Is it a bird...? Is it a plane...?

No! It's an update! It's taken me by surprise too.

I am no longer full and filthy (well, slightly filthy as I've just returned from helping to sand the floor of the yoga studio I go to and am kinda covered in sawdust) and I am no longer travelling (for the time being...). I'm quite sure that most of the people who read this blog are aware of the fact that I'm back in Melbourne now (I returned in October), but just in case: I'M BACK IN MELBOURNE! The capital letters and exclamation mark are a little misleading, as I'm finding that being back in Melbourne isn't all that exciting. I'm over the initial shock of of being back, of course, but I'm still feeling a little lost and unsure of what to do with myself. Any suggestions...?

It was strange seeing Melbourne again after such a long absence. Everything looked so...colonial. I'd never noticed before just how many roofs and verandahs were made of corrugated iron! It's not just a stereotype! The amount of space, trees, seeing so much of the sky through the sparsely situated (single-storey!) buildings. The quietness. The casual, laid-back, slow pace of life. The sound of an easy wind on a warm and otherwise still and quiet day. These are just a tiny handful of the things I'd never consciously noticed before about Melbourne. Never noticed, or forgotten.

Sometimes I try to look at Melbourne again through that same lens that I viewed it on my first few days back, to capture those sensations, the effects of those observations. But the moments have inevitably passed. Those few days were fleeting and therefore precious. It was only during those first few days that I could really experience Melbourne afresh (or refreshed?), juxtaposed against my memories of all the other places I had seen, against living in Berlin. It left me feeling a lot of (strange) things, but above all, I think it left me feeling a little uneasy. I don't think this unease has left me yet and I haven't quite worked out what it means. Perhaps it's just a result of my not feeling 'settled' yet? No, it's definitely more than that.

I feel I should give a very brief outline of where I had travelled to after writing my last post. Don't worry - I wont go into descriptive detail of any of the places (this post would turn into a novel if I did). I'll just mention the places I travelled to, the paths I took. Like lines and dots on a map. So this can be something of an exercise in cartography (for beginners).

So. I think I wrote my last post in Piran, Slovenia. Yes, Piran. Full and filthy. I remember now: the buffet breakfast.... From Piran I embarked on a twelve hour bus journey (with changes at Koper and Rijeka) that took me down the amazingly gorgeous Adriatic Coast in Croatia, to finally finish up (at about 9.30pm) in Split. Arriving in the evening was great. The centre of Split is built in and around the remains of Diocletian's Palace, which is lit up at night and swept me off my feet. I felt like I was in una Roma piccola.

After a few days and nudie swims in seaside Split, I continued south along the Adriatic Coast to Dubrovnik. Upon disembarking the bus at the bus station I was attacked by a gaggle of women offering me sobe zimmern camere rooms. I haggled with a highly amusing little old hunch-backed woman named Rosa, who took me back to her place where I enjoyed a private double room. Dubrovnik is one of those cities where you find yourself taking a ridiculously excessive amount of photographs (I'll eventually get myself together enough to post some of these, in absence of any written description on my part).

From Dubrovnik I rather spontaneously decided to catch a bus to Sarajevo, Bosnia. This was one of the most worthwhile things I did throughout my entire travels. I could write essays on the bus trip (sometimes incredibly beautiful, sometimes unbelievably war-damaged) and my four days in Sarajevo, but I promised I wouldn't. Suffice it to say, that Sarajevo was the only place I visited in my two and half years in Europe where I felt that this was turf not well-travelled, that this was a city that was still trying to figure out how to deal with western tourists - indeed, tourism at all! - where the locals looked tired, spent, beyond tourism. I guess recent war does that.

Back on the bus. Back to Split. Straight onto the overnight ferry to Ancona, Italy, where I still didn't stop, but cotinued north by train to Bologna (where I would have liked to have stopped, but my arrival there coincided with the International Trade Fair and there was not a reasonably priced bed anywhere in the vicinity of the city) and spent a couple of stressful hours at the train station: all of the trains to my ultmate destination - Verona - were sopresso - cancelled - so I frantically chose a different, random destination, begged strangers for money, bought a phone card, booked a bed, bought a new train ticket and hopped on a train to Padua.

Shakespeare territory. Lovely. My third separate visit to la bella Italia. Oh, the food. The morning coffees and pastries al banco. Yum.

A couple of days in Padua, then on to fair Verona, which is very fair indeed. Something corny, but fun that I did in Verona: left a love message on the (unbelievably love-message grafittied) wall of the Capulet's house (pics to come).

Verona to Milan. My second time in this city. I didn't much like it the first time (the only place in Italy I didn't like), but I found a one cent flight (evil fossil fuels, evil me) from Milan to Oslo, so there I was again back in Milan. Totally different experience this time: I stayed with a local family, the son of which I met in Spain months back. Home-cooked Italian meals, the woggiest apartment in the world, cats, cats, cats, and getting around town on a Vespa! Weaving through peak hour traffic in Milan on a Vespa - so frightening, but so exhileratingly fun!

Then a bit of plane hopping: a flight from Milan to Oslo, another one from Oslo to Stockholm, a third flight from Stockholm to Copenhagen and finally from Copenhagen to Berlin (and then the mega flight back to Melbourne...). My travels through Scandinavia were brief and I'm reluctant to call that kind of plane/city hopping 'travelling' at all. Unfortunately I was running thin on time, money and energy at this point and a few days in each of th capitals was all I could manage. My five days back in Berlin before the flight to Melbourne were simultaneously wonderful and sad. I remember a moment during that time when I was waiting for the U-bahn at Goerlitzer bahnhof, looking down at the tiny wine bar on Skalitzer Strasse, at the major intersection where Skalitzer, Wiener and Oranien Strassen meet, further along at how the new mosque was coming along, at the ever-present grafitti and realising how much I loved this city. Berlin. More familiar to me then (and now?) than Melbourne.

Yet here I am. Pining. Berlin (constantly) on the brain.

I wonder if anyone still checks this blog. Hello out there in etherland!

Full and filthy

I am so full. You know the kind of full where you stuff yourself beyond your stomach's capacity? Where you can feel the food backlogged all the way up to your chest, almost right up to your neck, so that you feel if the food doesn't manage to find a way into your stomach somehow then at any moment - any moment now - all that food might be gurged back up again? I feel, in essence, like a foie gras duck.

It was the breakfast that did it.

For about a week (more?) now, I've been living off bread rolls (with various, unexciting fillings) and fruit for breakfast, lunch and dinner (the bread and cheese for lunch and dinner stolen from the hostel breakfast buffet). So imagine the state of delirious, wide-eyed excitement I was in when I went down to breakfast this morning to find a veritable feast of culinary delights laid out on a long table before me. Oh, I wasn't dreaming, nor hallucinating under the duress of hunger. This food was real: grilled and seasoned aubergine and capsicum; scrambled eggs; three kinds of cheese; a variety of rye breads and cereals; grapes and apples; orange juice; a variety of hot drinks, cookies and cakes...

It was all I could do to stop myself from impatiently shoving everyone aside and piling as much food onto my plate as possible. Exercising all the self-restraint I could muster, I gradually filled my plate (only a close observer would have noticed my slightly shaking hands, the maniacal glint in my eyes...) - not conspicuously so - and walked over to an empty table at an almost leisurely pace, before devouring what was on my plate. It was then, I am sad to say, that the cords of my self-restraint snapped and I went back for seconds, thirds, fourths - even fifths!- before I had even finished what was on my plate. I was afraid, you see, that some of the food would run out before I had a chance to nab some! As it turned out, my fears were unfounded, as the moment a dish ran out it was promptly topped back up again by an angel from the kitchen. Oh, blessed heaven above - an overflowing, infinite cornucopia of food, food, food!

It was clearly more than I could handle.

So now I sit and wait for the food to digest beofe I'm physically able to go out and wander through the red-roofed Old Town of seaside Piran (Slovenia). I was hoping to go for a swim today, but the weather isn't the best and I'd be sure to vomit anyway.

Back in Budapest I swam - or bathed, rather - at one of the many thermal bath complexes in the city. This one - from both the outside and the inner courtyard - looked more like a Baroque (Rennaissance? I can never tell the difference) royal residency than a public bath. Highlight of the day (not breasts, I'm afraid. There were none to be seen except those of the male variety and I did see some whoppers, which to be fair, were highly fascinating in and of themselves): one of the outdoor baths was a bath within a bath within a bath (hello Baudrillard). The most inner bath was a small spa with a variety of massage jets. The most outer bath was obviously the largest, more pool-like, but with random powerful jets that shot straight up from the floor of the bath so you could lean all your weight right into it as though you were sitting in a (vibrating) chair. the most exciting bath, however, was the middle one. From afar it looked perfectly ordinary - merely a ring of calm blue water separating the inner and outermost baths. Try to traverse between the two however, and you get sucked into the middle bath and carried all the way around and around and around by what I can only guess are super-powerful jets! You could just sit there, legs afloat, and be sped around the whirlpool. Such fun! Until too many people get in and some of the weightier bathers aren't carried around as quickly as the others and you smack into them, full-bodied (there's no way of stopping!) and a pile-up inevitably ensues. Such fun.

The water in all the baths are supplied by the hot springs that occur naturally in Budapest and the minerals in the water are supposed to help cure various aches and ailments (although they do nothing for period pain, as I unfortunately discovered...). I did feel good afterwards. Clean. No need for a shower (interesting how one's personal hygiene drops a level or five whilst backpacking...).

Budapest in general: I love the bigness and the unkemptness of it (and the fact that the sun was shining when I was there). I was disappointed that it wasn't as 'exotic' (or cheap!) as I was led to believe it was (two and a half years and still these naive notions!!!).

Zagreb, Croatia was my next stop. Small for a capital city. Lovely Old Town with some funky pedestrian streets and cafes (an observation: the Croats are way funkier than the Hungarians. Generally speaking). If Zagreb was small, then Ljubljana was miniature. The capital of Slovenia has nonetheless, I thought, an even lovelier Old Town than Zagreb.

I headed north-west to Bled next, a town situated on the idyllic Lake Bled, with water more blue than Budapest's thermal baths. Indeed this water proved too tempting to resist. Halfway through my lap around the lake I found a secluded spot on the grounds of a private villa. Largely obscured by a sloping bank and a thicket of trees, I stripped off and went for a quick dip. La-la-lovely.

After two days in Bled I now find myself in Piran (belly settled, though still quite full). The sun seems to be making intermittent appearances through the clouds and it's deceptively warm. I might be optimistic and grab a towel and my bathers on the way out (no private spot for a secret nudie swim here).

Before I do, let me relate two curious and not entirely dissimilar incidents that have occurred of late:

1. Budapest. I was standing on the Elizabeth Bridge pulling my camera out of my bag to take a pic of the Danube, when a middle-aged man, evidently a tourist from somewhere else in Eastern Europe, approached me and started gesturing to me emphatically. Confused, I stepped back. He continued gesturing and moving closer. I thought perhaps he was offering to take a photo of me with my camera. When I indicated, no, I didn't want a photo of myself, he only came closer, put his arm around my shoulders and pointed to a woman standing in front of us - presumably his partner - wielding a camera. More confusion. He wants a photo with me? Evidently. He stood there, arm around my shoulders, grinning broadly at the camera which his partner willingly snapped away at, while I stood eyebrows furrowed, utterly confused, looking from the man to the woman to the camera she pointed at me, my own camera held limply in one of my hands at chest height. I'm sure it made for a peculiar shot.... Picture taken, they backed away. "Thank you, thank you!" the man said in heavily accented, struggling English. "You look very nice!" Okay...

2. Ljubljana. Sitting on the steps of a church, upon which the sun was shining, reading my book (Lolita). I had just finished my lunch (a roll with cheese - stolen from that morning's breakfast - and avocado, washed down with tap water acquired from the hostel showers. A plague on hostels with no kitchen!). A Slovenian man appoaches me and asks if he can take a photo of me! Confusion, suspicion. "Why?" I ask. "I'm a photographer," he explains timidly. After pressing him for what he planned to do with the photo, I let him take it. What do I care what he does with it, after all? He showed me the picture - very National Geographic.

It occurred to me that maybe these people think I'm some sort of gypsy-type character: a dark-skinned girl in Eastern Europe whose clothes look a little worse for wear, not to mention her hair and general levels of cleanliness and personal hygiene (which tend to deteriorate to even worse levels than mentioned above when you're travelling alone...).

And Rae - on both occasions I was wearing The Earrings...

Suddenly Budapest

It feels as though lots of time and many places have passed since I last posted. This sense may be heightened by the fact that I've just flown right across the continent from Dublin to Budapest (I flew with the very tantalisingly named Irish airline, Aerlingus...). I've just spent the whole day travelling and arrived in Budapest this evening, so I haven't actually seen any of the city yet. So I'll talk about what I've been up to between Inverness (where I last left you) and now...

I embarked on a very scenic train journey across Scotland from Inverness to the Isle of Skye. I based myself in the tiny coastal town of Kyleakin and explored the island by bus from there. It was on this island (not to mention during the journeys to and from the island) that I experienced the beautiful highland wilderness that Scotland is renowned for: hills reflected in astounding mirror-images in the ever-so-still lochs below; dramatic rocky coastlines and rock formations; and a pervasive sense of remoteness. Certainly very dramatic scenery, but somehow also slightly depressing. This may possibly have had something to do with the constant greyness overhead. To be fair though, the sun did (rather miraculously) break through the clouds a couple of times and cheer the landscape (and me) up a little.

After a couple of days and a couple of hikes in Skye, I caught a bus down to Erin's hood - Glasgow - and spent a lovely and rather luxurious couple of nights in her plush abode. Staying outside of the city centre meant that I was fortunate enough to encounter some regular Glaswegian Joes, including:
1. a girl on a bus who so uncannily resembled Vicky what's-her-name from Little Britain (in both appearance and behaviour, but slightly more aggressive and obnoxious, if you can believe it) that Erin and I weren't sure whether to laugh or cry. We did move to the front of the bus to get as far away from her as possible, though.
2. chatty taxi driver with an indecipherably thick Glaswegian accent. I was glad it was Erin who was sitting in the front seat, obligated to chit chat and answer his questions because I could barely understand a word. Round of applause to Erin who very impressively managed an entire conversation with the man!

I farewelled sweet Erin after a couple of days and spent my last night in Glasgow in The Worst Hostel Ever before getting up early the next morning to catch a flight to Belfast. My two days there were less eventful than I'd hoped, especially when I decided to do a political tour to learn more about the Catholic/Protestant conflict and the tour guide failed to turn up. I walked along the alleged former "war-zone" myself, saw the murals and memorials dedicated to the so-called freedom fighters (strange) and became increasingly annoyed at the guide for not having shown up. Never mind. It was off to the Antrim Coast with me to chill out for a few days.

I stayed in tiny Bushmills (the entire town consisted of one road and had not a single public internet terminal anywhere), famous for its Irish Whiskey distillery - the oldest licensed distillery in the world. I took a tour of the (smelly) distillery on my first day in town and was one of four people to volunteer for a whiskey tasting session afterwards. I was fed four shots of Bushmills Irish Whiskey, one shot of scotch and one shot of bourbon. In the space of ten minutes. Needless to say, I was a happy lass. Especially after I was awarded a shiny gold tube containing a certificate which merited me as being an "official Irish Whiskey taster"! That's going on the CV. After the tasting session I staggered to the nearest fish 'n' chip shop (chipper!) and got some greasy, vinegar-soaked chips into my empty belly to suck up all that alcohol.

The next day I visited the sights along the coast: Giant's Causeway - hexagonal basalt columns which occurred naturally some however many years ago (a looooooooooong time ago *nods wisely and knowingly*), which are really quite amazing (obviously I'm in something of a lazy mood at the moment - I have been travelling all day - so rather than going into intricate description, I'm going to let those of you who are interested to just look it up online); Carrick-a-rede - a little town sitting just off a dramatic cliff coast. The main attraction here is the rickety bridge that connects a small island off the coast to the mainland. 'twas fun to cross - ocean roaring beneath, rain pouring from above, bridge a-wob-wob-wobbling. I felt like Indiana Jones.

Where did I move onto next...?...?.... Ah, yes - Dublin, where I hooked up with Rachel Bowen. I could hardly believe it was she in the flesh! I had to spend a few minutes pinching and poking her just to make sure (it'd been a while since we'd seen each other).... So nice to catch up with friends. Over a pint of Guinness. I think I quite like the stuff. I'm sure I like it more than regular beer.

The most exciting thing that Rae and I did in Dublin: we both mounted a reclining statue of Oscar Wilde perched on a slanted rock. Not simultaneously (although we thought about it). How could something so silly be so much fun?

Rae also happened to be staying at the same hostel as Andy and Pam (Andy's mum), who were also in town! So we all hung out and drank pints together (on Pam! Thanks again Pam! Thanks!)! Dublin was indeed the city of friendly encounters, as I also very randomly happened to run into Edo and Stefka (friends from Berlin, for those who don't know)!! Very random! I was standing on a street corner puzzling over a map when they suddenly appeared before me! So we all went out for pints too!! Actually, I believe Corona was the beer of the day. I'm getting a bit excited with the novelty of pints of Guinness. In Ireland. Yes, Dublin. Random. A whole bunch of friends in a random city. Again, random. But so delightful!

From Dublin, Rae and I bussed it across the country to Galway. This is where we heard about the very tragic and dramatic death of Steve Irwin. Rae happened to catch it on the TV in the hostel common room. It also made front page news (in tabloid newspapers) the following morning. I wont describe what mine and Rachel's initial reaction to the news was, as some may find it offensive. Suffice to say it was a good thing that we had each other there to lean on...

On our second day in Galway we caught a ferry across to the Aran Islands (both of us managing not to puke. The sea was rough. Congratulations us!), where we met all manner of delightful animals!
1. a very handsome cock whose bright colours were co-ordinated with those of the house he was sitting in front of.
2. the fattest slug in the world who, incidentally, owes his life to Rae and I, as we suspect he was going to be the cock's lunch before we distracted the bird, allowing the slug to make a slithery escape.
3. a wonderful brown horse (or was it a pony?) with nettles in his fringe. We shared our apples with him and ended up with horse-slobber all over our hands. Mmmm...horse slobber...
4. an amusing black dog who was looking very pleased with himself indeed, strutting up and down the seafront as though he had somewhere very important to go. He came over for a good scratch behind the ears and then tried to follow us into the B&B, where we shared a pot of tea and had a not so nice scone (microwaved) and piece of carrot cake (have I missed any animals, Rae? There was the cat and the lobsters, but we didn't actually meet them, as such...). Oh! The cow that we thought was dead because a whole bunch of crows were standing all over it pecking at it! It wasn't dead - it was just happy to have the birds eating its fleas.

The actual island we were on was the largest of the three - Inishmore (people speak Irish Gaelic here! We heard them!). The island is grey and bleak and feels very, very remote. So many gutted, abandoned, falling-down houses. Lots of low, grey, slate walls dividing property. Lots of grey slate in general. It may very well have been depressing were it not for all the animals and each other. We caught the ferry back at the end of the day and once again, succeeded in not puking. We parted ways the following morning, which was sad, as it was fun travelling together for that period, brief as it was.

Now I find myself in Budapest. I was met at the airport by a man holding a sign with my name on it, who drove me to my hostel. I couldn't speak to this man because we didn't share a common language. The driver's seat in the car he drove was on the left-hand side. He drove on the right-hand side of the road. I couldn't understand any of the signs on the street, nor the voices on the radio. And all this was strangely comforting. Things felt right again somehow.

I must say, I am ultimately glad to have left the UK and Ireland. It's nice to be in a place where the sun shines for more than a few minutes at a time. And I think Brits are a bit strange...even you, Dan, even you...;-)

There's no place like home?

I'm in Inverness at the moment. Home of the wonderful and much revered Ali Smith. I'm using the free internet at the local library except that I can only use it for 15 minutes at a time before it automatically logs out and I have to go over to the main terminal and log in again...every 15 minutes. This post might take me a while...

I walked for hours and hours along Loch Ness today and there was no sign of Nessie. Or Ali.

I arrived here from Edinburgh yesterday morning. Arriving in Edinburgh was strange, knowing that this was the place I'd chosen to live (without ever having been there before!). When I first arrived I was given an unrealistic impression of what the city is usually like, as the Fringe Festival (actually, seven different festivals) was/is on. I'm glad the city isn't like that all the time - I was a little overwhelmed by the masses of people who all seemed so much happier and more comfortable in this city that is supposed to become my home. In the five days that I was there I managed to put things into perspective a little and gradually ease my anxieties. The prospect of starting up in a new city, a new country is always a little daunting and stressful. At least I speak the language in Scotland though.

During my visit I stayed with a friend of a friend of a friend (a friend twice removed! I don't even know the middle man - or woman, in this case), so it's also encouraging that I'll know at least a handful of people (and very nice people at that) when I move back. Another happy thought is that Erin will very possibly be moving there too. We in fact spent a rainy day together in Edinburgh when she popped in from Glasgow. Drizzle was trudged through, felafel was eaten, VB stubbies were drunk (yes! VB stubbies! We couldn't believe it either!). Also making me feel more at home was Andy's arrival. We spent my last day in Edinburgh together - strolling the (rainless) streets, drinking chai from her IKEA thermos and lemon-lime bitters in a bar brimming with dykes (Erin, you visited on the wrong day!). Spending the day chatting with Andy felt so normal and everyday (she was always there in Melbourne, in Berlin) that I almost forgot that I was on the move and had to wake up early the following morning and hop on a train to Inverness...

I did manage to do a bit of sightseeing in amongst these little reunions: I visited the castle (oh so dramatic, with great views of the very amusingly named Firth of Forth), the National Portrait Gallery (free!), a Ron Mueck exhibition (this guy's work is gob-smacking. Incidentally, he's also originally from Melbourne!). And let's not forget - the Fringe Festival was on! As overwhelming as I found it when I first arrived (for various reasons), it is indeed a great festival.

Shows I went to see:
1. Tha Tha: music/theatre/dance group from Zimbabwe (a promoter gave me a free ticket because I look like a sad little pov)
2. Jack the Lad: gay male prostitute divulging his twisted adolescence and adventures with various cleintele to one of his sadomasochistic clients. Father-son lovin'. Death by axe.
3. My Brother's Keeper: religious farce. Loosely based on the true and recent incident surrounding the last two Jews of Afghanistan.
4. ReDreamt: physical theatre. One long, continuous dream/nightmare based on those of the performers themselves. Random occurrences. Recurring characters and incidents. Hilarious, frightening, sensual. My fav.
5. Trans World Orchestra: musical duo (from Byron Bay!). With only drums and a didgeridoo, these guys spontaneously improvise some of the most wicked trans tunes I've ever heard. So totally danceable. Look them up - they're great (although I'd imagine they work best in a live environment).

Edinburgh City itself? What people say of it is true: it is beautiful and dramatic. I love the time-blackened buildings, the narrow (almost secret) gangways and alleys and stairs and passages. I love the strange, time-warped feeling that around the next corner I turn, a cavalry may be gearing up to charge me. Indeed, walking through Edinburgh is like going back
in
time
...
Manchester. My last night there was spent at an intimate house party with a bunch of Ross' friends. I felt like I was in a sitcom (in fact, my entire time in England was like strolling through a sitcom. I think I just associate the various English accents with comedy). The two bottles of red Ross and I shared between us (one Australian, one Bulgarian) and the seemingly infinite supply of weed probably didn't help matters (or helped quite a bit, depending on your point of view). We woke early the next morning and hopped on a bus. Me to the train station, Ross to work. Neither of us feeling our best.

I got off the train at York. Another walled medieval city. Why do I keep going to these places? Haven't I seen enough of them? They're all very cute and pretty, but never so much to do. So I did a ghost tour. It was actually quite good. The guide was a great storyteller and all the stories he told were based on incidents that had actually occurred in York at one time or another (and I don't think he was lying. Then again, he was an exceptional storyteller...).

My next destination was somewhere I hadn't originally intended on going to, but every Brit I spoke to was so overly enthusiastic about the place I thought I should check it out: the Lake District. I based myself in the town of Windermere and each day I hopped on a bus and got off at a different town and embarked on a hike into the mountains. Indeed, I saw what all the fuss was about. These hikes, these views are simply magnificent. Spectacular. The kinds of views where you expect orchestral accompaniment. The Lake District really is an incredibly beautiful part of the world.

The towns throughout the area are also gorgeous, largely comprising grey slate cottages. This is Beatrix Potter's hood. Her house, apparently still exactly as she left it before she died, is open to visitors. Indeed, one can easily se how these little towns and surrounding countryside inspired Peter Rabbit and friends.

On the slightly more dramatic side is William Wordsworth, who lived (and is buried) in Grasmere, another one of the towns in the district. I stopped here and had a freshly baked fruit scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream, along with a pot of tea. Very nice, thank you.

I left the Lake District for Edinburgh when the bed bugs started biting (my feet, legs, arms, neck). You already know the rest of the story from there.

I've had to log in anew three times to finish this blog.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand once more to review what I'd written. I'm done now. The library is about to close, so I'd better skidaddle!
XO

Manchester: sans soleil

There's no sun in Manchester.We're supposed to be at the height of summer! It's starting to dawn on me that this is the height of summer anywhere north of London...

No matter. Grey skies can't dampen my mood. I arrived in Manchester yesterday and spent the day wandering around the centre (which is remarkably small! I always thought Manchester was HUGE!). A couple of highlights: 1. Manchester Art Gallery - FREE! - and currently hosting a temporary exhibition celebrating Miffy's 50th birthday (which was actually last year)! 2. Canal Street, centre of the queer district and where the Brtish Queer as Folk was largely filmed (so Ross tells me) 3. Ross(for those who know him)!!! I met Ross in the evening after he had finished work. It was really great to see him again. I was afraid we wouldn't recognise each other, as I hadn't seen him since he left Melb the first time! He still looks very much the same, but sounds quite different: he seems to have adopted a northern English accent! Osmosis? I think not. He tells me he worked hard on that accent!

There's been lots of queer action during my Brit travels so far. After London I went down to Brighton (lovely, lazy, laid-back beach town) and happened to be there during Pride. I caught the parade and the festivities later on, which were much fun, as one can imagine. It was a bit strange being at a festival alone though. Not really the kind of thing one usually does solo.

Whilst in Brighton I spent some time on the 'naturist beach' which I randomly happened to stumble upon. I was walking along the seafront and saw a sign on top of a massive pebble dune (Brighton beach is a pebble beach) indicating the nudist zone. I climbed over the dune and realised that I could just strip off completely and lie there in the sun and wind and no-one would arrest me. So I did.

After a few days in Brighton, I headed over to Bath. I stayed at a hostel which was actually housed in an old Mansion on Bathwick Hill (east of the centre). My fav part of Bath was the 20 minute downhill walk into town through the green green green National Trust meadows which overlooked the city. It was incredibly beautiful. That setting really made me feel like I was in 'England'!

Whilst in Bath, I also day-tripped (well, half a day really, at best) to Stonehenge. Once I arrived there I wondered why I bothered to go at all! There it is. We've all seen pictures. Handy hint: if you do ever visit Stonehenge don't bother paying the entrance fee, as you can see the stones just as well from behind the fence (as you will no doubt immediately realise if you ever do go). If you're really keen though, you can walk down the road a little and jump the fence from behind a very conveniently placed tree...

From Bath to Cambridge. Being a bit of a nerd, I was expecting to be very impressed by this university town and its famous colleges. But I wasn't. The pomp of the colleges was laughable. But then maybe I am, perhaps ironically in this case, a bit of a snob (if you see what I mean). The historical centre was pretty enough, as historical centres tend to be, but not as pretty as the pretty little pixies I met up with aka Julia and Erin. We all happened to be in Cambridge at the same time so we spent the evening together in the beer garden of an English pub. Julia was given the responsibility of ordering beer for everyone but there was a massive selection, all unfamiliar so she just ordered three random beers which did the rounds around the table. I liked the dark beer. Mmmm...burnt marshmallow (actually, I didn't really get the burnt marshmallow thing, guys...still yummy though!).

Now here I am in Manchester, eagerly awaiting Ross' return from work. I catch the train to Windermere in the Lake District tomorrow morning, where I intend to do some Serious Hiking. Yes indeedy.

Oh! A bit of a newsflash: I wont be returning to Melbourne by the end of the year after all. Charlie and I have decided to live in Edinburgh for a little while! I'll probably go there and look for a flat and an apartment sometime in mid Sept and then Charlie flies over at the beginning of October! What craziness! I'll be sans soleil for a while yet!

Ye Olde London

I started writing this as a comment but began going into far too much detail about things so decided to create a new post...

I'm in London at the moment and am staying with my wonderful friend Henry whom I met in Berlin (a native Brit, though). When he moved back here he took his computer with him so I'm having to adjust to the German keyboard all over again. Damn it!

I'm liking London a lot more than I thought I would. I'm staying in the East End, only a couple of streets away from Brick Lane (I haven' visited it yet though!) and not too far away from the street called Little Britain! Ha!

I arrived yesterday on a RyanAir flight (my first ever!) and spent the afternoon following Henry around the Westend, including Soho. If I were a zillionaire I would like to have had a drink at every funky little bar/cafe/restaurant we passed (that's a lot of drinks and a lot of pounds!). We bought a four pack of no-name beer from Sainsbury's and drank that instead. So many people, so many pasties. Yes, pasties. I had spent the afternoon telling Henry how I've been craving pasties for the last two years and haven't been able to have one and must indulge in London, when we turn a corner and find not only a pasty store but a pasty festival! They knew I was coming. They. Knew. I. Was. Coming. I had a pasty. A big one. It was gooood.

Weird and disturbing fact about London: they speak English here. I hear they speak it all over the UK. I'm still getting used to being able to understand people on the street, on the TV (which I've already been watching too much of - British Big Brother, Spaced, Top of the Pops - OMG the last Top of the Pops ever was screened tonight! It's been axed even though it still has a massive following. Nice one iTunes, MTV, etc...). Let's not forget that it's been over two years since I've been in an English speaking country! Not since I left Melbourne! It's actually a little disorienting. I keep speaking to people on the street in foreign languages (nein danke, gracias, s'il vous plait,,,) and then feeling terribly silly about it afterwards. I can read signs on the street and in the tube! Understand voiceover announcements! These latter two I seem to be finding particularly hilarious and when I hear an announcement or see a sign on the tube I start laughing at how absurd the meaning is and look around expecting others to be laughing at it too, but apparently notifications of which floor to get off at on the elevator or reminders to mind the gap between the train and the platform don't seem to be funny if you've been able to understand them all along. Did you know that last year there was one fatality and over two hundred injuries in London resulting from people not minding the gap? Ha ha! Today I actually followed a couple down the street so that I could continue to listen to their conversation! It's crazy, really, being able to understand everything with absolute certainty, with no guesswork required. I think it may be driving me a bit nutty.

I seem to have diverged a little bit. Today is Sunday so I went to three markets: Spittalfields (just down the street from where I'm staying), Portebello and Camden. It was a good day. I also walked through Hyde Park which was devastatingly disappointing, but when I made it to the Speakers' Corner (in the north eastern tip of the park?) there were several people 'speaking' (ranting, preaching...) to crowds of people. Most people seemed to be discussing the current Israel/Lebanon issue and I ended up listening to one particularly charismatic speaker for about an hour. Until I went and sat right underneath him, it was difficult to hear him for all of the other people around who were yelling and arguing. People were getting very emotional about the things that were being said. It was interesting (to say the least) to witness.

One thing that bothers me a little about London: no-one seems to smile at each other in the street. Coming from Spain I had become quite accustomed to making eye contact with people and having them grin at me. I've made eye contact with people on the street here in London but when I smile at them they glare back at me! Not so nice.

I've only been here for a day and a half, so still lots to do. I haven't even seen the Thames yet! I plan to do that tomorrow and also splurge a little and go on the London Eye - it costs a ridiculous twenty quid!

Love to you all
XO

Bullfighting should be illegal!!!

I am in Granada but I really want to be in Morocco or Egypt or somewhere in the Middle East that isn't being occupied or blasted to bits. Granada, culturally speaking, is the closest I've come to being in an Arabic country (although I'm sure that it's a far cry from actually being in the Middle East or Morocco, etc.) and I've been swept away. I love the architecture (my goodness, the Alhambra - so wonderfully elegant), I love the music, I love Arabic script, I love the clothes, the furniture, the dancing...

Granada is such a wonderful fusion of people and cultures. There are so many Moroccans and Egyptians living here, many running tea houses or Halal kebab shops and restaurants or market style shops. I went a little crazy in said shops today and bought so many things I had to send a box back to Melbourne. I'm staying at a fantastic hostel in the Arabic quarter, so these shops are just a footstep away.

I'm hoping to catch some street bellydancing (Yes! The joy!) in an area called Sacromonte tonight, which is renowned for its 'gypsy' population. On my first day here I walked up to this area and climbed as far up the hill (a series of small mountains, really) as one could go. I'm talking dry, steep, dirt paths in full exposure to the sun (it's been reaching high forties here in the south of Spain recently - I'm actually really loving it!), cacti growing wild, not a single person in sight. Just lots and lots of caves hand dug out of the mountain, furnished with old car seats, mattresses, half burnt sofas.... It's the cave dwellers who treat people to bellydancing performances in town. Being up there was really one of the highlights of my trip. I couldn't believe I was in Europe and Western Europe at that! I didn't encounter any people whilst up there but I did run into a mule. What is this funny creature? I thought to myself. Not quite donkey, not quite horse...my goodness, I thik it's a mule. End of the line.

I also encountered a couple of horses and two dogs who were unfortunately not of the man's best friend variety - at least not of this man (?!). Trained to kill, these dogs. I acted cool and nonchalant, but it must be said, I was more than just a little worried. I chose a path that led up, up and away from the crazy killer canines (of death).

Despite the dogs, Granada is great. In fact, I've enjoyed being here as much as I enjoyed being in Barcelona. Mental note (colon, can't find the colon) must come back to Granada...

...but not necessarily to Madrid. It was fine, nothing wrong with the place at all. I just didn't feel it had that much to offer me. I did happen to catch a massive rally on the street below my dorm room blacony - a rally for peace in Lebanon. Bless the Spanish and their passion. It made me ashamed to come from a country where the vast majority of the population are complacent, pampered brats (let's face it, eh?). This rally was such a celebration of peace - no tension, no hostility at all. There was music and dancing and applause and laughter without trivialising the issue at hand....Bless them, I say, bless them. It made me want to be Spanish.

I left Madrid quite willingly and headed for Cordoba where I stayed for two days, but soon realised I could've done it in one. The main attraction was the Mezquita (mosque), which has now long been a Catholic place of worship (blah), but still retains most of its Arabic architecture. The space inside is vast and is entirely comprised of a forest of arches and columns. It's wonderful. It made me think that Gaudi must surely have been inspired by Arabic architecture - inspiration drawn from nature, like so much Arabic architecture, the tile work...

Cordoba to Sevilla. Such a vibrant city. Everything stereotypically Spanish came from here - tapas (of which I've eaten waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much during my time in Spain), flamenco, bullfighting.... I did a tour of the bullfighting stadium where I was convinced more than ever that bullfighting should be illegal)!!! I wont go on a rant but it should be illegal!!! Did I already say that bullfighting should be illegal!!!

I also went to a flamenco show - a paid one, so the standard was high. So high in fact that the female dancer held the national prize for flamenco dancing. It was very intimate - held in the courtyard of a traditional Spanish building with two rows of audience seated on three sides. It was honestly one of the most exciting things I've ever seen in my life. And so simple - one singer, one guitarist, two dancers. Their voices and amazing sense of internal rhythm. At times the male dancer's legs were moving so fast you couldn't even see them properly - they were a blur. I kid you not. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Was this real? Indeed. No cinema screens here.

There's a long line of people waiting for this internet terminal (it's free! The internet is freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!), so I'm going to hop off now. Dinner is almost ready anyway. Yes, they cook massive veg dinners for everybody at this hostel, all for a mere three euros fifty. All the sangria you can drink. Dear lord.

I fly to London tomorrow morning. Yes, I'm finally making my way to the UK. I'm already cringing at the thought of all the ockers I'm bound to meet...