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Greetings from …the beach

It was in Paihia that I began to feel old. The hostel was filled with 18 and 19 year-olds, excited about being out on their first big adventure, while this granddad was finding New Zealand relatively tame…

In keeping with my advanced age I thought I would have a sedate, relaxed day. I had great plans for it to be a cultural day, a stroll to the next town to view the place where the treaty of Waitangi was signed. Possibly even a visit to a museum…

Who am I kidding? Along the road to Waitangi there was a much more fascinating prospect – mini-golf, billed as the most difficult mini-golf course in the world, carved into the side of a hill, it was certainly difficult and I’ll save my blushes and keep the final score to myself.

After the excitement of the mini-golf, I looked for something relaxing to do and there was in front of me – flying trapeze lessons!

Being feeble and infirm I found myself a nice chair and as an armchair expert of the aerial arts, shouted advice to the many people attempting to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. Much better than a museum!

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Greetings from … the shops

It’s a shopping mecca, you’re only a few paces away from the next shopping centre, you can spend hours on that street popping in and out of the many and varied shops. Big fancy shops selling famous labels that are vaguely familiar to my crass eyes and ears, small local shops and a whole shopping centre dedicated to technology….

Night falls and the glory of shopping fades, only to be replaced by the seedier side of Bukit Bintang. As a western man rambling the streets on my own, I am the mother load. Outside the seemingly innocent massage shops with ordinary looking masseuses, the touts will whisper quietly that a young girl for “massage” is only a phone call away.

In the respectable bars of the many five-star hotels, good music plays in the background, the atmosphere is relaxed and you can relax after a long day shopping. It’s best not to make eye-contact with any of the better looking girls as they’re not there for a conversation…

Ramble away from the bright lights and another creature of the night approaches, the ladyboy. With the loss of the glitter goes all pretense, these girls are honest about what they’re offering and yet they see to be the most desperate…

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Greetings From … Kirribilli

Along the railings there are men with rods artfully sending their lines whirring into the waves, I’ve never seen any of them catch anything but maybe they’re not trying, the rhythmic swishing of the rods sending them off to a meditative trance.

Out in the harbour, the green and yellow ferries carve furrows in the water as they journey to exotic destinations or return to the welcoming arms of a circular quay, ejecting passengers onto the rocks.

Nearby the crooked grin of the fairground welcomes players, what was once bereft and abandoned is breathing in children and spitting out smiles and laughter.

High above, the cars and trains rumble across the bridge, reminding us that there is a life outside this idyll, we’ll surf the waves of the Big City again but for now we’ll just sit here a while longer…

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Greetings from …the Train Station

All else before this was just a trial run, this is the real thing, I’m truly a stranger in a strange land. I can’t speak the language and certainly can’t read it, there’s no-one to help me if I get lost and I’ve all I’ve got is this girl as my lifeline…

On the train journey from Hong Kong it all seemed so crazy, travel to meet a girl I’d never met before. I didn’t know what she looked like and in a city of millions of people how would we even find each other and what if I didn’t?

It wasn’t hard for her to track me down, I stood out in a sea of Chinese faces. We left the relative calm of the East Station and took a bus across the city to the bedlam known as the Main Station.

Had I been on my own, one look at the confusion and heaving masses laying siege to the station would have had me turned around and racing back to comfort of Kowloon in seconds but this time I had a guide…

A guide who was an alien herself, a Mandarin speaker in a Cantonese climate, a small town girl in the big city, it was a wonder we got anywhere…

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Greetings from …the side of the road

 

While there weren’t dramatic clouds of smoke or fire bursting from the bonnet, the car slowed to a stop and wouldn’t start. The driver disappeared underneath the raised hood. Each time his head popped out he only looked more worried.

Not knowing anything about cars we left him to it, we told stories, we joked and we bickered until we were fed up with the lack of the constant motion that had been our companion for days.

Restlessness was the new enemy there was nowhere to go, the land stretched out around us, we paced up and down, we gazed deep into the horizon, looking for answers, searching for some form of entertainment.

In all our time sitting here between somewheres, we learnt something about this land of extremes, not one car stopped to see if they could help.

The girls are now discussing between themselves which of them would be considered the most attractive to the local drivers and whether they should show a bit of leg….

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Greetings from …Base Camp

We woke with the sun, in the air hung the stale smell of yak butter and the overnight aromas that sleeping people can conjure up. Dressing was a simple affair, we’d never taken anything off before sliding under the piles of heavy blankets.

She was up before us, wondrous in the early morning light, Chomolungma, the Mother Goddess. We left the monastery and began our long pilgrimage to pay homage to her majesty. For every step we took through the barren wasteland, she was there before us, waiting.

After winding around one of many turns there was a change in the relentless grey landscape, white triangles of tents pierced the monotony and beckoned to us….

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Greetings from …the lake

It’s early morning here at Nam-tso and though it’s the summer here I’m well wrapped up. One advantage of living on Beijing time is that you don’t have to get up too early to get the sunrise. It was hidden behind a hill but it didn’t spoil the show, the magnificence of the light creeping across the lake and surrounding hills. There was snow overnight which added an extra magic to the new dawn.

Here on the Roof of the World, there are no mountains, there are merely hills or at least that’s the way it seems, like you could easily run to the top and back. You don’t do much running at this altitude, not if you have any sense!

One of the girls who came up with us on the bus has been badly hit by the altitude, it hit her fairly quickly after we arrived, she’s white as a sheet and doesn’t look too well at all, we‘re all hoping that going lower today will sort it out for her.

You’ve never seen a blue like this, it’s turquoise and yet it’s not. In our time there the lake flowed from one blue to the next as if trying on clothes for a big night, one colour is shed to make way for the next. Even in the gloom of an encroaching thunderstorm its beauty is breathtaking.

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Greetings from … the islands

I spent my days in Manila in a muted fear, well not quite fear exactly but there were so many reports of tourists being drugged and robbed, like worried parents the locals had told me not to get into cars with strange men – even taking taxies was considered a hairy endeavour.

Everywhere you looked there were armed security guards, it didn’t comfort me in the least and so I was wary when strolling the streets at night.

It was my last night in Manila and she called out to me. Non-committedly I said “later” and kept going, she followed me and told me that I’d said that yesterday too. I turned to take a second look, and it was true, I had.

I stopped and impulsively decided to give her some time, we went to a nearby coffee-shop for a chat and that’s all she wanted, to chat. We talked about my island-hopping and the small town she grew up in, we sat and we talked.

And all the while I was talking with Rica, I kept wondering to myself, was she really a Rick?

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Greetings from …the desert

It’s dry here, there’s not a drop to be found anywhere, it’s strange, I’ve never been to a place like this. You’d think that me being me I’d be perfectly comfortable here but it feels unnatural, alien.

The quiet streets, the civilised eateries, the safe, empty streets after midnight, it feels like there’s something missing…

There’s rumours abroad that there is a place hidden away where foreigners can meet and imbibe the demon drink but in my time here I’ve never been able to track it down, perhaps that’s all they are, rumours…

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