:: Monday, December 23, 2002 ::

Australia

Let's get this straight: Australia is a stunningly beautiful country, admirably surpassing all our expectations. Even from the tiny weeny bit that we've seen we can be sure of that. The bits that we haven't seen are even better, if other people's stories and photos are anything to go by. And to top it all off, the majority of Ozzies are helpful, attentive, generous and humorous with their guests. However, as I (Barney) am by nature a miserable 'glass-is-half-empty' style git, I find it hard to write about the perfection of Sydney Harbour, the stunning dives on the coral reef, the squeaky white silicone beaches of the Whitsunday Islands, the 'Extreeeeeeeeeeeme' 4WD off-roading on Fraser Island, or even the 'laid-back charm' of Byron Bay without making it sound like some kind of trial. Suffice to say that that we're following an incredibly well-worn backpacker's route doing stuff that's been done a million times a year for the last 30 years by overprivileged/lottery-winning (*delete as appropriate) 18-year-old Brits, Dutch, Scandos, Israelis and so on. It is popular for VERY good reasons, but we'll leave that for another day...

After a few weeks' travelling down the coast in the company of the very lovely Sharon (aka Shaz Bag / Jazz Mag / Jam Rag to her mates), we have finally arrived in the hippy-haven of Byron Bay. With the excitement of Christmas (and the hazy memory of Barney's birthday celebrations) building, we have achieved our aim of MEETING UP WITH CARL AND ANNA! Yes, the chunky Simian one and his Polish POW companion - together with their schizophrenic 1970s campervan Toby/Fortuna - have coughed, spluttered and involuntarily offroaded their way 21,000 kms around some of the most underpopulated parts of the world from Western Australia right up to Byron, the most easterly point in Australia just to meet us (or so they tell us). The adventures have begun, but there is more to come... (not least of which another savage indictment of Aussie grammatical abuses.)


I can just sense your palpable excitement as you read this, and can almost hear your eager voice shouting out 'tell us what you're planning for Christmas', topped only by the subsequent squeal of 'Oh, pleeeease!'. Well, in the altruistic name of making YOU happy - and for no other reason - I shall hereunder impart our festive plans for the Yuletide Period:

Yule love it

• 23rd Dec: Last-minute Christmas shopping (the first minute was weeks ago). Meet up with Anna's 3 chums and spend the evening booze-dodging.


• 24th Dec: Trip to Woolworths (no apostrophe), which is a supermarket over here, and buy some kind of Turkeytron. Barney and Claire move from dorm-beds to posh motel room, complete with en-suite bathroom, balcony, TV, kitchenette, washing and drying machines and room to go 'Christm..ental' Reunion with the smashing Shaz Bag and boyfriend Mark.


• 25th Dec: Celebration of the birth of our Lord J.C. and exchange of gifts of gold, frankincense and 'mirth', mate. All washed down with a couple of glasses of champagne and perhaps some 'boogie-boarding' at the beach. In temperatures of 30c+, naturally. Perhaps some community-spirited Carol-singing in the evening. (Like, yeah).


• 26th Dec: Going en masse to see 'Lord of the Rings' ('but I thought that was YOU Barney' - I hear you scream).


• 27th Dec: Chartering a boat for the nine of us and heading out to do a couple of bargain bucket scuba-dives on a nearby reef. And, Gawd bless 'em, they're even replenishing our scruffy clothes stocks by throwing in a couple of T-shirts.



It is - quite lidderally - a hard life. Let us know what you're up to in the guestbook, and rest assured we are thinking of and missing you all. Some of the luckier ones will be receiving a call to remind you of your duty to remember the sacrifices of the Lord at this Christ-mungous time of year. Don't forget there'll be 6 more months of adventure to keep you on the edge of your collective seat next year, so keep checking the site. That's all for now. Merry Christmas and a lidderally smashing New Year.
:: Barney 3:47 AM [+] ::
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Australia

A brief grammatical interlude

Australia is the apostrophe-police's nirvana:
There are no apostrophes, with the exception of plurals (tomatoe's; beer's) and 'it's' ( but only in the sense of 'belonging to it'), which does have one. This is the only explanation of how a 'backpackers' can be a hostel, and how one tour operator can boast 'Magnetic Islands Best Bushwalking'. And, perhaps more irritatingly, every day (in its non-adjectival application) seems to have become one word: 'We sell fresh bread everyday'.

I could go on... In fact I might at a later date.
:: Barney 9:00 AM [+] ::
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Hong Kong

On 25th November we arrived in wintry Hong Kong - land of views and shopping. It wasn't the most successful part of our trip, not least because we spent more moola in three days than in three weeks in South East Asia, but also because Barney contracted a rather nasty upper body rash (see photographic evidence). A Chinese doctor took great delight in diagnosing it as 'suspected chicken pox' then sending me away with a cocktail of expensive drugs and a reassuring word or two ('It's very serious in adults'). Luckily, it turned out to be nothing more than a painful irritation and cleared up after a few days in Oz.

The Hong Kong 'Special Administration Region of China' (catchy name...) consists of Hong Kong Island (plus a few outlying islands, one of which houses the airport), and the mainland peninsula of Kowloon. The only available budget accommodation on our first two nights was the YHA-cum-detention centre on top of a remote hill, accessible only by the infrequent and inconvenient minibus service. Dorms were labyrinthine and single-sex, with lights-out at 11pm on the dot. The warders threw scraps of mouldy bread through a hatch in the door for breakfast, and male-female reunions were allowed by telephone through reinforced glass screens, between the hours of 6.15 and 6.20am only. While Claire endured a howling gale through the open window in the girls' cell, Barney scratched himself nervously to sleep, anxious and fearful of Mr Big in the bunk above who snored - and looked - much like an axe-murderer.

Most of Hong Kong Island is covered with high-rise banks, and walking through the streets is reminiscent of the City of London, with blokes in suits yelling 'buy', 'sell', and 'I'm in the library' into their mobile phones. The weather wasn't much of an improvement on London either. We were forced to wear such remnants of the past as trousers and socks, and even bought new jumpers to beat the chills. The highlight were the 'mid-level' escalators, the world's longest covered outdoor escalators (just ask Norris McWhirter), which take commuters from the bayside Central Business District up to the residential district, on the steep hills behind. In the morning the escalators go downhill and in the evening uphill, but there are as many tourists as business folk, as the 25-minute ride takes you through some charming back-streets, past trendy restaurants, bars and tourist tat-shops. The best views (and the ultimate in tourist tat) were to be had from the top of Victoria Point, 800 metres above sea-level at the top of a funicular railway. We had a meal by a window which looked over what must be one of the most recognisable night-time harbour views anywhere in the world. As we huddled with the other tourists on the viewing platform and failed to do the views justice with our camera, we were left truly breathless.

On our last afternoon we dicovered Kowloon, and our opinion of Hong Kong crept up another notch or two. This was much closer to what we'd expected: narrow neon-filled alleyways with tiny Chinese women selling everything from instantaneous laundry services, to fish-in-a-jar, and moody men hawking up mega-loogies into every available street corner and rubbish bin. We walked through the bird market, where more shouty men gather to talk business and buy birds of paradise in miniscule cages. In every street were 'hotel' rooms with hourly rates proudly posted outside. We managed to find a lovely little guesthouse (mercifully available by the night) with air-con, TV and en-suite bathroom, which made the R+R process that little bit easier. The only disappointment came when we decided to try out an 'authentic' Chinese restaurant away from the tourist hordes, and ended up eating bowls of sloppy MSG and tasteless boiled rice. I thought they reserved that for the less discerning European market. Apparently not...

What Hong Kong lacked in charm it amply made up for in stupid brand-names. Throughout South East Asia we were tickled by such plagiarised gems as Pop Song's (copied from Po Seng's) Bathroom Equipment, but HK topped the lot. From the shower units in the YHA made by German Fool Bathroom Appliances to the sensational Schindler's Lifts in the second place we stayed, we were never disappointed.

We don't feel any urge to return to Hong Kong, but we're still chuffed to have ticked it off the list, and it made an excellent 'de-compression chamber' on our return to (relative) civilisation in Australia. And thanks to events in Bali and an involuntary route-change, it cost us nothing to get there...
:: Barney 8:38 AM [+] ::
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