Welcome to Taupo

Ok.

There's only one way we're really getting out of this plane.

This plane is small and the three instructors plus students strapped in makes for cramped conditions. I'm up here with Stray compatriots, Ian (see the Cicada incident) and Charlotte, a Dane.

5,000 ft. Put your hat and goggles on.

It's 6:30 pm in the evening and we are about to jump out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft.

It's ok though, Peter, my instructor from Hungary has told me what to do.

Be the Banana. And then when he taps you on the arm, spread your arms like him.

10,000 ft.

I'm preaching zen and acceptance to myself.

This is an inherently safe activity. Ok, so we saw them packing parachutes in the Hangar and that was a bit freaky but...

12,000 ft.

Lip of the plane baby.

And we're out the door.

45 seconds of freefalling over Lake Taupo.

It's incredible, you see the ground rushing to meet you. The plane and sanctuary are long gone.

You do some spirals but mostly it's the view that's just amazing. It's a really clear sunny day and I'm falling out of the sky.

At 5,000 ft, Peter pulls the ripcord and thankfully the chute extends. The force it wrenches you up with is incredible but you slow down impressively.

Nothing left for it but to sail on down and hold your stomach as Peter practises big swerves and turns.

"Welcome to Taupo", he says.

Welcome to Taupo indeed.

Whitewater

"It's just hit the two hundreds!"

Ok. That means the river is at the lowest point when we can actually go rafting Kaituna River and the 7m drop over Tutea Falls.

Great.

It'll just be more gnarly.

It's a grade five course which is pretty gnarly already.

Let's just put it this way.

You get wet.

But we said our Maori prayers, paid respect to the river and threw the Silver Fern into the water. It landed on the greenside which meant that luck was on our side and sure enough we didn't capsize after the falls.

Which the other boat did.

Then we got out of the boat and slid down some falls solo.

But this was but the start of a very big day.

Cicadas & The Carling Cup Final

Ok.

So we were staying in Raglan up at the Kaori lodge and I realised that the Cup Final was going to be on in the morning.

Sky Sports 2, 4am, Manchester Utd Vs Wigan Athletic.

Sweet as Bro'

So we had some fun on the flying fox in the dark. Basically a big zip line that goes downhill for about 50 metres. In the dark and with a few drinks it becomes an experience.

Then we saw some glow worms hiding out in the bushes, the whole area is famous for them as the Waitomo caves are close by to Raglan.

So the party was just getting started really but I wanted to be up for the match and the bus in the morning (believe me, Team Canada were not pretty in the morning) so me and Juha, my Finnish mate, had a couple of beers and chatted with the hostel workers out on the porch.

Up at 4am.

Kitchen empty.

Cool. Flicked on the TV, got the match, cracked a beer. Rooney scored after half an hour.

There's a big fly.

Right. He's a little too big and is making big noise whacking off the fluorescents, I can't knock them off because then he just goes for the TV.

Bang. Dead.

Half time.

There's another bugger. These guys are real big.

Hold on, there's more.

5, 10, 20, 50, 100. Hell, the kitchen is covered. The noise is deafening, these buggers live in the trees and make this buzzing that turns into a mighty roar in the am.

The porch is absolutely infested. It's plague of the cicadas! I checked out the small communal kitchen and it was the same story there. I dropped the rubbish and retired to the sanctuary of bed.

Close the door, hop in.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Strong language was used.

A friggin' cicada in the bed sure enough. I hopped out and flicked on the torch. Ian, the Englishman in the other lower bunk woke up and observed the scene. That's a big ass bug dude. It is sure enough.

Right. I usually use the Rough Guide to Venezuela in situations like this but I only have my Latin American Spanish book handy so it'll have to do.

The bugger wouldn't move so I had to nail him on the sheet.

The cleaner who opened that sheet was in for a nasty surprise.

Sweet As Aotearoa

The Kiwis have a saying.

And they can't stop saying it.

"Sweet as"

"Sweet as Bro'"

They literally can't get enough of this phrase. Even more ubiquitous than the 'Stralian "No worries" or "Awesome", it's pretty bizarre.

Anyway, New Zealand is big country. Travelling around on the Stray Bus you look out the window and see green, green, green. Get off the beaten track and you're into Geothermal pools and rivers on the North Island. Every night we seem to stay on the side of extinct or sometimes active volcanoes.

New Zealand is also in Tsunami country and sitting right atop a major faultine, Wellington is supposedly due a big one definitely in the next 95 years. Where did they come up with that number from? That's like saying it will definitely rain sometime in the future.

Accommodation has been mostly cool (apart from AN INCIDENT) and the activities that Stray organise are sweet. I'll update you on what I've thrown myself out of in seperate posts.

New Zealand is all about the extremes though. Push the envelope etc. They're not big on the social commentary here despite incidents like The Rainbow Warrior and Nuclear testing in the Pacific but if they're talking politics that's pretty much what interests them most.

Still, it's not hard to fathom the reasons for this.

Head to Cathedral Cove at Hahei Beach on the North Island and you soon forget about the rest of the world.

Traveller Wisdom 1

"The peoples of the earth are islands," said the late Clement Atlee,
"shouting at each other over oceans of misunderstanding."

Wellington Welcome

Twas off to the land of the civilised for a few days. Catching up with old friends and seeing how life was treating them.

Wellington aswell as being the official capital of New Zealand is also the cultural capital and there is nothing more pleasant than a stroll down Cuba Street and seeing that Goths are still on the go.

It was great to bed down somewhere respectable after Cairns and The Asylum. You only miss things when they're gone, like cleanliness for example.

Island Bay is where Esther and Jarlath live and it's a picturesque if spectacularly quiet spot but life and Wellington are only a 20 minute bus ride away.

So I took some time out and got my plan together and then it was off again on the Friday.

It was time to stray again...

The Great Barrier

"Oh shit!"

Those were the words that Steve Irwin lookalike, a kiwi called Ian, who was supervising the back of the boat, greeted the news that my weight belt was slipping as we spoke, slowly down my legs en route to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Submerged in the Pacific ocean, I had left the sanctuary of the boat and was now dicing with reef shark and jellyfish and 20 kgs of pack and compressed air on my back.

I made my way to the back of the boat and hauled myself out. Belt readjusted we plunged yet again, to join the other three divers and "Ryo", our instructor.

Snorkellers everywhere and jellyfish!

Form that seal over the breathing apparataus!

Can't do it!

Saltwater coming on board at a rapid rate and increasingly rushed breathing.

At this rate, it was better to let the group go because I was clearly holding the show up.

Forming that seal over the mask is really tough and when you are just taking onboard water with each breath at a depth of a couple of feet, the same situation at 6-7 metres is clearly not going to be tenable.

All in all, my scuba diving experience lasted about ten minutes at pretty unimpressive depth.

No excuses but this was a sink or swim one day experience, a four day course for someone who hasn't been in the ocean for the best part of ten years is probably the way to go.

But I came to the reef and I got wet and I'm glad I took the plunge.

I settled for some snorkelling and the glass bottomed boat after the initial effects of the exciting debacle had worn off.

I spent the three hour trip back to the mainland, the reef is about thirty nautical miles from Cairns, in the company of Mick and Tracy, genuine Australians from Melbourne and chatted sport and life.

Good times, good people.

But all so very temporary. So very temporary.

You've traded companionship for freedom.

Cairns Cucaracha

At one in the am when you've just retreated from the Karaoke bar (and a frightful version of "Livin' On A Prayer") the last thing you need to see is La Cucaracha flying down the wall of your room.

These buggers are fast and this one eluded me.

The Hostel, "The Asylum", was living up to it's reputation.

You don't have to be crazy to stay here but it certainly helps.

The room number is seven. Anna, co-owner of this joint, reckons it's seventh heaven because it's just across from the kitchen. Yeah, that's what the cockroachs are thinking no doubt.

Anyway, the amazing insect life is just part of the makeup of the tropical location of Cairns. This is the end of the line for backpackers coming up the coast and many of The Asylum's "inmates" are here simply because they've run out of money.

They're either waiting to go to Asia or they are waiting to head home. The reef dominates everything of course but there is rainforest just on the doorstep and the place appears to be a popular tourist stop for the Japanese. My flight from Sydney was actually carrying on to Tokyo.

I'll detail my experience with the reef in a seperate entry, so I'll just talk Cairns style for the minute. It's a small town that comes alive during the week and dies at the weekend, the nightlife is like a poor man's Ibiza, the local cattle-marts advertise Wet T-Shirt contests and Pole Dancing shows. Thankfully I've found a home in Johno's Blues Bar where myself and Michael, a laidback swiss dude who joined me on the reef experience, recovered from the day's activities. We were joined by Yann, a Norwegian Asylum inmate, chief party animal and leader of the pack for the Karaoke. And a fresh arrival, Samuel, from Italy.

Anyway, strolling around Cairns there is a heavy segregation of tourists from locals and then the aboriginal population from everyone else. It's bizarre and slightly disturbing to see.

The weather is what you would expect for the tropics. A steady 25 to 30 celsius everyday and not becoming much cooler at night. No wind and just the odd shower, I only saw rain Thursday night but I was thankful for it. Air conditioning for all the shops and stores is absolutely essential.

I'll come back to Cairns, or rather the reef, but I think a live aboard stay on one of the boats is really the only option.

There's really not that much to see here.

Move along.

Irish Backpackers Go Home

"That will kill you..."

Jim has a St. Andrew's spider living in his porch and as far as I knew he was right. (Of course he wasn't.) But when you're just finished about thirty hours of airport-airplane-airport-airplane living you just want bed.

It's also Australia of course, home to some of the world's most venomous critters, so that whole look at every corner of the room is most definitely going on. But you ease into it quick enough.

For this is also the land of "manana" and "no worries". And the relaxed attitude of the locals extends to such complications.

But there is a creeping tension here. Red, Jim's Australian housemate warns of a backlash and a growing resentment to Backpackers, Irish in particular, who are all pervasive in Sydney on their constant search for "kicks".

True enough on a stroll through Bondi with Jim on Sunday, "County Bondi" as it's affectionately and somewhat self-deprecatingly referred to, we encountered a sign professionally rendered advising the community to organise against the Backpacker's invasion.

Bizarre considering alot of the Australian economy is built around the backpacking phenemenon but the growing resentment is given force by the recent incidents between Australians and Lebanese immigrants on Bondi beach itself.

So clearly some people are pissed off.

There is a certain tendency for these ex-pat communities to become closed circles and this doesn't aid the situation. Indeed, the identity craze is such that my being the only Dubliner amongst a group that featured Waterford, Cork, Mayo and Sligo was a source of much remark. If people take on that siege mentality in such a closeted space as Ireland and transfer it direct to Australia then one can only wonder at the impact on the locals.

But these were good people and they are a good group. And that's why a good time was had. Too damn good.

I can't divulge details for fear of damage to people's personal and professional reputations but on our search for "kicks" like Kerouac's "On the Road", we were Dean Moriarty bar-hopping across San Francisco, running from cafe to cafe looking for cats blowing jazz, but in this instance we swapped the jazz for techno and old skool hip-hop.

This was a bad thing and a terrible example to children.

For it lead to me skate-boarding down King's Cross, Sydney at 8:30am in the morning in the company of Nathan, an Australian who was spinning hip-hop the night beforehand and who had then taken an ever-decreasing circle on a tour of Newtown, King's Cross and it's assorted delights.

Finally having dealt with the aftermath of the day, we retreated to Bondi for the evening whereupon Jim proceeded to breakout the decks to treat the neighbours to some quality mixing featuring New Order and Faith No More.

So all in all, not much TOURISM took place at all in Sydney. I mentally calculated that it would be absolutely impossible to hit the Bridge Climb because my blood alcohol levels would never reach the point where such a thing could be legally permitted. General impressions were the Opera House is a distinctly unimpressive structure up close but Manly Cove and Bondi sport excellent beaches. I finally settled for a trip out to Taronga Zoo, a trip across the Harbour Bridge and up one of the towers. Good enough.

Say goodbye Sydney.

Good morning Cairns.

Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy, doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange,
Surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go...

People asking questions lost in confusion,
Well I tell them there's no problem,
Only solutions,
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind,
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time,

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go...

Not in Kansas Anymore Toto.

Welcome to Cairns.

The Asylum Hostel is replete with everything you'd expect from a Hostel in a borderline Tropics location. We're just a stone's throw from both the Equator and the International Dateline.

Snorkeling / Scuba Diving and Good Fishing are most definitely on.

So is a bedbugs infestation.

More later. It's Karaoke night.

Valentine's Day

Who loves ya Baby?

Good question Kojak!

Conveniently Narrow Travelling Companion Sought

Hello from upsidedownland.

Ok.

So we ended up going through Singapore instead of Bangkok so that was shock number one.

Then, the immense girth of my fellow passenger, 53i, at the back of the bus made a number of things impossible for 12 and a half hours.

- A straight back, as she immediately encroached on half of my physical space

- Easy access to the channel remote (tho' I still managed through surreptitious lifting of her arm to watch: The Island (Ewan McGregor & Scarlett Johanssen) 3.5/5; North Country (Charlize Theron) 3/5; Weatherman (Nicholas Cage) 3/5 & Elisabethtown (Kirsten Dunst & Orlando Bloom) 4/5*

*An extra point purely for the as ever charmant Kirsten!

Anyway. Extremely round individual swapped seats in Singapore and I got that conveniently narrow travelling companion much sought after for the remaining seven hours and managed to grab a few zs. I may investigate sleeping tablets for the Sydney - Santiago leg!!!

Big update post to follow regarding adventures in Australia (when I've had some & observations from Jim's couch which I'm sleeping on in Bondi).

Receptionist Revised

Just had to post this bit of backstory to make sure that reporting is balanced.

The Receptionist (see earlier) who gave me the blank look of incomprehensibility regarding the visit to the Palach grave was actually giving me a stunned look of shock.

When I got back to the hotel (later that day) we chatted about the whole thing. Did you ever see that scene in Wayne's World where they go to do a piece on the radio and Drew Barrymore is a Swedish receptionist. Wayne impresses her with his knowledge of the Swedish textile industry or something... If you remember the rest of that scene, it was a bit like that...

I'll have to post more reflections on Praha soon.

The Only Living Boy in Prague

... Hell, we were nearly in Dresden. So it goes.

The captain came on to announce about an hour into the flight that our chances were 50-50 thanks to fog. Some start, I hadn't been expecting to take in Yossarian's Dresden but as the minutes ticked by I was getting quite comfortable with the thought. I started to make a mental list of things that would go wrong on this trip at some point and funnily enough, diversion due to weather was pretty high on that list. Checking it off this early would be a bit ridiculous but so it goes.

We managed to get in however, the peculiarly Irish custom of raucous clapping when the plane came to a halt was suffered and once we got a 'follow me' car to find the terminal we were off.

Greetings to one and all and welcome to update number one of this wonderful journey that is being brought to you from lovely downtown Prague and an inscrutable czech keyboard.

Accommodation is good, the 'best room in the hotel' according to Otto the night porter (not his real name, I just made it up), well if this is the best room then I'd hate to see the ... You get the picture. But clean, functional and now that the english stag party have left, pretty hospitable.

The taxi ride into the hotel complete with fog, icy roads and maniac driver all lent the start of the trip proper an authentic kind of eerie atmosphere.

Then to really get the pulses racing I set about negotiating Prague by night. First off I made it to Wencelas Square and the National Museum. The cross in the ground signifying the position where Jan Palach had lain prostrate in 1969, his body having been ravaged by flames of his own creation gave me my first death tourism success. Buoyed by this I continued on, found Old Town Square and the Astronomical clock and proceeded to have a hell of a time trying to find a certain pub, which is now my favourite watering hole. The Marquis De Sade. But it eluded me on that first night and as the fog closed in and midnight approached I took sanctuary in an overpriced Irish Pub on the corner of the Old Square safe from the clutches of the strange men who stand in the freezing cold all night long to bring you to Strip Clubs.

Then the first reverse!

Man Utd lost to Blackburn.

I've had, to a degree, my fill of Prague at this point. Obligatory sights such as The Castle, Charle's Bridge have been done but it's a magnificent city just to stroll around in, particularly in the snow. I'm going to take the memory of the snow flurry I watched from the Riverbank looking across at Charle's Bridge as something special from this trip.

I've enjoyed augmenting the usual sights with my own personal interest and that's taken me to Namesti Jana Palacha and the Rudolfinium to see the death mask that was made of Palach as he lay in the mortuary. The Museum of Communism was an experience, despite the particular slant given to the exhibition thanks to it's American patron, and the Revolution Walk this morning was again a highlight.

I then took my death tourism to it's ultimate zenith or final nadir, depending upon how you look at it and took a trip to Olsany Cemetary this afternoon to visit the grave site of Jana Palacha. It's not hard to locate but easy to miss in what is a spectacular locale. Olsany, under a carpet of snow has all the same feel of Pere LaChaise in Paris but with only incomprehensible czech instructions as a guide. Nevertheless, I persevered and found it after an hour. Spending a moment in silent contemplation of this man's desperate act at the age of 21, this act of protest against the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 that was designed to awaken a kernel of strength in the nation and which came to ultimate fruition in the Velvet Revolution and 1989, I was approached by an aged czech woman.

She spoke to me briefly in a sad voice gesturing at the grave, I explained to her as best I could that I had no czech but that didn't deter her. Finally she left. And I was alone with my thoughts once again.

It's full of contradictions Prague, you can sense that the rush to the free market has left a somewhat bitter taste and the explosion of strip clubs and english stag parties is not something the older people counted on. Mira, the guide from the Revolution Walk, tells us that her children don't want to travel. She never had their freedom but the children can't see that opportunity for what it is worth. Repression bred great culture, rock, art and music underground and there it thrived. Now driven overground and kidnapped by capitalism it's been subverted into something else. A town sqaure of KFCs and crass commercialism where great sacrifices both personal and national once took place. Now mere footnotes that are more often than not glossed over.

I was asking the receptionist about trams for Olsany Cemetary this morning. 'Why? What is there?' I mentioned Palach and the look she gave me was one of incomprehensibility. The new generation of Czechs and Slovaks seemingly enjoyed a velvet divorce from their own history.

Random thoughts:

- My czech factor is quite high, plenty of people have assumed I'm czech though there was a Dutch and an American thrown in there.

- Nobody I speak to for any significant period turns out to be czech, usually they are slovaks. Mental note to check Bratislava for evidence of same phenomenon.

Here I am.

The Only Living Boy in Prague.

And tomorrow, we punch the sky.

The Prague Spring...

And we're off.