My top ten moments spent with locals: I met them by chance and they are still in my heart

1. Albanian Nona: She dotingly tends to my cuts after a near-death experience hiking to get to her mountain home.

2. Russian Nadia: We wake in her Moscow lounge/bedroom giggling whilst recounting stories of table dancing away the night before.

3. Russian Boris: After tracking me down at Nadia’s place, he leans out his SUV’s window proclaiming “Russian and Australian family reunite HA HA!”

4. Georgian Goram: The morning after attending an infamous Georgian Table of dangerous toasting marathons, war-troubled Goram slings his arm around my ruined husband in brotherly camaraderie.

5. Georgian saviour: After being scared witless by the treacherous road up to mystical Tusheti I feel the opposite coming down with the Georgian Off Road Champion.

6. Turkish Yilmez: After dinner in his Amasra apartment I feel touched when helping him understand an English love letter from his Russian internet girlfriend.

7. Afrikaans Melinda: We feel elated - she calls me her angel - as we escape a toxic situation together in rural Freestate.

8. Namibian Jacques: He convinces me to drive while he hangs out the window, yelling to the desert his joy in being alive.

9. Kyrgz hostess: She tucks me into bed under dense quilts in her isolated yurt in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan.

10. Serbian Maja: Four month pregnant, tears glisten as I read her email explaining a dream she had of when we would meet again; she is selling flowers in Zemun and I arrive holding the hand of a little girl.

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition

In Russian's shoes

My boots were on their last legs after only a few months of travel. They had marched me around Central Asia, propelled by a desire to not miss out on anything.

Upon entering Russia my boots and I dramatically slowed in pace when good fortune led me to a man called Boris. An enigma of a man with a commanding personality, Boris offered me a ride to Volgograd with his family. Two weeks later I said goodbye to him.

Boris told me what I was to be doing. Without discussion I was taken to his Moscow soviet-era communal apartment and given it for as long as I wanted. I lived there within the tangled lives of my flat mates who had been together a long time. Boris would suddenly appear and tear off with me out of town. I stepped into his complicated family and would wake under a vodka cloud inside their postage-stamp sized flat or contrasting palatial Dacha (country home).

Slowing down and letting Boris take over allowed me to feel like I got to know Russians. I lived like a Russian, ate like a Russian, tried to speak like a Russian, and, of course, got drunk like a Russian.

I was also shamed into looking like a Russian. It was time to bury my almost sole-less boots and look the part in much more stylish leather. I left them in a pile of rubbish behind my flat, to solider on there forever as a part of me.


This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition.

Thanksgiving Virgins

As Australians in Australia on a balmy night in November we went to our first Thanksgiving dinner. Kimberly, our new American friend and her Aussie husband, Shawn, were recreating Kimberly’s favourite holiday for a little taste of home.

I knew this would be no simple affair. Weeks before, our cleverly crafted invitation arrived, itself a labour of love. It announced it’s traditional to contribute to the meal, mine to be a vegetable platter. That I could do!

Their apartment was filled with an intriguing mix of Kimberly’s fellow American Thanksgiving orphans, randomly acquired new Australian friends, and members of Shawn’s family. American football graced the TV, pre-recorded for traditional atmosphere. The men prancing in pads were dutifully ignored in preference for the spectacular array of food that required days of preparation.

Wondrous things like: sweet cake type stuff to eat with your main meal; a turkey the size of a wombat; cheesy, creamy sides. I scoffed it all and headed for the desert table for, amongst other treats, my first ever Pumpkin Pie.

The best part of the evening: giving thanks. Most notable was the Americans, thankful for the opportunity to celebrate their special holiday just like at home. It was a touching way for a random group of people to honour being brought together, only for today, to break bread.

We waddled home feeling like it was Christmas already – but it wasn’t! We would eat like this again in a month’s time. I could get used to this.

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition.

Can't be captured

Time flies and I have finally got around to putting some of our pictures from Hong Kong and Madagascar online (see Photos links).

I guess I haven't been thrilled to do this as our pictures don't come close to capturing how magical our holiday was. I didn't write an update as I couldn't figure how to put in words how much fun it was. I still can't. But, you can have fun seeing how spectacularly daggy I looked in hiking gear.

Photo courtesy of Trude

"Magnificence" + "What the Hell!" = The Caucasus

After about six weeks in the Caucasus we realised oddities had become the norm. Where to begin telling the stories! Our time in Georgia was dominated by the people and the mountains and was all at once magnificent, plenty of "What the hell is going on now!?", thrilling and ultimately too short. Armenia was an education in the cradle of Christianity where we were charmed by this remarkable ancient race and didn't want to leave.

Georgia:

The Georgians were to us generous, open-hearted, passionate, stunningly male chauvinistic and boastful.

They tried to kill us with kindness and we ran away to Armenia for a while leaving pillars of smoking faux pas in our path.

They express themselves regularly in emotive and heart-felt toasts that Mick had to match, and he did a good job.

They live and breathe their orthodox religion and their churches are some of the loveliest I have ever seen. Delicate stone work from centuries past; emotive icons busy being kissed. We met two boys smoking dope that were off to spend a month praying in a monastery.

The man responsible for 20 million deaths (more or less, depends who you read) has a shrine built to him and is praised in toasts: the most famous Georgian ever - Stalin. Here he still stands in some squares and hangs on walls; he may have made mistakes, but look what he achieved - the Big Man! We saw his death mask, poked around his personal train carriage and the humble home he grew up in. Creepy. However, the lovely young man showing us around invited us to tea where we met his parents.

Now, the wine. The Georgian wine reputation greatly preceded our visit from ancient Roman writings, period novels to travellers rapt guest book comments. We were looking forward to it but ended up wondering what the hell was going on as at no point did anyone admit the wine is crap.

When Georgians presented us with wine at their parties or at home with a flourish it was the vilest stuff I've ever tasted and had bits floating in it. This might explain the Georgian's juvenile attitude to alcohol - "don't enjoy it, just drink it" - as glasses of wine (and firewater homemade spirits) must be downed in one or you will be shouted down. We visited a Soviet-era wine factory (some craftily labelled plonk for the Chinese market - Stalin again!) and another winery in the famous wine district of Kakheti with an equally bemused Israeli couple. We convinced ourselves it wasn't too bad, but I ended up with a horror headache. A final effort involved sitting in the swankiest wine bar in Tbilisi and ordering the most expensive bottle. It was as good as anything mass-produced anywhere else. There, I’ve said it.

Stalin-based marketing campaign for Georgian wine to the Chinese market

The magnificent Caucasus Mountains were beyond-words beautiful and we couldn't get enough, so we climbed into them three times.

First was the Kazbegi region. We were taken there by a Georgian friend, Lasha, and his uncle. We climbed to a stunningly located church. Shared much vodka and stayed with Lasha's crazy friends who starved us as no woman was around to grow the food and cook it. Hiked gorgeous Truso Gorge inspecting the carcasses of sheep left behind by wolves who killed another 80 of their mates. Attended a Georgian christening party under the stars to experience the legendary toasting traditions and grown men rolling around drunk.

The morning after the night before: Georgian friends with Mick.

Next was the mysterious Svaneti region reached by one of the most thrilling trips of my life - in the belly of a worn Russian military helicopter passing by one of Georgia's conflict zones. Exciting stuff as it wound up to an ear splitting nudge off the ground to float into the mountains, seemingly just skimming over ridges. Words absolutely fail me on how beautiful it was up there.

The local kids had a party in our campsite all night; tire marks at the door of our tent in the morning. We checked out their concert of a guy with a camel toe in his pants inexplicably singing in English making up his own Brit Pop tunes. I got another five minutes of fame when a camera crew nearly fell over on discovering we were Australian and got us on film raving about Svaneti (but not the band).

Finally we made a dash to remote Tusheti where the trip up surprised me by making me scared. Not an unreasonable fear as we ascended up a steep single jeep track from 500m to 3000m in a Toyota that early on hit a rock and lost its high gears. Well worth it though, as the scenery again was majestic and the village life fascinating in how different it was to our own.

There was no power or running water to the now mostly empty villages as hardy shepherds drove their flocks down for the winter. We walked between pretty slate villages, accompanied by Loma the 62kg Caucasian dog whose head was the size of a bear's. Concerned about the approaching winter, we joined the Georgian Off-Road Club on their trip down even though one of them was a tool who nearly died driving his vehicle half-way off a precipice the night before. But, this time I had a thrilling time, much more confident in our Georgian 2006 Off-Road Driving Champion and his serious 4 x 4 machine. We pushed our way through flocks of sheep, one thousand strong, and herds of cattle and horses that were watched over by the shepherd's pack of ear and tail-less Caucasian dogs.

The Georgian Off-Road Club heading down from Tusheti, pushing through a flock of sheep doing the same thing.

I left Georgia with a heavy heart filled with a crowd of faces of those who eagerly went out of their way to look after us. After all the time we spent in Georgia and digging pretty deep I felt we left unsatisfied, there is so much more to the place but they had worn us out this time.

Armenia:

In Armenia we loved staying in private homes where we were welcomed like visiting dignitaries, especially when they found out we were Australian (rare in these parts). Armenian's would throw their whole body into frantically waving us over to join them for vodka and food. But they didn’t try to kill us with it like the Georgians.

We learnt about their long history of survival and found their quiet resilience, open-heartedness and generosity remarkable, despite all they have been through. Their longing for all they had lost over the centuries was palpable. Such as biblical Mt. Ararat - achingly sacred to all Armenians - but it is in another country. I was taken aback to see the mountain looming over Yerevan, so close, but with the border slammed shut by the Turks: you can look but not touch.

The Genocide Museum did what it was supposed to and made me sick with the images. The Turkish government only last week said it "never happened".

Armenian’s were the first Christian nation, building churches when now long-dead races were waving swords about. Our Armenian church experience started in Turkey, at the most fascinating church I have ever seen - on Akdamar Island in massive Lake Van. In Armenia we saw at least a monastery a day, each with its own ancient architectural feats. They seemed to grow out of the remote locations we found them in. I won't bore you with a list of them, but thanks to our guide / driver Gagik they came alive for us. He is a charming artist whose passion for his landscape drew the beauty of it even more into our eyes. Gagik became a friend too, especially with Mick over a homemade rocket fuel mulberry vodka session!

We giggled calling out to each other in retro bathtubs watched over by a nurse in a lurid synthetic uniform at a thermal mineral spring resort. We were confused why we had to visit a doctor first – serious medical institution, not for fun it seems!

You know when your meal is slow arriving at a restaurant you say, "Are they out the back killing it!?" Well, here they are. I discovered this wandering off to the loo at one outdoor restaurant, walking past a man busy hacking up a sheep hanging from an A-frame. Driving through villages we would be greeted by a decapitated cow - her skin on one side of the road, the butcher selling the rest of her on a sheet on the other. Fruit and veg is picked straight off the plant and put on the table. It was the freshest food of our lives, and none of it had a yuppy organic price tag.

We really didn’t want to leave, there wasn’t much left to see, but there was something about the Armenian’s that I can’t quite explain. We felt at home.

Gagik and Mick joining cheerful locals for vodka at Hayravank monastery, Lake Sevan.

Turkey:

We have been back in the land of mighty moes for two weeks, greatly enjoying the super friendly but not overbearing Black Sea Turks and having a quiet, relaxing end to our Walkabout. All along the way locals helped us before we even knew we needed it.

We were leapt on by traders to join in their street-side feast at the end of a Ramadan day.

Explored yet another beautiful mountain range, the Kackar, listening to the call to prayer dance amongst the brilliant autumn colours of our alpine village.

We cruised the entire length of the Black Sea coast, the best bit being on a little winding road amongst cliffs and ranges dotted with minarets and villages of tumbling Ottoman homes on the sea. Just beautiful, and not an ugly resort in sight. We thought we were in heaven, wiling away days in a charming fishing village where every bin had a cat in it. Fell in love with Istanbul - must return one day.

We are back in Melbourne on Friday, back at the desk on Monday. We'll miss meeting curious and friendly people, dogs and cats everyday. Mick won't miss the accursed money belt and bashing his head on low doors. I'm just looking forward to a decent vino.

Eastern Turkey - Holy Carp Batman

Beyond our intermission in the UK and most of the way through our second, more challenging and exotic leg of the Walkabout, here's some results:

Physical Status - The trip before Istanbul endowed me with a bum an African woman would be proud of, built on sometimes monotonous food and omnipresent vino. Since then I have been alternating between the squirts (thanks Turkey), great variety and tastiness in food (thanks Georgia and Armenia), starving (Georgia too), weeks without booze (too much Turkish tea) or forced to skull vodka (those piss head Caucasians). Need a hair cut; I've grown a daggy Diana.

Mental Status - Head crammed to overload of experiences and images of previously unheard of ancient wonders, historic horrors, beyond words natural beauty, loony alphabets, local's everyday lives. Thus, I'll only tackle Turkey in this update.

After breathing in the exotic feel of Istanbul only briefly, we bolted for the great interior of Turkey. We decided to focus on the east with only a smattering of tourists (thanks PKK) and found a load of stuff we had never heard of before.

One of the most friendly and safe places I have ever been was a pious, Muslim pilgrimage town - Urfa. We still regret not staying longer to soak up the mix of dress of the Iranian or Arabic pilgrims, wander the labyrinth bazaar, laze in the peaceful gardens, chat with the pleasant locals who stopped us every five minutes or scream "ewwwwww" at the writhing mass of holy carp eating our breadcrumbs.

We were swollen with tea in Mardin, a town of honey coloured, old, extravagant mansions dripping down a mountain side. The view of the roasting plains of Mesopotamia spread below our tea house, seemingly into antiquity.

Filled with quiet excitement at the beauty of little Hasankeyf, we climbed the ancient fortress overlooking the Tigris river, yellow mountains, and people still living in caves. Batman was up the road but dodgy apparently.

Mick's favourite photo: Hasankeyf and the Tigris River in a scene unchanged for centuries.

We visited both Mt Nemruts. One at dawn to watch the sun spread across the ancient stone heads left to honour a long ago king. On top of the other Nemrut we splashed about in a volcanic lake and watched locals devour a whole sheep for a picnic - brought along alive.

Turkish baklava is the best!

I was denied paradise - found a house full of cats, but I could hardly touch them. The rare pure white cats of Van, many with one green and one blue eye, are in quarantine playing in gardens caged by mesh or bars that I could at least stick my fingers through.

A mysterious Van Cat

Anyone heard of the Urartians? Well I hadn't, but we met a man who spoke their ancient language and checked out millennia-old ruins.

Mt Ararat took our breath away as it loomed over us from its 5,137m height with the remains of the top 1,825m spewed about from an eruption a while ago. I'm confused as to why anyone believes a bit of old lava flow is Noah's Ark.

Us and Noah's Ark - apparently

I had a Turkish bath, of course, and briefly was less of a grot - scrubbed so clean.

Kars was a dump of a town, but the nearby old Armenian city of Ani was eerie and magnificent. Various earthquakes and destructive hordes left only the walls, churches and mosque standing. An act of God? Ani is long deserted, but quietly watched by Russian guards on the locked-down border with Armenia.

In the east we met plenty of overeager locals offering tea, seemingly every few minutes. However, the stone-throwing, doodle flashing, 'money, money, money' chanting kids can grow boils on their tongues. Also, it’s the most traditional part of Turkey, and there were just too many men around - women were kept at home.

After trying to fit the east into three weeks, we were stuffed - moving too fast.

Entering Georgia was a welcome, dramatic change, evident by the first Georgian we met - a woman with a job. The relief spread from there: women freely walking on the streets, flirting with boys on the beach, drinking alcohol. We chilled on the Black Sea coast seeing lots of things to laugh / cry at, but I'll get to that next time.

East to West and back again

Since my last update we have passed from heat wave to a very soggy country; been defeated by food and run with open arms to the curry restaurants of England and fabulous cheese of France; been cultured with concerts and theatre; marched around mountains, coasts and dales; and enjoyed glittering hospitality with friends and family. As I have been slack in writing this is going to be long...

Bosnia:

I greatly enjoyed this little country with big mountains and recent, very visible history. Catholic bell towers, Orthodox onion domes and minarets compete on the sky line. There is endless pots of Turkish coffee and too many restaurants dedicated to one national dish.

We watched posers jump off the magnificent Old Bridge of Mostar, clapped along with disabled kids at a music therapy concert, and marvelled the super kitsch on offer at a Catholic pilgrimage site.

A gaggle of Mary's for sale at Medjugorje

Mick and I can't stand seeing food wasted and can eat just about anything - except risotto swimming in squid ink. It tasted like nothing, except very wrong. We kept eating though, until raising the white flag in defeat.

We didn't want to leave Sarajevo; a gutsy, compact place full of life. We learnt a lot of the daunting recent history. Free philharmonic concert. Too much of the national dish.

We went for a walk in the Bosnian mountains with a sugar fiend called Larenc who fed us multiple pieces of cake (with ice cream) for breakfast. Spectacular scenery, apparently. We saw mostly the inside of clouds, but the dense primeval forest and Larenc's passion for the outdoors (and sugar) made a great day.

Croatia:

We then almost turned into puddles lounging on the Croatian coast for another two weeks. Soooo lazy. We tracked down the quietest coves on laid back islands and mostly had them all to ourselves (except for a few nudeys here and there). Crystal water against silver rocks topped by forbidding, spiky vegetation. However, a heat wave struck and the crowds were growing, so the first day of summer was our last on the coast.

Our private cove within the National Park on Mljet Island

Montenegro:

This was our second visit to Montenegro and we gave the interior a good shot. The harsh coast gave way to glorious mountains, a colossal canyon and lush fields. There was whole families out building their hay stacks – it looked idyllic from the bus as the setting sun cast long shadows behind the high stacks, but not fun for the women stripped to their bras in the oppressive heat.


Serbia:

Our travel mojo was now a little off kilter. Little things would not work out quite right, i.e. we would go for a walk and end up in the wrong place, but had a nice enough time anyway. We got seriously over identical menus of meat with canned veg. Hunted down a spa described by Serbian tourism as “peaceful, relaxing, therapeutic, historic” and were surprised this description matched the 70s communist era brown public pool oldies on crutches put their faith in.

Anyhoo, this all changed when we lobed in on a Hospitality Club mate, Jimmy the Eccentric Philosopher, in Novi Sad. We crashed in his flat which was the size of our storage unit at home. Found a Chinese restaurant. Stumbled across a wine festival. Tasted lots of yummy local vino and chatted with growers. Slightly pissed, I got dragged into saying a bit to camera for their festival promo video! Somewhere on Serbian TV is a grotty, unglamorous traveller giggling, "Hi from Australia, Wine is Love!" What a worry. Stayed up to 4am in bars with Jimmy's mates.


In Belgrade we stayed with a gorgeous character and new mate, Maja, in her flat for five nights. She cooked yummy stuff for us, Venison Goulash! We were homebodies together with her charming cat; again off kilter as this is supposed to be a major party capital! But we enjoyed being at home and learning about the intricacies of her social life in the Balkan’s big smoke. She cried when we left.

UK:

Now we have been in the UK for over a month and can’t express enough how much we have enjoyed the hospitality of our friends and family here. Thank you all again for looking after us so well. Catching up with you has been a great highlight of our trip.

We miraculously tip-toed around all the rain deluges and flooding. We spent time with my parents and Scotty in the wilds of Scotland in the (almost) most northerly cottage on the mainland.

Most of the Wehl family at Dunnet Head, the most Northern spot on the main island of Britian

We saw surprisingly beautiful beaches, dramatic cliffs, cute puffins, funny seals, sheep so fat (and some locals) that if they fell over they couldn’t get up again, and met friendly Scots in t-shirts while we wore beanies. We also drove around for a week further south tasting whisky, watching strong men toss cabers and rambled in mysterious glens.

Another week was spent in the picture perfect Yorkshire Dales spotting steam trains, catching up with a friend and marching through people’s farms. Now back in London after two days tasting all things French with friends in Lille, we are about to fly out on Monday to Istanbul to resume our eastern adventure.

Albania, Montenegro & Croatia - Wooo hooo

Since the last update we have had two weeks in Albania - wow, what a time! It is now high on our list of favourite countries. We didn't find the dangers that fog foreigner's minds from a decade ago (uprisings, crime). Instead, this diamond in the rough gave us everything we wanted out of our trip. Life changing experiences, breath-taking scenery, visible fascinating history, beautiful people who welcomed us to their tables and in their homes, looked out for us on the buses or just gave us a wave on the street. Many countries are friendly but this was another level. Traditionally guests were placed next to God, and we felt this trait at every turn.

There is the rough edges of a poor country (rubbish, broken communist buildings when everyone went on a looting rampage, some rough roads) but they are fast emerging from the ashes of a complicated history. Get in quick, this will have to be a travel hot spot soon.

The coast was spectacular. We sat on the beach drinking with boys from Kosovo and hung out playing chess with the guys at our beach side hotel; had the best fish meals of our lives; drove tiny, old road winding around the mountains that crash into the sea, shepherds and their flocks diving out of the way; sat on long pebble beaches all to ourselves with little coves to climb around to.

We explored ancient hilltop fortresses and checked out how Ottoman's lived in their mansions. We climbed in, on and around the indestructible bunkers that litter the entire country; placed there by Enver Hoxha's paranoia.

Mick on top of one of the many one-man size bunkers that will litter Albania for eternity

We stayed in the trendiest area of Tirana where the communist honchos once lived it up behind walls to keep everyone else out. We took in celebrity spotting as we stood with a media pack gawking at the Prime Minister.

Inspired by an evocative book about the Accursed Mountains, we just had to see them and the mountain people's traditional life for ourselves. The people used to live by a specific code, the Kanun, that included rules about conducting blood feuds. We took a guide, Florian. He is well educated, worldly and has a great laugh - we became good mates.

We travelled into the remote north, got a ferry up to a spectacular dam, stayed in traditional homes. On our six month anniversary we challenged ourselves walking over a mountain pass covered in snow with stunning weather and views.

Florian, Zeni (local Shepard) and Mick on our challenging walk in the Accursed Mountains

We stayed with a gorgeous grannie and her son for four days in a monstrous valley on the other side. We ate home made everything (butter, honey, raki etc) and explored the area. Tastiest water ever. We saw the tower men used to lock themselves up in forever to avoid being killed in a blood feud. Met kids who acted very grown up. Everyone was working hard in their fields.

We were the first Australians anyone in the village had met. How weird is that!

Alas, we left Albania and had a week on the Montenegrin coast. We enjoyed Ulcinj where the local men swam in their undies and lolled around in the black sand. Cute old town. Good local vino varieties.

There was more cute old walled towns along the small coast, along with big tourist holiday spots. We stayed in Kotor within the beautiful, old, walled, vibrant town on the edge of a stunning fjord. But I must admit, we were not in a touristy holiday mood and got a bit bored. Maybe we had too much excitement in Albania.

Now, we have just concluded another super duper highlight of the trip - a week on the Croatian island of Vis with our friends Ben and Emma. Again, it was everything we could ever hope for. We had quality time with good friends; met many friendly locals who invited us into their homes; learnt much of the islands history and culture; enjoyed charming villages with low key tourism and great restaurants - more fabulous fish dishes.

Emma and Ben took us to the gems of the island such as a winery set up in old WWII tunnels; a fancy dinner cooked in a Peka at another winery (like a big cast iron tagine - I want to buy one now!); swimming in special spots in the glittering blue sea; and a boat trip into a florescent blue sea cave that took our breath away. Their home in Vis town was a haven of cosy comfort.

Mick and Emma lit by the glowing blue cave, Bisevo Island

Time to go farewell them.

Greece - Cafe Loafing Wannabees

Mick and I have had a month in Greece now. There is a lot more to it, but we feel we have had a good look about Northern Greece.

We hung out with more Greek-residing Germans, marvelling the emerald (by Greek standards) isle of Samothraki where there are more goats than people. We wandered ruins of temples more ancient than the Olympian Gods with only some goat herders for company.

Bird watchers we are not, but you have to get excited about a flock of massive black vultures flying just over your head! We perched in a hide spying on three different types of vultures bickering over something dead. They deserve their reputation as looking menacing, but they are fascinating all the same.

The draft wine at dinner is cheaper than coca-cola; only once was it truly vile. We've eaten everything Greek in sight. There is such a thing as too much cheese. We haven't, however, had enough of Greek sweet shops. Service in bars and restaurants is second to none. Travel has been too easy as everyone is so friendly.

We tried to imitate the professional cafe loafers, sitting on one drink for hours. Mick discovered why they sometimes don't even bother finishing their token coffee - he had one and couldn't get to sleep until 3am.

We saw more snakes in one day than in my whole life. The pretty Prespa Lakes were ringed with tall reeds – a cesspit of musical frogs, birds and snakes. Since the mobs of Greek teenagers on a school trip didn't notice them (expect the bus driver stabbing some snakes with a stick), mobile phones still glued to their ears, we assumed they mustn't be poisonous and walked amongst them on the shore - carefully.

We drove around the stunning Zagoria villages for days in drizzle. Blending in with the mountains as they are made from the same stuff - slate, sturdy, proud - these villages cluster together in impossible locations in breathtaking mountain ranges. We brought on vertigo looking into the colossal Vikos Gorge; almost one kilometre deep, and over one kilometre across.

Me looking down into the immense Vikos Gorge

We finished up in Meteora marvelling the monasteries perched on giant rocks and hordes of tourists. Until then we hadn't seen many other foreigners, but here we were lucky to get a bed or not get run over by a tour bus.

A scene of the monastries of Meteora

Now we are in Albania. People are more reserved than the colourful Greeks, but friendly just the same. We were greeted by fields of one-size-fits-all bunkers poking out like mushrooms from crazier days of the mad dictator's, Enver Hoxha, reign.

Greece - Aaaaahhhh

Mick and I are now over a week into our post-wedding big travel adventure and I am afraid I might not have any of my travel tales of weirdness or laughable disasters. We are in Greece and it all has been.... lovely.

Highlights so far:

My brother Scott joined us for a week which was great fun to catch up.

Joining the Greeks in their Easter services. More like a orderly scrum at times, these services were attended by hundreds. At midnight on Easter Saturday we ended up shut inside a church while fire crackers went mad outside.

The island of Lesvos. Low key on tourism; its a big island of dramatic mountains currently coated in green grass, pungent wildflowers and endless ancient olive trees.

I tell you, Greeks can talk! We stayed in the main town of Mytilene for 24 hours and marvelled at hundreds of fashionable young things sitting in the funky cafes ALL DAY.

The sun on your face all day without (badly) burning.

Litres and litres of (kinda weak) red wine.

Lots of sleep.

Not being able to tear ourselves away from picture-perfect Molyvos in the north of Lesvos. It is everything you dream of in a Greek village – stone houses on top of each other up the steep cobbled streets, topped by an old fort, pretty painted shutters, cute boats in the stone harbour, plenty of healthy stray dogs and cats to play with, stunning views over the glassy Aegean and no foreign tourist crowds. The town ran out of food though as the Greeks on Easter holidays ate it all up. We drank Ouzo in a café with the old boys and went bush bashing through the terraced olive groves which was fun; Mick nearly stood on a black snake.

Mick, Ouzo and a pretty spot in Molyvos

Off the track in the South. Yesterday we stayed in an almost deserted village on a pretty pebble beach after twisting and turning on the wrong dirt road through crazy mountains. We met a mad old German, Claus (of course), who took us for a 4 x 4 drive up tracks to an impossibly high, tiny church while entertaining us with tales of what the commanding rock outcrops speak to him. He showed as much joy at the changing natural "theatres" as we climbed higher and higher as I imagine he did when first arriving here 15 years ago.

Now, we are back with the kids in the cafes waiting for a midnight ferry further North.

News

I'll get straight to my news, Mick and I are engaged! He completely surprised me, pulling the perfect ring from his pocket while walking down the street, after dinner. While gasping for breath the first thing I managed was, "you dag!".

We have been in QLD for my 30th birthday which turned into a great celebration, happy parents and excitement all round. Mick handled the endless introductions marvelously.

I hope you are all well.

Lightening across Laos

Mick and I have just finished three weeks in Laos. Alas, it is the end of our adventures for a while so this is the last rambling you’ll have from me.

Its been great traveling with Mick, he is fun and handy. Not only was he wearing his undies on the outside one day in Cambodia when he stopped boys from stealing our day pack out of the tuk-tuk we were traveling in (the bag didn't survive though - ripped in half) he has also been my consummate chauffeur around the remote areas of the south of Laos.

The highlight has been when we got off the track and took to the jungles of the Bolaven Plateau doubling on a tiny motorbike (think Vespa) with Mick driving. We gave the local hill tribal people plenty to laugh at: two giant Falang (foreigners) on one struggling little bike, egg shell-shaped helmets and sometimes coming to undignified halts. We whizzed past squealing kids springing into water holes in the nuddy, traditional basic thatched huts with satellite dishes attached, women hand pummeling rice, dense jungle and stunning views up at the plateau. The area is famous for its Arabica coffee. It must be good because I, being a dedicated non-drinker, ended up guzzling plenty of it.

Mick and our poor little bike

We bought tribal textiles and stayed in a haunted hotel in a tiny town. It was a case Scooby-Do might investigate. We had howling dogs, slamming shutters and someone banging to get in the hotel and then trying our door in the dead of night. Apparently it is two Malaysian tourists who died in the river coming back for their luggage.

At this point we were hooked and continued further into the remote South East. People gaped open-mouthed even more at the sight of us, and only the quickest kids screamed out "sabady" (hello) before we disappeared. With only one change of clothes each I did lots of hand washing. Our visit here was perfect timing. We got the benefit of a sparkling new road (that has opened a new boarder to Vietnam) but shared it with no tourists, yet. There was more buffalo, chooks, dogs and goats than traffic. The massive hotel in bustling Attapeu we stayed in was empty, but brimming with potential as the manager gleefully set up his tour desk in anticipation of the tourists that will use the new route. It will lose its charm, but that’s progress. We ate grilled goats liver with Beer Lao and crashed when everyone else did at 9pm.

Mick skillfully got us 20 kms along a boggy dirt road to the Ho Chi Min trail where he climbed on top of the Soviet missile still sitting there in its launcher. He rapidly howled off it again as a wasp took a chunk out of him.

The split second before Mick bolted off the rocket with a howl of pain

There is UXO (unexploded ordinance) absolutely everywhere, killing plenty of farmers every year. We dropped in on LAO UXO (the National Clearance Agengy of Laos) to look at their collection of retrieved stuff. The poor girl who spoke a bit of English just couldn’t understand we had just come to take photos.

Waterfalls were another highlight of the area. Mick climbed up behind them and came back with sore fingers from clutching to ledges as he nearly got washed away. Some places had gorgeous resort accommodation, at only $16 USD but they felt luxurious.

Mick behind a thundering waterfall

At all times during our stay in Laos spectacular storms have brewed. Clouds so dense and dark it felt we could disappear in them. The sky is always flashing. We got caught in downpours while on pushbikes one day, and watched kids go nuts and dance. Lightening claps have gone off like bombs over our heads in the middle of the night. Exhilarating.

We got back without a scratch but nearly killed the bike. I thought the engine was going to blow and take our ankles with it.

We finally headed North to the capital where we dined on French cuisine that we never could afford at home. Then we moved onto Luang Prabang, a tranquil town of 100 wats where the better-off-in-Ibiza backpacker scene was in full swing. The north looks stunning, we have to come back sometime. Now, we must drag our kilos of purchases home and start saving for the next trip!

Love
Suze

Cambodia - Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot

I last wrote half way through Cuba, where I was off on my own for two weeks. I found beautiful colonial towns; determined methods to shake the blokes of my back (I would sit on a bench half in the sun so they would wilt within minutes of sitting with me); ate like the locals and thus started to develop a bum like the them; people watched for hours in fascination of their intermingled lives but never really got the "Cuban" experience I hoped for. So if you go, learn Spanish so you can talk to people other than those wanting you to buy them a drink, and take someone with you, preferable of the opposite sex. It isn't a great place to be solo, on the wallet and the ears.

Now I am in South East Asia. The bum and just about every fluid in me has melted off in the suffocating humidity. I am with Mick, my boyfriend, and we just finished two weeks in Cambodia. I am afraid he might drown in his sweat one day.

Cambodia. Some things where what I expected, some not.

Expected:
The people are remarkable. I would look at anyone old enough to have lived through the seventies, and not be able to comprehend the horror they must have seen. And they still have smiles firmly fixed. We have learnt a lot about the carnage of various wars, particularly the genocide of the Khmer Rouge, and have seen torture chambers that evil dreamt up. But, as a whole Cambodians are polite, always cheerful, smiling and charming. No one talks about the horrors; they want to move on.

Unexpected:
Hordes of tourist touts descended on us at certain points. When I had three young guys inches from my face shouting the benefits of their hotels in only a very small village, I realised Cambodia is far from the "emerging" travel spot I naively imagined. It is so well trodden it is a highway. This was especially evident one night, 3am, when the paper thin fibro wall to our left started vibrating from an argument in some pommy accent, while the wall to the right started shaking from a couple banging away so violently our bed shook with them. We have avoided backpacker ghettos since.

Expected:
Angkor Wat was magic. We splashed out on a guide for two days. He was worth his weight in gold for what he taught us about the intricate stories carved into the sandstone. We saw temples being strangled by trees, flaming saffron monks flitting amongst the grey stones, and exquisitely carved dancing women with jewels in their hair and voluptuous chests. It is as good as you think it would be.

Mick with our charming guide at one of the ruins of Angkor Wat

Unexpected:
We spent a lot more money than I have ever thought I would in a third world country. I have truly moved up from arse-hanging-out-of-my-shorts traveller to someone who runs into an airport and pays a premium to jump on the first plane, gets guides in most areas to give us insights into their culture and to pretend to be our friend, buys silks worth a local's yearly wage, while at the same time still insisting on talking down the room for the night from $5 to $4 and feeling proud of it. But, I think moving up the budget rung is worth it in Cambodia, it isn't as cheap as its neighbouring countries, and we have got a lot more out of our time and the experience by spending that bit more.

Expected:
There was one area that lived up to the remote jungle and tribes I had envisioned: Ratanakiri in the North East. We hung around at a twisted, collapsed bridge while waiting for our car to be floated across the river on a raft.

An enterprising ferry business that popped up overnight as the bridge in the background completely collapsed.

The road in was like a rally track. We had an entire eco lodge to ourselves; flies and geckos kept us entertained at night. We swam in a crater lake surrounded by lush jungle. We were guided through an indigenous tribe's farms and homes where they still live quite traditionally. We rode an elephant. Only when I was three metres up on his back did it cross my mind he might have a mind of his own. Just like a horse he didn't want to go, constantly stopped to pull down trees, and sped up when he knew he was on the home stretch.

Unexpected:
We crossed from Cambodia into Laos in the bush. Two very basic little huts, each a one-man-band without uniforms. No problems. No attitude. They were the nicest immigration guys I've met in a while. Hang on, maybe that should have been expected.

We are in Laos now, it is going great, but I will take up your time about that later.

Cuba - Baby got Back

In case you didn't know, I've been kicking around Cuba with a friend, Trude, for two weeks. We've sat on icing sugar white beaches, studded with palms. Swam in liquid crystal water. Eaten like royalty in private homes stuck in 1950's time traps. Rum and music are everything in the evening; one night we felt like we were in a vintage movie as we cruised in an antique Chevy, hosted by two young Cuban male models.

Right, now that you have called me B...!....T....C....H at least once I have got that out of the road and can fill you in on what little I understand of Cuba.

1. MC Hammer is not the tune I expected to have in my head but the bums of cartoon proportions on the women have me gaping. Fair enough, many are of African descent, but it must be difficult getting through doors.

2. The women can wear anything they like as long as it is skin tight and tacky. Combined with point one, imagine white bike shorts stretched to be see-through, teamed with a rolls of fat escaping a halter top. Never again will I scoff at teenage Australian chicks sporting their muffin tops. They are amateurs compared to the Cubans. (For a definition on muffin
top - email me later)

3. Communism means food is a limited resource. Rationed and too expensive, food that is affordable to people seems to be mostly oily pizza, anything fried and anything pastry. Hence, the rolls on parade. Atkins would have a heart attack.

A popular meal: something like pizza that needed the oil squeezed out of it before eating

4. In stark contrast, we eat like Queens in the private homes licenced to have tourists stay.

5. Point 4 makes it hard to understand how everyone else lives. Self-righteous tourists declare they have nothing. A taxi driver told me how bad the West's obsession with money is. Everyone is educated. The arts are ubiquitous. Plenty of young men hang on corners with nothing to do but provoke the girls (and me) to want to hit them. I enjoy a life free from visual advertising pollution, to be replaced by endless political slogans on billboards and buildings. They queue for banks and buckets of water, but the greatest queue of all is for ice-cream. Yesterday I saw three girls scoffing huge cones, three each! They love it.

One of the many political billboards featuring Che: a man without blemish and without fear. Photo courtesy of Trude.

In summary, I know nothing: contradictions everywhere. It feels as if understanding the culture is kept behind a veneer labelled TOURISM that I can't see behind, especially without Spanish.

I am on my own now for 12 days and already today three people have wanted to be my friend (and my brother's special friend apparently - look out Scotty one sexy chick has your address). But, I don't know how far to trust people; tourism has meant hassle in some places. So, I am trying to keep away from the tourist hot spots, and I hope my next report will have more tales of mayhem, missing from the first two weeks.

Anyhoo, I'm off to sit in park to work on the art of doing nothing, and learn how to say "I and my brothers are married".

Turning pale in the Baltic winter

I hope all is well with all of you in your corners of the world. For me, I have finally come full circle. I passed through the refugee camp that is London Standsted Airport and am revelling in the land of natively spoken English and where I can buy vegemite.

I spent the last three weeks in the Baltic republics, where things were extremely civilized. No crazy grannies attacking me, no cops with guns shaking me awake at 2am, and definately no millionaires kidnapping me.

They do, however, have some entertaining languages. In Estonia the national museum is called the "Kik in d Kok" and the bus station is the "Busijaam". I entered Estonia and marvelled for days how free I felt not constantly watched or in fear of the cops. I gapped open-mouthed at all the modern contraptions, the sparkling clean toilets, and total embrace of Europe. I went clubbing twice and listened to the bloke travellers crap on about the beautiful girls. In Latvia and "i" goes on the end of everything. Like "Britneyi Speari". Hum...sounds familiar.

I moved onto Latvia. Riga is a beautiful city and with a massive dump down of snow it was magical. But I was getting tired of being a total tourist tied to the cities, and listening to the blokes crap on about the beautiful girls. So, me and three others divised a plan of escape. We hired a car and drove around Latvia and Lithuania for seven days; two very country Aussie boys who inflicted me and the groovy yank from Boston with the Dixie Chicks and "A Whole Lot of Country" CD compilation. We ran up and down gorgeous, freezing, endless beaches on a futile hunt for amber. Visited a defunct nuclear missile base, once extremely top secret where once missiles were ready to be launched at Western Europe at the push of a button.

Hunting for Amber on a Latvian beach

In Lithuania the main supermarket chain is the "iki" and to say thankyou, you say "ah chu". I visited the old KGB headquarters where locals were tortured for any reason. This was the third museum to the occupation, even described as genocide, that the Soviets inflicted on the region. Very graphic stories, absolute misery. I have learnt a lot on this entire trip of the suffering humans can cause their fellow man; I visited mass graves and places with long histories of bloodshed. I understand that nothing is impossible.

I was getting really tired of only meeting other travellers, and listening to the blokes crap on about the beautiful girls reached its crescendo here. By this stage, the girl travellers were in awe of how spectacularly ugly the local men where. How the hell did the mothers spawn the same breed? I moved out of hostels for good. The very lovely Hannah, a mate of a mate (thanks again Catrina!), took me in and I really enjoyed my trip's last days. I wandering the Russian market and said goodbye to what now felt familiar.

The Baltics were lovely, but hardly a secret anymore and I feel I didn't get to know life there. I was initial glad to escape the mayhem of the Russians, but before long, it felt all too easy. I missed the mayhem, and I think I might even miss the Russians.

So, I am here in Blighty now, excited to be catching up with mates and my brother, and people who have known me longer than a week! Not much of a clue what I am doing next, I'll keep you posted.