Sydney, Australia

Mannie and I, Champion's Bar, Sydney, Jan 1992.

Many memories of my 1 year in Sydney. Where to begin? At the beginning one might say! 

Let me first tell you how I ended up in Australia in the first place. I never had any desire to go there. I never mentioned that I wanted to go there. I happened so fast. I was all set to go visit a friend in San Francisco, USA. Sara called me saying that she was going there and "what about us traveling together?" It was all it took.

So, by the time we (Sara and I) arrived in Australia (via the USA, Hawai'i, Fiji and New-Zealand), we didn't have enough money to leave the airport! We called Sara's sister's friend's boyfriend. He picked us up and showed us around before leaving us at his girlfriend's flat (apartment). 

It took longer than we thought finding a job,  so we had many filler jobs in the mean time like selling roses (1 night), being "squeegees" (washing car window at light stops) (3 days).

In the end, I never had a full time job but a lot of very part time jobs like teaching French to University (Uni in OZ lingo) students. The coolest job I had was working as a B&W technician for a professional darkroom 1 day a week.

I did attend to a lot of concerts. I saw Midnight Oil, INXS (with Michael Hutchence!), Yothu Yindi (an aboriginal group, totally awesome!), Hoodoo Gurus, a few reggae and African bands, to name a few.

We did visit a campground where wild kangaroos came to us for food. The little Canadian girl  was impressed. I can say, without a doubt, that the kangaroos ("roos") don't communicate with "click" sounds like Skippy did in my childhood program.

My most cherished memory is meeting Mannie Torishiba, the man on the photo.  He was a gentle soul from Papua/New Guinea who came here (so he told us.) as a footballer. We met him one evening at Champion's bar in Sydney's suburb of Bondi. Sara and I were playing darts when he came over and said something to the fact that he could teach us how to play with a blow stick. (His sense of humor was awesome!). Over the next few months, we all became good friends and regulars at Champion's bar, a rough bar full of Maoris. (they look mean but are sweethearts really.)
He loved bottled Guinness.

I heard from Mannie was a few years later when I was in London, maybe in 1994.

Bob

Bob is the across the street neighbor.

He loooooves to be pet! He's always at the front door meowing for some love and attention.
He's the same built & his face his the same as my beloved Sam. He also enjoys a good belly rub. He's sweet and gentle.
He's like Sam dropped in a flour bag!
Not hard to love!

Arachnophobia

This is not my usual "travel story" kind of post. A recent experience with Tibetan monks made me ponder about Buddhism.  About how Buddhists do not kill any animal or insects, as small as an ant.

This made me think of spiders and how I dislike them. They make me shiver in disgust. 

However, over the years and with the help of my encounters with many different spiders, I have managed to "control" my insane fear about them.

Here some of "famous" encounters:

- In my travels in Fiji, once we (my travel buddy, Sara & I) went horseback riding (with no saddles! A painful story), each sitting behind an experienced Fijian rider, whipping through a tropical rain forest when, I scream with fear in my voice: "SPIDER, SPIDER, SPIDER!" Straight ahead was a giant lime-green spider's web with a spider, waiting for us. (so I thought!) We narrowly avoided it. 

- I encountered many huge black spiders on the island of Tobago in the Caribbean. I just let them be and walked away (or run!), returning hours later in the hope they had moved on. 

- While stopped on a small tropical forest road in Mozambique, there was a tiny white spider that, I was told, was one of the most poisonous kind. It was on the outside front windshield and I, sitting inside the bakkie (truck).  I managed to keep my cool as long as it stayed put on the other side. I did not want to pass for a typical white Western female and panic. ...besides, I could not flee as there was the  dense tropical forest as I open the bakkie door. I had no where to run. 


- A friend in London, England, had a pet tarantula (yuk!). The beast was not in its cage but its sheddings were. (Apparently they shed their skin like snakes do.) I could not even bring myself to come close to them , let alone touch them. 


- This last story does not involve me. It is to mention how much some people have a phobia of spiders. I will not name him. (although Sara will know who I'm talking about.) A guy in England slept on his sofa because there was a spider on the stairs!  Now every body knows that there is no dangerous spiders in England!

Despite my notable improvement since then, (I do not run, panic or scream if I see one in Canada. I know that no spider in Canada is poisonous.) I still think that if ever, some unfortunate day, a tarantula cross my path, I would most likely faint!

To end this post, a quote from the Buddha:

“There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”

Rustler's Valley, Free State, South Africa

I've always been very lucky in my travels. I like to think that it's the aura I project or my Guardian Angel.

This story is no different.  How I got there is a long story, a compilation of events.  For months now, I had been told by different people that I would enjoy this particular music festival, the Rustler's Valley Easter  Festival.  I was thinking : "Yeah, yeah!, It's too far and too expensive for me."

I had been lucky to be living in Eshowe, Kwa/Zulu-Natal for a few weeks now when I bumped into a British girl who I had met in Zimbabwe a few months prior.  She told me that I could work there, at the festival, in exchange for a free entry to the 4-day festival. She knew the British guy who owned one of the four bar/stages, the Comet Stage,  around the venue.  I got hold of him and secured myself a job at his bar and a free entree to the music festival.  Next I spent a few days at a friend of a friend's house in Durban. He lent me his sleeping bag. (I had none!) His roommate drove me to the first town, starting me on the long bus (buses) journey that took me eventually to the festival site. 

I arrived there, found and met the British guy I was to work for. I still had no place to stay. I walked around and found myself at the only part of the 4-day festival, that was almost set-up. There I ran into a musician friend (I was working in a music venue in Capetown) who invited me to stay in his tipi, along with 2 of his friends. The best part was that the Tipi Village (it's official name), was a commune and the food was free. One only had to cook a meal for the group (9 people, I think) once.  It was the hippy-est part of the venue and home to the Drum Circle. 

Along with the Comet Stage, a place for musician to jam, there was the World Stage, where , you've guessed it, international bands and more "serious" South African bands would perform, the  Future's Field, a trance tent with live DJ and the Drum Circle, where all kinds of djembe drummers would jam, sometimes all night. There was also live performances of all sorts in the main building, and home to the official "Backpacker's". (another name is the Youth Hostel)

For more pictures and info, please check out my Rustler's Valley set on Flickr.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/eleniphotos/sets/72157606657436588/

This picture above is an unintended double exposure. It's a picture taken at the Drum Circle and a pancake stand, on the main "road".  I was major pissed off when I processed the film back in 1998, but now, I find it perfectly reflects the confusion of the festival.

To read more on how I got there, please read this previous entry:
http://elenisworld.blogspot.com/2008/10/im-pool-shark.html

Morocco

Morocco in 1990 & the Morocco now are worlds apart! Still every bit as exotic & mystical though but much less daunting for the Westerner.

On my first visit, with my travel buddy Sara, we arrived for the beginning of Ramadan, the month-long fast, a bit weary, but excited, about our new adventure destination. Since we came from mainland Spain, we took a ferry from Algeciras to Ceuta. (Ceuta being the portion that still belonged to Spain.)
On the bus that transported us from the pier to the town, our troubles already started. Unknown to us, the fight for our "business" had already started between the Moroccans  going back home for the Ramadan.

The next day, we made it, on our own, across the "border" into Morocco.  We took a shared taxi, along with 4 others plus the driver! Yes, that's right, 6 passengers! We were squashed in the back with 2 others, with loud music blasting. We were in a very unfamiliar setting, looking at each other thinking: "OMG,  what did we get ourselves into this time?" We were so naive!
So many details in our week-long adventure in Morocco. (It's all we could afford.) I'm writing it all in details in my book but here's what stood out:
-  Hamed's American name, given to him by an American. The name? He told us proudly: Jack Daniels!
-  On the bus, hearing the language, we thought that everybody was upset at one another.
-  Having my first Moroccan "whiskey"! It's an overly sweet mint tea.
-  Being followed up & down the streets of Tetouan.
-  The first time I had a "toke". It gave me nightmares! I was fully awake, sitting on my bed & I could still see a humongous tarantula on the ceiling!
-  Giving all of our money to the bus' conductor for him to exchange  and watch him disappear into the village's souk.  In the end, he came back with all our money sorry that he couldn't find the exchange man! (my Guardian Angel is GOOD!)

I returned, on my own this time, 15 years later & my experience was totally different. On my visit in 2005, I quickly made some new friends. They took me to many different parts of their country. Places with lush green vegetation & vervet monkeys (Ouzoude's falls, breathtaking!), a magical kashba (Ait-Ben-Haddou), the famous city of Ouarzazate (where a lot of film were made) & a few villages on the edge of the Sahara desert! I even took a short trek on a camel's back in the Sahara! Total silence.....until my friend's cell phone rang! Umf!
I learned that any local can get fined & go to jail for being with a foreigner, even if that foreigner is a friend! One needs to get a permit from the police. I experienced that in Fez, staying with a family & being taken around. On subsequent visits, I spent much time in Essaouira, going to Marrakesh, trekking in Essaouira's surrounding mountains, learning Moroccan arabic  and tried to blend in as much as I could into this magical country.
Morocco remains one of my favorite country.

Here, on the picture, Lahtifa is making melouis. It's a corn crepe, delicious with butter and honey. I'm drooling just thinking about it!

I'm still protected!

Very recently (last month) I went to back to Trinidad, my "home" country. Lots of great new adventures but this is not why I'm writing.
From Canada, going to Trinidad is a long trip which includes arriving in Port-of-Spain at odd hours. Therefore I chose to spend a night in Miami to arrive in Trinidad's capital at a decent hour.

So, after landing in Miami, I was looking for the hotel information desk. The airport is HUGE and to my experience, not with clear indications. I had been walking all over, been sent from 1 floor to the next, for about 1 hour when my running shoe's (sneaker) sole came  undone. "Shit!" I said. "A good start to the trip!"  I found a leather-coated bench to sit on to "repair" my flopping sole. I took my bag off my back and placed next to me. I took a chewing gum, chewed it and "fixed" my sole. I got up, found the information desk. Chatted with the information man and phoned my chosen hotel to get their free shuttle to come and pick me up. I, then, waited outside for the shuttle to arrive impatient  and starving. 15-20 minutes passes by, still no shuttle. "Shit!" I said again.
I got up to go phone again inside. It is then that I realized that I didn't have my red bag on my back anymore. I thought: "Man! They are good! I can't believe someone stole my bag already! No one was even near me. How come did it happen? ...Where was my Guardian Angel?"
I decided to go back to see the info guy and ask him if he remembered seeing me with my red bag on my back. It was walking through  the revolving doors that I remembered that when I sat down on the bench, I took my bag off and put it on the bench. I headed straight to the bench. My bag was STILL there! It happened to be in front of a concierge (the airport is so big that it has a fancy hotel!) and there was a security guard next to my bag. I walked to it, breathing better suddenly, not believing that I was so stupid, me a seasoned traveller,  to forget my bag on a bench! The security guard asked me:" Is that your bag?" "yes" "Can you tell me what's in it before opening it?" "You are lucky." he said. "I have called the canines to check it out."  I had nothing of value in it, apart from my newish Ipod, but had all my cameras (those who know me know they are plastic and/or lensless, therefore inexpensive.) and all my films.
I thought: "I'm glad that we are in the 21st century so everybody is scared of a bag left unattended at an airport."
I left with my bag, thanking my Guardian Angel and relieved to know that I'm still protected.

Hwange National Park

One of my wishes when I was a kid was to see African animals in their natural environment. I was in a hostel in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, when I met someone who made my wish come true. He had the bakkie (truck, 4x4), the tent, all the camping equipment & was looking for someone to share the costs with.  I quickly said: "Yes, please!". 

We spent 7-8 days in Hwange National Park & 1 day visiting the Victoria Falls. (Mosi-oa-Tunya, in the local language.)

Every morning, we made a "safari" on the trails of the park and spend a couple of nights deep inside the park. 

One time, our bakkie staled in the middle of lion territory. Scary My friend took a knife & bravely walked to last night's camping ground, were he was sure we would get help. I remained in the 4x4, the door open (it was SO hot!), eyes & ears on the look out for potential danger. I though: "Well, if there's a lion, I just close the door & I'll be ok.....but what if it's an elephant? I'm screwed! It can easily smash the truck up if it fancied, with me in it. Oh, God, I hope he returns soon with help." Eventually, all went well as I'm here writing about it all.  On that occasion, like many others, we came back to main camp a bit late & were told off by the guard. 

There's nothing scarier than when you find yourself alone in the ablution block (next to the said fence!) and hear a lion roar close by (it sounded like it was just next to me!) when you know that a flimsy wire fence separates us from the wild. "What do I do if it comes close? I close the door. Shit! It's just a screen door and it's ripped. OMG!" 

Or coming face to face with a hyena in the dark.  It's wicked laugh is bone chilling.

Or being fake-charged by a huge one-tusk elephant bull. "Wait! Wait! I want a closer picture!" I said."Forget it!" my friend quickly replied with fear in his eyes.

Or, on the tamer side, seeing a chameleon on a branch nearby, doing it's signature walk. "Do I go forward? Or I go backwards."

Still there is nothing more exhilarating either. 

Finally, I was in the Africa of my dreams!