tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28634319540863609932024-03-19T02:01:42.699-07:00Tami Goes WalkaboutTami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-35490767125502326472007-10-02T19:48:00.000-07:002007-10-22T02:55:22.700-07:00One Last Post - catching up on months past<div align="center">I haven't updated this in ages. I'm sorry to have been so slack. Mike rightly pointed out the dodgy quality of the last post, but it seems I've had far too good a time in the last few months to take the time out to update this quite so thoroughly. And, yet again, I'm too busy to transcribe my travel diary ("at 1:06pm I had lunch, then at 1:24pm I went for a walk..."), so here are more photos. Fill in the blanks yourselves. :) </div><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Edinburgh</span></strong></div><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO64O-zO7R53FUYYl2mqXsJtWwpAZ5ziSqeumXxVLyEWijOfH8BaFGs6I3SJWjXnrlVEq2M8MMFzyaEVVXUaaa_-RH6wb4d4JgL1wOo09Tt9fcJGdwCcBt8bODpyzFiaZNLVUHxPK2S3FY/s1600-h/DSCN6292.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123758632290816866" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO64O-zO7R53FUYYl2mqXsJtWwpAZ5ziSqeumXxVLyEWijOfH8BaFGs6I3SJWjXnrlVEq2M8MMFzyaEVVXUaaa_-RH6wb4d4JgL1wOo09Tt9fcJGdwCcBt8bODpyzFiaZNLVUHxPK2S3FY/s320/DSCN6292.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p align="center">[the best busker at the Fringe]</p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123744003632206130" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xJhZKHKItiWfF3AzA63XK3DGG-JIK7vlI-bdIpjj93mm8EdlSweF7ZjIkZvrExKRk1iI1Zjr4ayPGg_eiL-1i1SbsMWbvHps2g27XU8YbAquT7dnzZN7ZCE7mPJj16TbrTbGAn0M3LaZ/s320/DSCN6288.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><p align="center">[me and Kae outside "Chocolate Soup" in Edinburgh... highly recommended!]<br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Belfast </strong><br /></span></div><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123741645695160610" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRD1iBO8vPkeuOwsVm-h06LenXiphTndqq6XEjW5PsCzONRRGRhGH2AUdkFMaRM3DUX8rDdrrnFDhuRCMzCmWZQ8n1y9Y5Jvs9Rr4HewgwOxXZ-Tlw0M9f3JhBXxh1KRSJh2vDR9zK5DI/s320/DSCN6296.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The murals in Belfast. You can't really see it when the picture's so small, but the blue mural says "Stop that crazy son of a Bush." I like it!]</p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123741637105226002" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY768bQbuLPPpIY-rc4yagoxEHZh_A6fb_eRa98DijymT-FEAkmwL_Ed3SRoS_VNBdJVXQW3JI6VHrpl7WXB5CbzK745fIONtxuysFQSUbjlvKb1HzUYGG76f1ZccMeXjqGkgDQhcQTeVd/s320/DSCN6304.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123741632810258690" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VILdR6r6Q6aWJ_eebCt3wmI4rpRJY0Mj6h_cCpSpBL8A13DhUvF4ZgeN7C7Amvq7rxHymBZesU3nTmEgTJtI5bPmX04X4LK6S7lvUAC2XDNQtKVmFQSIXPLotNUrar7qr51q8xti5oET/s320/DSCN6319.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">[The Commitments in Bangor. <em>"Mustang Sally,"</em> anyone?]<br /></p><br /><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Dublin </span></strong></p><br /><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123741628515291378" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitxy9tUpvygUcXom_XNtMFGmCG1wrSm0E5EcojTvmOALX0jzwzFrbI5zDG4T3bVZ5TFHHxNTy6URlLeo1x2Y37st0wnZx3n9oRejAXAygwUeHEKVEu1tX3f9ECyyeiGga8pyibWzDljA3U/s320/DSCN6329.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><br /><p align="center">[The Garden of Remembrance, for those who've lost their lives for the cause of Irish independence.]</p><br /><br /><p align="center"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId2aq7_ZyoMqm7toEZwdkDBD5djPY_XtOKANZ7MOfke9Ev_5M3CWQ-8A8lE7gHSMq7p3-TM2b7uxAmwS8fPC_9hHYFq_6zSzLdBPkV9dahis7UVZAfS3MQR7WtubqDvlTfx326XuyOHu-/s1600-h/DSCN6356.JPG"><br /></a></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId2aq7_ZyoMqm7toEZwdkDBD5djPY_XtOKANZ7MOfke9Ev_5M3CWQ-8A8lE7gHSMq7p3-TM2b7uxAmwS8fPC_9hHYFq_6zSzLdBPkV9dahis7UVZAfS3MQR7WtubqDvlTfx326XuyOHu-/s1600-h/DSCN6356.JPG"><br /><br /></a><p align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId2aq7_ZyoMqm7toEZwdkDBD5djPY_XtOKANZ7MOfke9Ev_5M3CWQ-8A8lE7gHSMq7p3-TM2b7uxAmwS8fPC_9hHYFq_6zSzLdBPkV9dahis7UVZAfS3MQR7WtubqDvlTfx326XuyOHu-/s1600-h/DSCN6356.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123757691692978962" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhId2aq7_ZyoMqm7toEZwdkDBD5djPY_XtOKANZ7MOfke9Ev_5M3CWQ-8A8lE7gHSMq7p3-TM2b7uxAmwS8fPC_9hHYFq_6zSzLdBPkV9dahis7UVZAfS3MQR7WtubqDvlTfx326XuyOHu-/s320/DSCN6356.JPG" border="0" /></a>[O'Connell Street] </p><br /><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123741619925356770" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFGrVTlmvxy0fyXBk-K4QbQBPmmxR06h4RUZ8Xrj-HQgSY8l2Gsv4jmbzzexn_T7L70YFBPUcEoeSzRsbNDbH8HmSDiXHmDNbXvuxAqbgDmWA8FSbEbNJIPf6aaZsbHM8UssK4GV2y7Qq/s320/DSCN6344.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoB0MbXOvqD4Z4GZT3CY8IGeHLEBl5TfGEiaxWb8C9OedxyNnLzfiY8122DmmGgDWjt68lR8R-brG_rck5ciqQnoPVehQ6EA0WGVnvd-8u1qc2ZD-CzaJm0zG_tqbiziTUf_2ae5JRtf8j/s1600-h/DSCN6350.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123757700282913570" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoB0MbXOvqD4Z4GZT3CY8IGeHLEBl5TfGEiaxWb8C9OedxyNnLzfiY8122DmmGgDWjt68lR8R-brG_rck5ciqQnoPVehQ6EA0WGVnvd-8u1qc2ZD-CzaJm0zG_tqbiziTUf_2ae5JRtf8j/s320/DSCN6350.JPG" border="0" /></a> [the old Jameson Distillery]</div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG1DDXKyFicRDtInnAZnG2FtFoF6b7vx3eHe3-o0f9s1PHGxPC2kMilTI35O-KpB1hmBI0ZuOMqD1cMNpzy4MUcG-CRPVvYfuOWt40i-yxBUZ8VNAaI3qzop_LhgGS2oBiXer5hD6tBMm/s1600-h/DSCN6347.JPG"><br /><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG1DDXKyFicRDtInnAZnG2FtFoF6b7vx3eHe3-o0f9s1PHGxPC2kMilTI35O-KpB1hmBI0ZuOMqD1cMNpzy4MUcG-CRPVvYfuOWt40i-yxBUZ8VNAaI3qzop_LhgGS2oBiXer5hD6tBMm/s1600-h/DSCN6347.JPG"><br /><br /></a><p align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG1DDXKyFicRDtInnAZnG2FtFoF6b7vx3eHe3-o0f9s1PHGxPC2kMilTI35O-KpB1hmBI0ZuOMqD1cMNpzy4MUcG-CRPVvYfuOWt40i-yxBUZ8VNAaI3qzop_LhgGS2oBiXer5hD6tBMm/s1600-h/DSCN6347.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123757704577880882" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG1DDXKyFicRDtInnAZnG2FtFoF6b7vx3eHe3-o0f9s1PHGxPC2kMilTI35O-KpB1hmBI0ZuOMqD1cMNpzy4MUcG-CRPVvYfuOWt40i-yxBUZ8VNAaI3qzop_LhgGS2oBiXer5hD6tBMm/s320/DSCN6347.JPG" border="0" /></a>[the Liffey] </p><br /><br /><p><br /></p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123753087488037554" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMWmjU7IglzIWVzNv6_B92KtLX2NvwCV-LwPU7p7ZMBD8i1hJbQcE7iM3oyHgje_eYLCRXWPHNqNmHz-3AqvRRyIFyZSr4zFCZsP5QvyPW49QwHxBcZoNEsN806gL-iX54WrKsdX9_PU1/s320/DSCN6373.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><br /><p align="center">[Guinness and Irish music... had to be done]</p><br /><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123740477464056018" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvWULYvKUrZfyJkbCPd32Icr6Jv9zQLjaUMsc1LBe9KhgPbMpExvCwaPKUtxk9bdAg-Gh35RHlmVyoLxBW4m9YOvPjt_XPc0EEuV2ToP5h62Sov1N9GmPEYVTBYUlN7jl9WwDZTu69GCG/s320/DSCN6371.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">[Temple Bar]<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Oslo<br /></strong></span></div><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123753083193070242" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS215ScUa-gFYRqKhCChcLVkz9bp3pONG6OBohJzRBMiNLSD-gbRLIqGFp-MBuBYZP5OiK9hyAP6CCrdI241MDlEperKakW0owOjiPoY_pFJMacK2GpAUomnYxZvACaXXf9kJ57Jot2Eo-/s320/DSCN6395.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[the Palace]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123738793836875842" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAgGi-UoSoMFWPkJKLSNagqmKbYdY7v0wWk3MjyVBuY9zsYYbdJRI4GBmDmN0m7oXs8DpOi3sXVLLihKXhzcontzpUY23EWr_d1vq8ENI6Fm7XG1z-zorgiTcDx40vcu9rJwMfFoEw6R7/s320/DSCN6402.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The sculptures of Gustav Vigeland in Frogner Park - just amazing]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123753048833331858" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj12FuqDOrxSAD3uQ6YFTPpCwX1cOLVYCc0fgV6MdsNGe6LiAiAUdpP9PBhKrPNtfvw-2Bn_ZRWvIbXykjWFclTksT542saiBOAdA83X-fweMimhJg9Xr4hyphenhyphenGQ4JAyEzxiMNQV6aP3ez8v/s320/DSCN6409.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123753044538364546" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgXAgoZ58kWU3YMBeke0mfC7umXRdoWQpMWEnJbfltv0B9jhu2upS3V7O7rmuUAxqW9PUhDz06e7FJQyX62uxtFWn6zWML4YFZIssOhYQhfOWgA_dQbQ1VPFLAidyPz6aUw1RPWW5rsZf/s320/DSCN6416.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVC2ky3G_BqVUfoSdK9JYy7dNJQF1zGEK1AvLw97rKQZuNJM3-lGIeDaH_i2_MGwmxiiaMBu2YNEXInsk2S8r47OA2ifOrST7qYLZLoZrzn1rz7IBKAn4HPsoHKINH1Q0eX_i_4kSgsNs/s1600-h/DSCN6431.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123753040243397234" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVC2ky3G_BqVUfoSdK9JYy7dNJQF1zGEK1AvLw97rKQZuNJM3-lGIeDaH_i2_MGwmxiiaMBu2YNEXInsk2S8r47OA2ifOrST7qYLZLoZrzn1rz7IBKAn4HPsoHKINH1Q0eX_i_4kSgsNs/s320/DSCN6431.JPG" border="0" /><br /></a><p align="center">[The model in the window of the Mini Bottle Gallery - I kid you not.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Paris (take 3)</span></strong><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123737037195251746" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-797z_dq-NNxWUrISsZwD6zSdRPp3gHeWN9fhel7MnVnwTOBQLK57Kv4pO80dJx1IYQXnKrZ6H7S_lQfH3PMlCSDLgzFuA380cDRzO3CKf0F-FrOxWgGGN-pxbGU63_ApVFu5sszT2JOF/s320/DSCN6439.JPG" border="0" /> [Needless to say I got lost... again. I took lots of photos at the Picasso Gallery, but probably shouldn't publish them online.]<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong>Lauterbrunnen</strong></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123737024310349794" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2Z-UKQxm9mbrFXqWbzWM0AdtE4Bmae1v40WYvm8zIYadbXuQflJ3PzaT7EO-jm5U57LJRFPd2yyLHuBC4RmJ8MbTQzUVijfvphyphenhyphen80Sh0Ko7yFjPBiy7hVaGuM0bLywtKczGK1jNO2Wjz/s320/DSCN6512.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[The Jungfraubahn, heading up to Jungfraujoch - the <em>Top of Europe</em>]<br /><br /><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20LGsdg4QI6TkcAAZr5lJWdeqiHDDJ824XjWSUdByR0vGJuOmPb1W0-oeSmq572wF79WreCqkogaCwE2aLNPYabe00WhEN_6zMRJ3y8KU4NGzPK7UpJ6dv_pNqgR8SdVULvDs3jQDEBs/s1600-h/DSCN6487.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123737028605317122" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20LGsdg4QI6TkcAAZr5lJWdeqiHDDJ824XjWSUdByR0vGJuOmPb1W0-oeSmq572wF79WreCqkogaCwE2aLNPYabe00WhEN_6zMRJ3y8KU4NGzPK7UpJ6dv_pNqgR8SdVULvDs3jQDEBs/s320/DSCN6487.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p align="center">[Crazy mountain climbers.]<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123751068853408354" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYf2Ll4ofX8uTNZ_kDvPcrfzPUGxAOso10-63w2yZYgENwkD30m8D1DKyGbTTq1jBWc24aGaqkWN-vR0EQjHAF10vwN8soFRxjA9DYGoXbA0MLjLqQ5_lxVhQCn0V8mtdG6chLbnR23thb/s320/DSCN6496.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">[The view from the cafe that we trudged through to snow to visit. I'm going to blame my out-of-breathness on the altitude.]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123676551170821506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVczAdfoin1txUwHp0B_eoa4fbB3GK4Ds75fS7nFqmGXGqja47ucYzKsZ83iFkwlS0419rLag7UxXC_XsaN-PCdwFyE8dQp9JuIh62R1oWv-6NDXgqb6QhzR7RKhcZaTJJSlmlpWXetm0/s320/Bart.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Me, Bart the Snowman and Tim from Melbourne. Tim and I spent two days in Lauterbrunnen walking <em>down </em>hills. We're tough.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123751064558441042" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKatIKhfYHEF_ij5xRft4OJfKzA_YSpXqMYgsgUQzK8bpkvB30nxks3BAqbusZIea4OyeXAFUE5w0ZlVvG22Z0S8i82je_9hbXfyO3mykeTnJlp5NXDV4Ym232TBC5IP8VRVVMRw00yws6/s320/DSCN6504.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Wall of Fame. It was a first and only, but c'mon - I was at the Top of Europe!]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123737015720415170" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDG8nZiLn4X5wmQFZnYBCekVMREIkbK-Czev0yRc5ofx0C-i2wZeg7kb8MZZ3nrp6oSeIXH2zzuZUlcYDJ9ItD3IzpwcLVRP3-TVXQGUf1tGO7THdi5n_ZsNUKFp_7Bb93vAtatAP9Oyo/s320/DSCN6514.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[...as you do.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123737011425447858" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TLnWhkQNm3dGNOz5CrBBd_PzUpr1VUp3mD9C89zAMyxOJcTYEvW5KjkfCtmrSxQcU2TdrXBgtpIzz89w3y_wsP1AGcsmxOPY5_oaQom33R7aSjWikNbwO1zIxSCBqOvmgPZLH9H9hFE/s320/DSCN6516.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Lauterbrunnen. So pretty.]</p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123751055968506434" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2uWVFjWPEvRoRgnyOGfvKcwhVX5Ckiu1JE8MaPWdaD02wKRHPHSXVrsXDHCQcNDHxqo_pHmRVXx-JXOJMV_qaSPWWipsgzmKWzm4MFrzL7eDdSuc0lHfWLABoVnRhRQuRCt98iU1HRWv/s320/DSCN6513.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The second treck downhill, this time accompanied by Simon from Queensland and Chloe from Queanbeyan... and we saw a very lucky cow - what a view!]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123751051673539122" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HhtNM5PwKYa9O-mYed4t_6OP4ryuopjim-nTC6XkAx3Ni5-BwFmMnfh4O0wm8FAiw54aFYM5Pj74kdmLt4uR7OIE64gWmUiy0LHIE2DMy8vUxWPUUXi1xMJnX5pkChZoUXAASwdrN9a0/s320/DSCN6529.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[A shower in a phonebooth. They do things differently in Switzerland, by all accounts.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123751047378571810" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKShm6gi8a9xzd8FD0e6I6f-vCFBPipQwJvzHHFFeS2nAjCpCqnAuyuVnWD3deohrZ1xVpENzqx8VNVxnkTWcYAoe8O5LukTqNb-40UhQp_bdvdVhQhexwuJNV6oecjP_Yog0gcbCS-dy4/s320/DSCN6536.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123750063831061010" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcldT8TiAe73ctAC-YsTQ9wvhZPAOjv9HcJdEmZc-lTxY6ykzJdwBg5k_m-OIM060-us0C8LNLXwN_4RmGDorn71aP0SMh7lNHbVEhDGYT9Wtwzo4OYGHgcJUYrF9hevPGWf8B22OxZGlP/s320/DSCN6544.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Trummelbach falls - the world's biggest interior waterfall. Ridiculous amounts of water were hammering through the mountain every second.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123750059536093698" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCrlBMLuvEA9Lx3zTH-r58c7AXrNpy9oXdGcxZ3MM54lok9IaHHHAcaSGwpri3DxydPTyTdKDM_U_OZ7aXG4UjkXTWfV2D_q_IUESja4t7QKYy29w_YmAEwJK0XmAzzgXJ-JSadQnXM9fq/s320/DSCN6573.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Tim and Simon at Trummelbach]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123736105187348386" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6enzEjp3eb4eLJyLVAP2_UWV20p_J6lnzPzShHUtPkd-9-S0vzBtVE2rv-biR-U4rN7fyW1GiPYTCuB-6Qk5NCrY9IY3f6xQFhOVFAm4zirEHAm-O342123rptaa-hBgNy0WnltUIeQ/s320/DSCN6574.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[On our way back to the campsite...]</p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123750050946159090" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhiahz2yRgkoMORWPF2JjceYW7uywSjZQ8o6soUHKQSVkJX5AP3Usx2pxW_B1dv3WHrDIGVUp2-jwQwMf9_3Bk_YQ61UELuzH56_5EhzyHR4gKh6MrB53r8ovqCCGmCCaaDg6jm0xJWYO/s320/DSCN6576.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[...and the view from the campsite. Isn't it beautiful??]<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Liechtenstein</span></strong></div><br /><p align="center">Some of you may know my obsession with the tiny country that is Liechtenstein. Busabout kindly does an hour-long rest stop in Vaduz, so I got to get my passport stamped. The "Cross Country" run will, unfortunately, have to wait for another day.</p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123676555465788818" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM-0DNJcIPQJOTZyIc3wvyGq-sbpJDRYReKD8k1Z0UfCGZKq_Du6wkTPE-FSTFPa0JLETDnR4ACYjB-jBzc-zhIJwqu1P0x75C-zFatahimccCePv7988vzwq3_wU11kjLlAlIk6tuAA/s320/Liechtenstein.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">[Me, Tim (with one of those mooing toy box things) and Lisa from Brisbane in downtown Vaduz. It went off, clearly.]<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Munich (take 2)</span></strong></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123736100892381074" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-1iMpY1pDX-zn_gIeaRB7tXhXA6v8att6TkXs99PB4V2g0_fyW7ck_uNIA69ZwW3NDlfDgsLXmXh3HZl0etwljN7Kn4hlMd_u0W1Z-Kzzb96o0XvQonxOW356so2uvpYb5oHIw-Jylg/s320/DSCN6580.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">[The things people in the middle of a continent have to resort to in order to surf.]</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123750042356224482" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rZ2gM4xW6Q5gKciHJbbAXO4C-zE9i886KI_mkaANL3YoJUD7zeE3qlhwAWTfvCacPxHaHthexDL8SK4DxURrFYTkPda_aRsiKE5w35PEhs-oQNz3uSQsItQXZsNFpJ8mhcp0lNyuo5SM/s320/DSCN6586.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Devil's Footprint in the Frauenkirche]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123750033766289874" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBsU0vklYeyZiVCwyF1xdfvdi_1FFDGtZRfl6ujvP7BfmS0asmieZD9rt6i94Lb-TeLyk-Jp3uu7SpgNAES0vkf7ht1ddxH1uS_GFifoCMI62UzxhKGL7jU0uiStVnrCjUxjopDvO2Mxt/s320/DSCN6596.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Random monument which, on closer inspection, was written in German and therefore remained random, in the grounds of the Nymphenburg Palace]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123736096597413762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZWHI2PvNgM1Icu8iS_vDNXRcsk7cKcYO8fYzy3_kItOIeUndscHfkVCwdl9M7XdrHybHBH07U9x040zCRmVuuIaav1XPqlYyOc-cGOnC44sIljQ2L9n6KlbsnLRSe24SDa-RKi-vkyw/s320/DSCN6594.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Lisa with Simon, being a silly bugger.]</p><br /><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123676564055723426" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ-7vOYay3BPBZ6HMzx0uaUmnbuBNpjuLWIOldX1-rlOWMU2jYh7QD8q8ls9JhNhrs8LUVnr3IFsmJMi689BuofVHmjgFeqJcACKrfvFMYR0H7NDe0xhRu4zUCIibs8Kjn7fG0uhyBsA/s320/Munich.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[The fantastic group of people I spent time with in Munich. L-R: Tim, me, Nick, Naomi, Eloise, Lisa and Simon.]<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong>Isle of Wight </strong></div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123740468874121410" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxRre44I1pCOr7nHWw5BKO9CC8-K23kXvjPioaa0wlXwqaSoB1h3RjzK7N2fnYzPQ2yIvS4Uze54MQHjwI1_hPzeHU92QxEdg3r0GIT8h4pXEoBw23twkNf2MVod459UT5FwCxOJFc7Ft/s320/DSCN6615.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Ryde Carnival. How cool is this? A one-man Village People!]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123740464579154098" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8FaC5xO55yDGMfIUK8EY0F6CJVIa84jt6DFtTKtMRLgTQh_Bbq5AlONv-y8K7Ftga0AIHyKAyF60U9ZBiMYLcBIYDte3-u9frHhWWT1wzZwc9Y4zoyYkdkMvhyWg0KGpMio4mqvWKdbr1/s320/DSCN6612.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[And if he wasn't entertaining enough, along came the Chocolate-Covered Group!]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123754788295086834" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXEjtHUcNjl8jKYXm7vXuA4fFvmcxYKb9PMQ_6btjccxV4p7flZGKPJBdG2GzjAxiILm9v4IRHqaak3hdPA3K__ssr8GCGgjiDnVa27uc2WqZMVpdiOmNWXwtPfHNrBuw5jwFj6FMMsKx/s320/DSCN6659.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Osborne House]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123740451694252178" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8hnmptGQV2yXu4t4ldr9qGz8xj20g6Adrb0C4XcGcC-B_-R_frRvgmqgTYvWe1SIghf-oqDVDvEoEx0jKpJcaK0La_9wbiVVoDl-OkKyS1V73D7Y2xk4kIDaEL-pwCJthXPaeqgsqbev/s320/DSCN6649.JPG" border="0" /> [A bumble bee. Call me a tourist, but I still think they're cool.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123738819606679682" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHUDtPgFE8_c1OP0EpCmpZPLR-ZLUmwSfPZSnh5EkE-bzmIW6lPHDFdpJg36NWK8mGROHxxbhUWBJVjZwEm1jiHGOityGX6MZwh32_jqXhawkRL0Ej4KZigC1k0IAmvonw46mdcSv8rHh/s320/DSCN6705.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Smiths (long-lost rellies). L-R: Ben, Sara, Tom, Paul, Georgie and Grannie.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123754762525283010" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguATl89iZUtbur9epiOFGHL1f5KdqrD7qlPBM17fUImdSWKfAqUxkVg0iv611iuxK71u72PCNT56GKdNRoEtL6SkJLLJriITLyrRPS0DPseg3tvHNpbabt0O10thECXOFvfTE6shWSSGLf/s320/DSCN6706.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The cousins with partners. As Ben is single, while Tom snuggled up to Lindsay and Georgie was joined by Rossy, Ben picked up a nearby stone turtle to keep him company. Too funny.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123754792590054146" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4l4yL_YnOPczQ58obps5OoVDVMdpaHL0uEQazXUd2isxpoGLMvzy6xeDTS-MdGiwwHhE1TgSQPFo9o5xMK6wZIwhixNbAU2gwoE2RWUUY5bJNWvazxIwHgJhVXXS0T5DUEMZheEfVeLZR/s320/DSCN6632.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Chris (cousin) and Liz (aunt) at the top of Tennyson Downs.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123754775410184914" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqCN0-tIahHXKQL985Tt628134c4DcxFimDB8hB050hPoDxQ2ei-JLtbUYvr1VsKDStd1A0uzXCJU4hcQPj-K6M7juzCbwL8IyhauxzJKQpoY0fyHGAwhrDuMImIVPpynUyMxXMN4VBIj/s320/DSCN6686.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[The fruits of Liz's allotment.]<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123754784000119522" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9K7p8NZ6RrQZ48MPgaLKUnkuDml9KZoMUuNenE74Shje850ANcTh4tSRWvWxH1qf2JTv91YE__RWiuDZyyhZhyxalWH9L0mMBISveS50-GNvBhgQuk7pSIsVxhOamBEuim1-LL7vRp0Vv/s320/DSCN6698.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center">[The menagerie that is the Smith's house...]</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123738815311712370" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6F0ZZxk98dwSVOdk9DVrMw9rBupsIJbbGGZcSo7crowQxrXNV9Gp0XuO5_opAEzfz8Z6In68GczUa7tcx-SrBBIXI7q_-aQtS2jjpDyotgGpRQOT_U8Ujd42Zhps5xHnlIhAPN2bHHKI/s320/DSCN6726.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123738806721777762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeGIVOzRv2s6XCEP3S4HMHSu8Qc7im8F5-nswjh7z4P2tHaMNfO4UoCeqOEj0-0FDd9HJfMoOKu9p1b90BlBbWQchEj0PYIv0PR4J6Qp_5ohBV07TAZmEelG1E1kTgbq0Kzzv1fWlC_eF/s320/DSCN6759.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123738802426810450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaLIDKuGeKeAHr0FvvrKOjWYfzPx3b7Fj2_YWXbx70mm6ZS4fVnGdM9SEvMczKoyJHn1eCqpN3usIKT_Wsl6nDlbuNkcdZtLvHRmm1cpIFZce74OS3bDQN4hQCDYm-8GW8EdlVyTUX5a3/s320/DSCN6767.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[No, we didn't cook the sheep.]</p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123740455989219490" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXYGzz0Sovj4OLVcVJul5aKZ1FzglXB1UVXLX3Lydwevpd3hv5AdcaRuXqYrwKyPDjQ5GaRyFsdJdoN44iloAk97zC17vpx7irwvYae2_IWMbTKEJ8rqyWE591T-EG5tQHbkzxGMDqYe_/s320/DSCN6617.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[And, of course, Liz's rats.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Montreal </span></strong></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123736092302446450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjBl30-1qDkyRSlTHYumoqPfclDaQ-WjSFAAn8SMFRM1Ix_AM1TSsRgjxE6ulBPK6G7R6Uq7207XuEdtjhjxx6FIc_3gOlT9zYtzuLln4Mm7iUvBNLHJMD_6EJ_1m74RRa8yELvsT5X4E/s320/DSCN6805.JPG" border="0" /><br />[The three flags of Montreal.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX-_uNN2Oi9l1emMQ-rII7lDHPuwhQcMiga7NsYbXyAidjh1whYFCzEO_PYsKluie6ueDGpiPGGgN2e9wsPwU_AEGlAH2Jb3rS6UoVfPjHejOse-wwdWL1MLgD21jJehtI_Wfg1u8lxQ/s1600-h/DSCN6814.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123736088007479138" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX-_uNN2Oi9l1emMQ-rII7lDHPuwhQcMiga7NsYbXyAidjh1whYFCzEO_PYsKluie6ueDGpiPGGgN2e9wsPwU_AEGlAH2Jb3rS6UoVfPjHejOse-wwdWL1MLgD21jJehtI_Wfg1u8lxQ/s320/DSCN6814.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Parisien Metro sign in the International Quarter.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123731711435804418" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10ZA3Pnjze6DBKBaN-FS5MRmeQ-gjzcptSyLAlFL6qJpapy8jy_0pxmenQEeZ8B1XCWZ29Ge2V8Ga0eNL4zSmR5vwa4cAGDh4QjRFiC34v6Hfhth3PfyFQXwTkA3c3nPaON3hWRpMEoI/s320/DSCN6816.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[I'm a big nerd, but I had to find the location where the <em>Amazing Race </em>had taken place. I've got to say, I love the tunnels.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123745150388474290" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6j8JFNni_tDWUKeglnYABHJ9AXiI4PbYo1ObgEl6EkEpuRo5le9xg4Qv5Dfo1xbBXk_327OSYxXiYDcz1G_tPtr2NGug6KD-bwfWF727otryOrIdrFSCR4DjRYT3RnFxDy1_1rWdNQl80/s320/DSCN6783.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Biodome. Am I the only one who can't help but think of Pauly Shore when it's mentioned?]</p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123745163273376194" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZcWSNj0v1kat_oF_jJPllpTle5K94IBPXAb8aDn4WHxEIDKNsMh0quCiLYKZRGvoRGPWAjvpBQcurFEnmo3TpKI48Sgsqs9yl9k4nr9QF9tRDLIj1d_9DJLniS-38MnDE-2ed-THwH6q/s320/DSCN6791.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[STOP in French. I liked this, mainly because of the contrast with the Stop sign I photographed in Dubai.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123731707140837106" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aJ_UXBDw8I7ButoAL00LCsrOC6iNPoB8LlAurvFcbuLaHo2FK_ePdSpBi9VrOYGKmsaNqY5uXYxo2GEOfe2_LZ-81a-vn76FCMflRY4W3FnBazzBkFol8r54zJjuuDrqUXpJfSG2dpk/s320/DSCN6820.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Mirella, whom I met in Rome and stayed with in Montreal, and her friend, whose name I have forgotten.]<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Boston </span></strong><br />I love Boston, and my third visit just made me love it all the more.<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nKnn2QrwIcWWSeX1Dhpx8Woo5jtPjQFBu24_NifUuT9sYwpVIDU6SMMBm0n6I-lax9-D1oAjfgDtEx7YDVqU4bbjpDFT4E0wVHyhdc-c2uFUDm1HODpbuUgmJpxqte8Vw9gWSRl_ReY/s1600-h/DSCN6831.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123731655601229506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nKnn2QrwIcWWSeX1Dhpx8Woo5jtPjQFBu24_NifUuT9sYwpVIDU6SMMBm0n6I-lax9-D1oAjfgDtEx7YDVqU4bbjpDFT4E0wVHyhdc-c2uFUDm1HODpbuUgmJpxqte8Vw9gWSRl_ReY/s320/DSCN6831.JPG" border="0" /><br /></a><p align="center">[Good old Quincy Market. Overpriced and touristy - just how I like it!]<br /><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQuzfty7dJImiWdDmiPyWXfwPmfDQf3-FovAqGl0m-Oun6jN40hq-SUjJytgYPp4awc8ktM2tH3o8-KTxfuwaxLjSfiHQj6aGvOJxB5syOuBRnMelb3AhUrgZCMZMRFvjQ6bq6Ox_2Ys/s1600-h/DSCN6828.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123731664191164114" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQuzfty7dJImiWdDmiPyWXfwPmfDQf3-FovAqGl0m-Oun6jN40hq-SUjJytgYPp4awc8ktM2tH3o8-KTxfuwaxLjSfiHQj6aGvOJxB5syOuBRnMelb3AhUrgZCMZMRFvjQ6bq6Ox_2Ys/s320/DSCN6828.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><br /><p align="center">[I'd actually not stumbled upon this before - it's dedicated to the children who spend time in the parks of Boston Common.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkLAku-8ECLQpt-Dient85wrhJp0v9W3Db77icUCyHF5a5wCPgqum7QSgxgEUmwVZkKH4q72shL_nUXRbUYvQhMXtOIGydnEpC9Pogwe2FAy8iwhJCtDPgwOgPyfU5ni8VnXhyphenhyphenIG3cRQ/s1600-h/DSCN6823.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123731672781098722" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkLAku-8ECLQpt-Dient85wrhJp0v9W3Db77icUCyHF5a5wCPgqum7QSgxgEUmwVZkKH4q72shL_nUXRbUYvQhMXtOIGydnEpC9Pogwe2FAy8iwhJCtDPgwOgPyfU5ni8VnXhyphenhyphenIG3cRQ/s320/DSCN6823.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><br /><p align="center">[The skyline across the Charles River. I'd ridden here on Ben's bike and it was another goose-bump inducing moment. I just love this city.]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123745146093506978" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTLa8nVhuOfwHVl72y_i1Cje7_bBGeode47eFKLCRlSgjV9-CSi0D-qK9g3zMs3kBm0HoBjSPOMVq0Nq5s_i3l1GF-ZL49yqIYmrWBfnKxze8e5faZgpc5qLG8qfPqTFtbkdkFHIx2WUw/s320/DSCN6841.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Not the best photo, but Ben was running late for work. Ben and Jo, whom I met in Thailand and put me up while I was in Boston.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">New York<br /></span></strong></p><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123730169542545058" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOU4RzVcdT3DAQKnekUaMrE7mo_Ikixwnt0niLyDLW9eBv05WoV4e8Vlnphj4_9lrWa-W9hQ89dqoerv9IQSmxTqZMr383wlp8w3kLRcjHpB12djW9707lcv4gazUMT7GXJN_aZz1CcQ/s320/DSCN6844.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Third time lucky - I finally saw Times Square's Naked Cowboy!]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123745133208605074" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnpXi3MBBKmmoUXnp6CNWWQ3D05tZpfRLHANz-d62hp8EpNFzO-jfdEX4M6h_-TClhq_pcLquZD9H6CmwErygCQDCN_gIhBXPyahgkRLZdS6oeh9Shplhqysh5mhzR3IqxSfrQX19bCqF/s320/DSCN6843.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123730160952610450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYQF_Knh4KsxLSi1cqiYegH7GXa29J__af8bDlIORuhrSw04QAj2Uo1ZiprtsnlHjsgkA4lp_18RcqNAWajj7coVqBi79Ukl3m-alFqv0cr2n8VGiM1pNBRuWR1erMp-EMAklyGxn9HQ/s320/DSCN6854.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[It was so good to catch up with Katie - as if the last two years had never happened. The random who tried to chat us up with the line "You two look like partners in crime" was a little interesting, though...]<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Chicago > Champaign > Chicago </span></strong></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123730156657643138" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWhYAyRSyrWZo8cnJANPIKqAUWq1Qh8CxoK06LPyaZ56OoDma2fI8MFB2EQInRIyuKaFldWjtGsD5jwffdHp4cM-_ywSadbFClNZFeIk9asPRNpLga0OP1JJYRTq5lAdLTvHkrktyCSY/s320/DSCN6858.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Me and Dan at the Sox game. Obviously.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsiDoMAZOnw6zOV0eIeJCEjhZChBTE1O2y6z26QhcH1mO1J4zrPcXapRqqLCn54zTu-kIvXaBRAAZ-Ry9AZY3aZWh4FwLq36StpnDXu0Z648GHfF46KUxRkrkjmk7212sasbgUq-yfAbU/s1600-h/DSCN6860.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123730148067708530" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsiDoMAZOnw6zOV0eIeJCEjhZChBTE1O2y6z26QhcH1mO1J4zrPcXapRqqLCn54zTu-kIvXaBRAAZ-Ry9AZY3aZWh4FwLq36StpnDXu0Z648GHfF46KUxRkrkjmk7212sasbgUq-yfAbU/s320/DSCN6860.JPG" border="0" /></a>[It was good fun to go to the baseball again, but unfortunately the Sox lost. Boo.] </p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123679308539825762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7nZlfTDRjEK_kULQBTfkTuTDwcwWI8YspvvkUhN2-bJ7y_8FuE7C2NCBbM83yFPG1ROGbRcbTMz3MdLntP8AOmH33CJEJZesUpRZSlRwaYXlx0pE3QiJLmWR_P1C9btDAZ7ihl6VHCU/s320/DSCN6867.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Yet again, Dan provided a weekend full of Chicagoy goodness. Sunday was spent tailgating before the Bears game. And boy do Bears fans know how to tailgate!]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123679304244858450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcdS-OhNFkSZSk19_wB77CuzmOub-PLF6ib75BytUuX8-Rw0n0pSj-Fj1hS_3qGhtnKbtLpRFljihlwdVIHPmZV0H6wCfuQc0nSxIGkHZxQFpS_ackMElPx_l3of_BQmbQrhaM0xXOso/s320/DSCN6868.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123679295654923842" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBw6yxoPOPT-jtni8ySJCBNyapkmaaxDpf1JhcTXgeBwisPwb-qc-z-RoxDmpWhLHyBISPVFC8Td5s2TqAUnH_NfS28rKHgKaCVP3rLTdbLcdY5AOQmEfgmXYJg0DPuLFrM1lylOgOFs/s320/DSCN6870.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[All together now: "Da Beeeeeeears!"]<br /><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDiZ16op7Ri_zim6D1vTPboVeDimwnJz1jRkkE5E-W0Xj8UEAVlQfX8jcg3-ge3TkfyUHCrc5UjTWmoJM0ZkDc2gSP7sDkO6HjMkk5QmxirZtYuedw34l_AkoB_bBiM9A-HJ3rDDwznU/s1600-h/DSCN6874.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123679282770021922" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDiZ16op7Ri_zim6D1vTPboVeDimwnJz1jRkkE5E-W0Xj8UEAVlQfX8jcg3-ge3TkfyUHCrc5UjTWmoJM0ZkDc2gSP7sDkO6HjMkk5QmxirZtYuedw34l_AkoB_bBiM9A-HJ3rDDwznU/s320/DSCN6874.JPG" border="0" /><br /></a><p align="center">[Down in Champaign, we got a little rural - apple picking with Kim and Helen.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123745124618670466" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQYmobUk0nWBtE3aKPZjQB-Ff3-cXss0-B5m45zEbNTPIzIUXGoy8T5F6eP2Ugik2v9MEJe18OzCEZEvdDV6ALimglYZbOxLqy_VChvH37jNesvqolbJffXwxtD-xdyDBxUUsyUmbR2oz/s320/DSCN6875.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOX0lrlx8-S0-HZjjFt3jDtXZLce73EmL5GHcd8o5eH-dWqLfnN1P3W8fe4MDOM0FUWRMlvpMyvVojsYc699JzhLT6f8eypwTulmKA98SYt3etqMlz53AySnhWCjd4_bXqRJPnbN8eic/s1600-h/DSCN6873.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123679287064989234" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOX0lrlx8-S0-HZjjFt3jDtXZLce73EmL5GHcd8o5eH-dWqLfnN1P3W8fe4MDOM0FUWRMlvpMyvVojsYc699JzhLT6f8eypwTulmKA98SYt3etqMlz53AySnhWCjd4_bXqRJPnbN8eic/s320/DSCN6873.JPG" border="0" /></a>[Helen, me and Kim before hitting the town.] </p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123744033696977266" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroNOVvW4hqTwrDlyi3qXIZC4OpZ4aXciVQCCC_xZGDKuvPyUGsQ-UVV2dhn_IBAztcWmTS_29Q4L4obnNuASS4hFqtVoCFQM7MHcg_D4fLIw6I9nRLGwYQHf_jlZVmohdXfHqgJbeGsA6/s320/DSCN6877.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Travis in his apartment in Evanston. For those of you who haven't seen him since he went home, never fear - he's exactly the same as he's always been.]<br /><br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Waikiki</span></strong></p><br /><p align="center">It may seem extravagant to have come home via Hawaii, but with good old Jet Star and South West both flying through Honolulu, it just made sense!</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123744025107042658" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOm2SNFS5En7Cu1RyaOIn72GccxbZyqNRMtg6lFisAEJJewYRdpzHbuMJily0zPAw3C129m4eUCBmBhZtb2RVhwkU3oM9ADB4nhKRuUnTnedGf6xZZNeVr5Rfama4F_ya0NiAoEjvxYAMn/s320/DSCN6879.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123744016517108050" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxVz2_ZL18ctQ1bjU7mTbzC3P3zxHrq2mLcBDDnbxE0o5nHLDB64kulzqmncbluj-jTRNlxgk5e2U7b-fdC6h9uJd_DLL0m91SIwYtE89l-aFFexZ3whevM-jpsekTqqdRwq70pJBia36/s320/DSCN6905.JPG" border="0" /> [It looks impressive, and though it's real, it is actually in the garden of the Waikiki Hilton.]</p><br /><p align="center"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2iOpWglc4LPsTgCSUHpzfqXXRbEkR1MON75FCoNwURaej0FwMBMoJ6y7rO79HIZybuzwjm4xA8VmZeRYNX8hDvPnX7whHbWBXoeh60BRcf5hkdONJ_EQIn-NHxf46mlZ5-fgUqhjKfY/s1600-h/DSCN6891.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123678363647020514" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2iOpWglc4LPsTgCSUHpzfqXXRbEkR1MON75FCoNwURaej0FwMBMoJ6y7rO79HIZybuzwjm4xA8VmZeRYNX8hDvPnX7whHbWBXoeh60BRcf5hkdONJ_EQIn-NHxf46mlZ5-fgUqhjKfY/s320/DSCN6891.JPG" border="0" /></a> [The view from the top of Diamond Head - the almost perfectly circular crater left after a volcanic eruption millennia ago. The walk to the top and back was supposed to take 90 minutes, but because I was running late (the park closed at 6pm and I arrived at 4:45pm), I had to try to get to the top as quickly as possible. 22 rather sweaty minutes later... I'm proud.]<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123744007927173442" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nDlhXoxbUvPZtzr5aT5vTq-JZ1USnBYSBLjjy4s2ju9DSliJdvzP27Ij3J7hdkHS2sOGhggk0jS0iwkPSTk1dNB16dky0R7PJJ3_LoY3td1cxo411tXFLSVhO8h3L15KiZYbzOwz6me-/s320/DSCN6920.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Diamond Head and Waikiki]<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgV70NyA0ud42HuNlt6T9fG6tXxAKGmakVhxeXHBG_k0hhkl8qhucHe3FE9QPE6YSC2x8xiPNOxiUNWEHjHO_mnyOR-0ZZqrtOLeztwsJqfa5w3ZckvIAJHxqozHCC9dsm8ALj2-KOOM/s1600-h/DSCN6923.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123676568350690738" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgV70NyA0ud42HuNlt6T9fG6tXxAKGmakVhxeXHBG_k0hhkl8qhucHe3FE9QPE6YSC2x8xiPNOxiUNWEHjHO_mnyOR-0ZZqrtOLeztwsJqfa5w3ZckvIAJHxqozHCC9dsm8ALj2-KOOM/s320/DSCN6923.JPG" border="0" /></a> [I'm so proud of this photo. What a gorgeous way to end a fantastic six months!]</p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="left">And that brings me to the end of my travel blog. I hope you've enjoyed it. Here's hoping that my plan to visit South America late next year comes about so that you will yet again have a way to procrastinate when Facebook gets boring.</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-20855829528967574502007-08-14T02:26:00.000-07:002007-08-30T08:37:52.908-07:00...since Spain...<div align="center">I haven't updated my blog in forever, and I could list a number of reasons why I've been so slack, but it can be pretty much summed up in two words: Pounds Sterling. Everything in the UK is SO expensive, and internet access has been hard to come by. I apologise for all the work and study that you've all had to do due to lack of procrastination material on here... Hopefully these photos and brief explanations will help with that for the time being.</div><p align="center"><br /> </p><p align="center"><br /><br /></p><p align="center">Travelling with Mum... </p><p align="center"><strong>Norwich: </strong><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098492114691560338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx9FJIaYOzLTcVOKa7Fu6k8RSmzj2kwXjAyH2wkZKFjwDiEQ6NLUa5CZ9lkvuiLftqdLHvSvO1rt9dZHhlS5Iwk13QQVZeS8STUDOFWIhwhSxZt8HPFN-o4PvAr2WT7KUGskbUt1SomM/s320/n1921897_38711049_7177.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">The map we finally ended up taking a photo of in order to make our way around the city<br /></p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498651631785234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByUnabFQebq4oCf7AzU6CAiFyyN75CJzO6zRxc0vbWZo5QTOU9Vqfng5Q6cTv4QLCfZsyjnSQ4bfWj5faJ5br8erNEGWfhy88DrR6_JMh2-6v7SMwhRJqX5pZLb4OCsNfto9vBFX33Qo/s320/n1921897_38711056_9963.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">111 Magpie Road!<br /><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><strong>Cambridge:</strong></div><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498647336817922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yCUXnmuiGiOmxX7_pIFIQQnAd3QS9pFT79kygegsW8UtsbyELDu2vNMZQNUeVEcGaTaoMxmh-TusEUh1dZZ558Ig_368poAN2OY4wQ6KgA5qaUJhjFQkGigRAplFByzUDgmm8hIHg1Y/s320/n1921897_38711058_660.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Fancy a punt?<br /></p><p align="center"><br /> </p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100699647523635458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbuOUTJcrFiqaWFitwSoCH-AJZjckhciFvPI-RHONYrwrWNtDWRDUB10h_0F9dKNbFZBLrf_hAGIC_TQLOIedYzarruJxDZ6kHBolwDwN16th_FsjwA15_wiXd0xd4sSetGBcgKB2hIo/s320/cambridge.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center"><br /><br /> </p><p align="center"><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><strong>Dinton Hermit</strong></div><p align="center">gorgeous off-the-road B&B:<br /><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098492114691560354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEino2_7zdsRii0Ij2wg6cyJd1JLutanq596IJ88PihTtEXMYkBxQgzFCNzORVVFkgPlVa27MnUY0U7aF1ITRGBEmx8LSzprUZUjrMUZNuoihvKpuK2LcztwzWuPRP0t2bBI0XljdKkIxaY/s320/n1921897_38711046_6128.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Mum leading the bulls... so funny when I thought they were cows, a little concerning when I realised they were bulls!<br /></p><p align="center"><br /></p><p align="center"><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491732439470882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNfQblnuLCzdKg8HkDaESe7cxm3B08ob4XHdmBqKhXiL9kZQknVtWEq7vSqTi4I0Nsm3T41C09ytcfGhwpPAK2Mi0C2ZQCj2RZhS4bUwJVfQlEdgSvHUVVNIba_Cq8ZOzgpaAI1mHJKfg/s320/n1921897_38711836_316.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">I love the black-faced sheep in England!<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><br /></p><p align="center"><strong>Henley:</strong><br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498316624336018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDVyUe7Fm3YsGCij1tsURGRWjF8l7H7-PudEFYY3ult1Mul3LFrW9guteZLiNV9IMpdogIglvg6lF8J4EjpbU0Yi7yRaFjplpbflBe8BCaUnP4iVlxhOWEfui4Nhhks7tVvg-tVbE4DI/s320/n1921897_38711847_2932.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">We had a 'spot of tea' at the Henley Tea Rooms. Mum was all ready to call out to Dad if she saw him walk by. Her snooty, proper, Henley-esque call was going to be "Yoo-hoo, Robin!" We didn't see him...<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The Thames trip...</span></strong></div><br /><p align="center"><strong>Thames Head, Cirencester:</strong><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498312329368690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6e6T88fgnBJIQ770sKwIOl3yXlnwYZDwaTJnDFbAR_IYPsXqt-Q6AabsdUQwQ7YRoE6ljGMhWQUykbm1ZSlRguF4AAbfi8Ugr2Ln6EiOJElcpA2tkN0Tvnf4_MyAE6pd0FaWkYpdY2g/s320/n1921897_38711873_9439.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Dad, Mum, Jack and Shena, the night before all the shananigans began.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong>Oxford:</strong><br /></div><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498312329368674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8BZuH5sEMG_6CbVUYsU4u6R6id-VNb-ZZW7sbnwch8US2KLd3O1BxPOTxl2tqpOYbTBNHWZtbdYFyRSu5unnDni_nvb8EuiLCsKp61WWSbt0UEJporfm0CL8UAMvuvMSvBXWtb46Zwk/s320/n1921897_38711883_1991.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">With our hectic boating schedule, I was only allowed to jump out and see Oxford briefly, unfortunately. Dare I say I liked Cambridge better?<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong>...a pretty little town somewhere:</strong><br /><br /></p><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498308034401362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrhZu_9VuWzWPlsvTaVyIo3DEOdccBzFCufiHsmtiW7EIkVFltwWtuZgAqflrlpgUIa2cD8VB_2NIWBxcjP9I7vqAWyW0y_qCxmYMYmmRyCtHkmWDWwv6gequzjpRUjo8YHYjUCqmwEY/s320/n1921897_38711885_2485.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Yeah, I can't remember the name of the town. Lots of thatch-roofed cottages and allotments. Very pretty.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong>London</strong> </div><div align="center"><br />I got a little stressed out on the boat, so got out and took the very sophisticated train from Henley into Lonon for a few days...</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491521986073250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-Z6Kq-1IMSzGcaDmD_BiNo6u-gG-r5duK307162e-ahDhQRub3slji4viu8E0wE-B4g_3aCIfPaCIWa80sNsOZzaf7ecVM_3wCHyXCmv7XDfthSXC02-X8j7AmSLn5pKtuFeGwFvwdo/s320/n1921897_38712040_4441.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><p align="center">Picadilly Circus... with a GAP store right under the sign. Okay...<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491521986073266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqIsuKVjlQeVu6eSoNVTgBa5S3Zl0JRls-G3ghrWApJzoDmTWjQYbaRDnAmfcVbuQsnSd3ZhtxJfgOuZdKtR89QwePGzZpXsupgGcD2FTeEl95mgskxx2DdskSntmwYDqJJTSVT-1iihE/s320/n1921897_38712030_1630.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">London Eye<br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491320122610306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPGSfnGZ_r6SFAYQnK1KfCUYDmIWOMk9JNWlEmjpIb7pSGOg4Ns1DDclVH-jHd0MRg0ACnIkg1k62OXjZnrgUs-x7ApUHF6dmTqCx-vW2ZwmieRmUyJD2o2Plvt0tty9RgHrsknSr-uc/s320/n1921897_38712048_6759.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">The Globe. Well, not really. A replica built a few hundred metres from where the original stood. [Yes, I am an English nerd]<br /><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><strong>Paris</strong></div><br /><div align="center">Having rowed down the Thames, I met Mum and Dad in Richmond and then we hopped a bus over to France for a week. First stop, Paris.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100701610323689842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHIsOfN6UomJBZCuHyIk-EGxB416veHAAYWn5CuMwGujNYE1wxJt5HbpfFRdvPni-xhEZiZUrtt6J5d504-c-DLcUj54H2nmGpwFuMKJyW0rioLEEeSUN0105zuHpKJyhK1_9ByDPlFE/s320/wally.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Moulin Rouge + Wally<br /></p><p><br /><br /> </p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491315827642978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1pn_ngQ9BymgbvAMtzEaXNITb1uIt2YQBCwT6hepCWxJyjL7W6UOyGVGCpOqAWFcBKeA15U3okkAMXNmZ944C7GoYcRtZEiIkRG8kzBAVdTkLYooE7KCF2KPdTvxuJr199D_kujrSqM/s320/n1921897_38712068_2670.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Shoutout to Dan. I love that there's a Corcoran's Irish Bar in Paris's Red Light District.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491517691105938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aN9TCpTEJRmGOGIUrNqApcsh-U2WHjlvTrQ-p8ngCTDOBirURNEYzuHT7OlTsDPL5_YFMNWby49MHxwpUwjcvkDpQdcWKu-sPvjiFcvk-iVENtKz-nS22LxK_mPSxglumFhom6d6G7g/s320/n1921897_38712041_4717.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">View from the Eiffel Tower.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498312329368706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZNzd_HJ04yrlzFEVLv8msuBtBpzXZVhk3rBSBkfmnCF4ClZl0xcylKCzPu3VmvJA4BQIT6d9aOZDZenfm8eYDGmjzgMN-rbxUMQbxhf1PaONRF0FHabWiMLwr9RhRMKW9EPgBxlVgNw/s320/n1921897_38711870_8670.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">If you squint, you can see the Aussie flag above them. It says that Canberra is a really long way from the Eiffel Tower.<br /></p><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491311532675666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphB5QUM4KwfsFtgf-wJcNVEu0QKvTdgoaQpWuhHOdEFA7MwSeocwoLj2xkPlzZ1AJYa6QMthIseIMSNt42_K1ogMJClQ2K_A1LjkB5Iz2bYESPsxnq8k2nt3WOiNVux5i2Z8W_YPqDwQ/s320/n1921897_38712072_3876.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Dad, being very French and spending time at a Brasserie while Mum and I shopped.<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098498647336817906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2wzRS9_zjRk-lEgTdghSNpUtZeJcuwYXLqjvx3wpxFBivBULw9sElFn1_G46iZbUvFJd67ECbTzXzde43niZnOHk0EUUevRs7mNXYYCzYQ1A3IEwz9tfxtkoAwcICzYjZ4l1s1YWQQw/s320/n1921897_38711065_3205.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">The Louvre.<br /></p><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491968662672226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2n0YrhIqOuxuNMXErXGbU5MIJ9euZZI7UO5cnmVt2rvs8Sh5wCZooeLWAn8AaFHwXPJTovgSEAJ3cbBp2IRRLVukZ2Jdf1JfnTr4DkMdaYfkO5UqFHcj85D0rDmh123HaDP2OkcrH7U/s320/n1921897_38711075_7663.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Restaurant on the Champs Elysee where we had dinner. Say 'tourist'!<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491968662672210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSNcwKS6CoBI2bQQnwlfEVAmoaWUtyDZxFN02Pie71baNDQTICU95hyPaaK4XJBwcZUtytW69N9knO4C2tq9Qk5ZEcV35Deia-moOnLTNQcCuaxSrQ6lwxKz6U9afIk4Q59Dlv9TzLfU/s320/n1921897_38711076_8030.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Me, standing near the Arc de Triomphe. I had to crop out the shadow of Mum's hands on my boobs. This was maybe the fourth photo she took... We're such tourists.<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100701094927614290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5G1QvVCg31-7HwKYKBj4cU4F_6blUZengPEJ2axuaVRDtgpsb1fiGvzbNg1I7tHIFf0sJr_u7Bl8xWRouI5vab_bYa9pFMyspnCq1RuETPmYZMLlFFq4WxgG5BlxHkn6frgCMnNocIkY/s320/versailles.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Fancy ceiling in Versailles<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491307237708354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzY8aL_i-yXQW_Ah9zr88iBXhG70QYfv5jU0nz8CFAHBJL-3kVE6UzzGyhIYZMsKtvQDAMaWKYbJf0BOPIlYaVuiz0WzThp6kxFjASvS2fLvXGpWv0J3uoz36kKmku9pvTaBRs2c0Z7I/s320/n1921897_38712075_4988.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Fancy gardents, too.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491139733983730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZZSkPrjJ70inMn55eg6ZxlCMmKBQmD1D1xDLeBYDMmXkv6zgvPYOOKccw_RO-yW9YwzeohE_g8plkQv5PHQgoC891rTAfuGACPlG-gkGK9BmlYO2I0th6Q6HmDfAyn3f94bcvcmO8v4/s320/n1921897_38712150_6331.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">And two fancy ladies outside. And no, Gemma and Mike, that's not my undies. Ya sods.<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Normandy</strong><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098497900012508146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJauC2CUTKb6ihr1Oci2RfF2bzx6R_FDy9MmCtC8Kt1jBG5ZLhTjOpm0tkLdUpzSfiigTYFis2wn1RmMRgX5OzUh8nYwaD3rPvB1n4Dlcyhz9EKhUqDN2ZP6R-OqINsfSPsddNuJzV0PQ/s320/n1921897_38712393_5766.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">On our way to the D-Day beaches, we stopped in Giverny to see where Monet lived and worked. Having driven for half an hour to get there, then walked through the rain to find his house and do a tour, it turned out to be closed on Mondays. Woops.<br /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100707043457319298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglkcMOsE4r6ZInT0GBreQK6S8NfZPpruECa_OslVMkr7KCD3L_wITJ4QWX4Dl3eFAYqU8H1i-o5biKLdcscmFqzJ0T6moJl8dxOTzWJYsgoJqb5Ky6ht8oklFje3iRHnNnChsEjCEk7qw/s320/juno+beach.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">Gun at Juno beach, where the Canadians landed on D-Day.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098497900012508130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42M9Aw08RlFnjz-6xNS2ytsOHTtFicOu9BP5rHp-ROxFphsumL2-9mYyD3R9_niQ78v_t68UvFcz4icZghqgIgmhO94FyQaUEsk42LqazZuT3FmNGVDVz1jTHxSNyEMnWOQpzUueLQfM/s320/n1921897_38712426_3939.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> The American cemetary at Omaha beach. Reminded me of Arlington National Cemetary, and I couldn't help but feel very anti-war, anti-Bush all over again...<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Isle of Wight</strong><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-Zevvp21SwZYZk2aTc62tFKe_5r0wQXxoL1pLkvYiwsNrc6l63l_weA5TagzMVvxmstmC2Xfyrc7y1Mndpm5qxOXyIigQEMRhEtZk-5WziivzIOdhKFbgVBbbNTPVYaWFRJAClmPluY/s1600-h/n1921897_38712436_6547.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098497895717540818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-Zevvp21SwZYZk2aTc62tFKe_5r0wQXxoL1pLkvYiwsNrc6l63l_weA5TagzMVvxmstmC2Xfyrc7y1Mndpm5qxOXyIigQEMRhEtZk-5WziivzIOdhKFbgVBbbNTPVYaWFRJAClmPluY/s320/n1921897_38712436_6547.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">Liz had more guts than the rest of us, standing on the perspex floor at the Millennium Tower in Portsmouth.</p><br /><p align="center"><br /> </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100707047752286626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRe2VLfSoc3L7F39Po1AeqiWdsMZKCn-c2tf32srDqkfPqXvt0DNvw-JhJ_7J1qG65-apyH1qFZsrP-A30n1W8HrKgdocM5Uq3BP0QocjPYDV6CEAFjkGYNGE57566tvAm0FrAa9plwk/s320/fab+four.jpg" border="0" /> The Fab Four. For those of you who don't know: Rob and his girls - his sisters Sara and Liz, and Mum.</p><p align="center"><br /> </p><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">On The Road Again...</span></strong></p><p align="center">Back on my lonesome after two days in London with Pel (she fits right in in London... and <em>Avenue Q </em>was awesome!), I began my mad-dash tour of the UK, spending about 2 days in each city at a time.</p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><p align="center"><strong>Bath</strong><br /><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491144028951074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivF7QpAy5NIM8f73yLEQdkwKYIA5EohoDXUuWkxUjvNUPzQaejqx-eeGTA0CpRsKh_C781U_KDsfIHHOWxo6eLplyjpFCz0eacomsL-LWGwKY7AQLi0FQYSz4nnHbjnjcvrAurcPSmDdk/s320/n1921897_38712086_8348.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">A bath... in Bath. How very predictable.<br /></p><p align="center"><br /><strong>Cardiff</strong><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV36lMH5spTXXiVeLFSgHhu5aUPA_QWtvcypJqDFjwPxQUh4Z3YHNNFUDfMrAn2Z-hD1Gpg-BWdfI21HdMPjkoiYbA2Bnzu-Y6YQgh2gbgDoaRNr5ULg-DdcQGIyewE9VMZagu3_EdQQk/s1600-h/n1921897_38712145_4835.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098491139733983746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV36lMH5spTXXiVeLFSgHhu5aUPA_QWtvcypJqDFjwPxQUh4Z3YHNNFUDfMrAn2Z-hD1Gpg-BWdfI21HdMPjkoiYbA2Bnzu-Y6YQgh2gbgDoaRNr5ULg-DdcQGIyewE9VMZagu3_EdQQk/s320/n1921897_38712145_4835.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>The fancy Cardiff football stadium.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100699647523635474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOltd4mkVQzR6xDFW-X-EeNBdXl5PkNm91iN1f8ohOAgaRHoSMa_JD-UeKcSnRVjpqDK17MYsURn6OlzDZFmlKeNLg69sc7ufivINpFRzmLCAJlrwVzTr2nnrCDQcChckMRVIFo0Kf3A/s320/cardiff+castle.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Cardiff Castle and the Welsh flag.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098490920690651570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXawNNk9Gwx-pLqh-7b9owi7tJAYtg_r1vFU0qE8f5AaF3Gch3uWXNM1Izxn011NRZL8qZDFK2j2cakuYWZl869X3sYJ_Eb8D9G_H-ck7br8FT1sR1lCbhLIDPJVwPW11kCXtxTJl3l0/s320/n1921897_38712387_4339.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Cardiff, written in Welsh. Love it.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100707047752286610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0JOxOffyNZh8RKLRyloHgLnfxdy_dkdgJi3_JGwiAoOGIFsjV4LUzlg-BUfVrKXOA51vkq5jiKDlvEckzRUg7VD0YUBYHARgczDtFW01Jn05IbQeEHyawxHWkiv7mLOiyYBIUdHXGPA/s320/magic+numbers.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">I was accidentally there for the Cardiff Festival. I got to see the Magic Numbers for free! It rained, but was good fun nonetheless.<br /><br /></p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"><br /><strong>Liverpool</strong><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100699660408537410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jklUrFqrW2FRO0zIr35_Myp4DECdI-ZoBBs3SR_1ENEod98rYWBVRokQVSCgkLi2KvP5KthbAZV7Yj1R2T3MWRR3GkGVr0Y6RXlzncaFVb7VUTvAhdyEfDyt7kEdxsZNc5qSqm3P3Qw/s320/strawberry+fields.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Strawberry Fields. Tacky Beatles tour - such fun!<br /><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100699656113570098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1LGD5r3VlsGyxsbsMfrIfAejkqPPYGzDSP9ocxoSkZgbs045zEfp6ThGxeK7qhG0Bc5Oq-eDR1B9km57CymBMNMCE-DNxvfYx8vryzpLKUYTKrcXXsxQMbbcqPsLzPw64IGsWB2Dk_3Y/s320/penny+lane.jpg" border="0" /> </div><p align="center">Once again, everyone say 'tourist!'<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100699651818602786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8GLeDckHa_ummBXPfIylyYlLcDb-zYtJPnGUCyDja8cjzzpWxER-8d1pswhN_Yd-1RVER5pCw1l79rOZs23Rqi2PQV420xJ34di-TxpJxciHK0LhwGCqePs-sW8Zfpjoh3EulL41RNg/s320/cavern+club.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">...where veryone goes in Liverpool to get famous, by all accounts.<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><br /><strong>York</strong><br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098497895717540802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZ9PHu3ccxkmX7ChIjdGz95mZ5yfumeeJTCEqcKAjlG85wMG1AOIg7l7p7Phh7YzgDmTQuWGpIwbMOhxJJP0qjQWja8fDntpudCXEbxVBP5UXENBgAErLBmgXcMIawFfa1IZhVXWW7Kc/s320/n1921897_38712497_1138.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">This guy was the funniest ghost tour guide ever. He kinda reminded me of Harold Bishop, only a little creepy (or should that be creepier?).<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><strong></strong> </p><p align="center"><strong>The Lake District - Ambleside</strong><br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098497895717540786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_H18tg3a9SYlAlGLbZAUR0f43mHiEw9dWVy0qi_dOF8rjwf1FZOc7fIztPHcHzyrgvbyNWAx3dvsdXYY34aYYXEmONf4TaHYSMW7abKR5ntYcnUn1oPbBEMljPrt6Fm89sZbuXxZuF8c/s320/n1921897_38712500_2202.jpg" border="0" /> It was just beautiful in Ambleside - so much greenery...<br /></p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"> </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8zwPiMP00gm2UxAFHvaYOWrN9woH0cPuMJHGTMXagNxVUllYDXJHKKKwBgdUAg4u_0mlqVq1zkXZ2erwmJvCciMIMrKiX-oCvE1GYEV4fhuZqY0C6xfkyla7W2MsndgXfUlld4bg8rg/s1600-h/n1921897_38712506_4458.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098490151891505362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8zwPiMP00gm2UxAFHvaYOWrN9woH0cPuMJHGTMXagNxVUllYDXJHKKKwBgdUAg4u_0mlqVq1zkXZ2erwmJvCciMIMrKiX-oCvE1GYEV4fhuZqY0C6xfkyla7W2MsndgXfUlld4bg8rg/s320/n1921897_38712506_4458.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>...beautiful rock walls and old farm houses...<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGI61TVSA7Bqew6k4Cz2oa32-3lFViTvXxE2qdHLsSWxP3QrdxeWcptrtaIHQDfe6pMMh_yKdK53SjmQJXC3U2ciFcP1n6juRWPb0Lr-20RlsAlXgujbvCsuaqRQOOHBQYFBb8tsUdpo/s1600-h/n1921897_38712505_4105.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098490156186472674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGI61TVSA7Bqew6k4Cz2oa32-3lFViTvXxE2qdHLsSWxP3QrdxeWcptrtaIHQDfe6pMMh_yKdK53SjmQJXC3U2ciFcP1n6juRWPb0Lr-20RlsAlXgujbvCsuaqRQOOHBQYFBb8tsUdpo/s320/n1921897_38712505_4105.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">...and blue sheep.<br /></p><p align="center"><br /><br /><strong>Edinburgh</strong><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098490151891505330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV0oNAYULM2GLZd8tahOPz7_mdLGAflzdK6ZPeuvZI2hHFaz4UmaD1_LjoXBvK8Sl352ZJxmf6tb9Cd2Lang3v1HIv89CzGNqULjkw9rCtyNiKRJkox_4yOROZLEcbye4gGlZDl-v5us/s320/n1921897_38712511_6402.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">The view from the bridge.<br />Edinburgh was a lot of fun - going to see comedians, theatre and <em>Tripod</em> with Kae and Cam. <br /><br /></p><p></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098490151891505346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQde584cGdcoUF_Xa9rKle2ulhyYUClNIWKf1HMN6qrIE8m2e5SfUgIoWjU61KpCxjBgcZYjIZthlhU1cE-DzuRfuKbtPFrvKSHVXevx_ov3g-Pw2UIVEKBclMbLErPjn7oLotGs6oZ2Q/s320/n1921897_38712510_6010.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Edinburgh Castle by night.</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center">That's it for now. I've actually been a bit slow in updating this, and am now in Munich, about to head back to the UK having spent a few days back in Europe. Less than a month til I'm at home, and only a couple of weeks til I'm in Chicago! Next up, though - a week on the Isle of Wight to get to know these long, lost rellies of mine... Can't wait!</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-68516117825293044492007-06-30T12:34:00.000-07:002007-07-04T03:27:52.204-07:00<div align="left">The trip to Nice felt long, even with the last hour of uber-touristing - staring out the window at the mansions of Monaco and the Azure Coast. Bono's private island tacked onto his "shack" was rather fancy.<br /><br /><br />I found my hostel pretty quickly, but ended up waiting while the "Pink Lady" (the name of the hostel that quickly became the pink-wearing receptionist's nickname). It was one of the most unusual check-ins I've had so far.<br /><br />I was sharing a dorm with three guys - a Chinese fella who only spoke a little English, and two Canadians who I ended up hanging out with for the next day. We went to dinner (because I balked at the €3.50 per kilo apples at the grocery store) in the "Old Town," and later went to a hideously trashy tourist bar named Wayne's.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJR8L3B72EwCIjDPOAtibdRInbk0n6UgqHydyNdrMNXTGNIP8NyNwOtEkOVkqsoRRfYGaPlNP9Unel8btIWmhHLQ18262Rb-QkbD47mbEk8wj95Yy055nBouKEqMFUn0ajdSUvX2qBTuY/s1600-h/nice1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271414408474098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJR8L3B72EwCIjDPOAtibdRInbk0n6UgqHydyNdrMNXTGNIP8NyNwOtEkOVkqsoRRfYGaPlNP9Unel8btIWmhHLQ18262Rb-QkbD47mbEk8wj95Yy055nBouKEqMFUn0ajdSUvX2qBTuY/s320/nice1.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center">[Mike, me and Gad at <em>Wayne's</em>]</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I wandered home on my own in the wee small hours - as always, getting lost along the way, but making it back eventually. The following day, after using the free internet at the Busabout hostel (shh...), I returned to the Pink Lady and decided to join Mike and Gad on their trip to Monaco. Though, as expected, it was just a chance to look at ridiculously expensive-looking yachts and swanky cars, and visit the toilets (free!) at the Casino, it was fun to visit a different, albeit very rich and rather random, quasi-country for the day. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />The boys took a train back to Nice at around 2pm (they had a 5pm bus to Barcelona to catch), and I stayed in Monaco a little longer, visiting the Palace, and the cathedral where Grace Kelly is buried. I had to hang around the train station for 45 minutes for the train back to Nice, and filled in a little time by reading trashy magazines at a newsstand - until the owner told me off. While I was waiting on the platform, I realised that although I don't know much Italian - or at least not as much as I thought I would know after my course - but I realised that I know a little, because when the announcements came over the PA system, I couldn't understand a word in French, whereas in Italy I would get the general gist of it. It's the little things, but I'm proud.<br /><br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272166027750978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_8fPhZoDODPN-WqIMfTMOTnHoUESw-VI2FE8iQTPla0nHqxyxCqZCkrVGa8XYyPXndVSt6zxAtHXRa3zTsyLQEyt9CcECkHfWmMTWWWHcyCk0uM-S_6Iruaw42wqt9Zzl3Uhl2iTwKQ/s320/monaco.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">[a helicopter, on a yacht... as you do.]<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272170322718290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgOsBbxxj7SUoFMlozT4hRaSWfMNt9U_fJH99RGdoVOkRzuHaL5VOudQ5h_xsHXPzCEesdmq_gwNHl8mZlosheIoAcb9xYYZr34zsBjWGf06npMBJmbk9q5OCmC8MppnEvaKoAyumeeE/s320/monaco2.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">[Monaco]<br /><br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272170322718306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDno3ow9ZjO1QvWx3gRtag49o1YDRXHaEPtCQ9W3JWoxe0tJ3qpnABW4_H3QhnKHXRvcjx6cJ7vaz0jsYjB1AU6tYy4XX7-kTliz-RetpCJXQXwlz-xaXTPNbSraGLpbIvM0_xOjPGQ0/s320/monaco3.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">[Grace Kelly's grave]</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />When I got back to the Pink Lady, Gad and Mike were just collecting their bags, which turned out to be quite serendipitous as the Pink Lady (the woman) had to ask me to change rooms (not sure why), and Gad was able to translate for me. French Canadians. Bless 'em. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I cooked up a big bowl of pasta, resorting to veggies from a can (extortion at the Spar, I tell you!), but it was actually not too bad. That, or I was starving. After my late lunch/early dinner, I went to explore the seaside. There is an old castle (or was an old castle) at the eastern end of the beach, perched on a hill. The Chateau, though quite the climb (my poor calves still aching after Cinque Terre) made for a beautiful view. I stayed up there for quite a while, initially waiting for the sun to set, but then I discovered a fete - full of locals with food stalls, bars consisting of little more than a card table covered in a table cloth, and the usual jewellery stalls. There were three stages - one with an African theme, one middle Eastern, and one with young, French boys doing English rock'n'roll covers. I was one of very few tourists there, and it was fantastic. <br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5fINtIPFoWgoUHBu9naAeEm6Spw9TGhV5cA8AefuRXFdjbJUZDyGP0XROlI3cJ4heW37YiVcpW0nLCsJqkhzPqsTMQ8s3IWMUpB4yNTXSUP5g9wTjva0J1TO7xzroUA5FKGcsHMNJ3A/s1600-h/nice2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271414408474114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5fINtIPFoWgoUHBu9naAeEm6Spw9TGhV5cA8AefuRXFdjbJUZDyGP0XROlI3cJ4heW37YiVcpW0nLCsJqkhzPqsTMQ8s3IWMUpB4yNTXSUP5g9wTjva0J1TO7xzroUA5FKGcsHMNJ3A/s320/nice2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271302739324386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTyOsch_U7EUNsvTJ9muFT1fhoN66IAblMOWPUgq-6zQOqlwnX1E8_01rrlCA0j_YVEoaIDSznUVUh-iPDXZ7tWipJczdNVS-dVLenTIUem51rMiRM_2XjmHuZra10F-8uI3kQw9Pg7k/s320/nice4.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="left"><br />Afterwards, I trudged down the hill, and walked along the promenade. There had been an Ironman race that day, and there were still some people heading for the finish line. Half of the main road was blocked off, and there was a huge crowd cheering them on, dancing along to music being pumped out of the PA system. It was very cool. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Following a great little evening of unusual Nice experiences, I headed back to the Pink Lady for bed. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Though it felt as if my calves would never recover, I went for a nice little jog along the promenade the following morning. I think it may have actually done them some good in the long run. I snuck around the room, trying not to wake the others as I ate my breakfast and got my daypack sorted. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Mum and Dad had emailed and told me to call them at midday so that we could sort out our collective travel plans, so I spent the morning roaming the under-construction-for-three-years main drag, wandering in and out of shops, looking at things I couldn't afford to buy (be they too expensive or too heavy). At midday I called home, but - surprise surprise - they weren't home. I grudgingly paid the €0.20 for the two-second "call" I'd made (the phone beeped - money well spent), and then returned to the Hotel Anvers - where all the Busabout people were staying - for a little while before returning to the phone centre. I had a little tanty/break down on the phone. I think the three month mark seems to be my "cool-headed traveller" limit. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I spent the afternoon wandering some more - unintentionally, of course, as I didn't have a map and somehow couldn't find my way to the beach. When I eventually did find it, I was sufficiently hot and sweaty enough to warrant a swim in the Mediterranian. It was a strange experience - stumbling over the rocks, wearing thongs into the water in order to save my poor feet from their pointiness, and then finding myself somewhat more buoyant than usual. Either that, or my thongs were trying to float. I lay on the beach for a short time (the rocks can only be comfortable - a term I use loosely - for so long), finished my book (satisfied), and then headed slowly back to the hostel. After showering, I cooked up the rest of my pasta/sauce/vegetable mixture, and sat down to a huge meal. The perils of not having a kitchen at the next place. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Though there had been some suggestion of going to a pub trivia match, a group of us ended up going to the beach instead. About thirty Busabouters sat on the rocks, most of them drinking or eating gelati. It was really nice. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQi_l9G6oMEI-JUGMPssgqdnieKwL3aRFC4Kp0r6Ki__821RJgOU5Jyy2hkqdnnVVQbD8g-P5TOp3S1Irqxd7Swpk5pWmED6n1ljDZHmXP_hFKTApdToUnUWR44jNUKAcnhuezkvvqc4U/s1600-h/nice3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271414408474130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQi_l9G6oMEI-JUGMPssgqdnieKwL3aRFC4Kp0r6Ki__821RJgOU5Jyy2hkqdnnVVQbD8g-P5TOp3S1Irqxd7Swpk5pWmED6n1ljDZHmXP_hFKTApdToUnUWR44jNUKAcnhuezkvvqc4U/s320/nice3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[Busabouters take over the beach in Nice]<br /><div align="left"><br /><br /><br />Tuesday morning I got up early and was at the Hotel Anvers just on seven in order to check my email (more planning with Mum and Dad) before the bus left for Avignon at 8am. It turned out that only 7 of us were getting off in Avignon. Steve and Sophie, the English couple I met way back in Bruges, Dustin, a Canadian 20-year-old, and I were all sitting near each other on the bus, and got off together. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Dustin and I went into the Old Town of Avignon with Matt - a New Zealander I hadn't met before. We found our way to the touristy main drag, got some lunch (baguette with tomato, lettuce and brie - mmm), and then went to the tourist information office. From there we went to an internet cafe, where Matt and Dustin left me to book my flight to the UK. Once I'd done that I went up to the Palais Des Papes - the building in which seven twentieth century popes resided. There is quite the impressive statue on that building! The nearby park was also lovely - just the place to sit and read my newly-purchased "Harry Potter" (a last-minute attempt to catch up with the rest of the world). </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNP3OVo24k-mQ-40b675XapK7biLpSHp3uzJZmLWieyp6kMxwLJnaT30p8jFY0XeFdUPZTi7JdCeyowPteTKnmL2wvNcp1DSZmlbHr89WIh-KO3_OWWf2VWG9EQx2IGgzZy3NSwx1H-nI/s1600-h/nice2.jpg"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzmMEiskBUDWYf6FK9ZtrWWjoOWY7QyyzAYZQbyCZUjENHKoOSDMo2u73mwojGaeo32E6z86WebUmQN8An9Nm3fVLskWy_iQBVGrDXnaPTi6xArbmmq9VK17-U0gampsXep_nVsOrMVU/s1600-h/avignon2.jpg"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271955574353442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22Y0x4YKQ58FWfkqOY-9S1go70CR-tDI6r32MjDE3Zn_P0A3I96C4pQK02QS9GgnnakqShb4CdlmJpcCuaSIKSRHYoMJeaMw7UYNXBoV-Akz2YkgLynbIwIl1V7nLs-TbRusIs2G-SI4/s320/avignon.jpg" border="0" /><br />[Palais Des Papes]<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">At around 6pm, I returned to the hostel/campground, and joined Matt and another couple of Kiwis - Marissa and Tim - as well as Dustin for a Happy Hour beer. We sat chatting for hours, and ended up going to dinner at the grounds' restaurant at about 9pm. By midnight, the waitress was getting sick of us (but never said anything), the mozzies were biting, and the wind was picking up, so we all took ourselves off to bed. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I ran along the Rhone the next morning, appreciating the grand ramparts and the seemingly half-finished Pont D'Avignon as I worked the last bits of stiffness out of my legs (bloody Cinque Terre!). We all met up for breakfast, and at 10am, everyone but Steve, Sophie and myself went off to take a ride through the local wineries. The three of us sat chatting for a while (English music festivals being an exciting topic), and then went our separate ways into town. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />It seemed the entire city was having a sale. It was actually quite wird. I spent most of the day talking myself out of buying anything. I also returned to the Rocher Des Doms and my favourite bench to read for a while. Just before 5pm I arrived back at the hostel only to discover that my room was locked. Having not been given a key, I was not to impressed to hear it was a manditory lock out from 2pm to 5pm. Not that they'd told me about this anti-siesta... I was starving, hanging out for some mini-toasts and vegemite, so when I was finally let in at 5:20pm, I was getting a little antsy. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Matt, Dustin, Tim and Marissa returned from their "wine tasting tour" at about 6, and after another Happy Hour beer, we all went to the same restaurant we'd gone to the night before for dinner. Yet again it was a lovely evening, with lots of chatting (Matt's various outbursts about the French were pretty funny), and ended with a card trick that the next morning, six of us still didn't understand. We were all checked out by 10am, but the bus didn't come 'til 12:30, so we spent a couple of hours sitting by the river playing cards. <br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271959869320754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicgLViiO0wweUbwCtNDhLOBulB1d0yzeXA4z2RS_m6VAWYfghLohzcauLtFJuCWuB8GUwBxQL0NYrH8V6tqfuuFK7PYbgyiHjNDBEZzOuBZlwXXXarQvOG6AMg3IML11LihCHAukkrMB8/s320/avignon2.jpg" border="0" /><br />[The Pont D'Avignon on the Rhone]</p><p align="center"></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"><br /><br /><br />Arriving in Barcelona, I set off straight away for my hostel, despearately needing to pee. The pressure of the hip-strap of my pack certainly wasn't helping! The street I was staying on - Passeig de Garcia - had me a little confused for a while. It is one of the main shopping precincts in Barcelona, and from the bus, I carried my pack past Cartier, Yves Saint Laurent and Gucci. I was a little bit worried I was at the wrong place when I arrived at #116, but on the third floor of a not-so-ritzy residential building was the Catolonia Hostel. I had just enough time to get changed, put my valuables in my locker, and send a quick couple of emails home (last minute requests - "am running low on vegemite") before I had to dash back down the road to the Busabout hostel, where I met Marissa and Tim, along with two of their friends (who they'd met on a Contiki trip and were also now on Busabout) and we all headed out in search of dinner. </p><p align="left"><br /><br />We all seemed to be on the lookout for Tapas, but most looked quite expensive, despite our best efforts to find the "dodgy back alleys." In the end, hunger caused us to settle on a Sizzler-esque buffet place. Not exactly the typical Spanish meal we were going for, but the piles of food we all consumed and the free glass of wine went down a treat. After dinner, we wandered around, finding ourselves at the Columbus Monument before heading back up La Rambla in search of a cheap bar. One Irish and one Aussie bar later (menus looked at, but not a drop drunk), we gave up on our mission, and headed to our respective homes. The fact that the sun had set so late, and we'd eaten dinner so late had me all confused, and I didn't realise quite how late it was when I got back to the hostel. Barcelona is quite the night owl! <br /><br /><br /></p><p align="left">On Friday morning I ran around the streets and alleyways of downtown Barcelona, as the nearest park was quite a treck. It ended up being quite nice - passing little grocers and bakeries early in the morning. </p><p align="left"><br /><br />After breakfast, I went to the Busabout hostel to see what everyone else was doing, but they all seemed to be either going shopping or going to the beach. With my nerdy list of things I wanted to do/see in Barcelona spilling out of my Lonely Planet, I decided I'd best go it alone. Two days didn't seem enough time to see everything! </p><p align="left"><br /><br />Quite the treck to the north east, and I found myself at Gaudi's Sagrada Familia. Just when I thought I was sick of churches, along came the mother of all churches - that is one crazy, amazing, beautiful building. </p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"></p><p align="center"><br /><br />[Sagrada Familia:]</p><p align="left"><br /></p><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpv4QfQ9vc-ArprnF9RXzfM1clo0MpaWa7_S8gtoioXPmO1iXPjzggrKy1Inh7zjEgOSzkyyFDlslKzM_D7iAuJrrh1M0f66yBfqdFMF6OfeILzLpqDXVI3WzOa2GiN4Qco2sleR3XDNo/s1600-h/gaudi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083269159550643442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpv4QfQ9vc-ArprnF9RXzfM1clo0MpaWa7_S8gtoioXPmO1iXPjzggrKy1Inh7zjEgOSzkyyFDlslKzM_D7iAuJrrh1M0f66yBfqdFMF6OfeILzLpqDXVI3WzOa2GiN4Qco2sleR3XDNo/s320/gaudi.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3702DIV99ZElUKxNaQ-VhoGDIQ-Gfgc8wiqnVF_IM_69ZS9BOGAUPuWl3rcL25aimamtSwStBtFbvqun_OcP6R2g6zdl8iB8dxjef9gjq2jr3dIk42fArg-BwtG49je5VXqq9fguhxHA/s1600-h/gaudi2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083269159550643458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3702DIV99ZElUKxNaQ-VhoGDIQ-Gfgc8wiqnVF_IM_69ZS9BOGAUPuWl3rcL25aimamtSwStBtFbvqun_OcP6R2g6zdl8iB8dxjef9gjq2jr3dIk42fArg-BwtG49je5VXqq9fguhxHA/s320/gaudi2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnPmbg40K4Ob-TeglSPlFAZQQmAgQ2D3DQdUe_i1RNHc0ihACD1CYDyoDYtoEbPHTzg8pbzL6LHJpvZUhJHUPbYEsgJyMbX0OQp9a_8tna3h3TGbEPfD71TmOYa_95qpe5MYXM20BJLOs/s1600-h/gaudi3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083269168140578066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnPmbg40K4Ob-TeglSPlFAZQQmAgQ2D3DQdUe_i1RNHc0ihACD1CYDyoDYtoEbPHTzg8pbzL6LHJpvZUhJHUPbYEsgJyMbX0OQp9a_8tna3h3TGbEPfD71TmOYa_95qpe5MYXM20BJLOs/s320/gaudi3.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />Once I'd finished gawking at the - apparently - half-finished, and still very much in the process of being constructed building (watching the builders go about their work was odd), I walked up to the Parc Guell. Though I wasn't entirely sure I was going the right way, I found the park much sooner than anticipated, and spent a few hours there exploring, admiring and taking photos of Gaudi's next most famous work of art. To think that he designed these things in the early twentieth century is a little mind blowing. He was certainly ahead of his time.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0o3G3FG4fChEQB5Q0S9m1C_aEfZypxm8J1_gCGgJ5UuUCWw4eMzpFoQGFsVVLgmXTp1erFMkyUhGZpEkdAoZ5xU3im-p1hFnFdEOynr96BFM6SZqgr7QhboMKFwvQZJ395JP6_nbZLRc/s1600-h/barcelona.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083269168140578082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0o3G3FG4fChEQB5Q0S9m1C_aEfZypxm8J1_gCGgJ5UuUCWw4eMzpFoQGFsVVLgmXTp1erFMkyUhGZpEkdAoZ5xU3im-p1hFnFdEOynr96BFM6SZqgr7QhboMKFwvQZJ395JP6_nbZLRc/s320/barcelona.jpg" border="0" /></a>[view of Barcelona from the park] <br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p></p><p align="center">[Parc Guell:]</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4GOJ_bfJBBajSktAj7Dej9XCaeA9vws1__3Lf-SCuTdrVaBSe2H9NkSaRBqEGjAaUKR2qCOUsOsVyOg6tPwC2CHhT7wfsPOLXVx6owARFLjK-2ANNxbmFhOkXP5K5K_dJxH3rAg8fZQ8/s1600-h/gaudi4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083269168140578098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4GOJ_bfJBBajSktAj7Dej9XCaeA9vws1__3Lf-SCuTdrVaBSe2H9NkSaRBqEGjAaUKR2qCOUsOsVyOg6tPwC2CHhT7wfsPOLXVx6owARFLjK-2ANNxbmFhOkXP5K5K_dJxH3rAg8fZQ8/s320/gaudi4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkaU89n4FJaSswou8rongC-wwdKp_iSBQ22FQL7cDB_d_8y7kEk96-ekA4IUj5fGmxMdHNBxislAKJxHUrw3hIJbior6gyl21ec1HyTigTErsCiYTE2mBiZId5pPQMYLMNYU54yuVpco/s1600-h/gaudi5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083268433701170338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkaU89n4FJaSswou8rongC-wwdKp_iSBQ22FQL7cDB_d_8y7kEk96-ekA4IUj5fGmxMdHNBxislAKJxHUrw3hIJbior6gyl21ec1HyTigTErsCiYTE2mBiZId5pPQMYLMNYU54yuVpco/s320/gaudi5.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p><p><br /><br />I spent my "siesta" at the hostel, chilling out, reading and just enjoying being out of the sun!At around 6, I walked down La Rambla again, wandering the alleyways of the El Raval area, and occasionally finding myself back on La Rambla with its many and varied street performers. My favourite was the "tourist," with his socks and sandles and big video camera.<br /><br />I spent quite some time at the Market la Boqueria - a very busy, quite impressive fresh fruit/veg and meat market. The atmosphere was so lively, it's hard to believer it's open 12 hours a day, 7 days a week. The sheeps' heads - eyeballs and all - were pretty disturbing, though, and I tried to keep away from the meat and seafood section. On my way back to the hostel, I popped into a cafe, somewhere near the Busabout hostel, and enjoyed my first Spanish specialty - hot chocolate and churros. The hot chocolate was thick, the churros (basically stick-like donuts) oily, and my arteries may never be the same, but it was pretty good stuff.<br /><br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJkaF3Wqy1itFvVByZrL-MzRKQjTmwlnTHLNez-HYyBfsJ2ojKWmb7nOlxQPQbDepQwH0rVwluWbcLl-r07GeXnQfff5Hz5dpip7KJRaelKdPmQbjyzHlqAvDUjWByvlR_y-Egd-k2iM/s1600-h/barcelona2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083268437996137650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJkaF3Wqy1itFvVByZrL-MzRKQjTmwlnTHLNez-HYyBfsJ2ojKWmb7nOlxQPQbDepQwH0rVwluWbcLl-r07GeXnQfff5Hz5dpip7KJRaelKdPmQbjyzHlqAvDUjWByvlR_y-Egd-k2iM/s320/barcelona2.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[Hot chocolate and churros - heart attack on a plate... and in a cup]</p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p>The hostel was - like the rest of the city - only just getting started by the time midnight came and went, but with the aid of my earplugs, and a little bit of exhaustion thrown in for good measure, I was out like a light. The next morning I had a freezing cold shower (why does this always seem to be the case when I have to wash my hair?!), a leisurely breakfast, and then spent a few hours uploading photos onto the net for Tiffany to burn onto a CD for me at home. The things I'll do to save €4.</p><p><br /><br />I'd read that there were art markets near La Rambla on Saturdays, but I was a little disappointed to be honest.</p><p>On my way to the Olympic Village area, I stopped in the Ciutadella Park and had a great little quasi-siesta in the shade of a nice, big tree. I read my book, lay there a while, and basically did nothing. It was great. <br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOaPaENwD4qINl5yFnUvILbB3q_TKKNecCM4J3XgR5FYKFmeILbax-FKHs5bHB-0FEQGfHxQVRgEMNrhiaAbdrgm3f-p4vKFfmez-n5qacDbrlQBQmPo1BZDuhd7ErNMvKfaSgZSHxGY/s1600-h/Spain+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083268442291104962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOaPaENwD4qINl5yFnUvILbB3q_TKKNecCM4J3XgR5FYKFmeILbax-FKHs5bHB-0FEQGfHxQVRgEMNrhiaAbdrgm3f-p4vKFfmez-n5qacDbrlQBQmPo1BZDuhd7ErNMvKfaSgZSHxGY/s320/Spain+001.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[my siesta in the Ciutadella Park]</p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p><br /><br />The area near the Olympic Village seemed all but desserted (post-siesta ghost tow), until I arrived at Port Olimpic and found the throngs of people on the many big, sandy beaches in the area. I awlked along the boardwalk at La Barceloneta for a while, cursing myself for not having brought my swimmers! I walked through La Barceloneta on my way back to La Rambla, and really enjoyed it - a little way off the tourist trail, and feeling a little more authentically Spanish.<br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheoKoNCbvRvd_vu61d88Tf8FzJTJlCd_I8A_BPWRrQ2bDJbCdEHimmgTov15tQ8PuiFTRKWzRwlXIsIbjE6V0XJjIgJ4pqZ8nDc_MBimOcwroUK_I6GO74VVIwvJd3hcvSgWswq4jEKM/s1600-h/Spain+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083268450881039570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheoKoNCbvRvd_vu61d88Tf8FzJTJlCd_I8A_BPWRrQ2bDJbCdEHimmgTov15tQ8PuiFTRKWzRwlXIsIbjE6V0XJjIgJ4pqZ8nDc_MBimOcwroUK_I6GO74VVIwvJd3hcvSgWswq4jEKM/s320/Spain+002.jpg" border="0" /></a>[an example of a random piece of modern art in Barcelona, in the Villa Olimpica]<br /><br /> </p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGVHNDMXChXW4JA6qYqLdQJZM8NTitXbFnON7HdkfrspCw6LGbKV12GANpx2iU5YJB-4EXXRuPUnEqvQHzQ9Sx2FKVflOqWto4gM2HJ_30-aKzUuiF95OSrzlP7WmweC0BD_HYIGwyFc/s1600-h/Spain+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083268459470974178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGVHNDMXChXW4JA6qYqLdQJZM8NTitXbFnON7HdkfrspCw6LGbKV12GANpx2iU5YJB-4EXXRuPUnEqvQHzQ9Sx2FKVflOqWto4gM2HJ_30-aKzUuiF95OSrzlP7WmweC0BD_HYIGwyFc/s320/Spain+003.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Before I forget to mention it - I realised quite quickly that Barcelona smelled somewhat familiar and soon put my finger on it - Thailand. The slightly cringe-worthy smell of stagnant water and rotting vegetables. Must be something to do with the heat.<br /><br /><br /><p>Back at La Rambla, I returned to the market, bought some fruit (grapes, on the advice of the woman at the fruit stall, which were delicious), and then sat at the Placa de Catalunya for a while, reading and people-watching. On my return to the hostel, I had some dinner, caught up on my diary, read some more, packed my pack and just generally did very little. It was nice. </p><p><br /><br />The trip to Madrid was pretty unexciting. We stopped through Valencia briefly, where I had some paella for lunch. Mmm.</p><p>When we arrived in Madrid, I headed straight out to see the Palacio Real and the very manicured surrounding gardens, and then to El Retiro and the even prettier gardens. There were some pretty cool buskers along the side of the Estanque, including clowns and marrionette puppets. The view across to the Monument to Alfonso XII in the lowering light was quite nice. <br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitK5UCbba4iEdjsxMTCunLynHXiPf_rsrQYnE90lLBLmxe_o_hJ48-pHtbXNJ5U9eF1xMGSJoReKrJT104vW1NLo2OgdpxBMk05fvY_GZoBs3Tr6xzE_5mBS6k3b3Ij-iTt-F94EX9VXw/s1600-h/Spain+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267699261762642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitK5UCbba4iEdjsxMTCunLynHXiPf_rsrQYnE90lLBLmxe_o_hJ48-pHtbXNJ5U9eF1xMGSJoReKrJT104vW1NLo2OgdpxBMk05fvY_GZoBs3Tr6xzE_5mBS6k3b3Ij-iTt-F94EX9VXw/s320/Spain+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">[Palacio Real]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWKrgR_xdZtXTosTirjL-lTMw9LZoKsnJmRhbBY2yBXWomZxaA4cjKYnc8GzEtZ3xi04UzSGcODW237s8tPiisNbl1jO0y-vXM196mgIxSIrV8CPySg3x1N2jEHqFJZFlcVJV-NS81Jg/s1600-h/Spain+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267712146664546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWKrgR_xdZtXTosTirjL-lTMw9LZoKsnJmRhbBY2yBXWomZxaA4cjKYnc8GzEtZ3xi04UzSGcODW237s8tPiisNbl1jO0y-vXM196mgIxSIrV8CPySg3x1N2jEHqFJZFlcVJV-NS81Jg/s320/Spain+005.jpg" border="0" /></a>[Monument to Alfonso XII, across the Estanque]<br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPai6QWWlN55XS5JoYQGj502KggG9rhqIoUCrnI1a6J9SwkWh9oKXgTluVmTyTSkB44VMFh5LvZCQfn-D60i937OLb9RfQf0EVgJzwAY_ZOBdKnYkXlm-jvRiQVVg_HbyVdSK8WS74BY/s1600-h/Spain+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267720736599154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPai6QWWlN55XS5JoYQGj502KggG9rhqIoUCrnI1a6J9SwkWh9oKXgTluVmTyTSkB44VMFh5LvZCQfn-D60i937OLb9RfQf0EVgJzwAY_ZOBdKnYkXlm-jvRiQVVg_HbyVdSK8WS74BY/s320/Spain+006.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>[View from my hostel room. I call it "Late Night Boredom in Madrid."] <br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p align="left">The next morning I ran back to the park, spending the first half of the run with my iPod off because it was still dark (!) and I'd heard that Madrid was a little sketchy.<br /><br />Then it was back on the bus - again - and off to San Sebastian.<br /><br />On the way, we stopped in Burgos for lunch - a pretty little city with a big, gothic cathedral. It was also a little dramatic when the bus was pulled over. Apparently a fairly common occurrance with Busabout, but a first for me. Everyone pulled on their seatbelts quickly as the policemen boarded the bus - except for me, the big nerd who wears her seatbelt all the time.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_ttgxjV71fpS0ob4UHWVGDWD0BUFD_PD_zvqDjsOJ_IT5BxQnbaJPbWbXOD6GKtfH7ii3AUn_oZ1zg49Bq0avoptYqBP-TeY_bAlRl3yLnjPFMH0bK5Yx90eGrBF_X9b1vco7vH868s/s1600-h/Spain+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267729326533762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_ttgxjV71fpS0ob4UHWVGDWD0BUFD_PD_zvqDjsOJ_IT5BxQnbaJPbWbXOD6GKtfH7ii3AUn_oZ1zg49Bq0avoptYqBP-TeY_bAlRl3yLnjPFMH0bK5Yx90eGrBF_X9b1vco7vH868s/s320/Spain+007.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[Burgos' cathedral]<br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p>It took a while to check in at the "Urban House," and once I was checked in I went off in search of a grocery store. Buying fruit and veggies was intimidating, what with my inability to speak Spanish and my tendency to attempt words in Italian, but the nice grocer put up with me and I eventually got my campinons and... other veggies.</p><p>After a big, fat, carrot-less salad for dinner, I headed back ou tto explore the city a little. The river by night was really pretty.<br /><br /> </p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY82ppEJrBE3yOf_OEnStruRI9xzL6PKxwgDcXS_PVgwR8xNQlxKrVpatPctuUT9UcfpzrztWl7tBEz_NBvgKnfp0TclR4_1WUVTk1J9NwoNf1E5updEJJqNnFJ1MhAGsdUcxENOdQR68/s1600-h/Spain+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267742211435666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY82ppEJrBE3yOf_OEnStruRI9xzL6PKxwgDcXS_PVgwR8xNQlxKrVpatPctuUT9UcfpzrztWl7tBEz_NBvgKnfp0TclR4_1WUVTk1J9NwoNf1E5updEJJqNnFJ1MhAGsdUcxENOdQR68/s320/Spain+008.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />The following morning I went for a lovely run along the beach. Although I've run along quite a few beaches in Europe, this was the first beach that actually felt like a real beach - the waves were making plenty of sea spray, and the sand was sandy!</p><p><br /><br />After breakfast, I went for a walk up the Monte Urgull Parque, with its giant statue of Jesus. It was a little chilly (in my skirt, singlet and swimmers - optimistically), but after 15 minutes of trecking up the hill to see the giant Jesus aerial [see below], I was a little toastier.<br /><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycGa2nQo1844hM7DJ9OWUFzvLPgY7Ad2bHhRHu-6zGm1cwcjFBGdI1MuXODjEYL1XKdmqQR4S5QyyAFZNw4rfhKLGZimu8sR6rTlFmh61k-rKlhrxwhEceIXFFyIBtWa5ydMopJYvJSs/s1600-h/Spain+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267102261308418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycGa2nQo1844hM7DJ9OWUFzvLPgY7Ad2bHhRHu-6zGm1cwcjFBGdI1MuXODjEYL1XKdmqQR4S5QyyAFZNw4rfhKLGZimu8sR6rTlFmh61k-rKlhrxwhEceIXFFyIBtWa5ydMopJYvJSs/s320/Spain+009.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[the cloudy view across San Sebastian]</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknhfa0ksUvr_3Mzvf2BcUmG30YQXNS8Px3cb3i08w47u8izzomx-RFQCFgNsWiqMkjIFgiBwWJ0A9F2Dtf-d3Ee7IquePeZYyF2_1DSyr66Oco2QcK4xYfTiUZi1fEjZHqp1PtcdWq2M/s1600-h/Spain+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267110851243026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknhfa0ksUvr_3Mzvf2BcUmG30YQXNS8Px3cb3i08w47u8izzomx-RFQCFgNsWiqMkjIFgiBwWJ0A9F2Dtf-d3Ee7IquePeZYyF2_1DSyr66Oco2QcK4xYfTiUZi1fEjZHqp1PtcdWq2M/s320/Spain+010.jpg" border="0" /></a> [I just liked the contrast of a cannon in front of a statue of Jesus. No comment.]<br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH9TphNGtSG1KgcA0OxR1XVTWXbN_YCb-VdSI7YcDrCqW8kR76nNE_RjpEwmEuybMK2-nGlPFX_E1IC0L7arXezo4_uU4eqyK9RKH28rc7xNLS36nm_MUseAUXBD8u_AONfiirwfardc/s1600-h/Spain+011.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267115146210338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH9TphNGtSG1KgcA0OxR1XVTWXbN_YCb-VdSI7YcDrCqW8kR76nNE_RjpEwmEuybMK2-nGlPFX_E1IC0L7arXezo4_uU4eqyK9RKH28rc7xNLS36nm_MUseAUXBD8u_AONfiirwfardc/s320/Spain+011.jpg" border="0" /></a>[Looks like a regular statue from the front, but then, from behind...]<br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoFvB_OWsn6SBaEqdTwR0a5ifjDlCvyKjktg-ERSNYL47NLHrWZTZAVPl0Wazm3EYsqblYfv7OHwGygERIhgrYTXiSLg1OLoN7MlrNW9nqs0CacQ_nnTPxafAl_1SqSILUOigMv-u6P8/s1600-h/Spain+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267119441177650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpoFvB_OWsn6SBaEqdTwR0a5ifjDlCvyKjktg-ERSNYL47NLHrWZTZAVPl0Wazm3EYsqblYfv7OHwGygERIhgrYTXiSLg1OLoN7MlrNW9nqs0CacQ_nnTPxafAl_1SqSILUOigMv-u6P8/s320/Spain+012.jpg" border="0" /></a>[...giant Jesus aerial!] <br /><br /></p><p align="center"></p><p></p><p></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRULrDhfjcIEenh-6CWtHxsrid6dtNCfJYuKiDjriyWDCj_59TiZnj1sGGEM2pmEF0yIXoFKLAs3HME4nLudGiXnejxxwRlz6Z7Sob973dbCxcKWYJZOkl2S1REEzVvGEf6z0r_ZLD5Jk/s1600-h/Spain+013.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083267128031112258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRULrDhfjcIEenh-6CWtHxsrid6dtNCfJYuKiDjriyWDCj_59TiZnj1sGGEM2pmEF0yIXoFKLAs3HME4nLudGiXnejxxwRlz6Z7Sob973dbCxcKWYJZOkl2S1REEzVvGEf6z0r_ZLD5Jk/s320/Spain+013.jpg" border="0" /></a>[San Seb] <br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /><br />I went looking for the laundromat, but at €6 for an 8kg load of washing, I took all my dirty clothes back to the hostel.<br /><br />It wasn't warm enough to go swimming, so I went wandering through the shops instead - right on siesta. Clever. But some stores were still open, and I was entertained for a while.<br /><br />I had an early dinner, read some more Harry Potter (it's addictive), and then spent the night sitting around with some othre people from the hostel, chatting and playing cards.<br /><br />Wednesday morning was spent stuffing around - checking emails, etc, and waiting for a reasonable hour to head to Bilbao and my flight to the UK (at 9pm!). An English-speaking country for the first time in three months. I'm excited!Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-89822535008920994652007-06-25T22:07:00.000-07:002007-06-29T07:46:51.507-07:00Italy Part 2: Napoli and Cinque Terre<div align="left">On Saturday I took the train (just making it at 8:15) to Napoli. The walk from the station to the hostel was a little off-putting. Everything was pretty grimy. But the hostel was pretty nice and - map in hand and padlock securely attached to my day pack - I headed out into the heat to see what Napoli had to offer. I had a little trouble, but eventually made it round to St Lucia and then Chiaia, with their "beaches" of giant rocks! How people were actually lying on them, I don't know... Aussies are so spoiled.</div><div align="left"><br />I was starving, and found a not-too-dodgy restaurant for the best pizza I've had in a while. Margherita with Mozerella di Bufala - oh my God, so good.<br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbhtJxjIBU7Y081w3RMI3DkyZagAq5G-gYZySR14saYO6m1XgkyX3UTI3M7QrBBurFt1D-JkFFSCp7tOuKm2SoRCtbh1FrRxCVw3hv8H9cZ9c40u5q7Fv-uOhOI709WlWDrfRDwD7Q-c/s1600-h/Italy+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080242250361048722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbhtJxjIBU7Y081w3RMI3DkyZagAq5G-gYZySR14saYO6m1XgkyX3UTI3M7QrBBurFt1D-JkFFSCp7tOuKm2SoRCtbh1FrRxCVw3hv8H9cZ9c40u5q7Fv-uOhOI709WlWDrfRDwD7Q-c/s320/Italy+001.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">I polished off the whole thing, and feeling sufficiently stuffed, went to look at the Castel Dell'Ovo, a castle dating back to the twelfth century, just off the coast. The view from the top - of the town, the ocean and Mount Vesuvius - was pretty special. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4TL3-082IYGaOMGc1J1fWQ7tRvRv1BzEnibevMqubPb-WBw5YCPp65qCN5cUmzEQHIYer2rHwhmSRhtWE5a1qgNzsalhVsuoeLMgEmX2vvg3ff5zj1nHJ5MdY4nFO9rQ_od_D88wtcU/s1600-h/Italy+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080242263245950626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4TL3-082IYGaOMGc1J1fWQ7tRvRv1BzEnibevMqubPb-WBw5YCPp65qCN5cUmzEQHIYer2rHwhmSRhtWE5a1qgNzsalhVsuoeLMgEmX2vvg3ff5zj1nHJ5MdY4nFO9rQ_od_D88wtcU/s320/Italy+002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaaN7sfwukgTAWg5s5idjOuKvynL1fvyBfJY1zvk0hUvmS_xMqFkk-HXTxxynlISwCRa-li7ZG7FjAApMbqhGUVuJt75fkv3UK9s1FnuPtaGVtQfULDemGIb8nUx9I1ijNMAY7Jzmzaw/s1600-h/Italy+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080242267540917938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaaN7sfwukgTAWg5s5idjOuKvynL1fvyBfJY1zvk0hUvmS_xMqFkk-HXTxxynlISwCRa-li7ZG7FjAApMbqhGUVuJt75fkv3UK9s1FnuPtaGVtQfULDemGIb8nUx9I1ijNMAY7Jzmzaw/s320/Italy+003.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"> </p><p align="left">I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the tourist-riddled streets, full of shops, many of which were closed as it was Saturday (and everyone seemed to be getting married, if the glamour shots being taken at the Dell'Ovo were anything to go by!). </p><p align="left">I had some of the tastiest gelato while walking up towards Naples' Duomo, which ended up being closed, along with another church I tried to visit (where were the couples getting married??).</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKwUsVmnM8RyfLO_G3Kijopq5btmDPq0i_rCzmuEAu64QtuEMdUvGS7OfRDaZXVqfsN3MGAlJHYYijbh4jamg7g85nI7tzQ5sLAFXkkaOiuew0yP_ObV5nlx43UcFvfyGEsAD9JalMl8/s1600-h/Italy+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080242276130852546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKwUsVmnM8RyfLO_G3Kijopq5btmDPq0i_rCzmuEAu64QtuEMdUvGS7OfRDaZXVqfsN3MGAlJHYYijbh4jamg7g85nI7tzQ5sLAFXkkaOiuew0yP_ObV5nlx43UcFvfyGEsAD9JalMl8/s320/Italy+004.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"> </p><p align="left">I quite enjoyed the adventure, though, through lots of smaller streets which were less touristy and had lots of little grocery stores and bakeries. When I got back to the hostel, I (ab)used the free internet, and then had an early night - I was exhausted!</p><p align="left">Sunday morning i Had a leisurely breakfast - also free - amongst the biggest Nutella jars I've seen to date. 5kg. That's a lot of hazelnuts.I checked out, but left my bag (very impressed by that hostel!), and went to meet Mirella at the train station. We were meant to meet up at 10, but by 10:45 I decided to line up for a train ticket, keeping an eye out for her while I waited. The curse of the mobile-less strikes again!</p><p align="left">When I finally got my train ticket - despite being so busy remembering how to order a ticket in Italian I forgot the name of where I was going - but then realised I'd left my camera battery charging at the hostel. Aah! A hurried walk, and almost an hour later, and I was back at the train station, ready to finally board the train to Pompeii. The ruins were pretty impressive - if for nothing else, for how huge they were! I was there for a few hours and only probably saw half of it. I'd just finished looking at one of the theatres (looking oh-so ancient with its spotlights and PA system), when I ran into Mirella. In such a huge place, what're the chances? We went to a more authentic-looking theatre before asking a guide for... as Mirella tried to put it "la casa di... di..." "Erotica?" The guide knew exactly what we were looking for. It was the busiest area of all of Pompeii. Too funny. </p><p align="center"><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyLI2a21M5ciS9qydqgRzmZwkFoIQZUH2Vi8CY1wqTZ9G2hf-Oj44tuvKYhr2GJ9rMlNvI3G3OI0PQiGu1e0GaBbkj5yR-For_nruqSZGeuEbAtTqnu4bKU3bnRCxRsvnzg0h9bkrZis/s1600-h/Italy+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080242280425819858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyLI2a21M5ciS9qydqgRzmZwkFoIQZUH2Vi8CY1wqTZ9G2hf-Oj44tuvKYhr2GJ9rMlNvI3G3OI0PQiGu1e0GaBbkj5yR-For_nruqSZGeuEbAtTqnu4bKU3bnRCxRsvnzg0h9bkrZis/s320/Italy+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYRiDSWlyZVFG3jVlBXyFxGpTeajhnynhtVb_AhLDUmt5TevF7OaWlMLaGX9t91nDb48un39AU-jvPbFb-8ALxkM4a2pTLKW5MFaSnVg662u7okzXTsxxLsK3PCA7Zr3DNsIN5gQZWX0/s1600-h/Italy+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080241159439355378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYRiDSWlyZVFG3jVlBXyFxGpTeajhnynhtVb_AhLDUmt5TevF7OaWlMLaGX9t91nDb48un39AU-jvPbFb-8ALxkM4a2pTLKW5MFaSnVg662u7okzXTsxxLsK3PCA7Zr3DNsIN5gQZWX0/s320/Italy+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"> [an ancient Pompeiian dog]</div><div align="center"> </div><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLcPxKkNaAqpVM9gW4oLeK20qsEC-N_CB_oNh6a6Ji8_VTeEgVSgAXxSMQ5FXu0LVU-gW52bLVbwIwGYsArsQyBWh8kWChMjlnFEz-MLvxuS6NF5yCGpmB0jf5jQKdez9zu8G2snlFa8/s1600-h/Italy+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080241163734322690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLcPxKkNaAqpVM9gW4oLeK20qsEC-N_CB_oNh6a6Ji8_VTeEgVSgAXxSMQ5FXu0LVU-gW52bLVbwIwGYsArsQyBWh8kWChMjlnFEz-MLvxuS6NF5yCGpmB0jf5jQKdez9zu8G2snlFa8/s320/Italy+007.jpg" border="0" /></a> [the World's Biggest Bathroom has some competition]</p><p align="center"> </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJ_xu1-2O34ONPhH4jtMworewX110AAxqUD80I15L_BwswSl8KB-E3HMax6F4Q_yC2A16EmtZ1JM-OrY1_0NX9tUMzghWDb5v_CJ-UFtLuj9wyhpt2zMgpBM0tBITMOdPCizJNHfZzVs/s1600-h/Italy+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080241172324257298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJ_xu1-2O34ONPhH4jtMworewX110AAxqUD80I15L_BwswSl8KB-E3HMax6F4Q_yC2A16EmtZ1JM-OrY1_0NX9tUMzghWDb5v_CJ-UFtLuj9wyhpt2zMgpBM0tBITMOdPCizJNHfZzVs/s320/Italy+008.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCls4sGZW_i4HL7OgTWOsFFJEgWaOox2NZ614QXCOXcbNBSkcFUmnsyAhjqsCZ58G7P_9oF5vNKoUhNqNUcDm4UDgV2VxN6rtXPcyeEG9N3kghyM2aQLSBxg3ZQRIJ4W3-f4tNt1f5Qe0/s1600-h/Italy+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080241176619224610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCls4sGZW_i4HL7OgTWOsFFJEgWaOox2NZ614QXCOXcbNBSkcFUmnsyAhjqsCZ58G7P_9oF5vNKoUhNqNUcDm4UDgV2VxN6rtXPcyeEG9N3kghyM2aQLSBxg3ZQRIJ4W3-f4tNt1f5Qe0/s320/Italy+009.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiArQijlCGdsFp_8wDhBwsZO_5SgwQ1lkkEDHjWx3xHMjAq9rCGfI0UeP-b2D05Ib3M5YeJAijbS3IrdzovjqLh0JAqu_0mVQUAK3FTLFWuCqP243IDRBDwjmglOT40vc1sbLCh4nHa_M/s1600-h/Italy+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080241189504126514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiArQijlCGdsFp_8wDhBwsZO_5SgwQ1lkkEDHjWx3xHMjAq9rCGfI0UeP-b2D05Ib3M5YeJAijbS3IrdzovjqLh0JAqu_0mVQUAK3FTLFWuCqP243IDRBDwjmglOT40vc1sbLCh4nHa_M/s320/Italy+010.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a> [La Casa di Erotica... ancient porn]<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtupgLMWJYQymJxGs8GsesopnS06Ctbu_p2vth0VxzV-ZZXuI2sO1OY2pq0N9K-WVxtHptTHUxqAuQ5829fS9Lz8XRbgYK9Wjh7GvKIiqhSh-yknmyoh7KS-_O1YJUX4MKF-6fcU5u4gg/s1600-h/Italy+011.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080240777187265986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtupgLMWJYQymJxGs8GsesopnS06Ctbu_p2vth0VxzV-ZZXuI2sO1OY2pq0N9K-WVxtHptTHUxqAuQ5829fS9Lz8XRbgYK9Wjh7GvKIiqhSh-yknmyoh7KS-_O1YJUX4MKF-6fcU5u4gg/s320/Italy+011.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">[the line outside] </div><br /><br />Mirella and I rushed for the train, and then parted ways at the train station, promising to catch up in London. I also had my first European, two-cheek kiss goodbye. I've seen so many people - even young men - do it, and I love it!<br /><br />I went back and got my backpack from the hostel, took a bus to the train station (NOT walking the1/2 hour with my pack!), and got to Rome just after 9pm. The metro had closed for the night, so I took a bus back to Camping Roma, where I stayed in a very comfy house tent. My only complaint was the tents' proximity to the highway. Thank God for earplugs!<br /><br />The next morning I had a cold shower - thoroughly unimpressed, as I had to wash my hair - and was ready for the bus at 8am. Good old Busabout. And who was there to be our guide? None other than Stewie! Bless.<br /><br />Rather than have a stop at a dodgy petrol station, we stopped at Orvieto, a town perched at the top of a steep old hill, which we had to take a cable car up! There was a pretty, big, stripey church at the top, which I wandered around for a little while, then went off to find some good Italian coffee. I have come to be very fond of Italian espressos, but still find the whole "drink at the bar or we'll charge you twice as much" thing very weird.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHU_gXeatBoVoeqrCw51RzcJQp9DprlEKL-GO8fUSjzJQ53b3K8SWpBwSDVACfiJr4J4Z05xZ4wgSs4JUSZMjY_s12PC98sQVAtKYyrDR07qrLWMuFMB4CnJTkCSCBdjkCFkYXnbqObk/s1600-h/Italy+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080240781482233298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHU_gXeatBoVoeqrCw51RzcJQp9DprlEKL-GO8fUSjzJQ53b3K8SWpBwSDVACfiJr4J4Z05xZ4wgSs4JUSZMjY_s12PC98sQVAtKYyrDR07qrLWMuFMB4CnJTkCSCBdjkCFkYXnbqObk/s320/Italy+012.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[Orvieto's stripey church] </p><br />We got into the Camping Internazionale in Florence at about 2:30, and I straight away headed into town with my pack, looking for the Locanda Latina - the dodgy little guest house I stayed at. After asking a number of people (in dodgy Italian) where it was, I finally found #5 Via del Sole... conveniently located between #9 and #17.<br /><br />Once I'd checked in, I went off to see as much as I could before nightfall. I accidentally found myself at the Duomo - perhaps not so accidental as it's huge and stripey and can be seen from pretty much everywhere. The painting on the inside of the dome is just gorgeous. I then got lost, ate gelato, and found myself back at the Palazzo Vecchio with its Fake David and fantastic Renaissance and ancient sculptures. There was a sculpture of a lion from the Renaissance, right next to the ancient one it was based upon. They didn't look as if they'd been made 1500 years apart!<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCKHtGHAPgL1ZJ8hMUMrD4ph9Zh9i05JhIZ1DYSbKdJLGFPwHfYf3r6kdSDx5B5_uWrq2no8e5QiRcdD8bzvSuHQOWL8RTk5-ZzQz_MuFi2txCbnZo3R0EWCCA6PaTUy6uuyithOMxro/s1600-h/Italy+013.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080240785777200610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCKHtGHAPgL1ZJ8hMUMrD4ph9Zh9i05JhIZ1DYSbKdJLGFPwHfYf3r6kdSDx5B5_uWrq2no8e5QiRcdD8bzvSuHQOWL8RTk5-ZzQz_MuFi2txCbnZo3R0EWCCA6PaTUy6uuyithOMxro/s320/Italy+013.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[Florence's Duomo. Amazing.]</p><p><br /><br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3H5PfJTKGsa6I6z_Qt_Qd4lSxyDtB9s00B1Gvjhm_bN1oJzYIwzwByyM4LCIyPk8hkirAwMqt8AOGR5ME0drvl4yFXUNzoXDhdfdcrg7CovPn3VM9op_23l7jWpjyjrHfLLgSY8SM48M/s1600-h/Italy+014.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239982618315986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3H5PfJTKGsa6I6z_Qt_Qd4lSxyDtB9s00B1Gvjhm_bN1oJzYIwzwByyM4LCIyPk8hkirAwMqt8AOGR5ME0drvl4yFXUNzoXDhdfdcrg7CovPn3VM9op_23l7jWpjyjrHfLLgSY8SM48M/s320/Italy+014.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">[Fake David]</div><div align="center"> </div><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrKBZmv9_Pq5EK6CgJxHNtJufTjAvpiFYHgn4e6YA6Z9AGxDxRp2yPsDXRWpoDqJAsz8yNuaiow3JK4tIWLApz9EdKAd3B8553URel-wcxVWn5g77bcPfxSHaFxNxQeoEvQAtjUKSQpo/s1600-h/Italy+015.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239986913283298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrKBZmv9_Pq5EK6CgJxHNtJufTjAvpiFYHgn4e6YA6Z9AGxDxRp2yPsDXRWpoDqJAsz8yNuaiow3JK4tIWLApz9EdKAd3B8553URel-wcxVWn5g77bcPfxSHaFxNxQeoEvQAtjUKSQpo/s320/Italy+015.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center">[the lion on the left is 1500 years younger than the one on the right. Crazy.] </p><br />From there, I walked down to the Ponte Vecchio, admiring all the jewellery stores (bringing back memories of Dubai), and then across, and up (and up, and up) to the Piazzale Michelangelo. The view from up there was pretty special. I couldn't help myself and had a woman take a gratuitous "I'm in Florence" photo. I did a bit of research on the internet about accommodation in San Sebastian (damn running of the bulls!) before returning to the hostel.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8vttQJv8uKE8NETvyuYM8yFg9NNUEHe8WQbDPJmTV-E8iHOAsSoFlDoHwDul3luAWo4q6AL10ix-jA2wZ1ZHylGeIWrKz6-KNd_hgEK6rOn0b3X_2xTk1lb9wEg9TsuP4DcQveAQ7bs/s1600-h/Italy+016.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239991208250610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8vttQJv8uKE8NETvyuYM8yFg9NNUEHe8WQbDPJmTV-E8iHOAsSoFlDoHwDul3luAWo4q6AL10ix-jA2wZ1ZHylGeIWrKz6-KNd_hgEK6rOn0b3X_2xTk1lb9wEg9TsuP4DcQveAQ7bs/s320/Italy+016.jpg" border="0" /></a>[row, row, row your boat...]</p><p> </p><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgdWnFlCZw-x8OTSbQIlDxqv1RKdhxxG4RvAoWUgAVt6CSEZd-TKMo29Zml79XZjovRKbmahrGE8KoCuibDHjmjYG0Hk3WQkO765915GFHYfqoGTxP_HUs3tm-2F3bpSjRg6ahGRAgAs/s1600-h/Italy+017.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239995503217922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgdWnFlCZw-x8OTSbQIlDxqv1RKdhxxG4RvAoWUgAVt6CSEZd-TKMo29Zml79XZjovRKbmahrGE8KoCuibDHjmjYG0Hk3WQkO765915GFHYfqoGTxP_HUs3tm-2F3bpSjRg6ahGRAgAs/s320/Italy+017.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>[Tourist with a capital T] </p><p> </p>I went for a lovely jog on Tuesday morning, across a bridge to the east of the Ponte Vecchio, and back through the Piazza Vecchio. I was at the Galleria degli Uffizi by 8:15, and at 8:35 realised I was in the wrong line. An hour and a half later, and I was finally inside (and able to get a discount with my British passport - at last!). And to think, I thought I'd had my fill of religious paintings at the Vatican! Seeing the <em>Birth of Venus</em> was quite exciting. I also really liked Botticelli's <em>Primavera</em> - with Chloe standing beside Flora, and the Three Graces dancing nearby.<br /><br />After an early lunch - and a much needed sit down - I headed to the Galeria dell'Academia to stand in line yet again. Three and a half very hot, sweaty, dehydrated hours later, and I was finally viewing <em>David</em>. Not only was the statue striking, the room in which it stood was gorgeous. There was not much else to see in the gallery, but I think <em>David</em> was worth the wait. For some reason, I especially liked his left ribcage, viewed from behind his left elbow. It sounds odd, but I found it to look just as realistic and detailed as his right - and much-photographed - hand.<br /><br />I walked through the markets after my very culturally-full day, and looked at all the pretty (and often also ugly) jewellery and leather-goods for sale. I'd never really noticed before just how smelly leather is!<br /><br />After a spot of grocery shopping and a quick dash home, I returned to the area surrounding the markets to use the cheap internet, and then went back to the hostel for more study of the Lonely Planet and my rough timetable.<br /><br />Wednesday started with yet another nice run - this time across two other Florentine bridges (and across the Ponte Vecchio twice), before heading home via the Duomo.<br /><br />I had a lovely picnic breakfast in a park, being all class by eating my cereal from an old bocconcini container, and then went to the internet place I'd visited the night before in order to use my remaining credit. No such luck - the internet wasn't working, and I was unable to get my money back. Highly unimpressed. What happened to the customer always being right?<br /><br />I went back to the hostel, packed my things, and then - backpack in tow - went back to a different internet cafe. An hour or two later, and I'd sorted out my accommodation and travel woes. Phew!<br /><br />I then took the bus to the Camping Internazionale, hiked quite the hill, and was finally able to get rid of my backpack. A cold shower and a change of clothes, and I was ready to spend a lazy afternoon at the campground - reading my book by the edge of the pool was pretty nice. Unfortunately the €2 swimming cap they insisted you buy, and the bites on my legs from whatever attacked me in my sleep at Loconda Lattina kept me from going in the pool. I figure there will be plenty of swimming opportunities at Cinque Terre, Nice and San Sebastian.<br /><br />I spent the evening talking with my roommates (Busabouters again - it's been a while), and then had a reasonably early night.<br /><br />I woke before my alarm, so was showered and ready to go by 7:30. By 8am, we were on our way to La Spezia, but first we stopped at Pisa to see the leaning tower (and watch all the other tourists stand with their hands in the air, pretending to hold it up). It's a very pretty building. I especially like the way, from a distance, it looks as if it's peering out from the building next to it, like a small child behind its parents' legs.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOj1mweFVWwvI9es6DTiBh258KP06AFZZ-X9ndpY-xtkjzTcwR_MTi0RnwygLOIEgbhXkTZIJhPxHKg80wCCnT_MH52g-x4Eyr29OlRPYEa16Nok1r2UxgJh86bX_eh4kU-t0PZjlIEY/s1600-h/Italy+018.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239999798185234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOj1mweFVWwvI9es6DTiBh258KP06AFZZ-X9ndpY-xtkjzTcwR_MTi0RnwygLOIEgbhXkTZIJhPxHKg80wCCnT_MH52g-x4Eyr29OlRPYEa16Nok1r2UxgJh86bX_eh4kU-t0PZjlIEY/s320/Italy+018.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[peakaboo]</p><p><br />When we got to La Spezia, I got on the first train to the Deiva Marina, as per the instructions from the campground I was staying at. I must've been on an express train, though, and missed my stop, so after backtracking one stop, I was there, waiting for the shuttle bus at 1:45. The next bus wasn't til 3:10, but I filled my time looking around the little town. There wasn't a whole lot to see - I guess it is out-classed by its five more glamorous neighbours. It was also siesta, so not a lot was open.</p><p>When I arrived at the campground the woman at the desk was lovely, even showing me to the 2-bed house tent I was staying in. Until she showed me the tent, I honestly didn't know what sort of accommodation I'd paid for.</p><p>After a few minutes spent staring at bus/train timetables, I left most of my stuff in the tent (chained to the bed - bless Tad and the lock he gave me for Christmas), and took the shuttle back to the Marina.</p><p>The beach was packed yet fairly unexceptional. The one plus of pebbly beaches, I suppose, is you don't get sand in your undies! It was amazing to see that even on the beach, there were people selling clothes and dodgy jewellery.</p><p>I've got to admit that I was feeling pretty lonely that afternoon. Since leaving Rome, I've been travelling pretty much solo, and am really looking forward to staying at the Busabout accommodation in Avignon. I tried to make the most of my afternoon, though, and tried to look on the bright side. The following day I was going to walk the trail of the Cinque Terre, which would be fun, even if I was doing it alone.</p><p>With my new-found optimism, I returned to the shuttle pick-up, only to see a sign announcing that there was to be a strike, and no trains would be running the following day. Trying to be calm and cling onto that optimism of only a few minutes prior, I asked a woman at the local tourist office if there was an alternative mode of transport. There wasn't, but she said certain peak-hour trains would still be running (strike or no strike, people still had to get to work). So, sunshine and rainbows once again, I returned to the campground, and inquired whether there were local buses I could take, as the shuttle didn't start running until after the precious few trains had already departed. There were no local buses. Fine. I'd walk. Only 2 1/2 km, a brisk stroll.</p><p>The following morning, after a fairly good nights' sleep, I hoofed it to the train station, bought my ticket for entry into the Cinque Terre National Park and got on my train. Arriving at Riomaggiore (the first of the five towns), I was a little disheartened by the thick, grey clouds which hung over the ocean and engulfed the nearby mountains. Never mind, I thought. A bit of cloud cover could be a good thing. As I entered the park, it began to spit. No worries, a nice bit of climate control - I was feeling a little hot. Then the heavens opened, and not five minutes into my walk, it was pouring with rain. Bloody hell. </p><p>After a few minutes spent huddling under a tree, the rain eased off, and for the rest of the walk, though oftentimes looking quite threatening, the weather behaved itself, and by the time I reached Monterosso (the last town - 5 hours later), the sun was actually shining. </p><p>It was a gorgeous walk. At times it was a bit of a struggle (so many stairs!), but it was definitely worth it.<br /></p><p align="center">[Cinque Terre:]</p><p align="center"> </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRV3pj2eopQulznzyuaCQepcaFQfWM1f6GAaiuuLXRAlWlLo2gqFtFsvJDn6qryuqom4vBnmBd-pczZecv0NgcH5Z8Fy0n3s90Ey6vN-HvQJaKxHg27LreCwirPfkFwBK6PmDWZnvXF0k/s1600-h/Italy+019.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239647610866818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRV3pj2eopQulznzyuaCQepcaFQfWM1f6GAaiuuLXRAlWlLo2gqFtFsvJDn6qryuqom4vBnmBd-pczZecv0NgcH5Z8Fy0n3s90Ey6vN-HvQJaKxHg27LreCwirPfkFwBK6PmDWZnvXF0k/s320/Italy+019.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHWTMhCeNGRpf0AQ4Me6gpjnDCjo-D4_EPULTVv75-rqzp4qvksD3RHk3OlfZb4akx7jHTyDbDaEwEQ50djracIKqBUM9ibbqLePc4XZlMVRcZid9z2Mbx550hMT929aMVoZCcdPmAF0/s1600-h/Italy+020.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239656200801426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHWTMhCeNGRpf0AQ4Me6gpjnDCjo-D4_EPULTVv75-rqzp4qvksD3RHk3OlfZb4akx7jHTyDbDaEwEQ50djracIKqBUM9ibbqLePc4XZlMVRcZid9z2Mbx550hMT929aMVoZCcdPmAF0/s320/Italy+020.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7Ou7kD_TopYCnBVLtKV5BI1KdFzvbjhUX9x4cGxoFZpiRwv34p4-XN-IR1j9tg1uwT0WZEC4igwLB6_cxDDSYSvy5JmZpHRD4VX-kWwrQFOOaNKK4NnTX2EIkai7S6Cn5cEjIgCpKtA/s1600-h/Italy+021.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239660495768738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7Ou7kD_TopYCnBVLtKV5BI1KdFzvbjhUX9x4cGxoFZpiRwv34p4-XN-IR1j9tg1uwT0WZEC4igwLB6_cxDDSYSvy5JmZpHRD4VX-kWwrQFOOaNKK4NnTX2EIkai7S6Cn5cEjIgCpKtA/s320/Italy+021.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqiqAeAVp64i9MO5mv04uTeDVvhXKwVnaWykXRwVcbdNi2BKUDFOXli_7V8LHbkh8jmsDY7_sT_uq1FB1FFy5Q8aB8e0o1OPNLrfeGHGeSfKyuBSs0FpHSm50TTGd0VBc9J3tQGD0JCaU/s1600-h/Italy+022.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239669085703346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqiqAeAVp64i9MO5mv04uTeDVvhXKwVnaWykXRwVcbdNi2BKUDFOXli_7V8LHbkh8jmsDY7_sT_uq1FB1FFy5Q8aB8e0o1OPNLrfeGHGeSfKyuBSs0FpHSm50TTGd0VBc9J3tQGD0JCaU/s320/Italy+022.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVXn2xRCyEKKc3eiDKDHeg2oyPLw-CfiPsaeyVUB4CL9kYiRweS91ZNIf5iYW7JYK_8fo7tBQfxqXfp0cL10_yqBZuTZKf2C-sUQE8AyHh0KKUTkMrjubrONXJQzwRqOkuJST3hqxcMo/s1600-h/Italy+023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080239673380670658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVXn2xRCyEKKc3eiDKDHeg2oyPLw-CfiPsaeyVUB4CL9kYiRweS91ZNIf5iYW7JYK_8fo7tBQfxqXfp0cL10_yqBZuTZKf2C-sUQE8AyHh0KKUTkMrjubrONXJQzwRqOkuJST3hqxcMo/s320/Italy+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I spoiled myself and had lunch at a seaside bar, enjoying a glass of local white wine with my pesto pasta (pesto was apparently invented in the area). I wussed out of swimming - even if the water wasn't THAT cold, the "toes in" test made me a little hesitant.<br /><br />I read my book in the shade for a little while, and was approached by TWO Italian men. One didn't speak English, and I'm not really sure what he said, and the second said "I am Italian, and I think you're very beautiful." I love the way he prefaced it - as if I would fall into a puddle of jelly just because he was Italian.<br /><br />I had my last Italian gelato, and boy was it good.<br /><br />At 6pm, I headed for the train, and though it was delayed, I eventually got on a train and back to the campground. I showered (so gross and sweaty), did some hand-washing, sorted out my pack, and got ready for another early night. When the sun sets at 9:30 and you're staying in a tent, you're left with few other choices!<br /><br />I was back in La Spezia almost two hours early, but was a little wary of the local trains, so was erring on the side of caution.<br /><br />I called Mum and Dad from a local phone centre (and had my last dodgy Italian conversation with the man at the desk), and then returned to the train station to wait for the 12:15pm bus.Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-66855105266459256862007-06-12T03:06:00.000-07:002007-06-20T04:46:06.025-07:00Italy - Boats, Gelati, Coffee, Old Rocks and Classes...<span style="color:#000000;">The ride to Venice felt long... even with Irene - in all her hilarity - and "The Italian Job"to keep us entertained. When we arrived, I rushed to get my bag into my cabin (which I ended up sharing with Kim and Mel - a happy coincidence) and get a bus into the city, but in the end I missed the local bus and the campsite's shuttle bus wasn't running for another hour, so I had to contact Cass and Lauren to tell them our plan for a gondola ride was kaput. I used Karina's mobile to send them a text, and it was weird using a mobile for the first time in two months!</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">I sat in the bar with the others for a while, completely distracted at first by the basketball game on TV (Deron Williams and Dee Brown from U of I playing for the Utah Jazz!). When Cass and Lauren returned, they gave me lots of good pointers for my next few days in Venice: where the grocery store is, which direction to go so as to not get horrendously lost, and - most importantly - where the best gelati was. Feeling a little under the weather, I took myself off to sleep at around midnight.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">The next morning, despite feeling less than 100% (I think it was the run in the snow that did it), I was up and on my way into town by 9:30am. the local bus would've been a far more enjoyable experience had 1) there been many locals on board, rather than tourists, 2) we not hit a traffic jam turning the 30-minute ride into a 70-minute one, and 3) had I taken something - anything - with me to entertain myself. Reading the Italian "Metro"that lay on the floor under my feet - though time consuming - proved confusing and inevitably boring.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">I managed not to get too lost in Venice, following every yellow sign to Piazza San Marco and the Rialto Bridge as if my life depended on it. I know it's such a silly thing to say as an Aussie in Italy, but there were just so many tourists in Venice. I guess in bigger cities they're just more spread out (or we were all just on the same path, following those trusty yellow signs!).</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhFl5phNIcvhboyEm6TDYjcvWTgDYBLHe_xLhi3l_x5IJnizjTFB2IEuyGrREINf6ximPhXaQieYpCgvvTr93su4m5HYgrrLtwsL97FOw-Y0XZew_9Dbuhk3W5b_3weNuDFfBnDiAGvw/s1600-h/VeniceRome+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749694625090610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhFl5phNIcvhboyEm6TDYjcvWTgDYBLHe_xLhi3l_x5IJnizjTFB2IEuyGrREINf6ximPhXaQieYpCgvvTr93su4m5HYgrrLtwsL97FOw-Y0XZew_9Dbuhk3W5b_3weNuDFfBnDiAGvw/s320/VeniceRome+002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">[Piazza San Marco]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrziItF1N6Oln-kxy9EWMgMKxzGOTb8J9vqb181DlzN0lG04vMvk4st1ODVRk2ap9Ovh1mQR9Ul5OPlu6FqDvS-Hj4qDcNEkjPSeyDwUgSwxaGfl_cS68A2oebtBLiHWiMrmAsoMZ8r_o/s1600-h/VeniceRome+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749698920057922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrziItF1N6Oln-kxy9EWMgMKxzGOTb8J9vqb181DlzN0lG04vMvk4st1ODVRk2ap9Ovh1mQR9Ul5OPlu6FqDvS-Hj4qDcNEkjPSeyDwUgSwxaGfl_cS68A2oebtBLiHWiMrmAsoMZ8r_o/s320/VeniceRome+003.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p align="center">[random little kid, and lots of pigeons]</p><br /><p align="left"><br />I have to say, the canals are pretty, the Piazza and Rialto alright, I suppose, but on this particular day, it was the gelati that made my day. So, so tasty! I also had a slice of pizza, though in my dodgy Italian - which was, sadly, met with disdain from most of the people I spoke to - I think I asked for a whole pizza rather than a slice. She knew what I meant...</p><p align="left"> </p><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYYulKNwK1sTpq4-fjHr-xO8Gd0bQfjs4NcAjndDUAhrH0sEjJuREILPXghPhUA6nOrDahhHtcwgxoJbdNY4C4upTT9B8-UUbV_R8pc3ijuZivN3FediYGBGunzPJaHkdkivGGfMSDSw/s1600-h/VeniceRome+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749703215025234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYYulKNwK1sTpq4-fjHr-xO8Gd0bQfjs4NcAjndDUAhrH0sEjJuREILPXghPhUA6nOrDahhHtcwgxoJbdNY4C4upTT9B8-UUbV_R8pc3ijuZivN3FediYGBGunzPJaHkdkivGGfMSDSw/s320/VeniceRome+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlMpjk-OuYE559jxumr2XVgE7bPmSkWAbas3rpjADxbNW7efve1bn6i5l5wpJixjg65slAmg245HNyHyMbOHe4HhPsofw74GVhQ7wjt1ukMZiSefGVy03lfhCFTKKnCGPgiwFNLO537U/s1600-h/VeniceRome+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749707509992546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlMpjk-OuYE559jxumr2XVgE7bPmSkWAbas3rpjADxbNW7efve1bn6i5l5wpJixjg65slAmg245HNyHyMbOHe4HhPsofw74GVhQ7wjt1ukMZiSefGVy03lfhCFTKKnCGPgiwFNLO537U/s320/VeniceRome+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-mg_-QrXFG_Ed8UEECMOnd-QyljBHRZGeTQOdRcmtPYPiMGpe8ylJn8rWgjAjZDHgzsws6AOQP33IkMFXmbKs9162Mpvo7gxBF1FxMI0MiKJnXFV0S1oN7JPdde7hI3bVWgWI6uQiYE/s1600-h/VeniceRome+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749711804959858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-mg_-QrXFG_Ed8UEECMOnd-QyljBHRZGeTQOdRcmtPYPiMGpe8ylJn8rWgjAjZDHgzsws6AOQP33IkMFXmbKs9162Mpvo7gxBF1FxMI0MiKJnXFV0S1oN7JPdde7hI3bVWgWI6uQiYE/s320/VeniceRome+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p>I headed back to the campsite at 4ish, and as I was waiting for my change of bus at the airport, it started to pour down. Running from the bus to the camp's reception, I got nicely soaked, and then made a dash for my cabin. I'd come home because I wasn't feeling too well, and the rain didn't really help things.</p><p>I took a hot shower, climbed into bed and read/siesta-ed for an hour or so before an almighty storm passed directly over us. A couple of large bolts of lightning hit very near the camp, and I couldn't help wondering whether the cabin's roof was strong enough for all that rain!</p><br /><br /><p>When it'd eased off a little, I headed for cabin 38 (not 35 as I'd earlier thought - a potentially awkward situation) and spent a few hours chatting with Corina, Hayley, Alicia and Shane before heading back to #15 and to bed.</p><br /><br /><p>I ended up taking the shuttle bus into town the next morning and Corina, Hayley, Alicia and Shane (Adelaide, Newcastle, Pagewood and Maroubra - NOT MELBOURNE!) and I spent the morning at the Piazza San Marco and the Rialto because the others had failed to find them the previous day. The stories they told of how badly they'd gotten lost were hilarious!</p><br /><br /><p>We eventually met up with Mel and Kim at noon, having enjoyed a brief performance by a gorgeous chior at the church of San Marco.</p><br /><br /><p>The seven of us jumped on a gondola (one of few that would - illegally - take seven at a time) and paddled down small back-canals, seeing the homes of Casanova, Marco Polo and Vivaldi, as well as various churches. Our gondolier, Giovanni, wasn't as much fun as others we passed, but, even despite the rain, it was quite an enjoyable ride. It's so strange, passing windows and doors that open up onto water!</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9TkXocpJr4ds7J5lClMaG7-DxzT-IAw2O60ZvkFAvGjH3QnwNm7nqcpurNv5zjvsxOW4QrpFFSIJm5VW6TCDiTzNpATuCzz_HXIhSUrbOFXfV6B27OjO8jd8lIHZyd-jyN1nLhgc6p0/s1600-h/VeniceRome+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748938710846434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9TkXocpJr4ds7J5lClMaG7-DxzT-IAw2O60ZvkFAvGjH3QnwNm7nqcpurNv5zjvsxOW4QrpFFSIJm5VW6TCDiTzNpATuCzz_HXIhSUrbOFXfV6B27OjO8jd8lIHZyd-jyN1nLhgc6p0/s320/VeniceRome+007.jpg" border="0" /></a> [we girls, being <em>such</em> tourists] </p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYQPYVe_3kU7Ts_uWIzqOauACvPQz7GDEa1525ptC5K6q4tJu6DltE5qeqgkdeEd8Tph47ckNNUshn8xnO18lpPXLOiZm9DbyDiIJfDAY1rFDF1bxiO8fYACDvq8qu84h1CdqFk8xKJc/s1600-h/VeniceRome+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748943005813746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYQPYVe_3kU7Ts_uWIzqOauACvPQz7GDEa1525ptC5K6q4tJu6DltE5qeqgkdeEd8Tph47ckNNUshn8xnO18lpPXLOiZm9DbyDiIJfDAY1rFDF1bxiO8fYACDvq8qu84h1CdqFk8xKJc/s320/VeniceRome+008.jpg" border="0" /></a> [Shane, the lone man aboard... except, of course, for Giovanni...] </p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqxhT8YUGxArXr8da2t_lITHdT3ilHERWFy3w7_xPzI5WVvV0j5WnPQg5yUe_KucGDVaSBNX8MjIFJEx5UR5DTnAQI9LcKEQ8txzXtO-RB1sBb7V4uKvgNcbu3AOl8yNVfjHix6HBdgw/s1600-h/VeniceRome+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748947300781058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqxhT8YUGxArXr8da2t_lITHdT3ilHERWFy3w7_xPzI5WVvV0j5WnPQg5yUe_KucGDVaSBNX8MjIFJEx5UR5DTnAQI9LcKEQ8txzXtO-RB1sBb7V4uKvgNcbu3AOl8yNVfjHix6HBdgw/s320/VeniceRome+009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTXgtTypEAXgO_63EJEpwyEmSWkS39Hw1pf8ywR0eNDesGTcClglx-1Ju8hBf-0MBoQ92hA0IdA3HQVAdxJxGLb8DNT7bEjBHbIgSBqK-0b5T3pu7sHDIzNp0Iv32vrqTNey39bHMW4M/s1600-h/VeniceRome+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748951595748370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTXgtTypEAXgO_63EJEpwyEmSWkS39Hw1pf8ywR0eNDesGTcClglx-1Ju8hBf-0MBoQ92hA0IdA3HQVAdxJxGLb8DNT7bEjBHbIgSBqK-0b5T3pu7sHDIzNp0Iv32vrqTNey39bHMW4M/s320/VeniceRome+010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />We went to a pizzeria ("Piramidi Pizzeria," with Venitian photos, Egyptian "relics" and what looked like Balinese masks adorning its walls) and gorged ourselves. Oh how I love pizza. Oh how I hope my pants still fit by the time I leave Italy!<br /></p><br /><p>The others had to rush back for the shuttle bus, but as I was taking the local bus, I took my time, and met a lovely jewellery store owner named Luigi who put up with my stumbling Italian.Back at the campground, I took advantage of their gym, and though I had to get off the treadmill after a few minutes (the pizza was still bouncing in my belly), after half an hour pretending I knew how to use the weight machines, I was back on. I only ran a short distance, but I conquered my fear of treadmills, and had a great run because I could go faster than usual as I wasn't pacing myself. </p><br /><p>I had a quiet night, knowing I had to be up at 6:30 for my 10.5 hour bus ride the next day...</p><br /><p>The first half of the trip wasn't too bad, but when we had to stop 20 minutes from Ancona <em>for</em> 20 minutes (crazy European busdriver rules), and then stop <em>in </em>Ancona for 45 minutes, I was pretty over it. On the upside, I finished my bad book while everyone else watched "Gladiator." </p><br /><p>I said a quick goodbye to everyone before bounding off the coach and getting a bus then a train to Termini Station. As I was coming up the escalator, "All By Myself" came over the PA system. Had I been less excited to be in Rome, I might've gotten a little homesick at this point, but instead I just smiled. Finding the apartment wasn't too hard (despite the dirty old man who rubbed my arm as I passed), and it was actually a really nice place. The lady I was renting the room from - Paola - was just lovely. When I asked about a supermarket, she said it would be closed (as it was after 8 on a Sunday), and later came in with a plate of crackers and a big bottle of water for me. So sweet.</p><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076745275103742562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBAf7zZWVIofIybYHBjTkRkLCsbvHkHpyNw639ulHQ5zfnA4nZu34dAoSTitTOrqwe5fD-gN-S1r2sV0lsq7KnS4vI0eF5khbbo_tF1dNQE-Ql06424FA4QK71ibWNCobef7vnf3VB2os/s320/VeniceRome+033.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><br />[me in our apartment, near Termini. Check out that thong tanline!]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746670968113954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZT2jpbG-p12IBjWgRfhRxO2MiBdkLxMtDK98EDgxYH25Ah4f5CPcRntWpJch_L529lzbDff8JndlOTrubeaIzlreyRX3KS1oRu2jUdRQLp-4xvqDzXUeOU3Us6bIIxEdkvlNa26WipM/s320/VeniceRome+025.jpg" border="0" /> [the view from our 5th floor balcony]<br /><br /></p><br />As I was attempting to do some last-minute study, my room-mate, a French Canadian who is half Italian, named Mirella, came in, having spent the day sightseeing. When she saw I was studying, she gave me a funny look, and I realised that last-minute cramming probably wasn't worth it. If I didn't know it already, I wasn't going to learn it in a few hours. Instead, Mirella and I chatted for a while before going to bed.<br /><br /><br /><br />At 6:20 I was up and showering, and an hour later, Mirella and I were on our way to Scuola Leonardo da Vinci. It sounds thoroughly impressive, but was small enough for us to get quite lost finding it. After my very dodgy test and even dodgier oral exam, I was put into the "beginners plus" class, which met from 2:15 til 5:30. This meant I had to get in contact with Lauren and Cass (who I was supposed to meet at the Spanish Steps - not as close to the school as I'd thought - at 1pm). Without a mobile, this proved pretty much impossible, so I sat at the steps for a while (with all the other tourists in Rome, it seemed), took some photos (with all the other tourists), and then met them at 1pm as planned. They showed me a great gelati shop at the Trevi Fountain for lunch (all class) and we stood and admired the fountain for a while before I had to hurry off for class. I figured I could throw a coin in on another day.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748955890715682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNs5YTQ-QTLUJ5gCxxmhiW7Pt04SXAPHHvU9CPXkllhreI6eFsQTtvklADAFi8VnYI6Vcnvkzo-XKo54OiX_1U241WMlFv04neTLZE5ZNmAkSFYUfS7u7VsTfaIUqIvJTjybb4ByKjm_w/s320/VeniceRome+011.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[The Spanish Steps]</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748230041242514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dnmgrRxE5gWWrHHol6eYBtlwtrjiWKzkN7BM74dLXZcY51tmmHHEdibvdo630AUqaAbRFeHm4abA7lzhiXYdSGnY_uV76c-QroSrE3RQWQdqYpNwyku9GHoYeQFPdLCDyLemEls-0oU/s320/VeniceRome+012.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br /><p>Class was hard. I was most definitely the least-educated-in-Italian there. It was pretty painful. Luigi, the teacher, was very nice though, and although he never spoke English (which, though it was a struggle, I think helped in the long run), he put up with my severe lack of knowledge.</p><br /><p>After class I met up with Cass and we went home (via the supermarket, and my first glimpse of the Colosseum) to make dinner. My first Italian pasta meal - home made!</p><br />I saw Cass off at the train station and then headed home for some serious studying before bed.<br /><br /><br /><br />I was meant to meet Lauren and Cass at the Vatican the next day, but when I got there, they weren't in any of the places they'd said to meet. So, I went it alone. I think, though it's refreshing not to have a mobile, phone-less people are often left to themselves!<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748234336209826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQqgbnCLI6KvInCLxSQ6JqaKkEEZSiPuSnFAkffJX3Jd51C6bwtI3BXetLDS60KmD2BKUd9lgTDmnd4KxEnAErrDI667fQs5hcMBUbstlAgl3G5rBCfWqYmrckcFJ6Va9CtuEn7AUBog/s320/VeniceRome+013.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">[St Peter's]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Two hours and a bit of studying-in-the-line later, and I was finally inside the Vatican Museums. There was a brief moment of panic when my Swiss Army knife was picked up on the metal detector (completely forgot it was there!), but luckily, the fabulous security guard let me through.<br /><br /><br />There are some beautiful ceilings in that place. Everywhere you go there is some sort of intricate, beautiful artwork. After what seemed like hours of walking through spectacular room after spectacular room, we - the hoards of tourists - shuffled into the Sistine Chapel. It is beautiful, and ridiculously intricate. But, dare I say it, I think I'd built it up too much for myself. As one of only a few "must dos" on my list, I guess the throngs of people surrounding me and the time spent getting there (to Italy, to Rome, in the line, through the rooms...) I feel I let my expectations get the better of me. But it is gorgeous - and I'm excited to have seen it at last!<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748242926144450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQg8Tchv4d_OCiOtMeLegdnTCZ_F43LqFFjFgxvFN5iuMFFRfsvbqiw34Jpwj9Fqeo0ir6DRE0L9mLTZUEvwBKl3PbNj6glzNMtq5m0wIkfGeIF6mAJNUw0r2PhyphenhyphenE3RmK5y7l9u7E1rzY/s320/VeniceRome+015.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[my dodgy, sneaky photo of the Sistine Chapel. Shhhh.]</p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748238631177138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gdvIadoEXIMbSrHUslJtdg3LaDB-TeYJhOQswybieVC3wYwcoGYR2vdB1tsgmDomGfj0SYrkEMfOmSYlZufD4mQ2sxWL_2pHAck6XuKbbmSmEIOWykdi1om1UNrOtjiz0z6qtoFXuyA/s320/VeniceRome+014.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[just one of the amazing corridors]<br /><br /><br /></p><br />I went into another of the Vatican museums briefly, but as an agnostic\atheist, there are really only so many paintings of Jesus you can take in one go! I was more appreciative of the artists whose works were on show (Michelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael) and the amazing artistry that came out of so few years during the renaissance.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076748247221111762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ja8ZrqdsMhS1RlPTKhvwBA2L3Z4X9qE6jiJ_gbkX_twdaUBMLOU_8fb4miCyKUJIB0DlSiTjwK4dOhL1PEnEJy-UUVrJNyIsZXJbpnUR1Dz9Z-Eaz9AH7EodexXzzHiInCaDl4qTqg4/s320/VeniceRome+016.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Raphael's <em>Transfiguration</em>]<br /><br /></p><br />I dashed back to school for my 2:15 class, and half way through went to see the director about changing classes. Unfortunately, he wasn't in, and when I went back to see him later, it turned out that the next lowest class was for absolute beginners (i.e. a waste of my time). He signed me up for three intensive\catch-up classes and said it was the best he could do.<br /><br /><br /><br />I met Cass, Lauren and Mirella at the Colosseo metro station, and we went to the supermarket for picnic stuff. By the time we'd settled into our nice little grassy picnic spot, the skies opened up and we got <em>soaked</em>. It was so funny - we were rushing back to the train station (nowhere to hide<em> in </em>the Colosseum), and Mirella said "just wait - any minute the vendors are going to come and offer us umbrellas." Not a minute later, and it was "Umbrella? Umbrella?"<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076747435472292674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SassWcOrvPUFdpdgPk1mCRazThY22JOcpxUWyNCQc0GCmsp8sT6BeGkNVHi2UHW_4yJt8OiARuFJ2hmzhAUZCOiocgRiRc1FLkylpSbzufHtTgF0OqJesDY1G-gMu5GXq2uH37l7At4/s320/VeniceRome+017.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076747439767259986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYY-rIUBKNuzr71rXdNYUUyHzc10bBZuIg3k3nvFoJFjtdLgS_1L68Am0ZTawJ0hnGOEOhosa7r75tdky68LLdgP7GXo4TCFwsKdPTHbfDuX1gV313VMlVmzPWPxjSkxKMLMuF7_h72U/s320/VeniceRome+018.jpg" border="0" /><br />[what a view! But look at those clouds!]</p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br />We came back to our apartment for a quaint little picnic indoors. It was a little sad to say goodbye to Cass and Lauren, as Cass was continuing on with Busabout to Florence, and Lauren was heading home. We made plans to catch up at a later date (a Carnavale mask working-bee with Cass and a Bombers\Swans game with Lauren).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076747444062227298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFhbCtbed_m3yY-HcZa2B5Ts2HedPsWdnnjBkI14ZabvrzmTyv0Vr8UowPzS03g0-6xrpqakjDtXAgkviz_zNF7fpahGfFNWqtf6qFNhpIq1z3ssEl5oowhBdOZin5ELWq9Ahyphenhyphen7E8FmY/s320/VeniceRome+019.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />I spent a little while studying before bed.<br /><br /><br />Wednesday morning I went for a jog. There's nothing like running past the Colosseum in the morning to pull you out of a stressed-out slump. I spent the morning studying, went to school, still knew far too little, and made myself feel better by walking home via a gelati store, the Piazza Navona and the Pantheon. Though the Piazza was - like so many other important monuments - covered in scaffolding, the Pantheon more than made up for it. That is one heck of ain impressive-looking building! Going inside, it is hard to believe that it is older than the Colosseum!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">[the Pantheon: ]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076747448357194610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQ65HftCNCCkaA0BbTmH4avOBLVaeqsJVV3gdw3_lRzc682rAUqw4eTt2RUlppUS2nwLtvYx7hh8x9hPNKAZ_SHnwCPIazjZv_QIwtAmqAppmq04g0_8r13p5kzRsWrqU6eM6CfaggJc/s320/VeniceRome+020.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076747452652161922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5spXzr-bADD4zaxiM3pBDWDlfgHAYbA_dJL8mWFD0UAqIca-67c3U1XN0YEHAnO6h5R-WudifSWJvFjyK_VDOVx9DGgQNgwZ2fp6nbIHFpSWU6tcLJ_KAnHyoMyZHikzIPzo9HDtSEys/s320/VeniceRome+021.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746658083212018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmpEmyoPKQv0WBFFu_Ghd744Dh-e3uLKWBM3ROgAkMixq5EsM7vJ37_hIubi0eqEvYQAyma2Nz0Xa6p0Dzb7Rt8DcOI09rKX2zh0Tn8X7haR_zc4RkXO6zsQcQ3bA4eIOndJqKz_hBO0/s320/VeniceRome+022.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br /><p>From the Pantheon, I walked past the Piazza Venezia, with its Brandenburg Gate-esque statues. Sadly, all I did when I got home was study.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746662378179330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwfa0OHEFNW5DLVfOJNkycSBpFLEusv2dIfZ0_svbkEBaViWZQKwGk2AjMlFMVPznLp3flsjF8vF4LnQUNlXFTc1xjEIpd8mRj8TomiRBnogSzD2s1ItogicIUryRE4dD47GY6X7fOsY/s320/VeniceRome+023.jpg" border="0" /><br />[Piazza Venezia]<br /></p><br /><br /><br />I was feeling pretty good about myself on Thursday morning, and when I went for a jog, though I didn't find my way to the Spanish Steps as planned (too many hills), I was unphased. Then, I tripped at the entrance to a park, and there went to good mood. Nothing like a bit of gravel rash on your palms and hip to keep things interesting. Luckily, my trusty biggest sister supplied me with the World's Best First Aid Kit, and I patched myself right up.<br /><br /><br /><br />I spent the morning doing a little study, but mainly washing my clothes. In the afternoon I had class, and though I started to feel as if I understood more of what Luigi said, I'm not convinced it is just that I was becoming better at reading his body language than understanding Italian. I think I could handle the Italian opera now!<br /><br /><br /><br />After class, I went home to study. Apparently there was a procession nearby and Mirella saw the Pope, which is pretty cool, but - even though I was in<em> Rome</em> - all the religious icons were still overwhelming.<br /><br /><br /><br />On Friday I chose not to go for a run as I'd woken up with my hand stuck to my stomach. Mmm, puss. Lovely.<br /><br /><br />I walked to school with Mirella, intending to find a library nearby where I might borrow a dictionary - my old Italian workbook and the Mediterranean Europe phrasebook Gemma gave me could only help me so much! I ended up borrowing one from the girl in the office of the school. I then went to Piazza Navona and studied until the sun came out from behind some pesky clouds (meanwhile the local artists came out of hiding and started setting up their stands). I took some photos, then headed back up Via del Governo Vecchio to a little bar I'd passed a few times. I ordered "un cappucino, per favore" (not much learned since Sydney...), and sat and studied some more. It was actually really nice - especially as I was starting to make some tiny bits of progress in my Italian.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746666673146642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthtcLK_CQFkiU0bIv7rJuMcZbpos7ohdt0eCi60Aob3Pwb44WRjOdd-aZGvwcuK-vgSr8brgfePl0io8HikEcn-8v7dCoj59Bv2Cc_IMWDMF5sEcVpAN91z9DLSux8yUEkxGDvQtw3Zw/s320/VeniceRome+024.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">[the central fountain, through the scaffolding]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746675263081266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZ-XFH5S7Q4qQ4UvQv5RrQkDTAzVXnBMfrfbz4QcKnTxfVrE0oGoMO_cn9PmYfcU3TLi53iY7-oqo9l3oOBmJLz45ZpoCeWpvaNkj9-G_lBLDQ1cO4hhYJe-7pgiLtEdFxr8MAFJxnhY/s320/VeniceRome+026.jpg" border="0" /><br />[one of few pigeons in Rome that don't have a death wish and didn't dive-bomb my head]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Class, though still difficult, was actually kind of fun - being a Friday, everyone was pretty relaxed, and we ended up playing Taboo in Italian... interesting, to say the least. After class I spent some time booking accommodation for the next few weeks, and then took a leisurely stroll home - via Piazza Navona and a gelato bar Cass and Lauren had recommended. I also discovered how to get cheap gelati - get two scoops in the same colour, and the guy at the register may only charge you for one scoop!</p><br /><p>When I got home, I made yet another salad (I loved having a fridge!), and sat down to do my homework with Mirella.</p><br /><p>I spent a few hours on Saturday morning doing a few things I'd been meaning to do for a while - including grocery shopping for shampoo, conditioner, face wash and a razor which all, miraculously, ran out at the same time.</p><br /><p>I wanted to go to the Villa Borghese to do some study (in a pretty location), but on my way I got stopped when I gried to go up a number of streets because bloody George Bush was in town. Grrr. By the time I made it to the park, it was almost midday, so I tried to finda phone as quickly as I could so I could call home. When I did, a strange voice answered the phone - turns out my cousin Ben is staying with them for a few weeks. When Ben realised I was calling from Rome, he did the typical Stratton thing and said goodbye very quickly!</p><br /><p>The Villa Borghese is quite pretty - lots of very green grass and lovely, big cool trees. There is also a viewing platform overlooking the Piazza del Popolo (where an anti-Bush demonstration was to take place), and beyond it, over towards the Vatican.</p><br /><p>I got bored with my study and went on a gelato hunt - finding myself at the Spanish Steps. I tried to head to the Trevi Fountain from there, but again Bush was making my life difficult. When I got there I took some photos and then headed home (via a gelato store). At home I did a fair bit of study, watched the news (where Mirella had to translate) and had a reasonably early night. I became such a nerd in Rome, but I had to try to learn as much as I could in my two weeks of classes!</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746009543150242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE085eSa0o1ZgihrhFmzwmAJjikz8Y8irTijk9ZKUfMO_W9xNdwzzsvyB_fQqrQKCT3LJsJ5gEfDh4hY3ppResptW8A5P-KVfB690fnJhAbbTZI_y-bYioRrGJOzzqTjiPcVuLQlqWPKY/s320/VeniceRome+027.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[a whole lot of tourists, throwing in their coins]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746018133084850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5qWbmPapI_-FqqBxJxpE6Ip3SdXjvUrXk7JkqTY2m_IePt3WXha-SROYXIkq8dWEUObo-ch7phCzeGeIeJ2J19E37puDVodkPYHfJAGQg8uJgwCXzVMAege7ngU6Uz-6oMdpDNWJ7GU/s320/VeniceRome+028.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[the Trevi Fountain]<br /><br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746022428052162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYp9T7Yo3CRZmyPjGluxntz-EbGB11vFgM9FAQbAVI7yL9k4FPiqPAXyRPVINtOugxYJv_ngcbyFvsiESdADKNLmANtgca1qqSSfCl8o0RRm57LFo9aOkveRBUNPUAfCH_H4DU79N_sQI/s320/VeniceRome+029.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />On Sunday Mirella and I visited the Colosseum and the Forum. There are some very pretty parts to the Forum, but after a while we just started joking that it was all just a bunch of "old rocks."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746026723019474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVxhgNrVWOyRUN0TZsngjMKlv951un9LsciShIO_BNkHUKpOWJu-_hwyU8xmfDdIjTN_D6C4cmbL02we39xRSMIsaHMVVuz-4651VAslyVPct-Yk3AntZZN8mceKh-HqF-BfPE6A0boo/s320/VeniceRome+030.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">['Old Rocks' at the Forum]</p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076746031017986786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTUrJ7XegPmjx_G_Ek-dpLr9g9t0ZRwFOJOlf5FZuOleQrMWfcvAlalpAJ-Ypb8tatPLIy4giR0gkj0RTW9FGGqx5JI843hDiImR1rs-WohoNyRFITNf9WPxtAWnU7wWQDgo44K0PqTc/s320/VeniceRome+031.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076745270808775250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyk95LJ53wfsJMIwsjxBICi9EeFrJWwPTB2AQbbk6d1gUs3zOE-BgilIwXvgcQH7Hlu0F-Fs1ca3ejmRgiVGp7WSQY9uLGkxLhnRyTxAKuS20kB1fpbwK5kco2x7VyHXd6IU2PVTpzF0/s320/VeniceRome+032.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br />I headed home for lunch (my €20 cash was going to last me til Friday!), studied some more ("io ho studiato, tu hai studiato...") and then went for a walk with Mirella to see where "the young people go." We saw a few here and there, walked past the Colosseum (which had also become "lots of old rocks,") and then home for yet another quiet night.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My second week of classes didn't start out as well as I'd hoped after all my studying at the weekend, but I think I know more than I did, and have had a few semi-Italian conversations ("un biglietto a Napoli Centrale... Sabato mattina, circa otto, per favore... meno caro"), so figure the extravagence was worth it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I could write more "got up, ate, studied, class, ate, slept," but I'm getting bored of that. Being in one place - and studying - prove none too exciting. Let's just assume I ate, slept, ran occasionally, studied and went to class in my last week at Scuola Leonardo da Vinci.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The highlights of the week were...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076745283693677186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGqFTl3kubv24HuaZJLdcwrYASOFtUgS4DTEF6DzG8eYDbpJSvVRGxEWTBF7jtx5Tfi7rtcX1b8pAFOS-1N4QpfJOwXjEzb_C_Of48O2jclguQAZxvUhx_gvztpVHODhMbSC687_7qgM/s320/VeniceRome+035.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Church-Crawl on Tuesday. Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore...]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076745287988644498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-ODdRBPuRze2cs8yxT8q0MThxofAW0DqSFNfp7kOx8tSApIzkEPokU3n7E5MsVEppUMsb8Aa5342QYITB3yz9PM7STKlXB1CNR6CuQIrMdUtpOza4sFFfBAq1Xnb9lJ_ZUunOt-ZNgU/s320/VeniceRome+036.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[...Church of St Peter in Chains, where there was also...]</p><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076744162707212818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRJsy684hIWg0XqXZH_fDZUdXT-OQsnEe4DcDxxoDhlzxRN9a2bin4AGH5M2Ns47_K0Eo1yKZSslNRzMvJcexfDCLhH-G6LkgIwOFQI0iCGPx-C_pTBDhqI6WzE4_Qn8E4Li938dwAqY/s320/VeniceRome+037.jpg" border="0" /> [Michelangelo's <em>Moses</em>... and then it was off to...]</p><br /><p><br />St Peter's Basilica. The view was well worth the 510 or so steps. Not something you really want to be wearing a tshirt and knee-length pants for, but the three "bouncers" were turning some women away who were "scantily clad." Mirella and I - ever the sceptics - had to keep reminding ourselves to forget it was the "poor peoples' Pope's" enormous, immaculate garden we were looking at... The fact that the Colosseum - huge in name as well as in actuality - couldn't be seen from up the top of the cupola was possibly enough to take my mind off it, though. The church itself is gorgeous, and the Tomb of the Popes is a little eerie... That day I was late for class, but it was worth it.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076744167002180130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUB8AZ8PyrpENubsqMDw5bHJDPrGhasVinHpzu_5fhVvht71WKsBUrHyiNWu8kebkP_P9-ta1QitC42kbcURh0UQdEOH8v3jUbalEgQo5cTe1HeP_8AfJEIRXQV3TcK3MOf5CMH445GS4/s320/VeniceRome+038.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[Mirella, on about step number 12]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076744175592114738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqbpcelqajcN29ZWFd-agDp7gaOgHz2X4w7sYPeVRgqzbLnW_ab4DltdhyphenhyphenR3vC74LSyohO_akhXiaJSz5vwKo7qIRgSMJPAxBja77qDqMEe3RA3wo8NsbLgY0xburYM2wx5dpkhsBK2g/s320/VeniceRome+039.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[so very man stairs!]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076744179887082050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDNuOq6Jupr1ZlyPhESxZn05SDzLZcMzfj1fGTINtIo0x4GgjSq5iuv51GnS-pYsSE17JBJSTjEGJhqZJ-ZCajnf5mKR-rxvejz37JtXKJQ4sanKshgz7WpyAlsbWLNmBQE6laod0hjs/s320/VeniceRome+040.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[the view!]</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076743277943949746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MPkALzO2qhKzu9H-6BbtjJ_qunSKHzXdPOad3PetHuYpLDQHhyphenhyphen80UxGL7SNFgFw1GrDUCCzLClnhBU6cYeRJweWbBARuKsVGHLSvBDlH8C7pPnOuJmrG29ITtt0avOJ_4mpy3LWl5XY/s320/VeniceRome+041.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076743282238917058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuNbLdlum0ZYEKJ7HeWSLeI7qywOeINPtTpQAQVy2NpDxfd7TF6jXnupffHQ4lDyatxtbEyPPibBKWT7r1KNIrL4nCGRUprSJbbq14N2L7mpd1d4hsIa4of0MlPDabQwaNWNMqw6Ia-_A/s320/VeniceRome+042.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[I love this - a souvenir store on the top of St Peter's]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076743286533884370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8q8iGWwzj8BreWiUtrecs25VU4mBxQvuOlSu-jKH-M6ybyt9txcAM3dVnIAnl18EQgO4DRrdfSY17o8WSox49MiSjUb9j-31u4PinxzvZ5uR0dVixrrrv4U4yGAxcjFwGcxhZnTurXY/s320/VeniceRome+043.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[Michelangelo's <em>Pieta</em>]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076743290828851682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7x1v5cC4mP7rWwvaDIjmnIxIGTYcmA6c7TgPeGZY0RSJ_OQtKdIv3UUbF2Iy85Cf1wzMfP86L-tVcf5GrIhjBs2I532PIAU1xmocCS6VxgheQc-xjVkQWYvHTcmKHjdSf6mYhj0d7D0/s320/VeniceRome+044.jpg" border="0" /><br />[inside St Peter's - gorgeous!]</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076743295123818994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_HDGQ8KZbhefbbpCKKpGiyXmpqR2CqAKBSYRx40XwXKDMau8E8l8Bkz5qhKjLREVb2Ehf_EX1B1LY9TsW77crOABhqMm4j82QWiR00ArsyVCY3_qZ0wF4kwLBhlIdcPe7pI3wmQwfWw/s320/VeniceRome+045.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />Another highlight was finding a bookstore on Wednesday evening that sold books in ENGLISH! ("Scuis, dov'è posso comprare i libri in l'Inglese?"). I'm now very excited to be reading <em>Everything is Illuminated</em> by Jonathan Safran Foer. Hopefully it's as good - if not better - than the film. If the first few pages I snuck in between study sessions is anything to go by, I think the latter may be true!<br /><br /><br />Thursday's class was pretty good, if only because everyone else seemed to be struggling just as much as I was with the various personal pronouns.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076745279398709874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkXb8m1gM9swR2cNV7Z1FV_Ov4pNHNNsZdJwhJkfq0DQYdbUDWWRa0b7Je3e9WS-g848bgyA-PnAmWBw8LbFRRq0hCOgBbhjrq9ZH23p264oW0U6wHMOFCSPWJyQBjzfjBf8W6te8OGo/s320/VeniceRome+034.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Campo di Fiore, where I had tirimisu for lunch on Friday. Mmmmmm.]<br /><br /></p><br />On Friday, Mirella and I went to Trastavere for dinner. It was a really nice area, even if we failed to find teh medieval area. We climbed the Gianicolo hill for a beautiful view across Rome just after the sun had set. We <em>still</em> couldn't see the Colosseum from up there!<br /><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076742479080032626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHo0qyzT3DciHFj4io_7MbuYPEJLm8U3dDDy-mt7HOhPmQQjWaPIFkY3PGE6aqOQ7qRHZx5w4iNiupyOWO55x7IGjHf8wishQPZ061K5KSf53LpgCrj8JzfRJ9ZQH1ROQNV0HhAzxAgJU/s320/VeniceRome+047.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center">[Rome by night: ]</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076742483374999938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyvYn3n7fO8gqr7mgjJomCOh9KIBHFySC658Q6SeqdHs6cZTdGDAh7dngFwTOPoQ_5p96lRddq5UJ7PDollw1cPTuvb1jg01to8dAp_K6X-O12Gc2LCrMqGR_UZ91-WW5juZnM38BapQ/s320/VeniceRome+048.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076742487669967250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNgkfrzoFJjVrKNFTGz1gu_kiUyoc_p03V88n_830uh2MMLf9FiteSRoqjVn2MAOIzyZqB3O49Lrbtmsdl6VMNNe09k-SA8KdLvOtce8rJzHfyrrh3-3sw4W0r-_pjuMTa7UEDdCfnLA/s320/VeniceRome+049.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076742487669967266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qdZH1-G6B1iSZvBLFKUZEY86BVFscVNge_FRNO_B9AWtCapf-nG93I4YxHomqYwQXGOWbPSEj_BeDA2B8ELmuDczX4i1KtWknyUDJvv1vyPugyd42Vugjfwv9uSWW4kNAGXl2ybMXNc/s320/VeniceRome+050.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Oh, and I got hit by a Segue! A girl pimping a certain brand of beer clearly wasn't used to riding it and ran right into me. Too funny.</p><br /><p>I've been thinking about a list of things I enjoyed during my stay in Rome. The food - Gnocchi in Trastavere, gelati, and the great cafè! The men - until they open their mouths to say "ciao bella," turning them from dark-eyed adonai to creepy sleazebags. I also found it pretty funny the way so many men walked as if their pelvises were top-heavy.</p><br /><p>The scooters (which are <em>everywhere</em>) were also great, but pretty scary on the roads. Pedestrian crossings proved quite the challenge.</p><br /><p>The quaint streets were also a favourite. It was worth the extra 30 minutes walking to school each day to get lost in the back alleys. I got lost a lot. Let's pretend it was intentional.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076742474785065314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvdDNTkWZNG3ORAbQfKJTB4aqhF6W6mKfY43f-Bzy81RDqEpb_m-OjFRWeWG7XcgxyOoSVM63N7flHjSwk4iKXcy6mUDpGIVd6An9x5Rpjt7tsQUSrXrqlBzO0USfRvq_ffsTxQL7hao/s320/VeniceRome+046.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />To come - more of Italy: Napoli, Florence, Cinque Terre, and then it's off to Southern France and Spain...Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-76581429031727922222007-06-12T02:17:00.000-07:002007-06-16T12:09:46.147-07:00Getting Artsy in Austria, Messy in Munich, and Snowy in St Johann!We got into Vienna, checked in (<em>finally</em> - credit card facilities!) and went for a walk down Mariahilferstrasse - the street we were staying on that is <em>packed </em>with shops. After reaching the Museumquartier, we headed back to Wombats (the swanky, near-new hostel we were staying in) and then to dinner at "Mozart's,"a restaurant around the corner known for its mammoth 5 euro schnitzels. And they were mightily impressive. I had "dumplings with egg and salad,"which was basically a weird omlette with a bowl of lettuce, but it wasn't half bad.<br /><div></div><div><br /></div><div align="left">After dinner we went to the "Wombar"(they're full of tacky names at that hostel) for a few drinks, and then I took myself off to bed. It turned out that one of the girls in my room was about to start her Masters at U of I in Champaign. Small world.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div><br /></div><div align="left">After going for a nice run down towards the Summer Palace (no cobblestones!), I had breakfast (a kitchen - luxury!) and then met Lauren, Dave and Mel. We waited for two other girls Mel had befriended for a little while, but when they didn't turn up, we headed for the Belveder. It was a bit of a treck, but Lauren and I safely navigated us to the museum, which we wandered around for quite some time before finding the piece de resistance - Klimt's <em>The Kiss</em>. I was equally impressed by his unfinished works of 1918 (such as <em>Adam & Eve</em>), and the portraiture of Hanz [something!], also on display.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div align="left"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735675851835714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXRlDzTLKacviBLW6RxMli9qovZe7H7xArcHKcSunmpA1wbwVT5jpUHUATnM-oT1jKgKQmRFYrtawDOr4pyipVFMi1nLF07Wske5pT-TXvOpUVnCwdmBegrOb_fVNUutgxxYJVWanCj4/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+001.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[the gardens of the Belveder]<br /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">We went for a walk around the gardens, then headed towards the Naschmarkt (fruit & veggie market), and the nearby Lonely Planet recommended Cafe Sperl for a well earned sit down, accompanied by Viennese iced coffee and apfelstrudel. Yum!</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735439628634354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8Nunv7jcCgXb1GqqPqKJ-DPJ56hIJmaiCLeeOFRoQkwhRqJiXxIDbbcqdUDRpwBDXtEDnVjcOUWqhd2fa3LvxcIG9M-B4Lx_YVs27GgLdu34P2y7_G_BWfx2_qHFAevOAjEoJ0T0VFo/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+002.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><br /><div>Once we were all highly caffeinated and sugared-up, we returned to the Naschmarkt for a bit of a look around. There were a lot of Asian fruits for sale, lots of Turkish breads and baklava, and lots of delicious-looking dips. Had it not been so hot, we might've bought some bits and pieces for a picnic.</div><br /><div><br />From the Naschmarkt, we headed towards Stephansplatz, via the Opera House - an impressive structure - and then spent some time admiring St Stephan's Church. It was actually quite funny to see some break dancers busking in front of the church. Quite the contrast!</div><div></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076741070330759506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxKRGASbdvjwRb6RBeAR5UoCAbhXF8lVcmKZaY0HkohZoUpoWJRs59JPMpCWSrk_Tzid18LKIVOQhlunKQuGVXw129Tz_Ct-dotTZMwZWOm9Y8W25NhKPtLFcJrAcdjNN6mIF3LfXzywo/s320/VeniceRome+001.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div><div>We walked back through the Museumsquartier on our way back to the hostel. The others went to get schnitzel burgers from a dodgy cafe up the road while I returned to good old cuppa soup for dinner. </div><br /><div><br />At around 7pm, a group of us headed to the Summer Palace for the "Concert for Europe"- a free concert put on once a year by the Vienna Symphony Orchestra to coincide with the Vienna Festival. Such good timing!</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735443923601666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD90gqucU6xmVMCV0MngJPw2-9Kxcp9ySWUs3L3n9BcFt2mWeSGZCnfleuNok9nS-VcG8cMZKUusw6Zg1AamSkz0XHYLXHDzhEFu8FKNWdbeL5r1IbvWlw6NnyySSpQSvS9f2wrkTdSes/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+003.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center">[Lauren, Steph, Steve, Mel, Dave and Kim outside the Summer Palace]<br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>We sat behind the stage on a nice, grassy hill, rather than stand in front on the rocky path. But at 9:10pm, we realised our mistake - we could hardly hear a thing! It must've looked so funny when masses of people started flowing down off the hill.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735448218568978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmw3ooy4f8setjFGHUjceBJMSX7mtS6fG24gPIsJcNn2MxlNwke6D0-ZWTUuOeeNTLZBlcICVCLI1KK7CuC_S4tkmMJ7gjJugLDwzzN0m6KKx4QVE89mPnCFi6SHo7CtL3mjAOnJrd7OY/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+004.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[before we realised our mistake...]<br /><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735452513536290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVZVQFR14XfBbtotdWs1bGXxnnIEXOPXAUUccclbeeCsa32YDlawHDQ148WI-NhDpFDbEkauti8zwuS79ssp9bcfkE4E4073NEwvcVIQtCrpFTY5cn_13DnxjtwsEPhsrlLtp4SL_0UY/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+005.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Though we missed a little of the performance, we did see most of the four sets performed. Though I recognised all of the songs played, I could only put names to two of them - the <em>Flight of the Bumble Bee</em>, and the goose bump-inducing song from <em>Swan Lake</em>. It was beautiful.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076735456808503602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEAnPHcCZ5a3jCo6h0Y6PHFWX9TR-kya_tC44OvX2xCQGHuDHuHF2TVPUKAk1MnrRAdPgQZhyphenhyphen5colfid1i_1CpAy9HhF2XnDGkMHb5Eu_DhvPKQX5_WBXza7xb8nC8NYeMlY3KwmeYe0/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br /><p>The following day, Mel and I took the u-bahn to the Ring Road and had a look at some of the buildings - the Maria Theresienplatz, the Parliament, City Hall and the university. We then took a tram down to Zentralfriedhof to see where Beethoven, Strauss, Brahms and Schubert are buried, along with a memorial to Mozart, who is buried elsewhere. It was a very nice (and <em>huge</em>) cemetary which, due to the headstones on sale across the road, is apparently still in use.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076734258512627874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8kvvaq0D2v1RhG3619V4UDd1e0EU909QqpEfsvYJaidSh9N9UZSuTFhMCNa3MXB-K0foxr7BiqIC_-XWzWScyQpShTPF3oHbBc1rfDC1lMN8jCPpz7sCbLVhgDdy5RnxBQ9LR5_GPsc/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+007.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Beethoven's grave]<br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076734271397529778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMoc4HSeTtqyd_JTvezX2SrIIuJ4SJIsxFIvmgMwLKc1b8C7Tbmi7lpaloOYJZpKcWCZ8M2rnLQG8Wu7YF9D7da9UcfgSVspSbCbfJNlg_zApJNvKzECZlRXiCKNAClTtNziisCEQYiE/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+008.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[the memorial to Mozart]</p><br /><p align="center"><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076734284282431682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcE0cXMnYuCHS93UtwNzB3HNym050OEO1Kz5xjvHAcMTHIhm_Mp3ndTeQlHKftOthxWhyhkHX2pUAboj3IjsAK3Z1kRqjKLd8NMCT59O4IB8vBxxKL0IcYFYYza1ue5g_UEN0jDeExVoU/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+009.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[another Mozart memorial, near the Ring Road]</p><br /><p><br />The afternoon was spent strolling up Mariahilferstrasse, popping into various chain stores and being good little consumerists. We were on a bit of a mission - to get Mel a new camera - and just before 6:30 (closing time), having gone into countless electronics and camera stonres, we were finally successful!</p><br /><p>After yet another cuppa soup for dinner, I joined the others while they had yet more schnitzel burgers for dinner, and treated myself to a big piece of baklava. Not as tasty as some I've got on Coogee Bay Road, but full of sugary, honey-filled goodness nonetheless.</p><br /><p>Mel, Dave, Simon (teacher from Melbourne - surprise surprise), Steve (again from Melbourne) and I ended our nigth playing a rather competitive game of Rummy. We're such rebels! </p><br /><p>Even though six people on the bus got last-minute accommodation in Salzburg, I was happy to continue on to Munich, where we arrived around an hour earlier than expected, at 2:30pm. </p><br /><div align="left">After sussing out where i needed to go to find my hostel (the Busabout hostel was ridiculously expensive), I agreed to meet Cass and Lauren at 4pm and headed off to the A&O City Hotel/Hostel. A sweaty half hour later, I'd finally lugged my backpack to the hostel, and having checked in (following a mild dispute with the stubbourn receptionist), I only had tiem to dump my bag before heading back to meet the others.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">While were walked through the main street of Munich, searching for somewhere to have dinner, the skies opened and it poured with rain - and hail! - for a good 20 minutes before stopping just as abruptly as it had started.<br /></div><br /><div align="left">After dinner we returned to the hostel - which yet again contained a bar - but at around 8:30 I decided I'd better head off. With a newly-withdrawn 500 euros in my backpack, I didn't want to be walking back to my hostel alone after dark.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I discovered that the A&O had a laundry (something the crabby receptionist had failed to mention), and after my clothes had finally dried at around midnight, I took myself off to bed.</div><br /><br /><div align="left">I went for an early jog on Sunday, but wasn't exactly thrilled by it - I basically ran up and down the main roads for fear of getting lost, because my hostel wasn't on the downtown map (A&O "city," huh?). I'd agreed to meet a Canadian girl, Heather, at the other hostel at 10am because she'd told me that was when the free walking tour started. Turned out it started at 11am. I wasn't too fussed, though - I filled the hour with emails (sorting out my Italian course in Rome!) and the world's tastiest breakfast - a pretzel with butter and chives. I was so impressed, I had one each morning I was in Munich.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">The tour put on by the hostel was great. The guide, a black Canadian who is part-German and obviously in love with Munich, was fantastic. Ozzy had all sorts of great methods for remembering dates and events, which meant by the end of the tour, I felt I'd actually learned something. The best parts of the tour were: the Glockenspiel's performance, seeing yet another pre-emptive statue (Bavaria overcoming Protestantism, built 10 years before the end of the Thirty Years War), the four buildings (or parts of buildings) that were left standing after WWII (and therefore realising everything else was less than 60 years old!), and the very subtle memorial for those who, during Hitler's reign over Munich, refused to conform and fake Nazi affiliation, and took a dangerous back-alley in order to avoid having to do the "heil Hitler"salute.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076734292872366290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUSYUVn7HiWJRQDEAflnBmipH9EryU6uN3i6VDXCJv4nLwEirbONF_HMXT1qoTXIlho8CM3O89LxOQ23GecbWqbPKepUbb0PlG61OpNeG9ZMxDvRpaltTBhNU8YnVc7Hdf9UedL-OlWo/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+010.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[one of four buildings left standing after WWII]<br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076734305757268194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfrCg5zFl4aYpu_MuybiSZbSYnc8q-MGrFfvQtV0z3ZpeJnOALC8AkLi3PkPf8ozProdHrXX3PY9XgwBQVmceY64rpTiRYx6rMHR5ajc_OC9_LFxym7tv_uyldBEK0etWAt5lz92zxmY/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+011.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><div align="center">[the Glockenspiel, plus some scaffolding]</div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076732854058322018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtufLJESDNISNsgk9mMrzUzJCP5dUGYg5FsdrE4tvGfwqdWo46lmXtJumyWJVDA7NeK-UnsaGpm8RZGM-ZpWhVdacc7i1CBUdllKjrcK9Jc5F_ktS00gkgedhBRRKwyhgld-goCHwgzw/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+013.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[the memorial to those who refused to conform]<br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076732845468387410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP08H0XoKpulZv0y3ca9CEyw-jLwY5viBKQcH5tPvlWyE7JfBAhL1oBm6anTavMrmKp2K7icHSzL6B7PghyNcM16nVfBLgwvzXbnyp0ijAXfU5EfZ6EiZofS9m23_316yueXYns3V37to/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+012.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p align="center">[I thought Gemma might appreciate this - for the pampered pooches of Munich. Very cute.]<br /></p><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>After the walking tour, I wandered around for a while, and became quite familiar with Hauptbahnhof Station as almost nothing else was open because it was a Sunday. I eventually returned to the Wombat's hostel to meet Lauren. She'd just been out to Dachau, so was fairly morose. </div><br /><br /><div>After sitting around the foyer of the hostel for a while, trying to work up the energy to go and get some dinner - and then wait yet again for it to stop hailing! - we went to a Thai restaurant around the corner. I ate the biggest plate of noodles I've ever seen. So good. Not Noodi or Thailand, but a nice change! I got stung, though, when I asked for a glass of water. 2.20 euros for <em>fizzy </em>water. Ugh. But it was inevitable - I think everyone on this trip has accidentally bought some fizzy water at some stage.</div><br /><br /><div>I returned to the hostel to find my 5am-wake-me-up-as-you're-getting-home roommates getting ready for bed. By 10:30, after reading for a little while and updating my diary, I was also ready for bed.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The next morning, after a lovely sleep-in while listening to the wind whip past the window, I showered and then realised that I would have to go out into that wind. It wasn't too bad until I was about two blocks from the hostel and it started raining. Wind + rain = hopeless umbrella. I took shelter in an internet cafe, called Mum and Dad, and then carried on to Wombat's. I took advantage of their sheltered courtyard and spent a few hours procrastinating and occasionally studying some Italian. I've forgotten so much!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>At 2:30 the new load of Busabouters pulled in, and Dave, Mel, etc. filled me in on how much fun they'd had in Salzburg. Oh well - I still held out hope for St Johann being my Beautiful Austrian Alps Experience.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We sat around playing cards, then had a drink at the bar (such good German beer) before the others headed off on the Pub Crawl. Lauren and I went to the Hofbrauhaus instead, and in the dodgy weather (and my frozen, thonged feet), it seemed like the best idea. We ended up sitting at a table with four Americans - one of who'd just graduated from U of I. Small world yet again.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Those litre steins are crazy. How the bar maids in their lederhosen are able to carry six in each hand is beyond me. Lauren and I joked that while we were drinking so much carbohydrate-riddled beer and eating the World's Biggest Pretzel, we were also doing some weight training by lifting our steins each time we drank.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076732875533158514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEG8rtNkVtIlX-mWWkR8Yl8ncPY7bld4sVCRPgosbA_q8YlDWdXSkE5TGG2KcLFYjj5ffmU6vd1XZjetptg6qtK-TVFkGac2UUZUyg6wrHqUse-j2FP8WCeYB_-oHt18GX2UK97oyD_VE/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+014.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><p align="center">[Lauren and I with our giant steins]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076732879828125826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVq-IxyaP0OyDtdm1QfmEEtPeI-ru7TaNdPRyyBSLsRsgMFmFCiVMHwqDSX8GO12ybrebFrRcNotq2RAbdxoO2p4EBlySWZtM_Zy9j3kRmmnEIgFgc-nbgubTP8jO-YNp-q-jiHC0q8ic/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+015.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Lauren with her giant pretzel]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076732884123093138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvU0pNJFFsTz04d0lG9NTqCAK1Bn6ND8XbRhqKbMJ8YbIyCG08LBM4iJw6bBMsrDWB_c4whlgDLqjb3ErxhsRYJaflVTyBgujq1e1TLB6u6SZXpLEwq7mEe0-Fn0mV1EQ_IlIW-5m9rS0/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+016.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[Oom Pah Pah]<br /></p><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A long, whindy, cold walk, and I was back at my hostel. I may or may not have interrupted my roommates during a private little moment, and then at 2am awoke to the sounds of my other new roommates snogging. Bloody hostels!</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>I got up at 6:30, intending to walk to the hostel, but when I walked outside, all pack-ed up, it was miserable yet again, so I took a tram and was therefore very early for the bus. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>As our bus ambled up the hill towards St Johann, the heavy rain started to look a little strange. Then we al realised it was snow!!! Though it was freezing cold when we got off the bus, everyone was too excited about the snow to really care. For some, it was the first time they'd ever seen it. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076731840446040066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70vxKUOUVnwrfVwEaYogXsMG4_DqKUBqC4e_4P6Rp3UUXJ_z6XF-A3QtizKZjI8Ya4twjSox1ZwbvSLZKrTaCCO7EEG6aDl0vrWkJ12KEI8AakFoVX5mI6FNMqCGNY1Sfm-gJF81RSXo/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+018.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div>Once we'd all checked into Bunny's Pub (a hideously kitsch Aussie pub/hotel, all set up for the Austrian ski season), a few of us braved the cold and went to see a bit of the town. The big, yellow church in the middle of town looked a little too summery as the snow fell around it.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076731844741007378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymyDlpS3ij2eBog1ZROgfMB80WWXDXP5BSDkNPdqHcej3WQLDnwHLFjaKIBjT2w-xjX-k-FF5bYXYrdtgKT9k7P2B46ebmwrWZG3mDuQlSwb-r4Z1bkqzQ9OEbKiMAcZaDnL9bI2rTEY/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+020.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[the church, looking far more appropriate against a blue sky]<br /><br /></p><br /><div>We were all so excited at the prospect of having a kitchen (and figured cooking would take up some time), we stocked up with all sorts of goodies at the grocery store before returning to Bunny's. After lunch, we all just sat around not doing very much. I practiced some Italian (I know nothing!), and just enjoyed being inside as the snow turned to slush and then to rain.</div><br /><br /><div>On Wednesday morning I went for a 20 minute run because it was just too cold. It seemed so wrong to be jogging in a singlet and shorts with snow on the mountains around me.</div><br /><br /><div>After breakfast, we all just sat around chatting until after Siesta (why southern Austria - where it was <em>snowing </em>- needs to nap in the afternoon is beyond me), and then went for another walk around town. Mel, Kim and Lou (who miraculously turned up having caught a train from Salzburg) went to do laundry, so I joined them as there was little else to do. Watching "The Simpsons" with German dubbing at the laundromat was pretty funny.</div><br /><br /><div>By the time I left the others at the laundry, the clouds had almost cleared, and the mountains were starting to appear. So pretty. I think I'm going to enjoy Switzerland if I liked St Johann so much.</div><br /><br /><div>I ummed and ahhed about buying a 40 euro rain jacket, but eventually talked myself out of it. It seems that every time it's a little chilly I go hunting for warm, bulky, impractical-coming-into-summer clothes. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Checking my email on the way back to Bunny's, I finally got confirmation on my Italian course so took myself back to the pub to study! I made myself write out all the verb rules (Italian verbs suck) before allowing myself to go and be sociable.</div><br /><br /><div>After dinner, a few of us, including our very cute little Italian guide, Irene, went down to the pub for a couple of drinks before bed.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Check out was 9am, so we were all up early, eating all our leftovers from the fridge (tortellini for breakfast anyone?) and then sat down in the pub, killing time until the bus arrived. Kim and Mel did a hurried parasail before our 11:30 daparture. It looked as if they had a great time - but practically had to run for the bus!</div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076731849035974690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fqLtINHj8_6uWYtgEjCk8mHRpAsfWgmkjHfFXxhKs1HAIXjiOZHjkEHw3YbtRoc42AHiwo-UudQ_8MIsD6Mg-LOiNIRtpdBHuYyrRstLn9m7W6X_sFTY9KpA20M7kqM-yw_2Z99sovU/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+021.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><div align="center">[the girls (Alicia, Hayley, me, Irene and Carina), waiting for Kim and Mel to land]</div><br /><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076731853330942002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xt9oDPMhrl3Exb5V-09BYXYv2dyMmYonIlyDeBuMj8MmNPLHj1JyyVF8xM1PGj1Xr7fNFVEheobi-Ev_F8op3pHlDY9vm0bnVTOFdeMHvSQ_mLn6lPW-Q70OdZF8lUuj9ihTgmqM3jo/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+022.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076731857625909314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC3y3l5gXJx2HVN4unzaVq7nF0iIIp1YCprb5ArsUZg-X7MTe6NsZxJffXbhBQjePgh4hBln96RFBGLw6D2Uf6cXdT_b2NdSo3nu_fpqXT1xQf3ljaog_JZ2_zYJOrNilVYtGEYbcXks0/s320/ViennaMunichItaly+028.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><p align="center">[Kim, returning to solid ground]</p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>To come (soon!): Venice and Rome.</p></div>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-47617029727675028372007-05-27T06:28:00.000-07:002007-05-28T02:22:26.654-07:00Czech It Out - Prague and Cesky KrumlovThe drive to Prague was fairly unexciting. We picked some people up in Dresden, including Mel, who apparently hated her time there, so I was quite happy with my drive-by tour of the once distroyed town.<br /><br />Crossing the Czech/German border was also fun - two big, uniformed men taking all the non-EU passports off the bus to stamp them with German and Czech stamps. And yet again, I went sans-stamp at a border!<br /><br />I was convinced by Mel and Dave to sign up for the pub crawl and walking tour of Prague, so when we got to the hostel, despite my extreme sleep deprivation, we all got ready for a night on the town. It was a pretty dodgy pub crawl, but there were a few highlights - drinking bad Czech beer in a park with a view across the city, the Beer Factory near Wenceslas Square (beer taps on the tables!), and a crazy pub where each room was joined to the next by a series of tunnels. We also had shots of absinth, which is pretty overrated if you ask me!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069232516400637154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uPxsuOMgRBnJ5Cwgflru_Y6gMK7gAziC09BEIFGtPbndGxy_OP6wQBFx9cXVboD1YWHQTnQSDidQLbJUZR76BdJNmxeuAYBEkfKHrst9Q7AJxEu7DYxSBeaU1Z6QfD5A2o6iYF0-f2c/s320/natia+005.jpg" border="0" /><div align="center">[view from the park where we started the pubcrawl]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069236716878653138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaibs10Z4nQS3IheRxmqul1F6_vkialONTPqr71kME46eElExUmb3zTTY0EYk_-7opvGeVkuMv8L9mWCKRlhsoe9cbCYqh_7gx-txB0oTbrFVhsjOCHYEcaDpA6Q6UW-2NyMV_EZznwMQ/s320/natia+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[Mel with random English guy whose name I've forgotten, doing <em>Vogue</em>.]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069232524990571762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuo_JFnebvV8bSzPl747YgTBSGt9doxWch-qPYdkeNcgdnNj1J115Ps8yEDsF7KbRRIA6klG-K3x8XiCsReuQLye3ZF4QM3LVHptPxsbdUI7UVKgAgVm_4Qro9dFZhTI-_scXL2Tx-Wo/s320/natia+007.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[everybody say "cheap Czech beer and Absinth!"]</div><br /><br />On Saturday, we headed back to Wenceslas Square for our walking tour. The guide - a local boy with an obvious disdain for the Czech president - was a lot of fun, pointing out some pretty funny little pieces of trivia. The Museum of Communisum above a MDonalds, the Renaissance-topped baroque-style church at the Prague Castle and the unusual relationship between touching a plaque of a priest being thrown off the Charles Bridge and supposedly having good luck were highlights. It was also really interesting to see the different styles of architecture which - because of Prague's relative safety during WWII - was like a living history book of European architecture.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069232529285539074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl-nNpLXbvqql-NNAV-dbNG9oAzZRYNsoh5ZC3Jr6hyphenhyphenTdeo3InTDACF5vHIV8ch45NfYIznVgkpzD7dE82OTZRiqgzE1QBiZ99xXJ0OpJiHcMsLAc0fNzXUy-Qhus5PHcQjMy19fqa5M/s320/natia+008.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[Wenceslas, of Wenceslas Square...]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069232542170440978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFG2uX9tlS19y9NiEJE_XFuRigrBT0NN4ZbfbG1Ghg7JD8kl6dVUtFy2ZIK2IJzKffxF13apSxr8lWluW4WYR8O6Bis10MLoPS-zCWKybMNVs6hm6xX93H14MAKAzpWR1TgF_ApCPT-Kg/s320/natia+009.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[memorial to two students who burned themselves alive, protesting against Communism]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069232550760375586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqliRbzxerZKcxQhovT998LG62kLFN4BOnlnFCzNHX9CF0Fh7H-EmJpRE6o08hCs-tMYw8RwYU_MBmTMQt5OdSHJ_EijtctOY0P7ZaSx1AwYKdOX1Vh_7bbBMvEbItrIlaVx-s-qzrgE/s320/natia+010.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[the amazing Astronomical Clock in Prague's Old City]</div><div align="center"><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233276609848626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaO_3SO-dLqjDpAaUoVA8p4lPneg-KRhqYGf0Tp-0vjo3GfaMAdP0kp9HnD6BedgEfbUIebNAae_iLgFsgP9F3p1xx3NZu1cI0YQLzlvC6xfD9UeujRdnhmlYwvaBsZ_68yNLFwDM8Ig/s320/natia+011.jpg" border="0" />[The Jewish Cemetary. Because of restrictions on where Jews could be buried, they ended up burying people on top of each other - the result being this 10ft high cemetary in Prague's Jewish Quarter]</div><div align="left"><br /><br /> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233293789717842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhx471JU-Iy3F97ch1Olen3gsKFaAESm1VOp-Dmc27bZv95gMbMi_RLB34N7m-7CfhRIFID3Si_ZP_ld6kYLuKzsgL3UTgVtPQPKWTmjBKjOgDJkvcTpbjveeEPcUnbpnN64YaprRdN0/s320/natia+013.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">[the Charles Bridge]</div><div align="center"><br /><br /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233938034812290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLE4QOuJl36CSjV8KJ7jzgFUXL7elqGnfA6v9eYdzcKaIq0V2ifRyM8q_mLu49utEO3JI_cAi-H4KgxtTk9bhHRxfgCqpZgNO_S9k0Pu2ghHa3dZGi5IpVbQ9EfFnemmoXEJlXBtxSI1g/s320/natia+019.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">[Cathedral at the Prague Castle]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233950919714194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdrMbJokiU8IkCaZbrtIwhqECrQSxwoe7IIO1BCy5WSeGzFO3sPGp-_9jpUuOO-PWSfX28j6sKFQu12l_TolbD0ESZuFKKbB8PhMCV0paJ8OXBmf-4nHR-P702TzXEtEDr-c60kJpV7E/s320/natia+020.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[view from the castle]</div><br /><br />During the tour, we stopped for lunch at a "traditional Czech pub." I had fried mushrooms, which were literally deep fried mushrooms. A bunch of us went out for dinner that night, so I had a salad to appease my poor arteries.<br /><br />I was in bed by 11:30, and so excited at the prospect of a good night's sleep!<br /><br />I went for a jog in the morning, and realised just what a seedy area we were staying in!<br /><br />After breakfast, 14 of us went off in our own little mini-tour group to visit the Ossuary - a church 75km out of town (in Kutna Hora), filled with the bones of 40,000 skeletons! The weirdest thing was the chandelier consisting of at least one of each bone in the human body. Weird, weird, weird!<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233959509648802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguj39SjcgkEv7Xilu6zpCibLHoGEYu97LBbnBnwggAgVCMhC9mYUQzMeBQuBSL5r6e4pHee-B6LeQL5Dv6b6vW507EYPywH3tMl7iPPIxKPMz2LZkt_7W_IGzcQMJpTk_VNC-s_G3UthE/s320/natia+022.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233968099583410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNP9FCccpwipvk3S49yMV1TBjdQzpDQTnkehrAWHh4SDE1Yw8sFQlHvVIPzxMA9upsQxw-nGW6-gPmIMFN1ps2sg5bLSem5tR1GlFzYcUPDYPE7nmSswxgGXJPpyChwBcStAN7TnUpMA/s320/natia+023.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069233976689518018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozTJNmHRgVdeLyyRlfqgVaOHTJGyFpljPrsvcg4__R49fOH2knvb0Jbs_CLQK4l3fe_SNm8YFtQKouBEwoDnOFhkSz8hyPqgS1Q-iegUXWl_BzDtaxVws2rCCKkIsBo1WsqA8htcqJ-8/s320/natia+024.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><p>We had a much easier train ride back into the city, but having had a long trip out there and a lovely, long, relaxing lunch in Kutna Hora, the afternoon of wandering around Prague that I'd hoped for was not to be. I returned to the hostel for a backpacker's dinner of soup and fruit, and, after getting my backpack sorted out for the next days' trip to Cesky Krumlov, had an early, quiet night.</p><p>Cesky really is a very sweet little town. Our Big Blue Bus rolled in at around midday, and we all trudged a good few hundred metres (grudgingly and somewhat unknowingly) to Hostel 99. After checking in and getting settled - Dave and I in an 8 or so bed dorm in the loft - Me, Dave and I went to explore.</p><p>Cesky is a town of around 15,000 people in southern Czech Republic. It is a gorgeous old place surrounded by hills, and a quiet river winds its way through the terracotta-roofed houses. The main focal point is the castle, which towers over everything, perched upon a hill, but also draws attention due to its elaborate paint job.</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069234543625201106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZbLKbyM_-_HZ-OBTBj-dRuB5-iS5rzkGVmUBxg0IJaa4eNm64ZAbhrhyphenhyphenPjb6gLYfj9AqHWofVTbIO7C46fSx4wzhCkToHNTYGWCz7Lnulrsf9eWT6nAJj30wRHOkCusX14E-6hE69kM/s320/natia+026.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069234556510103010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxIE8QSEq7HI8fIxpbJ2y4sAeNEYphqGqZJWaSxJa9LhfsXw6u7cR4F__ZKik2Wt9yXJHjcApAF2cAJhOGD62qwtkBzY-FzohgAasVpJ2D583XZLW38p-3_4SuSPZfSjIf76qxfZt6Cg/s320/natia+027.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p>The three of us walked along the cobbled streets for a couple of hours, popping into various jewellery and souvenir/trinket shops along the way. As we were approaching the castle, we ran into Lauren, another Melbournian, who joined our little tour group.</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069234565100037618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqYY0CWv6BqOLEHwo6SPDXfW2_k6DtB_ztPlD61DzUlrrU5kjOxijRcES2oBXUaU-64OnlydLZyyE4zWBYtyFJ6h442iNJfOUmiflzaF_7cefozEzOms2jPmjrL6U08AmszdYmEPS_CA/s320/natia+030.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p>There are bears in an enclosure next to the castle. <em>Bears!</em> I'm sure there's some fantastic story as to why they're there, but it was certainly a little bit of a shock when we saw them - but certainly helped explain the numerous "Don't Climb the Fence" signs.</p><p>After wandering around the castle and its beautiful gardens (which contain an outdoor theatre!), we ambled on back to the hostel and actually ended up watching "The Big Lebowski." Quite random.</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069234577984939522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOfNP9hhCDY68p0ptX6PjEI4IYhVhyphenhyphenupzXwyRjJSwcNEieCzsS-u8bEnzhNJjgwiIhYwd-qoCIuMTPUjkW2BEH9DdEZDx6_AdoLyw1HdG70AsQ-TQFqYoeeq9h9mcySSkDzzPV6Jo6z6M/s320/natia+031.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[The theatre in the castle gardens. Very cool.]</p><p> </p><p>We later popped next door to the adjoining restaurant for cheap Czech food and beer. I'm not entirely sure what my beer was (shrug, smile sheepishly, point to beer taps and say "what's good?" to barmaid), but it was very good, and great at only Ck22 ($AUD1.30) for a pint.</p><p>After dinner, a few of us went into town again to take some photos of the castle by night - and to stalk the bears a little. Then it was off to bed with plans for meeting at 10am for a horse ride through the countryside. Cesky Krumlov certainly is a cruisy town!</p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069234586574874130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibk80jP2pEvSudYWt0933DWcGC8qRfvwb9Zu0PS9LniPUtYOMvVHpKxOg08rAwPmEno4TDTqC_e0z7wA9w1gu_y5_JFkfF0S867ff3zSaMWmZvgCPaw8ITQWmpdXRplla39z_l_1wOvg8/s320/natia+033.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Keeping up my promise to myself to run in every city I stop in on Busabout, I went for a jog early on Tuesday, and I must say the cobblestones in Cesky were tougher to negotiate than in Bruges! But it was a lovely run - exploring a few areas we hadn't come across the previous day.</p><p>By the time we were all organised, a group of six of us weren't on our way to the horse riding stables until 11am, but it wasn't a problem. Though a few of us had wanted to go off on our own (I decided that because I wasn't exactly a "beginner," I would promote myself to the "advanced" group), we all ended up going ona long, beautiful, but slow trail ride. The countryside was gorgeous, and it was nice just to have a change of scenery!<br /><br /></p><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTdd21ucX4sSjg4Zsmv6awZ8snWvopx3AY9gOOmh5pVvi3Z44AMG1k9v1yLMBNCGV0v60oDWIhutliyqYdcRsis__RozbTut5xrXhE6S2v-K_Pjyf-y2ydZ5hm3uD18AZlsxvRgS_4xs/s1600-h/natia+037.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069235376848856610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTdd21ucX4sSjg4Zsmv6awZ8snWvopx3AY9gOOmh5pVvi3Z44AMG1k9v1yLMBNCGV0v60oDWIhutliyqYdcRsis__RozbTut5xrXhE6S2v-K_Pjyf-y2ydZ5hm3uD18AZlsxvRgS_4xs/s320/natia+037.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div><br /><p>For the rest of the afternoon, I hung around the hostel, wandered around the town and just genearlly relaxed. Again, Cesky is such a cruisy town!</p><p>That night, a bunch of us went looking for somewhere to have dinner, but after the third or fourth too-pricey or somehow inappropriate restaurant, three of us - Lauren, Karina (OT from Cairns) and I - returned to the restaurant next door to the hotel. I had a veggie burrito - not the best I've had, but a darn good change to a cuppa soup!</p><p>Once I'd returned to the hostel and had a nice chat to some other backpackers - including "Grandma and Grandpa," a NZ couple in their 70s travelling on Busabout - I was off to bed, to dig around in the dark for my toothbrush and PJs. God bless hostel living! </p><p>Wednesday morning was spent desperately trying to spend our Czech money. The weirdest thing happened when I returned from my grocery shop. Everyone says you always meet random people from your past while travelling, and lo and behold - Vicky, Jeremy and Phil from Deakin High were at a table talking to Mel and Dave. Very, very strange. They are apparently travelling together fora couple of months having just finished uni. I said goodbye to them and went off with Dave in yet another attempt to get rid of some Cks (especially the damn half crown!) before boarding the bus to Vienna.</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-61123652603399884142007-05-20T14:20:00.001-07:002007-05-27T07:14:31.677-07:00Berlin<div><div><div>When I arrived in Berlin, I headed straight for yet another pay phone - but this time with the intention of calling Frederick. Apparently I'd just missed him, and as Mr & Mrs Bamberg didn't seem to know who I was (and I didn't want to invite myself over as such), I just said I'd call in the morning, and went and checked into the City Stay hostel in Mitte - right near the famous Fernsehturm (TV tower) in East Berlin. I also signed up for the pubcrawl, and am actually really glad I ended up staying in the city. Though some of the pubs were fairly unexceptional, some were a little more historic (one with an East German car from the 70s in the front window), and it was a fun night filled with German beer, Jaegermeister and a fair bit of dancing. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXicapX5in8Uqsg88k5Yiek9jxCQij8ZGMew6_0JkzQBCXFYNnPZKjSxE51KYB86CaXYW5bR8Rc1LppAfFA7gHg8qK7tHaU93w6MzUBZ2zxLk4mYju4905HZ4dOdlvg5wN5LDQQnBcfGw/s1600-h/DSCN4567.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066856948514382706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXicapX5in8Uqsg88k5Yiek9jxCQij8ZGMew6_0JkzQBCXFYNnPZKjSxE51KYB86CaXYW5bR8Rc1LppAfFA7gHg8qK7tHaU93w6MzUBZ2zxLk4mYju4905HZ4dOdlvg5wN5LDQQnBcfGw/s320/DSCN4567.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />[everybody say "Jaegermeister"]</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>After a fun evening, I'm grateful for two things - the TV tower which acted as a beacon, shining the light on my direction home, and the huge amount of water I drank before going to bed. </div><div><br />Though I woke up early the next morning, I woke up only a little dopey with no hangover - it could only be a good day! First things first - to call Mum. And, lo and behonld, she was there! Though she hung up on me the first time ("I thought it was India calling"), I was finally able to wish her a happy belated Mother's Day! </div><div></div><br /><div>I woke up my Canadian dorm-mates Jesse and Andrew, and though they only had a few minutes to get ready, were hurrying down Unter den Linden with me on the way to the Free Berlin tour. Apparently there are free tours in many cities in Europe - something I'm looking forward to taking advantage of. Our tour guide was fantastic, and we saw so much in the four-and-a-half hour tour: The Brandenburger Tor, a line in the road where the Berlin Wall used to stand, the amazing memorial to the victims of the holocaust, the site of Hitler's bunker (as the tour guide pointed out, now a car park and small section of grass perfect for big piles of dog poo), Checkopint Charlie, past an old section of the wall and the Topography of Terror (the foundations of an old SS building), the Bebelplatz (where the first Nazi book burning took place in 1933), to a monument to victims of war (very, very moving), and finally to Museum Island - Berliners certainly love their museums. She told us so many historical facts and pointed out some great random bits and pieces. I hadn't noticed them until she pointed out the bullet holes in "The Big Dish" at the front of the New Museum. I also lvoed the story of the removal of all crosses from churches in Berlin, only to have the TV Tower built which, due to the shiney sphere at its top, looks like a big cross on a sunny day.<br /><br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861028733314050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujpGjEU8c3480xfFmLDhl8GZMuJXUih2vD0kEBlPt39gLzy_tp0VEFQLMtU9-9kqMFpgbxXefabQ0Fds4C4lkc2gSiI96SBIii0Ncs8S_qzKv61GTDUd66_k9wKK8WKaR5UYqH-0k0tE/s320/old+wall.JPG" border="0" /> </div><br /><div align="center">[where the Wall used to stand]</div></div><br /><br /><div></div><div> </div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIvML1h4oD5QUk2XHTSK2j5dmpT_-SkWPxDsJkc_4rP6fIP71MU5hbZ4Qo51zxjMOYqkGTWaIGFn7C2-EjygsC7XKV9yKlO8MFyLpn5JN9HrNUtOww5hPjubrFQ-lDdaec67_JBkLNZ4/s1600-h/DSCN4576.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066856952809350018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIvML1h4oD5QUk2XHTSK2j5dmpT_-SkWPxDsJkc_4rP6fIP71MU5hbZ4Qo51zxjMOYqkGTWaIGFn7C2-EjygsC7XKV9yKlO8MFyLpn5JN9HrNUtOww5hPjubrFQ-lDdaec67_JBkLNZ4/s320/DSCN4576.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">[Holocaust Memorial]</div></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066857133197976466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvisHh-Zl5Puvou7U6RmcsOl-x462-io3kZuO4xDgThfprv7-r7Gl28Kgk5qvEYUtOkdkLB_GlJjND0qfxyXRwP1Bl49KyfvtZmXteI0l6ALkBzcEwNLQo3Dsiko7NkZ1_NBIKuuIweQc/s320/DSCN4582.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><br /></div><div align="center">[Hitler's Bunker]</div><br /><br /><div><br /> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066857133197976482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5lVTYEIQ27gt6jQMbBjAtoNnWP6Nqw7GLL-M4tVtijyfnrlNBbE2qMZlvfCx4DihSDcE9cL3YWaHV3scOjpY5YOJHmgg9MBWkQiFTPj6ryx3IgW_IkVI5bR1qqjdQriuOgksfVIx_DI/s320/DSCN4584.JPG" border="0" /></div><div> </div><div align="center">[the Wall at the Topography of Terror]</div><br /><div><br /> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066860775330243506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ph3IV1rXtvFwaM05cS5tMK7zwceMpYi3H6Gkufp7g_jRHNKeGnDfL0q699oejrbgVmGEH9AMg9P85_Gk4GyFNazbsy117Hwnr2ncO-QsC7QT7LZewUItlcFU48-YSM3-5JFZ6WdvjY8/s320/book+burning.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center">[Bebelplatz]</div><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>This was but a prelude. Where books are burnt, human beings will be burnt in the end. </em></div><div align="center">- Heinrich Hein</div><br /><div><br /> </div><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861368035730562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN54K5I_ugif_Bo_UCXWeZVbbGwIITiLgDxJgOcwzgcC9d7EVPjHFO6lcxPvw3JoErykVRbcJn-JOLUuO-8CTOZLdwCxqL2bjGEu9ePwIo989jz7iCNq-AnXM5tdvlKWwYZb3XNsQkqfg/s320/war+victims.JPG" border="0" /> [Memorial for those killed in war]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861363740763250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWytjYaRtnrbl3IreWt3CVNP7t1B0IWEBOP2v9XkAVwnxVuGFv8-Q7RgHOkxiKy2Q3y2Wus8D9d15UHgrs6GHJvCgXN0u9dPjQBGFx1CdbrkKx8Xn342lCRD0THZly7mXHzSwOfriYQZw/s320/tv+tower.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[Museum Island and TV Tower]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066860882704425938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33gjmKCbIKvnFngoQkIahc0AGT56wZK_GDCkb7ctkCxMCqEQq85JRcXtFTt4GKphiqcuQPx1spwm0CrhS3K7l4CCS6AhrW_Sc_N5lK6K4_uBtAUVgNXbCF08GEEAvz6HDdM6cgw9-AnY/s320/bullet+holes.JPG" border="0" />[bullet holes in "the Big Bowl"]</div><br /><br />I'd managed to get in touch with Frederick, so got my backpack and, as per his instructions, took the S-Bahn to Rathaus Steglitz. He met me at the train station - it was so good to see a familiar face, even if his months scuba diving in WA have given him blond hair! We took the bus back to his flat - where he has lived since he was two - and I briefly met his mum. She apologised for not speaking English, I apologised for not speaking German, and Frederick interperated. After a dinner of fantastic German bread ("not like that white, fluffy stuff in Australia") and Swiss cheese, Frederick and I headed back into town to meet his brother at a pub in the trendy, turkish-oriented part of town - once wedged in a corner of West Berlin.<br /><br />Simon (pronounced much more softly than I would in Australia - one of few less harsh-sounding names, as pointed out by Frederick) and his mates are apparently very big fans of, and quite good at table soccer ("fooseball" sounds too similar to the German word for soccer - "fussball"). They were very good and very competitive with other players on the two tables in one of many small, cosy pubs in the area (the "White Dove"). Unfortunately, I was literally falling asleep (quite embarrassing, actually), so after a couple of beers, Frederick and I headed home through the rain.<br /><br />Before I go further, I have to comment on how cool Berlin is. Not only are there dedicated bike paths all over the city, bikes are allowed on trains! And though the sight of people walking around with open beers everywhere, and dogs on public transport at first kind of surprised me, I now just add it to the reasons Berlin is such a great city. And Germany - simply for how it does breakfast - is quickly becoming one of my favourite countries.<br /><br />Frederick and I had more great bread, cheese and jams with green tea for breakfast, while the sheep at the nearby high school bleated. This led to a conversation about the intricacies of German schooling - how at 12 you're put into a ranked high school, and how most people don't graduate 'til they're 19 (or sometimes 21, 21!). When we were heading out the door, Frederick looked at me in my thongs and said "it's okay to wear socks with your sandals in Germany, you know." Too funny (and NOT A CHANCE!). Though I regretted my lack of shoes later in the day, I had well and truely run out of socks, so didn't really have an option.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066860886999393250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-YxvoRT4AhWnW3Ph4oggtrRBAd5fhPVMm-APHBlqMmtIUi3QdRXN-_XAX2O-sZ3v0CzQ63mwpzIUND7mYBcYysIa4hsYe9F-X61BOnoFODMdsfbUInoQgQh45ALN6sDMwSuHlSXz6LE/s320/frederick.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />We took the train (S-Bahn, U-Bahn, I'm not really sure) to the Deutsches Historiches Museum, back on Unter den Linden. On the way, Frederick told me how three stations on the line we were on used to be part of East Berlin, so while the wall was up, the stations were unused, and after 30 years had to be cleaned festidiously and are back in use again, as if nothing happened. He also pointed out a great anti-nuclear protest on a block of flats.<br /><p> </p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069231382529270978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiut9LP2mdfD4bEXWk4EmwYXBUkW655kjF-vxUKH2KgPDccpIf7DC4dxpCxyJd3eij-76nj_82RGxtfuKJmvnaI6iXAZNARk2XwtbY77lsAyqdLcYNxxt8dKnqxXvcuhOA6xBqVxrhhCUg/s320/natia+004.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />The museum was really informative and managed to solidify many things in my mind. My knowledge of German and European history is slowly improving.I stuck to the twentieth century stuff, while Frederick ventured further inside the mammoth museum. Once we were filled with history to our eyeballs, we went to just near Friedrichstrasse S-Bahn station for the biggest falafel pita I've ever seen. It was quite funny - as we were eating, Frederick pointed out that he'd ordered in English, but was confused when the guy at the counter had responded in English. Frederick had thought he was speaking German. I guess that's what 18 months in Australia will do to you.<br /><br />We then went our separate ways - he headed home, and I went to do some more sightseeing. I returned to a couple of the places we'd passed the previous day, wanting to get a closer look and take some photos. I also returned to the place we'd had lunch on the tour so that I could abuse their free internet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861024438346738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTvR9f8L6uKFbAkp0oXXsLSjV0xHAxqA176xjw9N7De2SfBaSvWw5nscJSApz2PL97i9cXsQYSgEp6id4c_xdkkOV9x4pkkfshQF9znUDe2rBuRrmIyIkrUoH2DEswu44P6yppt8jkyg/s320/checkpoint+charlie.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">[Checkpoint Charlie]</div><br /><p><br />The Topography of Terror was very interesting - there was some information on the Nuremberg Trials, as well as the remains of the Gestapo buildings. The site itself had had a colourful history of late, also - due to funding problems, a proper museum had been in the pipeline for years!<br /></p><br /><p>Under the Holocaust Memorial is a museum, which is - like the memorial above it - very moving, and a very important place for tourists to Berlin to visit. Again, it was very educational and - with excerpts from letters and journals of victims - very moving.<br /></p><br /><p>I walked past the Brandenburg Gate again and was going to climb to the top of the Reichstag, but was deterred by the long line of tourists. All I could think while looking at it was "and we thought the Parliament House in Canberra was funny looking!"</p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066860775330243522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9TtawuRp51Nce_UfPVDvNTY1d2PoNWxmt_lFiK9gybj2XRcedvZdmtnObNTRe1w8Gz2eFTSMteqwnmn_3dRFmYA7TRFIhsmRbMLAdf0g2w5yVB09IlEhcytDZyY4LmAmr8gyk2OyGHk/s320/brandenburg+gate.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Brandenburg Gate]<br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861028733314066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAze3LdV6tcXFXjPOvUBZ5-ys_ZyDyVWGnrqoBEZx0QLF6_TUd7v4nyDCBItaOpiMDH2P-gr1RnxELbWL2yYblW8dF-V64va3CMXg_htSYibB8WsPZ_R6o799LzvcuQHyT_9GYemhTu60/s320/reichstag.JPG" border="0" /> </p><br /><p align="center">[Reichstag]</p><br /><p>I took bus 100 past the Siegessaule with its prematurely-placed fourth tier, celebrating Hitler's victory in the second world war, and got off the bus near Zoo station and stopped to admire the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedachtniskirche - a war-torn church left unrepaired as a memorial. I mentioned later to Frederick that I was surprised how clean the breaks were on the roof, and he quite rightly pointed out that if you're going to leave a broken roof for sixty years, you're going to make sure there are no loose pieces!<br /></p><br /><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861282136384610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKVtqpOwevgX1ZHg1JNt5oVul-z2xttHRXQUdDxNkSFCYLq7SZODF3AIsFvZK4YZbSxiQrIKr7oq-7vnK1G1LSrmiCOe9YwaDNuzOC0cUYNqily2aky8VtrjEXAjwqY3wChofT-DUdyY/s320/seig.JPG" border="0" /><p align="center"> [The Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedachtniskirche]<br /></p><p align="left"><br />From Zoo Station (and their obsession with the local "icebear" Knut) I accidentally took the wrong sort of train and ended up south of Rathaus Steglitz. Who knew - as well as the S-Bahn and U-Bahn there is a D-Bahn!I eventually made it back to the Bambergs' just in time to see Felix's (the eldest) wife Alina in a short film being shown on local TV. Next stop, Hollywood!</p><p align="left">Frederick, Simon and I ended the evening by watching "Stranger Than Fiction." I was pleasantly surprised.</p><p align="left">When I walked into the kitchen on Wednesday morning, Mrs Bamberg jokingly exclaimed "Summer!" I quickly went and got changed into something warmer.</p><p align="left">After yet another fantastic breakfast on the balcony (where Frederick and Simon slipped in and out of English as I entered and exited the room), I was off on the train again, headed for Oranienburg and the nearby concentration camp - Sachsenhausen. Like at the Anne Frank House, I couldn't help thinking how surprisingly large the area was. Then, of course, I realised that though there looked to be acres of open space, there were actually rock slabs every few metres representing distroyed barracks.</p><br /><p align="left"><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861170467234850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGhLHSQKRV6O2Yt5RjcpT9OVNAQv61yTDBXgAr9CeYooW6qacVLUrEachIcKsbdNHH_ZL34uhDAoL39WCUwk8RCP6WV27W1O7I5lu0X0OIlibk0-glIteRtpSEDKY4nrC2ar4gZCuirs/s320/sachs1.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[the prison building at Sachsenhausen]</p><br /><p align="left"></p><br /><p align="left">The history behind the camp was, I guess like any concentration camp, pretty horrific. It was built in 1936, in the shadows of the Olympic Games. It was one of the first, and used as a model for later concentration camps. The Oranienburg camp, long since distroyed, was used between 1933 and 1934 to house political prisoners - enabling Hitler to gain more and more power.</p><br /><p align="left"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861174762202162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDS-9RqfsAnopzNDQCZ2hxIdPtpE-w3ifsAZomaOXQwO-cXGORoc2hujvuV1Su-CLWvRnvo2zF_jtb0FEN-CPhZmEgmFIEdy0E1e_HvpCkK72Onv-TSb-i-CIuWuD_A1feZMi5yqSjb0/s320/sachs2.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[memorial for those killed at Sachsenhausen]</p><br /><p align="left"></p><br /><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861174762202178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1LGf7-4kbiIhyphenhyphenVcceFpshI7PQQsJhyiQsoPIlt4EnlNXJxu8MZMiMYnrncX511YZfJJ6BpdlfVX7EXohDJBq-4He6RRlLPV6rHiVlajkyBye9mSJLgLva-sKuY_N0S5NlQnsDc8Qo10/s320/sachs3.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">[memorial, behind shooting pit and mortuary]</p><br /><p align="left"></p><br /><p align="left">The most horrific sight was, of course, the gas chamber. There was also a room where prisoners were taken and a sniper shot them in the back of the head. Gutless. Horrible. </p><p align="left"> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066861277841417298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvcbi9hVBBTRci_Qs9PUpWn9vq0VVWgLJP0wRfxekRd7KkMSN98QtICHdQ8pIgFWqxIqxM2GnEvM_xAOumXt5IFceK_F9bC9s0X4m8RNj97qtyGnfI8zozvnZ3rRPE4lmw8KDcZ8oa0jE/s320/sachs4.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[gas chamber/cremetorium]</p><br /><p><br />I took a long, pensive train ride out of East Germany back into Berlin and was at the Bambergs' just in time for dinner. I love home cooking!</p><p>At around 9pm, Simon, Frederick and I headed back into town to meet Felix for a "quiet beer." Though the weather was miserable and Frederick was suffering from a cold, it was a really nice, and unexpectedly long night. The pub we were at was a cute little hole-in-the-wall with only low lighting and dark reddy-brown walls. As the following day was a public holiday, it was still very busy when Frederick and I left at about 1:30, but he assures me that on any given night, it could be just as busy. Germans and their beer, hey?</p><p>It took quite a while to get home and I was finally - and thankfully - in bed by 3am.</p><p>I joined the Bambergs for breakfast in my pyjamas as most of my clothes were being washed and it was a better alternative to the running clothes I'd first emerged wearing (I decided I'd best run later).</p><p>Horst - Mr Bamberg - told a great story over breakfast about the local fete (which Frederick and I would be attending that evening) and how he won a prize for a very excited 8-year-old Simon.</p><p>After washing up I showered, dressed, caught up on my diary and once I was sure my food was not sitting right in my stomach, went for a long-awaited jog. It was such a pretty route - just near Frederick's house is a canal and many people were running, riding and walking along its shadowy path.</p><p>I spent the afternoon sorting out my back pack (clean clothes - so exciting), reading up a little on Prague, and then helping Frederick make dinner. After dinner we went to the fete, which was far more impressive than any old school fair. He had a go at one of those tin-knocking games, I tried some ball-hurling target game, and we both went on "The Octopus." Me being me, I'm embarrassed to say I was actually a little scared at times!</p><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069231378234303666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdX0Yzijta_9Wlr4UwcX-x_UooeSUM21G1IGmUqh82stRHZx2ZlX-L7Awt-fOtM89_1MvF3huHKVby4sFGWlxWzUJd7TBsG8jLWtxmfy4DNDNotyNRCukTIE9_nMdqhJgZs_9xqDwecA/s320/natia+003.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069231373939336354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh03joZr95pOuLyEwQjT8TY68cRloVsX2Vp0WZ0AvyszNqF3HGFfIm3hsQTyrcDHCLvhpXOwPkBYYndg99JlCDwfHOo-30lwsDBf1RDkNOAvEx5O_BuN6Ej7876Wid9luhowmIYRTg3PBI/s320/natia+002.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Frederick and I on "The Octopus"]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069231365349401746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeGxEuqYvdug10x4w5nyKn3HlAxTODTpdpK_xsssn4zUQE29Dq0u0QXdfO7ZG45BAAJFyU8yd23yBX77zC6DkVCLmI5Tvr4oxrhwMYt8SWjO9GhZzbjn1VE8hTTikDYh55W3MCjcZx6I/s320/natia+001.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br /><p>We watched a documentary on the German football team before bed. A football documentary would've been an effort to sit through - the fact that it was in German kept me on my toes.</p><p>Frederick saw me off at the bus stop - despite my objections that he shouldn't be up so early on my account. I got back to the City Stay at 7:30 - winging it at one stage and miraculously finding myself on the <em>right </em>train! I was surprised to see Dave there - turned out he hadn't been able to get on the previous bus out of Berlin. Busabout is far less flexible than they claim!</p><p>Next up: the Czech Republic - Prague and Cesky Krumlov...</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-77211676879198057702007-05-19T01:23:00.000-07:002007-05-20T21:29:27.912-07:00Ooh La La - Paris, Bruges and Amsterdam.<div align="center"><br /><div align="left">On first impression, I must say that I actually found French people very friendly. On the bus from the airport, three people went out of their way to try to explain to me (in sign language) how to get to my hostel. Once I arrived, my bags had hardly touched the ground and I was off to the laundromat. Clean clothes - at last!<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">While my clothes merrily tumbled around in suds, I went to get some dinner. I ended up in the Artisans cafe, where the waitress looked puzzled when I just asked for a plate of vegetables. Little did she know my diet of late had consisted of little more than bread! The veggies were fantastic, but the glass of red wine I had spent almost half my dinner-money on was mightily disappointing. It was served cold. Cold!?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Once my lovely clean clothes were packed away (and shortly following the announcement of the new French president), I walked to the Eiffel Tower. I actually felt myself jump a little when I first saw it. And then the lights started sparkling all over it - just beautiful.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066739983670010370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTr_-3VPKjeiuqG5LreZFTEGK0TH2q3p6zY1PkGjf5GmaY9QxZLMOH-iqDwpfnpdJR7y9-zzpvFLApF_FcCZNiOXa16OOUlGNuWGR8190ZgWa7_RLWMGsL_FEEjHC0X2MnXYiDe6r6vug/s320/DSCN4485.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066740172648571410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaCrxayeb_S-A7AMbs9lS16yQYsdniJmUPBrqVGejnQgHv8-ym54ZVifxAehT3Y77XJO3KgXMnTw2vyDdzbG0UDzJbUY0tRhfHudj5zJMBePetAoIDfmCFweJKAqyjW0RO-45YCNqbSk/s320/DSCN4497.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">The next morning I returned to see it by day. Still very pretty, but I was able to appreciate the intricacies a little more in daylight. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066740353037197858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoya-aCTPI7O5RWBNOvrb2-ZnvdeGNVDBr6MizdvkubhVqaXzJ4sLZ385YIrg0D-0WKOOJJjEVIKIkvEUzZIYS9L1U9xtdM3jggDFBZygp3jyjfGdJrSMos5-bulBHOXK-1K8N7Essc8/s320/DSCN4504.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">[spot the tourist]</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I then continued on a bit of a walking tour of Paris. I didn't go in anywhere (as I figure I'll be back in Paris in the next few months), but saw a huge number of Parisian landmarks: the Arc de Triomphe, the Concord, the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Pantheon and I tried to go to the ninth floor of the Institute du Monde Arabe (as per EasyJet's recommendation for a good view), but the restaurant was apparently closed... or they'd had so much unwanted attention from tourists, they were just saying that.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066749265094337122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjemr8Fxj_zltVx8DzLSZNpEklqwg0upzLqk12Z_kyipJnPKCI4e3Pz-GVZrEBn8H8TYaQCRBznJas8oldbNqfX2Xsyq2PXhG0gceJtJS1NZ95r7UCp4nMh_PcCMjIuTO9nMvOq89EGPl0/s320/arcdetri.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066740481886216754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_V7-EMsDQFrQLtEvGbxtg2aju2P7c1gm_lfRojTQj7FSucezf1p7eBPBax6mw0Ji9TiFDmAki4Hpl0d5phvYMk_nqayeGHypDHwN6j1oX8foeig6wlbR2K0TMykF-139BWMET3ICLa4/s320/DSCN4518.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066740632210072130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRvv8l3tgHD6YKN7EORvVWsLxdn5f_PXvRHjvuvPvAFbFo3URj91QOU7M1hGMmt0qRECaRM_MDoAcAWhDQUrrV640bRKC00HwGkxvGMaZD22__pnkWTrmqyVCxVGfMN1ZDEjTZNpyIffY/s320/DSCN4525.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066749518497407602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyV4d-32VTZvFJPVZgs62n2VcAxDrWgLcYMRKbBXftz42QM1aMC5n7e4i3ZEsuxIqMK25Rmdt4arMluvRtQ4nyCmhrbPRbbyko248po9uaC6cxdBABAThjVnazk_EAUYwMZr4AEUd1VM/s320/notredame.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066749625871590018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2e5gz054uDlwwHaBha7UvlPokB2TV-AJhREmH6ASWPnjH18vtfBHdqRoyxm01zZkylk9XoZQiuvLeLhsRhmb6aNqp2jJg6o5y2993qCoe6OVWhhvLEcsHxAsxiiwGRZaBx9c97BSK8g/s320/pantheon.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">Then, following my fabulously overrated sense of direction, I got a little lost on my way back to the hostel, but quite enjoyed myself - discovering parts of Paris a little bit off the tourist trail. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">When I returned to "Aloha," I sat and chatted to some fellow backpackers for a number of hours. They were enjoying the cheap local alcohol, but I had to be up at the crack of dawn the next day to hop on the Busabout bus. After my shower on Tuesday morning (which, unlike the previous day, I gave a few minutes to heat up - beginner's mistake), I caught the Metro to Anvers station. I really like the Paris metro - once you've got your head around it, it's pretty straight forward.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I met a few people at the Pick-Up-Point - all from Australia - and then forty or so of us boarded the bus to Bruges. I sat next to a guy from Melbourne named Greg who's been working in Liverpool for a few months. This seems to be a common theme amongst Busabouters!</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Arriving in Bruges, we all settled into the "Snuffel" - the worst-organised hostel I've stayed at. I was supposed to stay there four nights (turns out accommodation in Amsterdam's almost impossible to get at weekends), and was supposed to change rooms for each night! Very strange.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">After sorting out my Amsterdam situation (I think I'll be booking everything well in advance from now on), I grouped up with a few people, and went to see the sights. It took about twenty minutes. No, there's quite a lot to do in Bruges, but having seen the very quaint main square (the Markt), it started to get pretty chilly. After a lunch of chips and mayonnaise ("frietsaus" - when in Rome), we headed to the local Irish pub (of course). It was actually pretty cool - through the table, we could see into the basement, where there was an old ruin from 950AD that they'd discovered when building the pub.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">After a mini pub-crawl to a hole-in-the-wall that was seemingly only visited by locals, we went back to the hostel in order to participate in the free tour they were putting on. The tour was led by a very hippy-looking local named Ziggy. Even though it was freezing cold, it was a very enjoyable and informative walk around Bruges.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066749801965249170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0RBodDvgbhcIBHNCqv3ezs6JpWEdIrHDMsCMaoutrSuOCQuxSBBTkNEObKjF42dHveUkpHuNqRKJI6Bi8niruOpqJDvPjOBmahynqApNAJFEramgZC5pu4QdhDVEsnLktpReAINY-gY/s320/bruges+tour.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="left">Happy Hour started at Snuffel at 9pm, but after only a few hours in the company of my new friends, this little Happy Camper was buggered, so toddled off to my giant room to attempt to make my bed in the dark.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Even though it was miserable-looking on Wednesday morning, I got up early to go for a jog and am really glad I did. Even though my 20-minute jog turned into a 40-minute Where Am I? it was quite nice to get lost along the cobbled streets and canals, even in the wind and rain.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">After traipsing through the bar/kitchen/common room to have my shower (I'm really not a huge fan of Snuffel), I went up to the grocery store and got a few days worth of veggies. After a ridiculous breakfast of bright pink, very fatty strawberry yoghurt, muesli and possibly the tastiest strawberries I've ever eaten, I met up with Lou and Mel (who - the poor thing - had just had her credit card eaten by an ATM!) and I went back to the Markt to have another look around. They were having a bit of a farmer's market - it was gorgeous, especially the cheese stalls, which I had to drag myself away from... </div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066749943699169970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrHLFHTHWrdNpAoUvUyIlxy3E8OIdlfV6GxhR6tbKrDkS0mYDeuXjGKHqokDZgtbKQwLi2qwxbmKYA3h5dOFk7TPYNmU0W5iwE_gBU0PtdBjnz6KzOe9-8RBSe3NBGf4yRn2H4cuDPcg/s320/bruges+markt.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">[the Markt]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">We went to the Chocolate Museum, but realised that the 5 euro entry fee would be better spent on a big bar of chocolate, so instead we walked around the shops and chocolatiers for a while before returning to the good old Disco Duck for lunch. Lou had to be back at Snuffel at 2 to check out (No Room at the Inn), so Mel and I went with him and, because of the hideous weather, didn't leave for a number of hours. She played checkers with Cass (a costume designer from Albury) while I tried to absorb some of my Lonely Planet, and figure out my next few weeks' movements.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066750622304002786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlI90RlqcxRQb872_CJ_OWA8zJEC7zpkg5dSrM0mnilMacFTJSkIJ6QFfhfpBbTwMnfWChB9pZVfOH32too6XNs9-_HnLlT75RwVCffbDaBfJ4zelFcnJrDpkrEK7xQBzx63PIQ9oaULM/s320/disco+duck.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center">[the Disco Duck - traditional (bad) Belgium food]<br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">Eventually we went and bought some bits and pieces for dinner, and while at the supermarket I saw the coolest product ever - thin pieces of chocolate specially designed for eating with bread. Genius!</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">After dinner, we settled in for a night of checkers, chatting, sangria and cards. I learned how to play Rummy (I was taught, somewhat Ironically, by a Canadian basketballer named Remy), and I've got to say, it's a stupid - and addictive - game. At around 1am, Mel, Dave (again, from Melbourne) and Remy convinced Stewart, our Busabout guide to go to Bruges one and only discotheque. Poor Stew may never live it down - he will forever be known as Disco Stew.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">On Thursday morning, Greg and I decided to hell with it - we were going to Amsterdam. We were both, I think, just looking to avoid another confrontation with the woman at Snuffel whom he had dubbed "Nanna." Even though neither of us had accommodation booked, we signed up for the last couple of seats on the 1pm bus to Amsterdam. This meant, though, that all the sightseeing I'd been putting off doing due to bad weather had to be done by noon!</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066750407555637954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vcGDhdwZI8d53Jcbt8Mms29om6faC6qAg8IpAzbrWT9TxgGHLcO6-mx7YlFn4wKAt1wXr3rWpmA7ScMETgq1_ikg-z09jBQXqD7oNbOD67t9o1HJSRx42Pco3nc3kSVzGTi0nRlUYGo/s320/bruges.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[Bruges: cobbled streets, bicycles and crazy architecture]</div><br /><br />Mel and I went with a New Zealand girl named Michelle, who was travelling with her mum, to see Michelangelo's <em>Madonna With Child</em>, though Mel kept referring to it as "Madonna's Kid." It was pretty funny - while we were in the church, the four of us weren't a very Christian bunch, so Mel had to ask the man at the door: "Madonna is Mary, right?" Bloody tourists.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066750407555637970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQp2yWqcsFD-r4UWR8593JodbfPMx1XgA0ecaYVaXuh1UfHQAOtYeFLbI4pljrnNXMYlopnofAzKHvneUKwYc6wLCF3h7zbk-v9hKoXQOaYaIkaj9I4h3oXPPuhVSarOzNvuiBPUMHnM/s320/madonna.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">["Madonna's Kid"]</div><br /><br />After meeting the others at the Disco Duck (now a Bruges institution), we went back to the hostel to make some lunch and pack up our last few bits and pieces. I now had a whole lot of vegetables and no fridge! Luckily, it's been very cold, so they've lasted quite well.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066750630893937394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5ljy9368g03_08R4YMpmjn9BZQZnIaJeXJwmCXaGSQNrGNMByLZlFTbO7NYHuhKox4a0H3XeFEg23Zpys982b1PG0i4A1YTAW-tN8Sr-g_5Vicb_fL5q-Q3U7MG4D_4S-IfCCZQj_68/s320/DSCN4555.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">[<em>"on the road again..." </em>Remy, Dave, Greg and Mel.]<br /></p><br /><br /><br />The bus was delayed out of Paris, so we didn't leave Bruges til almost 3pm, which meant arriving in Amsterdam just before 7pm.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066752967356146514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IawqXurSOdosWkSjN20Xrcpt8znKgvRMP21jcqsEa5NAlYpz7wSx8M1cciSeyy5zBDJGuuklXBU4Bplw0ZjNmUPgN4gTFT1pgCMZgJM392t7TOzHcvOxve8VEnHFDHX0LdBumVrylc8/s320/DSCN4566.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />Arriving at the StayOkay Vondel Park, we all looked like drowned rats, but this lucky bugger, who'd planned to sleep on the floor if she had to, hit a spot of very good luck. Mel had - somehow, unbeknownst to anyone - accidentally booked two beds!<br /><br /><br />Once we'd settled in, she and I went to meet the others at a coffeeshop as recommended to us by Dave who, even though he'd only been to Amsterdam once before for a total of four days, seemingly knew the place inside out and back to front. "The Rockery" was a strange place - like a badly lit cafe with a strange smell wafting through the air, all to the beat of some hippy, slow electronic music. And it was in such a strange location - along the Epcot Row of restaurants: everything from Indonesian and Greek to steakhouses and Indian.<br /><br /><br />After an hour or so at the Rockery, where I chatted to an American named Nick who'd just spent four months at a remote Indian village and was so jetlagged and culture shocked he probably didn't need to purchase anything from any coffeeshops, a few of us headed to the Red Light District. Again, Dave led the way, and I'm still impressed by his memory!<br /><br /><br />It's such a strange, seedy place, and though I'm not sure what I expected, it definitely wasn't what I'd expected. For one thing, the girls were all at ground level, in identical little booths, standing right next to the glass. It was as if they were part of a living, breathing catalogue. And I was so surprised that most of them were actually quite stunning. But it was pretty sad, really, seeing the look on some of their faces. Some clearly didn't want to be there.<br /><br /><br />We stopped by a pizza slicery at one point and bought a slice of very bad pizza each. Big mistake on my part. I'd added extra chili to make it taste a little better, and randomly, a big spot of rain hit my pizza and projected a chili flake right into my left eye. I've not been in that much pain for quite some time! Mel, the lifesaver, ran across the street for a bottle of water, and I proceeded to pour water into my eye (and down my shirt) fora good few minutes. When we went to the "Bulldog" (a coffeeshop chain), I popped to the ladies' and discovered that I looked both high as a kite (thanks to an extremely red eye), and, due to non-waterproof mascara, a missing member of Kiss!<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066752168492229410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk71mkswFMU-VfNvs-psjk1USnmVCA1HNGx6nKdHZJ8BXdjHwCT_G0ds-BXme0CVQBoM_lVwZp35BuKIos97bszsZODW4p3qQq5ETYOPA0pBcuvpbpnOhz6votAOAyHUn9_c2l5PdxUhU/s320/DSCN4562.JPG" border="0" />[some of the produce available in Amsterdam]</p><p><br /></p><br />On our way back to the main square near our hostel (the Leidsplein), we caved and took a tram because were were so cold and wet. When we got to the Leidsplein, however, Dave decided he was hungry and took us halfway back to the Red Light District in search of some food. We finished our evening, in the end, at Burger King.<br /><br /><br />Friday morning I had breakfast with Remy while Mel slept. With some strange looks from the kitchen staff, I retrieved my bag of vegetables from their fridge and made sandwiches for lunch. Cutting carrots with a butter knife was interesting!<br /><br /><br />Remy, Mel and I waited for Cass for 45 minutes before deciding she wasn't going to meet us as we'd arranged, so we headed for the Anne Frank House without her. We ran into Greg and Dave on the way. It turned out that Greg hadn't met us the night before because he'd spent two hours walking around lost in the Vondel Park. Apparently, when he finally caved and, soaking wet, got into a cab, the driver told him "you should probably buy an umbrella."<br /><br /><br />Following Mel's sense of direction rather than a map proved almost successful in getting to the Anne Frankhuis, but we caved and pulled out a map when we said goodbye to Dave and Greg at a coffeeshop somewhere near Centraal Station.<br /><br /><br />The line at the Anne Frank House was a little intimidating, but after seeing Laura and Jed, a Melbourne couple who'd just spent three months working in London, they told us that it'd be a 45 minute wait. We figured that, despite the rain, we'd come all that way so we may as well brave it. In the end, it only took 20 minutes in which time Cass actually turned up!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066751807714976514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1NFiO2Eh9NV5nUB5asGiKDNpvP0-0OAo0aoIaBHxhK8A-XrY5KvPm2whcrmIqQ8JPv4CziIAhM9OBsbyoHkDQ74sPr_-9Sp8jr-nJ2DF9y1aalboXGcuc89U0SZvN2C2RKXt5bZgej4/s320/DSCN4556.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">[<em>"singin' in the rain..." </em>Mel and Remy brave the cold.]<br /></p><br /><br /><br />The Anne Frank House is a great museum - very sad, with lots of poignant quotes on the walls and excerpts from her diary. I thought it was very well done and look forward to reading the book. The one thing we all agreed on was that we'd thought the house would have been smaller. From what we'd all remembered, we thought she'd lived in an attic - not numerous rooms in the annex of a building. But having thought about it, remaining inside day in day out for many years would make even the largest of houses feel cramped.<br /><br /><br />The four of us stopped off at a mall for lunch - Remy and I having to walk around eating our sandwiches thanks to a prissy waiter at the cafe we'd sat at. But I was just so happy to be out of the rain and wind!<br /><br /><br />We went back to the Bulldog to meet Greg, Dave, Laura and Jed, and after a few minutes of being glared at by a grumpy waitress for not ordering drinks, Laura, Jed and I headed back towards the Red Light District. They went to see the girls, and I went to find the World Press Photography exhibit. I'd read that it was going to be in Amsterdam around the same time as I was, and was so excited to find it. I don't think it was as good as last year's, but there were still some stunning photos - the National Geographic photographer's work was amazing.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066752048233145106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDIy-usGquS2YEkwT3gMO-ZUWvEtHbxsIE0jjVrEflbKgzv2P-6rJw6Oq0ScOLycSIINrDoOmTFNxRoMRzEg0Xyb5jzBwyFK7pf8qsC2R66HBrBllDSYFWNrDOKYDeaXs5W7PC0BLO7M/s320/DSCN4558.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">[the canals are so pretty!]<br /></p><br /><br /><br />WhenI got back to the hosetl, Mel was there and we headed back to the Rockery (an easy meeting place) to meet Greg, Dave and Remy for dinner. Remy didn't show, and Greg had a lot of trouble trying to decide what type of food he wanted (so many choices!), but we ended up going to a steakhouse. Mmm, salad!<br /><br /><br />For the third time that day, we ran into Jed and Laura, who agreed to meet up with us later for another tour of the Red Light District. This time, Dave took us up and down every nook and cranny, which led to some interesting conversations abotu window real estate. I think Laura should perhaps quit her job as a teacher and take up property work!<br /><br /><br />We saw Lou at one stage, who insisted it was his first time in the Red Light District, but we weren't so sure... We also saw - for the first time - men going into some of the girls' rooms. It was so odd. There was also a group of English men mouthing off about a large girl, saying things about <em>her </em>paying <em>them. </em>Laura quite rightfully said "isn't it funny that <em>these </em>guys think they can be picky?"<br /><br /><br />There was also a very funny man outside the "Moulin Rough," touting for customers. He started trying to sell his shows to the girls - too funny.<br /><br /><br />We went back to the hostel, agreed to meet Greg at 9 the next morning, and - after chatting to Shane and Rachel (a NZ couple on their honeymoon, whose names I remembered by thinking "Shane and Angel... no, Rachel!") for a while, were off to sleep.<br /><br /><br />It turned out the Van Gogh Museum wasn't opening 'til 10am, so Mel and I met Greg and took him back to our hostel for breakfast. After killing some time on mybusabout.com, trying to get ourselves sorted out (and my trying to get in touch with an internet-less Frecerick in Berlin), we went to the museum.<br /><p> </p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066752327406019378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFGGwgt3g3Vejt-9Wacj91BYf4NCDMDSYC-UTxhJwwT3BR5Da-GI3vA-F41qE0cXxY8XFE3pk_fdWCddd_4kqwxJhK9y49BQVfgMI50pLejF5aBAde4uPZhW8ZGpV41NP8lIdimNJuaY/s320/DSCN4563.JPG" border="0" />[Mel and Greg getting some culture]</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066752520679547714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1cJVrTZahD-M8ePcLg3BYagPAe2A926XV_EBGxWbKwDll1YrwGyJr9iQgiTl8yQ7Y9NiXL_DPAFuOMY8Ahv7g1VA7s1ZyBsDTQrBJD9Mfz0y8eTh1u7JqMmIzCqw7kgcvgzvXhmmDog/s320/van+gogh.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><br />It was a great museum. One level was dedicated almost purely to Van Gogh, showing his work in more or less chronological order, and the floor above was filled with works by his friends and collegues - a few portraits of Van Gogh, and works done at the same studio, etc. There was also an exhibit on Max Beckmann - a German artist who fled to Amsterdam in '37 due to artistic persecution. He was a little Picasso-esque, but to be honest, I was getting a little tired so only wizzed by a lot of his paintings.<br /><br /><br />Mel and Greg had left me at the museum - they were going to the old Heineken brewery, but having done the Carlton tour in Melbourne, I wasn't so enthusiastic. Instead, I went back to the hostel and made my lunch - the veggies had kept quite well on the window sill. And thank God for good old Swiss Army Knives!<br /><br /><br />I spent the next few hours just enjoying being out of the chilly wather, reading and trying to figure out my plans for the next few weeks. [After the Bruges near-disaster, I want to keep my Busabout bookings at least a few days in advance.] At one point, Shane and Rachel had a bit of a scare - he'd lost his day bag, which contained his passport! It was quite a tense little hostel room for a good while there, but it turned out fine - the Amsterdam Police had called his family in New Zealand to tell them his passport had been turned in. That's certainly one advantage of travelling alone - you keep track of all of your own belongings AT ALL TIMES!<br /><br /><br />Sunday started early - I tried to call Mum at home to wish her a happy Mother's Day, and after a 10-minute chat with Dad found otu she was in Queensland visiting Nan and Da! When I called there, no one answered, so I went to have breakfast and figured I would jsut call from the first rest stop on the way to Berlin. But there turned out to be no payphones! Just before arriving at the second rest stop, Nicole, our new guide, reminded everyone on the bus to call their mums, due to my having asked her about payphones at the previous rest stop. This meant the three payphones were very busy, but I eventually got to call Mum in Queensland, but again - no answer! By the time we'd reached the thirld rest stop (by which time we were in Germany), it was early Monday morning in Australia. Bugger!<br /><br /><br />To Be Continued... Berlin & Prague.Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-79935897852396491292007-05-04T03:19:00.000-07:002007-05-04T08:07:02.788-07:00Oh Good Greek: The Peloponnese, Santorini and Mykonos.<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlS7z48Vj6fjXg_Vd8knei0zXStr0xlCm40lu09U9MkQh6KMoxUg33sLYd2o06_gZkGd9gbboTX9eG5phtKqYzJZHqz9BS9Kc2fvjBCZavFyws0UbiL7pc4vfuP4tclrvHxAJhFV7v43w/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060716562677919170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlS7z48Vj6fjXg_Vd8knei0zXStr0xlCm40lu09U9MkQh6KMoxUg33sLYd2o06_gZkGd9gbboTX9eG5phtKqYzJZHqz9BS9Kc2fvjBCZavFyws0UbiL7pc4vfuP4tclrvHxAJhFV7v43w/s320/Picture+009.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><strong>The Peloponnese - Nafplio and Olympia</strong> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I love that I've lost track of the days of the week! I am truely in Holiday Mode.<br />On what must've been... Friday, I left Athens for Nafplio, "one of Greece's prettiest towns," according to Lonely Planet. It is a small, heavily Venetian-influenced town on the Mitroon Sea. I hadn't exactly set out intending to go there, but having arrived at Terminal A in Athens just before 7am, I couldn't bear the thought of waiting 'til 9:30 for the bus to Olympia. </div><div align="left"><br />While I waited for my 8am departure, I had my first Greek coffee. I'm not going to use that particular coffee as my benchmark for what appears to be a hugely popular Greek drink. I am, however, beginning to understand why the espresso-type coffee is also served with a glass of water.<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">On the way to Nafplio, the bus passed through Corinth (or Korinthos or Corinthia, depending on which map/sign you're looking at. It's a wonder more tourists don't go missing in Greece). We also passed over the Corinth canal (<em>avlaki </em>- "ditch"), a mighitly impressive structure. We then went through Mycenae (Mikines), home to the oldest European monument. I had considered going to see it, but with my 17kg backpack, walking 2km into town from where the bus dropped people off on the highway wasn't all that appealing. I later heard from a fellow backpacker that the Lion's Gate ain't so impressive. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Arriving in Nafplio, I took advantage of a moment when the lady at the bus station wasn't screaming at someone down the phone to ask about buses to Olympia the following day.<br />After being directed by the tourist office and numerous locals to the Hotel Economou, I dumped my 17kg appendage and went for a walk... and that's pretty much all I did for the rest of the day. I walked past the start of the 1000-step climb to the Fortress of Palamidi (built by the Venetians between 1711 and 1714), but to be honest, after my two full-on days in Athens, was a little historied-out. Instead, I walked around the headland, enjoying the view. The beaches are very pretty - but so rocky! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060715802468707650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJ0jEsL9CZ4l8JqONXGtw-R8Rg_svrgBgWJQuVb6fQwIz9ptoPAryG6fYSyVHLt5Nl1KTi0vrNCQpAAz7ZMDkU41fcHhODo_QgPhOlkORBgljNyByjoWd3omK7zdTcxI_rGes039MY2g/s320/Picture+001.jpg" border="0" /><div align="center">[beach at Nafplio]</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060715811058642258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmEJEvTJ1h__j24J55OH1G3k6TltIySFbIjT1jMAkwKd1p5OAedq0i7O-CQ9JOvO_1g-LLAcX4eBfoMsMARWMZgyEGnpSeBXCes4I5abMcGOkP5TLD-5yAuafdWKieoA631GaGGwHMlI/s320/Picture+002.jpg" border="0" />[Fortress of Palamidi]</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">I spent most of the rest of the day just walking around the town, sitting in the park to read, then walking some more. There were so many school kids - I think Nafplio must be a big excursion venue! Something I'm unsure of, though, is the legal drinking and smoking age in Greece. It must be very young...<br /></div><div align="left">The main thing that stood out to me in Nafplio was the cute little Italian-y Old Town. It was packed with jewellery stores, souvenir shops and restaurants, but the buildings were very cute. The girl I was sharing a room with that night (Alba, from Kilara!) said that if I liked that, I'll really enjoy Italy. She and I chatted for a few hours before bed. It was so nice to have some company.<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I got up early on Saturday to go for a run, but it seems it was too early for the owners of the Hotel Economou, because I was locked in! Rather than go back to bed, I took advantage of the extra hour and had a long shower and shaved my legs - travelling alone has made me pretty gross...<br /></div><div align="left">At 6:30, while I was in the shower, I heard Mr Hotel Economou rummaging about downstairs. Oh well.<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I was quite early for my 8:30 bus to Tripoli, so bought some lemon yoghurt (yum!) and sat in the park to have breakfast.<br /></div><div align="left">Once I'd bought my ticket from the Crazy Phone Lady, I gave Tiffany a quick call (she'd just bought a couch - it's all very exciting!) then settled in to wait...<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">At Tripoli, I had an hour to kill before my connection to Olympia, so bought a "caffelatte" which was served with a straw!<br /></div><div align="left">The trip to Olympia started out as a beautiful, leisurely drive through some beautiful, mountainous towns. After four hours, the towns eren't so cute... That's something I've noticed in Greece - they don't tell you when you're going to <em>arrive</em>, so the whiney inner child keeps asking "are we there yet?"<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Olympia is a small town, clearly only relying on tourism. And I would guess that outside of Olympic years, it must be pretty quiet. When I went to the hostel, the owner was having a siesta (I'd forgotten about those - between 2 and 4pm, Nafplio was a ghost town), and when I signed in I noticed that they'd had one guest each night - if that! It kind of reminded me of that Roald Dahl short story about the taxidermist... so I was quite glad when a French Canadian woman who reminded me a little of Alpha Gregory and Sheana Hayden came to share my room.<br /></div><div align="left">The ruins of the Ancient Olympics are quite interesting - some 2500 years old! There was also this great story on one of the information boards which said that the Bases of Zanes - 16 of which are still standing - were erected using the funds from athletes who had been fined for cheating. The statues led towards the entrance to the stadium - intentionally placed in order to remind entering athletes of the ramificastions of cheating! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060715823943544178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z0CMVjSyZCTbeLH9JopxZ5xFzwWaRo2gcnizlzmjxibevQAY3mSASkR6E6uA-YkVfTDM6pSBv7Syic3PXx6BfzbNGSVt1VsDkEPaZeo_iLgG_hLO8YvYNONOniVltx6UQoL3r93MkRw/s320/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[the Bases of Zanes]</p><p align="left"><br />Another highlight was, of course, seeing Hera's Altar - where the Olympic flame is lit every four years. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060715815353609570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkjyaWhRn23U9KyMcygZfFelzTUavctub0zhEkWUG6iRHIaEnkwTQ3eXCV7SNqtgth46Khxpto0hyphenhyphenMrt9h-EBw8jksLUQ4zJf48fsRKUs8PWA6WP4iNyBXgcCdPmlg7ba_0fBGjP7vmo/s320/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[Hera's Altar]</p><p><br />To make up for the morning's failed attempt (and what better place?) I went for a jog before dinner. I met George the Jogger - a jewellery seller who'd run with the flame four times. He gave me a postcard to prove it and everything. Too funny...</p><p>That night, I packed my bags as best I could because - once again - I was intending to be up before dawn to continue my tour of Greece. </p><p>What a long day! I got up at 5:30 and snuck out of the hostel (having checked the night before that I would be able to get out!), and sat at the "bus stop" (the statue on the corner that I'd been told to wait at - Greek buses are <em>weird</em>), enjoying my breakfast as the sun crept over the horizon. The bus was supposed to be there at 6:30. It wasn't. </p><p> </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060715828238511490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1AFmaHWpLYL6tARxPzUmCG2sZSczz1V_S_-J6F2RwvCDMHPo8mszLkqfWqn-qcnG63UonF1ICVOxmxpPzAX9-fqbNOoevb0Wpp0PWeHOxdibBAS55A9YEgB3nY-cW9Hs_TCQRf0sXhfY/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[dawn at the "bus stop" in Olympia]</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Luckily, after walking the length of the main drag, I just so happened to be passing the train station as the train pulled in. Six-and-a-half hours, and foru train changes later (should've been three, but I jumped ship one stop early) and I was in Pireas. I bought my ticket for the 3 o'clock ferry, grabbed a spinach and fetta pie thing (calories be damned), and boarded the boat. It was such a relief to be on that darn boat! I met a nice Chinese girl named Chris, and an Aussie couple, and we bonded over our dislike of the way smoking inside is acceptable in Greece. It isn't until you can't escape cigarette smoke that you realise how lucky you are to live in a country like Australia! </p><p>I pulled out my sleeping bag and used it as a pillow, and used my very useful thus far sleeping sheet - and after popping in my earplugs, managed to actually sleep pretty soundly until 6am!<br /><strong></strong></p><p> </p><div align="center"><strong>Santorini </strong></div><strong></strong><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060716549793017234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPq7k2-5-8wWhkm-mF9dB2e7N6bARTXHUIAVZdOn-z6ZOLKNWmGfjZWvTsGoXRwOd6c59fX3HChT-iC45pbchUoNhIzbB9nyrT1A9Pskt7O3SLWxa9hyQEvmX7QoH24BP9GYAOIq1ZS8o/s320/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">One thing that I will get out of my system now is this: Santorini's bus system sucks. We arrived at the main dock at Santorini at around 6am, and after fobbing off numerous men trying to sell their hotel to me (and, as continues to be the case, rip me off), I discovered that there wouldn't be a bus into the main town - Fira - until 11am! I ended up sharing a cab with Chris, and a German couple. I left the three of them at Fira and ventured out on my own to find accommodation. I ended up at "Santorini Camping," the cheapest option recommended by Lonely Planet. After a couple of failed attempts at following the Lonely Planet's suggestions, I was a little wary, but luckily it did exist, and though my hired single man tent is cozy, if not claustrophobic, it's the cheapest accommodation I've had since Thailand.<br /></div><div align="left">After a shower (in the only hot water shower at the camp ground) I wandered the tourist agency-, souvenir shop-, cafe-filled streets of Fira for a little while, and then decided to walk to Oia (<em>ee-ah</em>), a town at the northern end of the island. It was supposed to be a three hour stroll along the Caldera, but every time I stopped to ask directions, it seemed Oia got further and further away - first 9km, then 12km, and along the highway rather than the coast. I decided to try anyway, and though I got stuck about 40 minutes north of Fira, it was a nice little stroll. I also did a little bit of (unintentional) rock climbing, trying to reach the top ofa peak just off the coast. I was about a metre from the summit when I realised that even if I did lift myself up to the top, it'd be pretty tough to get down again. So near and yet so far! </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060716554087984546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiro23QCimJKg2uuKLz2HlYj57FnVE36dW5vM7d17IkVzgR6lX3szepLyTb_sJ7KTiD-4Tqahb4hPviEHtICWya8rjBRrxkkv4AnAeKdTWDW54Q3Wkt1ItL_d3cMTW8vvcJhZzVya8uuhU/s320/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[my great rock climbing adventure]</p><p><br />I headed back into town and called home - my 5 euro phone card is like the Enegiser Bunny! I was feeling a little down - lonely, I guess - but then a donkey clip-clopped past, and I couldn't help but laugh. </p><p>I spent the afternoon figuring out ferry schedules (I've decided just to go to Mykonos and not Naxos - it's just too expensive), and eating a delicious salad sandwich (fresh veggies - hooray!). At around 3pm I took the bus to Perissa beach and sat on a dodgy banana loung for a while, reading and enjoying the view (that is, when my chair wasn't collapsing under me). I walked along the black pebbled beach and then headed to the bus stop. </p><p> </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060716558382951858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Z40fXYJcGsKaH3smg9H8b0BftJpypi8MhkCTp1R4V3Q1fNfJq7Ci38A_JQsbCabXd7OxBbRRg2y8PkGOHl3qrUPyAje01BdX8oSJEGNINupibes941yk6pqDbDKAkCKXMQlGdiZM3ho/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Perissa beach]</p><p></p><p> </p><p>The bus was, of course, running late, but I got chatting to a nice woman from Athens named Maria. The bus eventually turned up and I headed back to the camp ground for an early night. As the sun goes down at around 8:30 and I don't have a torch, this was my bed time. I woke at 10:45, thinking it was dawn! I didn't sleep as well as on the boat, but the more money I save now, the more fun I can have in Paris. I've decided to try and spend as little as possible in the next few days, and try not to withdraw any more money until Sunday when I head to France. We shall see how this goes... </p><p>My second morning in Santorini was much nicer than the first. I got up at 7am and headed for Oia - and this time was successful! I don't know where I took the right turn, but all of a sudden I was north of the peak I'd climbed the day before... and it turned out to be far less impressive a climb than I'd thought - I'd only gone up the top eight of it, if that! </p><p> </p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060716571267853778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4ZntkWxt3Vkzwk04iQJmuU9qYFX6dhrFalUnCu1aRgiNf3krC28RgID9IqszAda93ECEdP0KDIce5VxJaEDLDpZ6r8y3iL-uxbuPpoVSrDgwTfMXeQL5qzcWGz1q4DYvSqCPRuv9k5Q/s320/Picture+010.jpg" border="0" /><br />[ha - not such an impressive climb after all]</p><p></p><p> </p><p>But the walk to Oia was lovely, and I had three dogs follow me (and lead me at times), so I had a great time. </p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060717404491509218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkPRf_pg1Y7niG3UKxLX6VLOGQfXoVrYo5RNF5M9ZUpCZOrIC9ZAM7T08F6Dww8LA5QlNxKvaJvgNyiri8q7S7XjXOMKSMYAdqcGWEQsAmNBVARxuLEyut42uGOOV5_ZibT_NRJKn9Pw/s320/Picture+011.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[my guide dogs, nicknamed Buddy, Other Guy and Blondie (not in picture)]</p><p align="center"> </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060717408786476530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDUqrERbvGCzQWuepP55_CeGXedQ2gtHD5oQSgCbgDf1RyNYlTrhujl4Y8bEJ5wblC7lVsaVNpCzN1_blM58AqGKFf-d8OYzuQo2tBFAynKchXyU01bQVMbnlfZoJSfjgnDSvM0HArHc/s320/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Oia]</p><p align="center"> </p><p>After looking around Oia for a little while (pretty, bug again more cafes and souvenir shops), and then waited for over an hour for the bus back to Fira. by the time I was back at the campground I was freezing cold, so took a long, hot shower. On my way back into town, I popped into the camp office and met "the boss." I asked whether, if it rained (which it looked like it might), there might be an alternate form of accommodation. He laughed, said it wouldn't rain, but showeed me their dorm room (which I hadn't known existed) and said that if it did rain, I could stay there. I then paid the recetionist - who I think was Italian because he said "ciao" and spoke only in English to his boss - for my two nights. He tried to charge me 5 euros per night just for hirin gthe tent! When I balked he said it would be 2.50. So much for his "it is only a tent - it will not be much" from the day before. </p><p>So, in a less than happy mood I set off to find a supermarket to buy my next few days' meals. I got a little lost, and the spitting rain turned to showers, so when I returned to the camp ground, soaking wet, I chucked a rather impressive tanty at "the boss" and the receptionist, and they let me stay in one of their proper rooms (somehow the dorm was forgotten) for free. I was so cold and wet, I just hopped into bed and read for the rest of the evening, listening to the rain and wind and thanking my lucky stars I was inside.<br /><br /></p><div align="center"><strong></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong>Santorini > <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mykonos</span></span></strong> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Taking the long, slow boat to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mykonos</span></span> seemed like a bad idea first thing on Wednesday. Once again, public transport was screwing me over. The first bus went to the pier at 11am, but my boat was at 9am! So, no choice but to take a taxi. At 10 euros, I was not wanting to take a taxi on my own, and after sitting and waiting for over an hour for other backpackers to turn up and share a cab with me, I did what any lone female traveller does in a time of semi-desperation would do: I cried a little, hoping the taxi driver would have some compassion. Just as I was about to give up, two people wearing backpacks appeared! Hooray - my fellow cheapskates! We split the taxi to the ferry and were on our way.<br /></div><div align="left">On the ferry I met a girl from Melbourne named Kat, who has been travelling Europe for many months. In the nine hours to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Mykonos</span></span>, she gave me quite a bit of advice, and - though I'm still a little wary after Barry, the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">slightly</span>-odd guy I met in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Chiang</span></span> Mai - I decided to share a room with Kat in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mykonos</span></span>.<br /></div><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"></span></span></strong><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error"><span class="blsp-spelling-error">Mykonos</span></span></strong></div><strong><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></strong><br /><div align="left">I was pretty intimidated by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mykonos</span></span>. Everyone says it's the most touristy and most expensive Greek island, and the four women who accosted me and Kat as we stepped off the boat were pretty full-on, but I found <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Mykonos</span></span> quite charming. After <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Santorini's</span></span> Nothing-But-Souvenirs main town, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Mykonos</span></span>, with its little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Mom'n'Pop</span></span> grocery stores and sheets hanging from lines draped across cobbled streets was quite sweet. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060717417376411154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uNQFUOLBs3dJzZ967ilSQnVnNP86WrxhBi2ll9Q725WM1INB-awzfWQ_FPHR3pKrnVJWjrxZYKAN8HdSNraETfnIdNuqNG9ygqm-astTlpGkhlSpSRbRDAl1naKFIUDQObEYL_R6RQ8/s320/Picture+014.jpg" border="0" />[easy to get lost... Mykonos]</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Kat and I ended up in a <em>huge</em> apartment - enough to sleep four people - with a lounge room and kitchen! We went for a walk, got our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">bearings</span> (as best one can in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Mykonos</span></span>), bought some groceries and then went home and <em>cooked dinner!</em> It was all very exciting.<br /></div><div align="left">After the daily American movie that is shown on TV at 9pm, we went to sleep, with the intention of being up at 7:15 for a run. We only ran for 20 minutes, but once we found our apartment again, it would've been <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">stupid</span> to go running off again. If I can get lost in Athens, I can get horrendously lost in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Mykonos</span></span>!<br /></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">After breakfast, we walked to nearby <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Ornos</span></span>, a pretty little beach, but - like so many others at this time of year - almost completely <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">deserted</span>. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060717413081443842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTwtYQK0NC4IaU0NRNlNDfi9bLTj8p7dRnwQ-KkyU_kWopL4O_fbF_WkseHrNb3H7XdsxYgddqP1jYiVykp7YE-u6TMQ5KrdKoUW5DziT8I8VkHrnDyd_BfMupM6ys1Nc_8TR-53GRciA/s320/Picture+013.jpg" border="0" />[Ornos beach]</p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left">We were back to check out by noon, and then began the mammoth ten- and twelve-and-a-half hour waits for our ferries. With backpacks, it's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">a little</span> difficult to really go anywhere!<br />We waited until the sun had set, then caught a taxi to the seemingly very new (and therefore makeshift) "New Port." I said goodbye to Kat, and boarded my boat. I met a lovely guy from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Terrigal</span></span>, and we both tried to sleep - with a football match blaring on the TV til 1:30am.<br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060717421671378466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFdDsA0pA3hCIkyH611YSCDBtuk5rSI7u8NigqTllh0EMBrTLgTmeSJgGBPK0LtPdOA_N13KREMc0Al2o_pU-NpjLDH7F1F_o3lhXXh93wI0ICuR51snWXZdjO5YDpdrkhLmU0xLF6bxU/s320/Picture+015.jpg" border="0" />[Mykonos's famous windmills... with no sails...?]</p><p align="center"><br /><strong>Back in Athens</strong><br /></p><br /><div align="left">Joel (my new Aussie buddy) and I spent a few hours wandering around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Metaxourgio</span></span>, waiting for my hostel to let me check in, and waiting for his train to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Patra</span></span> - the crazy kid was going from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Mykonos</span></span> to Venice in 24 hours! </div><div align="left"><br />I checked into the good old Victor Hugo, showered (ah, luxury), and set off into town to post some things home that I've been intending to post for ages. Three hours later, and I am trying to remind myself that I really do like Athens - a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">beautiful</span> city that should not be judged by those working at the local post office! </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The next 48 hours will be spent doing very little, I am sure, so I shall write again from Paris! I can't wait!</div>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-67247629520942586732007-04-26T10:18:00.000-07:002007-04-26T11:25:33.402-07:00Athens...<div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057792080791366642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJepeEGvrhdM-JWiutLlSL17idPpYZMI7ZjbmhhgCYUSO0476-yNN_RdsDVg6EIKHL2HByhR9LGjuTcOuphIkGYBVYtFpFViW0AFLOVwX8jJteb7jGQRjwOYltyaStK93ZOMZPzQawg0/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /><br />Athens is a beautiful city. I guess I wasn't really expecting much - or at least wasn't sure what I was expecting - but Athens has just blown me away!<br /><br />I arrived at around 1:30 on Anzac Day. I went straight to the hostel, dumped my backpack, and after purchasing a day pass for the Metro, headed into the city for some serious sight-seeing!<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057792059316530098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnhEqCPy8_vZq3X63EK9u_IwYFt3beg5_HxzOOnUSDWqHXWG7ev4q6fbCnEk1jzuVJr5hE8bt6CrRe7RFEELR7ZzTJCsYXotnBrYTa5T3yn7y1iQx8fFNTU0Pqa75sw62qYBTXsw3uf0/s320/Picture+001.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">[a poppy near the Acropolis - how fitting for 25 April]</p><br /><br />After arriving at the Akropoli metro station (and buying an extraordinary and fabulously bitter frappe), I couldn't help but laugh at myself when I looked around for a sign that would point me in the direction of the Acropolis. I then turned around to behold the absolutely stunning ruins atop a hill - so high up, in fact, that I have since discovered they can be seen from almost anywhere in Athens! I had a little trouble finding the entrance (something, it turns out, I did often in Athens), and after winding my way past other sites at the Acropolis (including the magnificent Theatre of Herodes Atticus), I eventually found myself at the Parthenon. I didn't expect it, but seeing the Parthenon in person almost brought me to tears. It is just stunning. I also took a moment to reflect on a few things: my pride in myself on being there, my realisation of my utter insignificance... it was a wonderful experience.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057792063611497410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgmnE9yTMTJ9l3FGYQnn2Hb19K0_xUtMDMoxkDP_XWjkTzLFdjX92u0XjRBm926ZSRT5sVELmwpEZ_ERZL8uuFfzq4shvtJtubHEOMDLxi-YJruvzURfMwTFoYiE_eLQy3wGiYhCjIuw/s320/Picture+002.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[The Theatre of Herodes Atticus]</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057792072201432018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEXL6fyxQb4KvhTRTIs2aTpQJchTHdN4rq97oBrx8nC1I1gOYt2s8OyX2H788WvubPsYjdWcaHn54B-7pi56ZXLBG5o6k12txnkz89i8dNGb5nceBUnZ5F-1rfOGo4LBnVwciW51ludI/s320/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[that's one lucky dog]</p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057792076496399330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYv7IwjgDrFVaLU2JBM6MV9ccs7BnkprS6oxjDOaW7B2ZCxC0_8ByUWkJ7Cyf1p08RD3qlDY9GqkgMxumI7G7RZaevtuqACASQHnHd-d55ojH9rF6V5h8Z02rOnRVctcKhhca_7oFpEcQ/s320/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" />[the Parthenon]</p><p><br /></p><p>I then wandered around Ancient Agora for a little while, marvelling at the Church of the Holy Apostles (and its somewhat eerie interior), the Stoa of Attalos (and the amazing statues - Iliad, Odyssey and Aphrodite were among my favourites), and the Temple of Hephaestus. </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793141648288770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWv5thrCGjfG0U8GbJVmPPSDLfNTv4xcEov1ZvS9aHHOMOc5C0VjjfK57waLix6oEatR2ma4Q-eCzRmoLScWI3ssWIleSSPjAm3wutazmt2FQe_BxSUmkSs_hrSbTynl8rBLeLStTJn6E/s320/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[The Church of the Holy Apostles]</p><p></p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793150238223378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBho9GP5PeG_RXgv9FgNOZbrpc1Elwao0adbzDwYOiJfj6Rx49kg5cxnla8keVxHr11nwNpYX5s-vZGDKFQDZqKJ6hn9HbvtvbmhqTQaoM2rVBRNCadWbX_xL-42XEgIHdtm5GTf2Tac/s320/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /><br />[The Stoa of Attalos] </p><p align="center"></p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057796294154284146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kNDiV40Bz1L8Qy6QSl6BaSpKv9U7H3s291oYKWAgm4KFHatWxIP5Ux8UzVIJEY7K6CMfwhWsBw3j38OTWttGOvPKTJ34sMy6PGNMFQMecn1i6Ul-GeY_aUaGj8yvPS4tvc9BCPou1gM/s320/Picture+022.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Odyssey and Iliad]</p><p align="center"></p><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057796302744218754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyIR8Ko4X3kXu6KNQvDDkY4Ckdmlq4_UR2D5YZ4eSZory_GyOYP2lH99SV_q7K-1wwjVV30CTyxpiYUPdmeoHocd75S3AARYMwWctmhNyFcSmwk8udBGoWDapzWKK2ysZuK1FwKgIvtY/s320/Picture+023.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />[Aphrodite] </p><br /><br /><br />At this point, it was beginning to get a little dark, and I was beginning to get a little hungry, so headed into Plaka in search of some delicious (but preferably cheap) Greek food. I'd read about Eden's Vegetarian Restaurant in the Lonely Planet, but it appears to have closed down. I didn't mind, though, because during my search for the restaurant, I was able to take in a fair bit of Plaka. It is a beautiful suburb. It is very touristy, with souvenir shops and restaurants everywhere you turn, but they are <em>nice </em>souvenir shops and <em>classy </em>restaurants, surrounded by cobblestone streets and pretty, clean buildings. Cars and motorcycles came and went, but it was, for the most part, pedestrian friendly. And then every now and then I'd see a fenced-off area - just another ancient ruin. I wonder if Athenians realise just how lucky they are to be living in such a terrific city!<br /><br />After much deliberation (such tempting food, but such high prices!) a very charismatic man talked me into taking a seat at the Plaka Taverna where I was to have the "student' set menu. Oh my gosh - €9.50 never tasted so good. Bread, Greek salad, eggplant moussaka, stuffed tomato and then Creme Caramel. I ate every last mouthful and felt hideously ill afterwards, but it was worth it. I had got to talking with the men at the table next to me - Al and Bill from Pittsburgh Pennsylvania - and it was nice just to have a bit of company. When they were leaving, the waiter informed me that they had paid my bill. I was so touched! They said it was "for a young woman's adventure." They re-instilled my faith in fellow travellers.<br /><br /><br />After finishing my mammoth meal, I waddled back to the Akropoli station and headed back to the hostel. I chatted briefly to my German room mate (whose name I've forgotten, but who I remember comes from Nuremberg because I said "oh yeah, as in the trials?" Awkward, awkward). It turned out she is going to be visiting Thailand in December, so I shamelessly plugged the Elephant Nature Park before heading to bed. I was buggered!<br /><br /><br />Thursday morning started noisily, with the two room mates who had appeared during the night crashing about. I eventually got up just after 7 and went for a jog. I'd figured out how to get to the nearest park (Areos Park - a cute little area, surrounded by busy streets), and it was easy enough to find, but I had a terrible time finding my way back to the hostel. No one seemed to know where Victor Hugo Street was (perhaps because in Greek it is Victor Ougo Street, and I also took a while to remember the name - not Marco Polo, for instance). I ended up running into the same man twice - the second time he actually went out of his way to take me directly to my street. I was mightily impressed, and Victor (as it turned out to be his name) made me like Athens even more.<br /><br />After a quick shower in a very cramped cubicle, I headed back into the city in search of a travel agency. I stumbled upon a two-day food fair at Syntagma metro station. What luck - a free breakfast!<br /><br /><br />The travel agency I was looking for seemed to have closed (I think my Lonely Planet is a little outdated), but did find a bookstore (bought "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini), and eventually did stumble upon some other travel agencies.<br /><br /><br />I then headed to the Temple of Olympian Zeus and then the Roman Stadium - home of the first modern Olympics.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793154533190690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN6ddDJTalIw2Eidu_cHcp902DbZ2D9Zon5cg9mrw6Cd5SrOisBNcA2O11D_UI3bK29sWcdzM_0reUH0XDxRQowGb0ixxhZ7DuSaOzjVA24yZb7DK0F8ED6rC7H8-zj5JULugDkK_-Xc/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Temple of Olympian Zeus]</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793163123125298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifwjycomUNiUU6uCjmE45q3UKu8WVZQQuSNt2cyp6224Zrmpe6C3UDEN6Tta5b1fz6-Wh99u3EaTbeej-c2zg7HL_kKwh0y7mSDzZVeE6lb20Z1J2fTLubji4am4v-0M1P8N32uxM7eQ/s320/Picture+009.jpg" border="0" />[Roman Stadium]</p><p><br /></p>I walked through the very pretty National Gardens on my way back to Syntagma station, and then stumbled upon a large gathering of tourists in front of the Parliament Building and Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. An English travel agent (in Greece to sus out hotels - what a life!) informed me that the Indian president was coming to lay a wreath. And indeed he did. The highlight was, of course, the ridiculous uniforms they make the poor guards wear!<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793167418092610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ESjSB3GrYO29QGKB29v6a8wVkQIluQmTMxFW7hNOtk9IiJ48avIVJErOXfYJBjYpgODM6M5DwOPWwwe5dDMEYQfTJ0o11L0Ohn973PPOL5mzN5RHutQ7HkK1ZPX5FlU6NyzMg7SCvN0/s320/Picture+010.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Parliament Building and Tomb of the Unknown Soldier]</p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793493835607122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcyA1vFtzybbt4kpwk1-QXdtaoOLVyPN_SQOJwqMxgQnoVE4R1kMD9RBUCfXi6mmcwj8AWihpay5QA4eQ0GD1AB0hA21nyajmPu5wb-K3qpSzB8LEXG33H7n8jugQmGZg7500QCQyPpM/s320/Picture+011.jpg" border="0" />[Now that's just mean...]</p><p><br /></p><br /><br />I took the train back to the Akropoli, and after going to see the once-grand Theatre of Dionyson, called home and spoke to Mum, Dad, Nan and Da (who apparently had a ball at the Anzac Day march - can't wait for photos!).<br /><br />I bought the <em>best </em>punnet of strawberries, and after eating about half of its 1kg, doddled over to the Roman Agora - the more recent of the two ancient marketplaces. The Tower of the Winds (a giant weather-vane and sundial) would have been quite spectacular in its day.<br /><br /><br />I took the train to Omonia and found a fairly dodgy cafe - bu just needed to sit! I spent a good hour pouring over the information I'd received from the travel agencies, and think I've finally got my head around Greece... a little.<br /><br /><br />On my way back to the hostel I popped into a supermarket and bought a tub of Greek yoghurt - the tub being made out of terracotta. Though it will most likely break within days, I love my little bowl! And I quite enjoyed my "dinner" (of strawberries, yoghurt and free cereal, at 4:30pm) while sitting on the balcony of my empty-but-for-me hostel room. A lovely way to end a great time in Athens!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057793498130574434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJZtH-sC_m01PZEO_Ee2RO3b5xgGQO8by1p3sIR6WoVGTp6DI2fP_GwB4lsbcfoDXcuuD-jg_7nUPbQKoUfWcj83eJ5mvWGjZcoUDU49vhtfjDb7kbwGzwK2GDxbKyFl4r-HBG2oezJc/s320/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[view from my balcony]</div>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-151754533866004252007-04-24T10:47:00.000-07:002007-04-26T11:27:51.770-07:00It's a Man's World<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsGI2Yyyo9brvbPw-zVmJrLxcpR7LhCdfLF7_xKq31I6fBgLSTUejRr1wMaTQdORAqJYsVhzRhpZMr9DIwaKF49iLPvL8w_Nzl_uT4f-iRM5E0M6kMrTQX5TXFFYd1dkS7h1Jurr7fyA/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"></a>Dubai is a very strange place. Not only is it a city in the middle of a desert, a city in a constant state of construction, a city which re-claims land to build 7-star hotels and mini-Earths... there is something else a little amiss with Dubai, and it took me a good half hour to put my finger on it. The men! Or, perhaps, the lack of women. Regardless, it makes for an unusual feel to this already unusual place. [Note: According to various websites, men make up somewhere between 70 and 75% of the population in Dubai]<br /><br />The first time I noticed that something was a little strange was when I boarded the bus from the airport. The first four rows of the bus were "Reserved for Ladies." This meant that even if there were only two women on board, some men (and there were a lot of men) still wouldn't sit down. I also encountered a bus conductor who, having said something to the men standing in line for the bus, caused them all to shuffle out of the way and allow me to board first. I didn't mind the special treatment (especially as it got me out of the stinking hot sun), but there were occasions where I felt a little objectified, so won't miss Dubai and its many men too much.<br /><br />After arriving at the United Arab Emirates Youth Hostel Association (a fairly swanky hostel, but who would expect anything less in Dubai?), I updated my blog (I have my priorities nice and straight), and then headed out to explore.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799176077339922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6hHOhhVjT8BiREeqylxrOilJjqLMMzea-OJProVdkfzpvJ1lOxGTVq1sFeTHI8f_lea5PQ9K-38gLl3XzIysRArUIljchb2df-nP9juvef_INgv1wWey7DyMiN8REWueJTCjEqbQjag/s320/Picture+021.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[would you expect anything less than a swanky hostel in Dubai?]</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I met a nice German lass on the bus on the way to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Deira</span>, and though we wandered around together for quite a few hours, I never learned her name. By the time I thought to ask, it had gone past the point of ridiculousness in not knowing it, so I just let it slide. We explored <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Deira</span>, the eastern half of the main city of Dubai (Bur Dubai is to the west of the Dubai Creek) and though we were, for the most part, looking for a tourist agency for her, managed to see many of the sites of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Deira</span>. We accidentally stumbled upon Heritage House and Al <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ahmadiya</span> School, two buildings built in the early 1900s and as interesting in their design as their history. We also visited the Gold and Spice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Souqs</span>, as well as the surrounding alleyways which contained countless stores selling various fabrics. It was actually very interesting to see the contrast between these places and the shops which surround them. One minute you're looking at store after store flogging gold, silk and beautiful spices, and then you are faced with dodgy watches and even more dodgy (and not even Genuine Imitation) t-shirts. It didn't help this little consumerist, of course, that due to supply-and-demand, most of the clothes stores were targeted at men.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799768782826786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJpxGuoPGwfu7PvOgTJw6Ip4vkBLLY3TkJ6sVsYvJezhucBnoi_wcQfMa25o_CdYdlyLe2_tUDzH2figWTxeZIfSmLdtuzmzV0GXyveC610t7s9N7Zvz809lj6u3P1vGzCMzNgooJTwI/s320/Picture+013.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[an early example of Dubai architecture at the Heritage House]</p><p><br /></p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057797930536823970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv57yM9DgwQd2rmL7x42eNA9LCSAbuJ3GhPu1tmO9Y_jxkRTJ2NTJnLaEKCQIUHMiXt4m7OR2-fHZz9H6Iz4kwcNy4Xt5RbRkI7OPbwjFNbaAp0TPjLocmGhnQCS1smg0PzxV_oNic8E/s320/Picture+014.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center">[a fancy name for a "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bubbler</span>" at the Al <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Ahmadiya</span> School]</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799171782372610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK0rdVOmxLDbUHQhzssZlVmlQFl4QJSdi1TdA2ol38yS_A0-THnjaRCLFs-ZjAgW2-PvmRKzo2somlS4O8f4xw0LiVpB_k1CdhAGCdt2ywaozJyGYCXw0ZYypeh7GTnyhXU32Mwimgg7E/s320/Picture+020.jpg" border="0" />[the ridiculousness that is the Gold <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Souq</span>]<br /><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057797947716693202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2TlEn3kmVtLezoqUfH6Zgh8E7LKua_qXVdoFdA6ATpGXRmzrkLUMfZfcLBKHWqmT6R8U3iuCe-DVAeNhnxCAq5xvYX5PEotPfv2L4pC9YFsTGraW7ntjSuRM6FTqKp8Bwyech3jpNdI/s320/Picture+017.jpg" border="0" />[Nuts! I had to buy some... well, a lot...]</div><div align="center"></div><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799773077794098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATq7LH1YqWtw_agElEYlcdqzTNw9EdY8tG3jtCPt-Tbzi2hs18BjBlLsxumSgJBSqXKbdGVjMistJMmrQQjU_x2zL5CS6HBUBVs7uKnmGj_3tIKa3Ow4XZt1Iuh-AonFmM_r0pwG_flk/s320/Picture+015.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[if only this captured the smell - the Spice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Souq</span> smelled pretty good!]</p><p><br />I got a bit shirty with The German Girl, as she will henceforth be known, and I blame it on dehydration. I was determined to buy a nice, big bottle of near-freezing cold water, but was mightily disappointed (and somewhat astounded) at the lack of fridges! Store after store seemed to have cans of Coke and bottled water just sitting on shelves - ridiculous! The German Girl was also annoying me because she expected me to lead the way. Most of you reading this know that i have an abysmal sense of direction, and it frustrated me to no end that she kept waiting for me to figure out where we were. But oh well - I saw some places I might not have otherwise. She eventually went off to find the tourist information place on her own, while I wandered down to the creek for a look-see and a yummy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">falafel</span> sandwich. </p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057797943421725890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmSkIjO0xnE_gZ5khfrcqV5RLwHUYbsxrx0QiYxScwrMSie9orSz0z0cLoyt7EpQqU_G2SievY_4TEOp-FKBu90ybA_VDtlNLSE26dfiEnC5AFzhQIWiXN64cES3CNB8duRb8f6wBAVU/s320/Picture+016.jpg" border="0" /><br />[Dubai Creek]</p><p></p><p>After my late lunch, I headed back to the Gold Souk Bus Station (which, I discovered, was incorrectly labelled on the tourist map I was carrying, which lead to much of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">GG</span> and my confusion earlier in the day), in search of ice cream before <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">bussing</span> it to the hostel. Would you believe it, ice creameries, like cold water, are also practically non-existent! Of all places, you'd think Dubai, with its 30-something degree averages, cold water and ice cream would be big business. Crazy! I eventually went back to the hostel for a swim (I told you the hostel was swanky), a shower (my first hot shower in weeks - thoroughly enjoyable) and an early night.<br /><br />I was woken before 6am by one of my room mates <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">blowdrying</span> her hair. Who does that? I got my own back this afternoon, though, when I returned to the room to find her asleep. I re-packed my backpack with not an ounce of concern as to how noisy I was being.<br /><br />Not only does the hostel have a pool, they back on to a running track, so, for the first time in more than three weeks (due to fear of numerous things - Thai drivers, being attacked by startled elephants...), I went for a run. Boy am I out of practice.<br /><br />Breakfast was supplied by the hostel, and though it was simple (bean mush, cheese and pita bread), it was just what the doctor ordered. I don't know how traditional Arabic it was, but it was delicious!<br /><br />I spent my second day in Dubai on a bit of an unintentional mall-crawl. I went out to visit the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Burj</span> Al Arab (the 7-star hotel that looks like a sail), and was amused and a little affronted at how over-protected it is. The security guard insisted I stand in a certain area just to take a photo. It's a cool-looking building, but having seen it and all the fuss that surrounds it, I think it's highly overrated. </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799158897470690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFyPUgaqGiS5QSvAkXwqEBFZ7tmn_UnBCoW-eXhDc90goskYit3MrbnFdWUQYEpkO-FHaiCKvA0Lh1QDLg0G-M2TZM4EBfNOBaZjadrYs_OiBjSIFy-B_HdZgHwJmBojibDRjYblN6B88/s320/Picture+018.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[a man taking a photo of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Burj</span> Al Arab from the <em>allowable </em>side of the street]</p><p><br />Just near the hotel I discovered the mall that the travel <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">brochures</span> tout as being in a style that is "traditional Arabian." It was actually quite a beautiful place, but the sale of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Croc</span> shoes and overpriced designer clothes made it feel a little less authentic.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057799163192438002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGnnOcv-ih6yoiFFSFGwn7MARQHpesAlK17FbvgErlKWOnIExiwpKf4MC_an8QaCf_oBi1xnd8iaiVA3MyXIY1sRmVqAbjPGV53FwWaMLpqaiPELR1cqB2sMJUD8gwlVekmHx5wOG_QE/s320/Picture+019.jpg" border="0" /><br />I then headed to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Deira</span> City Centre (not actually anywhere near the centre of the city) in search of air conditioned comfort. I looked around for a while, and just as I was starting to feel nice and chilly, headed outside again into the heat. The temperature changes dramatically between shady areas and the areas in full sun. You can actually feel your body start to sweat!<br /><br />I went back to the Gold <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Souq</span> for a little while, had a lovely dinner of Moroccan salad and bread (after looking everywhere for somewhere selling something more substantial than a burger), and then a delicious “fruit cocktail” at the bus station. I don't know what was in that thing, but it was amazing.<br /><br />I was so engrossed with “Life of Pi” (a great book – highly recommend it) that I got off the bus too early, and ended up visiting yet another mall while waiting for the next 17 bus to come along. I eventually made it back to the hostel, re-packed my backpack (with a sleeping roommate, as mentioned earlier) and, after spending some time updating my blog, went to bed. Goodnight, Dubai. It was... interesting.Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-31661457182658718712007-04-22T22:17:00.000-07:002007-04-23T09:03:11.382-07:00Elephants, Mud Pits and Dogs - Oh My!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMlM7bAPFRWDJ3mXpcpxR34pdvuyWft9D4DscRcrblw0ycVAX8dsof27gAEotsvDo2l42M0J13L-zG6W1_gaqTrjEetyvq4j921pBhLnCsww-Hd3eGl2AGr5ERt5Q7Qqe9w_qesLZRAI/s1600-h/DSCN4261.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056508193849888050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMlM7bAPFRWDJ3mXpcpxR34pdvuyWft9D4DscRcrblw0ycVAX8dsof27gAEotsvDo2l42M0J13L-zG6W1_gaqTrjEetyvq4j921pBhLnCsww-Hd3eGl2AGr5ERt5Q7Qqe9w_qesLZRAI/s320/DSCN4261.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I've just completed my week of volunteering at the <a href="http://www.elephantnaturefoundation.org">Elephant Nature Park</a>, and even though I'm pretty sure I've never paid so much to do manual labour in my life, it was such an amazing experience, and I can't wait to go back again to spend another week (or two, or three, or four) hanging out with those gorgeous creatures.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056503615414750354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhErSt24rKecZ4W7Kkdcv2VelGxYwKvQSiLacLY-uGQ0JDJNRaBH_aEGr18N42OM1lEubZubNbKIX_fLoSAmFWCsDho94Ri0iZllkR7TxtYEP_7PvhR08me6XhLLesvi-0tkXjjTBEnKsc/s320/DSCN4188.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[view from the dining room]<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056503624004684962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrKstnEHfQupBpB85yLIUN3NXckYMzbOVs9EROU29WaeGG0YNZygUZPoTbf-IhF2WlwKBu5avmvdmMdrq4ITBXmvX8ssx9rkiSrY_WwRm-0zSWiXyGYkBMtvmVHv9E8VIz4zoNr3WgMo/s320/DSCN4189.jpg" border="0" /> [view from Hannah and my room]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056508202439822658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r-iMppOMgzEBCiNx1L4tZ78guBu2cc26-OOd11YNYWjBJJdWS_D-0q03NgV_e8lsVVgjxJD-oDkiNy_x7NG24W_7IlyOVxUfEOIYi4X5SzNEzp4c8-MlmbNURzCYmUovMt52A4oU7Eg/s320/DSCN4269.jpg" border="0" /> [I'm not sure who this is, but it's one of the older girls... it's amazing the way some of the people working at the park can automatically recognise each elephant!]<br /><br /><br /></div><div align="left">For those of you who didn't hear my vague ramblings about the Elephant Nature Park before I left, the basic story is that a woman named Lek has been saving injured, abused and neglected elephants from around Thailand for the past decade or so. She brings them to her park and allows them to recuperate and, for most of them, live happily ever after on a property that she has worked extremely hard to obtain. The place is booming - the woman who I shared a room with had come to the park three years ago when there were 17 elephants. There are now something like 37. </div><div align="left"><br /><div align="left"></div></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056503636889586898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgublUdtqoqtxACPbSiVc2_T3rlkU7kcKojDpV7E_rpQAbpANs99Ons6pMPP5QuaxH1d-sWwn5CHYKXs1DH2FPsGH2lYx2RMFH-Pt9W9V3eASZvOJP73KYYrnYBTKLK1xk3wTvKVgYEbtc/s320/DSCN4208.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Hannah and Adam feeding some eles]</p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056503632594619586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wn157NaZCPAXh4VcIb0hSB1FoGy2J5j-7JSCd8sxii4dzUhh9nnoNZ4vXfi7d4bF6dDgae37SZeXfjPesA_-c09Z9pZzVAlLec4BSXrY0Ecatg1JPvKOlQkSAwbNJWpPluO66iLDsKQ/s320/DSCN4204.jpg" border="0" /> [Max, possibly the biggest elephant in Thailand. At 3.3m, no one messes with Max!]</p><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056503628299652274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KheiF7jd0ahyrzSXDMcjW8MhyR8AnL2_iuJACMGabUJyhbR6alA2TcKZicgO5DkEUEVctSBFCsiuvl7bwMtQoNSeKf8W-1a1lq4_-WY6pMmUi6PyZBtk4XbyD7-Syzh-HPOyQ0JOeGI/s320/DSCN4194.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />As a volunteer, each day was pretty well structured. Breakfast and chores before 8am (I tried to do a different chore each day so scooped cow poop, elephant poop, collected figs, washed out kitty litter, watered plants...). After chores all the volunteers were expected to help in various projects: mending roads, building fences (which took only a nudge by a playful elephant to destroy), peeling corn, and clearing out the mud pit. After the morning projects we had to feed the elephants (having unloaded, washed and chopped two to three ute-fulls of food), before having lunch ourselves. After lunch we would wander down to the river and bathe the elephants, and then at around 2:30 we would start another project. The elephants tended to toss dirt on themselves straight after their baths (something of a natural sunscreen), so we would have to wash them again before dinner. Though it was hard yakka at times (me? Build a fence? Ha!), it was well worth it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509757217983954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7s0UQPFyQ9M6dWjFevkk-OH3vGjJ1BprpAxMwtUlz419VVRqhXDsKiCpvXvxi2qY4h6RGb1y8t8A34Pw-v-QJbei9PPd73NXtiSSHLSlwo2OxVxi8VD5DFx83k9eEyPnJir8TZ9YZhtg/s320/DSCN4329.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">[preparing lunch for the elephants]</p><p align="center"></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056506540287479010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RY5feqaTWfx3j85WksWdPCX2CmSLCiqJQIIkd2LmUhLzWer0MskMVhBM7gxSZC7RiHo_UHlrZDSN0DswGpkjHEJs8HbC3ws-VePM71XUn5MLZXJejNq4z1ixTn-AJ9YHHRMZO-BLVrw/s320/DSCN4219.jpg" border="0" /></p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056506544582446322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgouM1RZu4gv4FRXrx2DXyiA162fp6WfSQXbXlYVWbnTWH2LSFJhk4nSi5tFiBpiPaceVpAILeQ3JRW2YavLZwpTU17xxtvHhZpdIAmDCFVRZ1LT8i5gdhzdBEDeWA6PvWpktvXC5wWg/s320/DSCN4234.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />I have to say, there were two expressions that popped into my head on various occasions, and I couldn't help but laugh. It turns out that Dad's sayings, repeated enough times, have actually stuck. Unloading the trucks, for instance, I couldn't help but think to myself "many hands make light work!" And when we were in the mud pit, digging around in the sludge, trying to heave buckets of soft, squishy mud out the sides of the soft, squishy pit, I kept thinking of the saying he had for if he and Mum ever broke up: "Your mother would have trouble finding another man, and I would be pushing shit up hill." </p>As well as the daily routine, there were a few out-of-the-ordinary events, such as visiting the Elephant Haven. On Thursday afternoon, we went for a bit of a walk with a few of the elephants, and a couple of the dogs (Copper, Number One and Number Two are three of the cutest dogs on the planet - and they're tough old things, too), and stayed the night in a cabin owned by the park in a public area of the jungle. It was a nice change of scenery, and lovely to hear stories about the park's history from Pom, Lek's go-to girl, and the toughest chick I've ever met. Those elephants definitely know who's boss when Pom's around!<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056508206734789970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIP7-_hxTvPcOtsgCbxyv-zUO87mMgkyftjHagGWBU3mGb8R0b_TnkXZjX4P4997petLNjIjYTQVA7OhHWjLYyKPeE1hIvesdCAwaqwjRVJJV1fZJzXPcfUt3IQ2nfictoh2nLXMKvyE/s320/DSCN4277.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[that's one good-looking butt]</p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056508215324724578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbVT6ohuq6vJqULRbS5wrnGiJWt-b1Gt-sJn3gxoSlmhx2gqq42d4QLSqVwDcIvn-XlXFby14apWJH4XFucUf9phHfvy1OBcIwoWUPATOAum-_WSx_79DxRF9wpp4biMTLP3w-UBdTN0/s320/DSCN4294.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Elephant Haven]</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056508219619691890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQFqoP57JKrAu1Jn-GdC8JdOj_kLWR7mrnxzXBbTvgZ400KNVaMH5jU5hIwLhTm2_8ZYZHAtPsF25G9acexz1-czYVLBL8RMGKm-bwlMZBt3dqQ6dqnob6RlyJFUWzqx7QTZQD71DP-w/s320/DSCN4298.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509125857791362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0otnXFeB56YQTkRZsz14SYlgBOF8-fD9myLPPYj0ySJtZu-W0XFzW8d5UCBOf0X6V1NsF_VzFv2IJiNljnCJoI2_BUvvm2WXJ-jpcaeU8efzIkO4xeVZR3UvQFAkQ9PWAmpCy1GG9zY/s320/DSCN4301.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[such good food - I think I gained about 3kg, just in Pad Thai]</p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509134447725970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1UCk21iLCpfmP4K74ybHJIDKG9HZSGTaJsPEqtYrg3LOeDIGaynvvXUO8HIFco9fFQXFvJFZm-vzWn6Hzxz1bngqRH-3662K-W2txu_oWNqLXKFSWVyDUuA0JUY55_8SuBkWOa_tc9E/s320/DSCN4304.jpg" border="0" /><br />[stories round the fire]<br /><br /></p><p>On our way back from the Haven, we were given saffron cloths to hang around the trees in the forest. Apparently it's a Buddhist tradition, and if someone cuts down a tree with one of these cloths on it, they will be plagued by bad luck forever. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509138742693282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiav5aS0kXtJvLuBSCn8fYonNDWrZFv0Jb-aTRULPO14sZfuS2z8aANOpQw_qYgwzvKdYetmyUYPgtc3XRw1BaRDVaB_n1awIWZ6afqwVk2Dc_L0eF5jE0XxBIQp8vlcQDcfTZ5-8Y8sxA/s320/DSCN4312.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509143037660594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQhnAxqs68Mx_oSS39fJ5ielzeATBpnXw-INhAeR-1ylQYQgRF9q9TqQhhoCCl4z_qMHsYG4Prf11cDcPuT6iL_OcLcpdwL-Z1cBLTe1eJIEIWo405uQbcVNKEyWuEmf-BwQL38MDQ_A/s320/DSCN4319.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Ben saving a tree]<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056509151627595202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFBJDBDgrNxVPr_wlRtEexrcndqZ55xuYKEIqE1rY4cq-V1pAVGlWIAFF1KeO1qhvRvM6Y8d0inbTpjAm3gfKLvc40TQncjzHRK5dDdF3FY-lgqdqbjAP6JbRnQtOZB9zT8k8oPPGuXE/s320/DSCN4324.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />[cooling off after a long walk - and trying not to glare at the elephant trekkers passing us by]<br /><br /><br /></p>On Thursday afternoon, we also had a bit of an adventure. About twenty of us piled into a truck (I felt like a cow, standing with my fingers holding onto the eight foot high grate that surrounded us all), and went up stream to buy bamboo. They buy bamboo in the form of a raft, and then, having paddled it back to the Nature Park, they demolish the raft and use the bamboo to build new huts (and re-build fences destroyed by boisterous young elephants)! We had to drive the rafts a little down stream, which was an experience in itself. The rafts are so long, they had to be placed practically on top of the aforementioned grate, so we were all sitting on these bloody great rafts, about three metres in the air. The rafting itself was a lot of fun. We saw lots of people washing their dishes and bathing in the river, and laughed ourselves silly at Craig and Richard, two English volunteers, as they tried to catch up to the raft having refused to board it at the beginning of our trip. I think Richard was running after that thing for a good 40 minutes!<br /><br />Which brings me to the people I met. Richard is a great guy. He's originally from England, but has moved to Wales and seems to be a part of the Welsh Tourist Authority. He has insisted that I visit Cardiff when I'm over there. I think he might hunt me down if I don't. Brooke from California reminded me a lot of Mel - bizarrely so at times! Janna, a Canadian girl who will be at the park for three months as a Volunteer Coordinator was a lot of fun, too. She and I were big advocates of the "my clothes are going to get so dirty, I may as well just wear the same thing for a week" policy. Adam from Canada (seemingly from all over the country at one time or other) was good value. He also looked as if he wanted to adopt every single dog at that park at one point (except Nip Noy - the psycho little thing). And then there was Ben and Joanna from Boston, who, though sounding just like every other American at the park, did very, very good Boston accents when encouraged. Ben worked with autistic children before travelling abroad, and pointed out that "artistic" and "autistic" sound pretty similar with a broad Bostonian drawl, which apparently led to some awkward conversations for him... They've insisted I come and visit them in Boston when I'm over there, and I definitely plan to do so.<br /><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056506553172380946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUGcvarctd0nHSNkbiF3P6b3vf8GEAU4ERypLbLXYMypOblR-Bmijvn2nK-1Aq5moSrYdyAzAcIQzK2UHk2NnY4Czt4_MDBZ3DVnl0XDUfpsb2uYe6oLBSwvVtZq4Hhh_zelaQ_2hhfw/s320/DSCN4237.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[Jo, admiring the view]</p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056506548877413634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlgbZfgx61oKXq2Qw32X6dq1NSHR8utwsHoIRXaTPfEbzZ0Z_BkkM_x5HXjx-fleiGC2pt_QowO84InG3MmM_p9ekj60bzXBqrGYp8d4P-DtCZfTMMzMWpNUFdDgboTa3c3e0lglTNr0/s320/DSCN4236.jpg" border="0" /> [Copper, ignoring the view]<br /><br /></p>And now for the shameless plug for the Elephant Nature Park. I didn't really realise why this park was so special until I got there. I'd had conversations with people about elephant training, and not really understood how it worked. So here's the short-and-sweet version:<br /><br /><ul><li>Elephant trekking is a terrible industry. Elephants are not designed to carry baskets and two grown adults on their spines, not to mention the amount of energy they expend while going for long walks day in day out, with very little food to sustain them. They are undernourished and overworked, but elephants are such a big part of Thai tourism, it will be very difficult to change this.</li><br /><li>Regardless of what they do - be it trekking, painting, kicking soccer balls - traditionally, the Thai people believe that the only way to tame an elephant is to break its spirit and cause the elephant to be so terrified of its trainer, it will do what it is told. This means that, oftentimes, an elephant will be trapped in a small cage for days, or even weeks, while Mahouts (Thai elephant handlers) prod, poke and beat them into submission. </li></ul><br />The Elephant Nature Park is trying to spread the word that using elephants for our own entertainment is causing them great harm, and that Positive Reinforcement could become a viable alternative to the horrendous beatings these elephants receive. Unfortunately, Positive Reinforcement is not believed by the traditional Thai Mahouts to work, and Lek is David up against Goliath, because, like I said before, Thai tourism depends so heavily on elephants.<br /><br />So, while I climb off my soap box, what I'm really trying to say is that if you go to Thailand, visit the Nature Park, spend some time with some gorgeous elephants who spend their days just being elephants, rather than spending 30 minutes on the back of an overworked, exhausted animal who is being beaten by its trainer.<br /><br />And if words aren't enough to convince you, then here is a photo of Ora - one of three baby elephants at the park. Two of the three babies, including Ora, are strictly on lease to the park (Lek agrees to save the lives of these animals - and even pays to do so - while their owners refuse to sell them to her because they will be financially better off in the long run to slowly kill their elephants at trekking camps). This means that Ora - this beautiful little girl - will one day be tortured in order for her owners to control her, and then live a life of servitude.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056506561762315554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji4NbNmEDuDM1irWUqAVmq67L7SW8QGD0BeBSRirGSMuNyrVB35MJgVNGU2IO1YjQelfyFFSqWwLUvqUO6g1JrnSBHSeC0P8iZF1S7UPk6B9xaH8eVHgBJnvkOmG3iOhIUaeZL6aBTxHg/s320/DSCN4242.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Mary feeding Ora]<br /><br /><br /></p>And on that delightful note, I must leave it there. I'm exhausted, having arrived in Dubai only a few hours ago and having slept only a few hours on the plane, but have to go out and explore!Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-27596546447002453592007-04-15T02:03:00.000-07:002007-04-15T07:38:09.366-07:00Water Water Everywhere......and most of it either brown and gross, or freezing cold.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Songkran</span> New Year's Festival is from 13-16 April. The Thais really know how to party - four days of drunken tomfoolery! Apparently, way back when, the tradition was that you would pour a small amount of water on a passer-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bys</span>' feet or forehead as a sign of good luck for the year ahead. It has escalated since, and is now a 4-day water fight.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053658912023861954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ys1MCyxgLMEennOI6aTzvDQmATx7qmRCyC4qhKr6YBSq6750opYmjGBxI1bDrglgdhrmssRM1Al2l4jZmidDqGBMtA8sLllo8VIdE6mRx47C5o-cW8seyRZfGVkG0NwVgPDifPuMGzc/s320/Picture+001.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center">[view from my Penthouse Bunk]</div><br /><br /><br /><br />I arrived in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Chiang</span> Mai, having had a delightful overnight train ride from Bangkok, on what seemed to be the only carriage filled with locals and not backpackers (something I quite enjoyed), and set about finding somewhere to stay. At the train station, as has been the case in most of central and northern Thailand, I was pounced upon by taxi and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tuk</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">tuk</span> drivers, as well as guest house owners, each offering various deals. In the end, I went for Safety in Numbers and befriended a nice Scottish bloke named Barry. He and I shared a taxi, and on our way into town saw the craziness of the first day of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Songkran</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053658916318829266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4Zv5bNUEfinocqHlGqyXHKq2YCbj4IQnysBi6KPUMbW82mtZgAMfA5rwXvpszyIVxWeeEPad4E3oi9K9bpJvNZJ4cbcuj3m8npBINRCuKMkrS4R6nBWV9oCDSmXSrxgH95V68nHOrvY/s320/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[They look so innocent... Look what happens when they grow up, below]</p><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053658924908763874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA74ZLNzk1qOwQ3CKJAB1qYp9YXXsKFpxHWulFZoO2wIU7d55wrE9znMh-5YU56PYS3ATDhfgch5S8h2WmJrq94PXDXweHr_HB48cJnZL13YWprAoum9qVone4FyUcBXyppObvkmLKpHs/s320/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053658929203731186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCUJAEnF6m0Tg8h6CTgkzL2q2jH9AP7Z5zvJe8hgbzC5SA_5bO2s1EAvF7xJTfwefFCcknbKVR8Qcy1eU9bckEnHMKOGLrsvgCU9Ksx3Axs0XM09Un47UWfRHkEhlm84UIfxg8D3uu2k/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><br /><br /><p><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Chiang</span> Mai has a "new town" and an "old town," the latter being an area surrounded by a moat. The main street running north to south along the eastern side of the moat (where the taxi dropped us) was full of people with brightly-coloured super <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">soakers</span> and buckets full of water. People were sitting in the back of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">utes</span>, huge garbage bins full of water (some with ice blocks inside - for an extra kick), buckets in hand, pelting pedestrians. This was a lot of fun to watch from the safety of the taxi, but once we were out in the open and completely defenseless, it was a bit of a different story...<br /><br />Barry and I ended up agreeing to stay in a guest house together, and it has been quite nice to have some company (but a little interesting trying to co-ordinate times to meet up as we only have one key).<br /><br />On Friday, my first day in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Chiang</span> Mai, Barry and I wandered around together for a while before going our separate ways. Not a good idea. I got horribly lost trying to make my way back from Wat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Chiang</span> Mun (the oldest Wat in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Chaing</span> Mai, built in the late thirteenth century): </p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053658933498698498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJj0r-1jpx_pzI7ll_Yh-cnFGrVUZ_kJNDq-ejLP_TeoMoRYUIumlvu5pMzfk5AJXYCPWyxBRapgPvN4ylVaK78XU4Z9VV6KwawXA9DaH8Y1AiGVEuHt65am3zQWxGiyDekK26M4dHbDg/s320/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">[Wat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Chiang</span> Mun]<br /><br /></p><br />It didn't help, of course, that my map was becoming more and more saturated. I tried to take the back roads in an attempt to avoid being doused in water, but this just meant I was the lone target to small children with buckets, and teenagers with long, brightly coloured stick-looking things that could project water an awfully long way! At first it was a lot of fun, but after a while, it got a bit old. I was soaking wet, and getting more and more grumpy. There are only so many times you can say "thank you" to someone for pouring water on you (sometimes at close range and directly into your ear, at one stage). I shouldn't whinge, but it was a little much after a while - all the locals thought it was funny to pour water on the soaking white girl, and all the foreigners thought it was funny, too.<br /><br />I went back to the guest house, soaking wet, and showered and changed for the second time that day. I had intended on wandering the streets to find a cheap Thai massage, but was too scared of getting wet again, so went to the place across the road. 200 Baht for 1 hour seemed like the going rate, anyway. I'd been told by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Anja</span> that Thai massages were the Greatest Thing On Earth, but I have to say that the jury's still out... I'm still not sure whether it was enjoyable or painful. Afterwards, it felt as if I'd gone for a long run and forgotten to cool down - my calf muscles were so tense from the hammering she'd given me!<br /><br />After my massage, Barry and I ventured back into town to explore the night markets, by which time everyone had calmed down considerably. The markets were HUGE, but I didn't buy anything - too many weeks of being a penny-pincher in the lead up to my trip have made me a little frugal. This is bound to change, though, given time...<br /><br />On Saturday I attended a Thai cookery class, which was a lot of fun - and I was somewhat glad just to be out of harm's way for a while! We did a tour of the market with our instructor (who said his name was "Meow - like a cat"). We saw all kinds of exotic fruits and vegetables, and watched a woman turn a coconut into coconut cream and coconut milk. I will think twice the next time I buy a tin of the stuff from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Coles</span>!<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053660977903131410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboBijeDr5YRsXzpzuuSP-U68hVPXVu30Fl5rR05q4fn4sR2XJhni2mf0dXHF8nEDfmAW3fRPOwou_eabn0SEaqqPI4GiaivZQKjt4IdcYfEBrnxqCGiZB80Envlmlmo4p0s7l_1YxlF8/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">["Meow" at the market]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053660982198098722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DEO1p5QzeHUtvHicZQ0kZhtBK8lXtClbYyPH8ZoPP6Cg99lU57c3WfeTony2Wvysdy5hWiMaUnsL9QClMAThxXc4X7BRtwbiJ-nXzP7QUoAU3RZ0KxF1SiYf807AlsipzsnUHoajM0Q/s320/Picture+010.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[first she ground the coconut to a pulp...]</p><br /><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053660990788033330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7MQ9MgYhSRCIP4Hz3Fh0cHqb0PrK-kho_F2KgVvDJH7r98mz5qCJTwqCbBVmv_J5EkicWvXeg59lsOx5tb9NveYkaz-X8GSi1lBVvyT20F5Pcncyu5B4TKp_5cbzU5pnj0_qiAI0ym0/s320/Picture+011.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[...and then pressed it into cream, and then, after adding some water, into milk.]</p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053660999377967938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBltg1ZgqEptbjUU7M6RI7BqUdB6YubD-iMPFaomD61RAPsdwzZGRFd0kx_6aWEe3ZLOJPms131-9uGj0aP5RdJ7RE9HgXJkdZ1i7LW4GmxQGJd_WQcrSzA2e28QJsyxSie_uyfErbnOI/s320/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" />[The Buddha at the market, for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Songkran</span> blessings.]</p><p><br />The cooking class itself was great! I made six dishes (including Green Curry, Pad Thai and Sticky Rice... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">mmmmm</span>). I also met a nice girl named Jackie (we bonded over our vegetarianism) who has suggested I look her up when I get to London. </p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053661003672935250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNg9oO0NxGrwomOdOLwjCuIouHvQFBwI47Iyb-qjpT3T5SS3MJ_HfSGOGRU8CdzLk5uRtkCG02kmLCmEnEFcExuOE2pCGp_rYABKJYX0dSv8CKNuMGXAdJLupFIGdYrcROgaVcn6ZgLzk/s320/Picture+013.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Yours Truly, cooking up a mean Pad Thai]</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053662116069464930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV18BZJl32dc19tuSmpplI0-lPjTBaPE3e1sxZBgiHc5HpWft-J8Sfd1F-c7k1_BIPM8WFQtAf36_PE33LfcbvFGjc6K2XEivM8IwzP2Zr9ooGLQBAfdY76XKVgB-e0HJZawTPsYbxx8Y/s320/Picture+014.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[The Green Curry didn't make it into a photo... I ate it too quickly.]</p><p><br />When I returned from class, and - bursting at the seams with self-made goodness - didn't really have the energy to do much at all. If it hadn't been for Barry coming in and out a couple of times, I would have been asleep by 8:30!<br /><br />Today - Sunday - I have spent leisurely day exploring the Day Markets (buying <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">mangosteen</span> [?] and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">rambutans</span>), and getting doused (but not as badly) by the locals. It seems they're calming down! There was also a bit of a procession down the main drag, with people all dressed up in traditional Thai outfits, brandishing banners for their hotels, day spas, etc. I would have taken photos, but was too concerned for the well-being of my camera!<br /><br />Tonight I hit the night markets, and tomorrow it's off to Elephant Nature Park for my week of volunteering! Can't wait! </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053662120364432242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK16muqmnkwi-Enj1BFT730dVywcaOuJFwvwlXsx4nQthPTfI-xrQYJ70Fmfb3FpjAsTuA0Vr2R5F0wz7rbG4wVpiCBEq1lhJGEX1yudp4K_kQ5NK-U616HBnnLBIlzeV9clWNMdMTZQ/s320/Picture+016.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053662124659399554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyObHQUooZZHVa-taipFxXCh7ecxam_SE2ORAGhgp_ZQpxa6rMnnOVfxtkQW4O95Fq6HgoXHulLFkLz6Ux6h_kUQfj5gy0_5QWkifOqBHjAdEcuPlM9jtmJSAt07hW3x3XHIUcg6_J_BM/s320/Picture+017.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Night Markets]</p><p><br />Oh - and Mike, if you're reading this - I just stumbled across good old Mike's Hamburgers (Converting Vegetarians Since 1979). Too funny...<br /><br /></p><br />P.S. As per <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Gemma's</span> suggestion, I've updated my settings so now <em>anyone</em> can comment on my blogs.Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-77088978845562487902007-04-12T00:03:00.000-07:002007-04-12T01:44:46.017-07:00Ko Phi PhiIt's been a while since my last update, so this is going to be a long one...<br /><br />Getting up at the crack of dawn proved unsuccessful (and rather pointless, in the end) in acquiring me a ferry ticket to the Phi Phi islands. In the end, I bought my ticket at the hostel information desk, and - after a two hour wait where I took advantage of the hostel's free <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">internet</span>, and sampled some local delicacies (basically donuts) for breakfast - I was off to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ko</span> Phi Phi.<br /><br /><div><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052449195830237314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHACOu0JFQVC_jV5EKpHvSEJ354c2-0EvOHiG54Qu_Vby1lm8nCEBTEEKqJzPgOEprVzCSbhvKrtr3VpV6jBjPVvZn4-K3ZkBysCgKWAABe70DN7ZAzAbhT84XiA2UTgL4oLckRKdG2vI/s320/Picture+001.jpg" border="0" /><br />Arriving at the ferry terminal on Phi Phi Don (the largest and most touristy of the Phi Phi islands), I was a little overwhelmed by the number of guesthouses on offer, and a little unimpressed with their prices. I eventually took the advice of a man trying to convince me to do a diving trip to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Similans</span> (again!), and headed towards The Rock backpackers. The man at the dive shop was - randomly - from Forster!<br /><br />Compared to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Phuket</span> Backpackers (which I highly re;commend), The Rock was, for lack of a better expression, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">shithole</span>. Dirty, dirty showers, smelly toilets and no pillow!<br /><br />Once I'd ditched my backpack, I headed out to explore my surroundings. I was buying some watermelon from a stall outside the hostel when - lo and behold - I ran into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Jorgen</span> and Christian! And so began my Thai-Norwegian experience.<br /><br />The rest of the afternoon was spent at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Lohdalam</span> Beach with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Jorgen</span>, Christian and their friends, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Anja</span> and Mathilde. They were all lying in the sun (as the boys said - competing for the title of "Tan Man 2007" when they returned home to chilly Norway), while I - being the Slip Slop Slap-happy Aussie I am - bathed myself in sunscreen and sat under a beach umbrella. Despite the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">scores</span> of tourists, it was a beautiful beach, with a spectacular view from my shady hideaway. </div><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052449200125204626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGTGYphTzpnxI6ewruMgWzSPCP0HvcBn9sJ3sYvC2x5vhpg0aovTd53SL_Sdi4oT_bBLvLnORF0C2bEHjo3-D_fVB5vV_FnT5-gRpQOEMA8A85qhoRgF5ChUGrHezL-C2Ls32H_ewmyg/s320/Picture+002.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052449204420171938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRyW0ZvK3iNrTYWxDj_ledPMV8sjKKAqSbGb7aXQEvBmuMtuuPqG8WSFCvkNtbsWQhbadxT15Zs6LPVHW4OiFLGAsZarQpx84IEHjnX-k8fIZEq3M_iGYHvq9zTNeJFU6adMX0cvuvjI/s320/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052449208715139250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdP-hK963yr0YK13SxFis4GqAiScu5xnn0L50Ct6BWcjOnZMESWTgIARRExrhknBdW28MpwdFvtF6NIo1GDIWPHhgor1onF6Fm9udWYPsB5ki4N0rbY4vDPio1nQeJ8U76ooXCBd7mf6s/s320/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /><br />While the others went to buy plane tickets for their return to Bangkok, I went and showered (dirty, dirty), and met up with them later at their beautiful bungalows. We had dinner at a restaurant by the beach, and then sat on mats on the sand, watching fire twirling and drinking "buckets" (300<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">mL</span> of Thai whisky, coke and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">redbull</span> in a bucket with straws). A number of buckets later, and things started to get a little fuzzy (but the number of photos I took seemingly increased!). </div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052449213010106562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIHL07199dNqWOr1rn8aJ_x8R8tzG1evXoKH1Q3atD8_jRkJMjpUs-oyl3_PWz4HUNFM-PYXgAFf_jKZrXaMANk8YpkQaB01aJqt_pmyRDJcQdb2hiNoFbPCpSsYtFJve58G2n2m6Fvo/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">[Anja, Jorgen, Mathilde and Christian] </p><div><br /></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052450067708598482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHnpgO1a5TQm5vpUl4LxnXEBsL3NBokLw5u8gqJuhXXuWNsj4gNyp8HyTP1KFnU63gmFCZ6bpapG_4NfP7PKbAeFuVCRg3vL_forMVTEYSUiUXDmQ_HI2tj6JwGJsdJSX7d81hzdLmS0/s320/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052450072003565794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0rjh-uinEsc1XqVkYEZIKoq8KlVYtJNI39_bwrZaLc-WfU-zg4mzSwFl30eCG88XS1GAyN8wFWF4Ghpo4fBFsoK7QMi2fNtj-i3xBG6YBYuVbdbFd5tDbmh_d-Vkmg7IjJJkyyAV3yqQ/s320/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052450076298533106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDx5GWpb5xDSRKzmRR9KCRLVzZXljKW_no5xImrDiJHjmf6vStr7abNEVE6f-AfAX522oGSiVHUQIi7dk5E21f5Af_eQtctv5idui-1_Ua9Qml-4zEiB8Fs5aNpTwNyQeS1wjS1MI094/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052450080593500418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_34k4RMcf_7CAN9NY5ByvKFq0y__WFdG5_UXCNRj29k2EBRk_P06E8QYyMcKyNOkOknARSXZPCuK8VZ-UEoikQriQPTqqdef-K69NKONNZzJqYw0icoRRBvkOmfx7VOzaNS3FCnhpJ8/s320/Picture+009.jpg" border="0" /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052451072730945826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy23KaC_LGwnnk7GyPJomE-StW8JF-ah5j0c1-FM4fnxoys7Keg3H57SYTYeB-m9zLKVLRnix43dMm7hVQY_UY0F80-a1-Kw9cT33ZZ8sXVbzY_f3dcaXYkq3lCtdOBDe0CEUzWPPqmRU/s320/Picture+011.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052451081320880434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICUhIXr6Y1oSFLjbT0CWSR6L2QxaWZmOG0fNZaKuSIQGKOqoLPBYxM9K6OPGC_sPtIGoraUQ_UH0BDICn5v7vTVo2iahn79TTP9oO3w-RyKoX-NLz5R2Rb7grn5oxLLD5Y4zfXkdL4n4/s320/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="left">The next day, feeling a little worse for wear, I met up with the others again and got in contact with some guys we'd met the night before who'd told us they were sailing to Maya Bay (from "The Beach") that night and that for 1500 Baht we could join them. It sounded a little dodgy, but we met up with them and things seemed legit... We waited all day for them to decide when to leave, and then at 5pm they pulled the plug. It seems we weren't the "party crowd" they were looking for - they were waiting for some Swedish girls to go with them the next day. I was pretty unimpressed, but the five of us made the most of the rest of our day, and took a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">longtail</span> boat to a monkey beach (where Christian saved Mathilde's camera from a quick-fingered little critter), and then to Phi Phi <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Ley</span> and Maya Bay - just on sunset. Trying to barter with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">longtail</span> boat driver proved entertaining in itself. He kept talking about "him" - it turns <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">ou</span> there is a guy who lives at Maya Bay (which has no hotels, but is extremely popular thanks to good old Leo Di <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Caprio</span>), who charges 200 Baht per person just to step onto the beach. So we agreed just to sail on by and leave "Him" be. The others "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">scolled</span>" with some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Singha</span> beer (I was still not feeling up to it) as our boat bobbed about in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Adaman</span> Sea, and the sun dropped below the horizon. A gorgeous end to the day. </p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052451089910815058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeG2ko8qePbQuPsVxSpz6TA-yv19s6TXx-5EpwBuN26Gn8ruzoBS_UvrkuaeQGj5hISnRHMwzd7q99MQfXwkx-L8bqDp3_OhytoJp3NA4cDievHtIQjIS1ZTe1inMUXr0TauLw-sV5Mo/s320/Picture+014.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[look at the cute little monkey drinking the water!]</p></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052451094205782370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJBcs3ev0JQOFUl6Mr9m8ZY_eWCdZSQEdC8a3usjt__IbuOv6GMCfphPFJ1xNPvam7VvaSK6l6cBsIFcrbaDV6Lhvi0Tuy2KPgMmrzoRKDcHkg2qmMHLE9BIBlhUDavMPWdjcsNBfT-M/s320/Picture+015.jpg" border="0" />[Bad Pun Alert: Now that's what I call a "Sea Monkey"]</p><p align="center"> </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052454031963413010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjredjnKSnjDv9RwjNaIY8X0yKF5P9CgWzIOxZvwE6vnLTIFAESb1e4QqDyZxpN1wgXdNREuAuuyzSe6DD-g-MwiSJEVPgLTxVv9lwglocwRqlOvjoph-dbNa5XavbCXaXAB62VCZIP6uY/s320/Picture+026.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052452107818064242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolz6G4ZWl53kw8B7D0f0zb2qWLON9I4KCTAWPLsCg2B-IaxIZHYA6Cbj_Mj-K5QFaKQ3CRx5YI-Y1zJdHfVqT_uQVNnm8a3yX7NnUi8dbDvIZ9MluCpvgLH0HzzgS8FR-31GvDibK5_g/s320/Picture+016.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center">[Phi Phi Ley]<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052452112113031554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTjfKBx3YYPylxyUoaWiaa6HgjIbJ6ujJOS2kMyFsjwhekHyCvEO3AHBaEsqxRiCy0EsLWW-oJg4JkMPP0AFas4FgQ_E4NFA-k9IhKFBiDVOciacDJhOazZJ28jQQGAMryck9PEbpkaw/s320/Picture+017.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052452116407998866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTfNY67gQsy6tyN4nI3FCqjiFx3cVWA0D2JIEjdMECcFc6CoLkno6OSqrOHO6mSG4saRJWQhn4ZLb4cxrCWO_cmMEb0jXoR07_YxehjOeN2MWCMb3d_YGqNB6SdAYX3nQ_I2y01QdzBZ0/s320/Picture+018.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Maya Bay]</p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052452120702966178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zplrbLM85K8GrAKobTlKwW_T-Bjv2u35zF5eKSF2stmcgH3BdbT3h2WwDAVRTjGNaPwlOnAx0IbrzlcB9jL7khGwSQCXPiDyLEa71cFvY-AwQXh0EHy274DyBxdfMqnepn4wQdteUFU/s320/Picture+019.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left">We had dinner at a cute little garden restaurant, then the boys went to use the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">internet</span> and the girls got pedicures. I am saving my pampering for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Chiang</span> Mai, so opted out. I had got a hotel room with the girls, and by 10pm - just as the heaviest rain I've heard in a long time started to fall - we were all deep asleep.<br /><br />Easter Monday was again spent at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Lohdalam</span> Beach, after we booked ferry tickets to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Nang</span> (on the mainland). I wandered off to call home at one stage, but had a very bad connection, so only spoke to Dad briefly.<br /><br />Around 2:30, we went to get our backpacks. I'd left mine at The Rock, and when I went to get it, I ran into Daniel Smith - one of the temps from Law Staff. I would make a Monty Python reference, but we were on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Ko</span> Phi Phi, which is Tourist Central.<br /><br />The five of us took the ferry to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Nang</span> and then a very bumpy (and wet!) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">longtail</span> boat to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Rai</span> Lei beach. Poor Mathilde, who was sitting in the front seat, got soaked! We had dinner at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Rai</span> Lei and, just as the stars were coming out, and the thunder began to rumble on the horizon, we headed for Ton <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Sai</span> beach - the backpacker and rock climbing hang out. Now - this adventure deserves its own heading: </p><p align="left"> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>What I Will Do To Save 50 Baht</strong></span></p><div align="left">A <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">longtail</span> to Ton <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Sai</span> would have cost the five of us 250 Baht, but we'd been told that at low tide, we could easily walk around the headland. Ha! I don't know why, but I was surprisingly calm <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">throughout</span> the whole ordeal, but I did tell the others at one point "my mother would not approve of me doing this," to which Christian replied "that just makes it more fun!" I've got to say, though, that one of the scariest moments was when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Anja</span> started to panic, and refused to follow the others (through thigh-high water, mind you) around a corner. The boys were out of my sight, Mathilde was standing at the corner talking to both the boys and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Anja</span> (and holding our only torch), and I was standing there, having absolutely no idea what was being said (my Norwegian is worse than my Thai). After we arrived at Ton <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Sai</span> - only a few cuts between us (Thai rocks are <em>sharp</em>) - I told the boys that although I am a pacifist, I am extremely glad that Norway has <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">mandatory</span> army training for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">its</span> young men. Christian and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Jorgen</span> looked after we girls very well!<br /></div><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052452124997933490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklAc7ArNR3yEXvTUhF_ytPK9PQFS2Tqayq8pTlpDsTpnhs69d6250yrVW4kRJLdF9iFSQGIdZobWHfR_3nSMcD9KcLLyTSt3iR4QYCCJJNdMByA8XoZ3GqZVyHeGkqjRxo3R7LAQ2II8/s320/Picture+020.jpg" border="0" />[Before. Someone took an "after" photo, but I was too buggered!]</p><br /><p>We found a relatively cheap (and air-conditioned) bungalow to stay in, and after showering (and trying to was the small blood stain out o<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">f my</span> white fisherman's pants), we went to sit at the "Viking Bar" on the beach and watch some more fire-twirling. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Scoll</span>!<br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052453095660542402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzoPu-tTfelEfZCa4-SiE4KQnDAOTig_OHpVlBmvo-P5timKHWiOq0vFdzxdMzlXCFobK1bi46EYNa4R4XW_GUpNzwkVp_pdZoBZGHt-i6p_yKkrlqUB3xmY3HInV0FYN8W_bAmDlKP0/s320/Picture+021.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Hi-ho, hi-ho: It's Off To Bangkok I Go</strong></span><br /></div><div align="left"><br />What an ordeal! On Tuesday morning I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">ummed</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">ahhed</span> for quite some time before deciding to take the bust from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Nang</span> to Bangkok. I said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">goodby</span> to Christian, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Jorgen</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Anja</span> and Mathilde (who almost have me sold on visiting Norway), and sat at Ton <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">Sai</span> while they went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">Rai</span> Lei for the day. I emailed Ian and my parents (check out the view!) and spent a few hours swimming, reading a borrowed Lonely Planet and just enjoying the beautiful <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">Thai</span> islands for the last time. </div><div align="left"> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052453104250477010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDxlhom5kzPTauSahzIqh955ZxRiep4Fp9lQS5WdzKC2_iu6mkPBeQD_r1j0NjXE5NjXGRuqU8yTEsle1i2wVYmikNEAaTbZoqlf3nkIWpKG6zrBtPQXI-fgK_2ZAyP0PcKCLCbm-Pyk/s320/Picture+022.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052453108545444322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFHfHyIQs9bQHS8BnZcJBVF5vu2dIjlfXhyphenhyphen6rJqXFVJ-7PFXSg3jrqp1OB_EVAAYPPjcNK-WeuyE3XVon2RxPkf0weUvfJJnRCzYfHkfjCUMdGBHpqDiZRpHC8LjrKQibpbTdq-SAkuw/s320/Picture+023.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052453112840411634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNoSzeTn-Yrtc5G172fEWOOyK6Q4Xc7WOslmORM8Qw6j7i3o4n6bONE-SmSioFURKKgj7BOG4x62Me-nC30vS_3KlFrlO6d_Y_e5pR4h-wtBIN9gEZkxr_Nx00qXJb9W-OstugoIOPTYM/s320/Picture+024.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052453117135378946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijexwdmn57FKyieLnt5r83EnX13_w-e2PJ8XeCejDpQoPEjuMmKOFihqcwCVRHyKT0n3NPHYayB5J6TiKIDe6jCZZNCjjYJhgQ9NzKPYfTwU9Kr4W7ClLUMqxqxeotMuBix_BWckiGtMs/s320/Picture+025.jpg" border="0" /><br />At 1:30 I told the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">longtail</span> drivers (who were sitting around playing cards) that I was heading to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">Nang</span>. They wouldn't take me until they had another four passengers, or unless I was willing to pay 200 Baht (ha - they needed to hear about my adventure <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">th</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">e night</span> before). At 2:30 there were enough of us to go, and we headed towards <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59">Nang</span>. It was too choppy (or at least I think that's what "big wave" means) to stop at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61">Nang</span>, so we got off the boat at a very rocky, steep bank. Much better! I was directed by various <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62">people</span> to wait for a white 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63">WD</span> bus ("same same") which - I thought - would take me to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64">Ao</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65">Nang</span>. It was actually a bus service, which cost 50 Baht and took me to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_66">Krabi</span> bus station. It turned out that my bus company operated from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_67">Krabi</span> town, so I took a hurried taxi to the right bus station, only to discover the bus was leaving at 4:30 and not 4:00. Phew! I took a dodgy "shower" (splashed water on myself from the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_68">faucet</span> used to fill the "flush bucket") and changed (my swim suit smelled <em>terrible!</em>). The bus turned up right on time, and I couldn't help laughing at what it looked like:<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052454040553347634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-sBwGyXPcbXg-zOmrsrVTz0oP4Zm-KdyiWwYBH8LjKPqrO-pzU3Uzg18zQi3HZ2xZc2zD36590GHlcj6fSRrurTpyZG0PCZcFkshEhkX8Y61o9QiUbgD_epxWDnkka6YTOmOfmrYHjo/s320/Picture+028.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052454036258380322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeEfPk5TezqXe31jrmvG9P6tXQs6CRcVjXgQ2-ic6xW_OuzNcR0eiTje__PjlFEqLpRwVkRlI6X0AbT6Z_XhPokTGVEcvudxJzz78owZFRr1Lc63IkjkLLzQ40ucjKQsHfJ9-ZGsydN4/s320/Picture+027.jpg" border="0" /> [they <em>love </em>their King in Thailand]</div><br />Thirteen-and-a-half hours, two rest stops, one Pad Thai, two half-movies (the first half of "National Treasure" and the last half of "Master & Commander" - Nicholas Cage and Russell <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_69">Crowe</span> - oh joy), and very little sleep later, and I was in Bangkok!<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Wat Wat Wat!</span></strong></div><br />After a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_70">tuk</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_71">tuk</span> and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_72">skytrain</span> trip, I was at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_73">Saphan</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_74">Khwai</span> station, and called Ian to let him know I'd arrived. It was so nice to see a familiar face! He took me back to his flat ("past the temple, and the green building...") and we had breakfast before he left for work. I had another much-needed shower and did a big, stinky load of laundry. Then it was back to Bangkok!<br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455148654910050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_Y7Ldsc8wZUEq4LCm1hr_eKw7xa8B675M9SKOZAzoCpyGYGLPxSgkrrKyyeVP6SwYVlXS63-GbHy2cFu1x3DUuwINuT0YSPBB2v44WaSNL0ZN5_R-ookNjBcp4U9k09iDKDy8gfkEoI/s320/Picture+031.jpg" border="0" />[near Ian's "mansion"]</div><div align="center"> </div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455152949877362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9H-g3bNol6MT7myaGGEcwNNM6YN3lqk8DirVwD1pt1GeT1dHVAuuexhV1R1dD6is8J8QxXxIHaq0Q4PjbHiMPmmh_U8ARDV-eFpgH1cFM2-Xp1xGTYw6qUfNdAo9Isq0WowfevtHxRg/s320/Picture+032.jpg" border="0" />[view from his balcony]</p><p>Bangkok is deceptively <em>HUGE</em>! I looked at the map and figured that the walk from the Siam <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_75">skytrain</span> station to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_76">Hua</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_77">Lamphong</span> train station would take maybe 20 minutes. After I asked two people for directions, and they both told me "two hour!" I decided to take the bus, and am so glad I did! I'm also going to be all the more patient with any foreign travellers I meet in Australia from now on - not speaking the language is <strong><em>hard</em></strong>!<br /><br />At <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_78">Hua</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_79">Lamphong</span> I was told to come back the following day and hope for a cancellation. A number of other travel agencies later, and I was starting to worry. The Thai New Year (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_80">Songkran</span>) is 13-16 April, and it seems that every man, his dog, and his bus driver are heading to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_81">Chiang</span> Mai at exactly the same time as I am! I decided not to worry (well, perhaps worry, but not panic - yet) and try and enjoy Bangkok.<br /><br />I went to Wat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_82">Pho</span> and saw the <em>enormous </em>and beautifully intricate reclining Buddha and wandered past the Grand Palace and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_83">various</span> other <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_84">Wats</span>, on my way to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_85">Khao</span> San Road. I figured that if anywhere would have travel agencies, Bangkok's famous backpacker mecca would be the place to go. It turns out I was wrong. An irritating <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_86">tuk</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_87">tuk</span> ride later (yes, I got sucked into going to a jewellery store, but grumpily refused to buy anything), and all I wanted to do was go back to Ian's. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052454044848314946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8UrJqLsoHC8_Prq1VwsWTBgtZkfhjb0s4SfHHvjv1UsmrmU9GtL1HknccBvD1SM-3Ox_vGYJRcquUWZhoeXV5jHpw8PQxJm2FOhM2ll1Z2P-CYL07zeBbhz4ape2yoSRkMQYumLhyphenhyphen-aQ/s320/Picture+029.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052454049143282258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PsKDFTf8E7D1Q3yj6I9t6T5qljgAuAKLmM3jjZIGnRtLrZO8IQNBbxLRIVO8kGjI1cnoYEnobhy3qWbo-ab7qeCulzWPXr8oj2JlR_DLMCUe-8QYzpAESn_ffTf53BwtJNn-1CfCm80/s320/Picture+030.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">[big Buddha = big toes!]</p><p>I've got to say that although the temples are beautiful, and some of the people are very friendly, I kind of understand why people who only come to Bangkok don't like Thailand. Yes, I was tired from my bus trip, but I was just so sick of saying "no" to taxis and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_88">tuk</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_89">tuks</span> by the end of the day!<br /><br />Ian came home at around 7pm and we went out for a very tradition evening in Bangkok - Indian for dinner followed by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_90">ice cream</span> from the "Temple of Consumerism" (a huge local mall) at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_91">Swensen's</span> - "America's favourite <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_92">ice cream</span>." And I'd thought I was full after the Indian! I look forward to hearing about Ian's attempt to tackle the "Earthquake!"<br /><br />We returned to Ian's flat, took some photos and then went to bed. I was so tired, I couldn't have been the greatest company, and poor Ian insisted on sleeping on the floor!<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455157244844674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9US-12Y9YkJCIbfrzfpyC96Jn996Q4rRzxaYv642P7M-jTJiI60L_QmkbQuvhgGy0WQO5jfPYaWomEcyNrqHQhOOO3lOcVNgDUrZYPW8Sj6vsMPmsBtAwiCnm2_56KIkfdMt6K5r5AE/s320/Picture+033.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455165834779282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQ022aUtxD-QCgh1_JESkSoLaoAcQc9WDve_EqQiEwWbWqRpLmbeiMVqbTX07j-6BtOYRBAtmk_ZmWJV6KqETCHEtWxjs3EeeprUl0qBhtEFOztcgX6U2S5qe10aVskIWDvPrdLewCqs/s320/Picture+034.jpg" border="0" /><br />After another fantastic breakfast (such great fruit), I said a tentative goodbye to Ian on Thursday morning (I was optimistic about finding a train ticket), and headed back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_93">Hua</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_94">Lamphong</span>. This time I took the subway - so, so much easier than taking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_95">the</span> bus (or walking - ha!).<br /><br />When the same man who'd told me to come back the next day produced a train ticket for me, I declared my love for him and handed over the far-more-than-it's-worth-but-at-this-stage-I'd-sell-a-kidney Baht. I left my big backpack at the station and then went to find Wat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_96">Traimit</span>. It was closed, but even without seeing the world's biggest gold Buddha, the building was still beautiful on the outside.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455170129746594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8AvRlVZyK7BLZRQAKJsx6dfKl3w3euBNjFicvLEOHF6VXPJ_N7fYTVPhx_M2ILD6NjvVJZbBlkTzXRasfsyxbdxzXelsP7nyHRZg-tN_uC9NTc_5usbSXyFWeCSmyxCGUIU2VYDClZw/s320/Picture+035.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[outside Wat Traimit]</p><p><br />I walked and walked (with hours to burn before my 6pm train) and eventually had to ask for directions back to the train station. My sense of direction is <em>terrible</em>!).<br /><br />I then sat around at the station for a while, enjoying the festivities. People wearing yellow t-shirts were everywhere (yellow is apparently the colour for people born on Monday - like the King - and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_97">everyone's</span> wearing yellow to celebrate the New Year). </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052455427827784370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2QMjrP1fvnAimPEnnb4acbwdqRK7weooJTpeBsiGQN6tSxQrH6Z06IAMep2trQIDt15q9SVOKHxcjvMfh_PqT5KX-eVdSTPqZfcYyFekxwgKbcGJ0G7fk7XaYaBc3K-XYgY2xR7loJ0/s320/Picture+036.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[Hau Lamphong station - water blessings and Thai dancers... presumably not part of a typical day's commute!]</p><p><br />And now, I'm at an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_98">internet</span> cafe, still waiting for my train... It is now almost 3pm, so only another 3 hours to go. I will just have to find a nice Pad Thai or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_99">laksa</span> somewhere to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_100">wile</span> away the rest of the afternoon. Woe is me. ;)</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-33377418872693861972007-04-06T07:54:00.000-07:002007-04-06T09:46:09.356-07:00Part 2: Diving - Similan Islands.<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEizXZy1TvlrHaeLtbJTTDXl4Yx9LkRg7I8hOreomm4cYFA7eQnYRfCPA5Bz_bquFJVIWlQsnAKj_aikokB6gQQaR_oK_DPTf1Bh2OGw0jtwlBx7LFhTlwkRMrVpmEK18Gm7ZBtPC00k/s1600-h/Phuket+(33).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050350607369578850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEizXZy1TvlrHaeLtbJTTDXl4Yx9LkRg7I8hOreomm4cYFA7eQnYRfCPA5Bz_bquFJVIWlQsnAKj_aikokB6gQQaR_oK_DPTf1Bh2OGw0jtwlBx7LFhTlwkRMrVpmEK18Gm7ZBtPC00k/s320/Phuket+(33).jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">I'm completely buggered, but have to write this now before I forget all the exciting things that have happened in the last couple of days.<br /><br />When I last left you, everything was going swimmingly... Then I went to try and exchange my $AUD100 into Baht, and found that all the banks closed at 3:30. So I went to an ATM and tried to withdraw money from my credit card. But it seems I don't actually know my PIN. After a good three hours of panic, and quite the Catch-22 of not having any money to make an international phonecall to Virgin, but desperately needing to speak to someone so that I could get some money, I managed to sort it out by dipping into my Euros. I hate to think about how much it cost me to convert them into Baht, but I now have more than $10 to my name and am a happy chappy. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">I could go into much greater detail about my dive trip, but let's just say that it was fan-bloody-tastic. The first day was a long one - I woke up at 5:30 to be ready in time to be picked up by the mini-van from Hell (not really, but Thais really know how to work those overtaking lanes!). Once we were on the boat (it took about 4 hours to get to the main dive boat all in all), I was buddied-up with an English-Pakistani named Ferkahn, who, having been schooled at international schools all over the world, sounded American. Oh the confusion. I was in a group with Ferkahn, and a very cute older couple - a Swedish bloke named Gunnar and his very sweet young Thai wife, Som Khit. Ferkahn was only there for the day (two dives rather than four), so for most of my dives, it was just the four of us - Gunnar, Som Khit, myself and our divemaster, Thomas.<br /><br />Now, it has to be said that there is something undeniably sexy about divemasters in general - tanned, athletic people who spend their days floating around with the fishes. But throw in the fact that Thomas was French, and had gorgeous curly, dark hair and you've got yourself one besotted young Aussie. I didn't mind being buddy-less one little bit. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050351101290817922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGBgCELfqoEItlyGDRq7vBGYwrry5lz2mikXKRSnFk9dgVWgbJyR0V54bMnrHYbAhLtRcglpL4OLi5ARwXgf0vSn-WKV4P7iixTBOUoxmW38LbIe0tvJ3FWccsPATZD7Hq99AOqqHaKg/s320/Phuket+(36).jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">[stalking Thomas from above]</p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050347441978681618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqjOO6-xFlBi5dRmIzSzulIvuLGC7D738uYfEVkFrgwKnTXi8VuHwZEDv7KhFSbKIKO5ljRXvKJt41z1YJ_k8_cpgHZK1O6DxR7sdzQpxjcj2ypDF2l3urZDYzZFKOPEKuJHxRQBlaKY/s320/Phuket+(5).jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[the view from the back of the boat on my first day]</p><p><br />The four of us did three dives together, and saw all kinds of amazing tropical fish - none of which I know the names of. We spent quite a bit of time bobbing up and down in the water, waiting for the dinghy to come and pick us up, and looking at the islands which surrounded us, I couldn't help thinking "wow - I'm really, really not in Australia anymore." It was just beautiful - picturesque, cliched Thailand. To make things even more exciting, while we were sitting on the boat just on dusk, a humpback whale decided to put on a small show. On my second day aboard, around eight dolphins swam alongside the boat for a good 15 minutes. And on the third day, a turtle did laps around the boat. And yes, I'm completely showing off. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050351668226501026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIZpHIC5xEt86PTRFuTXOCpKVBtP6yU5mskmGqrcngXUglCa9kueLVP-9xDz4SQjG3US1DbX8G9VSvvQ7-bDj-KBZh4xyrVA7R44gwDcSpxcCfbwphWsfL7Jmplvoidp1tSThSvaupww/s320/Phuket+(38).jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><p>The days on the South Siam III are set out so that there is one dive pre-breakfast (around 7am), another just after the speed boat full of newbies turns up (around 10am), one mid-afternoon (2ish), another afternoon dive just before sunset, and then a night dive at around 7pm. We were limited to four dives a day, and so to make my first day worthwhile, I was forced to do the night dive. It wasn't nearly as scary as I remembered it being up at the Great Barrier Reef. The most dangerous thing I encountered was the backwards roll off the dinghy, where we were supposed to go in pairs (Som Khit didn't want to come, so Gunnar and I were buddies). All of a sudden the three men sitting on my side of the boat just rolled in together, leaving me to attempt - rather unsuccessfully - to out-weigh the four men sitting on the other side of the boat in order to avoid capsize. I think it was only avoided because the two randoms on the other side (not Gunnar and Thomas) followed soon after their buddies. It ended up being a really nice dive, and I'm so glad I did it. I conquered a my fears and learned how to do a commando-roll off a rubber dinghy. </p><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050351389053626770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYQDVhIqth362TvRqgfDPy64DlpqVqMS1tuY54OCCTgK-88STmGdpWnYpZ6qDfrEYWXln8wmKU2Oo6MSs3ma7uS17AEp_RFaM38_fN8ANYKKVPFkH6k1kCOlr1tFSoTZdSkgn_ltemSk/s320/Phuket+(37).jpg" border="0" /><br />[dinghy - and check out the kid with the beanie!]</p><p>My roommate on the first night was a girl originally from Perth, but currently living in London, named Fiona. She wasn't actually diving, and had spent the previous three days just swanning around on the boat, and snorkeling once in a while. I'd go crazy watching everyone else diving and not joining in, but to each their own.<br /><br />On day two, I attempted (yet again) to tick off an item from the "Must Do At Some Point In Your Life" list, and was up at the crack of dawn to take photos of the sun rising over the ocean, planning to also take photos of the sunset. Let's just say that it is still on the "Must Do" list. Damn island. </p><p align="center"><br />[sunrise] </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050348867907823906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkbYASphPDRQsoBppa1JfXd0RahqgQYmSH7u1ue1efWMQ4B6YxnR7tgGLWQTseqISZ-3I6CGklXpHKbTBbe3Jxp6cqyWNKcJd9rOHmEBo-xbL1uXXMBAQ_xAgbNY1xL1rKgj12V7ayto/s320/Phuket+(24).jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050349112720959794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLYN4nUe3tDPQ1j-MAQTkQt7-33E-xqb3wDnyTKrzJvqw_EBbaAhOXCjr_j2SdhiCyYdWiJzfoOEYFPn27vKmPjTuEgFNqWxyX72ymK9DHmumtWgqspnoQ1ON3Jnqldq1KDqpn6giVos/s320/Phuket+(26).jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">[sunset]<br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050349516447885634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLoCDEbMadA-6gUkJX6PvVpAJi4WzoQKRP06d1SYorcCPrhJD9BsufTKL4wWSi0txwQj8v-Ctm9IwTB2IS_uonOvjoaTDtmBLFQnkIkzKMGSPn_S7zOE2bRgfuXdSoRozjkWCstSkp5k/s320/Phuket+(6).jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050349744081152338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia81B2kyM0JCIou36i8Vm9BCrbWHZegmpqrS1MYn2J2M102X7yNp_-Hf5Dv_SfkNukBzyaWSZGqtgR8yGNlvQmFPWPbdRjHbXN3UjV4HaY-92xEaXOhl8w56hrHUwzluPpVRh2dYtC3WE/s320/Phuket+(7).jpg" border="0" /><br />The most awkward moment on board followed soon after my early-morning photography expedition. I got chatting to Steve - an American currently serving in the military in Kuwait. The conversation could have gone sour due to any anti-war comments I might have made (but didn't). At some point - and I don't know how the conversation got there, and I sure as heck didn't know how to change the subject once it did - turned to how many times he'd hit a woman. Turns out he'd knocked out his first wife's front teeth, and his second wife had "asked him" to hit her. He then told me that he got really annoyed by the head divemaster's English accent, and that his current girlfriend - a Thai girl - annoyed him quite a bit, too. I politely tried to avoid him for the rest of the trip. </p><p>For the last dive on day two, I had to change groups as Thomas, Gunnar and Som Khit had headed back to Phuket. I was - again - buddy-less, but by now quite used to it. My new group consisted of a really sweet Thai divemaster named Pui, and two Norwegian guys - Christien and Jorgen. They turned out to be a lot of fun, and I hope to keep in contact with them.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050351921629571506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIEJT2G57ycNin99N7e79GGsdH7xuXEv2RnrKGIBO-hOOlIMm6zClDK-N5unyjWW0jicJ7BVTALH7ZSM9ygZTRICZkmYeDbxduS-_CmzMOwQsugt2MCMU_k2f1skYTrJHPyRQg2KDdP8/s320/Phuket+(40).jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">[me, Jorgen and Christien]</p><p align="left">The second day also heralded the arrival of the Korean Group (aka "Team Korea"). I'm not too sure whether their divemaster (who had come along with the group) spoke any English, but when the head divemaster, John, asked if he understood his directions, the Korean divemaster would nod and say "yes, yes," but then something would go a little haywire. For instance, there was the random Korean diver who got separated from his group and seemed happy to bob along with us for a while before merrily going off on his own, and the night divers who somehow ascended about 10m from their divemaster. But they were a great group of people to have on board - I've never been complimented quite as regularly ("velly beautiful") or forced (and I mean <em>forced</em>) to have my photo taken. </p><div align="left">I'm trying to recall all the fish we saw, but it's nearing 11pm and, having got up at 6am and done three dives, I'm spent. Highlights (the ones I can remember right now, without having to dig out my logbook to find them): trumpetfish, clownfish, three moray eels (one named Emma who apparently took a divemaster's thumb off a few years ago), a leopard shark, and tonnes of those fancy yellow, black and white striped fish (I'm hopeless with names). I took a bunch of photos with my dodgy disposable camera, but Jorgan had a digital and will hopefully email me some photos in the next few weeks.</div><p>Oh - and I have to share this. I went to the night markets here in Phuket town (my hostel is about 1/2 a block from them), and was seemingly the only anglo there. I was determined to try something new, so went up to a fruit seller and, pointing to a fruit I didn't recognise, asked "how much?" I think she said it was called something like "da," but I'm not too sure. She insisted on giving me two of them, and refused to take my money. I got shivers, even if it is 30+ degrees outside. I know I'm such a girl, but it was just a gorgeous moment, and it's made me even happier to be here.<br /></p><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050346999597050114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDBTus-6oqRBdrO3ubxHpg8dkM_cQ22kwU3M5iSYnyS4Dp8WRc-pMbzGf0byIK1L4xPGLRLSERKA5cRRJ682lvF0NxQVbIYUJ9b-CubfZKMAkAn3iYTz-LeLZxISbw5j0L8pHiHdPBx8/s320/Phuket+(2).jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">[markets by day]</div><p> </p><p>It's off to bed for this little chooken. I will be sleeping soundly tonight, missing (and still slightly feeling) the relaxing rocking to sleep that I've had the last two nights.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050350843592780146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTbbIL1oyGDyoIHcmhJS3_JIPm1JAZHdtQQwc2xbE-ZvNYrFB2QNOouotrLNEUNkp1kDteleKa-jWODz1BpgtiVbZouWJtTOPqEuILvofzXnJb46AeQMayYRM2qsrnKenDVHpqh8Nbes/s320/Phuket+(32).jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[view from my cabin on the boat]</p><p align="center"></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050352278111857090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXgyHeQ8usAN1qUjexNSJD64COjjHK-nJfT7bavXjPN1YaiftSfz1j0uw7HsAPut_CdqyDuMz66OSmXgG0uK3uwHu8k-PeZ4pPYZRZkCAvjHNGXu4rK2wL03bIySq3S1CJeeMnNZBla6g/s320/Phuket+(43).jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">[view from my room tonight]</p>Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863431954086360993.post-14795167117785168792007-04-03T01:33:00.001-07:002007-04-06T09:53:07.225-07:00The first installment: PhuketI've not even been in the country 24 hours, but just so Mum and Dad know I'm still alive, and so that Gemma can play around with her BrisVegas blog some more, I thought I'd better actually post something on this darn site!<br /><br />The getting-to-airport/flight bit was pretty boring. Continuing the tradition of years gone by, Emily met me at good ol' Kingsford Smith and saw me off on yet another adventure - thanks Em, love ya!<br /><br />When my backpack finally came off the conveyer belt at Phuket airport, it was covered in some white powder, but as it was on the <em>outside</em>, it was clearly someone else's stash.<br /><br />After some confusion at the airport as to which form of transport was best to get to my hostel (mainly due to my initial mantra of "everyone's trying to rip me off"), I was pointed towards a minivan and then expected to hold on for dear life. Kidding. We did, however, overtake an ambulance at one stage, which was pretty impressive.<br /><br />At the hostel, a really sweet Thai girl who reminds me a lot of Kae checked me in, and then a girl who must've been about Kim's size tried to pick up my 17kg backpack (yes, Pel, I overpacked). I tried to grab it off her, saying "no, no, you're tiny!" to which she just gave me a determined stare. I eventually got her to let me carry it up to my room, which I'm sharing with a nice Canadian girl named Caitlin (two single beds in the one room - most impressive for only $7 a night!).<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050358643253389842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OJ4-s3VPsIAIwf7T1E963IfPTL5rjnEEEzraqqTMOo_AHVlX8i8nBT2MfgC2dmHoxDAkic2oSWNGfe8SLrJVZwykhBAjOT3wYJml_fNvHb0YKJ8gND31hFOjM3zmbBRuRr-htaqmoRs/s320/Phuket+(4).jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050358638958422530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgttm-UEZrsdZ1Vcc2K5MhE2wpa686T7i_jyudQIFiZ_KxRptezBWmklI7qTt-PJfob5qI3BiIPGpMvvC5PMRb4tptTpQmCUP-KezpWOBXjZ1xyaIAduZveI4wRVMTdb0WDb8XmQX7R2tk/s320/Phuket+(3).jpg" border="0" /><br />Around 3am there was an almighty thunderstorm. Someone forgot to tell me Thailand is about to go into it's wet season. But the clouds had thinned out a little by this morning, and I was woken at 6am by the neighbours' rooster, just in time to see the sun rise through the palm trees.<br /><br />Things then got rather interesting. It's a little bit too-much-information, but I think it's just too funny not to share. I desperately needed to use the ladies', but as the toilet was in the same little room as the shower, there was no toilet paper. That makes sense. But there was no toilet paper to be found in any of the three toilets on the three floors I looked into. Even the mens'. Luckily, as per Emily's suggestion, I'd stolen a big handful of tissues from the plane, so the crisis was averted. After I was showered and dressed, I went downstairs where the nice girl hehind the counter served me breakfast. She popped a cup of coffee in front of me, then cooked me two pieces of toast (very traditional Thai fare) and disappeared for a few seconds before coming back with the napkins. Or her version of a napkin. A roll of toilet paper. I had to try really hard not to laugh out loud!<br /><br />Having not brushed my teeth the night before (for fear of tap water and fear of going out to find a 7 Eleven at night in an unfamiliar place in the middle of woop woop), first order for the day was to find some bottled water! I then wandered up to Wat Chalong, the nearby temple, where there were a number of monks praying - including a little boy who couldn't have been more than 10. He was very cute in his saffron robes. After popping back to the hostel to brush my teeth, I headed off to find the office of the company that I'm diving with tomorrow. Being the confused lass that I was (and will continue to be in respect to public transport around here), I walked for a good 40 mins down the road before biting the bullet and waving down a tuk tuk. My pointing to a piece of paper with an address on it and gesticulating "scuba diving" obviously didn't get the point across quite as clearly as I'd intended, and the driver ended up dropping me at a different dive shop. So I walked, again.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050358617483586002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrp8Q-P3t42xV4nanr76Oi9vJhmCjvUuxMiHMynh2YnZpdZLUjT6CzpO8MjE8dn16ji2wHfV1RLjtNx_YhX04L5_obev4IG1PlWx0FqtPdT79X5DuWgl_2RuwpGa04xJahAVTHRzZeJOU/s320/Phuket+(44).jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050358626073520610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXE1japZL6k11IxCmTCCvUcp94j5Xtss5vtfHy4oohQPxEaT6hL6SY3DCYqcLBK2PVSveL_bZCLMwXZje7KZhTgg7BieEjtcp06Kur_5riz9eGThN917xc-K1d0rjZwOU-jsim_Z9fXGQ/s320/Phuket+(46).jpg" border="0" /><div align="center">[Wat Chalong]</div><br /><br />When I got to the dive shop, I tried on fins, a BCD, a mask and a shortie wetsuit, and each time, the first item I tried on fitted perfectly. So, alas, my walking had been somewhat pointless, but at least tonight I can sleep soundly knowing that when I turn up at the boat tomorrow, I won't be expected to squeeze into an il-fitting wetsuit, or have a leaky mask.<br /><br />I conquered the buses (well, one stopped near where the dive shop was and I jumped on, hoping I was doing the right thing), and am now in Phuket Town. I just had a delicious lunch of Pad Thai at the local fruit market, made on a cart attached to the side of a motorbike. The lady cooking it was just lovely, and put up with my sad attempts to pronounce "vegetarian" in Thai.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050358630368487922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7smJO6G30_0bEAqioJLhuWuYJ2GVY3HvvdatHL4D3DqsZsVCwiiOVrVcoUgsllJHb7IceUK6QQU2XjDUG-Gx1IoWKA0yIdzjBWV7akIffAWEVT_0fYTrTBAQbW5zxOp3wFHDzksbtvZ4/s320/Phuket+(1).jpg" border="0" /><p align="center">[my Tuesday: lots of walking, blisters, and my first real Thai food!]<br /></p><br />So - I'm safe, I'm well fed, I'm still a little confused about the buses, but am enjoying myself immensely and looking forward to swimming with lots of fishes from tomorrow.<br /><br />Next update probably not til the weekend at the earliest, as I will be at sea until Friday night. And from there, I think I'm off to the Phi Phi islands and then Krabi. Any recommendations from those who've been there before will be most appreciated!Tami Pokehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04171090663200626599noreply@blogger.com3