Basking in Belizie

You’ve gotta love a country where the post office doesn’t sell stamps. Being a good friend/tourist, I’d bought post cards the day after I arrived in Belize. I am still to send them – though not for a lack of trying.

Staying on a tiny Caribbean island about an hour’s boat ride from Belize City, I was in heaven. Caye Caulker is made up of about 5 or 6 sandy streets. Most wooden hostels and hotels are on the beach, and many – like mine – have a few hammocks under palm trees where you can take a rest from the 10 metre walk from your bed to the ocean.

The attitude reflects the island too. “You’d better Belize it man” is the nation’s tourist slogan, and they really are that cool. ‘Hey mun, you’re in paradise mun’ a cool as f*@k Caribbean man greeted me as I stepped off the bus in Belize City. He was right too – the reggae beat to the nation reflects the laid back attitudes, and somehow adds to the beauty of the place.

The laid back attitudes do extend to service though. I don’t like to admit it, but I’m really not patient enough to handle backpacking in random places sometimes. (Liz, maybe I could attend teacher training with you to grow a bit of patience??) After years of travel, I’ve trained myself to expect bad, slow, or non existent service. Drinks can take half an hour to arrive, food – sometimes and hour and a half. You can’t really complain though when you’re sitting on a swing under a palm tree as a gentle breeze tames the harsh Caribbean sun.

What I’ve never come across, in all my years of travel to random corners of the globe is a post office that doesn’t sell stamps. That’s taking ‘laid back’ to a whole new level. Trying to be organised, I bought a few post cards and wrote them while I waited for friends to finish shopping. As they were clearly going to be a while purchasing random stuff, I thought I’d wander up to the post office. After strolling a couple of blocks in the harsh midday sun, I was glad to find the small door covered in lists of names of locals who had mail to pick up. When I wandered in and asked how much a stamp costs, the one staff member simply shrugged and said “We don’t have stamps. We might get some in a few days, I dunno”.

Usually that lack of organised service would piss me off. But in Belize, I found it so ridiculous – so in tune with the atmosphere of the island – that I started laughing. And the lovely Caribbean lady joined me for a giggle too.

As you may be able to tell from reading this, I did very little in Belize. Most of my time was spent lying around. Number one location for lying around was ‘The Split’ – a point where the island was ‘broken’ in half by a hurricane about 40 years ago, and now is the best swimming beach on the island, complete with bits of concrete to sunbake on (I think it was an old pier), or jump off for a swim if you felt the sunbaking was getting a bit too much.

Number two location for lying around was one of the many hammocks scattered around the island. It’s very possible to spend your entire day in a hammock on Caye Caulker. You can go to restaurants with hammocks, bars, even laze on a hammock tied to a pier above the warm, pale green seas. A good book is necessary of course, but what I found most enjoyable about the place was the friendliness of everyone. I met two cool chicks (22 and 24 year old commercial pilots … made me feel a bit inadequate) within about 20 seconds of arriving, and the rest of the time was spent just hanging with awesome people.

As I write this I think I might chuck in my plans for Canada … Belize sounds much more fun.

Semana Santa means crazy, loud, Easter

Guatemala leaves western countries to shame when it comes to Easter celebrations.

In Melbourne, we've got the Royal Children's Hospital Good Friday appeal, a few days down the beach, and an Easter Egg hunt.

In London, it's usually a short flight over to somewhere warmer for a few days of overpriced hotels.

In Guatemala it's a week long celebration that culminates in five days of 20 HOUR processions through the town. Literally. I arrived last Wednesday as celebrations were gearing up. Hundreds of 'carpets' made out of coloured sawdust, straw and flowers were being laid over dozens the cobblestone streets. Each taking about 4 or 5 hours to create, it's a community art project that has thousands of tourists elbowing each other out of the way for the best photo.

I was impressed with the effort. Especially the 2 year olds working tirelessly to get the design of Jesus' crucifixion exact. But early the next morning I was shocked to wake to a huge procession of 'floats' carried by people dressed in purple stepping all over the intricate designs. Not only that, they were followed by a very loud, very large brass band playing a repetitive, depressing tune which I only assume has something to do with the 'mood' of Easter Thursday and Good Friday here. This 'mood' was lifted somewhat by the dozens of people selling Virgin Mary dolls filled with lollies.

It seemed as though the whole of Guatemala had descended on the town of Antigua. Which was just as well because they needed the thousands of people to build new 'carpets' once they had been trampled on. Over five days, I'm guessing each carpet was rebuilt at least 4 times, each taking hours.

After a couple of days of following the celebrations, and getting stuck in crowds, I decided to escape to Honduras. For the day. Just over the border is an impressive Mayan site, strangely reminiscent of Ankor Wat in Cambodia, for its intricate designs. While much smaller, it was still quite cool to sit on top of a pyramid built by slaves 1300 years ago, and lived in by kings.

Back in Antigua, I've been spending my time in Spanish classes, and people watching. Last night I was invited to a birthday party for the nephew of the woman I'm staying with. I thought my family gatherings were loud and slightly crazy. But it's nothing compared with an extended family celebration for a 17 year old here. Four trestle tables were pulled together to sit dozens of adults and a group of kids - all boys aged about 2 or 3. Needless to say it was very loud. But I managed to make myself understood to a certain extent, and I think I even followed part of the conversation. Not the part when one of the sisters doubled over laughing so much she ended up on the floor though. Wish my brain would remember more Spanish words.

I'm out of here in a few days to check out more Mayan ruins, then to hit the beach in Belize. Money’s running a bit short so I might need to hitch my way north to Canada to start working … but I’ll figure that out in a couple of weeks.

Until then, Hasta Luega.

San Francisco fashion (and other observations)

Californians have an interesting idea of fashion. In the six and a half days I’ve been staying in the San Francisco/Bay area I’ve learned a few new ways to assemble an outfit.

A disclaimer before I start: the friend I was staying with, and many of her friends are obsessed with fashion. And they have good taste. However, I must say I really did get to indulge my obsession with people watching here. It’s just so much fun!

Interesting ensemble 1: Walking into a British ‘candy’ shop (I wanted to question that phrase … when I lived in London people referred to sweeties, not candy), I felt a ‘loud’ presence behind me. Turning around, I saw a 50ish year old, large, brassy woman. Not unexpected in a store that sells calories. However, what was amusing to me was her white tracksuit – complete with rhinestone bling detail in the shape of a heart on her back. Not content with that statement, she’d decided to celebrate her ‘Irishness’ (it was St Patrick’s Day). Underneath her unzipped tracksuit top was a very green t-shirt with the words “worlds sexiest leprechaun” emblazoned on the front. To top off her outfit she was walking around in a pair of very green crocs. Really. I am not making this up.

Interesting ensemble 2: Walking around Berkeley (one of the ridiculously expensive universities here), I was quick to notice the fashion sense of one particular gentlemen. A larger man, balding, probably in his mid fifties, he was wearing something I’ve noticed many fat balding men to wear: a horizontal striped polo top tucked into high waisted shorts. On his feet were socks pulled up his calves, and of course sandles. Not a great look – but he could be forgiven for following his peers. What can’t be forgiven was his accessory. To carry around his bulky goods (perhaps he was a professor, and had many papers to mark) he was wearing a backpack. Not just any backpack but a very pink ‘My Little Pony’ backpack. The kind six year old girls used to wear in the 1980’s. It wasn’t your standard model ‘my little pony’ backpack either. This one had ‘real’ pink and purple horse hair coming out of the picture of the horse. The kind you can learn to plait hair with. I was slightly disturbed with his choice of luggage, but I suppose when you’re living in an ‘edgy’ university town where people protest the cost of public education by standing in rubbish bins, then anything goes.

Another thing I’ve enjoyed while staying in California is the food. Of course. Americans have very large servings, and it’s kind of fun to try the strange and wonderful things they put in their mouths.

I’ve already mentioned the candy. Yesterday was a sugar coated day. Travelling south of San Francisco, we started the day in Oakland’s Chinatown, where we had pork buns for breakfast. Of course. Lunch followed – a lovely Italian café on a patio in a posh beach town called Carmel (Clint Eastwood was once the mayor of this place – you can tell that Hollywood types live here by the fact they charge you to drive down posh streets). We then wandered around town – and into the candy stores. I’ve never seen anything like the amount and variety of chocolates and lollies they can sell in one beach town. Until we got in the car and hit the next beach town, Monterey. Parking next to a candy store, of course we had to go in. 30 huge bins filled with ‘taffy’ (I tried one – didn’t like it) were only half the story. They also had more jelly beans than I had ever seen. After we eyed off that (I really couldn’t take much more by this stage – but it was fun to watch everyone), we wandered to the foreshore – where the food fun really started. Freshly baked chocolate cookies, chocolate coated bananas (really wish I wasn’t full for that one – it would have been pretty funny to lick the phallic shaped thing walking down the main street), and MORE candy!! It was the most sugar coated town I’d ever been to. Until we continued back up the coast and went to Santa Cruz. A carnival town (a little like Brighton in the UK), it had even more sugar – but by this stage it was late – and we were heading north to San Jose to go to a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. You could have rolled me back to San Francisco by the end of the night – and we were all laughing about the amount of sugar we’d bought – but couldn’t eat.

I’m about to board a plane to LA – to start my stupid journey to Guatemala. I’m a tight arse, and bought flight from Oakland (San Francisco) to LA to Miami to Guatemala because it was about a third of the price of a direct flight. Starting to regret that now.

So ‘Hasta la vista’ – I’ll write from central America next week (well, I’ll try).

A couple of bumps in the road ...

Queensland. Beautiful one day, perfect the next??? Yeah right. I never should believe advertising campaigns by dodgy 80's ad execs and bad television personalities.

I'm currently in Cairns - one of the many old home towns I have - and it's pouring. Not just a little bit of rain. I'm talking flash flooding. All a bit of fun and games for the non tropics initiated. But this has been going on for days.

To quote myself (much repeated in a mocking way by my travelling companions): "It's the wet season. Really - what should we expect?". But I lived here. And I can't remember it ever being this bad. But perhaps that's because I never hired a little yellow getz and tried to drive through flooding.

Coming up from Townsville was bad enough. We drove through Tully - the wettest town in Australia - and to do so, our little car turned into a little boat. This prompted me to pop into the police station, where a lovely officer laughed at me "You want to go to Mission Beach? In that car? Hope you know how to swim!". Thus our plans were cancelled for the first time.

Then yesterday, we had booked a couple of nights in Cape Tribulation. For those of you unfamiliar with Australia - Cape Trib is a few hours north of Cairns, in the middle of the Daintree Rainforest, right on one of the most perfectly white beaches you've ever seen. Sounds lovely. Except the weather gods stepped in again. This time, we managed to get on a boat to cross one river. And then the road decided to turn into a river. So we decided to turn back, and head towards the familiar. A bottle shop. Really - we hadn't had wine for days, and in the circumstances, a nice hotel in Cairns with a nicer bottle of wine is what we really needed.

So our plans were thwarted for a second time.

And now - on a perfectly rainy day in Cairns, our bad luck (well, Michele's), has stepped in for the third time. When travel agents and websites advise that 'you don't need a visa for Vietnam' - don't believe them. Turns out, you do. And she's flying there in 3 days. And we're in the tropics -far far away from any consulate you may care to mention. So as I write this, I am also looking up flights for Mich to Sydney - to see if she can leave in a couple of hours, to get this sorted out.

Traveling - like life - I suppose, decides to throw a few curly ones in from time to time.

Speaking of curly ones, Michele decided that a rainy day in Port Douglas was the perfect place to learn to drive a manual. The fact that we drive on the other side of the road to Americans and Europeans means that this lesson will probably be rendered useless - but oh well. After mastering driving a mini moke on Maggie Island (near Townsville), she decided to hit the real roads. With interesting results. I'll try to attach a video to demonstrate. All I can say is I'm glad it was a hire car!

Better go - am off to the court house to watch cane toad racing tonight. Only in Queensland.

The Apple (and cheese) isle

Just got back from a week in Tassie. Can't believe that's the first time I've made it to that state, considering I grew up just across the water in Melbourne. We had a great time ... but I don't know whether it was the clean air - or too much cheese and chocolate and wine - but the three of us somehow managed to reduce our IQ to the size of Jessica Simpson's.

Example 1.

Tasmania is a beautiful, diverse state. But quite small compared to the rest of Australia. So we just assumed we'd be able to see everything in 7 days. So instead of perhaps, say, looking at a map and figuring out where we were going ... we instead rocked up to Hobart with no accommodation, and no idea of where we were going. With every decent option in town booked out, we ended up staying in a grubby hostel that hadn't had clean sheets for about 10 years. Ok - I can deal with that for a night. What I can't deal with is the fire alarm going off at 6am because someone burned toast. Thank god I had proper PJ's on ... I really was ready to impress the cute fireman that arrived to 'rescue us'. Drama over - we pulled out the map. Did Michele's plan devised over 3 bottles of wine on a Hobart Wharf last night make sense? We were about to find out.

Example 2.

3 educated women - we pride ourselves on the ability not to follow the guidebook exactly, and perhaps take a few turns of the road to explore. Unfortunately this falls through when we lost our common sense on arrival in Tassie. Pulling into a car park filled with motorhomes - and what was that? - the SES? - we all thought the people setting up picnics on the side of the road were slightly strange. Never mind, we wanted to explore. Nobody bothered to ask what was going on. Nor what the green and white checked tape we drove over to reach the car park was. So after swimming in the lovely creek in the rainforest, we were preparing to leave when a police car (siren blazing) came screetching through. When Michele (of course, the ever sensible one), went to ask what was going on, we were told the road was closed for the next four hours for a car rally. "Do we like car racing" was the question? "No", "Well, you're going to have to now!". 4 hours and 2 blocks of cheese later - we were back on the road with a new appreciation of rally cars.

There were plenty of more examples of course ... but I would like to leave some pride in tact. And also have some internet time left to figure out how to upload some photos onto this thing.

Ciao for now ...

Things I've learned

I'm finding road trips a constant source of learning.

Things I've learned in this past week are:

1. Wineries are good. Tasting expensive wine is good. Realising you're not allowed to drink and drive is bad. Lesson learned. Luckily the South Australian police weren't on the ball. Today I am paying my sister $5 to drive me around the wineries near my parents place, so I can drink during the day again.

2. Going back to a childhood 'home' after many years away is a bitter sweet experience. Apollo Bay is still beautiful, still cold, still raining. But it's been 'poshed up'. The inground trampolines are gone. Skid Row is full of Jaycos. I understand this last point will not make sense to most people, but imagine your childhood campground ruined by the latte drinking set. It's slightly disconcerting. My lesson learned here was perhaps to leave the past in the past. Childhood memories should be coated in sugar, and left there.

3. Lesson 3: Don't mix gin and jager and pimms and vodka and wine. It only leads to 4am 'shopping trips' , where slightly confused drunk people end up sleepwalking and climbing boxes inside a storage room.

4. Realise that I am still unemployed and have no prospects of a job for many months to come. I can't afford to buy things. Lesson - instead of shopping on Brunswick St all afternoon, plonk yourself at a bar, drink cheap beer, wait until the shops close, then pine over the funkiest kick arse shoes I should have bought for $35.

Hope everyone is enjoying their Tuesday morning ... I'm off to the Yarra Valley to check out more wineries.

City slickers

Imagine the ugliest place in the world. Then blast a nuclear bomb over it. Leave it to brew for a while, then build a town into it.

This is what we discovered when we hit Coober Pedy. Wow. What an incredible place.

Being the only guests with a creepy hotel manager in an underground hotel wasn't enough Texas Chainsaw Massacre for us in this place. No - we decided to make the most of the underground bar.

I don't know whether you get drunk more quickly underground. I know that champagne doesn't bubble on the London Underground because of different pressure. I'm guessing that means the alcohol is stronger underground. Or it could be the fact that creepy Canadian men and strange bartenders liked to give us as much wine as they could for free. The results were interesting to say the least. Annika and I worked behind the bar for a while, I took up chair dancing, and Michele and Annika decided that a 1am ride around town with a strange Canadian was absolutely neccessary in the hunt for Tim Tams.

Luckily we survived though, because the next day was my day to choose the road trip sound track, and I really wanted to inflict the others with some bad renditions of Australian pub rock.

So now we're in Adelaide.

After days of stopping in the middle of the road for a picnic, doing cartwheels in the middle of the highway, dodging camels and emus, and taking too many pictures of strange road signs, we're in a city.

I can put make up on for the first time in ages, and feel mildly human again. I can order cocktails slightly more complex than rum and coke. And it's raining and cold. I love it. (loving the cold thing is probably temporary, I'm sure I'll miss Darwin weather soon).

Ok - off to explore this city, and maybe have a civilised drink in a civilised winery.