a breath of fresh air.

That is how Nepal feels after coming from India. Even the relatively peaceful pace of southern India is nothing compared to Nepal, or precisely, Pokhara. Surrounded by the Himalayas on one side and a rather impressive lake on the other, Pokhara is the jumping off point for all the major trekking trails. Annapurna, Fishtail Mountain....others also, but I'm not going to lie, trekking isn't high on my list of things I love so I can't remember any more names.
We arrived here on the tail end of monsoon season, so although we know geographically we are surrounded by enormously beautiful snow-capped mountains, the ever prevailing clouds make it slightly impossible to believe. We did get lucky though...mother nature must have taken pity on us as on Wednesday some of the clouds disappeared for a time and we were able to spot the snowy peaks of two giant mountains. Very exciting.
The lakeside of Pokhara, while being completely set up for tourists, isn't enormously developed, and although restaurants now offer WIFI and internet cafes line the streets, it still has the feel of a chilled out hippie destination of the 70's or 80's. Or my imagined version of what that would be like, anyway. Everybody who comes here is here for the trekking (with the exception, of course, of me) so everybody has that air of unconcerned scruffiness about them (including me)...there are no flashy clubs or bars. Pubs have live bands that play old Chili Pepper songs and Stairway to Heaven....and there is a LOT of U2.
We also made a lovely new friend here who runs a small business that provides jobs for otherwise unemployed village men and women. It's an interesting story and I am going to dedicate another whole entry to it, but that might have to wait until I am home, with a reliable internet connection so I can upload pictures.
So....this is my last blog from overseas. Bit sad really, but mostly unbelievable. The thought of going home is very bittersweet, but at the moment it is just that, a thought. It doesn't feel like anything real. I have been away so long that I have actually forgotten what parts of my house look like and the idea that I will be home on Monday, in one place, with no intention or need to move on to a new place, a new bed, a new town, is quite surreal.
See you soon Adelaide!

the land of coconuts.

We traversed the country in trains and buses and it took us no less than two days, but we finally arrived in the southern state of Kerala, and our home for the next ten days. A guesthouse set up high in the Keralan mountains, in a tiny village, five minutes walk to the local school which is the centre of life at the guesthouse set up for volunteers. There are six or seven people living here at the moment...the volunteers (and only white people in the village and surrounding areas), the couple who run the school and connected orphanage and any family or others who are connected in some way to the organisation. It's a lovely environment to live in....as I expected, a very different view of India than what I have seen so far.

The school, which is run specifically for poorer children and orphans, is making do with whatever they can. Very few supplies, untrained teachers and classrooms which are literally all set in a large concrete hall and separated by curtains. The children are all gorgeous though and doing very well with what they have.

P.s The title of this post is referring to the fact the 'Kerala' means 'Land of the coconuts'...ie, there are a lot of coconuts down here.

notes from the land of insanity.

India. As the cliche goes, westerners come to India to 'find themselves'. Although, after being here for nearly two weeks myself, I honestly have no idea why people expect India to be the place in which this will happen. There is so much other (four letter word) to deal with that I can't fathom how anybody would find the time to even search for themselves here. What it does teach you however, or at least what it has taught me so far, is that home is a beautiful, beautiful place. In fact, more than any other place I have visited in the course of these travels, India has made me appreciate the land of Oz the most. Imagine, a place where locals and foreigners are charged the same price....where people genuinely want to talk to visitors, not just score the contents of their wallets....where locals will help you and not hold out their hands for compensation....ahh just imagine! Is it not beautiful? It is. And thankyou to the great subcontinent for helping me realise this.
This description may seem cynical...I don't mean it to be. It is genuinely how I feel about this place, or what I have seen of it so far at least. But, of course, so far I have been in major tourist areas visiting major monuments and landmarks, so this is only one representation of a very varied land.
After spending about twelve days traversing Rajasthan (yes, we saw the Taj Mahal and yes, it is actually something you have to see in real life to truly understand it's beauty), we are currently on a night stopover in Mumbai, the most westernised city in India, before we have two overnight train rides down to the southern state of Kerala, where will be met by my lovely mummy who will then take us to the school she is volunteering her time to. After I have seen this side of the country I am sure I will have a lot of different things to say about it. We'll see.
(P.s Sorry, no photos this time, India doesn't seem to have caught on to the wifi craze yet (at least in the budget hotels) so I am using public computers and can't upload anything.)

snapshots of turkey.

swimming in a rich person's hotel in a small wine making village



boats and mountains of the mediterranean



balloons in cappadocia


a pot tree



the cats and fairy chimneys of cappadocia


street

turkey.

A snapshot of the country that connects two cultures...

Your gender and hair colour have a great affect on how people respond to you in Turkey. Being a blonde female is both good and bad...you get a lot of gifts, you're self esteem will go through the roof, and by the end of three weeks you will give up being polite and just ignore all men completely.

Apart from this aspect the people are generally very friendly and hospitable and generous. Spend a bit of time talking to the waiter in any cafe and you will most probably end up at their house for dinner, or at least out in a tea house with them for a conversation that will involve varying degrees of charades (depending on their English skills).

You will come to love Turkish tea, especially if you are a man...sitting and chatting in tea houses for hours on end is a major part of the male culture here. The women are all behind the scenes working of course.

Although this is a predominantly Muslim country- I think 97%- there is certainly a division between east and west Turkey. The west has been influenced by Europe and welcomed the decision of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (the founder of the Turkish Republic) to westernize the country and turn Turkey into a secular state. Come to the west and see people drinking, dogs are everywhere, women can wear what they like and you can even buy bacon if you so wish. The east, though, is completely different. Heavily influenced by the surrounding countries of the Middle East, Islamic rule is almost absolute here. Women have no autonomy, there is no drinking, no tattoos, no kissing before marriage. If you are a man, probably quite a strict lifestyle. If you are a woman, an impossible lifestyle.

So visitors, stick to the west! It is safer and a lot more fun I think.

The food here is good. All of it. I am definitely leaving with a little something extra in the stomach area...the men here all have what they call 'Turkish muscle', which actually means they all have little pot bellies from the food their mothers cook them. There is a strange salty yoghurt drink called Ayran, and a delicious traditional ravioli dish called Manti.

Cats are everywhere. In every single town I have been to, cats roam the streets. They don't belong to anybody in particular, but generally people are tolerant of them and lay food out at night and let them hang around.

There are some strange and beautiful landscapes here. There are a lot of old palaces and mosques here. There are a lot of people here. In Istanbul alone it is estimated between 15 and 20 million people...coming from Australia that is impressive.

Turkey is a very unique place. It is trying to be a westernized, secular, Muslim country. I am not sure if it is succeeding completely but it is certainly different. A book called 'Snow' by Orhan Pamuk is very insightful, I recommend it.

short and sweet. 6

Reunion.

After two grumpy days in London I had to escape, and luckily an old school friend whom I hadn't seen for 5 years was living a mere two hour train ride away, so I was out of London and up to Newbury for a long awaited reunion

I was met at the train station by my old friend and after hugs and screaming and giggling, she took me back to the staggeringly rich family she nannies for, and showed me around their enormous house/estate (with pool, art gallery, cellar, summer house...I could go on).

Then we reminisced about the good old days, gossiped about everyone we went to school with and, being in upper class England, went to a pub called "The Snooty Fox" for a night out.

A lovely escape from London and a brilliant reunion with an old school friend.

short and sweet. 5

London.

A tired yet excited greeting at Heathrow, and I am back in London once more. I'm really not sure what it is about this city but I just generally don't enjoy myself when I am here. The extortionate cost of everything, mixed with other sentiments, surround me with an aura of permanent frustration whenever I have to spend time here.

On my recommendation, because I had absolutely had enough of public transport, we rented a car for our British sojourn. Not a brilliant idea, as it turned out, as I should have probably predicted, London traffic is a nightmare and when you are a visitor it takes an age to find anywhere (thankgod for GPS) and then when you do, another age to find a park.

The first day in the great British city I napped and ate and sat, then when I tired of that I suggested we should be oh so very English and go and see some theatre. There is an open air theatre in Regents Park and that night they were showing The Comedy of Errors. So we gathered up our energy, found the park, found a park and went to be sophisticated with the genteel English folk.

I drank Pimms, felt under-dressed and enjoyed the play. Dad managed not to fall asleep after his 20 hour flight and everything was good.

short and sweet. 4

Oxford once more.
My final night here, England won their match so everyone was happy, and when I met my couchsurfer host of the evening he was slightly tipsy from two hours of being patriotic down at the local pub. (As I am in the UK and it is World Cup time, football is a major thread of a lot of these entries...usually I don't care about it, but over here it's hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere.) Speaking of which, Australia played their only winning match on this night and of course there were no other Aussies around for me to get excited with.

My CS host took me to a famous 13th century pub, hidden in the back alleyways of Oxford, absolutely packed with tourists, locals and lots and lots of students. The Turf Tavern...a tiny little pub that looks almost unchanged since it was built 600 years ago, it has been used in the filming of lots of TV shows and is a major draw for tourists in Oxford (of which there are many, all the time, everywhere.)

The next day it was up at 4.30 to catch a bus at 5, to meet Pa at Heathrow and be absolved of organisation or worry for the next month (or so I had hoped).

short and sweet. 3

Aussies in Chester.

Because I like to suffer, I decided that I would take a 5 hour bus trip up to the city of Chester to meet an Australian friend and stay for the night, then catch the bus back to Oxford the next day. (I had to come back to Oxford because in a fit of over planning I had prebooked my bus from here to Heathrow to meet Pa).

But the bus ride wasn't so bad and the night was worth it. A bronze elephant, outdoor couches, sugary cocktails, headbanging, an impromptou dance off and a good friend. How could this be anything but good? And I got a lovely farewell from the bus window!

short and sweet. 2

Oxford. Home to the polite, the educated and the very, very English.

I had decided before my arrival to the motherland that I was not going to be spending my last days as a solo traveller in London, as there is something about that city which I really don't enjoy. So it was up to Oxford and straight to my new couchsurfer upon arrival. A tall, gangly, pale, educated, bespectacled ENGLISH boy. Going by visual observations anyway. He was actually very cool and the one night I was planning on staying with him and his father turned into three.

I spent my days here wandering around the picturesque university city, visiting old buildings and English gardens and museums, cycling, eating scones with other genteel English folk and generally feeling unfeminine surrounded by all the gentle, proper, well-dressed Enlgish ladies. I also spent a lot of time marvelling at the ridiculous amount of importance that is placed on heirarchy and social class in England. Coming from Australia (and I met another couchsurfer from Germany who shared my sentiments) it is impossible to take class importance seriously and impossible to believe how ingrained into the culture it can be.

My nights were spent meeting new people, and learning new things. One of which was geocaching. Kind of an Internet based treasure hunt, it has been around since 2000 and seems to be quite a delight for procrastinators the world over, as according to Wikipedia (a most reliable source, as we all know) there are now 1, 114, 101 geocaches on the planet. Australians also seem to love it, but if you have no idea what I'm talking about, google it. It's way cool.

English father's day fell upon the second day of my stay, and since the English lad I was staying with lived with his father, we had a lovely father's day dinner together. I thought it was only polite to help with the cooking, as I was a guest in their home, but although my host was 23, he was only just learning to cook and hadn't really got the hang of it yet, I ended up being in charge of the kitchen. Which was actually fine by me because my bossy side tends to be on prominent display when I cook and I like to be in control.

Self-photography and reflection in the Oxford University Botanic Gardens.

short and sweet. 1

Sorry sorry sorry. That is how I should start all my posts from now on. So much has been happening and I have barely had the time or energey to put it all down in my journal, let alone up here to share with everyone. As I have moved around so much since I last wrote, this isn't going to be a mammoth, novel length post, there is too much to say and you will all get bored, so I am posting a bunch of short and sweet updates about new places and people and things. This one is first.

Ireland, Jordan style.

The tour over, we rolled into Dublin on a Friday evening, said our goodbyes and got ready to cheer on Australia in their game against Germany. I waited in line for nearly an hour to get into an Aussie pub to watch our first match of the World Cup, which, if I was any sort of 'football' fan whatsoever, would have resulted in bitter disappointment and frustration. As it was, I commiserated over our terrible game with some new American friends who were with us all the way, left all the sulking Australians and cheering Germans and went out to experience Dublin nightlife.

The next day it was back down to Cork for a few days of couchsurfing with locals. The first Irishman I stayed with was quite infatuated with sport, so I went and watched while he played a game of tag rugby, then afterwards sat in the pub with his team-mates to dissect the game and talk shop. If this was Australia I probably would have fallen asleep from boredom, but the Irish country accents and quirks of conversation more than made up for the dull discussion.

Day one in Cork, exploring on my own...I visited a 60's style American diner (of the sort I was actually hoping to find in New York, but apprently they are too cool for that), I was drawn into a vintage shop as I passed it, I got my cultural fix wandering around the city trying to find an art gallery, then did actually find it (it was tiny and barely worth the walk), I satisfied my ridiculous girly side with a terrible romantic comedy at the cinema, then I met my CS host and we went to a local pub full of character (and characters) to watch an indoor street performance show, with some very clever acts, some very impressive acts, and some kind of awkward and terrible acts. We finished up the night dancing to the live music of an old Western singer who did an excellent cover of Lily Allen's 'Not Fair'. A very well rounded day.

Day two in Cork I met another couple of Irishmen...one was a redheaded bundle of insane energy and the other was quite relaxed and easygoing. Opposites really must attract. This stay was the usual Irish drink, dance and be merry. Although I did go swimming, fully clothed, in the North Atlantic Ocean. That's something you don't do everyday.

The next evening it was back on the bus and back to Dublin for my final day in the land of the leprechaun before my journey back to fair Britain. I had a day and two nights in Dublin, but as I had spent every night in Ireland so far out drinking and dancing til the wee hours of the morning, I was using this time to rest before my next adventure. For my one day in the most expensive city in Ireland I experienced free entertainment at the Street Performance World Championships, which involved me doing nothing but sitting in a park, laughing, clapping and eating. Wonderful.

mini-bussing down south.

The one true touristy splurge so far...a 3 day, mini-bussing, guided group tour. A welcome to Ireland! I arrived at 6am, trekked from the ferry dock to find the group in Dublin and met all the people who I would be exploring with for the next 3 days. Thankfully there was some gooduns. So tour was prophesied to succeed. There was a lot of 'taking the scenic route' which, being Ireland, was all about rolling green hills, blue-gray skies, the odd castle or ruin and lots and lots of black and white cows. It was beautiful...but inevitably most of my bus time was spent napping or in a dazed state of wakenness. I had to be properly prepared for full days of sightseeing followed by full nights of drinking and dancing; what else was I to do?

We followed the southern tourist trek right and true and, in the tradition of organised tours, packed as much as was humanly possible into each day. Blarney Castle, Mitchelston Caves, Beaches, Rock of Cashel, Galway, Killarney, Ennis, beehive huts, Fionn MacCool in the sea, Cliffs of Moher....followed by nights filled with a unique, newly invented (by us) Australian dance, reminiscent of Irish dancing/bootscooting. Mostly it involved us elbowing people out the way and looking very ridiculous. Nights filled with Guinness and Murphy's and group games of Kings in an old man's pub in Ennis. We know how to start a party!

The beginning of one night was spent listening to the stories, jokes and songs of a 40 year old Irish lad named Pa, with the energy of a 5 year old and a perpetual smile....his energy filled the room, it was not necessary for the audience to do anything but sit.....and laugh. And laugh we did, as he regaled us with the (fictional) story of the closing night in a country pub, narrated by the publican. In which he also played all the other characters in a most convincing way. Brilliant.


The traditional young, group bus tour of anywhere really...days spent gathering the necessary tourist photographs and nights spent drinking til two in the morning....magical. And if not magical, then a little bit of fun.

wwoof.

I have been a customer of far too much public transport these last few weeks...this might have something to do with my penchant for taking the word ‘travel’ to the extreme and deciding that to truly see the country I must trek from one end to the other in a single trip. In short, I am terrible at the logistical side of planning. But amid all this travel, I have also had some interesting experiences which made all the cramped, night time bus trips worth it.
I decided that a month in Great Britain on a budget like mine was an impossibility without getting creative about my accommodation. There was no chance of spending the month in hostels which, at 15 pounds a night minimum (that’s about $25), were not suitable for ‘bank balance lite’. So I decided to have a go at WWOOFING (worldwide opportunities on organic farms). I can’t remember where I first heard about it, but a couple of people I met in Canada had done it and said it was a pretty good way to see some different places and score some free accommodation and food. Sounds good!

My first stop was up in the highlands of Scotland, way, way up, in a tiny village which was a 1 ½ hour walk from the nearest town. Probably the most isolated I have ever been without camping. Although my accommodation in a tiny green caravan was reminiscent of many trips into the bush. I had a great week though. I have never felt so satisfied with my accomplishments! I worked for about 6 hours a day, mowing, weeding, painting, sorting...just doing everything that needed to be done really. I stayed with a lively old German woman, who had been in Scotland for some 30 years. She was a great cook. Everything home-made...honestly, the only packaged things in her house were yoghurt, milk and butter. It was incredibly refreshing after eating pub and cafe food for the last month.

It was a beautiful area too. Way up in the hills, on the coast. Although the water was so cold it actually chilled you to the bone, it was so pretty that just sitting looking out to sea was satisfaction enough. It was crystal clear. I know that is a terrible cliché, but clichés are around for a reason, and there really is no other way to describe that ocean. With the sun shining across it, the many shades of blue and green were glinting and shimmering...it was like when you see a beautiful person and you can’t help just staring at them for way longer than is acceptable. After my week with Ingrid and her veggie garden was up, I jumped on one of my second homes and began my journey south. My journey which would see me board 6 buses and a train, all in two days. I arrived all in one piece, if a little travel weary, in the little, coastal Welsh town of Aberaeron to begin my second week of farming life. This time it really was. I had placed myself on a Welsh cob (a breed of horses) farm; a whole 200 acres, with 30 horses that were bred for riding and horse shows. As far as country farms go, this was on the wealthier end of the spectrum. Concrete yards, stables, sheds, a farmhouse with a little flat for students and WWOOFERS, all kept immaculately clean.

It was easy to slip into the comfortable routine at Derwen Stud. Breakfast at 8.30, work for two hours, tea break, work for two hours, lunch break and work for half an hour and you are finished. The work was simple and easygoing too. On my first day I got to know the ride on mower, and we turned out to be great friends. Together we mowed the back lawn, around the pond, along the drive and in the guest house yard (yes, there was a guest house). We did a wonderful job of it too...only two fences got in our way and with some quick manoeuvring we were mowing once more. Also more weeding. And I began to live out my childhood dream of being on The Saddle Club, when I helped feed the horses and muck out their stables. 10 year old me would be so jealous!

The town was also gorgeous, with ice-cream coloured houses bordering the habour and a local green right off the main road. So all in all, my stay with Ifor and Myfanwy was rather successful I think and I have been promised a bed when I return, working visa in hand, in a couple of years.
WWOOFING turned out to be about more than free food and a bed (I had slight suspicions it might) and I ended up meeting some very generous people and learning about a simpler, slower pace of life...and also getting my lazy bum out of my chair in the local cafe and doing some actual work for once! It was great...definitely have a go if you want to travel lightly (or just plain don’t have any money).

volume two.

Ok. Arrival into London was a success, no lost baggage or lost Jordan, although clearing immigration was a much longer and more nerve-wracking experience to what I'm used to. I guess the naive innocence which usually ensures the friendliness of scary officials wasn't working properly. Perhaps caused by lack of sleep. But I made it to London and subsequently to Edinburgh, at which point I was quite delirious with tiredness and the grandma within me was waving her stick and demanding a nap. Though of course I didn't yield to her- I only had 2 nights in Ed and they certainly weren't going to be spent going to bed at a reasonable hour. Fate intervened and I happened to be put in a dorm with a group of Aussies who, as it turned out, live right around the corner from me (relatively speaking...it is actually about 45 minutes away). This was something to celebrate, as I'm sure any South Australian who has travelled knows, if you ever meet anyone who knows Adelaide is real you need to befriend them.

So after we excitedly chatted about life in the homestate we went out and spent the Saturday night in Edinburgh as it should be spent...drinking, drinking and dancing.

Sunday saw the sun rising at 4am as we covered our heads with our pillows and inwardly groaned about which idiot didn't close the curtain the night before. Fast forward a few hours and, fortified by a hearty youth hostel breakfast, we are preparing to take a walking tour to learn some of the darkly comedic stories about Edinburgh's past. And there are many...here are just a couple.

***When the witch burning craze swept Europe back in the 17th century Scotland thought it should get involved as well, and after setting some obvious criteria with which to discover witches (red hair, 3rd nipple, that sort of thing), they began to scourge the city of Edinburgh of the ungodly. After many triumphant captures and burnings a slight problem became apparent. The city had used its entire supply of wood, which was needed to burn in order to produce the coal from which walls and buildings were made, burning witches and they were left with nothing to build with. It's ok though, some quick thinking saved the day. The coal that remained from the witch burnings was gathered and used instead, and to this day you can visit Scotland and lean against a wall made from dead Scottish witches.***

The second tale is a little less macabre and a little more gross.

***Back in the day, Edinburgh was a maze of narrow, cobble-stoned alleyways surrounded on both sides by tall tenement buildings. It was also a city lacking a sophisticated sewage system. I say 'sophisticated' because there was a system in place, however basic. It was, more or less, 'throw your waste out the window and into the street whenever is necessary'. This worked for a while, but when the councilmen decided something needed to be done about hygiene in the city they declared there was to be 2 daily times allotted for sewage disposal. 7am or 10pm. Since nobody (one would hope) has a full bucket of sewage at 7 in the morning, 10pm became the norm. Special time, 10pm. It was also when all the pubs closed and the loyal patrons had to stumble back to their homes and lives.

So it is dark. The inebriated crowds are filling the narrow streets eager for bed. Those at home are emptying their buckets of sewage before also going to bed. As a common courtesy, a warning was shouted before any bucket was dumped but, in this situation, it is easy to understand why there was an unfortunate few who did not make it to safety in time. A little bit of imagination here...and this is how the term 'shitfaced' was born. Thankyou Scotland.***

Ed also has a story about a lady who was hanged and came back to life, a dog who was given the keys to the city and a local carpenter/criminal who was the basis of the story Jekyll and Hyde.
But. This entry is more than long enough so I would suggest you hop on a plane and discover this city's stories for yourself or, perhaps a little more realistically, jump onto Google and search away.

Edinburgh Castle.

volume one.

Dear blog. I am sorry for the neglect. And also sorry to anyone who might drop by from time to time. I have been too busy enjoying my travels to sit down and write about them but I now have a 6 hour layover in the (slightly dull) Scottish town of Inverness, so get ready for my longest post yet. Which is so long in fact, that I am dividing it into two different ones. So here is part one. Enjoy.

I have to go back in time, to about 3 weeks ago, when I was up in the hills of Costa Rica exploring the rainforests of Monteverde. Much to Isabelle's disgust we decided a night time forest tour would be a rather interesting experience, so as the sun was setting we found ourselves wandering around a forest lit with glowing beetles, face to face with two-toed sloths, enormous tarantulas and some breed of Costa Rican raccoon. Perhaps Isabelle has been traumatised by this adventure, but I thought it was a little bit fun.

After this our journey, along with an airconditioned mini-bus, took us somewhere we could all enjoy. Which we did. I cant speculate on what life is like for the locals of Manuel Antonio but for the tourists I would say it is the epitome of relaxed laziness set among palm fringed beaches. A typical day involved an after breakfast swim in the pool, followed by a swim in the ocean, perhaps a short walk, back in the pool, lunchtime, some reading, a sunset walk along the beach and then dinner and happy hour at one of the restaurants lining the road parallel to the beach.

I'm not positive, but I don't really think life could be anymore relaxing than that.

After this indulgence in the human love of not doing anything, it was back to New York for a final two days with the lovely family before I was once more on my own in the world. There was a bit more shopping, a lot more walking around and I upped my street cred by getting a piece of metal through my nose. It immediately went right back down to its regular level of 'not cool' though, when I almost fainted after the event. Oh well.

Then the ladies and I parted ways with an awkward embrace on the subway and continued onto our respective airports and lives.

So ends part one. Get a cup of tea, perhaps some cake, and come back. Or just turn off the computer for a while and return later for part two of this enormous post.

in the jungle..the mighty jungle...

Indeed. The Jungle. I realise I have been a bit neglectful of late (since I met up with my family in fact) so since New York is long gone and we are in a completely different country, I am just going to move right on to that.

So Costa Rica! Where everyone is friendly and the weather likes to 'monsoon' for at least an hour everyday. Right at this very moment I am sitting in my hotel room doorway (the only place the WIFI works) listening to the sounds of the volcano jungle which is quite a harmony once the sun falls, though we have yet to see a toucan or a monkey or even a tarantula- not that I am complaining about that one.
We are staying at the Arenal volcano, literally right at it...here is the view from our hotel room...

This is an active volcano; apparently back in the day there were tours which allowed people to walk right around the crater, but there were too many deaths at the hand of volcanic ash and eruptions so this is no longer offered. Damn. We have seen smoke but no fire, but a couple of other brand new experiences I have had here more than make up for it.

Yesterday I went swinging through the jungle canopy on cables, ranging from about 50-100 metres high and 130-900 metres in length. Swinging through a forest canopy for nearly a kilometre while trying to keep your hand from flying off the cable is not as easy as it looks, and I ended up having to be rescued on this one. But I can proudly say I conquered (almost) all the other lines with my sheer charm and good looks. And the explicit instructions from the guides.

After this quite full on adventure we spent today pool hopping in the natural hot springs at the base of the volcano. Very relaxing....

Which we followed with a lovely buffet style dinner, a la Australian country pub...Oh Costa Rica, we love you.

in the park.

After almost a week of uncertainty and intercontinental phone calls, a plan has emerged from the ash. My lovely mum and sister will be arriving at JFK on Monday evening, for a week of exploring the city, before we head to Costa Rica so I can begin my much coveted summer.

This means, of course, that my original four days in the city have been extended to about two weeks. And since I am soon to be sharing my New York adventure, I want to wait for the arrival of the two lovely ladies before anymore exploring is had. Which means I have had several empty days (and two more ahead of me) to fill without treading on the toes of all the things I want to do with my family.

Central Park to the rescue! What a gorgeous place to wander around in or sit and read a book or do a painting. The beginning of spring, the blooming of my favourite tree, the blossom, the sweet smell of flowers and the simple joy of people ready for summer.

This is the place to go to get away from all the frantic people and the sirens and the beeping...a soothing oasis amid the intense, crowded metropolis. If it wasn't part of the city, I don't think my mind would be so caught up in it all. As it is however, there is a time in the future when I think I could call this place home, at least for a little while.

But for right now, I will continue to enjoy spring in the park and eagerly anticipate the arrival of the first of my travelling buddies and the good times that will be had.

new york new york.

Hey Friends. I am now officially extending my stay in the great city of NY. Like I really had a choice. My flight was cancelled yesterday, as were so many others, although I guess I should count myself lucky I found this out while I still had relatively comfortable accommodation and I am not now living at an airport. Thankyou Mister Volcano! That was the biggest fake expression of gratitude I have ever made.
Anyway, about my itinerary. I did actually stay on track for the first few days..then I heard about this volcano and fiasco ensued, which involved me frantically trying to replan everything, in colloboration with my family on the other side of the world with an enormous time difference. Ahhh...stressful times.
But so far I have been to the Guggenheim museum, the Moma, the Natural History Museum, St John's Cathedral, the New York Public Library, Times Square (so full on I could only handle it for about 20 minutes...but I did get to see the famous Naked Cowboy), Central Park (my favourite place so far), 5th Avenue (lots and lots of ridiculously expensive designer stores...) and I have seen the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island ferry.
I have not yet walked the Brooklyn Bridge or eaten Brooklyn pizza....or in fact any pizza at all. But it is ok, as now I have extra time to finish seeing whatever it is I would like to see. Once I am done organising of course.
I am supposed to be in London right now...and I only have concrete plans as far ahead as Thursday, after which I am homeless and confused.
This volcano has certainly put my planning skills to the test and made me realise that my stress levels will probably severly affect me later in life.
Anyway, there you have it my friends...the now ongoing New York trip. And who knows where I will be next week..or whom I will be with. I hope it is somewhere amazing with some people I love.

a final farewell.

Tomorrow is my very last day in Canada, the country I have called my home for the last 5 months. It is sad, and I have made some very good friends here who I will never forget, but I am eager to move on. As these first 5 months abroad have seen me living and working in one place, I haven't really felt like a traveller yet; that part of my trip begins on Friday, in the city that never sleeps...the Big Apple...New York City. Something I have discovered about myself is that if I don't have a certain structure to my life then I have a tendency to sit around dreaming about things rather than actually doing them, which is not something I want when I have spent my life savings to come across the world. And so, to make sure I get the most out of my 4 days in the big city, I have created an itinerary. It's very high-school trip, I know, but at least it means I won't waste my time there sitting in cafes eating cake and gaining pounds.

So here it is...the busiest and most touristy 4 days of my trip yet. Let's see if I can manage to pull it off, all on my own, with nobody to wake me up or hurry me along...

FRIDAY
Arrive at the bus station at 6am. Need coffee, food and a map.
After some rest time, find accommodation (which I still don't actually have) and drop my bags.
Visit the New York Public Library, then take the 20 minute subway ride to the Cathedral of St John the Divine (which boasts the largest stain glass window in the US).
Lunch time.
Visit the International Centre for Photography (pay what you can after 5pm on Fridays).
Home and sleep.

SATURDAY
Visit the American Museum of Natural History.
Lunch time- a burger, cherry pie and coffee at a diner.
Visit the Moma.
Walk to Grand Central Station (apparently a rather impressive tourist attraction...).

SUNDAY
Start the day with a Staten Island ferry ride.
Visit the Rockerfeller Centre.
Visit the Chelsea Hotel (Sid Vicious shot Nancy and Jack Kerouac allegedly completed On The Road here, so how could I resist?).
Eat something Jewish. I am in New York, it has to be done.
Pay homage to Gossip Girl and Sex and the City and take a stroll around the Upper East Side.

MONDAY
An early morning walk around Central Park, followed by shopping and exploring in Greenwich Village.
Some lunch and some more shopping (I heart NY shirts for everyone!).
A night time ride on the Staten Island ferry (I know I have already done this, but it's free. And I love free things).

TUESDAY
Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to see NYC from across the river.
Refuel after my hour of exercise and walk back to the city.
Pack my bags and off to the airport at 4pm!

I think it can be done.
So goodbye Canada, I will see you in a few short years, and hello New York City, I am ready to take you on...


The view of the city of Toronto from the UN tower at sunset.

montreal- canada's europe.

Yes. I did stay in hotel for my two nights in this city. And the hole in my bank account was totally worth the privacy and luxury of having my own space after nearly 5 months of sharing it (with all very lovely people, so I'm not complaining...but after so long it was nice to able to walk around naked without fear of totally grossing anybody out). After only 2 days I am in love with this city...it is a miniature, way less expensive Europe. And I love Europe but am way too poor to stay there for very long- perfect! This is the view from my hotel room; in black and white because somehow it makes it all the more arty and Parisian.



Ahhh...magical. Although I am not tremendously sad to be leaving so soon, as I am feeling a little bit lonesome and I know my friends are waiting for me back in Toronto. Montreal is definitely a place to be visited with a companion. I'm not whinging, because I up until now I have enjoyed the freedom of traveling solo, but facing the breakfast bar on your own every morning and seeing everybody else (literally, everybody else. I was the only loner.) chatting with friends and family, you can't help but lamenting on your lack of friends. And you almost forget that it was your choice to leave them all behind as you wonder if the reason you are all alone is an off-putting odour or the fact that people don't like your hair. Paranoid thoughts aside, I did enjoy my short time here. And I finally got to experience the champion of French-Canadian cuisine, the poutine. Before I explain, here is a picture...


Looks kind of like a particularly chunky bowl of vomit doesn't it? The description doesn't really do it any favours either. Poutine is french fries and chunks of cheese covered in gravy. I decided to add some Montreal smoked meat to mine as I thought, if I'm going to go there, I may as well do it properly. I imagine this dish is the Canadian equivalent of our Pie Floater; a slightly disturbing mix of foods that all foreigners feel it is their duty to experience. Needless to say I couldn't finish it and I left the restaurant kind of disgusted with what I had just put into my body. But now I can leave Montreal satisfied that I have taken part in at least one tourist ritual. Yay! Goodbye Montreal, I'm sure we will meet again one day...

oot and aboot.

So I am on a brief sojourn out of Toronto, in Montreal for the weekend. This was actually supposed to be my last stop in Canada but I decided it just wouldn't be right leaving without spending at least 1 more night in Toronto, as it has been my beloved home for the last 3 months. So I am just having a mini-break if you will; although that doesn't really apply because my life is so sedentary at the moment that it would be impossible for me to take any more of a break. I arrived safe and sound, if a little grouchy, as I did as all poor travellers do and caught the GreyHound...which basically translates into I have spent the last 12 hours not sleeping, my body uncomfortably scrunched on a bus seat. And now I face a dilemma...I had pre-arranged to couchsurf with somebody and I have his address and it is all worked out but at the moment I am feeling like if I meet any new people and they happen to be in any way slightly irritating, I might actually pinch their arm skins until their faces contort in pain and fright. So maybe trying to be social in this state is not one of the greatest ideas? This is what I am trying to convince myself to believe in order to justify spending an exorbitant amount (in relation to my ever diminishing budget) on a private hotel room where I don't have to talk or be nice or look pretty. Heaven.
And family, I know when you read this you will scoff and shake your heads and say to yourselves, oh Jordan...you are so silly, of course you can't afford to have privacy, you are a backpacker! But, the advantage here is that by the time you do read this, I would have already gone ahead and done whatever I please anyway. Now I just need to let my conscience wrestle with this conundrum for a little while, as I scour the Internet for a delightful little hotel that won't render me broke for the next month. The hunt is on...stay tuned for the next instalment of 'did she or didnt she?'...

pascua.

Something I have already learnt about travelling is that when people offer you something, it is usually best to say yes. Whether it be to the person who picks you up when you are hitch-hiking and invites you to have Christmas dinner with his family, or to your friend's offer to be the 'friend of a friend' at her boyfriend's family Easter lunch. I did say yes to both of these things, and they both turned out to be memorable occasions (the Christmas dinner because I actually ate a solid, home-cooked meal, a rarity to be treasured when you are a poor traveller, but the Easter lunch for other reasons).
I spent the Easter weekend with a friend from Mexico so aswell as another opportunity to be the Australian ring-in at a family lunch on Easter Sunday, I got to learn how to make some traditional Mexican food, which will surely impress upon my return to the great southern land. She taught me to make Mole, with tostadas, chicken in sauce and pickled onions, and Capirotada, a traditional Mexican Easter cake (which we stumbled through with no quantities, very little direction and a lot of guessing...although the end result was a hit at the family lunch, much to her delight).
And then on Sunday I experienced Easter Sunday Portuguese style; lots and lots of family, lots and lots of laughing and lots and lots of food (and a bit of singing too). It can be a daunting thing walking into a large family event as basically a total stranger, but Canadian and European hopsitality combined is a lethal combination, and I was being offered food and drinks until, I am embarrassed to admit, I had loosen my belt a little. Oh dear.
There was much good food and, although this was a rare catch-up for a lot of the family, much effort at making me feel comfortable and at home. When I mentioned I was Australian, one of the old aunts exclaimed in excitement that she had 'never met anyone from Austria before!', then after a little giggle somebody corrected her and she exclaimed in excitement that she had 'never met anyone from Australia before either!', before she regaled us with anecdotes about the patients at the nursing home where she works. Another old uncle told me about the island off Portugal which is his home, 'heaven' he called it and he spoke so fondly about the beauty and seclusion that I have now made it my mission to visit it. And yet another lovely, old, white-haired man told me, with a cheeky grin and sparkling eyes, that one of his most vivid memories of being in WW11 was needing to piss really badly but not wanting to do it in front of the hundreds of surrounding soldiers; while his wife educated me in the correct way to flip somebody the bird. Hilariously lovely couple.
And a lovely, warm, generous family. One of my most memorable Pascuas for sure. Don't be scared, say yes!

a day at the seaside.

Of course since we are in Toronto it isn't actually the seaside but the lakeside, yet Lake Ontario is kind of big so you could be forgiven for getting confused. And what a lovely day to wander along the waterfront...a little cold still for an ice-cream and certainly too cold for a swim, but even so it was the beach, and I love the beach. Sand and water and seagulls and fresh air...it just makes me happy. Admittedly, it had nothing on our beaches (as I have told every Canadian I have met 'you guys have the mountains, we have the beaches') but after almost 6 months of winter, a day at the seaside, with sunshine, was amazing.



But also, tonight is my last night at 167 Wallace Avenue. A little sad, I must admit. I love the fact that this neighbourhood, with all its crazy and bizarre people of every ethnicity, interesting stores and really cheap food, was the first real place I lived out of home...despite everybody telling me how 'sketchy' it is. I'm going to miss living a stone's throw from awesome cafes and the colourful people I saw everyday....I mean, a street where you can see a woman practicing hula-hoop in her frontyard on your way home is worth all the late night police sirens, for sure.
No more wandering to the fruit market for my morning apple, or to the local bakery for a Portuguese custard tart for only 95cents, or down to my favourite cafe for waffles, a coffee and some awesome beats. Goodbye. I had fun.

another rainy day.

Another rainy day in Toronto; the perfect weather to stare wistfully out at from the comfort of your bedroom window whilst you lie in your pyjamas and dream of lovely, sunshiny summer days. Add some toast with peanut butter and a few episodes of Friends and it's the perfect wintry Sunday.
This is the sort of weather that encourages complete laziness and it being Sunday, that's about as much as my body can muster. It's always reassuring when the weather matches your energy level so completely...there is nothing worse than wanting to crawl under your quilt and put a pillow over your head while the sun shines through the window, a slight breeze rustles the curtains and you can hear sounds of a barbecue at your next door neighbours house. Those occasions harbour a feeling of disgust that you are hiding inside when it's such a beautiful day and to drive it away you force yourself out of the house for a wander around the garden, stay outside for five seconds and race back to your bedroom. There is no enjoyment in those days....they are wracked with guilt and vague suspicions that you might not be getting as much out of life as you should be.
Fortunately for me, today the weather is so wonderfully crappy that the only way to appreciate it is through a bedroom window, so even if I was feeling up to the task of actually walking around, there is no way I'd want to go outside.
So now I am just going to go back to enjoying my guilt-free, rainy Sunday with all the laziness it deserves. Perhaps a cup of tea and a nap....

museum visit.

So yesterday I succumbed to one of my first quintissential touristic activities in Toronto- the museum trip. I will admit to gasping with indignation at the admission fee (small town girl that I am, I was boasting all the way to the cashier that 'in Adelaide, our museum is free') but I paid up and entered The Royal Ontario Museum.
Three floors of museumy fun...my short attention span baulked at the amount of time I would have to spend here in order to get my money's worth. But after looking at the 'indigineous people' section (I always go here first, out of a sense of duty or something) I found one of my favourite sections, where I met my new friend...

I call him Franz. And yes, I like the stuffed animal section, I am not ashamed of it. Then off on a mission to find the Egyptian section...on the way I stumbled upon a corridoor of rooms demonstrating the lifestyles of the rich folk, all the way from the early 1500's up to the 19th century. There were parlour rooms and gilted furniture galore. I also learnt why, back in the day, those folks didn't wash...apparently they believed their skin was extremely delicate and to wash it could cause incredible damage. Huh, who knew?

Another exciting find was this poster, displayed in the Oceania section:

Exciting right? I thought so, that's why I took a photo before continuing on my way. Then bingo! My real favourite section, full of mummies, make up and animal gods. Satisfaction. And with that, I decided I had had my fill of looking at really old stuff and headed back out into the sunshine.

jordan's first blog.

So here I am in Toronto still, after gloriously quitting my job and showering my boss with all the reasons he made working there similar to slamming your fingers repeatedly in the car door, wondering how I should fill my remaining days. Slightly broke and well aware that I have another 6 months of travel in which no money making will be taking place, I consider my options. My question 'so, what free things are there to do here in Toronto?' is met with snorts of laughter and looks of pity...the overall reaction 'haha, yeah goodluck.' So nothing, apparently.
After ten days of unemployment in a Toronto winter, my life has taken on similar qualities to that of a uni student...but without the studying. So in essence, complete and utter laziness. Rising at midday, breakfast for lunch, lunch for dinner. Today as my room mate watched me prepare toast and tea at 12.30 in the afternoon, she wondered out loud what time I eat lunch. I told her 5ish...you know, obviously...crazy girl.
But now, thanks to blogger.com, I have a mildly productive activity to fill a portion of my day with in order to convince myself that I am not a total waste of air. Yay!