Mountainous Imlil

After I met up with my friends in Marrekech we set off for Imlil, a village at the foot of Mt Toubkal, North Africa,s highest peak.

Imlil is 1700 meters above sea level itself, and is surrounded by grand mountains covered with snow all year round. I am lucky to be in Morocco in the Spring. Everything is green and sprouting and the melting snow meant the local streams ran with crisp water, and the locals are always out collecting for the new season and doing up their buildings.

The locals are all Berber villagers largely subsistence farmers that grew small plots of wheat, apples, cherries and walnuts on layered terraced gardens that lined the bottom of the hill. Mules (rather than donkeys, as they are stronger for moutainous work), goats, cows and chicken are the main livestock and they are kept in almost every house. The occasional cat but no dogs or pigs for obvious reasons.

I am rooming with an aussie girl called Megan from the Gold Coast who reminds me so much of Michaela. The rest of my group consisted of a grandparents team also from Oz, another kiwi bloke whos done the Inca Trail and two mischievous South Africans. Our group leader is a small feisty French chick that sports a mohawk and keeps a charmellion as a pet.

One too many Indiana Jones Moments

Trekking in this area is pretty amazing because of the scenery and the cultural encounters on the way. you are essentially barging through other people's back yards _ our routes are pretty much the routes the locals take to get from one village to the next, and to collect food and water.

Being spring with the melting snow, the locals are always changing the river routes for different irrigation purposes and to manage the increasing water flow. Often the previous paths thats tramped through has just been flooded and we are forced to change routes, and the unstable rocks and the occasional donkey running down the narrow path has been a bit of an issue. But the perfect Indiana Jones moment had to be muddy water gushing down the only path we managed to find through thorns and apple gardens. Then there's the bridge thats made out of a thin branch...

On day two a short stroll turned into a five hour trek of being lost and found by a young Berber boy who invited us into his house for morning tea. We were sat down in their lounge room on their traditional carpets and served herbal tea (I am thinking St Johns Wort, but who would admit to 1998...), peanut sweets not disimilar to the ones we have in Taiwan for new years, and then a small meal of freshly baked full grain bread, VERY OLD oil, and boiled eggs. Apart from the oil everything else tasted fantastic mainly because it is all completely organic and unprocessed great fresh stuff.

The entire family came to look at us, including a little baby who cried as soon as she saw CampMama"s mohawk, and the family matriarch who"s feet was tinted with henna. A bizzare kind of scene ensued when the young mother aged 20 switched on satellite TV and a channel from Dubai played Sister Act. After trying to marry me off to his older brother (who was only 12 anyway) he even hunted out Grandpa who was weaving carpet in another room for an photo op.

At the end of the evening I sip tea at the guest house on their high terrace sitting on beautifully woven cushions with a glass of sweet mint tea, a tagine is bubbling away on the wall next to me. I am brainstorming my first novel - about an apple thief who likes to run through the orchard naked at night under the moonlight on outrageous sexual escapades.

Back in Marrakech

It was almost a little bit overwhelming having just been in such an isolated place to be dropped off by a shared taxi into the middle of hectic and touristy Marrakech. Yet i think the city girl in me is pleased to have the buzz and excitement of crowds of diverse people and the interesting food that is offerend in the square. I also managed to find a bar which serves alcohol to women which is much needed but rather expensive.

I am beginning to get quite sick of being harrassed with "konichiwa" every 5 meters and am charging Megan with 1 dirham each time a Japanese reference is made of me. But apart from the "over friendly" young men here, I am finding the locals extrememy pleasant in Morocco. Like Lao, there seems to be a lot of social capital here, despite the diversity of ethnicity and level of religious devotion. People are alsways on the look out for each other, particularly for the elderly and young children, like on public transport and at restaurants. The level of respect they have for elders is something other cultures could relearn.

I went to the hammam again on my last afternoon here to let off some steam and the only women there were two elderly hotel housemaids. It was perhaps one of the most comfortable environments Iùve been in since arriving. I could only communicate with them through body language but it still felt like you;re being looked after and fussed over by your own grandma.

Some of the rich and famous also have a playground here so it was interesting, after being lost in the souq, walking into a palace like restaunt_bar type place that resembled King Solomon,s mansion charging 8 euros for a small Heinie. Ex pats do very well here and have been living here for a long time, one of which created the Jardin Margorelle a fantastic garden and art gallery now looked after by Yves Saint Lawrence (can someone correct my spelling?)

Casablanca - more than just a movie

Pipers on the Roof
I arrived in the evening in Casablanca, an ecelectic city of old french buildings, interesting sexy people, and gloing palm trees. (am typing on a french keyboard s;cuse the typos°0 ) My first night was spent drinking left over french wine from the plane qnd s,oking Shisha, tobacco from a trqditionql bong on the terrace (well, more like q concret roof top) of Hotel Rialto with the hospitqble Berber hotel qssistqnt Abdul qnd tzo Swisses, Korin qnd Kristian: Its so aromatic and easy on the lungs. Till the next dqy I suppose... The city is no where near the glitz and glam of the 60s movie, but I recon gazing at the colourful rooftops and watching the people in both traditional robes and designer western gear buzzing in and out of restaunts still barbequing away at 10pm is quite a good warm up for this fantastically exotic country.

Moroccan Cats
I did some cat spotting early on the second day. The central fresh food market close by serves beautiful sweet coffee and cheese roll for just 3 dh (50c AUD) a pop, amongst other things like legs of goats, tourtles, flowers, spices, fruit... Cats here aren;t owned by any one but are certainly well looked after with all the left overs. Like in most developing countries they are much smaller than Aussie/kiwi cats, but are not shy because they are relatively well treated and respected here, and perhaps helped with the absence of dogs (seen one so far but the streets are FULL of cats). Every body loves cats here so I have developed a bit of photographic collection of them just lounging around the street, waltzing into eateries for a pat and a feed.. oh puuuurrrrrr.
Touristy Stuff
I absolutely love roaming the streets here checking out the people, zhqt they sell, food, Arab buildings, the Medinq. But being a tourist here is like being a tourist - men chat me up all the time and every one points and gawk and yells out "japaan japaan nippon nippon" so i just need to learn to chill and smile politely and walk fast. But the Fench is improving particularly the numerics.

I highly recommend the maze like Medina (traditional old town inside a wall) and the Hassan II mosque - 3rd biggest mosque in the world after Mecca and Medina Saudi Arabia. It happened to be a Friday when I was there and I got there just as the midday prayers crowd left. It was almost like the calm after a storm, even though the believers are all very reserved and quiet as they leave. I bumped into Abdul at the entrance, the night before he said that he wasn;t going to the prayers but still hope to go to paradise. He was there anyway and he said being at the prayer and in the bosom of the mosque (my interpretation) and hearing the voice of the Imam was asolutely amazing and many of his fellows cried. I really could understqnd when I went in - first sittin g in the court yard chilling out and waiting for the guided tour to start then later inside this magnificent place. It was right away from the chaos of the big city next to the rolling sea, the breeze blows in through the large pillars and delicately crafted mozaics, you do indeed feel completely spiritual and calm, your mind reach somewhere outside your body when you are embraced by this eerie and lifting place. I can,t explain it and perhaps why this place is so enchanting to muslims and non muslims alike.

Hammam
Later in the arvo I took the liberty of trying out the Hammam, the traditional bath house. From the research i did before hand i expected it to be some shabby dark little bath room, but the Hammam Ziani in Casablanca was out of this world. It was extremely bright and clean and maticulously decorated with traditionally crafted bathing basins and tile out of beautiful bluegrey marble. There were several big plump ladies right there helping you out scrubbing and massaging you depinding on what you ordered. Insence and steam fill the air. It was just like arriving at Cleopatra;s private chambers, my mind just kept boggling.

There,s no wonder why Moroccan women are all just so amazingly gorgeous - they spend hours in the hamman just exfoliating and shampooing and rubbing seaweed potion into themselves. There were four or five different chambers for different stages of the washing/pampering process, and at the end there;s a lounge for resting and waiting for husbands to pick them up at the door.

Moroccan women are generally quite voluptuous and unshy about taking the kit off once they are in an all female domain. The etiquette is to just wear a g string and they all have colourful lacy lingerie. I paid 20dh for the lady there to scrub (exfoliate) me on the big marble benches. You may as well call it a butchers table cos she was super strong and just stripped me literally in pieces with the scrubbing glove. I had no idea I had this much dead skin till I looked down on the marble floor qnd there were hundreds of grey bits of dough like lumps of my skin. They call that "speghetti".

So still with steam in my head I drifted off to sleep. The evening prayers continued and the beeping of the petite taxis and ushers yelling in customers fadsing into the night. Rose city Marrakech tomorrow at the break of dawn.

The Game Is Aloof!!

THURS 26/4 - WEDS 3/5

London here I come

London probably always greets a first time visitor with soggy rain and I am not spared. It poured down the minute I peeked outside the tube station at Heathrow and I just chuckled. Something will probably always go wrong on your first day of traveling and I am not spared there either. I did not just leave my finger prints and soul with United States Homeland Security in the land of the free. American Airways has left my luggage, my entire possessions for the next six months, in sodding LA. So I have (fingers crossed that they’ll own up) NZ$1500 to burn on shampoo and conditioner. Or a Burberry trench coat.

Riding around the tube I feel incredibly comfortable here. My experience of being in a country/city for a first time is that people just stare at you and look you up and down as if to just make sure that you know you’re fresh off the boat. People just leave you alone here and get on with their lives – which is quite refreshing for me. Every time I turn around there is a different language being spoken (except for ‘Straalian) ; there’s no one dominant group or whatever. No one’s too weird or too normal, no one’s really more important or less important than anyone else. I am already questioning two well known notions: 1) Britain is a classed society 2) London is full of Kiwis and Aussies

I love watching the industrial-era brick buildings go by in the window. The worned and weathered look of these petite and clustered dwellings always brings me to think of Sherlock Holmes’s late night outings to investigate scenes of crime and mystery amongst the alley ways and dark corners of this opportunist city.

Wendy greets me at Moorgate – she looked so happy and glowing, with that head full of red locks. I think it’s the beer. There’s literally a pub every ten meters here, but they seem to be able to get lots done despite. Must resist. Mmm a Burberry trench coat….

Hackney and the Likes

Wendy and Deno lives in an apartment in Hackney. It’s an extremely multicultural suburb – mostly Turkish and Carribean, but really it is a town of the world. There’s a big mosque just 20 meters from here, the restaurant actually have REAL Turkish food in bainmaries and not roast duck kebabs, and a daily fresh market that’s pretty much like the ones in South East Asia. It is slightly rough and the shops are slightly dodgy. Its almost like living in 6 developing countries at one time, I absolutely love it.

Wendy and Deno are doing really well for themselves. Wendy is a librarian at a law firm, and she is my new mum. . Feeds me, clothes me (re lost luggage), and works me hard on the tourist trail and introduces me to really interesting Londoners where possible. Deno summarises media articles by night and writes his novel by day. He’s still working on the Harriet novel that he was just starting when I met him seven years ago, but it is finishing, I can see it!!

A Ponder

Could it be that I am lost in the Bastion of the Anglo-Saxon Civilisation? I already know so much about Britain through pop culture and literature, but when one actually gets telegraphically transmitted straight in the middle of it, it can be an incredibly strange experience. It is almost surreal to be able to read the HARDCOPY version of the Guardian (now in Berliner size, for ease on the Tube) and the Observer on the breakfast table. Before this I get a “Cut Out” or “quote” in the SMH. And hearing British rock and pop being blasted out of the radio, and thinking, yeah, its made right here, here in London on the ground I stand on, and that it was immortalized before I even heard it on the other side of the world. I look at the map of central London and I see the Monopoly board game I first saw when I was five or six. Piccadilly Circuit, Pall Mall, Waterloo Station, Mayfair Street (where I did-in Christian and Lunako in last June and Aunty Gina in 1989, Mum in 1988), Trafalgar Square, Oxford Street. And so the realisation that Sydney’s is in fact a complete rip-off of London.

Touristy Stuff


- Wendy took me on the Jack the Ripper Tour with a historian/author on the subjects that has a corse sense of black humour. I highly recommend it.
- The Monument (big spiral tower to commemorate the Great Fire of London)
- Borough food markets
- Camden Markets
- Sherlock Holmes Museum @ 221b Baker Street - so much fun!!
- Big Ben; Westminster Abby;
- Parl House (some one got run over infront of it the day I was there, utter chaos so can't watch the Lords in full swing... next time...)
- 10 Downing Street - what's a political junky without visiting here. Except I only made it to the gate.

Clubbing in Soho

Wendy does work me hard. After a full on day of sight seeing I was done up and rushed to Soho for her colleague’s birthday. Every body is happy and mellow here in Soho, despite the arrays of public signage all over train stations and buses saying “aggression won’t be tolerated” and “assaults on staff will be dealt with accordingly”. What are they talking about? Two wines, a beer, a pink cum like shot and a mojito later I am half dead with three toes missing, and Wendy and I managed to avoid being followed home by these Algerians, but I wouldn’t have it any other way!!

Beaching in Brighton

We went to Brighton on Sunday but I am not going to be able to write much because I was on a really bad hang over. It is a really pretty beach, despite not having any sand and the water being freezing, people sunbathing in jeans – I think it’s the stripy deck chairs at 1.50 pounds a pop and the ice cream vendors. They did call this the hottest April in 300 years tho. Highlights: Pimms, the gorgeous little lanes and grand Edwardian buildings lining the coast. Lowlights: stale pub meal and the tacky pier.

Turning Englishnese

If I was English I would say that real English food is all you can eat vegetarian curry for 3 quid, then followed by a beer at the pub cheering on Chelsea. (Deno selected my club for me, no choice there.) And then the next day I joined Wendy's social football (NOT SOCCER U EEEJIOT!!) team & score the first goal for my side. Never woulda thought I was a team kinda person.

I think I’m slowly but surely turning English – I say words like “loads” and “roorrrnchy”, genuinely upset about Prince William and Kate Middleton’s tragic breakup, and can spot a Chav in a mile. Yes I really think so.

p.s. There's a pub every ten meters.

pic 1 - me at Big Ben

pic 2 - Me, Deno and Wendy fooling around at the pub - Chelsea vs Liverpool game so Deno was a bit absorbed. Just don't mention the score!!

pic 3 - me and one of the inspectors at Sherlock's place

pic 4 - Hari Krishna parade at Picadilly Circus

pic 5 - My soccer team

Must Pack No.1 KIM-LAN soy sauce

Essential liquid to Taiwanese crazy train obento
Thank you Aunty!!

Things ppl think about by the river

So it’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting on the jetty on the river at my parents’ place. I just love the escapism of it. I am 10 minutes walk from the house and 10 minutes walk away from various continuing feuds and disenchantment amongst my five young squabbling cousins who can’t agree on the right design to build a chicken house etc. No one will find me here and I am sure that the 47% alcohol content duty free gin is burning a whole in my water bottle. I feel it slowly pulling every vain in my brain into a big fur ball and wedging it at the back of my neck. Happily.

It’s the depth of autumn and the bush across the river is reflecting a mellow rich goldness on the water which whirls and turns to my left, delivering occasionally a few giant carps in the water beneath me (formerly goldfish in a bowl?). An equally sprightly photo of Mount Ruapehu dusted with snow graces the background of my lap top. I took that pic last time I was in NZ driving back form Wanganui to Hamilton with Templeton. I do miss that boy. The jetty seems a bit empty without him here having a beer with me and sighing about why we can’t do this every day. But he distracts me from myself and it should all be about me now.

To think that I have just commenced a six-months-plus period of unemployed free roaming status about to take the European/Moroccan/Bangladeshi/Chinese/etc civilization by storm. Here goes the deposit for my house. MY HOUSE!! It doesn’t feel good to be without a plan, but I somehow I really think its about time I didn’t have one. All the stuff I planned to happen never have, and the stuff I didn’t plan always does. So maybe it pays to just be stupid for a while.

Life is to be LIVENED. That’s why this gin tastes so bloody good.

Windy Wellington

Wellington 11-16 April

The weather was unbearably cold on Friday the 13th. I wore two coats and two scarves and downed a very very long shot of coffee from Fuel just downstairs from Jennifer’s apartment. Listening to Yoshimi Battles The Robots I bounced towards the bleak harbour hoping for another coffee. Kaffe Eis on the lagoon was closed on this unhappy occasion but the harbour looked just nice and quaint and full of memories.

On a day like this I am reminded of a younger me - pondering at the cross roads and trying to get to some place far ahead in the clouds that loom the harbour. Its these grey days that bogged me down. Somehow I feel like I'm almost there again in that dark place. Not really knowing what's ahead but knowing that the future will clear up soon and it is up to me to make the most of life and opportunities.

I thank every day for the friends I still have here those that I know their face and voice and person and soul where ever I am no matter how long its been since I last saw them. They will never let me down and they will do anything for me. I feel very priveledged to have them with me unconditionally, even when I turn up at their house with a suitcase and covered in rain. I think when you become older you understand these connections much better, and you don't need to put any effort into understanding each other - it comes so naturally and transcends time, space and distance.

I look around the street, full of people moving a hundred miles an hour, searching half heartedly for faces I know. There were three or four. They looked at me and looked away - they know me but they chose to not engage - a mutual way to say that the other person is not really in their phone book anymore.

I have lost a few good friends from my youth for various reasons. I used to grieve, perhaps I still do. But you learn that there's a reason for everything and you almost make yourself believe in things like karma or fate. To console yourself? I miss those people in my life, like there's a hole in my heart, but you learn that they have moved on and maybe you have too. Its the people that can move with you and will always be with you spiritually that are worth the effort.

I felt like I was getting swirled into the crowd on Lambton Quay. I am surprised that hardly nothing has changed in the four years I’ve been away. Particularly for a big city. Updated fashion and new coats of paint I suppose. But the expression on people’s faces and the distance and pace of their stride, the way they dodge oncoming pedestrians and protect their latte from spilling. The way they look side ways when they see a person with a beautiful coat on wondering if it was from Kate Sylvester or Gregory’s. The way they glance at their reflection in the shop windows to see if their recent weight-gain had shown.

Looking at myself in the mirror I don’t feel like I’ve come far. But when I close my eyes I do.
It is the land, the weather, the clashing tides on the rocks and the new sprouting fern in the gully, that breeds this quirky clan of people. Darkly dressed, unassuminglt chirpy, laid back but serious, . I felt like I’ve returned to a mystical retreat in the depth of the bush.

I'm at Wellington Airport now bound for Hamilton, place where I grew up, and perhaps fled. Sitting against the bay window in the rare boarding gate at Wellington Airport and a flight to Chatham Islands is about to take off 5 meters in front of me. A white koru speeds past me and I somehow still wonder why I ever leave.

Guess Where I Am?

Woooosh - at Sydney International Airport again. It feels just like the local mall now, I know every corner, every toilet, every e-portal.

Still cutting it fine in Baroness fashion I am completely wasted from 3 nights of not sleeping, taking cold tablets
, drinking rest of the cellar and god knows what else.

The bus was also late in fine Greyhound fashion, but here I am, 10 mins from boarding call. BONZAI!!

I do also have my real trim fur coat (Vintage sale) and my bright red kimono birkies, and that funny vietnam hat. Style does compromise comfort!!

I do wonder when I will be posting from here again - it might not be for a long time...

Love to you Australia!

Maiden (Bon) Voyage

Apparently its one of the top twenty things a person will never forget in their life - the first time they drove solo.

To cut a long story short I haven't been able to get hold of a vehicle my "licence class" could drive till yesterday, that's why I have been putting off my Maiden Voyage. But special thanks to Claire - my almost housemate and definitely friend, I have a little Mitzy till Tuesday night.

Apart from the fact that I left the hand breaks on till about 2 blocks down the road (I have to say its a pretty shit car so it was moving and all I thought was that the wheels felt like they were falling off) it was smooth as into Civic. And apart from failing to parallel park twice it wasn't really a big deal getting the shopping done - something I would have had to do on the bus or the bike before, and taken 3 times as long!!

I sat there in the car not having to ask the person next to me where they'd like to go, thinking, gosh, this is soooo amazing! Me and the world and off we go. Since I was in the area I thought I'd drop into my old neighbourhoods in the inner north for the last time.

So the Maiden Voyage was also a bit of a Bon Voyage. I knew these streets back to front, each tree and the colour they'd turn into each time this year. The same pot plants and deck chairs on people's patios, same cars parked outside, same art works on the same letterboxes.

I drove into MacArthur Place where I had my first flat in Canberra when I started Masters at ANU (interviewed over the phone, they were amused at the accent). Where I learnt the words "chunder" and "booner". Where I chewed Swedish tobacco and had that random-as one night stand. Where I got my kiwi accent beaten out of me and where I learnt how to make soychinococktail. And where I learnt to appreicate Fat Pizza and The Chaser's War on Everything, and CNNNN. And listened to George and The Waifs for the first time. The backyard's been dug up and the crop-circles we made is long gone; but the vege patch at the top of the road is still going strong. Same old lady came out and waved.

It still sends chills down my spine thinkng of those days biking through O'Connor on my $40 bike in the dry bleak cold with my lips bleeding and those giant parrots scooping down at me. Those really lost times where I wish I wasn't here alone in this ghostly flat and brown town. Biking around and around to houses in the dead heat of February begging for a room to rent, and Sunday mornings wishing I hadn't had that last mojito at Trinity. Pollies striding pass down the corridor all with the same expression when they see an Asian constituent, and dropping off releases at the Press Gallery on Budget night; running up Mt Ainsley out of breath around giant Kangaroos and the jet planes overhead at the War Memorial. Or the kid who fell into the Pool of Reflection at the War Memorial!!! Same spot where Templeton turned up with a red rose one Valentines day next to the Menin Gate Lions. Now I could see Shiner and Milly sitting there purring instead: Eyes closed, whiskers drawn back, contented in the sun; Girl Guides, not soldiers, marching by.

Canberra Canbeera - how did I ever think leaving would be so hard?

< < Leaving on a Rocket ~~<~<<

The cake from the party mentioned in the email below;
debrief report waived on grounds of poor health

..............

28/3/07

Dear Canberra Crew

I am saddened to let you know that I am leaving town possibly for good in a few weeks time (flying out 11 April). My four year dip here has been fun, exciting, educational, fulfilling and most of all, given me the chance to meet you lot - a fabulous variety of fascinating, intelligent, inspiring & beautiful people. I will take your friendship and fond memories with me where ever I go. And I will now always love straight roads, straight trees, and pretty September flowers planted in the patterns of flags belonging to countries which don’t recognise Taiwan .

But as a travelling showperson I must push on in my journey to infect the world with crass jokes and cheap alcohol – London , Casablanca , and Bangladesh are on the hit list. (BTW [you know who]'s arrived in Bangladesh and on his behalf - "Hi everyone!") When I fix my blog I’ll send it to you on request or you can keep in touch with me here. Please do update me on how much you loved booting Libs out of the office and watching Hicks get off the plane.

To say good bye and also to celebrate turning 13 ½ for the second time, I’d like to invite you to an environmentally friendly ROCKETAIL** PARTY this coming Saturday- we are doing Earth Hour http://earthhour.smh.com.au/ for the entire evening so please wear your cycle vests and nothing that's likely to catch on fire.

Saturday 31 March 2007 - 7.30pm till late

[You Know Where]

BYO all alcohol in your parents’ cabinet

RSVP not required
** rocketail = rocketfuel drunken in style accompanied by bit of Gore-met.

Hope to see you all then!

FB

BREAKING NEWS: I got my P's!

Yes ladies and gentelmen - 24 hours before marking the 27th year on earth, I PASSED MY LEARNER'S FINAL ASSESSMENT, AND NOW HAVE MY PROVISIONAL DRIVER'S LISCENCE.

Looking at this bright red piece of plastic, i think all this blood tears sweat swearing kicking screaming and drama with the instructors all completely paid off. To think I fired two on the spot, gave one a heart attack and the other a very big L sign for his forehead via text message - yay for little old me!! (hey no bad feelings -)

- The Driving Baroness

David Hicks 26-3-07

I find myself angry and disgusted hearing about the coverage on David Hicks. Hearing about this man who is in bad health, low spirits, isolated, possibly tortured, and who after all this time, be humiliated in front a court in front of strangers and his family. And that it has taken five years in solitary confinement before a person is trialed, and that the Australian government tolerates this, and public outrage over this.

Its embarrassing for the Americans to have the last tribunal ruled as unconstitutional, a country who’s government and president that’s already been reduced to chain-email jokes and crass T-shirts. A country who does not respect international law and order at the first place who have taken law into their own hands. We’ll hang this person today and we’ll bomb this other place tomorrow. America, the country that thinks it speaks for everyone else in the world.

I find the whole idea of solitary confinement a repulsive way of punishment, let alone an acceptable way to “temporarily detain” someone for five years. The sort of mental destruction this must have on any one is unimaginable for me. Cutting off people’s beards, taking away their religious scripts, forcing them to walk around in chains or confined to the floor. Did these perpetrators ever think what if this is their brother, sister, father, mother? This is not justice, its abuse. And its tolerated.

The worst news is, David Hick’s case is receiving this kind of media attention because he is Australian. He is the first to be trialed in the new commission out of hundreds of political prisoners detained as those accused of terrorism. There are HUNDREDS of people from countries from the Middle East and around the world not just in Guantamao but all over US military run prisons that do not have the democratic processes behind them, whether it be public scrutiny or government will or media capacity to pressure some action for their case. Before they are trialed properly, many of them would have probably been physically, mentally and sexually abused before they die in destitute, despair, and with absolutely no dignity – without any one knowing about it.

I think what I feel most angry about is perhaps how powerless I feel about this injustice. I can write in my blog, I can go on a protest, I can write to the paper, I can sign a petition, I can cast a vote, I can ring up my local polly. Thousands of people have done that, and still… some times I really wonder.

Quick Update

Folks, folks, folks...

There are many excuses for my long absence from the world wide web so I thought I'd do a quick bulletin for those of you out of loop.

TEMPLETON (important news)
- has been posted to Bangladesh and he's leaving tomorrow. MAAADDDD!!

I guess its taken me a little while to really face it... It is really quite overwhelming.

TEMPLETON (normal news)
- his mum and dad had been back for a month and we had a pretty cool time hanging out.
- still keeps cutting his hair short
- still sings in the shower & speak french in his sleep

WAWA (me)
- has quit her job and going to do a bit of travelling before she go to Bangladesh to visit Templeton. Maybe. Leaving at Easter and not coming back.
-suffering from insomia
-still going mad slowly

SHINER
- is his old funny self but is getting a new Daddy in the form of T's cousin Ian who will be moving into the house and be in Canberra doing a PhD in geosommink.
- he did have a bit of hiccup with an ear infection, during which he constantly walked into walls. He has now recovered and hearing has gotten much better than before he had an infection, he's even straightening his ears at the sound of mice. (different story altogether)
- he has (had) a new little brother called Benny, a stuffed cat animal that looks just like him but 5 sizes smaller, whom I stole from an unborn child. (what you don't know won't hurt you). Unfortunately and mysteriously Benny disappeared the day that Templeton's mum left to go back overseas, so we are postering all over the neighbourhood and major airports to have him back.
-also rehearsing madly for the next Operatunity auditions.

BRAND NEW IPOD which revoluntionalised my life for a very brief moment
- lost
(onboard a flight from Brisbane in the care of the QANTAS check-in luggage security staff, scanned by a machine and dirty hands made dirty hands more unclean, no one at QANTAS or the Australian Federal Police, ACT Police or QLD police willing to help me after 15+ phone calls)

DRIVING IN L'S WORLD
- is shit! Ron has had a heart attack two final reviews short of passing me. The next instructor, whom I am seriously considering naming, was a total dickhead who admitted at the end of the lesson that his "bad mood" was due to "personal problems" and apologised for being unprofessional to me. Great, where's my money back?? The next next instructor is taking me out on Friday and I will be extremely PIIISSSSEEEEDDD off is he is the fourth accredited arsehole I've come across in the last six months.
- I am two weeks away from my 27th birthday and I am scraping the very bottom of my bank account to get these Ps. Urrrhhh--- life....

PETER & MISH
- got married on Saturday in Melbourne at Peter's parent's beautiful farm out in Narrawarren.
- I drove from Wodonga to Melbourne on my L plates as in NSW you could only do 80kph. Man smashing in that cruise control was fan bloody tastic. No kangaroos or wombats were hurt in the exercise.
- basically the weekend was debaucherously and rediculously fantastic thanks to those sexy and unsober melbournians. I LOVE MELBOURNE!
- Ha, I even bumped into my old supervisor from the hotel i worked in in wgtn 01-02. He's now working at a cafe on burnswick st which we happend to have breaky at on Sunday - small yet mad world. WHO'S SERV'N WHO'S COFFEE NOW HUH??!!!

MY OTHER MATES
- are all buying me copious amount of drinks to make sure I am coping with the fact that my bloke's gone to the jungle for the year. I love friends!!

MAGPIES
- yep, good. fat. musical.

GOLDFISH & SNAILS
- passed away one by one. I knew i should have had a prenup agreement with T when we bought that tank!!

OTHER SOCIAL STUFF
- Had a mad Lunar New Year Party in feb, followed by hosting 4 other dinner parties in the space of a month
- Also in the last little while went to a Sarah Blasko concert, a DJ Krush concert, a Feuler's concert, KEATING! the Musical, a three year old's birthday party, the Taiwanese Film Festival, the Pamela Denoon lecture, and about to go to a Baby Shower this weekend.
- I am considering joining rehab but before that I will have the biggest friken birthday-farewell party this town has ever seen. See you all next next Saturday in your very delicious best.

Reading: Keiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss ; Lonely Planet Bangladesh; Lonley Planet Europe on a Shoe String
Listening: Regina Spektor

~Brave new world about to dawn~

L's World: my new best friend

Meet A Aaron, my ACT accredited driving instrucor. Actually he's just Ron. He put three "A"s infront of his name and turns himself into A Aaron so that he's the first man to be listed on the yellow pages under "driving instructor". Except other companies have ways and money to get much further ahead than him and he was in fact the 21st company I rang.

I gave up on the original company after the instructor's car happened to burn out three times right before my lesson, and failed to nominate any one else. Plus I still have a grudge against the wanker that gave me the first lesson in September. This is one of those moments when you've gotta bless the free market. Ron turns out to be 5% cheaper than every one else and he could fix me a lesson in less than 12 hours. * bleeuuurrrrpppp ***!! This car burn out thing turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

Ron is like AliG. He wears a tracksuit, basketball shoes, blingblings on his fingers and more bling blings on the side of his sunnies. He chain smokes and sounds like donald duck. He makes a cross infront of his chest after completing the lesson just for the effect. Against all odds he is actually a bloody fantastic teacher. He drills me and doesn't give up on me just cos I've just almost killed three old ladies on the foot path. I already know how to chase baddies on the high way like the UK police and I know which embassy buys which kind of cars. He has an instruction stick and a brain so sharp that every time I cut a corner I know to laugh awkwardly. And I am doing perfect right angle parks like there's no tomorrow. I know this sounds crazy, and Templeton is bracing himself, but I am now rendered competent in 12 out of 22 competencies - woo hoo!!

Ron - my new best friend.

Happy UnAustralian Day

Celebrating some one else's birthday is like celebrating your unbirthday, hey, just as fun and still get all the trimmings!

So anyway on my UnAustralian Day I saved a tortoise from being run over between Michalego and Tharwa, and enjoyed a very long lunch with multicultural guests in a green-energy powered chalet and even had a dip in then river that didn't disappear after all.

Happy happy happy. (not referring to you, John)

All that flag bullshit

Can't help m'self but to put in my five cents worth.

This whole Big Day Out thing hasn't turned out to be as bad as I thought, I recon. Yes the Big Day Out team was a little bit stupid not to predict the obvious backlash they're going to get by simply targetting the wrong thing. Its not the Australian Flag per se that's the problem its the hoolagans that misuse it to mascarade racism under patrioticism. Now that they're allowing the australian flag back in, at least people are treating the flag a lot more responsibly intentionally and are starting to question some of the current attitudes about national pride/racial tolerance/what the flag really means.

I'm not really qualified to tell Australians how their flags should be used, but personally for me national flags no matter which nationality, whether your own or others, should be respected and all that jazz, its a symbol of a nation's pride so if you're not in a proud state (ie. drunk or high or in the mood for mulsim-bashing) you shouldn't go around draping it around your shoulder. As far as I'm concerned, unless you've just won the 400m dash at the Commonwealth Games or something equivalent, sorry, not good enough for that. The irony is that, the person who actually won the above mentioned race chose to drape herself in the aboriginal flag instead and got completely crusified by the same mob that was also pretty upset three days ago. Such culturally embracing good sportsmenship.

And what does patriotism mean anyway? I'd say it sits on a Kensey Scale and can be up to no good at each end. Not only can it be interpreted/used/ taken as , as the case shows, into all sorts of other quite not so nice things, such as racism, pig headed nationalism, zenophobia, monarchirism, conservatism, and the likes, and then further picked up by the next Pauline Hanson and snowball into the mess as it is like the BDO saga. Just look at the line up of pollies we had coming out to give the BDO people a good slapp'n.

Even so, forgetting all the above, I question how relevant patrioticism is to Australia today anyway. Australia's not at war with any other nation (ah remember terrorism isn't a country or a person or an organisation?? not even an idea??) not invading anyone, not being invaded, not being threatened by economic sanction, no one's "defecting" on a jetplane, not being dumped from an international organisation, being sued, etc etc. (Being beaten at a sport doesn't count). I just don't think "loving your nation" is particularly relevant when it doesn't actually need your love. Plenty of people to take your place if you want to bugger off somewhere else. Patriotism played its part in different nation's history and times when national unity and pride needs to be ramped up by upstairs because a nation or its nationhood is underthreat. Like when Europe's countries are underthreat by fascism, or if the Mongols are trying to get over the wall, or Napoleon's trying to cross the snow... Now its like if you're Taiwanese, or Tibetan, or Greenlander, or Quebecan (or Quebecer?? Quebequai)... except you're loving a country that no one else knows exists... MY POINT IS, YOU'RE FUCKING LUCKY TO BE HERE - DON'T RUB IT IN!

Tears aside, I tend to agree with Tim Flannery in his fantastic interview on ABC on Thursday night - why don't Australians feel affinity to each other via the land they share, the very thing that nurtures life on this continent? why define Australian with shit like meat pie and man from snowy river, which is totally irrelevant to vegetarians and any one who lives north of the Victorian border. Or women. And how many Australian flags you managed to tattoo on yourself just so you could go to the concert.

Brisbane Jan 07

Alcohol ads are allowed here - Bundaberg - chasing moving lights - dazzling - efficient - gosh last time I was here I saw meter maids - hot - ice creams - junk shops for tourists - kool with a k - lavish - museum is nice - nourishing korean cold noodle soup - om da dee da dee da dee om da dee dai - pathetic coffee though - queer ppl live here too - river which cuts it in half is beautiful esp from the air - sexy; sexier than i thought - tough too - us - vanity - we are family - xtatic with an x- yeah nah - ZAAP!!


and guess who I bloody saw there!!

L's World: Tragedy Always Strikes Twice

In actual fact my driving is going fantastically well. I think anyway. Nevermind the occasional gasps of my passengers when I change lanes without REALLY looking behind me. On 28 December 2006 I officially passed the six month, mark of retaining an L's plate, and can formally attempt for my Ps.

Things went pear shaped with the 1973 VW Beetle I was suppose to purchase from Brother-Out-Law, and I have decided that the best way to rush this P thing through is to go for it in automatic. Anyway Templeton has been taking me out in his auto quite a lot just whenever we go out, and I have been doing up to 110kph and finding most maneouver a lot easier than before, um, except for parking.

Upon returning from NZ, I took the auto out again and during a long parking practice session in a small carpark on Tuesday. After not having enough airing by being on the road with proper speed, the poor old thing over heated (in disgust). Smoke was coming out and Templeton and I had to flee the car (in a blockbuster movie kinda manner) just in case it really blows up. It proceeded to gush disparingly and spew green absenth colour liquid from the bottom. End of Auto.

This morning I was meant to have my first lesson in the auto with a registered instructor so I could get my fricking Ps out the way. Unfortunately her car broke down as well due to overheating (las september same company's manual instructor's one also broke down and I got a replacement one in the form of the most patronising wanker I know). Fan-bloody-tastic. Though the local rag did report yesterday being the 3rd hottest day in January recorded in Canberra, apparently 40.2 c at around 3pm. Sheesh. The poor cat has his belly against the floor and all fours spread like a frog, and not meowed since 11am.

p.s. Templeton's trusty machenic fixed his auto but it is now in Queensland with his parents. Still no Ps.

Roaming New Zealand

I loved showing off NZ to Templeton, and apart from the very wet New Years we had a bloody fabulous time roaming around the North Island and catching up with m'mates.

Photos: Mt Ruapehu; Waitomo Caves; Craters of the Moon - Taupo; ouside Wellington City Gallery; My cuz Coco on horsey near Raglan; With Braedon and Kathryn at our rained out New Years pad...; With Emma in Wanganui; Waterlilies at Botanical Gardens in Wellington; Shivering at Craters of the Moon; Auckland Sky Tower

Tiwi Xmas

Our Tiwi Xmas started off with collecting cockles on Raglan Beach, bush walk at Bridal Vail Falls, then dinner with my parents mates the acupuncture doctor and the writer, and then Montieths by the rolling river. Some things can not be more perfect.

Its a tradition

that I post a blog at the forever gracious Sydney International Airport. Somethings never change, like the cakey makeup of the perfume ladies, the grumpy crowd behind the late boarding signal with their pre-wrapped xmas presents, the five year old tape of the dreary security announcement, and I seem to be coming back here year after year after year. As always, ROCK ON e-portals and sushi!! Happy holidays everyone. FB.

p.s. in the mean time here's an epilogue of a merry little Christmas we had night before...

Blinking #7

Things starting with B seems to be dominating the Baroness's agenda this week. She is down with bronchitis and suffering a bit from office burn out, and this song called Bridal Train by the Waifs made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Try it. http://www.thewaifs.com/Albums.htm

Canoe Trip Kangaroo Valley

Kangroo Valley canoe trip - the surprise mystery weekend I've been enticing Templeton for months.

On the first day we stopped over at Fitzroy Falls where we spotted a beautiful Lyall Bird, and stayed the night in the township of Berry at the Bunyip Inn which was very Victorianly gorgeous, follwed by breaky at the bakery round the corner.







Second day we hired the canoes and extra camping gear from Kangaroo Safaris - they dropped us off at a bank on Lake Yarrunga (yep, still there!!) the catchment which supplies Sydney with water, where we canoed downstream and camped over night finishing off at Tallowa Dam on the third day. Absolutely the best outdoor experience to date.

walk against warming

Pics from the well attended Walk Against Warming in Canberra today

My new food blog

Food not only harness my life but it completes it. Woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning obviously and decided it might be nice if only I had a food blog. Bring it on Kylie Kwong!

Have a go at my recipes and lemme know how you went:
http://iplayfire.blogspot.com/

Rain!

At last! Rain!

Its almost sad that I connect rain with specific memories - what I was doing last time it was raining, that time when we went to the gallery it was raining, the chalk writing on the footpath is finally washed off...

That gingery smell of wet bark - the warm "chill" in the air coupled with the smell rising from the earth, grey dots filling the concrete, the distant sound of thunder running up to my chest from my feet.

The drip on my forehead, the dry grass sticking to my bare feet, under the black bucketing sky.

This smells like home, and when you are home you run outside and dance like crazy like there's no tomorrow. Dance! Rain! Dance!