeling.

We had a morning of talking to Jeep drivers and buying (just in time) our train ticket from New Jalpaiguri (next to Siliguri) to Kolkata on the 6th of November. Actually adds an extra day to our time to visit Sikkim (which sounds even more Tibetan and has the 8500m Kangchengdongza to marvel at).

During the afternoon we strolled though Happy Valley Tea Gardens and sampled their best Superfine Tippy Flowery Golden Orange Pico One - arguably the best tea in the world - argued by the fine men and women of Darjeeling of course - only takes 5 seconds of brewing for a tasty cuppa. We got lost on our way to the tea plantation and ended up eating Dhiwali sweets (bangle-sweetbreads) with a family who have a house on the slopes next to the plantation - the owner, Uday, promised to be our agent to organise accommodation for any future visits to Darjeeling.

Following the tea we walked (panting) up so Observatory Hill and had an afternoon looking at prayer flags, a shared Tibetan/Hindu Gompa, and the funniest tribe of monkeys I've ever seen. Not much to add other than that. Just thought I'd stick another post up to calm any concerns that we were about to throw ourselves off the edge of a Darjeeling cliff.

Oh, and we met a French-Canadian man named Cosmos - wandering about India in his suit educating universities on proper medical practice and also how to be more environmentally friendly. Good work Cosmos.

Tedious Taj and the train to Darjeeling

2006-10-27T23:15:00.001+10:00

or:

Agony in Agra and the cross-India Express.

Once again we are in recovery mode.

It all started at 4:15am in Amritsar - as previously posted - we hdad an early start for our 8 hour train ride to Delhi. Shortly after arrival we had booked a return bus trip to Agra (home of the Taj Mahal) the following day and a 28 hour train ride the next day, to Siliguri, far north West Bengal.

Exhausted from our early start that morning we got to bed sometime after ten o'clock, waking early again at 5:20am to get to our bus pick-up spot by 6am. It was a scheduled five hour ride to Agra and our seats were in the ergonomically compromising back seats (note:bench) of the bus with a fan screwed to the wall where my head should have been. After more like seven hous sitting with a hunched back and getting minor brain damage from the bumps in the road banging my head into the corner of the fan, we arrived in Agra. First stop was the Fort and Heather and I decided - bugger this - and jumped on a cycle rickshaw to take a look at the Taj Mahal and then get a different bus back to Delhi.

The Taj costs nearly $30AUD to get in so we had a look from a distance. One of the least awe inspiring contructions I have ever seen. I guess it's all the hype it recieves, but it seriously was nothing special - apparently built for love by a filthy rich Maharaja - I would have sent it back for improvement if I was the unlucky lady to have this built in my name.

So anyway - as per usual, our rickshaw driver wanted to take us to a multitude of shops - he gets a drink or lolly just for brining us into each shop, and he was a nice enough old man so we agreed. After getting our attempt to buy another bus ticket found only an over priced 'seat' in the cabin (ie. with the driver), we had no choice but to agree as all the buses leave about the same time and get into Delhi after midnight. So for the first three hours of the journey Heather sat with her knees under her chin directly behind the driver - later noticing his underpants were hanging next to her head. And I sat with the gear stick between my legs and an Indian with half his backside on my leg.

At the dinner stop (birthplace of Hare Krishna) we were shifted onto another bus which apparently was quicker and more spacious. This time (for the final three hours) we sat on a bench that looked across the cabin at the driver with our backs resting uncomfortably against the window frames and handles. We finally made it back to Delhi just before 2am and went back to our hotel for a quick 3 hour power nap before getting up at 5:30am again to get our 6:30 train to Siliguri.

So tired, dirty, hungry and with sickness returning again we threw ourselves into our 4-man sleeper 'cabin' (curtains for walls) and slept for most of the first day. The highlight was the sleeping, followed by the omlete, which was the only stomachable food as the taste of Dal is starting make us nauseous.

I started reading a book 'Mayada - Daughter of Iraq', published in 2003 and appears to be blatant propoganda for the invasion of Iraq - it almost quotes the news (or maybe journalists used this book as their source) - but if taken as unrelated to the US invasion it is still a historically interesting book.

I fell asleep reading and woke up in time for an omlete before arriving in New Jalpaiguri (station serving Siliguri). After the usual cacophany of lies a taxi driver finally took us and a Spanish and Korean pair to the Jeep stand in Siliguri - two and a half hours of climbing and winding later we arrived in Darjeeling.

Both exhausted, and I'm feeling fluey again with a sore throat, we are not impressed by Darjeeling itself. After the quietness of Leh in the Himalayas - our expectations for Darjeeling were to high - the town is a busy, noisy and uninteresting. Jeeps are crammed into the narrow roads and the constant smell of diesel fumes in India has managed to pervade this town as well. It is west-facing on the hillside so the view down the valley is pretty, but gets old after a few looks. Some exploring tomorrow and a visit to a tea plantation might reveal something more interesting about the place. I see it more as a base for getting to Gangtok in Sikkim after we sort out permits, and then down and across into Bhutan for a day of free sightseeing (yes, it is free to go for a day).

I have to say that my impressions of India have not been that great. Leh was wonderful and inspiring. But the rest of it is just pollution, poverty, and people waiting to rip-off an uninformed and trusting traveller. I don't need to see poverty, I know it exists, and the pollution created by 1.1 billion people is saddening more than anything. Any natural wonder that exists is always shadowed by the threat of ever growing pollution and a population that follows in the conspicious consumption habits of the West. No doubt the final few days in Kolkata will be the icing on the cake - where pollution, poverty and inequality is supposed to be at its worst.

While I'm in a bad mood - I might post a little drawing of Mohammed. Just to offend people who like to take offense at EVERY BLOODY THING that they can. If your religion can't cope with humour, satire, analysis or criticism then that is your problem - get the hell over it - if you actually had 'faith' then the hypocrises you follow wouldn't bother you when challenged. But then again you'd have to be a moron to believe in a blatant hypocrisy just because your school and family told you it is 'right'.

Amiable Amritsar

2006-10-24T23:45:00.000+10:00

We spent our last afternoon in Amritsar by heading to Atilla (I have forgetten it's name - just know it as 'the border') to watch, with several thousand other Indians, the closing of the border ceremony with Pakistan. The poor Pakistani guards only had a little stand for a few spectators on their side, while the Indian crowd was getting revved up with (MC:) 'HINDUSTAN' (crowd reply:) 'HINDABA' or something like that as well as other war cries. Following the longest cry of 'guaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaards' I have ever heard (great lung capacity)the guards marched at super speeds with arms flailing before stopping dead, stamping their feet so hard when they about turned that the ground must shake when a few hundred of them march together.

The crowd was the worst behaved I have ever seen and only some yelling by the guards (I'm sure threatening in Hindi to open fire unless they behave themselves) would get everyone seated again until the next moment when there was something worth seeing. I waved my little plastic Indian flag enthusiatically and did my 'ooh ah India ah ha India' as they say on the TV here. I did think the Pakistanis did look a little more menacing - identical outfit, with the big fan sticking out of their hats, but with dark green instead of khaki - something about their march had a little more bite to it.

The one hour jeep to and from the border involved me, Heather, the driver and 13 other Indians crammed into an old landcruiser - cosy (and daredevilish during the rush to get back to Amritsar when the ceremony had ended.

The evening was highlighted by more helpful Sikh men, furthering out positive perception of Amritsar. Not having time to get into the Golden Temple I was struck by it's beauty. The outside building is just a protective fortress - behind which is a large mote around what looks like a pure gold building - stunning (from the view we had through the archways). So holy a place it seemed that I was not that keen to go in given my non-Sikh leanings and the respect I feel they have earnt. The father of Sikhism was actually a farmer who travelled with a Muslim mate singing songs about peace, equality and love. The songs still continue non-stop from the Temple.

An early rise this morning to accompany a lone Israeli girl on the 8 hour train back to New Delhi where we find ourselves now - return bus ticket booked to Agra (Taj Mahal) tomorrow - returning at midnight and heading straight to the train station for our 24 hour ride to Siliguri - near Darjeeling - on the opposite side of India.

We must be getting used to this place as Main Bazaar is a walk in the park compared to the frightful hell hole it first seemed two weeks ago. I did just get mobbed by some kids trying to pick my pockets - but that's life - and fair play - I am a comparatively wealthy foreigner.