Ski On Me - a travel blog

Notes from a catwalk show (Wednesday 17 September, 2008)

2008-09-18T06:13:00.000-07:00

(London Fashion Week - A big white tent in front of the National History Museum, Kensington)

Welcome to Naomi Cambell’s Fashion for Relief (London Fashion Week)
An hour late and counting . No models hanging off my arm, no goodie bag, not even a Gingerbread man. But I can't really complain. After all, I'm sitting in the third row of a catwalk show. Three rows from the white strip, from international fashion icons, from another reality. It's a little surreal sitting here in the middle of it all. I find myself constantly distracted by the unnatural gleam of soda-white teeth.

The crowd
The venue is crowded. The demographic predominantly young and female; all glammed, heeled and powdered. In the background cameras flash as the room slowly settles itself. It's London. It's the scene. It's like something straight out of the fashion channel... or (dare I say it?) Ugly Betty.

Champagne bubbles float through from the foyer, and with them an excited buzz. There are International celebrities in the house and high fashion couture in the wings. Everybody, punters and professional crew alike, are glancing around to see who is here and how they are dressed.

The front row is apparently where the action is. Photographers cluster, clicking away for the social pages. Mischa Barton looks elegant and bored in a flowing red and white number. She's taller than I expect. Pretty. Her face is half-hidden by the golden flow of her hair. She looks like she's by herself. I wonder where Josh Hartnett is tonight? Maybe they have a late date... My view is obscured by another cluster of suits and dresses.

I could be in any of the fashion capitals of the world – fashion types in black t-shirts, a gleaming white catwalk and a bank of photographers. The only reason I know I'm in London and not New York (besides the accents) is the fact that so many of the people here, while well brushed, are not even verging on beautiful. Perhaps it is because I'm too close and not peering through a stocking-ed lens? Caked make-up, an inch thick, covers blemishes and acne. Expensive dresses (unfortunately) can't hide the body beneath. Fake tan... an ocean of orange. And yet, in this carnival to the superficial I'm feeling okay. Is it that I fit the part? No, I think it has more to do with the fact that the crowd are so conscious of their own appearance that they can barely spare a thought for anybody else.

The fashion conscious, the celebrity and the tragic - we're all gathered here tonight in homage to... high fashion. There are punters behind me in ranks (heck, I still can't believe i'm in the third row) standing and straining. Celebrity wh0res and wannabe fashionistas. I'm surrounded by them. Drowning in them. All wearing their solitary designer pieces and mortgaged Louis Vuitton. The girls are decked out in accessories, clad in everything from neat charcoal pants suits to long lime-green ball gowns (open-backed of course). The men appear to subscribe to two styles: young urban funk (trying) or white shirt and blazer brigade (receding hairline optional). I won't speculate as to where I think I fit.

And the show begins
Where is Naomi? The show is introduced by the MC who trumpets the show’s philanthropic generosity (this year to the White Ribbon Alliance) and the tireless work, verve and energy of the one and only Naomi Campbell. Where is Naomi? The Prime Minister’s wife is next, reading well from the lectern. She’s in red and, while passionate, is neither glam nor inspirational. Still no Naomi.

As fingers start to drum on wood pews finally the lights dim and music begins. The first figure on the catwalk, though lovely and dark, is not Naomi. Nevertheless the crowd cheers on a self conscious looking Estelle who does her obligatory walk. And then, Naomi arrives on the catwalk, her wing model attached to her left hip.

With her trade-mark model strut, Naomi Campbell owns the catwalk. She's all long limbs, long hair, projecting attitude and style. A goddess. She stalks to the end of the white strip and does the full pose - shoulders back, hips square. A perfect pause. Cameras flash. She turns and she's out.

Amateurs. Professionals. Women. Men. Inspired fashion. Retro fashion. Ethnic influenced fashion. An orange suitcase on wheels. I scribble and stare. Cameras continue to flash. Celebrities flow by; first among them is Cheryl Cole, gorgeous in red all slim style and smouldering eyes. There are a pair of British Gold-medallists in black cocktail dresses, who march up the catwalk, posing behind their big Olympic mementos. A giant African-American model in motorcycle leathers (the girls cheer). A boy-zombie in a suit, diamond stud from his white ear. Kimberly Stuart, high cheekbones and ski-slope nose. Tartan mother and children. Ear to ear smiles. A platinum blonde drag queen. A mature woman, all orange haired and crows-feet, carrying decades of characters (could it be Vivienne Westwood?). A saucy girl in jeans and smarm. Tall and leggy. Painfully thin. Rounded and voluptuous. Coiffures. Powder. Jaunty walks. Jolting walks. Self conscious. Self obsessed. It's all on the catwalk.

A men's charcoal suit, double front-pocketed, with matching polo. Chiselled looks. Good teeth. Sugarbabes in chorus-girl outfits. The blonde loses a heel mid-walk but doesn't even pause. She recovers it on the return. Neo-gothic. Neo-modern. Neo-classical. Just new. Gold and glitter. Ornate silver and simple black... but never plain.

The music pumps and the catwalk absorbs the beat and spits it out. Models swing out in new outfits, eyes staring through the wall of cameras. The audience cheers and claps, their cameras capturing outfits and models. Even Mischa has her hand-digital out and busily snaps away.

All too soon it is over. The lights dim. The celebrities (Mischa among them) scurry out, escorted by clip-board carrying minders. Disappointingly, I don’t even warrant a hand-blown farewell kiss. Such is the price of anonymity. Perhaps next time...

Living in London - Part 1: Costs

2008-05-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

For the past 15-months I've lived the Australian backpackers dream - working, partying, sleeping and living it large in London. I've had a brilliant time, with many new memories, scars and stories to tell. Despite this, I have to admit that London is not the easiest place to live in, let alone move to. Yes, travelers are constantly coming from all parts of the globe to setup a new home and live the London life, but that doesn't make the transition any easier.

In an attempt to assist the following few posts will be written to cover some pointers for easing the transition. Some of the content will be common sense points that you'd consider regardless of where you are moving, and some are unique to living in London. Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts.

1. The cost of living in London
London is acknowledged as being one of the most expensive places to live in the world. Rents are high, but thankfully wages in central London tend to compensate to some extent. Nonetheless, some items tend to be comparatively more expensive than others.

1.1 Exchange rates
The exchange rate between the Great Britain Pound (GBP) and Australia Dollar (AUD) is currently sitting at around 2.07:1 (May 2008). Bank exchange rates tend to be competitive against money changers, with both charging percentage-based fees which may already be incorporated in to the offered rate. Airport money exchange rates are quite bad (which is to be expected).

For setting up accounts or transfering larger sums of money international wire transfers (via bank) are the way to go. These generally carry a standard transaction rate + percentage fee.

I find that it takes me at least a month in a new country before I become comfortable with the exchange (and the prices I’m paying!). In some ways it’s a good way of holding back on expenditure to calculate the exchange, especially while you’re getting settled and are yet to earn GBP.

Settling into a new city takes time. Over the last few years I've went through the cycle more than a few times (it's that Australian wanderlust kicking in), and find that from arrival to set-up, to getting to the point of financial stability, usually takes 3-months. Of this the first 2-weeks are usually spent getting myself comfortable with my environment, finding a permanent place ot stay and getting work. It then takes a further 2-months before I've absorbed the costs of accommodation bond and needed homewares.

1.2 Cost of entertainment
The biggest difference that you'll probably note in your expenditure is what it costs when you are out on the town. Eating and drinking out in London can be extortionately expensive, whether you are comparing to home ($AUD) rates or supermarket prices.

To illustrate: In a London pub the cost of a pint of beer is ₤3.00+ and a mixed drink (25ml shot) is ₤3.50+. Note that most bars will charge you extra for any mixer that you may choose to have. Premium offerings can be as much as twice this. At a supermarket you can get a 6-pack of beer for around ₤5 (premium beer) or a bottle of spirits (70cl) for around ₤11. Supermarkets will feature a particular brand each month which will have a sizeable discount (₤1 or 2 pounds off).

Eating out tends to be similarly expensive. I remember the first time I was out with friends in London and ordered a simple burger (gourmet thought it may have been). The cheapest option on the menu was ₤12, and while it may have included fries, my internal conversion was spun out at the thought of paying $25 for a simple hamburger. While cheaper eats are available if you search, expect to pay between ₤15-30 for a basic meal (main + beverage). If you’re into posh nosh the sky is the limit.

1.3 Rent
Rent is often identified as the biggest contributor to London’s high cost of living. It’s therefore important to understand what the cost / comfort trade off is and what you can afford to pay.

Factors that you may initially consider include:

Area demand / posher neighbourhoods
Locality and transportation links
Fittings and space

High (₤200+ week)
High demand areas such as Clapham or Camden often demand higher comparable rent purely due to popularity and competition for places. If you're taken with posher established neighbourhoods such as Holland Park, Notting Hill or Bayswater, then expect to pay a premium. Cost may also be incurred for living closer to the centre of London (Zone 1); the trade-off for reduced travel time and good transport links. Single or double bedroom properties may also be more expensive (less ways to spread the rent).

Medium (₤120 – 160)
Medium rent areas generally trade off either locality (Zone 2 or 3) or area in favour of improved size and comfort. Areas such as Chiswick, Earls Court and Greenwich may be considered typical medium rent areas.

Low (<₤120/week)
Low rent areas may be further from transport links, less spacious or in less well regarded areas. Low rent accommodation may be found in more reputable areas, however this is often as a result of house sharing (8+ people) and/or bedroom sharing. Such an option is particularly popular with travelers (the term ‘Antipodean’ is often used in the UK to describe those who come from Australia, New Zealand and South Africa) who are working basic jobs but wish to save money for traveling.

As a final note, rent cost is often as much determined by luck as the previously discussed factors. Low historical rent or housemate desperation can contribute to lower rents than generally expected for a given area. The only real way to work out if a place is worthwhile is to see it for yourself!

1.4 Perishables
Food costs can vary significantly in London, although you can survive comfortably on a budget if you are careful (and we’re not just talking pasta and canned tomatoes-style). Supermarkets in particular can offer good value-for-money with their competitive every-day-lowest-price and 2-for-1 offers.

Pre-prepared meals have become increasingly popular, but are generally less cost effective. Investment in a good cookbook and staple ingredients can make eating in London a little more pleasant.

Groceries

Top tier: Waitrose and Marks & Spencer are at the top-end of the supermarket hierarchy, offering fresher, better quality food stuffs. From experience fruit and vegetables tend to last longer and carry more taste, however you are paying a premium in return.
Mainstream: Asda, J Sainsbury and Tesco are the three major supermarket chains in the UK, with huge buying power. Between them they account for approximately 70% of total supermarket spend, with Tesco dominating within this holding twice the market share of its two closest competitors. Slightly behind the big three are Morrisons and Somerfield, who each hold about 10% market capitalisation.
All chains have a large number of stores nationally, are very competitive in their pricing and offer good value. Further benefits may be garnered from in-store membership cards J Sainsbury and Tesco are generally associated with the middle class, while Asda and Morrisons are targeted more at the budget sector. This is reflected in brands and product offering.
Budget: No-frills style supermarkets have gained increasing popularity in recent years, with emphasis on low margin, high volume sales attracting the budget conscious consumer. Aldi, Lidl and Iceland are representative of this type of retailer, offering a very limited selection of products for very competitive prices.
Convenience: Local convenience stores such as Cost Cutter, Co-op and local cut-down versions of J Sainsbury and Tesco stores offer smaller format stores. Prices are generally slightly more expensive, with less special offers.

Pharmaceuticals and toiletries
Boots and Superdrug are the main chain pharmacies in the UK. Both offer a range of monthly discounts and specials, with larger stores also offering photo development and optical services.

1.5 Durables
London offers a variety of popular chain (referred to as ‘High Street’ stores) and boutique stores. Besides local shopping centres (generally located around suburban High Streets) key shopping areas in London are High Street Kensington (West), Oxford / Bond Street (Central) and Covent Garden (Central). More alternative fashion options can be found in Camden (North) or Soho (central London).

Key sale seasons are January / February (Winter) and June / July (Summer). At this time High Street and department stores offer attractive discounts on their core range. This is the best time to bargain hunt, with up to 70% discount on certain items.

Clothing - young and casual
Popular retailers for young adults (male) include: Topman, Mexx, River Island and Burton. These retailers offer contemporary seasonal fashion at moderate prices. Quality of clothing can vary between seasons and retailer however and isn't always durable. Office and Aldo are on a similar level selling sweat-shop mass produced shoes. Then there are the fashion outlets Next, H&M and Zara who produce budget fashion based on the latest European fashions for both men and women.

Clothing – formal / suits
While London’s Savile Row has long been associated with quality tailoring and bespoke suits, there are still many options for those who aren’t ready to spend tens of thousands of pounds on a top-shelf morning coat. Most High Street retailers catering to young adults sell off-the-shelf suits. Moss Bros is another popular alternative, who offer both hire and sale. With a large range of mainstream suits, including brand names like Yves Saint Laurent, Zegna and Pierre Cardin.

Jermyn Street tailors have long been acknowledged for their high quality shirts, and during key sales periods a good quality 100%-cotton, French cuffed shirt or spring jumper can be snapped up for a reasonable price. TM Lewin and Curtis & Hawes are two more popular Jermyn tailors who have a number of stores in the London area.

Bedding
Good quality bedding can be expensive. If anything I’d recommend bringing sheets / doona covers over from Australia as good quality cotton in London seems to be comparatively expensive.

If you’re not too fussy about what you’re sleeping in then Primark or Argos offer relatively cheap options. It should be noted however that 50/50 cotton-polyester doesn’t wash well, particularly at moderate temperatures. That said budget retailers tend to offer a limited range of single colour 100% cotton sheets at reasonable prices. Both Primark and Argo are also a good option for cheaper pillows, quilts and mattress protectors.

Alternatively, department stores offer high quality bedding from brand names such as Sheridan and Espirit.

Books and travel guides
Waterstones and WH Smith are probably the most common book chains in London, although there is also a very large Borders outlet on Oxford Street. It should be noted however that while all chains tend to offer Buy-2-Get-1-Free offers, books are not cheap in the UK. A more competitively priced alternative is to order online via Amazon.co.uk which has developed a reputation for good deals.

Department stores

Department stores come in a number of shapes and sizes in London. The most acccessible lie on Bond Street in Central London, with John Lewis and House of Fraser located within a block of each other. Further up towards Marble Arch station on Bond Street is Seflridges and Co., which has a good selection of more exclusive brands.

If you happen to be feeling particularly wealthy then at the upper end of town there is of course Harrods, infamous for its oppulence. Alternatively both Harvey Nichols and Fortum & Mason are also established higher-end retailers who will be very willing to sell you the finest cognac, caviar and champagne.

04 August, 2007 (Saturday) Barcelona, Spain

2007-08-04T01:59:00.000-07:00

Another day in Spain - bring on the tapas, sangria and sun!

Barcelona beach
If I had to confess to the thing I missed most about home then I´d probably have to say the beach. It´s been over a year since I last jumped into the ocean (see Tofino, hot springs tour - sharp rocks and freezing ocean), over 20-months since I have been on a beach. See - I´m still counting.

With the sun shining at a good 30+ degrees, it was fine beaching weather. We wandered amongst the laundry decorated streets of Barcelonetta to break out onto the promenade looking out across the Mediterranean. Bodies littered the beach baking and erasing tanlines. The beach itself was not the golden yellow of sand, but a light brown colour. Walking closer we found the beach to be coarse brown dirt. Waves were tame, a tiny shore break crashing in regularly. It didn´t take a heart-beat for us to shed layers and start splashing in.

The slow roll of the waves and salty brine on my lips awoke dormant memories of home. While there weren´t any waves worthy of name to ride to shore, it was a relief to be in the sea again. It felt just as good to drip dry, although the novelty of sitting on gritty dirt was short-lived. Once we´d soaked up some of the Barcelona sun we wandered the promenade for something to eat. Tapas and sangria were on offer, and provided a pleasant light afternoon repast.

Each beach is different, and Barcelona has a character all of its own. Open-air restaurants, fresh sea food and a jug of sangria? I think I might sign up for more of that...

Hosteling
Hostel life is so transitory. New people every day, old ones disappearing just as you´re starting to build rapport. A range of nationalities. A range of traveling types. Stability is knowing that you´ve got a bunk to sleep in each night. Nationalities stick more than names. Let´s guess ages...

03 August, 2007 (Friday) Barcelona, Spain

2007-08-03T02:03:00.000-07:00

A while between updates, but I have a few in the wings. Just trying to find the right opportunity to send through. I know, I know. My captive audience is just waiting with bated breath. Well hold that breath just a touch longer. So, onto Barcelona...

Barca
Today I'm in Barcelona. The weather is sunny. It's looking better than good out there. I'm sitting here, typing away, looking into one of those classic courtyards - you know the deal, glassed walled apartments looking into a messy central square. So I'm starting to get a feel for this party town. My brother... well let's just say he seems to be hitting his groove. For the day ahead, I'm looking forward to taking some enthusiastic happy snaps.

Barcelona seems to be another of those European cities that somehow manages to mix in the old with the new. The result is something which manages to be both, but somehow not quite either. Yesterday we wandered through the harbour front, all reflective glass and paved commercialism, before finding our way into the medieval Bari Gottic. It was amazing just wandering into a square with a centuries old cathedral dominating the space, before finding ourselves lost in another sequence of narrow winding streets.

The trickiest part so far has to be finding a decent tapas bar outside of the tourist area. But I'm working dilligently at finding the 'place'. I guess it's part of the adventure. In the meantime, it's going to be more winding streets for me. Perhaps even the beach (living in London I'm a little beach-starved).

14 July, 2007 (Saturday) Paris, France

2007-07-14T01:39:00.000-07:00

The language barrier
It´s not merely an issue of language, but also one of pronunciation. Between by own pig ignorance and accent (yes, I admit it - I suffer from an accent) I feel like I have a mouth full of marbles whenever I attempt a poor excuse for pidgeon-FrenchÑ
"Parlais voius Anglais, sie vous plais?"
"Pardon!?!?"
"Umm... just another ignorant Westerner expecting that you´ll be able to speak English. Will it help if I just point at things and grunt?"
"Sui."
"Ok. Thank god!" Raise hands in religious salutation.

So right now all I can do is laugh at the inanity of each encounter and try to work on my pronunciation from what I hear back.

... It´s quiet on the metro.

Bastille Day
The 14th of July is France´s national day ' Bastille Day. To celebrate the occasion street parades march down the Champs d Elysees, military aircraft fly overhead and uniformed men with machine guns wander around looking vigilant.

Josh and I arrived in Notre Dame before 10. The streets of the Latin Quarter were quiet, although the Church grounds were already swarming with tourists. Charlemagne rode to the South and visitors eddied by.

Its huge Gothic edifice open, Catedral de Notre-Dame is another monument to the passion, artistry and vision of another age. Still an active place of worship, exquisite carvings look down, watching all those who enter.

Inside it is dark, the hordes of tourists providing a steady murmur of voices. Notre Dame does not charge entry and the results seems to be an excess of tourists, digital cameras flashing steadily. Much of the magnificence of the church is therefore subsumed by this flow. Indeed, walking through there is a feeling of desecration as the church becomes just another tick box on the tourist checklist.

And in some ways, that was the problem with Notre Dame. The cathedral, a place of such majesty and history, is reduced to just another cheap attraction for the masses. The presence of a gift shop and vending machines impinge on the sanctity of the site. In some ways I think I´d prefer it if they did charge for entry - perhaps then visitors would show more respect.

By contrast, yesterday we walked into the Greek-columned Magdalene. Even with people sitting on the steps lunching the grounds were lovely. An appropriate level of hush accompanied entry, and this complemented the architecture and display within.

24 June, 2007 (Sunday) London, West

2007-06-24T11:30:00.000-07:00

I visited Holland Park yesterday. It's another suburban park just West of Notting Hill, in one of the more rarified parts of London. Since I've arrived in town I've been surprised by the abundance of green spaces in what is supposed to be one of the most densely populated cities in the world. I've wandered the genteel paths of Hyde Park, the sculpted overhanging trees of Green Park, the open spaces of Greenwich. Holland Park though is a little different. It's wilder, a smaller English version of Montreal's Mount Royal Park.

The park is a world removed from the bustling streets outside; rambling dirt tracks bounded by little paling fences that hold back the wild English woods, soft bird calls and well spaced benches. In the centre is a proper hedged garden, overflowing with flowers and well kept lawn. It's peaceful, wandering the dirt tracks.

The hedged garden is pretty, but most of the benches are taken. A short way along we discover a Japanese Contemplation Garden, a sea of stillness in a clearing. Seats dot the periphery, around strategically placed stones, a carp pond, waterfall and paved bridge.

Sitting down it starts to rain. This doesn't stem the tide of visitors: couples, families with strollers of toddlers. The day rolls on and the tranquility of the garden is broken by an influx of sugar-crazed toddlers. One clambers from stone to stone, plastic sword in hand, waving it menacingly at the pond. Another drops down on the pond's edge, she wears a mud-streaked red-striped dress and pensive look on her face as she clears a stone from her sandal. A bunch of youths lie on the bridge, reaching in - although whether it is to tickle the carp or rescue copper coins it is unclear. The sun comes out, but it continues to rain. We leave, umbrella in hand, to return to the dirt paths.

06 Apr, 2007 (Friday) London, West End

2007-04-11T12:17:00.001-07:00

Equus
0135 (London Time) 07 Jan, 2007

Where? Gielgud Theatre - Shaftesbury Avenue, London, UK
How much? Ticket prices from £19.50 - £49.50

It was Megan who suggested that we see Equus, one of the West End's newest plays. She wasn't exactly shy in admitting that her primary motivation wasn't so much artistic indulgence as the opportunity to "see Harry Potter's bits" (with accompanying finger motions). For myself, my interest was somewhat more pure (seeing Harry in the buff isn't really that appealing), the play having received significant acclaim since it's opening last month.

First released in 1973, Equus (by playwright Peter Shaffer) is the story of a troubled boy, Alan Strang (Harry Potter's - Daniel Radcliffe), who is sent to counseling after he blinds a stable of horses. Resentful and aggressive, Alan nevertheless begins to respond to the treatment of Dr Dysart (the portly Richard Griffiths), reliving his experience from early childhood to the terrible incident. The journey through Alan's psyche is dark and warped, a series of increasingly emotional and violent episodes.

The play is powerful, well directed and amazingly crafted. All of the main actors manage their parts with depth and humanity, from the brooding yet fundamental innocence of Radcliffe's Alan Strang, to the professional yet self-questioning Dysart, to the willful flightiness of seductress Jill (Joanna Christie). Radcliffe has real presence, a distinctly different creature from his film alter ego, the bespectacled magician Harry Potter. (At this point I think Megan would make a comment about the size of his wand...).

The costumes are simple yet effective, brown-clad horses in their silvered masks and high-heeled hooves somehow conveying raw animal power and majesty, despite the actors being clad only in close-fitting t-shirts and trousers. The set, consistent throughout - a raised tableau with four free-moving boxes - transforms to different times and places through a subtle mixing of lighting, mist and shadow. Indeed, the atmosphere of the play is almost beguiling, the lighting and set evoking mystery and other worldliness in equal measure.

As we walked from the theatre my fellow theatre goers looked a little shaken. One announced that she found the experience "disturbing", with another agreeing that it had been strange and unsettling. Personally, I enjoyed the whole production, particularly the range of complex issues that it raised and left unanswered - from suggestions of the inter-relation of pain and passion, to questioning of beliefs and Christian values, to the juxtoposition of man and beast, god and slave, constraint and freedom. I appreciated the haunting atmosphere, which was often dark and suggestive. I was captivated by the exploration of psyche - mildly erotic and riding on (and perhaps over) the edge of sanity. How often do we trap ourselves? Is it better to feel extreme pain so that you can also experience extreme passion? Where does belief come from? A lot to think about for a Friday night.

Celebrity sighting
Rowan nodded to me as I walked from the bar, a bottle of Coke-a-Cola in hand. "Look toward the bar" he suggested quietly, "It's Patrick Stewart". Dutifully I scanned the bar area for any tall bald-headed men. "No, it's more umm.. three o'clock", Rowan indicated the direction with his eyes. It's rude to point. I turned casually and spotted him, shorter than I expected, chatting to a well-pierced young lady. When we got back to our seats (Golden Circle) Patrick was already seated, safely ensconced in a private balcony overlooking the stage. One of the perks of the industry I guess.

Problems with punctuality
Yes, I was late again. After a sleepy day I lost track of time (a hazard with this daylight saving thing) and ended up getting to the theater 20 minutes late. I had to bang on the door for an usher to let me in, and saw the first half of the play from the lower stall level. Thankfully I only missed the first few minutes and it didn't take long to become engrossed in the unfolding drama.

Radcliffe in the buff
Yes, Radclifee strips off. But he's not alone - the young lady who partners him is quite pretty. Then again, I've admitted before that girls in riding boots have always been a weakness.

Theatre crowd
I always enjoy theatre crowds - there's a nice mix, from younger funksters, alternatives and the older chardonnay crowd. Tonight's performance had a strong contingent of younger girls obviously out to see more of Harry Poter. I expected to see more opera glasses present.

A new level of London experience

2007-03-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

Last night was a new high in stress levels - I've been granted a company car and, given the limited parking spaces, drove it home. The catch is that I work on the other end of London to where I live. See, our offices are in an industrial park in North West London in an area called Park Royal. I live in Greenwich, a nice village-style area in South Eastern London on the Thames. The AA site suggested a travel time of 54 minutes. I managed the drive in 2hrs 25min. That time included getting lost twice and calling my housemate James to beg sympathy (he was very supportive).

My first UK driving experience? Besides navigating winding streets, London traffic, trying to read badly-lit sparsely-spaced roadsigns and feeling like I was going in circles the biggest difficulty was that I'd been given a 4-door Saloon (sedan) - probably not the perfect choice for London driving. Let's say the drive through to our behind-apartment parking was the icing on the cake.

I think I've started to recover from the initial trauma. I'm planning to invest in a London A-Z and familiarise myself with the area (apparently that will assist in navigation) before venturing forth again. Wish me luck.

An update

2007-03-20T15:53:00.000-07:00

Dear World,

I am still computer-less, although (finally) Orange decided to not only supply a modem but also enable our ADSL connection.

My weekly correspondence (not quite love-letters) with Acer has not really progressed. Acer Support in Canada send me a regular cut and past suggestion to a) ring a 1-800 number (strangely enough not available if you are calling from an overseas number, which I've stated clearly the last 3 times) or b) log an escalation request via their website (which incidently doesn't seem to work). I think they may have succeeded in resigning me to finding alternative options. It's hard to persist in talking to somebody who is going to such effort not to listen.

Meanwhile, life goes on. London life is flitting by quite fast, although I still have yet to book any time away. Last week I started on a longer-term job. My first day was like Christmas, with corporate toys piling up on my desk - mobile phones, company charge card requests and laptop computers formed a pyramid of geeky yuppie toys. My phone can take pictures, and play music and record things. Woot for me!

Acer - never again

2007-02-12T09:57:00.000-08:00

I haven't written for a while and today I'm not a happy chappie. On Saturday my Acer laptop died, only a month and a bit out of it's 1-year warranty period. The prognosis: system boot failure. Basically my motherboard is trash. But how did this happen - was it misuse? Was it because I didn't treat my computer with respect? No. Afraid not.

I've been following it up and they've told me that the best I can expect is to pay £350-700 for a new motherboard. The Acer engineer I spoke to was completely unsympathetic and told me I was better off just buying a new laptop. It's news to me that I can only expect to get a years worth of use out of my laptop these days. Apparently as soon as the warranty period has expired I can expect my purchase to self destruct.

Completely furious I've started to forward the following letter about (Note: Letter has been updated):

'To whom it may concern,

I have been directed to email you for assistance by Acer UK. I am a very upset Acer customer. In fact, that would be putting it mildly. I'm outraged and disappointed for the following reason: I purchased a new Acer lapptop just over a year ago. As of Saturday 10 February, a little over a month outside of the 1-year warranty period, it died. I've spoken to technical people, including your own engineers, and they tell me that i'm better off just buying another laptop. This is beyond disappointing.

Furthermore, after spending the last 3 weeks following up with Acer UK they've directed me to contact you as the only way they are able to help me is if I pay. Finally, I have been in contact with other owners of Acer Aspire 3003WLMi's who have similar issues with their motherboard. In at least one case the support center (Texas) was able to extend their warranty for 3-months. This gives the impression that it is a known fault.

** My story **
I purchased an Acer Aspire 3003WLMi (Serial Number: LXA550 56255380 D3A1EMO1) in mid-December of 2005 while I was travelling in British Columbia, Canada. It seemed like a good purchase, and at the time the salesperson (at The Source) assured me that it was both reliable and durable. Furthermore I was thrilled to receive with my purchase a 1-year travellers warranty just in case.

On Saturday 10 February 2007, a little over a month after my warranty period, my laptop computer stopped working. The power light was on but my computer refused to show even the opening Acer screen. I removed power, gave it 2 hours to cool, and then tried to boot again. It got as far as the WindowsXP diagnosis screen before rebooting itself and giving me a blank screen. Since then it has refused to even get as far as the Acer boot screen.

I've independently tested the hard-drive (which is completely fine and stable) and have spoken to a number of computer engineers, including two of your own technical engineers in the UK. They have advised me as follows:
1. I am suffering from a System Boot Failure. In layman's terms this means that my motherboard is rubbish.
2. It will cost me £41 (approximately $US80) to get the machine examined, but it can't really be anything else if it doesn't even get to the boot / BIOS screen.
3. It will cost mke a further £350-700 ($US700-1400) to get the motherbaord fixed / replaced.
4. In addition, your own technical engineer advised me over the phone that I might be better to just buy another laptop.

** Perspective **
But wait, I'd like to put this into perspective:
1. I purchaesd this laptop just over a year ago Last time I checked, a reasonable expectation for laptop life was 2-years minimum.
2. I have used this laptop regularly, but have taken good care of it.
3. A little over a month outside of the warranty period the laptop breaks down with a problem that will cost what I paid for the computer in the first place. Is this normal for these machines? Have I got a lemon? What recourse have I?

Your UK staff have informed me that since I am outside of the warranty period it is completely MY problem. Furthermore, even if I was still within warranty they would not help me because I purchased the computer in Canada and could not prove that I was going to be in the UK for less than 3-months (I am not a resident here). Finally, your engineers tells me that I'm better off to just purchase a laptop. Forgive me, but I find this just a little outrageous!

Can you assist me? I am very disappointed and would prefer to get my laptop fixed rather than just go and buy a new one (and if I was to buy another laptop I'm afraid it wouldn't be Acer!). However, I'm not willing to pay the cost of a new laptop just to have an old one fixed. Added to which, when it broke down I was just out of my warranty period.

** Final words **
I do know my way around computers - I have worked in the IT industry, know my hardware, and previously have had a very high regard for Acer products. As such I believe I'm a relatively well informed consumer. That said, my experience thus far have not met my expectations at all. I'd prefer to believe that I was unlucky with a faulty component than that I received a sub-standard item in the first place.

Please provide me with some indication of my options. I appreciate your time and assistance.'

If you had to ask me next time you bought a laptop computer I'd have to say - 'Don't buy Acer - it isn't reliable. You're better off investing in a brand you can trust.'

14 Jan, 2007 (Thursday) London, Westminster

2007-01-18T18:46:00.000-08:00

Looking up at Big Ben
1456 (London Time) 18 Jan, 2007
My first day out sight-seeing and it is windy. The buildings seem to be shifting and I'm in fear of being picked up and blown away. Only a step out of Westminster underground and I'm looking up at Big Ben and the House of Parliament . As I gaze up and watch the clouds drift by it looks like ol' Ben is swaying against the wind. Wish I had a camera today.

It's 3pm and Big Ben tolls his greeting to the hour. I trundle up the road, the traffic chugging away to my left - compact black cabs and white mini-vans. Locals power through the wind, heads down, pea coats buttoned. Tourists aren't thick on the ground, but you can recognise them by their cameras.

To get a better feel of the scale of the building(s?) I walk around and can't help but be gobsmacked by the scale of it all. Hundreds of slit glass windows, intricate carvings adorning every ledge and cornice, slate tiles. The whole structure is so big - hundreds of metres long and towering. I wonder how many levels are inside? Is it made up of offices or just big open auditoriums? I guess they must like stairs... good for the calves.

Ten squid
I leave the flouro and black garbed bobbies behind and cross the road to Westminster Abbey. The Abbey sits paler, but no less imposing than the Parliament Buildings that it neighbours - stained glass and Gothic towers carry a certain majesty, even when they're layered in grime. Apparently the Abbey is the traditional burial place of English monarchs, but today none are in evidence.

A gaggle of tourists stream by, even with the gale-force winds. I briefly consider going in, but the inner miser wins out - 10 pounds to wander around a big church? I'm still adapting to London prices and the asking price seems a bit steep.

Instead I walk south along the banks of the Thames. It begins to rain. The wind returns, buffeting me about. Not far off I spy another large structure. It looks like a huge mausoleum, or perhaps... a museum? As I get closer I mark it as Tate Britain. My feet slog on with renewed vigour now that I have found a place of refuge.

Meeting Tate
Tate Britain is the national gallery of British art, dating from the 16th century to today. It's big, with high ceilings and lots of glass. Kind of reminds me of the Art Gallery of NSW back in Sydney.

Inside it's quiet and contemplative. I've arrived late enough in the day to avoid the school groups. Now it's just older folk, university students, pensioners on day trip, travelers hiding from the wind.

The museum has some great works on display - strong and vital sculpture and vivid paintings. I've always favoured older, more classical pieces, and there are some fine examples to admire. I start with EC Burne-Jones' 'King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid' and move on. The afternoon passes with the interplay of light and shadow, the held movement of scenery, ripples on canvas-water.

I've read more than a few times that galleries are a good place to meet cute girls. Despite enjoying my wanderings I'm still waiting...

14 Jan, 2007 (Sunday) London, Chiswick

2007-01-15T18:40:00.001-08:00

London Lingo
2145 (London Time) 14 Jan, 2007
One thing I haven't missed is coming home in clothes that reek of cigarette smoke. It's something that I'm apparently going to have to adjust to now that I've arrived in the UK.

We had a drink at Waxy O'Conner's Irish pub. A multi-leveled monstrosity that, after the second flight of stairs down, has you feeling like you're descending into the bowels of the earth. The interior is decorated with bits of an old cathedral, with a tree growing through the middle. We tried to enjoy our drinks while a trio of fishnet and short-skirtted floozies cavorted to the jukebox. Not a very attractive crowd, but the barmen atleast seemed to have real Irish accents.

The Porterhouse beer pub was our next stop. It boasts an extensive collection of brews from around the world. Inside it was crowded, loud and just a wee bit smokey. The house draught was easy drinking though, and very much required in our little corner. (They really should really rename the place the Boilerhouse if it's always that hot.) Three pints and a few hours later and we were out to catch the last tube before midnight. The curfew for drinking establishments is a lot earlier here in the UK. Megan was telling me that they reduced pub hours in the hope of reducing drunkeness. Unfortunately patrons compensated by drinking faster. It's not uncommon for work people to go out and get totalled early in the week.

Catching up
Today I woke up relatively early to meet Wendy for brunch at High Street Kensington. We used to work together while at Telstra and have kept in and out of touch. Wendy has been in London for about 9 months and in that time she's done pretty well for herself, recently scoring a role in HR with HSBC and living with her boyfriend, Will, in Bayswater (a swanky neighbourhood).
Tonight I met up with Justin a Tottenham Court Road. Back in the day we went to High School together, running into each other during university and then having lunch every so often once we started wearing suits. Unfortunately both the Central and Northern lines were closed where I wanted to go, so it took 5 line changes to get there - leaving me half an hour late. Love the tube. Love the tube. Love the tube. We had dinner at a Japanese noodlebar in SOHO. It was great to talk about old times and hear about his adventures in London. Funnily enough he's actually living in the next suburb down from Chiswick.

Translations:
Tube: Slang for the London subway. The tube is infamous for being unreliable and circuitous. Tonight I can vouch for this, changing lines 5 times due to unforseen closures.
Oyster: Despite the name it isn't an exotic contraceptive device or fashion accessory. An oyster is a magnetic travel card used to on the London subway. Oyster cards require a deposit of 3 pounds and can be either timed (day, week, month pass) or charged with credit.
Heathrow Injection: Refers to the weight gain new arrivals stack on when they first arrive in the UK. I'm waiting in hope for mine.
Chips: Wedges of fried potato. Often thicker and holding a closer resemblance to the original potato than North American french fries.
Crisps: Potato chips. Walkers is the brand to buy.
Walkabout: Chain of pubs run by South Africans but full of drunk Australians. Apparently they now serve beer out of plastic pint glasses as it helps reduce injuries when bar fights break out. Apparently.

So I'm doing my best to adapt to the culture here. Tonight I'm sitting in with my cup of tea and chocolate digestives (McVities of course!). It's all about drinking tea and being agreeable. The guidebook says so!

13 Jan, 2007 (Saturday) London, Chiswick

2007-01-15T18:30:00.001-08:00

In Chiswick
1238 (London time) 13 Jan, 2007
For all of you out there it's pronounced Chis-sick. To further clarify, it's a surburb of London, a little South-West of the city core on the District tube line.

The last few days I've been living on Megan's couch in their spare room. It's a nice little fold-out number. No stray springs or inconvenient lumps. I get the room to myself and I've been doing my best not to spray my belongings across the room. Although the longer I'm here the more difficult it becomes.

In the past few days I've started the 'getting set in London' routine. Yesterday I got my mobile phone SIM and did basic grocery shopping at Sainsbury's. Today it was the agency appointment to set-up a bank account and initial arrival advice. The two guys from the bank tried to be amusing, but between the inane questions from my fellow new-to-the-UKers (how do these people find their way out of their countries? It baffles me!) and slow pace I just wanted to up it and run!

Arrival of Lauren
Lauren arrived in London today. She was waiting for me at Oxford Circus Station in a pink sweater and black boots. She's looking good, with that same cheeky grin. We went coat shopping, then walked up and down Oxford Street while I tried to find the agency office. The agency meeting was rivetting. I sometimes wonder how these people find their way out their front doors, let alone out to another country.

Sloppy Guisseppe's
I finally met Elliot, Megan's boyfriend tonight. We had a few drinks at the O Bar in SOHO, and found our way to Pizza Express, which turned out to be better than expected. He's very charming young chap, bright and relaxed. A self-confessed IT geek I quickly warmed to him. It also helped that he was impressed that I could remember what was on his pizza from a glance at the menu (Sloppy Guisseppe - named after the chef who first made the pizza by mistake, tomato base topped with beef, green peppers and mushroom. I'm so talented!).

10 Jan, 2007 (Wednesday) London, SOHO

2007-01-10T15:43:00.000-08:00

In London
1340 (London time) 10 Jan, 2007
I've arrived in London. It's cool here, but not as chilly as Toronto. The streets feel older somehow and there is a different kind of bustle. Oxford Street at midday is crowded!

Flight AC848
Despite leaving an hour later than originally scheduled, the flight across wasn't too bad. Economy seats are inevitably cramped and I had an aisle seat, but the 6 hour flight passed relatively quickly. My only real complaint was that there wasn't a lot of time to sleep between the dinner meal and breakfast. Customs and immigration gave me no trouble at all. It was a pleasant surprise.

After gathering my huge pile of luggage (skis, boot bag, backpack, suitcase, laptop bag) I made my way to the subway. Unfortunately I didn't think to differentiate between the Heathrow Express and the Piccadilly subway line - so I ended up paying 15 pounds for my train into Paddington, when I could have paid just 3.80. Ouch!

Left Baggage
All my luggage is currently resting at the Left Baggage counter at Paddington. They charge 6 pounds per piece of luggage so 24 pounds is highway robbery. An expensive day. Nevertheless, I've got the freedom to wander without worrying about it.

So right now I'm typing away at a little cafe just off Oxford, drinking a huge cappuccino and telling myself that 2 hours sleep is plenty. I'm looking forward to getting all my things to Megan's this evening and starting to set up. So far I've visited two banks to inquire about setting up an account. They want to know my employment details and place of residence. It's a bit of a catch-22 situation as usually employers and prospective landlords want to know your bank details before committing. Will have to think on how to approach this one!

First impressions:
- London is an expensive city to live in. I can tell that it's going to take a little while before I get my head around the real value of money. Right now I'm trying to convert to CAD / AUS using a rate of between 2 - 2.5. Expensive!
- The girls aren't as bad as Benita described - they're not all buck-toothed, pimpled, units. Go London!
- Londoners are in a hurry. Not exactly the type who are going to stop you in the street to chat.
- London accents are... different. I'm still trying to decide whether I like it or not.
- You have to pay to use public toilets. It costed me 20p. At least they were kinda clean.

A narrative
After 2 hours rest on Air Canada flight 848 I arrived in Heathrow at 9am. Dazed and confused I lugged my 70kgs of luggage onto the Heathrow express (€15) and found myself at Paddington. The luggage was stored (€24) and I was soon enjoying my first breath of crisp London air ( ).

I wandered South and East, enjoying the newness of it all around me. Oxford Street was a mass of midday humanity, out in worship to the retail goddess. I soon escaped the crowds by ducking into the back alley ways of Soho.

Sucking in the atmosphere like a diet coke addict guzzles nutrasweet, I surveyed some of London's nightlife gems in daylight - wood fronted pubs and sleek bars. It was comforting standing there, the local denizens sauntering by and the grey clouds raining upon my head.

I walked on. The roadway was tight and sinuous but I soon found myself dumped out in Leicester Square, amongst billboards advertising The Lion King at the West End and the new Bond flick (Odeon - €12 tickets). Dodging through Chinatown behind a pair of bobbies I tried to remember to look right and then left, avoiding the black cabs (registered. Requires 2 years training to qualify for a license) when the green man was being reticent.

Piccadilly Circus: a long street of designer shops circling clockwise. I followed Piccadilly and then Regent, before heading due West out of Marylebone. White-washed house fronts and a school girl with a big blue backpack, the temperature started to drop with the sun.

It was past 5 by the time I arrived back at Paddington. My mass of baggage waited. So did three flights of stairs to my tube platform. No better wayto meet Londoners, right?

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport - Departure Lounge 145

2007-01-09T20:55:00.000-08:00

A list of my favourite airlines
2037 (Toronto time) 09 Jan, 2007
I'm sure that many Canadians out there would be shocked to hear that Air Canada is not one of my favourite airlines. Being the superficial little bastard that I am it might be because last time I flew with them they charged people for sandwiches, or perhaps it is the poor choice of inflight entertainment. Then again, it's possible that I just find their selection of air hostesses to be pedestrian - what's wrong with a bit of selectivity? There are lots of pretty Canadian girls out there to choose from. I know a few if you want a shortlist.

But no, I'm afraid that my general dis-satisfaction runs a bit deeper than that. It has to do with their backward approach to customer service, their ability to make sure that every flight I might possbly be on is delayed in some way, shape or form (refer to: cargo door open over Brisbane, 3-hours in the air with a glass of water incident), the fact that they can stick me on a flight then forget to tell me that the boarding gate has changed. The absence of an attempt to apologise. Am I flying budget?

Perhaps I've just had a few bad experiences that have jaded me. In fact, I'm almost positive that I've experienced a few anomolies and the airline in fact functions with minimal turbulence. Am I jinxing myself by writing this all before I board the plane for my second experience? I'll let you know somehow.

The fact that they are paging people one-by-one to change their boarding passes, yes that's pissing me off a little. The fact that they have two aeroplane loads of people sitting in this space looking hungrily out at the 763 flying out to London is too. But then, that's me all over - easily irritated and wanting my seat (29C) so that I can kick back and close my eyes for a while.

PS - No pictures. Sorry, I left my camera in Scottie's car earlier in the week... and only got a call tonight once I'd checked through security that it had been recovered. Hopefully it will arrive in the next week or two.

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport

2007-01-09T20:29:00.000-08:00

Farewell TO
I'm leaving Toronto. It feels strange to be flying out of this place - almost like I'm leaving home again. I think I've been in a state of denial this past week. Denial is a safe place to stay. Reality will probably only reestablish itself when I finally pass through immigration at Heathrow. Maybe not even then.

Since moving out of 18 Oxford I've been crashing on Benita's couch at her new apartment. It's strange to be couch surfing again after so long of being settled. My own personal limbo. But I haven't really spent that much time at the place - I always seem to be out. I've seen quite a bit of the Jersey Giant pub and the subway. Still don't know any of the street bums by name.

Scottie came by the apartment complex at 4pm and drove me to the airport in his sporty 4-door. Clem and Laura jammed themselves in with my skiis. It was cosy. The farewell was brief. I gave a round of hugs. Clem did a round of photos. We promised to stay in touch. Then we did a square dance. No. Really.

08 October, 2006 (Sunday) Toronto, Canada

2006-09-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Clement, Laura and myself @the Jersey Giant, across from work, one evening)

Late night rationalisations
The hour is past midnight and I've just returned home from another lot of back-to-back shifts at the Hot House. It was a long day, starting at 10 and working through to close (almost 11pm). I think I had a day off this week... Wednesday perhaps? But it went by so fast with errands that I'm not sure if I can really count it.

My inner sado-masochist
Why do I do it to myself? A big question to be asking at this hour... but looking at my hourly rate this week ($9.71) against the amount of time and effort I'm putting into the place (too much - I swear I've shrunk a belt size with these stupid hours) I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't ease back. Attempt some of those things on my list; see Toronto, get regular sleep, get a dental check-up, work options for Europe, sift through traveling photos etc etc. Exciting I know.

The HH has almost become like a second home. (Some days I don't know why I don't just bite the bullet and move my sleeping bag in there. I could sleep in the back section of the library. I'm sure nobody would mind.) I like the people there. I enjoy the madcap pace sometimes. I feel like I understand how it works. But the last few weeks it just hasn't been paying it's way. The hours are long and the rewards questionable. I need to get some balance back into things.

Learning to wait
Meanwhile I'm almost through server training. Eight shifts (4 doubles) following senior servers around and trying to run a section. I'm learning to more effectively multi-task and prioritise on the fly. Useful life skills. Sure. My tray skills are improving (yeah, you try unloading a laden tray without flipping the lot!). I've so far managed to only spill one drink on a customer (thankfully water!) and screw-up returning change to another table (they said it was fine). My plastic grin and Crocodile Dundee accent are getting a work out. It's all about the good times.

I'm going in again tomorrow to do some shadowing and I've got my test (377 questions on the menu, bar and opening hours) on Wednesday. Can't hardly wait! Maybe I should have turned on the bravado and lied about how together I feel with my serving skills when I spoke to Michael the other week. Honesty knows no timing. Should know that by now.

18 September, 2006 (Monday) Toronto, Canada

2006-09-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

It's 11pm on a Monday night and wonder of wonders I'm not carrying heavy plates across a busy restaurant. Instead I'm here at home, enjoying some down time. (It does happen now and then.) In the world outside Winter is coming. I can feel it already - there's more of a chill in the air. Tonight it is raining. Drizzling. The air feels cleaner for it.

Anyway, at this moment I'm somewhat removed from the rain - I'm slurping my way through a styrofoam bowl of beef congee (a chinese rice porridge). I didn't feel like cooking tonight, despite having shopped yesterday, so I asked my housemate Benita (she's full of answers, from international relations to the best place to buy snow peas) for take-out recommendations. Unfortunately, by the time I got out the door most of the places were closed. I ended up at the infamous Kom Jug Yuen (think about it... pronounced Kum), looking through their take-out menu.

Kom Jug is located on Spadina, just across from where I live. The place is open late most nights, 4am over the weekend. I hear it can attract quite the crowd. It's a ramshackle little place, with a counter bearing peeling stickers and faded yellow walls decorated with cardboard posters advertising menu items "Spring Roll special $1.00##". There's a big couldron resting on a flickering gas stove in the main room, puffing clouds of steam.

As I sat and waited for my take-out I was entertained by the proprietor (at least I assume hs is), a little chinese man with a black visor who was chopping away at a duck that had moments before decorated his front window. A steady stream of local denizens passed in and out while I waited; a handful of young chinese folk who quickly ordered and left, a few weather beaten caucasians with matted beards, and one or two other randoms.

When I paid for my dinner the old man cautioned me on my bag carrying technique - too much swing spills porridge. We started to chat and after complimenting me on my fine choice of meal, inquired as to my heritage. I gave him the simple run-down and he cackled cheerfully, explaining ethnic preferences when ordering Chinese take-out: White guys like noodles and Black guys like big hunks of fried meats. He concluded by introducing himself as Ping, as in "Ping Pong". Seemed like a nice old guy. For my part, I laughed dutifully before bidding him a good night. It was still raining outside.

14 September 2006 (Thursday) Toronto, Canada

2006-09-15T00:23:00.000-07:00

Lauren called me today. It was good to hear her voice after so long. She's back in Brisbane working as a manager of a gym or some such. Anyway, she has plans come January - she's headed to Europe and apparently we're going skiing. Skiing in the French Alps. No ifs, no buts. It has been decided. We're in. Lauren, Precious and I. Like old times. Well, like March anyway.

I sent my visa application for the UK through on Friday. Next step is to start working out my options. The resume is looking sleeker, so hopefully I'll be able to land something nice.

Meanwhile, the sale of the Jeep fiasco continues. I thought I had a buyer last week. A cheque came in the mail made out to me in $USD. But no, it was post-marked Ghana which means I'm a victim of an Internet scam.

09 September, 2006 (Saturday) Toronto - Virgin Music Festival

2006-09-09T23:10:00.000-07:00

The Virgin Music Festival, Toronto Island. Two days of quality bands on two stages. 20,000 people. Beautiful city views. A last hurrah to summer. An outdoor extravaganza. Tickets were $60/day, or $117 (including tax) for both days. My expectations were high.

Things started falling apart when I first heard rumours that Massive Attack, the second-day headline act, had pulled out due to visa problems. Warning bells started to sound. There were sirens in the distance. But I hadn't seen Toronto Island before and I was music starved. Half-crazed from living at work the past few weeks I decided to go through and see it all.

My experience? All in all, it was probably the worst organised music festival that I've had the pleasure of attending. Perhaps I've been spoilt by my Australian experiences at the Big Day Out (1 day of musical mayhem for $150) and Homebake. Yes, Virgin was smaller, with only two stages - but there was more to it than that.

Distances: The two stages were too far from each other - ten minutes walk between stages isn't cool when you're going from act to act. I understand the need for traffic control with large groups, but it could have been handled more intelligently. Lanes could have been made or the stages could have been better situated.
Poor scheduling: Scheduling was nothing less than abysmal. Good bands overlapped (Star Sailor got robbed!). The main stage fell half an hour behind.
VIP areas: The various VIP areas (FutureShop, Nokia, Virgin VIP) seemed overdone and almost token. A covered area for customers or special ticket holders walled off from the rest of the plebs. Nice one.
Promotion: A lot of promotions, not a lot of alternative entertainment. While I got three AXE gift packs and a spin of the energiser wheel, there wasn't a lot else happening. Were they saving it for the second day?
Merchandise: Merchandising was pure amateur hour. Half the bands obviously didn't think to bring merchandise other than a few crusty EPs. Each stage had about 4 band t-shirts, most in black. Innovative.
Closing words: The Flaming Lips, the first evenings feature act, cut their set short after a huge build up. Four and a half songs in their lead singer, Wayne Coyne apologised because they had to finish up - other bands had taken too long and they were done. The band packed up. The crowd booed. It was pretty disappointing for a headling act to last 20 minutes (when they were scheduled for an hour) and then be booed off stage.
Better management would have just shifted things along as the day progressed, five minutes off this band's set, rush the setup. Event management should have expected some slippage. It happens. But it's not that hard to build a bit of flexibility in the schedule / contingency plan.

Am I done yet?
Well, here's how I felt that night:
I know it's bad when the headline act (Massive Attack) cancel 2 days before
I know it's bad when people are booing.
I know it's bad when the merchandise tent only holds 4 different t-shirt designs, all in black when there are 8 bands on the stage

Thoughts for next time
People have high expectations when they pay close to $70 (including taxes) for a ticket. They expect a full experience which justifies their expenditure. They expect it to be well planned an fun. They expect to have some options and to be able to see some great music.

The two day could have conceivably been done in one day over three stages. It could have crammed a lot more quality in there rather than trying to stretch it over two drawn-out days. The overcast weather probably discouraged quite a few punters, but putting on a poor show doesn't just affect fans, it affects reputation and branding.

Brief Update

2006-07-11T23:22:00.000-07:00

I've now been in Toronto a month. It's hard to believe that it's been that long, but I am starting to feel more comfortable here - I have my own space and the bank account is starting to reinflate (slowly).

The first three weeks I was just travel fatigued. It came on when I stopped moving and realised that I was going to be in town for a while like a sledgehammer granting me a full-swing kiss: I was mentally drained and completely apathetic. The thought of writing gave me head spins. I just wanted quiet time locked away in my room (yeah, that sounds healthy). That (at least) has passed.

I'm now living in an area of Toronto called Kensington Market. China town is around the corner and I'm in easy walking distance of central downtown. It's a share-house type arrangement, with 5 of us on the groundfloor; studenty but comfortable. My housemates have so far been pretty awesome, although we all keep different schedules so our paths often don't meet too frequently.

I tried for a few weeks to try and get an office-bound position, but the market seems to be pretty hard to gain entry to, especially for a wayfarer who is only in town for 5 months. After a week I got frustrated and started to broaden my search, which included telesales and street-corner newspaper subscription hawking ($25/sign up). In the end (after 2.5 weeks) I started work at a restaurant as a host (without previous restaurant experience I was more than happy to accept). It's called the Hot House Cafe, located in an area called Old York; a tourist centre to the South East of the downtown core. Specialising in pasta and pizza, the restaurant covers the whole gamut of contemporary cuisine. It gets especially busy of a weekend. So far I'm enjoying working there. The people are great. I guess it also helps that the Australian accent is a bit of a novelty here.

Meanwhile,. I left off on my travel diary in New York - Broadway productions (Rent - miss it; Producers - see it) and sharing escapades in Montreal, seeing the sights in Boston and wandering Ottawa. After keeping up with it for so long I can't just let it slide now. Hopefully it will happen in the next week. I haven't forgotten.

Brief Update

2006-06-10T19:03:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Sean's Grandfather and Sean - being taken to dinner on Thursday night.)

...I really owe Sean's family for their hospitality. I wonder how I can repay them? Maybe i'll try and stop making such bad jokes all the time...

We're finally in Toronto. We drove in on Thursday evening and are currently camped out in Sean's Grandfather's loungeroom. Internet access is sketchy. We've found one point of reception in front of my couch. It's enough to let me check my mail and call my brother names via MSN.

It looks like Sean will fly back to Kelowna mid-week, leaving me to get rid of the car. I guess I have additional motivation now because an extra few dollars in the account could go a long way. I'm also starting to gear up to look for a place to stay and income. Not sure how easy it is going to be to get work in my field, but I'm thinking that some agencies work might be the way to go.

Toronto is nice. It's somewhere between a big Vancouver and Sydney cut with a university district. I still haven't got a good feel for the city yet, even though I spent a good 5 hours walking through the streets yesterday (in the process spotting a Naked News report - weird).

It's Emma's birthday this week. Don't think a card is going to reach her in time.

Brief Update

2006-06-04T21:24:00.000-07:00

Boston is far behind us. Tonight we're in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. It took a good 6 hours to drive up here, but thankfully the traffic wasn't too ugly, although the incessant rain was annoying.

I've only been here a few hours, so I'm still getting used to everything being in French. My French skills are slim to non-existent (I did Japanese at school), so this should be an interesting experiment. It's making me realise that I've spoilt myself by spending most of my time in English speaking countries. Right now I'm still getting my head around the fact that I really am in a foreign culture. I look at a sign and it takes me a while to work out what it might be about. Perhaps this will teach me to have a bit more empathy for non-English literate foreigners.

We're spending the next 2 nights in a place called the Alternative Backpackers. It seems pretty interesting so far, all art hung walls and rooms named by colour.

Well, the eyes are starting to sting and my ability to focus is starting to fail so I best make my way to the top bunk. Updates are waiting in the wings, but I'm thinking that they may have to wait a few days until we hit Toronto (right now that looks likely to be around Thursday, June 8). My cell phone is receiving again, but no messages waiting. Guess that means they don't store them for you?

22 May, 2006 (Monday) An hour short of St. Louis, Missouri

2006-06-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

Bugs, bugs, bugs
In the last week everytime we stop for fuel one of us has to spend 5 minutes scraping squashed bug carcasses from the front windscreen. They form a splattered layer across the front. It's like middle-American bugs are madly kamikaze-ing in a bid to prevent Sean and I from reaching the East side of the continent.

Actually, I've noticed that the last few states we've passed through have been bug infested; little flying gnats, funny looking beetles and flies. When we were hiking the other day I found myself breathing through my nose as we walked through little bug clouds. I wonder how many I swallowed? (Picture: Demolished Tim-Tams - thanks Jae & Merv)

Working in Miles and Gallons
I'm semi-getting used to working in Miles and Gallons and Farenheit. Well kind of. Miles are probably the easiest - 1.6km to a mile. The others are trickier, conversion to Farenheit always leaves a sheen of sweat on my brow.

Hey - maybe somebody can explain to me why the US continues to stick to the Imperial method of measurement - inches, feet, miles, gallons etc etc? It doesn't seem all that logical. No wonder so many kids turn out warped. For one, I thought they'd want to be free of any residual vestige of their English ties. The very word 'Imperial' is a few eras back (late note: noticed that New York numberplates byline is "The Empire State". Kept on getting Star Wars flashbacks). I guess being grateful to the French for their assistance in the war for independence only goes so far? Then what about ease of use and standardisation? It might take changing a few text books and road signs, but it'd make things a hell of a lot easier... for us visiting Aussies anyway.

Today we passed through St. Louis and Indianapolis.

21 May, 2006 (Sunday) Colby, Kansas

2006-06-01T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday and it's overcast, but we're still driving along. The roads are flatter and straight here, which is great. No more complaints from miffed passengers ( Sean) about my driving when I'm trying to get through 3 lanes of manic drivers who are all doing 140km/hr up and down steeply graded windy sections of the Colorado Rockies.

Today we passed through Kansas City.

20 May, 2006 (Saturday) Denver (momentarily), Colorado

2006-06-01T08:21:00.000-07:00

We're heading straight East now across country. It's a lot of driving, and the sun continues to beat down on us. We're hoping to do little over a state a day, which means that we see a bit of scenery but little else. By the time we settle each night the sky is darkening and we have barely time to cook before darkness sets in. The locals seem nice enough, and petrol prices are dropping. So far the most expensive state has been California, by a good 40c/gallon. (Picture: Grand Canyon - the Watchtower)

Central timezone
Passed Aspen and a stack of the Colorado ski hills. Some still have snow on their tops. It's strange how close these places are to the highway.

We're now in Kansas and have jumped timezones. It's 2 hours ahead, so we've lost a few hours driving time. Damn.

Colby Nightlife
It's a Saturday night so Sean and I thought we'd see if there was a pub in these parts. We cruised for half an hour before giving up. The streets at 9:30pm are dead. Colby has no nightlife. This was confirmed when we stopped by Walmart (24 hours!) and the cashier laughed when I asked about what there was to do of a Saturday night. "Your best bet is to see if there is anything happening in a corn field" he told us. Then again, he's apparently up here from New Orleans, so maybe he's just bitter that Colby isn't under 5ft of water.

Cash deficit
I'm running out of cash, so on Monday I'm going to have to search out a bank. The $US1,300 I started with has lasted me just over 3 weeks, so I'm averaging about $60 a day in expenditure. These days about half of that is on petrol. It's currently costing us between $8-10 per hour of driving. The jeep is leaking a bit of oil, but otherwise seems to be doing fine. Go Cherry, go!

Today we passed through Denver.

Brief Update

2006-05-31T20:24:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Tom's Diner - from Seinfeld, on Broadway)

Seen New York
I've been and seen New York - the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Union Square, Central Park and all the rest. We even found our way to upper Brooklyn and explored the depths of Canal St. We saw a few Broadway productions, ate hot dogs on the road, and slept when we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer. It was a jam-packed 4 days.

New York, New York... I hope to see you again. We shared some great times and I want to return, and soon. Of the cities I've seen New York has definitely been one of my favourites. It's so big, so vital, so diverse.

My biggest regret is that I didn't buy an "I luv NY" t-shirt. In fact, this trip I haven't really bought any souvenirs. I just look around and decide that they're either too pricey, too gaudy, too tacky, or too stereotypical. Or perhaps it's just cos I'm too tight?

And then...
Today we popped out and saw Woodstock, of 1969 fame.

Tonight we're imposing on the Jacob's (Sean's relatives) again, overnighting in Milton (1.5 hours north of the city). Alex, Vince and Lilly have been the best hosts - generous and open. So we're enjoying another quieter night away from traffic noise and dorm-snorers. Thanks Alex, Vince and Lilly!

Tomorrow we're heading to Boston, and hopefully visiting one of Sean's friends from Brisbane college days. A few days there, then back over the border to Canada and Montreal. One week of adventures left, then back into the real world.

18 May, 2006 (Thursday) Grand Canyon, Arizona

2006-05-26T22:36:00.000-07:00

'Natural beauty instills awe as much by uniqueness as by splendour. But what happens when that uniqueness starts to blend? What happens when that awe starts to wane and it just becomes a pile of rocks again?'

Grand Canyon
The stories are true - the Grand Canyon is huge. Awe inspiring. A lot of red rocks and sparse vegetation. It gets quite hot in the sun. We saw a really fat squirrel. (Picture: Falling off the cliff looks like fun)

Stories of the Hopi
The Hopi people lived in the Grand Canyon area for close to 900 years - up until the 1200s. Only 3 percent of the Grand Canyon national park has been archaeologically surveyed. In that area 4,300 sites of significance have been identified. The Hopi were farmers, living on corn which they cultivated in the arid plains. I recorded some of their stories which I found interesting, as recounted by a park ranger who was kind enough to give us a tour of some ruins.

Origin of the Hopi:
The Hopi believe that they have lived in a number of different worlds since their genesis. This world is their 4th World such world. (Picture: Ranger Brian explains why traditional Grand Canyon dwellings are so small. Their front door was in the roof)

Legend has it that once they lived in another world, a 3rd World. Things were well there, until a time came that it stopped raining. There was no water to grow food. No water to drink. So it was that they ascended through a hole in the sky which led to a new world. A world with rain and water.

The Hopi still remember their ascent to this day, maintaining a 3-inch hold in their Kavi, their spiritual building. They believe that the hole which they ascended is a large mineral spring at the base of the Canyon.

Ears of Corn:
The Hopi people believe that at the beginning each of the different peoples of the world were given a choice of corn. There were all different shapes and sizes, and they meant different things: those that chose the large corn were destined for a life of luxury and plenty, but this would not endure, the people of this corn soon being forgotten. The Hopi believe that they chose the smallest of the corn - that they chose a life of hardship and deprivation, a culture that would endure through the ages. (Picture: Clouds cover the sun)

The Hopi way of life endures even to this day. I wonder what type of corn we have chosen?

Tales from a Utah trailer park
I've had my first trailer park experience. Tonight we drove into a Utah trailer park, paid our $16.60 and pitched our tent.

The place is called Crazy Horse. It's packed out with RV's and has a handful of tent areas. We have tent neighbours but they haven't spoken to us. Apparently the RV people move in clan-like groups. There are 14-RVs belonging to the St. George RV club here for the weekend. (Picture: Traditional Grand Canyon shot)

The amenities are basic. The men's washroom smells like somebody washed their hunting dog in there, then let it piss everywhere. No single moms sighted, in fact hardly anybody sighted. Everybody seems to stay in their RVs and watch TV. Weird.

17 May, 2006 (Wednesday) Hoover Dam, Arizona

2006-05-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

'The Americans, they have a way with words - grand, awesome, majestic, enduring forever. - I've wandered through their stilted prose more than once and it makes me wonder: is this what instills such patriotic fervour, or is it just a reflection of their world view?'

Hooters - a review
They have a Hooters Casino in Vegas. As neither Sean nor myself have ever frequented the infamous restaurant we figured that it was past time to check out the scene... Surprisingly Hooters Casino is one of the nicer ones we've seen - though small, it feels relaxed and the fittings aren't overly tacky.

Hooters uniforms are another thing entirely. The white t-shirts are tight, but not any more suggestive than most of the other garb I've seen in the last few days on female casino staff. The orange shorts are truly horrific. High cut, they do nothing for the majority of gals except make them look more pudgy than they really are. I think the uniform needs a re-vamp. Get with the times!

The food was passable. The service was okay, although I miss the personal touch of being engaged in actual conversation.

Hoover Dam
The car was like a furnace by the time we reached Hoover Dam. Car seat leather seems to hold the heat and the sun roof converts the cabin into a greenhouse. Hoover Dam is gigantic. It's huge walls, embedded into the canyon, are amazing. (Picture: Hoover Dam has created two great lakes - they look like nice kinda resort areas in the desert)

Looking at this self-proclaimed engineering marvel made me think about the return on investment of alternative energy sources - hydro electric, wind, geothermic. We're still very oil focused, despite environmental and renewability concerns. How difficult is it to make use of natural snowmelt and rivers to push turbines? In terms of engineering effort I'm sure it can be quite challenging, but I'd assume that mining and international pressures would exert their own indirect costs.

Grand Canyon Hostel
As the sun began to set Sean spotted a hostel sign and pulled in. The place looked a lot like the motel out of Psycho, white-washed walls, parking out front of a long building - welcome to the Grand Canyon Hostel. Surprisingly the place wasn't too busy, so we paid our $15 a head and booked in.

The owner was a grey-haired woman who seemed to have a lot of cats. At least a dozen.

We soon met the other residents, one woman who was scary in that slow kind of way - without any prompting she started telling us about how she'd grown up in a one room cabin with a dug out toilet and how it was like they were always camping. Walking past her vehicle the following morning I noticed huge piles of Christian evangelical literature. The other resident was a large framed woman who seemed glued to the television. She asked where I was from, and when I said Australia she started telling me about a guy called Mark that she'd met in Vegas and who was also traveling. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't know him.

The outhouse smelt rank. The showers required payment, a quarter for 3 minutes. We slept well as the rooms were well away from the main road. We locked our door and barred it with the dresser.

16 May, 2006 (Tuesday) Las Vegas, Nevada

2006-05-26T22:17:00.000-07:00

'Self justification is the foundation of any good retrospective analysis.'

Goodbye AJ
We decided to extend our stay by a day. AJ left us late on Monday evening to catch a Greyhound through to San Francisco. I hope she has a safe trip and that her thesis goes well. I'm going to miss her frequent bathroom visits, her constant reflections on her boyfriend, her continuous need to relate things to surfing or Quiksilver and her price comparisons back to Euros which strangely render many things 'cheap'.

The Camera Incident - Aside:
I messed up on Monday morning. I admit it. AJ had asked if I could transfer her photos to CD, so I'd linked up the computer and gone to clean myself up. Her and Sean had been tinkering with it for a while, so I assumed that all the image files were copied over to my hard drive. When I returned she said something about running out of space on her camera, so I asked if she'd copied it over and if I could clear the camera card. I swear she said "Yes". I also ASSUMED that she'd been spending that time while I was gone transferring the images over. I was wrong. (Picture: Venetian corridors)

Being the efficiency freak I am I just deleted the files on the camera. When you do that on a detachable drive Windows doesn't like recovering them. AJ freaked. She started running around and screaming, ran into the bathroom sobbing and yelling "My research, oh I've lost all my research". I tried to shutter it out as I found a recovery program online and manually began recovering each of the files. It took about 10 minutes to fix it all up and burn the files to CD.

I guess sleep deprivation affects us in different ways. For me it just makes me go quiet and focus on things more intently. I guess some people get the impression that I'm in a funk, but it's just a more tightly held focus where I couldn't be bothered wasting energy dealing with other's foibles. I'm much better once I get some real sleep. (Picture: Caesar's pillar on moonlight)

Doing Vegas on a Budget
After a month on the road with no income you start to tighten up on spending. While we couldn't help but spend more being in Vegas - heck, everything on the strip is more expensive - we're now in the habit of cutting back. This means we keep an eye out for freebies, tend to favour exploring over paying for entertainment, and look for deals which will stretch your dollar that bit further. (Picture: Monte Carlo frontage)

Unfortunately this has meant that we haven't really been out to see all that much nightlife. Sean hasn't been that keen to see the bar scene - admittedly it is comparatively expensive, and it still feels a bit strange to just wander in on my lonesome... although I've done it a few times lately and it usually works out okay. While in Vegas we found it difficult to track down decent reasonably priced meals.

The first night I paid $US8 for a 6 inch subway sub. AJ seemed happy with the deal, but I was horrified. The two days following we went for a buffet-style brunch and then micro-snacked. For $8.46 (after discount) I think we all got our value out of the Sahara buffet. I managed three plates, plus desert. The next day we ended up at the Monte Carlo and paid $20 for a buffet which included roasted meats, seafood and beautifully detailed deserts. The food was superior, but the verdict is still out on value. (Picture: The strangely alluring rainbow of M&Ms)

Sleep is not so deep - Aside:
My hours were topsy-turvy while in Vegas. I was up consistently past 3am and only slept until 9am. I think I worked out that I was averaging 4 hours a night. For me that's pretty brutal. I like sleep. I need sleep. The lack of sleep and haphazard meals took their toll, although the desert temperatures probably reduced appetite. Next time I'm in Vegas I think I'd like to do it with a bit more pizzaz. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to win Lotto?

Sean Hits the Tables
Texas Holdem style Poker is pretty big in Vegas. It's a highly televised, highly tactical variant that gives players two cards against a flop of 5. Players play against each others rather than the house. Sean has been studying up on poker for a while now and was eager to try his stake in a tournament. After some discussion he settled on the Sahara. The place doesn't have a very big poker room, but the reviews online dubbed it as one for the tourists. (Picture (1): Mirage 7:56pm; (2) Mirage 8:01pm - Boom!)

I wasn't there for it, but apparently Sean lasted a few hours in an evening tournament. A tournament is where players buy into the game for a certain amount and are out when they run out of the purchased amount of chips. Theoretically it's a fairer way to play as everybody starts on the same level.

Sean played a tight safe game, but found out the hard-way that when people are able to enter the tournament at any time you can get bled dry. Players who have been there longer and played a bit more loosely can accumulate a lot more chips as people are eliminated, which means they can more easily buy out tighter/newer players.

Big White-ans sighted
While Sean was at the Sahara I went back to the Stratosphere and cleaned up. While circling the casino floor, seeing if any of the bars were busy, I thought I heard my name being called. Turning around I saw Foxy, from Big White. Bizarre. Seconds later he was joined by Greg and Bergie.

It seems the guys were down for 4 days and were just exploring their way around. They were staying at the Sahara, but had decided they wanted something more lively. We soon found ourselves wandering down the strip. We hit up Circus Circus, then Slots A Fun. Bergie put down $20 on blackjack, splitting a pair of aces and then scoring a pair of jacks on top of both. From there his luck went down, ending up $3 under. Foxy lost his $20 in four straight hands, where the dealer made 20 each time.

Outside we ran into a guy offering free nightclub entry. He persuaded us to take some - his tip: The Beach, (apparently) one of Vegas' hotspots. Pushing us for tips we came up with $2.50. He complained. We told him we were budget travelers. Heck, if we had money we'd be paying full price!

The Beach was three blocks away hidden in the back streets. We rolled in, avoiding cover charge with our freebie tickets. It was approaching one and insider there seemed to be more bouncers than patrons. A band was still thrashing out Green Day on stage and two girls in hot pants were dancing on the bar. Both had one dollar notes sticking out of their garters The place was badly lit and the other customers looked unattractive, even in the dim lighting. We sat down and ordered drinks. The place just got worse. The bartender, in his nasty goatee and cowboy hat, opened a bag of confetti and blew it all over the bar with an industrial blower. The band stopped playing. The other patrons just got uglier. We left.

15 May, 2006 (Monday) Las Vegas, Nevada

2006-05-23T22:30:00.000-07:00

'Glitz. Glamour. I wonder what the show girls do during the day cos they're definitely not on the streets!'

Somehow the brightly lit neon of the strip makes Vegas feel cleaner of an evening. The temperature drops to a more tolerable 20 degrees, which means it isn't such a shock coming out of air conditioned casino depths. Nevertheless, between casino air conditioning and little sleep I managed to acquire air-con sniffles in 24 hours. Not fun. (Picture: Bellagio casino at night)

We spent our first night in town walking the main-strip casino hopping. Stratosphere, where we were booked ($42/night between 3), is at the northern edge of the strip. It's a long way to walk to mid-strip where the really swanky casinos are, but somehow we managed to make the trek, stopping at most of the bigger casinos along the way. Around 3am we caught The Deuce, Vegas' shuttle bus back up to our accommodation (some 4 or 5 kilometres back up).

The Casinos
The next few days followed a similar routine as we searched for the best freebies on offer. (Picture right: View from Stratosphere tower)

Mirage - Volcanic explosion from rain forest / water feature every hour from 8pm to midnight (**1/2)
Treasure Island - badly scripted and acted story of Pirates being bested by a group of buxom sirens (**1/2)
Bellagio - huge fountains playing in time to music (***)
Venetian - Canals and soaring bridges
Paris - Eiffel Tower reproduction
New York New York - Statue of Liberty reproduction

(Picture left: Bellagio fountains)

Flamingos - Flamingo garden with lots of birds. The Flamingos smell kind of funny.
Circus Circus - Free circus acts half-hourly. The little Russian acrobat-chick in the cat costume was hot!

We also got a feel for the casinos - each has a different theme and vibe attached to it. The top tier casinos (e.g. Bellagio, Caesar's Palace, Mirage, MGM Grand, Venetian) are all brightly lit caverns, with rich carpets and lavish displays. You can practically smell the money going into their coffers. These places usually have the most expensive shows on offer (there must be three versions of Circque Du Soliel going in town), and the best positions - central strip. Buffets are top dollar, offering steaks, seafood and rich confectionary.

Mid-tier casinos are still well appointed and huge, but are also starting to show a bit of wear (e.g. Stratosphere, Excalibur, Sahara). They tend to be dingier than the top tier casinos, have lower betting limits and often offer a wacky theme to try and compensate. I was disappointed that the dealers in Circus Circus weren't in clown suits. (Picture: Excalibur castle)

The third tier casinos (e.g. Riviera, Casino Royale) tend to be badly lit, with poorly dressed staff and fixtures showing significant wear. I guess they've seen better days. These places also seem to be the ones offering the most freebies to get people in their doors. On the way through we scored a free pack of playing cards from Riviera - bonus! Casino Royale boasts $50 free play on the slots if you sign up to their inhouse club. Nice.

Below third tier casinos are what I refer to as budget. Places like 'Slots A Fun' do cheap food, cheap alcohol and lower betting limits. They're on the strip, but beyond the grimy light fittings they're just a little too cheap and tacky. It kind of reflects in the punters too, run-down looking white trash hacking away at the 1c slots.
(Picture: Sean under the lights of the Fremont Strip, old Vegas)

14 May, 2006 (Sunday) Las Vegas, Nevada

2006-05-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

We left our Dutch and Swedish friends behind and were soon driving down the dusty highway to Las Vegas. As we crossed the desert the temperature hit 38 degrees, warmer in the hotbox of our Jeep.(Picture: Farewell OB - Back row: Sean, Britt, Julie, Mel; Front row: AJ, Me, Bo)

Vegas City
Las Vegas, the infamous city of sin. We drove in on the first edges of dusk, the dust of the desert road clinging to us like a second skin.

First impressions were in sharp contrast to the shady New Reno that I'd envisaged - the streets were thinly lined with t-shirted tourists, trudging up Las Vegas Boulevard (The Strip) in mid-30 degree heat. The casinos and their brightly lit neon frontages stretched off into the horizon. (Picture: The Strip)

Coming up from the south along the I-15, our first sight was of the gargantuan pyramid of Luxor on our left, soon followed by the Disney-esque castle of Excalibur. Our eyes overloaded with crazed comic-book inspired buildings and super-bright neon lights - a replica Statue of Liberty (New York, New York), a giant stone lion (MGM Grand), a to-scale Eiffel Tower (Paris). The streets looked wide and clean. Palms lined the medium and the traffic moved along steadily. Punters looked overweight but well dressed - Florida retirees, young couples and a very slight smattering of teens and married young-things.

Las Vegas. Welcome to Las Vegas.

Vegas Laws
Vegas has no true industry but for entertainment. Each year some 35 million visitors roll into the city that never sleeps with bank rolls of cash and dreams of striking it rich. Each year visitors spend $18 billion, an average of over $500 a head. And all this for a city in the middle of the desert. (Picture: The dusty Nevada road)

Not bad for glitz and glamour, eh? But, like the wavering pools that sometimes appear on the highway, much of Vegas is an illusion (I avoided the word Mirage on purpose). Few in Vegas strike it rich, and whether shows or casino 'freebies', once you scratch beneath the gilt surface there is little real substance. (Picture: Vegas weekly reading - what catches your fancy?)

Well, what can you expect from a town that boasts so many magicians, illionists and hypnotists? Even Vegas' notoriety for seedy excess seems to be somewhat exaggerated these days. Which isn't to say that there aren't plenty of strip clubs or wild parties going around.

But many of Vegas' visitors are elderly people and families. Middle America demands more sanitised entertainment - after all, bland is culturally where it's at! (Picture: New York New York Casino)

Despite the little bins of magazines on every street corner offering every sort of companion - blonde, exotic, college girls and alternative partners, Vegas apparently still has very strict rules governing prostitution. Stripping and all manner of teasing is okay. Prostitution is out. I'm sure it's still there, but legally the state only endorses strippers and escorts, which puts the whole way gig further underground. Nevada also has laws concerning displays of same-sex affection. It's a big no-no - so watch out those of you hoping to share bedding and are considering holding hands at one of the shows ;)

Free Internet? Aside:
Stratosphere has wireless Internet access, but it's charged at $10 a day. Thankfully people get lazy and leave backdoors which allows free access - hurrah for generic user names and passwords. No, I'm not a computer nerd, I never had the talent or the talent for it. I've just learnt a few tricks the last few decades. Part of it is the company I keep. My brother on the other hand... yeah, just ask him how many hours he spends on the ol' 'puter a week. (Picture: Stratosphere tower)

13 May, 2006 (Saturday) Tijuana, Mexico

2006-05-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

Tijuana - cheap non-alcoholic beer and $20 ponchos for all

Tijuana is a short 13-mile hop from San Diego. Advertised as being 20-minutes away, it took 2 hours by public transport. (Picture: Welcome to Mexico)

Crossing the border was a disappointment - no inspection, no stamp. We just walked across an overpass, through two sets of gates, and suddenly we were being accosted by guys in white lab coats from a Tijuana pharmacy. (Picture: Tijuana markets)

We had been forwarned to stay to the main strip, as tourists are prime targets for Tijuana's less-scrupulous locals. After a bit of wandering we started down the main tourist walk which was lined with markets, dust encrusted tots trying to beg for change and vendors calling out bargain prices for food and alcohol: "$1 for three Tacos!", "Two-for-1 Margaritas, three-for-1 for the Senoritas!", "$1 beer!", "For you - special price". It soon became easier to just ignore them.

The afternoon was wandered away in a bevy of haggling and browsing. Mel and Britt got their hair braided ($5 a piece) and Sean found himself a $7 mini-guitar, with the hopes of plucking away the evenings. I got ripped off with a $13 belt and $5 pair of imitation Ray Ban sunglasses. But I look cool. Getting value for my $US. (Picture: Corona lunch)

By 7pm, we were tired and ready to leave our $1 non-alcoholic beers (each of us guys had guzzled 6 with no real effect) and overly spiced food (even the guacamole was laced with Chili - bet the cheap bastards re-use it!).

With the setting sun we trudged our way to the US border (duty free was very nice to gift me with a taste of Cognac, single malt scotch and three types of tequila) and waited in line to get back across. While we waited Sean befriended an American who lives in Mexico and commutes to San Diego each evening for night shift. He was particularly friendly to us guys, and helped us find the fastest moving line back into the America. (Picture: Self portrait - AJ, Moi, Sean)

12 May, 2006 (Friday) San Diego, California

2006-05-23T22:06:00.000-07:00

Summary: Arrival in San Diego. Four Dutch girls. Two Swedish guys. Two Australians. A pack of cards.

AJ decided to accompany us through San Diego to Vegas. We installed her in the back section of the jeep and were on our way.

San Diego and Ocean Beach
Good morning San Diego! After two hours driving through crazy 6-lane traffic we found ourselves in the quiet beach-bound neighbourhood of Ocean Beach, San Diego. The place has a kind of alternative surf vibe, with bikers cruising the street and a few shops reeking of incense. It also feels considerably older, with a slight Mexican influence to it's cantinas and uneven concrete sidewalks. (Picture: The Vine - Sean, AJ)

The Ocean Beach International Hostel sits in the middle of the strip, all white-washed walls and wooden deck. We checked in for a bargain $US17 a night. The place fits about 90 people.None of the lockers were big enough to fit my laptop and case.

After exploring the beach front - the beach looks absolutely putrid, not the white sands of home - we found our way into the back common room of the Hostel. AJ soon identified Mel, Britt and Julie as fellow Dutch(esses?) (how come if you come from Holland you call yourself Dutch, when everyone else just adds a few letters to their country of origin?). The four girls were soon chatting away in Dutch, swapping where they were from and what they were doing in San Diego.

A beer stop at the local shop later (6x twist tops for $6) we were sitting at a table playing a Dutch variant of Kings - where you have to do different silly things every time a playing card is turned over. Sean was soon saying "lick me" at the end of each sentence and I took a particular liking to the draw where you have to chant "*&^% the Viking" while making little horns out of your fingers. AJ refused to play properly, claiming that the game was "just silly" - but I thought that was the whole point!

Mel (19), Britt (my mistake - 19.5) and Julie (18) have been in the US for 12-months on field hockey scholarships. Mel and Britt have been studying in Ohio, while Julie has been at Duke University. Their year is over, so they're doing a little parental-funded travel before heading home. We were joined by Marcel and Cyrill (pronounced "Cereal"), who are two traveling Swedish youths. A nice little posse. We all agreed to meet up the next morning and see Tijuana together. (Picture: At the trolley station - en route to Tijuana: Cyril, Marcel, Julie, Mel, Britt)

11 May, 2006 (Thursday) Santa Monica / Hollywood, California

2006-05-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

'Every time we return to the car and it hasn't been towed, for me that's a great day!'

Summary: Santa Monica Pier. Insane gridlock traffic. Craig Ferguson Show. Hollywood sights.

Santa Monica
Everybody I have spoken to on my way south has suggested at least a half-day at Santa Monica pier. We arrived at midday, AJ accompanying us for the day. It was overcast, with a grey covering of smog on the horizon. Real LA weather. Walking up from the beach we took in the varoius freaky people - prison-tatted beefcakes working out on the equipment, mid-20 kids playing gladiator on the swinging monkey bars, a few lycra-enhanced roller-bladers.

The pier held echoes of the OC. It's long planks playing host to an arcade, numerous street vendours and a fair ground with Ferris wheel. Another tourist trap. Walking the length we marveled at the number of people fishing off the pier. In fact, every pier in the area seems to have people fishing. I keep on finding myself flinching as another overhead cast sweeps out of my peripheral.

On the walk out we were offered free tickets to some of the TV shows filming in the afternoon. We ended up taking a few, our preference being for The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Apparently he's the boss from the Drew Carey Show, and has been making a killing on the late night talk show stakes, ranking 3 after Jay Leno.

Beverly Hills / Craig Ferguson
The traffic over to the CBS studio was killer. Sean did a great job of getting us through, but we were cutting it close as we finally found parking in The Grove (a super-plush shopping complex in central Beverly Hills). Rushing up the gigantic block the security guard turned us away because AJ had brought her bag. We managed to make it back from the car in 10 minutes and drew shuddering breaths on the waiting benches. The show was running half-an-hour behind schedule. We had a respite, but no cameras allowed (so no happy snaps).

The Craig Ferguson studio was smaller than we expected, holding only 110 heads. In our scruffy traveling clothes the three of us were hidden away in the back right hand corner, away from the cameras and spotlights. Some of the girls, dressed up in bright skirts and tiny tops were given seats up the front. Yes, Beverly Hills is for the beautiful people. I was a beautiful person once... Really.

The crowd was warmed up by Chucky B, a down on his luck, self-confessed mediocre comedian. He kept on cracking lame jokes and telling us how important we as an audience were being 'show enhancers'. He kept on throwing that term at us as he psyched us up to laugh hard at anything he said and clap wildly if something was actually funny.

Filming took 2 hours for the half-hour show. Craig Ferguson dashed in to standing ovation and proceeded to do ten-minutes of stand-up. He did this twice, using two different scripts. In my opinion (not that you asked for it), the script on art smashed the one on gas prices. He then followed with a short skit where he interviewed a supposedly roving Hollywood reporter, then went on to do 5-minute interview sessions with an actor from the Da Vinci code - the English guy who plays the bad dude, and a pretty red-headed actress from Gray's Anatomy (sorry Lauren, I can't even remember the name, although we saw her up close as she drove out in a convertible afterwards. I was about to throw myself in front of the car, but she looked like a bit of a lead-foot).

Hollywood
After a greasy burger at a 60s style diner joint we made our way down to the pavement and did the touristy things - Stars on the Pavement, hand and feet imprints at the Chinese Theatre, stared at the few freaks out on a school night. The guy in a devil costume was scary, over 6ft of weirdly tanned skin and huge fangs, wings and claws.

We stayed to the glossy, well-lit part of the boulevard. The place was wider and better kept than I remember from my trip a dozen years ago. Only a few bums on the street, although I probably look more poverty stricken this time around.

10 May, 2006 (Wednesday) Huntington Beach

2006-05-23T21:28:00.000-07:00

Free FM - Sean's new favourite talk back radio station. Shock jocks and frank discussions about under-age dating. Getting to the heart of real issues. Check it out online.

Summary: Lazy day. Borrowed from a floating net connection and read email.

Spent the afternoon in the sun at Laguna Beach, just past Newport. Mid-nap I was roused by a whole lot of screaming and kids running out of the water. Further groggy examination revealed a pair of fins dipping in and out of the waves. Sharks? No, with three of them and no blood in the water it looked like dolphins. Back to sleep. (Picture: Laguna beach)

Huntington Nightlife
The nightlife in the hostel is pretty laid back. Tonight the Belgians broke out a $10 1.125L bottle of tequila and insisted we do shots with lime and salt. A few of those later...

Mi and Kim are Belgian, well by birth at any rate. Their parentage is half-Vietnamese, which is reflected in slim build and olive complexion. Mi came over originally to visit an uncle, unfortunately the uncle was a bit too restrictive, favouring the old country, so Mi found her way to the hostel. Her brother Kim came over soon after for moral support. They seem nice, if a bit scattered at times. I was astounded to find out a few days later that they're both in their mid-30s! (Picture: Newport pier)

Annemiek (aka Annie, AKA AJ) is from Holland. She's 25 and traveling alone. AJ's in the US for a month while she goes about data gathering for her Masters Thesis in Business, majoring in business administration and strategic issues. Why Huntington Beach? The story goes that AJ spent a month in Mexico last year where she learned to surf. Going back to Holland she was surfed obsessed, daring 3 degree surf (with cowl, boots and gloves) on her long board when the waves were good - which apparently happens once every few months in Holland. Anyway, in support of this obsession she chose her thesis topic to be about the effect the surfing industry has on the environment, through a case study of Quiksilver and it's environmental efforts. She's lined up interviews with various Quiksilver management (hoping for a job post-Thesis? Apparently). To support this she's interviewing surfer's about their own experiences.

To me it's kind of a strange topic for a thesis, Master's or otherwise. I can understand the angle from a corporate triple bottom line perspective (going beyond pure profits to provide broader stakeholder returns - including back to the community and environment), but rather than the purely environmental spin I think I'd take a more corporate responsibility and environmental concerns slant. Perhaps contrast that up against legislative pressures and examples of extreme environmental impacts. Then again, my understanding could have been hindered by translation difficulties.

Daniel is from Germany, he's studying something at one of the local universities here and is the resident chess / risk champion. Daniel is well over 6 foot and spends a lot of his spare time surfing and laughing.

Jamie is 18 from Greater Britainia. He's been exploring the US for a while, currently working out his last few weeks at the Hostel as his funds are low. He hides his youthful cheeks behind a downy goatee, which obviously seems to work given Mi's interest in him.

Susanna is traveling with her tot, Stevie. Belgian, she's taking a break from her IT job and making use of Mo's affinity with small children. I'd had a good chat with Susanna the previous night, about world view and all that stuff. After a few tequila shots she was hitting on my pretty badly. Help!

09 May, 2006 (Tuesday) Part 2 - Los Angeles

2006-05-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

Huntington Beach, OC, LA
The drive through to Huntington Beach wasn't as bad as expected. Traffic along the highway though thick was navigable. We arrived at the beach suburb in early afternoon. The Huntington Beach hostel was surprisingly located in a residential neighbourhood, about 4 blocks from the beach. Unfortunately the front door was locked with a paper 'Gone Surfing' sign attached on the inside. We waited outside. (Picture: "Gone surfing")

Mo, our host arrived after about 15 minutes. He's Moroccan and has been running the hostel for 9 years. Of average height, Mo shaves his head to stave off going bald. He's very tanned and likes to walk around without his shirt, the better to flex his surfer muscles; chat up any young-ish females staying at his hostel; drink wine and smoke green; get into arguments with his guests about any particular topic that comes up. All in all it makes Huntington Beach Hostel feel more like a big share house than an impersonal hostel. (Picture: Sean shows us how to eat ice cream - watch out!)

Newport Beach
With a whole afternoon left to us Sean nominated that we visit neighbouring Newport Beach. Little did I know that during his early morning hours at Big White Sean had obsessively researched 'The O.C', going as far as to track down spots featured in the show using Google Earth (Tm). (Picture: Life Guard Station 32)

We found ourselves parked in 32nd street, just downwind of Life Guard Shack 32, as featured in Season 1 and 2 of the show. Sean claims that they often end episodes at the location, watching the sunset and playing touchy-feely in the sand. We soaked up the OC ambiance. Once we got enough photos we walked down the beach, dodging random cyclists and overweight holidayers. Along the way I got an icy-pop from an Asian woman (originally from Taiwan) who scolded me for not being good to my mother, losing my ability to speak a second language and whiling away my afternoon at Newport Beach. It almost felt like home. (Picture: Huntington Beach sunset)

Newport Pier soaked up another two dozen photos, Sean and I taking turns to pose in front of the Newport Beach sign. In my shots I look like a tool. I think Sean's turned out better. It's all that practice he got being a Levi's model in Whistler.

09 May, 2006 (Tuesday) Santa Barbara

2006-05-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

Santa Barbara goodbye. Huntington Beach is nice. Newport Beach and the OC. Happy snaps galore.

Santa Barbara
Report card: Clean. Very clean. Pretty architecture, beige walls, paved sidewalks. Well heeled. Tanned. Preppy. Possibly surgery enhanced. Boutique bars, eateries and clothings stores. Token homeless.

After a brief discussion Sean and I decide not to spend the day in Santa Barbara. While the township is truely lovely, its main draw card is it's beautiful beaches and preppy bars. Today it is overcast and the beach here has no swell, I think we're trying to save ourselves for Tijuana and Las Vegas. Onward to Los Angeles - City of Angels, homeless and shysters. Gridlock and smog here we come.

08 May, 2006 (Monday) San Francisco

2006-05-23T21:13:00.000-07:00

'Seeing so much natural beauty, do you think that you can become desensitised to it? Immune to that feeling of wonder and appreciation of seeing another natural phenomena, of discovering a new place undisturbed by human intervention?'

Summary: Exit San Francisco. Sausolito. Muir woods.

On our way
Leaving San Francisco we visited the little sea side village of Sausolito, a tourist favourite. It was quiet in the main market, and as we wandered the streets and piers we just enjoyed the quiet. (Picture: Sausolito wharf)

We spent 2 hours wandering the wooded depths of Muir Wood. A national park, it harbours some of the oldest redwoods in the world, comparable to Tasmania. The towering trees were amazing, but as we reached the upper edges of the walk the humid heat beat upon us. It was almost a relief to get back to the shaded paths below.

We drove into Santa Barbara in late evening, getting lost in the back streets in the dark. On first drive-through it seems like a nice kind of place. Lots of preppy looking, brand-named kids wandering down. Feels like a university town. (Picture: Muir Woods - big big trees)

07 May, 2006 (Sunday) More San Francisco

2006-05-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

Japanese Tea Gardens
The Japanese Tea gardens sit in the heart of the Gold Gate park. For $3 you can wander it's paved pathways, contemplating the still waters, moss covered rocks and zen gardens. It's a peaceful place, once you filter out the screams of the children and the inane chatter of the besotted. Sean practiced his photographic skills while I tried to soak in the tranquility. My soaking abilities require more work. (Picture: Japanese Tea Gardens)

Walking the Golden Gate
The Golden Gate was swarming with tourists, mainly of asian ancestry. To escape we walked the Golden Gate's span. It took us half an hour each way. The bridge is an amazing construction, composed of huge steel cables painted a orangey-red. The walk isn't hard, but it is busy. Along the way the two of us couldn't help but marvel at the view (I dread to think how many pictures I now have of San Fran in the distance), and how low the railings were. There were warnings on some of the pylons cautioning people that jumping off the bridge was hazardous and could result in severe injury. With the up draft we definitely felt safe. (Picture: The Grove at night)

Caution with railings morphed into a conversation about the effect that a major earthquake might have on the bridge. We explored a scenario where, during a major earthquake, the bridge broke apart; would it be preferable to jump straight off the bridge as it started to break up, or to hang onto a bridge fragment for as long as possible before impact? Neither of us physics majors, we still persisted to discuss the merits of being shattered upon hitting water, over being crushed beneath a ton of falling debris, over having one's body squashed by your velocity when the bridge fragment that you are riding abruptly decellerates as it hits the water. A difficult decision. (Picture: The Golden Gate Bridge - beats a postcard, no?)

06 May, 2006 (Saturday) San Francisco

2006-05-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

A return to Alcatraz
The island known as The Rock sits in San Francisco bay, about a 15 minute ferry ride from Fisherman's Wharf. It originally served as a military outpost, one of the final lines of defense for San Francisco, before becoming first a military gaol and later a federal prison for the hardest criminals of the era. In it's time the island gaol played host to such luminaries as Al "Scarface" Capone, "Machinegun" Kelly and the Bird Man. It developed a reputation for being escape proof, with a number of high profile escape attempts but no confirmed escapes. Alcatraz's gates were officially closed in 1962 by Robert Kennedy, allegedly as a result of escalating operation costs. . (Picture - Left - The Rock; Right - From the gun gallery)

We explored the cell blocks under the instruction of the audio tour. With help from from former cellmates and wardens, the audio tour guided us through Cell Blocks A, B, C and D, describing the operation of the gun galleries, the major escape attempts and daily life on the island. We learnt about how the Sally Fort worked, with antique cannons, murder holes and a drawbridge. Afterwards we managed to get a special tour of the chapel, officers lounge and gun galleries, taking a closer look at the life beyond the cells. (Picture - Left - From the exercise yard; Right: Fishermans' Wharf - chowder time)

Quick update

2006-05-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a hectic week since we left Huntington Beach (OC) behind. Mexico was fun for a day; Coronas in the sun and $1 tacos. Vegas took up the beginning of this week; huge extravagant casinos decked out in neon. Hoover Dam was gigantic and the desert was sweltering. Yesterday we saw the Grand Canyon and today... I think we're headed to Bryce National Park before pushing Eastward.

Right now I'm linked in from a trailer park in Utah that we stayed at over night. Unfortunately no tales of gun play or married siblings, but we didn't really mix that much with the locals. I wonder what the AMerican Interior has in store for us?

Ben
(There are geckos running around here, doing push-ups. It's kinda strange)

05 May, 2006 (Friday) San Francisco

2006-05-19T08:30:00.000-07:00

Three days of unlimited city travel in San Francisco is $18. It's not a bad deal if you're doing a bit of travelling. We continued to explore the city.

Boudin Bakery
Boudin Bakery was founded by French immigrants during the gold rush days and has built up ever since. It's a local institution, it's sour dough bread famous throughout the West Coast. Boudin offer a tour of their bakery and history from their Fisherman's Wharf complex. For $3 the tour includes a glimpse of the gold rush days, an introduction to the science of bread-making, a birds-eye view of their bread making facilities and a free tasting. I did a computer-based quiz to find out what bread I was, from my answers it was determined that I was a Dark Rye bread. I could have told you that. The tasting was good, I wolfed down a dozen of their little bread squares dipped in honey, oil and corn salsa. I think I got my $3 value. (Picture: Boudin bakery making buns)

San Francisco Nightlife
Sean passed out early, but I was determined to make the most of my first Friday night in San Francisco. I had hoped to make it down to the Mission District, but doing it alone felt a bit intimidating. Instead I wandered up Fillmore and into the Grove Cafe. (Picture: San Francisco cable car)

The Grove
I like The Grove, it has a really nice ambiance to it. Scott recommended it just before he left, describing it as a bit studenty, a bit artsy. You get that, but there's more to it.

The soft orange lighting gives it a warm, comfortable feel. It is this, coupled with the wave of voices in conversation which characterises the place for me. Inside the decor is wood and leather, in a semi-rustic theme. A mix of tables and benches and stools mean that whether you're a student typing away at an essay, corporate reading a report, or wanderer (like myself) just in for a drink and some quiet writing time, everybody is a winner. I ordered a pint of their house brew and got given a huge glass. The serving gal gave me a white toothed smile and asked how long I was in town. Flirt. I sat down and wrote.

It was past 11 by the time I was done in The Grove. I spent the last 10 minutes watching people, watching interactions - clusters of students, youths on a night out, older couples. All seemed engrossed in conversation, leaning across tables, adding to the murmur of voices.

Harry's Bar
After a walk around the block I ended up next door at Harry's Bar. Inside it was packed out with people, a good selection of the beautiful set of San Francisco - young 20-somethings with money. It was $3 Corona / $5 Margaritas night and the bar girls were being kept busy. I pulled up a stool and half-watched The Wedding Crashers on the big screen... and the crowd. After my third beer I went for a walk to clear my head, and on a whim decided I'd have one more then head home. (Picture: A freaky 25c machine - here's one for the kids!)

A couple had been dancing behind me for half the night, and as I got comfortable the guy squeezed into the bar area. Somehow we got talking, his name was Brian and he'd just met the girl, Jo tonight. When I mentioned that I was a visitor in his city Brian got excited and told me to come out with him for a bit, that he'd make sure I had a good time. A cab ride later we ended up in an alley in front of a set of townhouses. It was past 12 by this time and the alley was deserted and dark. A big iron grill-worked door kept us on the footpath as Brian and Jo tapped away at their cell phones trying to get us entrance. It was ten minutes before a light came on and the door opened. (Picture: We noticed this when we were walking up to downtown. Guess he's had a few bad experiences)

Inside the townhouse was lushly furnished - wood panelling, designer looking decorations and a back patio area. While Brian and Jo danced in the living room I met Mariah, Sarah and Leigh. It was around 3am when somebody suggested we go for a spa. At 4am I caught a cab back to the apartment to sleep. An interesting night. Sorry, no pictures unfortunately.

04 May, 2006 (Thursday) San Francisco

2006-05-10T11:16:00.000-07:00

Trying to cycle
Mike and Scott have a pair of mountain bikes up at the condo. For our second day in town we thought we'd give them a go and join the cycling masses. Big mistake. I soon realised that getting back on the bike can mean different things for different people. While Sean was on and riding in minutes, I suddenly recalled that I'd never had much time for bicycle riding as a youngster and proceeded to cycle in haphazard S's down the sidewalk. I collected two cars and had bruises down my inner thigh before we got to Golden Gate park.(Picture: Sean can cycle)

By the time we got to the beach side of town I was doing somewhat better, although starting again on the steep hills was hazardous, for me and pedestrians. The views from the Cliff and Sutra Baths was worth the effort though, the wash of the ocean bringing back memories of home.(Picture: San Fran beachfront)

At 4:30pm I gave up, my bruised legs had had enough, so I left Sean and made my way back to the condo. Except I hadn't realised how far we had traveled. It took me an hour and a half to walk the 45 blocks back. It was another quiet night.(Picture: Feel the serenity)

03 May, 2006 (Wednesday) San Francisco

2006-05-10T01:01:00.000-07:00

San Francisco Driving
Driving in San Francisco scares me; cyclists everywhere, lots of four-way stops, rolling hills and crazy drivers. We at least managed to park the car safely in a residential zone which means we only have to move it once a week to allow for street cleaning. Scott warned us to take out all valuables, so I'm making sure that all my underwear is out of the car and safely stowed away. Clean underwear is priceless. Used underwear is just soiled. (Picture: World's windiest road)

Walking the Streets
Spent the day walking the streets. We walked from the Fillmore district to Downtown (Virgin Megastore, Union Square), through China Town and up to Fisherman's Wharf. By the end of it we were pretty tired. Lots of hills. Good for the legs? I'm yet to get any compliments.

Union Square
Central downtown, surrounded by major department stores and specialty shops. Relatively empty, but it's midweek: one big screen, a neat square of chairs, some punters out eating lunch.

China Town
San Francisco's China Town is famous, and as we walked through we could understand why - it was like being in a mini-Hong Kong, except it smelt better and there were more cars. The place was bustling and the variety was phenomenal - bakeries, eateries, groceries, noodle houses, restaurants, fashion, accessories, services, more eateries. We walked through and dodged the human traffic. Why do Asian people move so slowly and habitually block walkways? One of the best things about having some Asian ancestry is that I can say things like that.(Picture: Feel those San Fran hills)

Fisherman's Wharf
One of the major tourist attractions, the place is filled with gift shops and chowder vendors. Clam chowder goes for between $4.00 to $5.00. Neither Sean nor I wanted to give them the satisfaction of ripping us off with their canned soup. Pier 39 has a lot of specialty shops, but we couldn't find anything too inspiring. The puppet shop freaked me out. Bubba Gump's Shrimp Bar was just disturbing.

On the way to catching a cable car back to Union Square ($5 one-way) I was accosted by a coloured gentleman in sloppy denim and a baseball cap. Initially I ignored him as he yelled at me to stop, but then he claimed that he could tell me where my shoes were from and how long I'd had them. I stopped, a wry smile on my lips, figuring that I'd at least humour the poor soul. Poor soul turned to shyster as he deftly inspected my shoes and in the process wiped shoe wax on them. He then started rhyming to me that I'd been had and this was how he made his living. One shoe wiped, Sean watched on amused. Second shoe wiped he finished his performance and asked me for cash. $5 a shoe, that's $10? Dazed from the last few days and long walk I dumbly handed over the cash. Taken, like that. Lesson learnt:

1) Don't stop for street people
2) If they hassle tell them you've already been ripped off so go hassle some other poor sap
3) If they persist get back in their face and tell them that you've only got $5 to your name, it's supposed to last you another 2 days and that they should hit some other dupe cos you're about to yell for the local constabulary for harassment if they don't give up.

Yeah, not a happy camper.

The cable car line was too long, so we walked it instead. On the way we climbed the world's windiest road and window shopped the funky shop strip of Cow Hollow.(Pier 39 Sea Lion colony)

Scott Scoots
Scott had a quick dinner with us at a local Thai restaurant before dashing for his plane. Along the way he accused me of being a Cadbury and asked about living with Nick and his allegedly womanising ways. I denied any knowledge of Nick womanising. He certainly didn't seem to get much action when he was out with me! Scott left the keys with us and said we were welcome to stay for as long as we like. We promised that we would.

Noticing... things

2006-05-10T00:56:00.000-07:00

Sean and I have taken to typing away in the car whenever the other has driving duties. Right now he's in the midst of working on his novel outline. My non-driving time seems to be evenly split between catching up on last nights sleep and updating these diary entries.

Anyway, here are a few things I've noticed since coming to the continent...

Chain stores
North America seems to be populated by a proliferation of big chain stores, and when I say big I mean BIG. There's of course Wallmart, KFC/Taco Bell, MacDonalds, Safeway, Fred Myer, Denny's, Arby's, Little Ceasars, Wendy's, Dairy Queen - but it goes beyond that. Every place we stop there's some huge chain store sitting there dominating the landscape. I'm not sure what bothers me most about it, whether it's just that they are everywhere, like some kind of rash, whether it's because it reflects a mono-culture of unthinking blandness, or whether it's a reflection of the prevalence of large corporate endeavours on popular society. Whatever it is, it is starting to get to me.

RV parking
There are RVs everywhere. Every hick town that we've driven through so far seems to have at least one RV park, and as we pass by you can't help but notice that some of the vehicles look like they haven't moved for years.

RV dealerships are rife down the highway, rows and rows of fresh mobile homes on the back of a truck just waiting to be driven away. I can understand the attraction for some people of being able to travel across the country with all the comforts of home, but I can't believe how many of these things there are. Just so many big unwieldy gas guzzling motor homes is frightening. With some sort of intelligent coordination they could spawn whole new communities of seniors overnight. Fields could be overflowing with raw sewerage at the flick of a dozen switches. I wonder if it's like this all the way through the American interior?

Overweight America - got to be obese to make it
I used to laugh at the statistics about obese America. I used to snigger at the traveling American stereotype - all chubby rolls and loudly complaining ignorance. Now I'm traveling through their contry trying to behave. But I am noticing just how many large framed people there are in this country. Generous portions are everywhere, whether city, township or the boonies. I must admit that some communities are noticeably slimmer, although this tends to be biased toward well-off beach-type neighbourhoods. But overall, yes, I'm noticing the America is big. And that's big with tuck shop lady arms.

02 May, 2006 (Tuesday) Oregon Coast

2006-05-10T00:53:00.000-07:00

Neither of us slept well in the car, tossing and turning, waking every hour. The cold set in earnest, chilling the interior of the car.

Oregon Coast
We were up and cooking breakfast on the beach by 7am - a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs with hot soup. The drive ahead of us was going to be long. (Picture: Oregon coastline)

The Oregon coast was more than we expected, with some of the loveliest scenery so far - open ocean views, steep cliffs and sleepy seaside towns. It took us another 5.5 hours before we found our way into California.

San Francisco
It was approaching 14 hours driving before we found ourselves on the outskirts of San Francisco, a satellite town called Santa Rosa. While we were filling up at a gas station, a latino man approached Sean asking whether we would help him. He claimed that his car had run out of gas and he had left his wallet at home. Sean looked him over and, being the nice guy that he is, took the guy's can off him. The guy thanked us profusely and said that he'd look after us anytime we were in Santa Rosa. As we were finishing up he asked if we smoked weed as he had a stash for medical purposes. We politely said that we didn't have time. (Picture: Sean's sandune - he hiked up the top and ran all the way down)

I'd contacted Scott (Atlassian) earlier in the afternoon to let him know I was going to be in town. He said to give him a call when I was closer, and offered the use of the Atlassian apartment (hence referred to as the 'Embassy') if we were staying. We met up with Scott and three of his Atlassian staff in a tidy little pub called the Magnolia. Scott was looking well, relaxed and obviously enjoying a laid back evening. He said that I looked like crap. Thanks. We hung out for a few hours and the guys gave us tips on where to stay and where to go in North America. We finished up close to midnight. Needless to say we slept well that night. (Picture: Trinidad bay in Oregon)

01 May, 2006 (Monday)

2006-05-09T16:35:00.000-07:00

We left Seattle behind early in the morning. Getting briefly lost in industrial Tacoma we eventually found our way toward Mount Rainier. (Picture: Mt Rainier views)

Mount Rainier
A popular Washington national park Mt Rainier has breathaking forest views, lush meadows and beautiful snowcapped mountains. Nestled in a semi-volcanic area it's lush landscape hides a harsh environment. Explorers have been lost on it's jagged wintery peaks. Even on a warm sunny day like we were enjoying it was near to freezing up top. We lingered a while to take in the refreshing mountain air, snowmelt waterfalls and inspiring peaks before heading along our way. (Picture: Mt Rainier Paradise station)

We'd hoped to see Mount St Helens, the not-so-dormant volcano, but the area was still closed off due to snow on the roads.

Newport Beach
We stopped briefly in Portland (Oregon), stretching our legs and taking in the city for an hour. A clean but quiet city, it sits on the river mouth at the border of Washington and Oregon. But we wanted to push on, so we got back in our Jeep and left the city behind us. (Picture: Portland from a passenger window)

At 9pm we hit the coast after hours of driving through Oregon's interior, through mild hills and long flat meadows. Newport was beautiful in the setting sun, although the wind chill was up. As darkness finally set in we looked about for a place to stay, but we decided it wasn't worth the effort and chose to sleep in the car. Even unloading the Jeep seemed like too much trouble, so we ended up laying out in the front seats, wrapped in our jackets and sleeping bags. (Picture: Newport beach sunset)

30 April, 2006 (Sunday)

2006-05-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

Seattle sites - Underground, EMP, Sci Fi Museum

Seattle Underground
Once upon a time the town of Seattle was built on a foundation of woodchips and dirt. That, combined with building too close to the tidal waters, meant for problematic town development. Following City Hall's decision to raise the footpath a good part of Seattle's early waterfront has a mini-city slowly decomposing underneath it's current storefronts. We were taken through Seattle's early history by our bad-joke splitting tour guide Bruce. Along the way we got to stare through 150 year old sky lights, dusty bank vaults and 4 foot thick walls that were built between the old roadway and footpath, which were then filled with debris. A bargain tour at $12. (Picture: Bruce stands under an original skylight in the Underground)

Experience Music Project (EMP)
Co-located with the Sci-Fi museum near the Space Needle the Experience Music Project (EMP) is something between a contemporary music museum and an introduction to music production. Unfortunately no cameras allowed so no funky pictures, which is pity because it's a pretty good display - everything from the stage costumes of Elton John, Jimmy Hendrix, Sonny & Cher and KISS, to the development of Hip-Hop, to how Seattle became one of the great music meccas of the West Coast. Sean and I got our 5 minutes of fame with a live recording of Wild Thing, complete with flashing lights and automated audience clapping (but unfortunately no mad fans throwing their underwear), as well as time in a mini-studio jamming with keyboard and guitar. Entry $27 including access to the Sci Fi museum. (Picture: Welcome to the halls of the Underground)

Science Fiction Museum
A strange two-story museum featuring everything Sci Fi, starting with a time line, moving through to predictions leading to technological development, major themes and evolution through the years. We browsed the hall of fame, re-lived the Star Wars phenomena and nerded up on famous fictional starships. Science fiction was painted as a major outlet for creative talent as well as a gateway to our future. It was described as a means to take people beyond petty bias and preconceptions, providing strong metaphors to questoin and educate. Is Science Fiction the mythology of the new millenium? How much does it influence our perceptions and popular culture?

Space Needle
Some people say that any cursory exploration of Seattle isn't complete without a visit to the Space Needle, once upon a time the highest building on the Seattle skyline. We demured - $14 for a ride up a tower seems a bit excessive. To add insult to injury the entire bottom level is occupied with a nasty little over-priced gift shop. I like my tourist traps to be a little subtler.

Dorm Mates
We finally met our dorm-mates, a pommy pair by the names of Nick and Sarah (from Manchester). After dinner we headed out to check out the Seattle Nightlife. The Crocodile Cafe is one of the more infamous live music venues on the Seattle scene. It was appreciably alternative, even for a Sunday night, with punk girls with multi-coloured pigtails and black mascara, shaven headed guys in leather, criss-crossed with tattoos. Bands were playing in the main room, but we headed to the back bar to have a brew and soak in the ambiance. (Picture: Seattle Space Needle behind the EMP)

Heading further down the strip we hit the near deserted Lava Bar. It was darkly lit, but belting out some hard metal melodies. The beer was cheap. We pulled up a stool at the bar and ordered

29 April, 2006 (Saturday)

2006-05-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

Vancouver greeted us in the morning with cold drizzle. We rugged up as best we could and made a final sally to the car to share out the luggage and say farewell to the girls.

It didn't feel quite real as we said goodbye in the damp underground car park beneath the Holiday Inn. As we rearranged our worldly possessions and ejected Emily and Lauren's bags we awkwardly made our parting jibes at one another. Emily projected her familiar bravado, and Lauren promised to stay in touch. With final hugs the girls lugged their suitcases out and we climbed into the Jeep.

A brief stop-over at Julie's place to retrieve Sean's snowboarding gear and my mega-suitcase, repack Emily's skiing gear inside my big ski bag, and for Sean to instruct one of Julie's housemates on how to use a lamp, and we were once again on the road.

American Border Protection
For a Saturday the lines at the Peace Arch into the United States of America weren't terribly long. Nevertheless we had to suffer the automated message advising us of American Border protocol and last month's exchange rate for 20 minutes before we were able to inch to the Border Protection agent. He didn't seem too phased when Sean couldn't recall a permanent place of residence and was vague on destination, and didn't even bother searching the jeep. I guess we just don't look like the ruckus causing types. Instead, he gave me a form to take inside and fill out a visa waiver - thank you Australian passport! (Picture: Welcome to the border)

While we were waiting in line one of the Border Protection agents came in and beckoned out three of his fellows. Before we knew it they'd surrounded a white stationwagon, the agents hidden behind concrete pillars at each corner. Everything was tense for a few minutes, and I half expected the stationwagon to expode. No such luck. Instead, the agents suddenly melted away from the car at some unknown signal and it all returned to normal.

Protecting US borders from people like you!
Border protection agents look pretty mean. They wear black uniforms, some with kevlar vests, and carry a heavy looking automatic on their webbing belts. All of them seem to wear ankle high SWAT boots and those cute little baseball hats with CBP stenciled in yellow on it. Of the ones I saw, all but one was middle aged and male.

It took another 20 minutes of waiting in line with a whole lot of Americans and annoyed Canadians before my application was processed. The Border Protection agent looked pretty bored as he took my left and right index finger imprints and then mug shot. I didn't even get to see how I looked! It was $6 administration charge for my 90-day visa, and then we were back on the road.

The rain kept on pouring down as we drove into Seattle. The city felt quiet and grey, all tall buildings with hardly any people on the streets. Sean navigated me through the maze of one way streets, until we found ourselves parked opposite the Green Tortoise hostel.

Capitol Hill
For our first night out the desk guy at the hostel recommended Capitol Hill, a good 20 minutes walk from the waterfront where we were staying. The walk wasn't overly arduous, and we soon found ourselves in the middle of alternative Seattle. The shops and bars were darkly funky, with neo-goths, students and alternatively sexual types wandering about. There were more than a few live music venues, but we were cover charge shy, being our first night in town. (Picture: Seattle Space Needle through some columns)

In the end we hit a few of the bars on the strip, soaked in some of the ambiance, and found ourselves in a little coffee and beer cafe called the Six Arms. It had comfy booths and stool-ed benches looking out to the street. We watched the human traffic plod by and found ourselves back at the hostel just edging toward midnight.

Seattle Green Tortoise
The Green Tortoise hostel in Seattle is a block up from the historical Pike St Markets. It's an old-style building with loads of character - echoing corridors, white-washed walls and funny smelling rooms. Sean and I got a bunk bed in the co-ed dorm, with lockers (no keys) underneath our bedding.

The hostel has a common room and kitchen, and provides breakfast most mornings. We were excited about the free breakfast, until we wandered down our first morning and discovered that it composed of toast (mainly crusts by 9am), raw eggs, apples and bananas. Not quite what we had in mind. I guess it was a bit healthier than free lead-belly pancakes.

When we arrived we were surprised to see how old most of the residents were. It was mainly middle-agers, with a large showing of Americans. No Big Whiteans, and few, if any, Australians. Everybody seemed busy staring into their own plates as they ate, so we really didn't meet any people in our first day there. A strange kind of environment. Definitely not the friendly vibe we were getting used to in Vancouver, but apparently the HI in Seattle is even worse. Go figure.

Still, it was a place to stay and the location was pretty good, smack bang in downtown Seattle. We had a room and wireless Internet access, and the front desk staff, while spacey, seemed to have a fair knowledge of the city. The question was, how long to stay in Seattle?

Travelling Companions: Who am I travelling with?

2006-05-07T11:20:00.000-07:00

Introduction
I thought it would be nice to provide a little insight into my current travelling companions, as well as share some dirt while I was at it (feel free to use the comments box to dish it back). While I don't think any of us have managed to completely embarass ourselves (or is it a matter of time?), when traveling with people it is inevitable that you get to know each other pretty well. I guess the real test is whether we're still talking to each other at the end...

Lauren aka "Minx" (20) Brisbane, Australia
Catch-cry: Lauren - "Oh my gawd, look at how many chins I have in that picture. I look so fat!" Reply - "Uhuh, sure Lauz. Whatever you say... As if..."
Signature: Left-side profile picture pose (see picture)

Report card:
Lauren is bright and bubbly and smart. She's the little elfin waif with the mischievous grin, phone sex operator voice and sore knee. No, sore neck. Sorry, sore elbow. Whatever it is that is sore, Lauren always manages to soldier on. Lauren has been known to talk in her sleep, but she hasn't been sleep walking lately, just asking for back massages.

Very close to her family, Lauren keeps her mum updated with current events with whatever means are at hand - telephone, SMS, my blog (Hi there Lauren's mum!). Oft times you'll hear Lauren's phone chirp and there will be a real-time message from her mum suggesting caution or asking why she let such unflattering photos of herself be put on the internet. Then there's Shazza and the gang back home who keep it real, providing heartfelt email insight, which Lauren isn't shy to share with her traveling companions.

Just to clarify, Lauren definitely doesn't do tattoos, exotic massage, lip synching, magic tricks, body piercing or pole dancing, she's way too cultivated and demure for that. So that thing in her nose, just so you know, it isn't a piercing, it's just a stick-on ornament that kind of looks like one. Honest. Okay, covered for you Lauz. It's all under control!

When we left her in Vancouver Lauren's travelling plans were still in the air. There was talk of meeting up with Kiwi Ardana in Montreal, before finding her way to Quebec and her favourite French Ski Patroller. Although there was some reservation with heading to Quebec as she doesn't speak any French and she wasn't sure if she could keep a straight face when Charles' best friend's name is Fanny...

Emily aka "Redbeard" (19) Brisbane, Australia
Catch-cry: Emily - "Well with Cris I've found that..." Audience -
Signature: Talking poop at the dinner table, in the car, anywhere really.

Report card:
Emily is 19 going on 28. She has poise. She has long eye-lashes. She can talk underwater (and with authority). She has a tendency to flirt, a lot. Yes, Emily is a serial flirt... and a good Catholic girl. Well, except for that time where she killed the flowers in the church yard - thanks again Robbyn! Emily also has a tendency to acquire a semi-American accent at times. It can be disconcerting.

The middle of three children, Emily is very much Daddy's girl. She travelled widely when she was younger because of her dad's work, her early years spent in Papua New Guinea. Currently enrolled in engineering at university, she wants to be an environmental engineer and work for her dad, a mining engineer. Emily dearly misses her dog, Bo, a little housedog who reportedly suffers from incontinence.

Travelling with Emily is never dull. Even when you were there, her retelling can add an extra level of drama that leaves you questioning your own version of events. She has a habit of drip drying post-shower, leaving the bathroom tropically wet on all surfaces. She has an infection laugh and un-natural brightness (with extra sugar!). She also has a habit of announcing her flatulence loudly and proudly. Emily is fun and chatty, although she has this uncanny ability to be speaking to somebody important ( Cris ) whenever the car has to be loaded or luggage moved.

We last saw Emily in Vancouver, but will definitely find her again in Toronto - I have to, I gave her my over-sized ski bag with my skis in them! From Toronto she's off to her Ontarian summer camp. Along the way she is supposed to meet up with her special 6ft 3 English guy. By all accounts they've already re-acquainted and he's comforted her after such a harrowing ordeal (yeah, I'm soooo much fun to travel with).

Sean aka "Darkhorse" (21) Brisbane, Australia
Catch-cry: "I never scored any chicks at Big White because I worked the midnight shift." Chorus - "Damn right! The Darkhorse would have been in the thick of it otherwise."
Signature: Taking serious shots of pretty flowers.

Report card:
Sean is cool, in a O.C Seth Cohen kind of way. He wears the preppy polo shirts and striped tees, he likes stovepipe jeans and thick white-fronted lace-up sneakers. He's quietly spoken and has almost out of control hair. Sean's known in some circles as 'the Dark Horse'. He's got a habit of just letting loose some of the best random comments. He's also got this special under-the-radar charm with the ladies. Hidden talents.

An only child, Sean was born of a Canadian father and English mother. As a result he's got tri-citizenship and lots of passports (he's an international man of mystery). While he was born in Calgary, Sean lived much of his formative years in New Zealand before emigrating to Bris-Vegas, and most recently back to Canada. At heart though he claims to be a Brisbane boy now, and is looking forward to getting back in the next year. At the same time, his parents have recently relocated to Peachland, British Columbia. They have stunning views of the lake and seem to be enjoying being back in the heartland of Canada.

In a previous life Sean majored in Graphic Design (Multimedia) and worked for a small company. He escaped late last year to win his fame and fortune in Canada, ending up at Big White doing the graveyard shift.

As far as travelling buddies go Sean is in a league of his own - he's proficient in the culinary arts, never complains about driving or my annoying habits (but there's time yet...), has patience in spades and a wicked sense of humour. He also happens to have a discerning taste in music and is always there to pitch in. All thumbs up!

The current plan for Sean is to drop me off in Toronto and then drive back through middle-Canada to Kelowna and his folks. There is talk of Jae meeting him in Toronto and accompanying him back, but these have yet to be confirmed.

Myself (25) Sydney, Australia
Catch-cry: Me - "I never scored any chicks at Big White because I had standards" Chorus - "Yeah right! I thought it was because..."
Signature: 30 minute morning hair adjustment

Report card:
The dirty old man of the group, I've got a few years on the youngsters, but nobody seems to guess from looking at me. See - moisturising does work! I like good food, probably don't sleep as much as I should, and am trying to write my way across this continent.

28 April, 2006 (Friday)

2006-05-06T21:31:00.000-07:00

Ferry return to Vancouver. Big White following. Franz Ferdinand in concert.

After heartfelt goodbyes we headed back to the ferry station at Swartz Bay and then into Vancouver.

The Samesun was near capacity so our group was split into gender-based dorm rooms. As we arrived we found that a lot of Big White had not moved on; Nick from Retail was there, as was ex-Sam's Sarah (again) and Christie (sans Aaron). Lauren and Emily latched onto John A, spending their last evening out together before going their separate ways, Sean and I had tickets to Franz Ferdinand.

Franz Ferdinand in Concert
Venue: Paciic Coliseum, in north-eastern Vancouver
Capacity: In excess of a couple of thousand. The gig was apparently sold out, but there were more than a few scalpers out the front with 'extra' tickets.
Ticket price: $45 after tax for a seated ticket. About $65 for general admission.
Crowd: A relatively young set of fans, with most between 14 and 16 years of age.
Line-up: The Cribs, Death Cab for Cutie, Franz Ferdinand.
Review: Our tickets originally sat us 3/4 to the back of the auditorium. The sound quality wasn't bad, but the bands looked like ants from our position. Between Death Cab and Franz I got a call from Julie (Precious' friend who came to Whistler) who was at the gig. She said that there was plenty of room just left of the stage. Sean and I ran down and found ourselves some seats two rows from the front. Bonus!

The Cribs
The Cribs sounded good, if a little fuzzy. Nothing spectacular from them, but a solid rocking set.

Death Cab for Cutie
Against a backdrop of mushroom like houses with flashing lights, Death Cab gave a nice set, filled with their softly spoken words, melodic accoustic melodies, broken by upbeat chords. Some of the intonation sounded blurred from where we were sitting, but the crowd got right behind them with lots of 12-year-old girl screams.

Franz Ferdinand
Franz put on a energy packed set of old favourites, best hits and new pieces from their latest album. They were fast and hard and sometimes a little out, but fun. There were plenty of solos to be had, featuring each of the 5 members, as well as fun on-stage antics. "Darts of Pleasure" had members of Death Cab running around the stage in Gorilla suits. The last piece, "Outsiders", had members of both support bands out with drums banging away a heavy beat. At the end of the show the band pulled apart the drum kit, leaving the stage in a mess of fallen high hats and scattered drum parts.

From the second row it was a great view. Much better to see the band members up close. The band's energy onstage was contagious, with our part of the audience bopping away to the beat. The mosh pit looked very well behaved, well compared to some Sydney crowds I've seen.

Overall it was a great night. Both Sean and I came out with big grins on our faces. The main gripe that I had was that the tour t-shirts that they had on-sale were all pretty awful. Invest in some decent graphic designers guys! Julie invited Sean and I back to some houseparty in the 'burbs, but we demured on the grounds that we needed to see Emily off properly. Out and back to the Samesun by quarter to midnight.

27 April, 2006 (Thursday)

2006-05-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

Day in Victoria. Parliament house. Ogden Pt. Red Jacket nightclub.

Thursday, our day in Victoria
We didn't get out until well after midday, but once out spent the afternoon exploring the downtown area. We did part of a tour of Parliament House, but Sean and the girls started falling asleep during the description of Parliamentary Process (which personally I found quite interesting - British Columbia apparently only has one house, not the upper and lower like we do at home?). Madame Tassaud's Wax Museum was closed by the time we escaped, so we walked to Ogden Point. (Picture: Parliament House and the British Columbian coat of arms)

Approaching the point
Ogden Point sits on the corner of Victoria, providing some breathtaking views of the mainland. We walked along the promenade and had a closer look at the lighthouse. The tide was coming in, so we sat on the end of the promenade and watched the waves come in. (Picture: Out from the point to the mainland)

Robbyn had offered to take us out for a night in Victoria, but we had to watch the O.C. first. Sean plugged in the headphones, not wanting to deal with the continuity gap from Season 2, but the rest of us gathered on the sofas. Around 10:30 Robbyn's friend Katrina(?) arrived, but we didn't head out until close to midnight.

The Red Jacket
The Red Jacket had two sizeable lines when we arrived - a members line on the right and a normal plebs line on the left. There were about 40 people waiting in line when we joined, and this didn't change for the first 40 minutes. At first we stood in the members line. Emly started babbling randomly to some other girls in the line, collecting one girl's phone number and spieling a lot of creative fiction in the process. Then we moved to the plebs line when the bouncers warned us that the members line wasn't valid past 10:30pm. During the wait Emily complained that her bladder was full, so Robbyn took her around the corner to defile the church grounds. The flowers will never be the same, let alone the older gentleman who happened to be passing at the time. We then returned to the members line when we got sick of waiting in the plebs (although Emily had by this time built a rapport with a trio of guys, including one from Perth). At about 1am the bouncers relented and let pretty much everybody in. $6 covercharge for an hour. Bargain. (Picture: Ogden Point lighthouse)

Inside the floor was pumping; guys and gals writhed with abandon, while the bar area was packed out. The place had a nice enough atmosphere, mainly young 20-somethings out for a good night. I lost the girls before too long and got a feel for the club myself. I refound the gals on the dance floor - first spotting Robbyn's frizzy locks from afar. As I asked her where the others were at a stocky blond youth chucked me under my chin. I raised an eyebrow as he gave me a challenging look. Robbyn interceded, apparently some over-protective jock buddy of her boyfriend. Apparently he bought Robbyn and the gals drinks as an apology. Smart alec. (Picture: Inside the Red Jacket)

Promptly at 2am the club shut. Robbyn tried to find out about any after parties but nothing seemed to be going. Instead, we stood out the front of the club while Leah spat tobacco juice, Emily babbled and flirted with three English lads and Lauren, Sean and I watched the Victorian beautiful people pile out into their waiting Mercs. The drive home was just as adventure filled, filling up at MacDonalds ("Sorry, we're out of chicken burgers", "I'm sorry, but we are currently out of stock of that item"), we had to pull over for Emily to purge herself of her $7 bottle of wine. After I helped her wipe her mouth she kept on telling everybody in the car "It looked like maggots" - a waste of a good spaghetti bolognaise.

26 April, 2006 (Wednesday)

2006-05-06T20:54:00.000-07:00

Returning from Tofino. Port Alberni. A quiet night in.

The return from Tofino was relatively uneventful.We stopped for a pizza brunch in Port Alberni, and while Emily wandered off to try and find a payphone we ate our food on the waterfront. I loaded up on donuts - 6 for $2.50.

Port Alberni is an industrial looking hamlet, with big furnaces in the distance. It feels old and faded; dilapidated store fronts and worn roadway. I guess that's character of a kind.

On the way back to Robbyn and Lorna's we decided to pop into downtown Victoria. The streets are clean and it has a quaint European feel to it. The gardens are exquisite, bright flowers blooming in front of The Empress Hotel and neatly manicured grass leading up to their Parliament House. The architecture is stone wrapped in vines, bevelled archways and green domes. Parking is hard to find. (Picture: The Empress Hotel)

We got back to Robbyn's around 7pm. Lorna had arrived back, but sent her apologies, having retired early due to a niggling cold. The girls offered to cook dinner, but couldn't offer any suggestions. In the end we added to our stir fry from earlier in the week. After 10 minutes the girls asked if Sean and I could mind the stove as America's Next Top Model (with Tyra Banks) was on. Sean and I finished the cooking. Surprise! Two of Robbyn's friends visited to take in the latest developments and drama; Shauna, blonde and pretty and Leah, brunette and pretty. Robbyn has nice friends.

While the girls were curled up on the couch my evening wasn't idle. I spent the evening updating my resume, setting up a profile on http://www.monster.ca and sending out cover letters to potential employers in Toronto. Time for another industry change? I'm not sure what my qualifications mean here in Canada.

25 April, 2006 (Tuesday)

2006-05-04T00:49:00.000-07:00

Hot springs tour. Canadian wildlife.

An early morning wake up and check out. Emily had a shower and left half a bathtub of water on the bathroom floor. Apparently she doesn't believe in drying off, just wraps a towel around herself and drips dry.

The girls had been pretty excited to go whale watching while we were in Tofino, but the late night motel gal suggested doing a hot springs tour instead. So Lauren and Emily had a dilemma, whale watching or hot springs with the chance of whales? Lauren ended up making the call, so it was at 9am that we found ourselves outside the Ocean Outfitters signing up for across-Island hot springs tour. (Picture: Sea lions off Seagull Guano Rock)

$100 investment
One hundred dollars (each) later we were skipping across the waves on a dual motor boat, a first nations guide at the wheel. The boat held 12-tourists, mainly middle-aged Albertan women with pierced noses. A bumpy ride, the girls spent most of the ride out in the open back section of the boat. We glided by sea lions and an island of seagull guano. Canadian seagulls are huge.

The boat ride to the hot springs island took an hour. From the jetty it was a further 20 minute walk through rain forest to the springs themselves. The rainforest walk was over a well maintained boardwalk, all green and peaceful. It was warm in the sun, with just a hint of a breeze. (Picture: Rainforest walk)

Hot Springs
The hot springs are located in a sheltered cove. A side-effect of volcanic activity, they bubble up amongst igneous and metamorphic rocks under intense heat and pressure. upon reaching the surface the water starts to cool, running into the cold ocean. The hot springs are a regular tourist attraction with dozens of tour groups stripping off each day. We had two-and-a-half hours to enjoy them before we were due back at the boat.

All four of us stripped down to our swimming togs and splashed into the sulfurous waters. Initially the smell of rotten egg was dominant, but it soon faded. The inner waters were too warm for me, so I stretched out in one of the pools closer to the ocean. The heated warmth made my legs tingle and toes burn.

Before too long I started to feel too warm, light headed and slack limbed. Scaling the uneven walls of the pool I carefully picked my way to the ocean edge. The waves were lapping fitfully up to the rock shelf, barnacles providing an uneven surface for my feet. I shuffled over the edge and into freezing water. Almost immediately my legs were numbed and my head cleared. Sean and the gals refused to step too close to the ocean edge. (Picture: Hot Springs running into the ocean)

Lunch was pre-made ham sandwiches as we took in the view. The wind picked up and clouds covered the warm sun. Emily dozed.

On the way back
We were back on the boat promptly at 3pm. Nobody was left behind, although for one of the Albertan piercing ladies it was a close thing. The ride back was less bumpy. Along the way our guide pulled part-way into an underwater cave, pointing out a group of starfish.

We briefly parked in a small bay where he pointed out a large eagle's nest in the heights of a pine tree. A fishing line was pulled out from a storage compartment and our guide bid us join him on the back deck. He threw his line into the waters of the bay, and before 10 seconds had passed was reeling in a fish. A few strikes of a mallet and the fish went still. Our guide then started to whistle, two sharp bursts, and an eagle appeared and began to circle the boat. With a quick flick of his wrist our guide launched the fish into the waters, where the eagle dove and snatched it with it's talons, taking it back to it's nest in the tree. We all couldn't believe it. Lauren asked what it takes to tame an eagle. Our guide laughed, "about twenty years".

Another ten minutes of bumping over waves and our guide bid everybody to quieten, "there's a bear over there drinkin'. If you guys pipe down I'll try and get closer. Maybe close enough to poke it in the ass." I wasn't sure if i wanted to poke a black bear in the ass, or for that matter anywhere, but we all quietened. Well, all of us but the Albertan piercing ladies who seemed to have a need to cackle uncontrollably. The boat glided closer to shore and we all got to see a black bear in the wild.

Further along we saw a convoy of boats hugging the coast. It was a few minutes before we saw the first Orca. Orcas, also known as killer whales, are a species of toothed whale. There are stories of their aggressiveness as well as playful natures. Stories of flailing porpoises alive for their blubber, of them playing volleyball with hapless sea lions using their tails, of them dancing in celebration after a kill. Killer whales are predators, and the Clayouton Sound area (that Tofino is part of) often plays host to gangs of Orcas.

There were three Orcas in the gang that we followed, two large bulls and a smaller female. Our boat paralleled them as they leapt and dove, their great bodies rising out of the water one after another. The cameras went wild in a bid to capture their movements in digital. It was awe inspiring. (Picture: Orca rising for air - courtesy Sean)

After our day at the hot springs we were all tired. Emily passed out early, but Lauren, Sean and I made it out after dinner to a small cocktail lounge hidden upstairs at The Schooner. Tastefully decorated with an Eastern influence, lighting was subtle with soft candles adding atmosphere. We lounged on leather sofas and ordered drinks - a cocktail for Lauren, beer for Sean and I indulged in a single malt. We wandered back to the hostel around 11pm.

24 April, 2006 (Monday)

2006-05-03T08:15:00.000-07:00

Off to Tofino. Detour at Skutz Falls.

Everybody got a little too comfortable, making for a late start. Nevertheless we had a full day of traveling, driving the Trans-Canada highway through Nanaimo and Port Alberni to Tofino. Along the way we detoured through a camping area called Skutz Falls - 4-wheel-driving down some old logging tracks, taking pictures of the waterway and clambering over water traps.

The last leg of the drive from Nanaimo to Tofino was tight and winding, with steep bends and huge trees. Driving along I didn't realise how fast we were traveling until I looked down at the speedometer and noticed that we were taking the corners at 80km/hr (when the signage was recommending 40km/hr). Oops! I slowed down after that, much to the relief of Sean and the girls.

We arrived in Tofino late, close to 9pm, what had been suggested to be a 4 hour drive blowing out to something approaching 7 hours. We drove through Tofino slowly. A seaside town, the village is a sleepy 4 blocks. In the evening twilight it was very quiet. We cruised around, looking for the local hostel. Emily popped her head out of the car to ask directions from 3 youths, who promptly invited her to the pub.

The Ocean Inn Hostel in Tofino is one of the prettiest hostels I've seen, sitting practically on the water. Unfortunately it was booked full. The front desk guy offered us rooms if one of the gals didn't mind sleeping on the Games Room sofa, but we thought we'd try somewhere else first. After being denied by crazy Germans and another hotel, it was fourth time lucky with the Tofino Motel. The room was clean and while the two doubles weren't perfect the private bathroom was a welcome relief. Finding somewhere to eat at 10pm on a Monday was just as challenging.

Midway through the night I woke to hear Lauren talking. She was chattering about something but nobody else seemed to be awake. In my waking muziness I thought It would be fun to simulate conversation. A few minutes in Lauren abruptly changed conversation, "Ben, can you come and give me a massage?".
"I don't know Lauz, it would mean having to get out of bed. What's in it for me?"
No answer. I went back to sleep. In the morning Lauren could hardly remember our conversation.

23 April, 2006 (Sunday)

2006-05-03T08:09:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island ferry. Shelter in Victoria.

We booked out of the Dufferin and reloaded the Jeep. Traffic was busy, but we made good time to Tsawwassen to catch the ferry to Vancouver Island ($34.50 for a vehicle + $10/person). The Ferry ride was a scenic 2 hours which we passed on the upper deck. The sun was out and the wind was behaving, making it a pleasant day. (Picture: Aboard the Victoria ferry)

Upon arriving on Vancouver Island, Emily called a family friend, Robbyn, whose family lives about 20 minutes out of Victoria. After a short conversation we were offered shelter for our stay. Her parents, Gibb and Lorna were away in New York. We'd have the run of the house to ourselves for a few days. (Picture: Ferry wake)

The house was palatial; three stories of carpeted comfort with 4 bedrooms, beautiful gardens front and back and a piano. Sean and I were given a guest room downstairs, with two single beds and our own washroom located next door. The girls' room was upstairs, with a similar setup. We reconvened in the kitchen to hear what was going in Victoria from Robbyn.

Robbyn suggested that we adjust our travelling plans. Lorna wasn't due back in town until Wednesday, so perhaps it would be more worthwhile to travel to Tofino for the beginning of the week before returning to see the sights of Victoria. Hopefully the weather would hold out for us. (Picture: Robbyn's local beach - rocks and waves)

Tired after another day of travel we decided to stay in for the evening, we visited Safeway to stock up on foodstuffs.We grabbed some fresh produce as well as fish and fresh donuts. While we were there I struck up a conversation with Angela, a blonde check-out girl with a big smile. She suggested that we go see the petting zoo while we were in Victoria. I assured her that I'd add it to my list.

Aside - Strip malls:
Living in North America I've noticed a penchant for large open malls with lots of open parking. In Australia I think we tend to go more for street shopping and indoor complexes with multiple carpark levels. Canadian shopping seems to like to sprawl, often next to major roads and highways. Interesting.
I've also noticed that food and petrol are a little more expensive on the Island. I guess it's understandable, given that most produce would have to be hauled across the straight.

22 April, 2006 (Saturday)

2006-05-03T01:08:00.000-07:00

Last day in Whistler. Back to Vancouver. Night out with Andrea and Co.

Out of Whistler
Today was a lazy sleep in before cleaning up the apartment for check out. Em snuck out early to go skiing. Precious and Jules left early on to prepare for Precious' UK leg of her trip. Between the three of us remaining (Sean,Lauren and myself) we managed to have everything cleaned and packed up by midday. Just. It was a struggle to get all the luggage down and repacked. Unfortunately Emily had left more than a few outstanding items and pieces for us to gather.

To reward ourselves we splurged on Whistler breakfasts. I had myself a pair of buttermilk pancakes slathered with sugary maple syrup, while Sean went Asian and Lauren opted for a more traditional fried egg, sausage and potato bits. We spent the early afternoon wandering the touristy cobbles of Whistler, checking out the scenery. Entrance was denied to us at the Blackcomb Gondola, so we missed out on seeing any of the snowboard competition scheduled for that part of the mountain. Nevertheless we kept ourselves entertained, checking out the sales, local adult shop and chain eateries, including KFC and MacDonalds.

Sean and Lauren - Levis Models
Sean and Lauren insisted on stopping by the Levis stand, to show off their modelling pictures. On Friday the two had apparently been chosen to enter a competition, posing in new Levis. Sean's shot was in straight leg jeans - job description: Apprentice Leaf Blower. Lauren was all big teeth and arm gestures as a Weather Girl. Nice jeans. Nice photos. Click.

We left Whistler promptly at 4:30, picking Emily up along the way. It was still a squash up back, but the girls seemed resigned to their fate in the cavernous depths of the Cherokee. The drive back down the mountain to Vancouver was somewhat congested, with traffic banked part of the way. We managed to arrive in Vancouver making good time, around 7pm.

The Dufferin
We had booked accommodation from a free Telus hotspot via http://www.orbitz.com, criteria: the cheapest hotel we could find - a change from hostels. Our choice for the evening was the Dufferin Hotel, ranking two stars it was noted that it was undergoing refurbishment. Parking was provided across the road. We were warned of the possibility of thieves and advised to take all our luggage with us. It took 3 trips to clear the car.

The Dufferin was definitely undergoing building; the main check-in counter was stuck into a too small room, the original lobby was all torn-up tiles and hanging wires. During our check-in the front desk girl regretted to inform us that the only room available to fit us all in was on the second level, right above the bar. It was a Friday, which of course meant a busy night, but apparently this particular Friday it was expected to be even busier - a live show had been scheduled, with cabaret, theatre, poetry reading and more. The show was going to run until 2am. I joked about moving us to the 3rd floor if they had a King sized bed. The bouncer on his way past replied that they didn't have any kings, but had an excess of queens. I wondered what he meant...

We were soon to learn that the Dufferin Pub is one of Vancouver's gay bars. As soon as we'd moved into the room we could hear the pumping strains of Abba blasting through our floorboards. Nevertheless, the room wasn't too bad - a sizeable bathroom and two queen sized beds. Sean got the right side of the bed. No funny business.

Lauren headed off to the airport to see Charles, while Em and I went off to Robson St for dinner. I got a text reply from Andrea advising that she was going to be at a Gelato place for a while. After dinner I caught a cab to meet up, while Em went to make a call to Calgary ("Oh schmoopy!").

Andrea is well
It was a shock to see Andrea- she looked fit and relaxed, a far cry from our last meeting a year ago in Sydney. She's spent the last few years working for KPMG in London, but is overdue an extended holiday after the hours she has been putting in auditing for Unilever (secondment). Her last night in Vancouver, she's enjoyed ten days in beautiful British Columbia. Her next leg of her journey is to trek through Tibet. Lucky girl.

We caught up on our current comings and goings, where we've been and what we wanted to do in the future. She told me about her plans to audition for NIDA in June. I shared my roadtripping plans. It was good to see her again. We ended up moving on to a swanky bar called Beaches with her Vancouver friends. Glen, the brother of her current interest, was kind enough to drive in his grunty VW.

When I got back to the Dufferin nobody was answering the door. I could hear the noise from the bar downstairs and what sounded like the TV. A text message later, Lauren invited me downstairs to see the action. Apparently I was late!

I walked in to a bevy of transvestites and not-so-shy homosexuals. The men were out in force, with a few lesbians filling out the dance floor. When I arrived Sean and Lauren were moving to the music under a big disco ball. Before too long they joined me to perch at the back of the room on the pool table, which was covered in a pile of fresh condoms. We watched the show. The dance floor was packed with an eclectic mix of gay men and a few women. The event was a fundraiser for gays, bisexuals, transexuals and their alliances. I watched bemused as the last dregs bumped and ground their way through club favourites. Two transvestites and a half-naked youth then came out for a prize draw. After the first 4 we decided to call it a night. Emily and Lauren were thrilled to bits, babbling on about a dodgy Cher immitator who revealed her lack of underwear. They got it all on video.

Upstairs we could still hear the music blaring. It all cut off at 3am.

Quick update

2006-04-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Sun on water at Vancouver Island)

I'm not very good at concise (in case you haven't noticed) but I'll give it a quick quick burl:

Yes, I'm behind in my updates.
Yes, I promise that they are works in progress, and as such are coming soon.
Yes, I'm going to try and be less descriptive and more selective in what I stick on here, because some of these posts are getting word-heavy.

Where am I now?
Right now I'm in Seattle, the Green Tortoise Hostel to be exact. It's a funky little place just off Pike Street and the infamous Farmer's Market. Cheap accommodation. Free breakfast. A few weirdos. I love travelling.

The last week and half have been dominated by a lot of driving. We've gone from Whistler, to Vancouver, to Vancouver Island, back to Vancouver. Today we drove to Seattle, which we're planning to check out for a few days before heading further south.

Today we lost Emily and Lauren. Emily is headed to Toronto. Lauren's plans are still undecided, but she's likely to head to Montreal before hitting Quebec City (and meeting up with a certain Ski Patroller).

Being a Saturday Sean and I are about to head off to Capitol Hill and check out the night life. Seattle is known for it's live music scene, so we're hoping to find something interesting. Tomorrow I think we're lining up some time at the Markets as well as the Underground tour.

Watch this space!

Roadtrip Map

2006-04-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

This is the map of the three route options that we evaluated for our roadtrip. A big thanks to Jae and Sean for their MS Paint prowess. I guess you just develop those kinds of skills being awake at 3am every morning. Thank goodness for small mercies.

We (Sean and myself) are currently planning to follow the green route across North America. Jae's plans are at this point still undecided.

Tomorrow we start the roadtrip in earnest - first stop Seattle, city of grunge. It's a long way to Vegas...

21 April, 2006 (Friday)

2006-04-27T01:45:00.000-07:00

Hostels vs Hotels: "The best thing about living out of hotels is that you never have to make your own bed..."

Hitting the slopes
Our first full day in Whistler. Our packed out room slept in for the morning before taking turns through the one shower. We weren't ready to leave Room 263 until midday. My first task however was not breakfast, instead I needed to have my ski bindings adjusted after loaning them to Jae in the final weeks of the season. Jae has larger feet than me, so it should have been a simple job for the closest sports store. Right? So I was assured.

A fried breakfast later with the gang, and Em and I found our way onto the Whistler Gondola, to check out the much-famed Whistler slopes and see what we could see.

The Gondola ride took a good 20 minutes to take us up the mountain. Whistler is under the throes of Spring, and the Village area is completely snow free. The main village is all dark cobbles and paths, and, while it is cool, it isn't particularly cold. As we progressed up the mountain however the snow looked progressively less slush and more powder. By the time we'd reached the mid-point visibility had started to decrease and the temperature had dropped. (Picture: Gondola view of the village)

We disembarked at the main ridge. Outside it looked crowded, with ski racks as far as the eye could see. The wind was blowing and fresh snow falling. Welcome to the real Whistler! Em and I jumped into our skis and slid our way downslope to the Peak chair. On the way my right ski felt a little strange, tending to turn in of itself such that my skis were snowplowing. At first I assumed that it was just because I hadn't been on my skis for over a week and that the snow was slicker than back at Big White.

The Peak presents some of Whistler's more advanced terrain. Visibility wasn't terrific as we hopped off the lift, but it wasn't Big White grade white-out either. The main slope looked a little on the steep side - a decent vertical, but not too crazy. We headed down.

The snow though felt good under skis. It was on the crisp side, flaking nicely as we bounced down, with more pellets falling. On the advice of some Whistler regulars we hung close to the left side of the peak and soon found ourselves jouncing along a wedge with 'Warning: Cliff' signs on either side. The blowing snow and cloud obscured anything more than a few feet away.

My right ski popped out going over a small bump, but I jammed it back on and got on my way. The 'Cliff' signs were getting closer, but I decided to push on anyway. Turning around to wave at Emily, I pushed off and suddenly found myself with only air beneath my skis. I landed well in soft powder, but once again the right ski decided to pop out. Sitting there in knee deep powder I saw Em's head pop over the vertical face that I'd come off - "Benny, are you okay down there?". I gave her a big thumbs up, engrossed in trying to remove the two inch layer of fresh snow from the inside of my Oakley's. (Picture: View back down to the Village)

The rest of the way down from Whistler Bowl wasn't quite so much fun. My right ski must have come out at least another 20 times. It was frustrating in the extreme. I'd hit some flats, gather speed, and the ski would come off. Then I'd hit a bump and the ski would come off. At one point I resorted to swearing and kicking a big furrow into the snow. I reached a narrow steep chute and just gave up. The skis were unclipped and I rode the way down on my backside, skis in my arms.

It took 45 minutes to snowplow my way to the base of the Big Red chairlift. A further 20 minutes of nose blowing and screwdriver finangling to undo the binding, work out that my sports store binding fix had loosened one of the levers which gave my bindings an extra 3cm, thus boots had not been fitting snugly. By chance Emily came down the same way and we were reunited.

The rest of the afternoon passed more pleasantly. At quarter-to-3 the sun came out and stayed for the afternoon. We rode the Harmony Chair and bounced down one of the double black diamond horse shoes off the Harmony ridge. The groomers were fun, and while the terrain is more open than Big White, it was quite skiiable. Before too long it was 4pm and last lifts. We jumped on the Gondola and made our way to the main village. (Picture: Harmony horseshoes - we dropped the far right one)

Vs Big White
I've been spoilt at Big White - used to ski-in, ski-out accommodation and all-day, non-stop skiing. The Whistler experience is a little different.
For one, the village is like a little township, with people expected to lug ski boots and equipment across from their accommodation, never mind that it's a good kilometer away from the gondola.
For another, large Gondolas service the village, taking skiers high up into the Alpine. This means that you can expect a 15-20 minute ride before you see real skiiable snow. This also means that if you want to stop for a decent bite to eat or a drink break with your mates, then you're probably expecting to lose an hour of ski time. At Big White you can pretty much get through a day of skiing without losing your skis for more than 10 minutes. Very different.

That said, I'm not sure how much of a valid comparison it really it. Big White is a family oriented resort, not a tourist town like Whistler. It doesn't have the infrastructure or the entertainment or the nightlife experience that Whistler boasts. Big White is a smaller mountain, with less skiiable terrain. That said, nobody really uses Whistler's lower slopes which are all but slush come Spring. Snow-wise I'd have to say that the Okanagan powder lives up to it's reputation - it beats the wetter Whistler slush fair and square. Different mountains. Different appeal. What kind of scene are you after? (Picture: Up top at Whistler - endless ski racks)

Tourist Trap
Whistler is a tourist town, there's no denying it. The village is full of kids in brand name gear strutting their stuff. The girls called them 'the beautiful people' when we first arrived, but I think they're more branded than beautiful. Brand new gear, and from what I can tell only a few know how to use it. There is no snow on the cobbles.

There are souvenir shops on every corner and more franchise eateries than you can poke a stick at. Prices are pure resort. Hotels abound. The cobbles are clean and for the festival there were freebie and competition stalls everywhere - GM Card, Contiki tours, Levi Jeans, Alive 5, Yop and Telus. The place doesn't have an overly friendly vibe, but it's definitely alive.

The nightlife has a reputation for good partying, and the night venues maximise on this, hitting punters up for cover charge. From what I could tell there isn't such a thing as 'cheap drinks'. I shudder to think what the place looks like in peak season. (Picture: Blackcomb runs)

20 April, 2006 (Thursday)

2006-04-27T01:40:00.000-07:00

To Whistler
The drive to Whistler is supposed to be only one and a half hours, but somehow it took us half a day. It's a scenic drive though - wooded valleys and open waterways framed by snowcapped mountains. Pure British Columbia. We stopped briefly in Squamish (NOT Squeemish) for Tim Hortons and finally found ourselves booking into the Coast Whistler Hotel. (Picture: Roadside views to Whistler)

The Coast Whistler is an older establishment with bad 70s wallpaper and dingy lit corridors. It's not the prettiest of places, but it's at least located in the main village. Less walking can only be good. While the room was officially booked for only 2 people, we ended up squeezing 6 of us in - myself, Emily, Sean, Lauren, Precious and her friend Jules. Tight fit, but our home for the next 3 days. (Picture: Dungeon halls - Coast Whistler lighting)

Whistler village wasn't quite what I expected. It is more of a a sprawling resort town than an alpine village, all t-shirt shops and Starbucks (in my last day I counted 3, along with a MacDonalds and Save-on-Foods). There are a lot of big hotels and luxury condos for the rich, famous and overly moneyed. It's pretty, but it's also a little too organised. Intrawest must run a tight ship. Definitely not family-owned resort standard.

J5
We made it up to the main stage for Jurassic 5, an internationally acclaimed hip-hop act that managed to arrive 4 hours late. I didn't hear anything official, but somebody said something about customs complications(?). Big White staff were out in force, every way I turned I got yelled greetings and fist bashing - there was ski school and tickets and rentals and a few other randoms. Heck, I even sighted ex-Sam's Sarah who promised to catch me later in the evening. (Picture: More views on the way to Whistler)

Anyway, the crowd was packed by the time they got on stage. Lots of cheering and cat calling and clouds of green smoke blowing every which way. I found myself gasping for fresh alpine air at times because the smoke clouds were so thick. It probably didn't help when the band started yelling something about 4/20. Half the audience lit up doobies, I coughed my way through, finally finding refuge at a hot dog stand behind the crowd. $5 for hot chips. My stomach hurt.

Jurassic 5 did a great set - good voices and old favourites. The crowd got right into it, lots of dancing and miming, even a few die-hard crowd surfers. I got kicked in the head by one. Managed to dodge the others. (Picture: J5 on stage)

Afterwards I managed to find some of the others. We were cold and wet and tired, but they still wanted to go out. Sean and I decided to head in for a bit, but didn't end up heading back out. Precious and Jules weren't far behind us, Precious ordering room service chips "Hey, can I order some chips for room 263... are they too expensive?" before they passed out. Welcome to Whistler.

19 April, 2006 (Wednesday)

2006-04-27T01:22:00.000-07:00

The roadtrip begins
Wednesday morning, our first day of our North American roadtrip. We breakfasted with Sean's parents, Sean's dad working through our route with things to see on the way. He also imparted some of his own experience, with some tips for neophyte campers, all "been there, done that" kinda stuff; see this, check out this park, keep away from this area, and under NO CIRCUMSTANCES leave your car here. I made plenty of mental notes.

We loaded up the Jeep with our traveling gear and camping supplies. I relinquished my Scratch FSs - taking more than one pair of skis to Whistler seems a bit excessive. Saying tearful goodbyes we trundled off into the sunrise.

The girls were waiting outside the Prestige Hotel when we drove past; we were only an hour late. The Jeep was running a bit low because of baggage, but we thought we should have enough room... until we saw the pile of luggage the girls expected us to fit in. Aiiya! There were ski bags and suitcases and backpacks and plastic bags of junk. I started thinking that maybe we should find ourselves a trailer.

Low rider
Somehow we managed to repack the car so that everything fit on, but by the time we finished cramming things in the Jeep was riding very low. The back half was sagging over the rear wheels. Four ski bags were perched on the top racks, and the back luggage compartment was so full you couldn't make out even a glimmer of light. The girls were squeezed into the backseat, although it looked more of a subterranean cave. Make that a cushioned subterranean cave. (Picture: Sean and I check to see if the roof is still attached)

The drive from Kelowna to Vancouver normally takes around 6 hours. Driving along the highway at 70km/hr Sean, in the passengers seat, noticed that our ski bags were lifting, a good 30cm into the air. Closer examination suggested that the ski bags were lifting the racks with them. Major wind resistance. Not good. So after an hour and a half on the road we were forced to stop in a sleepy little industrial complex called Penticton. We hit up a body shop for advice and they suggested that, failing some major work, that we were best to invest in some straps to loop right around the vehicle. A few hours of tinkering later and we'd found some heavyweight straps and clamps (thank you Canadian Tire). Unfortunately attaching them meant that the girls had to wait whenever they wanted to get out of their cushioned grotto. Tough.

Sirens blaring
We were doing around 80km/hr along the highway when the siren started. It began as a muted 'woop, woop' and escalated to a high pitched siren. We all looked frantically in the mirrors for the police car that we were sure was going to pull us over for being overburdened. Then would come the rubber surgical gloves and handcuffs. I think Sean was quite excited. Unfortunately there were no flashing lighted cars about. Could it be? I checked my car keys and pressed the auto button, the noise stopped. False emergency, it was the car alarm. Oops. (Picture: BC mountains, breath taking)

On to Vancouver
We drove up and down winding mountain roads. The views were breath-taking - snow covered mountain tops and tree filled valleys. We coasted along at a good pace and absorbed it all in. After a while we started naming some of the distant ridges - there was Mount Lauren and Sean's Peak, with accompanying innuendo. Emily and Lauren went snap happy. I kept on at the wheel.

It was another five hours before we found ourselves on Vancouver city-limits - well beyond the estimated 6 hours. It was getting dark and the traffic was thick. Somehow we missed the turn-off and rolled our way into North Vancouver. The Jeep's engine was running hot and we were all tired. It was raining. Another half hour elapsed before we found overnight parking at the Holiday Inn. It was past 9 before we dragged our ski bags and accompanying luggage to the Samesun hostel, our refuge for the night. Inside there were some familiar faces - Big White was following us everywhere. We waved and then dumped our things in our room. Robson Street provided us with dinner, courtesy of the trendy Cactus Club. Sleep beckoned.
(Picture: Emily and Lauren get cosy on the back seat)

18 April, 2006 (Tuesday)

2006-04-26T01:02:00.000-07:00

Waking in strange places. Golfing with Big White. My first Champagne Charlie's experience.

Big White final staff bash
I awake at Sean's parents place We got there late the night before with all our worldly possessions. The Big White farewell was a bit anti-climactic - we just dumped our things in the back of the jeep and drove straight out. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but some fireworks would have been nice. I've never been that big a fan of ticker-tape, but I understand that rose petals are a big ask this close to the end of Winter.

Anyway, on arriving at Sean's folks' Jae and I flipped for bedding; I got the floor while he got the double. So today I am feeling better, maybe 70%. Sean's parents are good enough to comment that my colour still doesn't look good (well, pasty white doesn't usually do much for anybody). Thanks and yes, I know I look like crap.

Mission Creek Golfing
Jae and I drive Sean to Mission Creek for his 11:07 tee-time. We've got some errands to run in town before we make our own appearances. The place looks cute, a big old-style pub / clubhouse and very green greens.

When we return around 3pm the place looks a bit better. The pride of Big White are out in force - a pack of drunken louts in their summer holiday gear. It's actually looking quite preppy out there. I guess the Sam's 'Golf Pros and Tennis Hos' theme worked out for those who went to any effort. For myself, I'm looking kind of grungy in dark jeans, boots and black t-shirt. All I need is a death metal emblem and I could be mistaken for a lost roadie. (Picture: Jae, Lauren, Sean)

After getting settled and saying my 'Hi!'s to various people I end up going for a walk with Gabbi through the greens. It's edging toward 6pm but the sun is still out and shining strongly. Golf balls seem to be flying every which way. Lots of short sticks and poor shots. We stand back and watch Jeff from rentals and his posse take a few swings. It's painful to watch. I start thinking that maybe I should have brought my helmet along.

Buffet dinner starts at 7ish. The spread isn't huge on variety, but the meat isn't too tough and I get to throw my excess bread at Jae. Emily and Lauren have invited themselves and somehow manage to scam free bracelets off Jae Hayashi, the General Manager of Operations. I guess all that time Lauren spent working on Jess Schumann (sorry, Rafter) finally paid off?

After that there's some kind of prize draw and awards. A few iPods, DVD players and freebies are given out to random staff via a raffle system and 'the first to bring me...'. A few bras come off, passports are brought to the front and Bree from ski school shows off her black knickers. Just another night out really. I miss out on the draw and throw my ticket at the ski school MC in disgust. He sounds way too smug. (Picture: Snowballs off an RV)

Departmental employee of the year winners are announced - nominations apparently come via Big White management. Winners get a clean $250 in cash. Nice traveling money if you can get it. There are 24 departments and names are read amidst cheering. Gabbi gets tickets. Pez rentals. Four go to lifts, including one to Victorio - the ice sculptor come banjo player, another goes to Neal - Gabbi's significant other. An overall Employee of the Year is chosen at random out of the 24 to win a bonus of an additional $1000. Pez comes up, we cheer, he gets a very nice bonus. Everybody disperses.

Onwards and upwards
Sean and I go back to Jae's little motel room. Jae's got an early start to the airport on the morrow to meet up with the family in New York. We sit around while he freshens up, turn on the TV and make crude suggestions about what he can do with his King Sized bed. Jae gives us his classic "Yeah, funny guys" look. Love that look.

After a bit of last minute arm twisting to get Jae out (admittedly, the 'present' that Sean left in Jae's motel room doorway was a bit rough) we find ourselves once again upstairs at Kelly O'Brien's Irish pub. A few guys that Sean and Jae know are around, already getting stuck into the pints. I'm behaving for the night - still recovering, so no alcohol. I also get to look after the car keys. No such excuse for Jae or Sean. Shots follow beers and it's 10:30pm. Jae looks at us bleary-eyed and tells us that he's heading to bed. Soft. We let him walk himself home, there's more to be had this night. (Picture: Pez - winner!)

So it's Sean and I who leave Kelly O'Brien's at 11pm, in search of our Big White brethren. While some of Central Reservations were drinking at Kelly's, including prize winner Stu Meeks, and a few of the Rentals crew, it isn't what you'd call particularly busy. We try next door at the Willows Club, a semi-notorious strip bar, but it's already closed. I guess you get that on a Tuesday night. However, a scruffy looking gentleman advises us that Cheetah's will be open for business and should have some good live entertainment. He asks me for a quarter, which I gingerly hand over. His partner sidles over at the sight of my good silver and asks me if I want some acid tonight. I politely demure, citing potential stomach ulcers and my tendency to hallucinate after drinking tap water.

Roses is a popular drinking establishment on the waterfront. It doesn't seem too busy, even for a weekday. From the jukebox it sounds like it might be grunge night. The screaming metal is strangely hypnotic. Sam and her sidekick Robbie are at the pool table. Looks like Tania made it down from Whistler. I pay my respects, then escape. There has to be more going on than this. Where are all those drunken Big Whiteans?

Champagne anybody?
Champagne Charlie's is hidden away behind an anonymous blue metal door. It's known as the premier strip club in town, but I've only heard of it by reputation. Tonight Sean and I find it without any difficulty. We step inside... and are pleasantly surprised.

To describe it: Charlie's is more a cabaret style live entertainment venue than a sordid den of iniquity. It's clean looking, with lots of bright blue neon. The centrepiece of the place is a large square stage, where the dancers strut their stuff. Each corner of the stage has a large stainless steel pole. I guess to dance off? There is a bar off to one side and a few booths dotted around. The clientele seems to be a fair 50 / 50 split between genders. A surprising number of couples are in attendance.

We walk in and find a good proportion of those lost Big Whiteans. It looks like a few are here for the long hall. Curty is off to one side of the stage, and as the first dancer comes on, he and his fellows start banging the stage in acclimation. Sean and I say a few greetings and find somewhere to appreciate the show.

The first dancer is blonde and petite. We guess her age to be early 20s, but it's hard to tell. She's wearing a suggestive costume of corsetry and lace, and a pair of very high stiletto boots. The clothes come off as she minces around. Towards the end of the act she drags a towel with her as she does the splits and play-humps the ground. For some reason I find the whole show somehow hilarious and a little vaudeville. It's just ridiculous the way she minces around in those too high boots. Too contrived. I wonder who choreographs this stuff? What's with the crazy tan lines?

There's a 15-minute break between dancers. I spot Emily with her work friend Sean (hence forth, Sean2) grinning foolishly at the stage. They're with Jess Schumann; a bizarre evening. I wander over to greet them even as the second dancer arrives on stage. Emily gets a front row seat, I take up a position at her ear to give her a running commentary. The dancer begins.

She's darker skinned with thick lips and dominating eyebrows. A bit too much to be considered pretty. As she bumps and grinds along I can't help but laugh. It's just too vacant and public to be really sensual. Nevertheless, I keep up a rapid commentary, asking random questions about her technique and potential training methods.

Emily can't seem to make up her mind whether to stare or look away. She's obviously mesmerised but also mortified. I guess that good Catholic upbringing is kicking in? The dancer divests herself of her layers of lace, to reveal a bevy of piercing and tattoos. It's an eclectic combination, faded green tattoo ink against pierced nipples, eyebrows, lips and who knows what else? I almost expect her to jingle as she sashays around. I also notice that she's quite a good dancer, supple, with a good sense of rhythm (Picture: Gotcha's - Precious, Emily, Tania)

We leave Champagne Charlie's soon after, it's approaching midnight - time for the Big White party at Gotcha's night club.

Gotchya!
Two pieces of ID later...

We strut through the main doors of Gotcha's and the place is packed up and pumping. The dance floor is a big square of gyrating bodies and flashing lights. Two cages with dancers sit either side of a huge screen thanking Big White staff for the season.

I'm feeling all too sober, with just that edge of tiredness. The next three hours pass in a semi-blur of moving from corner to corner, trying to say my goodbyes. All too many people are messy, frantic to have their last big hurrah. It's a strange place for goodbyes. Perhaps goodbyes aren't appropriate after a season on a ski field. I know I won't see most of these people ever again, and that I'll only keep in real contact with a few, but somehow I still expect something more after 4 and half months of my life. Always those expectations. Always that feeling of something more waiting in the wings.

I say my final goodbyes to those I can find at around 2pm. Along the way I collect Lauren (Sydney, house keeping) and Marissa who want a lift back to their hotel on the other side of town. Grace passed out from heat and alcohol indulgence at the golf course much earlier in the night. Sean and I then make our way back to Peachland and his folks' place. Goodnight Big Whiteans. Safe travels. (Picture: Gotcha's - Curty cutting it on the podium)

20 April, 2006 (Thursday)

2006-04-20T09:23:00.000-07:00

A quick update
Only time for a quick update this morning. I'm currently sitting in the little Internet Kiosk @ the Vancouver Samesun backpackers. Yes, I'm out of Big White. Sean, Emily and Lauren are busy stuffing free pancakes into their faces, but I have more respect for my body. Go figure.

Laid out flat
The last week has been pretty harrowing. Friday was 'Sneaky Pete's' Night with Tickets and Saturday was spent in a flat daze. By mid-afternoon I was laid out flat on my back with heat and chills. Jae said that he thought I was on death's door. But 48 hours on I was starting to feel better. Still missed my last Ridge shift with Kate, although I think she forgives me.

Dodging snow
Monday was my last day on the mountain. Kind of anti-climactic. Tuesday the staff party. For a mental image, just think lots of drunken young ski bums running around with golf clubs. Somebody drove down an RV, which had a 1ft base of snow and a snowball fight went on for half the afternoon.

Gabbi scored the tickets employee of the year prize, which carried with it a $250 prize. Pez got Rentals and overall employee of the year (by lottery) which netted him a nice $1250 bonus. The rest of us got nothing. It wa s a good do though. The venue was great and the sun was out. How I've missed the sun.

... and now?
So Yesterday we drove off from Sean's parent's place in Peachland, almost overloaded the car (I can't believe how much luggage the girls had to bring) and made our way West. Along the way our roof racks started to lift due to wind resistance, but after a few tense hours we managed to fix the problem with strong straps. The dramas totally threw out our travel time though. We didn't manage to get to Vancouver until after 9pm (the few 'detours' we took probably didn't help). Although the scenery was awe inspiring.

This morning we're headed to Whistler for a few days. There is a Telus festival on, and I'm due for a few days skiing on the big slopes. After that it's Vancouver Island. I'll try to update soon. Wish me luck!

Ben

14 April, 2006 (Good Friday)

2006-04-14T13:52:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter my friendly bunnies. No chocolate eggs here, but we seem to have found plenty of snow to keep us busy.

Comment away!
For those interested, (at Jae's savvy prompting) I've changed the settings so that ANYBODY can post comments on the blog, not just members. Apologies, I didn't realise that the defaults were so restrictive. So, that being done - get in there and let me know what you're thinking.

Red, Blue or Green
A road trip is in the offing. Sean and I have acquired a Jeep Cherokee, and with it we plan to drive across the North American continent; coast-to-coast. The idea was first floated on a Monday night at Raakel's, but since then it's taken a life of it's own.

Somewhere along the way Jae aired his intentions to perhaps join us in our expedition. With his Vancouver work plans now up in the air, he could be free to travel on the road for a month, following on from his family tour of the East Coast. While his membership was still under discussion, with his interest has come a whole new level of planning. (Picture: I've written them, I just need to send them)

Born of his enthusiasm were the Red, Blue and Green travel routes, complete with .jpg etched maps and travel calculations.

RED: Red is the longest route, tracing the continent from West Coast, down to the deep south to Miami, then up to the Big Apple.
BLUE: Blue crosses from Vegas to DC, avoiding America's middle country.
GREEN: The Green route cuts back up through the Rockies, to cross middle Canada before falling into the East coast.

To assist in discussion an online forum was created, complete with map references, purchase lists and a flurry
of emails.

For a few days trip planning seemed more akin to Covert Intelligence mission planning. Dollar estimate followed time approximations. Heated trip rationales travelled the email highways. It was frantic. It was organised. It was a bit too intense for my original ideals of a laid-back "Have a basic route and see where the road takes us" mentality. Swept up in the passion and the fury I submitted a master spreadsheet providing high level comparisons of route times. It was a masterpiece, but a far cry from my current lifestyle.

In the last week intensity has waned however, as more immediate end of season issues have arisen. But subtle stirrings are beginning again as our day of departure draw near. We only have days left of the season, and while most things will be sure to fall into place, there is still that niggling fear in the background that we don't have enough spreadsheets or forum pages to support an adventure of this magnitude.

I think it's time to close our eyes, take the leap and see how we fly.

Synthetico Coffee
I have succumbed. I have fallen. I admit it before you all - I am a synthetic coffee addict. I have taken to drinking the sugared syrup and now it has a hold of me.

Even now I can hear it's siren's call; the promise of sugared sweetness, artificial energy and hot relief. I can practically taste it on my tongue. I yearn for it's seductive warmth.

Once upon a time I would have denied any association. Once upon a time (and rightly so) I would have cast dispersions on the brain melting, gut rotting stuff. But today I can make no such claims. Today, I am a synthetic coffee fiend. (Picture: Run back to the village)

I can't remember when it happened. You'd think that the scalded tongue would be warning enough. Yet, as soon as I could taste again I was back at the stuff. It comforted me when it was cold and miserable. It heartened me when the customers were lined up beyond the doorway. I drank the watery brew and I was happy.

I know that it isn't real coffee. I know that the artificial flavours of 'English Toffee' and 'French Vanilla' are more akin to candy than anything naturally produced. I acknowledge that it's thin, machine produced swill that comes out of a suspicious looking nozzle. But I'm still drinking it.

"It's cheap", I tell myself. "It's warming in the sub-zero", "I'll stop when I'm off of this rock", "It's only $1 for a large". But I'm not sure how I'll cope without, or what I'll do to take my mind off it. I can hear it now, calling. How long until my next dose? (Picture: Ridge coffee).

13 April, 2006 (Thursday)

2006-04-14T00:10:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Dave & Moi on the Gem Chair)

Big White news:
Happy Easter! It's mid-April and the snow won't stop. We've had more than 40cm in the past three days. It's gone crazy. What's news up here?

Final week: It's already the 13th, only 4 more sleeps and we're off this hill. The 18th has been reserved for Big White staff festivities - golfing and dinner. After that it sounds like half the hill is headed for Whistler. It's all happening too fast. Eep!
All is quiet on the Western Front: Josh has gone awfully quiet lately. In fact I don't think we've exchanged 20 words in the last 3 weeks. Amie has disappeared. Apparently she's now working housekeeping at the White Crystal. Maybe it has something to do with Dave's outburst last week. But that still wouldn't account for the 2 previous weeks...
Young romance on the hill: Cris and Emily are happily honey mooning. Although mention it to either and they're likely to deny it all. Lauren seems to be still infatuated with ski patroller Charles. (Picture: Emily and Cris on the Gem chairlift)
Piercing mania: Lauren apparently got a nose stud done today. Chris (Sk8rs) had his lip pierced last week. Emily declared that she didn't think I'd have the guts to do it. Keep you posted. It's the last week and everybody is letting loose.

Nominations are now open
Nominations are now open for my own Big White 2005/2006 awards. The Sammy's were a flop so we might as well make our own effort. Please feel free to nominate categories and names in the comments feedback box. Don't be shy! Winners will be posted on this site come 17 April, 2006.

Short and Pithy
I've been doing some blog surfing lately (the side effect of quiet ticket shifts and an internet connection) and I've been noting the tendency of some blog writers to keep their postings short and pithy. I'm quite jealous of these bloggers, with their concise witticisms and observations. I wish I could find my way out of meandering descriptions and sweeping generalisations. I wish I could just have a few magical epiphanies with which to share with the world.

BC Liquor
The liquor stores here stock an amazing variety of alcohol from all over the world. There's the usual selection of spirits, but then their wine and beer is just as varied - they have wines from local vineyards, California, South America, South Africa, New Zealand and Australia. Australian varieties seem surprisingly popular, with prices comparable to back home. (Picture: Ptarmigan 311 Liquor cabinet)

Canada is very provincially oriented. Laws and approaches vary from province to province - for example, in BC auto insurance is part of vehicle registration and is all government run, while inAlberta insurance is separate and run by private insurance companies. Similiarly, with alcohol, the BC government controls liquor supply and pricing. Alcohol prices are relatively uniform across the province. Approximately 20% of all liquor stores in the province owned and operated by the government.

"With a workforce of approximately 3,500 full and part-time employees, the LDB operates over 200 government liquor stores throughout the province; two distribution centres, one in Vancouver and one in Kamloops; and a head office facility in Vancouver. In order to provide beverage alcohol products and service throughout the province, the LDB issues appointments and enters into contracts that authorize terms and conditions with the private sector for the operation of private retail outlets, such as licensee retail stores, rural agency stores, B.C. beverage alcohol manufacturer stores, independent wine stores and duty-free stores."
(http://www.bcliquorstores.com/en/about)

Government controlled liquor. I guess it's a good racket to be in.

Cable TV - Drug ads
One of the weird things about television here is the number of drug ads that they screen. It's beyond bizarre. They have drugs for everything - weight loss, muscle gain, headaches, sexual performance, the list goes on. But even stranger are the disclaimers that accompany each ad, complete with voice-over. Where back in Oz you'd get a simple "If pain persists please see a doctor", here it's more like "...may cause dizziness, drowsiness, migraines, vomiting, hair loss and in some cases death". Yup, use only as directed by a medical practitioner indeed. (Picture: Josh and Amie - couch invaders. A more toned down public display of affection)

Heck, even Red Bull advertisements come with a disclaimer where they state: "Red Bull doesn't actually give you wings. It only increases ". Do they think their viewers are completely brain dead? Actually, don't answer that question. After some of the customers I've had this season the disclaimer may well be warranted.

12 April, 2006 (Wednesday)

2006-04-13T23:02:00.000-07:00

Stupid online updates
I'm pissed off. Riled. Very annoyed. I just spent the last 3 hours writing up a half-dozen updates to stick on here, re-logged into my Yahoo mail, but when I clicked update on the Notepad I lost it all. 3 hours work - gone. I couldn't even hit the back button to retrieve it like you sometimes can with email. So all that pithy prose and hand crafted description is gone, and with it my patience to write it all up again. Guess that's a lesson that I should be using notepad or wordpad before pulling it over, but I got lazy and now I've had enough. Dammit! I think I'll just go for a walk and kick something. (Picture: Ridge Daylodge - our little ticket office out back)

Cute blondes and cattle prods
Sarah is working here at the Ridge today. She's the cook at the little cafe here. We go way back. I've known her since my first night at the beginning of the season, back when she used to work at Sam's as a waitress. About mid-season she was fired, something about drinking on the job and losing a whole lot of alcohol. Whatever the case, she's always been friendly, all chipmunk grin and dirty blonde hair.

We chatted, as we do when I'm at the Ridge and she's at the cafe - travelling plans and evenings out. I got me a cheese burger. Five minutes after returning to my little ticket cubicle I hear girl screams and the pounding of running feet. She bursts out the back door, the cook (Steven) in fast pursuit. Sarah comes over to throw me some cookies in a brown paper bag, and then she's off yowling. The cook is after her again with what looks like a cattle prod. Some way to keep yourself entertained on a quiet afternoon. I wonder what other toys are behind the counter? (Picture: My ticket shelf - watch the coffee)

Big White Idol
Big White Idol is a highlight of the mountain events calendar. It's held every Wednesday @ Happy Valley, and brings out all the closet karaoke singers. Tonight Precious and Lauren entered. It was a cack.

At first I didn't recognise either of the gals. They were dressed as Sonny and Cher. Lauren had a black wig and long sparkly blue dress, while Precious had on bad flares, pimp glasses and a dirty moustache and sideburns. She looked like a dirty little man. Everytime I saw her that evening I had to do a double take. Crazy. (Picture: Double-take!)

They were first up and had choreographed their song "I've got you babe". Unfortunately neither of the gals could actually sing. Nevertheless the crowd went nuts and the two crooned their parts passionately. The rest of the acts were pre-pubescent kids and staff. Vittorio put on a rowsing version of Mack the Knife. Sean got up and sang (he confided to me later that he even provided his own music). Cassey complimented him on his snow boots... and apparently it was Sean's birthday on Monday, but he didn't tell anybody. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEAN! (Picture: Sonny and Cher on stage)

At the end of the event winners were announced. By popular acclaim Sean got runner up, scoring a MP3 player. Precious and Lauren came in third. They screamed that the judging was rigged.

Afterwards it was back to the Ptarmigan for a glass or two of wine before making it to Sam's for the Sammy Awards. The awards were as expected - rigged. Winners were more aligned to Sam's staff nominations than anything else. It was a farce, but everybody was still drinking. Pa-ching for Sam's! (Picture: Anthony and Gabbi @ Sam's)

Sean got re-acquainted with Cassey and gave her a proper thank you for her judging efforts earlier in the night. Somehow or other I ended up running around taking random pictures and later on the dance floor. It is official - I have no moves.

11 April, 2006 (Monday)

2006-04-13T23:00:00.000-07:00

It has finally started snowing! The long promised April powder dump has arrived, and while it's a bit slushy it has compensated with volume - 18cm in just 12 hours, and it is still going! Well, that's excitement for me these days. I've been pretty quiet in the last few weeks. Certainly Sam's hasn't profited from my custom.

A farewell dinner
Last night three of us (Jae, Dave and myself - we haven't seen much of Josh lately, or heard much for that matter) made our way to Snowpines to Tony and Alex's (kiwis) place for a farewell Big White dinner. Tony and Alex are good friends with our neighbours in 306 - Tim, Hayley and Ben - and the five of them thought it would be nice to have a big dinner as a proper get together and farewell to our time on the mountain.

The drive down was a bit slippery but manageable. That is until midway through a turn I found the back of our jeep drifting out. My first attempt to compensate seemed to work, I pulled the wheel across to straighten and the car moved with it. Until the back slid out in the opposite direction. First left, then off to the right, then left, then out to the right again. I kept to the middle of the road and tried to guide the car. My wheels locked and then went their own way. Fluttering my foot on the pedal I tried to get some traction, but the car just slid through the thin layer of ice and snow despite my best efforts. Finally I softly touched down on the brake and the car came to a stop. Jae and Dave let out a collective breath of relief, they'd immediately gone quiet as soon as I initially slid out.

"Hey, look out the back window" cried Dave.
Three pairs of eyes focused on our tyre tracks that perfectly s-ed back behind us. There was no sign that the road had any less traction at the corner, and I definitely hadn't been travelling at speed. Just a touch of bad luck. Needless to say that we immediately pulled down the lever for part-time four-wheel-drive. Jae and Dave started laughing.
"I was willing to put money that we were going to hit one of the embankments for sure," confided Dave.
Jae agreed, "I was just waiting for it, but I didn't want to ruin the moment by talking."
"Uh, thanks guys" I managed to reply.
"But you did a good job. Controlled it well" Dave reassured me. Jae nodded in encouragement.

At Jae's insistence we parked a good 30 metres down the road from the house. It was still snowing heavily, but at least it wasn't melting as soon as it hit, like it had over the weekend.

Main course
It was a half-hour wait for dinner, but worth it. The spread was fantastic- medium rare roasted lamb, rubbed in salt, pepper, coffee and rosemary, The meat had a subtle aroma and tasted divine. There was a big bowl of flavourful garlic prawns and a selection of roasted vegetables - fresh sprigs of asparagus, roasted butternut squash, potatoes and capsicum. To mop up the rich sauces we had crispy oven-fresh garlic bread.

Luke, Gemma and Chris were in fine form, leaving us in hysterics. Luke and Gemma have travelled widely and shared some of their Australian travel experiences with us. Then there was their recent trip to Vernon - skiing, golfing, flatulence in bed and people they've shared accomodation with. Dessert was as decadent as dinner was filling. We had our choice of three cakes - chocolate lemon tart and dusted devil's food cake.

Dessert
To follow was our choice of ice cream - cookies and cream or strawberry. Gemma's frosted lemon tart disappeared in minutes, the glazing deliciously crunchy and the cake beneath it firm but moist. We sat around sated, chatting on about experiences and travel plans.

While we were sitting and talking Tim ran around and nipple pinched myself and Chris, leaving me in stunned shock.

Everybody was falling asleep by 11pm, so we made our goodbyes and left, pelting snowballs up at the kiwis in the hot tub., There was a good 10cm of snow on the roof of the car, and the snow was still falling as we drove our way home. A nice way to close the season.

A day to ski - powder day
Jae has hit the slopes on my Monsters and by all accounts (well, Jae and Dave's in any case), he's doing a good job of carving it up. Which left me today in 18cm powder with my Scratches. Not perfect, but still workable. Just lots of leaning back to keep the tips out of the powder; the heads on them aren't quite as fat, so they don't float on the powder quite as well. (Picture: My Scratch BCs)

Originally I'd planned to take Ardana (blonde chill kiwi chickie with dreadlocks) out on the skis, but the snow was too good to waste. Instead, I met up with Precious and Ardana and we ploughed our way down the slopes. Precious is still learning and back edged it most of the way.

Because of the thickness of the snow I caught my edges more than once and tumbled, but no real ski loss. Precious however came out looking like a kiwi snowball.
(Picture: Ardana carving it up on Powder Keg)
he's doing a good job of carving it up. Which left me today in 18cm powder with my Scratches. Not perfect, but still workable. Just lots of leaning back to keep the tips out of the powder; the heads on them aren't quite as fat, so they don't float on the powder quite as well. (Picture: My Scratch BCs)

10 April, 2006 (Monday)

2006-04-13T22:55:00.000-07:00

Another day another dollar
It's my fourth day off in five (well, from the ticket office anyway) and once again I find myself driving down to Kelowna. I'm getting used to driving on the right side of the road, and the Jeep Cherokee is an easy drive - it has a grunty v6 engine and the visibility from the windows and mirrors is pretty good. Thankfully, the Spring roads have been kind thus far and between 4wd, all season tyres and cautious driving I've been able to get a better feel for the vehicle and the terrain.

The road down from Big White to Kelowna, while long, isn't the harrowing journey that Hotham can be during season. The road has a bit of twist, but there aren't any cliff-face drops or crazy switchbacks. That said, I've found that Canadian drivers can be quite manic. They tend to race up and down these mountain trails at a furious rate. I guess it keeps the tow truck companies in business. (Picture: Big White road, past the Ridge)

Sean has joined me for the trip. Unfortunately a lot of the day will be absorbed by various errand running - cards to post, a ski bag to find and a reissue to seek for my debit card.

The card stopped working on Saturday when I tried to use it at the convenience store. The first time it came up as a PIN error, the second time around the system stated that the card had been switched off due to potential fraudulent activity. Explain that!

When I called the bank's customer service line they weren't able to be much more illuminating, despite apologising for the lack of notification. All they could tell me was that one of the outlets I had used my card at had reported potential fraudulent activity. As a security precaution they'd de-activated my card and required me to front up to a bank to get it working again. Except, I'm living up here on a ski resort in the middle of nowhere and it's a weekend. Not exactly what I'd consider quality service. Thank you Canadian banking! (Picture: Sean at the wheel)

Checking the balance
Later this evening I found out that the Sam's ATM has had cards scanned from it and money withdrawn from individual's accounts as a result. Basically anybody that's used that ATM has had their financial institution notified and their card privileges revoked until they can appear at the bank and gain a new card or PIN number. It's end of season and while it's a little less busy, it's still not the easiest to get down to Kelowna, especially those without vehicles.

05 April, 2006 (Wednesday

2006-04-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

Tubing Party
Big White held a free tubing party for staff on Tuesday. It came with a complimentary beef burger, salad, potato chips and all you could tube. It's the most people I've seen at the park since peak season, with long trains of tubers lining up and riding down. Snowballs were thrown, hot chocolate was spilt and revellers were crash tackled. Nobody made it to volleyball though. (Picture: Tim's amazing hair)

Another day on the snow
Went out with Emily and Sarah and we got a bit of footage of us on the slopes. I think I need to work on my camera style it's all over the place, which is a bit sad considering how late it is in the season. I keep on bruising my shins after getting air (but not doing anything too tricky). Have to work on those landings. (Picture 1: Falcon bowl - ski that; Picture 2: Emily resting her edges on the front face)

The day was pretty icy. We haven't had any decent snowfall for a few weeks now and the Spring sun and cold nights mean that we've got a 3 metre base of compressed snow which in some places is more like ice. Eek!

3 April, 2006 (Monday)

2006-04-13T22:44:00.000-07:00

Return to Silverstar
The second Silverstar bus and as luck would have it I manage to get my name on the list. It’s an early 7:30am start, but I’m not the last on. I’ve packed my Head Monsters and my helmet. Silverstar is known as a skiers mountain and if my guess is correct it’s going to be icy; I’ll need all the edge I can get. Not a lot of familiar faces on the bus, but I doze off and figure I’ll work out who I’m skiing with when we disembark.

Two hours later and we’re at Silverstar. The village is as cute as I remember – all brightly coloured wood buildings stuck closely together. There is a smattering of familiar faces, but a lot who I don’t recognize. Two weeks to the end and still so many who I’ve never met. I wonder what rock they have been hiding under? (Picture: Moi and Nick on the Commet Express 6-seater chair lift)

Morning skiing
Nick from Retail immediately hails me. He’s skied for more than a few seasons and has a pair of swanky looking next season Scratch BCs. Expensive twin tips. But nobody to ski with. I’ve heard a little about his skiing technique. John did his Level 1 instructors with him. John passed. Nick didn’t. I also see Carmen and her friend from Cen Res Catherine. Both are also carrying skis. There’s Sarah (Retail) hanging out with Aaron (Night Audit) and Gareth (Happy Valley). A few faces.

I end up riding the lifts with Carmen, Catherine and Nick. It’s extraordinarily icy in the morning. The sound of ski edges scraping against hard ice isn’t one of my favourite sounds. We do the front face, keeping mainly to easy running blues. I goof off. One ski. Aeroplane. Racer styles. Yeah, I’m a big kid.

Afternoon skiing
Lunch is at Long Johns (I have to doggy bag half my Mac & Cheese –after I declare I’ll ski with it down my pants if need be they offer to keep it behind the bar) and then Catherine and I hit the back face. The day has softened the snow a little and we tackle a few of the black diamonds. They’re steep and long, but there aren’t any stray bumps so it’s an easy cruise down. (Picture: Carmen, Moi & a beer - Lunch at Long John's)

Before we know it is 3 o’clock, time to head back. We ride Sunrun (not too inventive with the names) a wide-open green. I dodge off to the sides, between the trees, and ride out a few bumps, deciding to launch myself off the last. The pop is off centre though, and next thing I know my head bounces and my nose ploughs a channel through the snow. My camera gets crushed into my solar plexus. Ouch. Winded. Ski is somewhere around here. I don’t think I’ve broken anything.

The bus trip back is peaceful. I have the double to myself.

Family guys night
Back at home it’s Family Guy night. For the first time in memory Dave, Jae and myself camp out on the couch and laugh ourselves silly. Two-and-a-half men comes on. Charlie and Rose’s relationship hits a new level when Roses dad turns up, and hits on Charlie’s mum. We have a sit down dinner of rissoles and chicken, Dave style. Dessert is green jello, laced with a little something extra. We all agree, it’s been a great night in.
(Picture: Dave and Jae - Grinners are winners. Enjoying dessert)

2 April, 2006 (Sunday)

2006-04-13T22:33:00.000-07:00

An excuse to go to Kelowna. Sunday night Sushi. Finding Champagne Charlies. Drinking it up Irish style.

Sunday night is the night
Sunday night is now sushi night. Jae has had a hankering for months and finally a means to satisfy it. Tonight we’re going to hit the town and eat raw fish! (Picture: Jae - "Oh the excitement")

We pick up Emily and Sean around half-past 5. It’s my first extended drive in Canada and the car feels different. Partial four-wheel drive is on because it’s feeling a bit icy. My head is light. It was a long day in the Village. I concentrate on the road. Sean provides a soundtrack for me – Smash, by the Offspring. The road winds down the hill.

There is old snow and dirt banked up on the sides. Spring is coming. Half-way down a cop car starts tailing me. It’s a white sedan with the trademark lights over the roof. I keep strictly to the speed limit, try to keep to my side of the road and before long it gets bored and overtakes.

Downtown Kelowna is quiet of a Sunday but it takes a few circles around the block before we find parking. The sushi place is a little brightly lit storefront right next to Gloria Jeans (not Starbucks!) on the main street. We walk in and stare hungrily at the sushi bar. Jae and Sean order a mega sushi platter. Emily opts for Chicken Udon. I can’t resist the chirashi donburi – raw fish on boiled rice.

Conversation kicks off, the topic? Flatulence. One of Emily’s favourites. Jae regales us with tales of roadtrips taken with baked beans and the power windows locked. We discuss social mores and English prudishness, or is it just good manners? We talk about travel. We talk about why all the sushi places seem to be run by Chinese and Korean chefs. Apparently our particular eatery is Korean. Jae is thrilled.

Three pots of Japanese green tea later the sushi arrives. Jae and Sean’s platter is enormous. My chirashi donburi looks nice and fresh and Emily is straight into her udon. Conversation pauses for eating. (Picture: Jae, Moi, Emily, Sean - Sushi has arrived)

Somehow or other Jae and Sean polish off their sushi platter. Our server seems impressed. Apparently it’s usually presented to a group of between 4 to 6, although one particular Japanese customer has been known to eat the whole selection himself. Both Jae and Sean look sated though.

On the way out our server guesses not only where we are from but our ethnicity. Pretty impressive. Apparently he’s a New York native so he’s familiar with a bit of cultural diversity. Jae grabs his email address. Is there something you’re not telling us Jae? ;)

Looking for Champagne Charlie’s
Kelowna city streets are quiet of a Sunday. It’s now 9pm and almost nobody seems to be about. Sean has work at 12 so the cinema isn’t an option. We start to wander down the street, stopping at the tattoo parlour to peer through the window. It’s where Emily got her maple leaf tattoo. Jae scoffs at why we’d want to go in if we aren’t going to get anything. What about the t-shirts I ask?

We keep on walking. Champagne Charlie’s? Sure. I’ve never been to a strip club. Jae seems to find this unbelievable. I’m an innocent – really! Sean was there last week, but as we wander the streets we can’t seem to find it. Cheetah’s, the other local strip joint is closed. Another night perhaps?

We end up at the Irish pub, although the upstairs bar won’t serve us because Emily forgot her ID. Typical. Instead, we get a downstairs booth and a jug of Shaftsbury between the four of us. The conversation turns toward ages. Emily guesses Jae to be the eldest of us three guys, and myself as the youngest. Guess again. The topic moves onto why neither Jae, Sean or myself have been hitting on the mountain. Is it opportunity, are we too nice, or are we just lacking the required equipment?

The night finishes and I begin the drive back home. It’s been a long day. As we hit the highway Jae asks if I want to let Sean drive, since he’s due on shift and should be (nominally) awake. I happily acquiesce.

01 April, 2006 (Saturday)

2006-04-13T22:31:00.000-07:00

Aenne's Farewell
Saturday night was a small farewell bash for Aenne. Our German school teacher is headed back off home with her beau, Per, to finish university. It's that time of season and people are slowly peeling off to go their separate ways. (Picture: Precious, Aenne, Kate, Tania, Moi - Cheers!)

It was a fun night out. Another night at Sam's. Another few drinks. Some dance floor time. Some sly oggling. (Picture: Precious cutting up the dance floor)

Join swingers?
Management here is strange. Lauren claims that one of our co-workers has been confiding in her about her 'other life' on the swinging scene. At first I thought she might be doing some creative tale spinning, but the story has been backed by a few others; they've seen online profiles of some of our management on prominent swinging sites and hidden hand holding at the pub. I've seen the dance floor bumping and grinding. Ugh! Nasty.

It explains some of the weird behaviour that's been going on - people staying up on the hill and repeated denials about things going on when nothing was asked. I'm pretty sure that there's some kind of strange lust triangle going on between older marrieds. Big White the Swingers Haven, who would have thought? Another fun family activity, or is that considered incestuous?

31 March, 2006 (Friday)

2006-04-13T22:29:00.000-07:00

Warning - large posting

Finding a vehicle
Up until this week my search for a vehicle has been relatively passive. I’ve spent almost half a month doing the research, getting an idea of what’s on sale and what I really want. I've been putting out feelers and identifying the places I need to look, but I haven't really examined that many cars. It's a little intimidating, and my energies have been diverted elsewhere.

First viewing
It was the first car we viewed. Initially I thought the asking price was too much, but seeing it drive up to the CIBC branch in Orchard Plaza, it did look in pretty good condition. We met Paul and his cute little girlfriend Tash. Paul is studying next semester and looking for something smaller and more economical. Tash is along for the ride.

Sean takes it around the block. No suspicious clunks. Brakes feel good. Engine does its thing without labouring. A little more compact than what we first envisaged, but it could work. After we complete our inspection Paul offers us a lift to our next location. The drive across to Westbank passes quickly, weaving through Kelowna and over the bridge. (Picture: Lake views from the Westbank)

Second viewing
Duncan owns and manages one of the 5 RV dealerships in the area. He’s all slicked back hair, loud voice and neatly pressed black polo shirts. A real salesman. He picks Sean and I up in his new big black Honda pickup and takes us to his place to inspect the Jeep.

His 1987 Jeep Wagoneer has been in the family a while, but he’s recently acquired a company car and needs to sell. $1,250 sounds reasonable. It’s a slightly longer version of the Cherokee. Dark blue with fake wood paneling and a lot of lower-body rust. It is only a 4 cylinder, but has a meaty roar. It doesn’t start so well, but the engine looks in alright shape having been rebuilt a while ago. We take it for a quick around the block. The brakes feel weak. They were only replaced in December. Not a good gut feel. Duncan drops us back off where we met him. (Picture: Sean on the bus - lining up the next viewing)

Third viewing
We catch a double-decker bus back into Kelowna downtown. Two younger gals in front try to mimic my accent. They seem to think I’m British. Not too bright. On the ride back I call up Bill, who has a 1991 Ford Explorer that he wants to sell for $2,300. He agrees to pick us up from Prospera Place – the local stadium.

Bill turns up in a red old pick-up truck. It’s a cosy fit in front of the pickup, but the vehicle seems to be running well, although showing some wear. He’s an older gent, a big frame, white hair and a friendly face. Along the way to his place he tells us about his retirement and bee keeping hobby. He owns a few properties in these parts, has a few pickups that he uses for the bee keeping, and no real need for the Explorer anymore. Sounds good so far.

The Explorer looks the right size. As Bill takes us up and down his road it seems to run okay. Maybe a little rough around the edges. The interior is ruby red and has lots of space – front and back. The only thing is, the engine doesn’t look like it’s been touched in 10 years and runs a bit bumpy. The outside shell is showing wear and not a little rust. Seems to go alright today, but possibly hasn’t been looked after too well. (Picture: Upstairs view from a double decker bus - Westbank bridge)

Sean and I deliberate. We like the Explorer’s size, but we want something we can rely on. Perhaps if Paul is willing to be more flexible on the price… I call Paul, our first seller, and suggest that while we like his car, it’s smaller than we want and a bit more expensive- say, by $400. He immediately brings down the price.

Bill takes us back to Orchard Plaza, he’s got some errands to run. So we’re back where we started. Time to talk over some coffee. I bring out the Capital News, the local rag, and ring around. Unfortunately none of the vans that we’ve circled are available today. The coffee girl is cute though. Cheeky grin too. Some of those Canadian girls… Anyway, that leaves us at a quandary – it’s almost 2pm and we’ve got to decide whether we buy today or take the bus back up and try again this weekend. Spare days are hard to come by. Is there a vehicle we want bad enough?

At the bank we withdraw our cash for a purchase. Sean and I have somewhere along the way tacitly accepted that we’re road tripping together and will split the cost. I’m not too sure when this happened – perhaps during our conversation at Raakel’s the past week? Whatever the case, we want this done. We know that somehow the purchase will make our post-season plans real. Solidify it in a way that the passing days are unable to.

Aside on Sean:
Sean completed his education in Bris-vegas, majoring in Graphic Design. At 21 he’s done a bit of multimedia and web work but enjoying a break in the snow (like the rest of us up here?).

Sean started off in Canada. His parents met and settled in Calgary (I think). They then emigrated off to New Zealand, before moving to Brisbane in his teens. Currently he’s working the night audit shift at Cen Res, with a few 8pm – 4am shifts. Him and Jae skated a lot together earlier in the season, before the rink melted. I guess he’s looking forward to our road trip as much to see daylight as to see more of North America.

The decision
As of Thursday I’m the 50% owner of a car – a 1988 Jeep Cherokee. It’s in near mint condition, with a roaring V6 motor, 4 wheel-drive, leather interior, sunroof, CD player and power everything. “Fully loaded” as they say in these parts. It runs great for a 18 year-old vehicle and having looked it’s last owner in the eye (and bargained him down $300), I’m feeling pretty good about it. Dave hasn’t had a gander yet, but I think we did okay. Insurance was a killer, about $200/month because we took out full insurance with $5 million excess. Apparently that’s the cost of traveling through the litigious US of A. (Picture: Sean, Moi and Paul with the Jeep)

Celebrating our purchase
We didn’t get back to Big White until 6pm. Sean drove us back up. It’s different driving a 4WD. It’s different driving on the other side of the road.

By 7:30pm we are sitting at our dining table in the Ptarmigan 311. I’m in the midst of cooking a peanut inspired stir fry; I just have these moments of genius. The refrigerator calls me, or rather the dry Riesling that I’ve been keeping for a special occasion in the bottom. It’s sat there for at least a month and a half. Yes, this is an occasion to celebrate. Sean is still working his way through a Canadian (thanks Dave), but I decide to test the bottle of Quail’s Gate – it’s the best excuse I’ve had this week.

Sean and I are having a great chat, a rarity up here on the mountain. It must be the lack of smoke and bad music. We talk about home and growing up, university days, girl problems and directions. His parents originally met in Canada, but they moved to New Zealand while he was growing up, and he completed his final years in Brisbane. At heart he considers himself an Australian. It’s those formative years. He’s a good guy to chat with. I think to myself that I’m looking forward to a road trip. The company should be fine, no stress. We’re both chill enough and I think we can accommodate each other’s sight seeing needs.

Off to Carvers
We do away with the bottle of wine and make our way out. It’s hitting 9pm, just the right time to see what’s happening on the mountain tonight. Sam’s looks empty, and a few minutes later we discover that Raakel’s isn’t much better. But then we run into Kiwi Kate, “Maybe you guys should check out Carvers. There’s a few people out tonight. It’s the (Kiwi) boys’ farewell” she says. Nice one. Thanks Katie!

There are more than a few familiar faces at the bar when we walk in. Lauren and Precious are off to one corner, plotting away as usual. Carla is at the bar, and I spot Jess and Cam, Emma and Sarah. Yes, definitely some familiar faces. (Picture: Sean, Moi and Sarah @ Carvers)

The night passes in random conversation, face pulling and a few drinks. The bar staff at Carvers aren’t used to the crowd and are struggling to serve fast enough. I introduce Sean to some of the group and he’s soon mixing it up. Emma gifts me with a gasp and dirty look when I ask her not so innocently how she’s doing with Ski Patrol. Carla gets friendly for a photo. Lauren and I argue who is more attractive:
“You’re pretty”, I say.
“No, you’re handsome”, she replies.
“No, you’re more pretty”, I declare.
“No, you’re definitely more handsome”, is her measured reply.
We continue on for a good five minutes. The conversation doesn’t really seem to end as much as disperse.

If I stay out much longer I’ll turn into a pumpkin
It must be after twelve by the time we start to shuffle out of the bar. Josh is on duty at the front desk. I pose for a final picture with the twins. Cheese or cheesy? Wandering out I feel around my jeans pockets for my keys, but they aren’t there. Have I lost them? The next half hour is passed treading through the snow looking for a red lanyard and Ptarmigan keys. I manage to slip and twist my left thumb convincingly. No keys. (Picture: Sean & Moi - "cheese!")

I’m tired and it’s cold, so I pop into the Château and find Jae and Sean deep in conversation on the comfy chairs. It must be important. Nonetheless I ask Jae if he can spare his keys since I seem to have misplaced mine.
“I don’t suppose you left them back at condo?” Jae asks innocently. Perhaps he’s having flashbacks to my first evening on the hill.
“Umm.. no. I don’t think… well, maybe.” My synapses aren’t working so well. It’s sleep deprivation.

He hands over the keys. I head off home. It’s about 1:30am. It’s definitely past my bedtime. I wonder where Cinderella left her glass slipper tonight? Walking in I thank the powers that be that my little bowl of stir fry is still sitting on the counter wrapped in plastic. It smells so good. But, there are no noodles left. So I pop it in the microwave to warm and turn the stove on to boil some water. Investing in breakfast is a good thing I’ve found. (Picture: Security Tim & Carla - illicit kiss)

The food is delicious and the water is boiled so I start the noodles going. Time to get changed for bed. I wash up and slip into the pjs. The noodles are still going. I fall asleep. When I wake I smell peanut butter. Mmm… I smell good. I wake again around 7:30am, yes definitely smelling of peanu... wait a second! Did I turn the stove off? I stumble out of bed and the peanut smell follows me. In fact, it gets stronger. I look at the stove, then the sink. There are my noodles, all solid. And my peanut stir fry? It’s barely recognizable. Just charcoaled lumps in a pot. I’ve got some scrubbing in front of me, and some apologizing to do to Dave. Eeek!

Our condo now smells of cooked peanut butter.

29 March, 2006 (Wednesday) Part II

2006-04-13T22:07:00.000-07:00

Dressing it up again
Last night was yet another dress-up night at Sam's. As the season progresses it feels like we have them more and more often - last week it was the 80s party, and there's the Sam's beach party to look forward to this weekend. I'm noticing that as the season progresses the level of effort and bizareness decreases - a reflection of generalised apathy, or have we poached all the good retro gear from Value Village?

Of course, there are always the stalwarts who costume it to the max. But they're becoming fewer, and are generally of the more pickled variety. I think it's pretty safe to say that the botheredness factor is definitely on the ebb. I know mine is.

I think it's just that after three and a half months a routine has established itself. I know what the night is going to be like; the crowd, the vibe, who is going to be out and how the night will finish. It will be the same glassy eyed faces, the same music, the same pumping bodies on the dance floor and the same stunned looks when the ugly lights turn on at 1am and people are herded out by security in their red t-shirts. (Picture: Sarah, Foxy, Kym and Ardana - Foxy can't resist an opportunity for drag)

Perhaps the other influence is the realisation of how much money we've all sunk into the place. It's got a virtual monopoly for entertainment on the hill, but is pretty tight in giving back any special value. As a regular I can't say that I get served any faster or drinks any cheaper. The joys of a captive audience. Good times. Good times.

Pros and Hos and Snows
Tuesday night is normally staff night. It's generally a good opportunity to get out and mix it up. Indeed for a while it became almost ritual to get out of a Tuesday night. Although in the last few weeks this has eased up significantly. Perhaps as a way of rekindling the flame Sam's cooked up "Golf Pros and Tennis Hos". Break out the rackets and golf clubs! (Picture: Ardana, Kate, Moi)

The night started slowly enough, but soon picked up pace. By 11 the floor was back to mid-season crowdedness, as staff came out of the woodwork for one last bash at Sam's. The girls had gone all out in skimpy mid-drifts, mid-thigh mini skirts, white sneakers and headbands. There was plaid and tartan out in droves, long shorts and longer socks to match. Some of the guys had taken the opportunity (once again) to cross dress in searing white and flop the old fella
out at the slightest opportunity (see picture from blog-update 24 March, 2006 - I actually didn't notice until after I'd posted it). Big White is all about class.

My apathy had exerted itself, so I hadn't bothered dressing up for the occasion - I had for all the
others and the novelty was wearing a bit thin. So I spent the evening gliding from group to group, inspecting costumes, pulling faces and dropping the odd salicious wink. But it was another night at Sam's, and before too long I'd had my fill. Midnight rolled past and I was trudging across the ice home. Good times.

29 March, 2006 (Wednesday)

2006-04-06T02:17:00.000-07:00

My friend Emera (kids Ski School) finally took me out for my first snowboarding experience. I’m sore, but still intact. She tells me that I'm not her worst student ever. So full of compliments. I wonder if it's a Canadian thing, or maybe she's been hanging around Australians for too long? ...Probably been hanging around Australians for too long.

Going snowboarding
After getting back from the Ridge, Ryan (from Sydney) fixes me up with rental boots and a board. The board is a 158cm with flow bindings (goofy stance). The boots are soft, and compared to ski boots almost like walking in oversized normal footwear; surprisingly light and flexible.

As promised, I meet Emera in front of the Village Centre. It is a warm sunny day and Emera has an iced donut in hand - afternoon sustenance. She takes me out to the flats outside of the Swiss Bear (in the main village) and gives me a quick run down of strapping in and skating. We then back-edge down the kids slope. It gives me a feel for proper stance and balance.

Five minutes of me goofing off and we start down Hummingbird. By a third of the way down I'm sweating heavily, with my sleeves rolled up and my iPod tucked (safely) away. It takes about 20 minutes to stack my way down the run. As the end of the season approaches, especially on sunny days, the snow starts to get slushy. It means that it’s easier to catch an edge (and land on my backside), but at least it's a softer landing. A forgiving way to start.

I get the hang of edging from side to side, and then try to work on keeping balance and turns. Emera tells me to keep my arms out for balance, and turn with my upper body. “Don’t look at the trees! Don’t look at the trees!” she screams as I gather speed. Of course I stare straight at the trees and almost ended up eating pine needles.

After making it off the lift without too much drama (I manage to travel a good 10 metres before falling) my second time down takes half as long. I'm falling less and getting a feel for turning. Still, it feels wrong to be sliding down with my face to the mountain. Toe edging goes against my skiing instincts.

The third time takes maybe 5 minutes, and we are done for the day. My tailbone is a little bruised and I have ice burn on my knuckles from landings and levering myself back up, but Emera is a very patient teacher. All in all, I enjoyed the experience and think I'll have to give it another go. Just have to find the opportunity before this season is done and dusted.

25 March, 2006 (Saturday)

2006-04-06T02:08:00.000-07:00

Becoming a ski bum
It is official – I am a ski bum. I splurged on Saturday and now I’m the proud owner of, not one, but two pairs of skis. Yes, they’re pretty. Yes, they’re different. No, I have no idea how I’m going to get them home. My next purchase was always going to be a ski bag. Know any deals on mailing package across the globe?

My newest babies are a pair of 168cm Rossignol Scratch FS’s (Free Style). They’re season old twin tips that I acquired via an ex-rentals sale. The top-sheet (upper part of the ski) is a little scratched, but the bases and integrity of the skis are tops. Twin tips, being niche skis, apparently don’t get as much time out of the shop as all-mountain carvers.

In the end I paid $CAD256 (including tax) for them (this converts to around $AUS320), which isn’t bad for skis and bindings at this level. As far as use goes, while they carve relatively well, they’re not made for hard-core slopes skiing but are more suited for the terrain park – plenty of flexibility, twin tips (which means that the back edges curve as well as the front) and un-waxed bases mean that they are more forgiving on jumps and provide cleaner contact on the rails (if I could actually manage to mount the rails properly in the first place). I think of it as part of my education here at Big White. (Picture: On the snow - my Head Monster all-mountain carves)

Try before you buy
I did take them out a few times before I purchased. The first night Pez (rentals) escorted me out to the park and gave me some tips on launching jumps, spins, jump 180s and hitting the rail. I have a long way to go, and a lot of bruises to collect, before I can do any of these things properly, but I guess it's a good way to pass the time.

With the jumps apparently it’s a matter of timing, speed and stability. You have to pop up when you hit the lip of the jump, holding a compact shape for most of your air-time until you pencil out at the end. Apparently. It seemed to work. The rails and boxes require a slow entry, popping into a side-on stance, weight centred and toward the front. I can still hear the echo of the laughter from the chairlift going past. Yet to get one of those… but then, I don’t think I’ve committed to throwing myself at those metal plates.

The second time I took them out I was night skiing down Sunrun. It was a little icy. Compared to my Head all-mountain carves they (unsurprisingly) didn’t hold an edge as well, and had a tendency to jump, the extra spring translating into an energetic bounce, especially at speed. Nevertheless, the different feel also meant that they were easier to land and managed to hold a decent pace. (Picture: Sunset on the Sunrun)

I haven’t had much opportunity to take them out since, but I think I’m due some park time in the next few weeks. Just have to let my bruised shins heal a little.

24 March, 2006 (Friday)

2006-04-06T01:59:00.000-07:00

End of season job rush
Work, work, work: The mantra of my past few weeks. In the last week I've managed to crack 60 hours mark, hitting 65 hours (combined) between tickets and my job with Services@Big White. I worked 7-days, exceeding 12-hours on the time sheet on two of them. A good effort. Hopefully it will translate into some decent money in the bank. We can hope. It is expensive traveling.

Services@Big White: As far as the crew goes, they’re not bad. Sometimes a bit chummy, but also amusing and good natured. They do have an annoying habit of ignoring their cell phones at crucial times, but toward the end of the season it’s kind of hard to change that. (Picture: Services @ Big White staff Karl, Stewart and Dan in their work gear - Sam's dress-up night)

We have a few Australians, more than a few Poms, and a Kiwi or two. They do hot tub maintenance for most of the privately owned chalets on the mountain, as well as more general maintenance, chalet arrivals and departures. I’m their office support – looking after invoicing, dispatch and rostering since Kelly went off to work for Oxfam in Africa for a while. Because I'm juggling two jobs I'm sharing office duties with Alex (the Pom).

This week has been a bit lighter. I’ll be lucky to break 50 hours. A bit more time off, and three nights on the slopes – the last week of night skiing. I’m trying to squeeze as much out of this staff ski pass as possible. I’m not doing too badly – I’ve had 50-something days where I have been scanned at the lifts, and probably another ten where I’ve been through without.

Night ski no more
I did back-to-back shifts today. First my 11am at Services @ Big White, then at 4pm straight into $5 Friday. Being the last $5 Friday it was madness. Tim and I were on together and worked through customers for two hours straight. I found out the next day that between the two of us we’d made over 300 transactions between us. While it isn’t a huge amount of money (compared to what we charge for a day ticket up here – close to $CAD70) it’s a lot of tickets.

It’s funny the diversity you get of a cheap-ass Friday. There’s a lot of neophyte skiers, arrogant locals and blow-ins who are surprised but happy to get a discounted ski deal (Canadians love discounts). The last one for the season - Make the most of it cos the Friday Night special is gone!