our odyssey

in a house in the hills

lived Will and Jordan

they worked all the time

causing no end of boredom

then came the day

when one of them said

"let's quit our dumb jobs

and go traveling instead"

so they packed all their bags

and headed northwest

up to nepal

where the trekking is best

they trekked through hills

mountains and snow

and then headed south

to glimpse a rhino

then yet further south

across a border

to a place where corpses

are burnt beside water

they went on to hampi

goa 

mumbai

then down to meet chacko

a mad indian guy

they surfed to sri lanka

the island of tea

of big rocks 

tall stairs

and  thieving monkey

they jumped on a plane

and flew really far

to the land of olives

vino

and a fine tapas bar

and they met jordan's sister

to share in their mirth

while they hung in barcelona

greatest city on earth

then off to the finca

of cathy and james

a farm of thirty cats

all with different names

morocco was next

with casbas and medinas

a rather nice place

for our wandering dreamers

a bus took them then

on to portugal

a marvellous country

for one so small

they couchsurfed

ate fish

met many a friend

but like all things do

it came to an end

so they hitch-hiked through france

to chatellerault

where aunt virginia lives

and tall sunflowers grow

they made it to paris

using only a sign

the city of love

they thought it sublime

some days later

they reluctantly left

for the island of ice

and depsite the bad weather

will's cousins were nice

they marvelled at london

had devonshire tea

and met an old friend

in cantebury

after two months of wet

they began to feel glum

so they headed for cyprus

the isle of sun

they farmed in a town

they planted and weeded

their time in the sun

gave them just what they needed

then before they knew it

they were back in nepal

this time with will's brothers

one loud and one tall

they hiked through the mountains

and spied a high lake

at one point they feared

their lives were at stake

they went back to india

pumped for round two

and spent a whole month

in tamil nadu

they swam in the rivers

and worked on the land

e-spied many elephants

the beasts are quite grand

their trip so far

is what i have told

but who knows what new adventures

are yet to unfold...

by will.

fifteen months.

Today was my fifteen month 'awayaversary'. Which means 15 months of no Saturday morning coffees with my BFF, 15 months of amazing new people and places and experiences and 15 months of wearing variations of the same 10 or 12 items of clothing that I have stuffed in my backpack (so they smell bad too). Seriously, I hardly even notice what I put on in the mornings now- if it is hole-free and doesn't have stains on it, it is my outfit for the day. So you can imagine the excited anticipation with which I await the arrival of a care package from home containing cheese, knitting needles (Will has a beanie to finish) and different clothes! And possibly even better than the thought that soon I will have a new selection of clean, rumple-free fancies to dress up in is the fact that they are being delivered personally by my mum. New clothes and a family reunion- what could be better? 

In my giddy excitement I decided that I shouldn't be the only one who gets to dress up in something new and gave wander with me her first makeover in...ever. I hope you like it. 

Other than blogstyling and planning Indian coffee dates with my mum, Will and I have been living the high life in the Indian jungle ever since leaving the farm a couple of weeks ago. We were couchsurfing/volunteering (but not really because we did nothing) with an incredibly hospitable English expat who lives in a tiger reserve in Tamil Nadu. 

 This was the view from the left side of the roof on his wonderfully airy house...

and this was the view from the right. Pretty nice spot he has there.

Apart from admiring the view we did (some) other things at Johnnie's place. Like cancel out all the physical work we did at the farm by scoffing so much home-made pasta, freshly baked bread, date-banana bread and entirely-home-made-even-the-cheese passionfruit cheesecake (I may have got a little over-excited at the presence of an oven) and drinking so many rum and cokes. And we swam in the pool and chatted to  Johnnie's elderly parents about living in India. 

And on a trip to the shops one day we saw twelve wild elephants. This little guy was just outside the car window, about a metre away. You would not want to be caught walking alone on this road...

And, most importantly, this is where we did our relaxing. Relaxing is a very important part of life you know.

We occasionally roused ourselves from catatonia to go into the nearby town for supplies. We saw this and decided the amazing packaging was well worth the $4 the packet cost. I'll give you a million dollars if you can guess what's inside...

We went for a wander one day and stumbled upon this colourful little temple. We couldn't decide if it was a tree growing around a temple or a temple built around a tree. Though considering the size of the tree, I would be inclined to go with the latter. Will walked along this path alone one afternoon- I was baking or sleeping or secretly eating cheesecake- and  eventually found himself in the forest. The forest that we had very recently been told hides an enormous wild elephant population, at least 100 Bengal tigers and bison and panthers and probably lots of other jungle creatures. Because of this, Will thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to get up close and nearly dead with some wild animals without a jeep, a guide or a cautious girlfriend. He thought it would be fine, as he told me sheepishly later: 

"I figured that I would keep walking til I saw an elephant, then turn around and go back. I forgot they aren't stationary." 

He lived to eat another slice of cheesecake, obviously, but it could have turned out very differently. When he came wandering back to the house hours after he left, he  told me the story of his walk. Of how he spooked a wild boar then came face to face with a bison (like a bull on steroids with horns the length of arms that could gore you to death with a single manouvre) and had to scramble to safety in a nearby Bodhi tree. Of how when he climbed back down the tree he followed the path to the river and saw an elephant bathing and just as he decided he was satisfied with this show and turned to leave he heard an ominous trumpet in the jungle behind him and realised he was stuck between two wild elephants and he really liked living. Of how he tried several times to get out of the jungle but he kept running into the elephants and subsequently clambering up his Bodhi tree in terror. And of how he finally escaped, by slowly walking up behind the elephant then briskly marching past, his face averted, pretending he couldn't see it- as you might do in the street when walking towards an acquaintance you really don't want to chat with. He told me this and I realised I would never be taking him on safari in Africa...in fact even Monarto may be unwise.

On a lighter, less my-boyfriend-came-very-close-to-being-trampled-to-death-in-the-jungle note, these are some of the very fine products you can purchase in India:

Your eyes do not deceive you; it is indeed a padlock and a firework endorsed by the biggest Nazi of them all. And a sanctimonious box of incense, just for good measure. 

Oh India, you crazy thang.

p.s. the beautifully packaged package contains 400 handrolled Indian cigarettes, wrapped in leaf and tied in thread, called beedis. Did you guess it?

bonny streets and and windy hills.

The night we returned to England from Cyprus was dark and foggy and near to the witching hour, the perfect night for ghostly intervention. We had none of that however; just a whole lot of hassle with immigration as we tiredly tried to convince the Ultimate Decider that we would not work illegally and that we were, in fact, only going to be in the country six more days. After all the questions and checks were made we were free and back into Blackpool for a few days before we headed a little further north to the bonny city of Edinburgh.

Because we hate the cold, we only gave ourselves a couple of days in this pretty, literary city. But we used them well. We walked and walked, across cobblestones and over hills, reading quotes of the cities souls anywhere they could be carved. We found the sun, one day, and this farmly view was discovered on top of another hill just minutes from a busy city intersection. 

We found the windiest place in Edinburgh- possibly the known world- and after spending about 45 minutes climbing to it, made sure there was photographic proof, stood around making weather chat for 5 minutes and then scurried back down to somewhere we could actually see again. 

We came across the most nightmarish version of Puss in Boots I could never have imagined in a toy museum full of nostalgia (we were both in fits though neither of us is rightfully old enough to fondly recall the items we saw). Proceed with caution; forever hereafter your Puss in Boots will be fanged...

We walked also in the evenings. Edinburgh is like Adelaide's Scottish older sister. They are both big enough to be interesting but small enough that a walk from one side to the other isn't off-puttingly daunting and guaranteed to end in blisters. Edinburgh is the elder simply becuse she is; these footpaths are seeped in history, museums abound. There's a castle, for goodness sake. We could even ignore the odd, pervasive smell of what I can only describe as dog food that followed us about. It wasn't us. I can only assume it was from the smoking brewery.

We discovered the ultimate way to eat pig whilst we were here. Here's what you do:

Step 1. Be very hungry and be outside, hopefully in a misting rain under skies that promise worse to come.

Step 2. See that shop that has half a cooked pig in the window? It has a knife sticking out of it's back, I know. Don't be scared. Go inside.

Step 3. Order the biggest hunk of bread and watch, salivating, as the friendly pink-shirted girl stuffs it with slow-cooked pulled pork. Get very excited as she tops it with stuffing and apple sauce.

Step 4. Now you are sitting with it in your hand. You know what to do...try to go slow...indigestion is imminent. It'll be the happiest indigestion you will ever have.

We also made a self discovery whilst in this city of the north. Apparently- and this is a difficult thing for self-proclaimed world travelers to admit- we are not as open minded as we imagined. Because we have reached that stage in our travels where a check of the bank balance comes with tightly crossed fingers and immediate denial of reality, we needed to find a free place to stay in Edinburgh. And because it was a last minute journey, the only person to accept our desparate pleas for shelter told us we were very welcome, so long as we had no problem with his being a nudist. We considered. Two seconds later we replied positively; this will be fine, we thought, we're cool with this. And hey, free room! Hahaha. Turns out you can't really know how okay you are with this scenario til you are in a tiny living room, trying to appear casual as you stare fixedly at the ceiling whilst being offered tea by a naked stranger who is in the midst of preparing his evening meal...

  

  

And these are some lights we found in a garden. Don't know why. They were oddly mesmerising though.

stinge-ing out in paris and london. part one

The creme de la creme of famous dangles

 We are no luxury travelers, but we have certainly not been down and out in Paris and London. Stinging out though? Yeah, a little bit.

Our journey from Chatellerault to Paris only cost us a few hours of slightly awkward small talk with strangers- we even learnt something. Did you know that 80% of France's power is nuclear? Neither did we.

We arrived in the city of love and, with our stingy hats firmly upon our heads, bought two children's tickets for the train to the 'burbs and our first night of Parisian couchsurfing. Which turned out to be more about celebrating the multicultural side of Paris than the 'stripey-shirted man with a croissant and a cigarette' side. We were staying with an Asian guy who lived with a family hailing from somewhere in Africa and we dined on Vietnamese pho (which was so good we were back in Vietnam for a minute).

We came round a bend on the river and saw this...

We had a far too brief 2 days in Paris and I'm sure we walked at least 100 kilometres in our efforts to see as much as possible (as well as, the metro is kind of expensive). And we saw a lot...of course the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysee (which meant I had that song stuck in my head for far too long), and Moulin Rouge. Also the final resting places of Oscar Wilde (Egyptian themed and covered in red kisses), Jim Morrison (covered in flowers) and George Melies (unfortunately no magic tricks were to be found) in the too big to be believed Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise. It is a wending, winding, tree-lined 110 acres with over a million "customers", that has been a fixture in Paris since 1804. I don't know if this is appropriate in a cemetery but I had to giggle when we came across a huge mausoleum housing somebody called 'Stroggonoff".

Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise

 The fantastic thing about Paris is that you don't really need to know where you're going (excellent for us, as we will often study a map, decide where we need to go and head off in exactly the wrong direction) because there is usually something to see around every corner. On our first morning's stroll we stumbled upon the Notre Dame! (Though if you fail to see that whilst walking around Paris I don't know...you may not have eyes). You will often be walking along a street, admiring the elegant old apartment buildings, and you'll turn a corner and be in front of a wonderful little park strewn with statues or a grand old municipal building or a shop window beckoning with its rainbows of macarons or, much to our literary delight, one of Ernest Hemingway's past homes.

For some reason, me kissing fish has become a theme.

We were walking along the river one rainy afternoon and as we passed the Musee D'Orsay we noticed an enticing lack of crowds so went inside and whiled away a couple of hours admiring Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Rodin and lots of other people that aren't so famous and therefore aren't so easily recalled. Ahhh, Paris. They also gave us discounted tickets for the museum as we are under 26. It is actually surprisingly easy being in Paris with very little money (as long as you have somewhere free to sleep and can resist the very strong temptation to buy everything) because you can look for free and there are many, many things to see. Also croissants aren't very expensive.

As we made our way down to the Eiffel Tower on our first Parisian day we crossed a bridge covered in engraved padlocks, proclaiming the love of thousands of couples (it is called 'Love Lock Bridge', I later learnt from eavesdropping on two American girls of questionable intelligence- they were certain 2 days would be enough in Paris as there was really only 3 things to see: the Louvre, the tower and this bridge...). Anyway we posed for a couple-y photo and were continuing on down the river when Will, in nervous earnest, told me not to expect a proposal at the Eiffel Tower, as there were no engagement ring sized surprises in store. He must have been growing ever more anxious about how to avoid becoming engaged without hurting my feelings ever since we arrived in the most cliched romantic city of them all (indeed, we saw two separate brides posing for photographs at the Eiffel Tower). I told him not to worry- I wasn't interested in marrying him until he could provide me with a house, a car and 2.5 children.

Love Lock Bridge

So the city of art, love, shopping, food (pastries for breakfast and cheese and wine for dinner anyone? How Parisians stay so thin when there endless displays of incredible food everywhere, I have no idea.) and wandering...we did so much walking in our time there that my ankles actually swelled up and I was rocking some serious cankles for the next week. It was also freezing, freezing cold while we were there but this did nothing to deter us from our hours of exploring the streets. In fact, if you can handle the cold- which all the Parisians said was completely normal and not actually very cold at all- this is the best time to visit because the places which I'm sure are over-run with tourists in the summer are completely empty now.

The Sacre Coeur at Mont Martre

And then, abruptly, our little Parisian sojourn was at its end. We had morning bus tickets booked for London, our bags were packed and we were ready to go (physically, if not mentally). We said goodbye to our wonderful host Pierre, an incredibly friendly and open-minded man who couchsurfs around the world with his 3 children and spends his Sundays giving food and conversation to the homeless of Paris, and made our way to a bookshop I wanted to have a quick look around before I left. The famous Shakespeare and Company has been a fixture of the Latin Quarter since 1951 and is a literary institution. Unfortunately the shop only opens at 10 and we had to catch our bus at 11 so we could only have a very, very quick browse. This, as I should have known, was impossible. We found ourselves still immersed in the tiny corners and bursting shelves of this densely packed space at 10.20. Thus ensued an incredibly stressful and frantic race between metro stations all the way across the city to make our bus, our tickets for which, if we missed it, would not be refunded. As you have probably guessed, we missed the bus.

While this made for a stressful morning (and a realization that we would not be winning any sprinting medals any time soon) it actually worked out rather well for us. Thanks pretty much entirely to two of mum's good friends who happened to be staying in Paris as well. We had come to our last 20 euros and Pierre was in the country visiting his children, so if it wasn't for Christine and Melvin's incredible generosity we may have spent the evening getting to know the ins and outs of the Paris metro stations. As it was, we stayed in an amazing apartment with a view of Notre Dame. We also found ourselves with an afternoon of bonus exploring time which we used to watch bocce in the park, stare greedily at incredible chocolate creations in shop windows (and succumb to two of the best macarons I've ever eaten), admire expensive chess sets in a charming old toy shop and climb (i.e. ride an elevator) up the tallest building in Paris, the Montparnasse Tower. From here we could visually retrace our steps all over the city and I have to say, I was very impressed.

But the next morning we really did have to leave and in a responsible, grown-up manner we arrived at the bus station a whole hour early. The bus ride was very boring, as they often are. The two moments of anticipation came upon leaving France- we had stayed a whole two days over our allowed time in Europe and didn't know what to expect from the officials...as it turned out, they didn't even check our dates and I'm sure we could have stayed weeks over and they wouldn't have cared- and entering the UK. I have previously gone through a horrible barrage of questioning at UK border control and wasn't really surprised when the official at this border was less than friendly. I kept so cool under all his ridiculous questioning that he gave up and with narrowed eyes -I'm sure- and a sigh of resignation, he stamped me in. Will, on the other hand, was expecting to be welcomed in with open arms being almost English himself, and was completely thrown off by the manner in which Australians are now dealt with. It was only after 15 minutes of questioning, bank cards and phone numbers of English family members offered for inspection and a lecture about return tickets that he was allowed to enter, shaking his head in disbelief, the little island of cold.

Parisian dusk.

can we just get two of the custard tarts please...

Our journey to Portugal was, to borrow from Enid Blyton, perfectly horrid. It involved two sleepless nights, sleeping on the cold ground, and various forms of transport, all public, all slow. By the time we arrived in Tavira, our first stop, I was literally shaking with exhaustion and cold. Luckily our time in this small land of bacalhau and pastel de nata (that's salted cod and Portuguese tarts) has been a perfect delight.

To save money (mostly) we decided to couchsurf all the way through Portugal- and we managed to, save two nights- and as a result, I think it is all the people we have met that will stay with us more than the places we have been.

Our first host was in Tavira, a little village on the ocean where we saw wild flamingoes feeding in the salt lakes. His name was Paulo and he welcomed us into his little home with open arms, a very comfortable couch and a chicken dinner. He was a lifeguard who loved the ocean and his town and he made us little maps and itineraries of places to visit and things to see. One day we walked six kilometres along a long deserted beach, from an anchor graveyard in the sand to Paulo's little life-guard hut; it's a fantasically exhilirating and anticipatory feeling swimming on an empty beach with storm clouds gathering in the distance. Unfortunately those storm clouds then broke and the next few days were flood-like.

Then the weather cleared, we said goodbye to our life-saving friend and tried to hitch-hike to Lagos, a town at the other end of the Algarve. We made it as far as Faro, then decided to catch the train and therefore made it to Lagos before nightfall. Lagos is an extremely touristy place but for good reason- the beaches are amazing.We were lucky enough to have one last day of "summer", and spent it swimming in crystal clear water on tiny little beaches surrounded by huge orange cliffs. Then we watched the sun go down over the Atlantic, atop a cliff. We stayed in a hostel in Lagos, our couch requests bearing no fruit, but it was definitely worth the expense. After our summery swimmy day at the beach we caught the bus out to the town of Sagres, from which it is a 6km walk to the desolately, breathtakingly windswept southwestern-most point of Europe. Atlantic waves crashing into rocks a hundred metres below you, insane fishermen perched on the very edge of the cliff hunting for the catch of the day, huge sea birds gliding on updraughts all around, and wide flat blue for miles. And Europe's most southwestern hotdog stand...
Not feeling extremely enthusiastic about a return 6km walk we tried our luck sticking out our thumbs and were surprised and delighted when, after four or 5 cars drove past, one stopped and took us all the way back to Lagos. From where we caught an afternoon bus to...

Lisbon! A picture perfect city; all cobbled lanes, old yellow trams, pastel pink and yellow and blue houses and a huge square opening out onto a harbour, from where we could see the "Golden Gate Bridge" and Rio's "big hilltop Jesus". Despite all this, and despite the abundance of pastel de natas all over the city, it wasn't a place that I wanted to live in (and this is how I determine a good city). I think this may have had something to do with the people we were couchsurfing with though, or if not the people, definitely the house. I say house...I mean tiny little bottom floor apartment with 3 tiny bedrooms and smaller kitchen and no living area that was home to seven people...and then couchsurfers. We found it a bit odd that these people hosted couchsurfers at all, what with all their minus space and all, and it wasn't until we were leaving and the man asked us for eighty euro for the 4 nights that we understood...scoundrels.
Rather than spending any more time than we had to in the apartment, we spent hours wandering around Lisbon. Up and down the hilly streets, overdosing on charm in tiny little tiled gardens, eating pastel de nata in Belem, the home of said delicious, finding aqauducts, a castle and hordes of tourists...not a bad city, not a favourite city.

After handing over 80 of our precious euros to our landlord (ahem, "host"), we sat fuming at the train station waiting for our train to the inland university town of Coimbra. We were heading into Harry Potter territory now...did you know old J.K. taught English in Porto (the 'capital of the north') and gained inspiration from a lot of the surrounding places. Like the university in Coimbra, a beautiful old stone complex on a hill above the city where tradition has students going about in black capes...sounding familiar?
Uni means students and students mean parties and our host in Coimbra was a very friendly, happy, enormous Bulgarian who loved to go out and party. So we met lots of people in Coimbra, stayed up way past our bedtimes and slept all through the mornings. To get out of the house one afternoon, after a long hard day of sleeping, we duck-spotted along an autumnal river with a Venezuelan chap called Jeremia.
We ended our time in Coimbra with a huge codfish dinner at a Portuguese house (an eternally tardy friend of our host's mother cooked), another late night that included Jenga and an impromptou oboe performance and a warm, fuzzy feeling inside from the extent of Bulgarian and Portuguese hospitality. And a vow to visit Bulgaria and all our new friends there.

In Porto, the place from which we reluctantly farewelled this lovely little country, we stayed with another Bulgarian who we met in Coimbra. Dilyana is in Porto on exchange, studying fine arts and living with another arts student from Slovenia and a plaster artist from Porto itself. So we were feeling very arty...even though the only thing we created while we were there was a chicken soup "surprise" and a chocolate fondue.
We had far too short a time in Porto, it's an exceedingly picturesque city perfect for exploring. On our first morning Dilyana and Helena took us on an impromptu little tour of the backstreets, to opshops and fabric stores, past cheap bars and cafes (students area of expertise). Past a little park that was to us a point of orientation and was to the elderly, the arts students and the local prostitutes a meeting place. Then they left us and we climbed a big tower for a panoramic view of all the red rooves, the river and the vine covered walls of the city. We dove back into Harry Potter in the Livraria Lello, an amazing bookshop that has been in business for over 100 years, has been voted one of the most beautiful bookshops in the world and was, reputatedly, inspiration for the library in Harry Potter. It's walls are lined in very old books encased in glass-faced panels and the staircase to the second floor is an Alice in Wonderland wonder...google it.
We saw the city from both sides of the river, climbed over the bridge designed by Gustav Eiffel (there is a resemblance, indeed) and were treated to another impromptu performance at another dinner we were invited to- this time it was fado, the traditional, melancholic music of Portugal. Our performer (one of the girls we were having dinner with) was a little audience shy so she turned off all the lights and sang to the open window...she was quite incredible.

And with these delicious memories we snuck onto the metro (since we were leaving we felt we need not buy a ticket...) and settled into our uber cheap, ad-riddled plane, ready to fly to Bordeaux.