The End

Home... for now. View of the Hutt River, Petone and Wellington Harbour from my parents house in Normandale

Oh sunny day! Finally, the fog has cleared, the rain has stopped and the wind is not quite as gustacious… but it’s always there, it is “Windy Wellington” after all!

Since I arrived home on Thursday I felt incredibly jipped by the terrible weather, which was pretty much like the terrible London weather I left.  On the plus side, I did get to wear all my fab new British fashions.  If the nice weather keeps up however, I’m gonna have to make a mad dash down to the shops for some summer clothes, of which I have basically none.

I was determined not to let the jet lag monster get me when I returned home, but, having travelled over 35 hours and across the international date line, I was fighting a losing battle.  It has taken me till about today to finally feel a bit normal again.  Unfortunately, I have somehow managed to catch a cold, so feeling all round a bit shit anyway.

Priest dude, Paul and Kat Bartlett with baby Imogen

Since being home I’ve had the chance to catch up with heaps of friends, and was privileged to attend the christening of Imogen Bartlett, the tiny one month old baby of my very good friend Kat.  Being very non-religious, it did strike me as pretty funny that I found myself at church on a Sunday.  Sitting next to my sister, I couldn’t help cracking jokes and making her laugh – very inappropriate.  I especially enjoyed the spelling errors in the leaflet we were given, “my moter’s womb”… I think the church needs to spring for a spell-checker.

So that’s it guys, I’m home, unemployed and basically doing nothing.  I really do enjoy it.  I realise that I do eventually have to re-join the rest of the world at some point.  Still not sure what I am going to do with my life… thinking that I’m probably not alone in this feeling.  I’m sure I’ll figure it out, eventually.

I realised pretty much on the day I arrived home that I would definitely be returning to Sydney.  I think Sydney is my home for now.  While I love Wellington and all my mates here, I can’t escape a weird feeling that it’s just not for me. When I do move back to Sydney however, there’s one thing that has to change, and that’s my lack of wheels.  Seriously, carrying groceries home on the bus has to stop.

In an effort not to be a total slob, I’m getting back on the yoga bandwagon starting today.  My mate Julia (and entire inspiration for the Indian yoga pilgrimage thanks to her blog) has invited me to a yoga studio in the city.  Apparently it’s a pretty easygoing class, and since we are now both seasoned veterans, we should be sweet.

So that’s really it guys.  I’m sure no one wants to read a blog about an unemployed, nearly thirty-year-old chick living in the Hutt with her parents. I’m gonna end it here and leave the blogging until I’ve got another adventure worth talking about.

Thanks to all the readers, commentors and even lurkers.  It was a really wonderful feeling knowing that I wasn’t always alone in my travels.

Much love,

B.

That’s it

The end is nigh (and by ‘nigh’ I mean tomorrow, who really says ‘nigh’ these days anyway?)  Tomorrow I am flying back to good ol’ En Zed, the land of the long white cloud, home of the Kiwi (bird and people).  K-one-double you-one.  Beached as, you get the point.

I’m in London right now, basically just chilling out and attempting to fit all my stuff back in my suitcase.  I think I have succeeded, even managed to get the yoga mat in there.  So, all good.  Am really not looking forward to spending 30-odd hours travelling from London to LA, then LA to Auckland THEN from Auckland to Wellington.  The things we do.

To update (since I’ve been a bit slack).  I left Ireland and arrived in Southampton, England where I caught up with Jax and Steve.  It is entirely Jax’s fault that I have come away from this trip with so much stuff.  It’s good stuff though, and after not buying anything except what’s extremely necessary for two-and-a-half months, it was nice to splurge.

I left Jax and Steve and spent five-hours on a National Express Coach going to Exeter in Devon England.  Now, why would you go there? I hear you ask.   Simple, it’s home to one of my favourite people in the whole wide world, Kate Blackmore.  Kate and I were flatmates in Japan.  We bonded over the lack of dishes done and general mood-swingingness of our other flatmate Kirsty.

Me and my new mate Phil outside a pub. It's more fun to hang out outside pubs than go in, especially when it's freezing cold.

Kate met me at the Exeter bus station at 5pm and suggested we go for a drink.  So, with all my bags and crap we parked ourselves at the pub.  We were soon joined by Kate’s boyfriend Ian and her friend Phil and found ourselves singing pub karaoke of old Osaka favourites and making friends with some Welsh rockers who Kate was familiar with, but who I had no clue about.

No one around. Kate and I were the only people mad enough to go and stay in a freezing cold caravan during winter.

It was another great night out, but it was difficult to get going the next morning.  A few neurofens and lots of water later, Kate and I went on a mini-road trip to Cornwall, visited her grandparents who we both used to talk to on Skype when we lived in Japan, then spent the night at a static caravan park where her parents have a place.

I came back to London last night, staying with the ever-tolerant Marianne and Byron.  Mary and I will have a final dinner tonight and that.will.be.it.  Oh shame.

My dad has organised a car for me to use when I’m back in NZ and I’m going to have visits from my former Japanese tutor in Sydney (who now lives in Auckland) Yuki as well as one of my best mates from Sydney, Giovana and her lovely boyfriend Elliot.  I can’t wait.  Am very excited about Christmas.  In the UK they are going mad for it, so I can only hope New Zealand is equally pumped.

Right, so, that’s it.   Until my return to NZ, Haere ra my pretties.

Diddle-e-dee, potatoes!

6.50am on a bus from Galway to Dublin.  It’s FREEZING cold, and raining, but what else does one expect of Ireland on the first official day of winter?

I have spent the last four/five days on Ireland’s west coast hanging out with the fabulous Irish girls from Korea.   Kate’s 30th birthday party seemed like the best reason in the world to jump  a plane from France to Dublin, then catch a ride with Caitriona and Fiona to Louisburgh via Westport.

Kate made it her mission that everyone have a great time at her party.  The location: her parents holiday house in Louisburugh.  The drink of choice: EVERYTHING.  Can I just say that I can recall watching the All Blacks pummel France (game started at 7.30pm) and the rest of the evening gets very blurry from there on.  Yes, I’ll leave it at that I think.

I love Ireland.  It’s so much like New Zealand and the Irish people are absolutely the best, great craic.

Apart from wishing I could just crawl into a hole and die, I spent much of Sunday in the company of Kate, Jean and Peter learning interesting Irish slang.  Some classic examples:

Bite the back of my bollocks – stop bothering me

Culchie – what a city person would call a country person

I could eat a baby’s arse through the bars of a cot – to be hungry

Locked – to be very drunk

You couldn’t turn a sweet in your mouth – when a place is very full

Yoke – used in place of ‘thing’, “gimmie that yoke there”

Yer man or yer wan – used because the speaker does not know the name of the person referred to, “give yer man from Dublin a call”

Diddle-e-dee potatoes – just kidding! Apparently no Irish person would ever say this.

I’m now on my way to Dublin airport to catch a flight to London, then a bus to Southampton where I’ll meet up with Jax and Steve for three days.  Can’t wait!

Foux Da Fa Fa

Où est la piscine? (Where is the pool?) Not a question I have needed to ask in the lead up to the French winter

Armed with a random selection of French I picked up from Flight of the Conchords, I descended on Paris.   Baguette, haw, haw haw!  Contraire to my usual travelling style, I devised a punishing sightseeing schedule that allowed me to hit all the top spots in my short three-day time span:  The Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, The Louvre, The Museum D’Orsay, Montmartre, The Moulin Rouge… the list goes on.  I have such sore feet, seriously, where is the Turkish Bath when I need it?

Now, you know you’re in Paris when a man starts playing a piano accordion on the metro.  You also know you’re in Paris when everyone on the metro snobbily ignores him.  The metro is pretty damn good, and after a day I feel now like I am a master of it.  This could be ignorant over-confidence, but whatever, so French right now.  I just love listening to the woman announce the station names, like the one where I am staying – Anvers – which is pronounced “Ohn-vehr”, *sigh*, the French know how to pronounce shit, aye bro?

The longer I am away, the more I appreciate home.  I love to hear the Kiwi or Aussie accent when travelling.    Today I heard these Aussies at my hotel talking about the Flight of the Conchords character Murray and I had to try my hardest not to shout out, “OMG I love Murray, and I saw him do stand up in Newtown!”.  Not cool Bronwyn, be cool.

Because it was raining on Wednesday, I visited The Louvre and the D’Orsay.  While the Louvre has all the old stuff, the D’Orsay has the newer stuff, which is more up my alley.  I mean, museums are alright and stuff, but they are kind of like churches, you see a few and you get bored.  I’m not sure you’re supposed to say something like that, but I have to confess, I am a bit of a lazy traveller.

Smile lady, you're the most popular woman in the whole museum!

I much prefer to get the vibe of a place (read: sit somewhere, drinking wine/coffee/a beverage of choice and people watch) than do everything that Lonely Planet suggests needs to be done.   So, after about five hours battling crowds carrying those walkie-tour guide thingees, I gave up, happy that I had seen a few famous paintings like the Mona Lisa and Van Gogh’s self portrait.

So, while in France of course, it is imperative for one to try French wine.  Can I just say that the French really need to get with the new world wine types end embrace the screw-cap bottle.  I had to buy a four pack of little ones when I only wanted one just because they were the only ones with screw caps.  Yes, I HAD to, and I would like to say, it wass jussht dilishousss.

At the entrance to the Louvre

What can I say about French people?  Well, one woman told me off for attempting to take a photo in a museum (you ARE allowed, just no flash), another claimed to be helping me find my way on the subway and managed to swindle me out of some money by buying a ticket for me then telling me it cost more than it did.  Then, I asked a woman for directions and she looked at me like I was an idiot because I was already on the street I was asking about.  I’m still undecided.  But, the local kebab shop guy and I have developed quite a friendship – now being a regular customer he greets me as “Hey New Zealand!” when I walk in, and is quite looking forward to the All Blacks vs. France rugby match this weekend.  I reckon the game will be a cake walk (unlike in June), but I wouldn’t say that, be cool Bronwyn, classy.  I mean, what would G.D. (Gerard Depardieu) do?

Santorini

Oia, Santorini.

Mamma Mia!  I have spent the last five days having the best time in Santorini.  The adventure began at the port, waiting for the boat in Crete.  A girl waiting with her backpack asked me to watch her things while she went to the bathroom.  She then returned the favour.  Like that, Andreane and I were bonded bathroom buddies and we spent the entire three-and-a-half hour boat ride chatting away…. it’s easy to talk to a complete stranger for three-and-a-half hours when you’ve been starved of any company for days.

My sweet €15 a night accommodation in Santorini

When we arrived in Santorini we parted company and planned to meet up in the week.

Later that day, I went to a pizzeria across the street from my place with big plans to walk into the town centre and have a look around.  Well, that didn’t happen.  I was served half a litre of wine with lunch (can I just say I’m not that much of a lush, I ordered only a glass), which basically knocked me out for the rest of the day.

The BBQ

The next day, I made a more concerted effort to walk into town.  As I walked past the local bike rental shop, the owner yelled out to me and motioned for me to come in.  It wasn’t long before Vasilis and I were fast friends, he then introduced me to his other friend Andreas, who had nothing better to do that day, so he drove me all over the island on the back of his motorbike.   I wasn’t scared, not even a bit, it was damn fuuuuuun.

That night, I found Andreane at her hotel and the four of us, plus some other local misfits, all had a BBQ together at the bike shop.

Ahhhh, good times.  It seemed the well-known Greek hospitality had finally kicked in.

"Scruffy" the crazy dog that followed Andreane and I for over two hours... then we abandoned her, I hope she's OK.

Andreane and I decided one day to go to Oia – a choice of about three hours by walking or 20 minutes by bus.  What did we choose?  To walk of course!  We were followed for about two hours by a ginger dog who seemed hell-bent on being run over by a car.  As the road continued on and on with no sign of Oia in sight, I stuck out my thumb and first time lucky, we got a ride with some friendly Aussie tourists.

While orange is not my best colour, speed looks good on me... I got this baby up to 52 kph

Today, Andreane and I rented orange quad bikes from Vasilis and hooned around the island looking at beaches and taking photos.  I have never ridden a quad bike before but can I just say, I wants one!

I’ll be sad to leave my little place in Santorini – and sad that the budget price of €15 will be unrepeatable at my next stop…. Paris.

Give Greece a Chance

After all the fun, frivolity and flirting that was Turkey, I arrived on the Greek Island of Crete.  I caught a taxi from the airport for the astronomical sum of €45 and the pleasure of watching the taxi driver pick his teeth in the rear-view mirror the entire journey.

Crete in August, when you are supposed to come to the Greek Islands.

When I got to my budget hotel, the driver thought nothing of leaving me outside a shut-up reception amongst units that were all dark in a neighbouhood of bordered up restaurants and bars.

No, this wasn’t good.

There were two phone numbers posted to the reception door for either Manos or Kostas.  I called Manos, who sent his brother Kostas to open my room for me.   When he saw me he said, “It is just you?”  Yep.  I asked, “Am I the only one here?” Yep.  It seemed I would not be enjoying the ‘Mamma Mia’ style Greece experience.

After a bit of chit-chat, off Kostas went home and I was left with the run of the entire place, 30 apartments in all, located down a shingle driveway in the middle of bloody nowhere.  A bit freaky to say the least.  I spent the evening watching happy TV that I had downloaded like a maniac in Turkey, and by happy I mean ‘America’s Next Top Model’ rather than ‘True Blood’.

The next day (today) Kostas arrived in the morning and gave me tips on where to go.  I went to a place called Aghios Nikolaos upon his recommendation.  It was alright, a bit quiet also.  I had lunch by myself in a restaurant – and by myself I mean, I was the only person eating there.  I then strolled around the place, taking  a few photos here and there, waiting for the friendly locals to say something, anything to me.  They did not.  It seems I am definately not in Turkey anymore.

I headed to the bus station after a few hours to return to my accommodation and somehow managed to miss my bus.  I believe they announce bus number changes in Greek, which is no use to me.  So, with an hour to spare I headed across the road to the local bar and downed a few wines – which ended up being paid for by Stavros, a dude at the bar who seemed to want to buy me drinks.  Cheers Stavros. Can I just say, the loneliness of Greece seems a bit more palpable after a few wines.

Here I am back at my deserted accommodation and I am soooooo out of here tomorrow!  I have booked an early ferry to Santorini which I hope proves to be a bit more happening than Crete.  I feel like since I came all this way, I really need to give Greece a chance.  If Santorini sux, I dunno.  Am thinking Paris.  Thoughts????

Turkish Men

Me with a Turkish waiter who patted my hair during dinner, "I don't like Turkish girls, I like New Zealand girls"

I was warned by my friend Kede that Turkish men are much more forward in their behaviour towards women than Indian men.  She was right.  But, while Indian men tend to leer in a strangely menacing way, Turkish men are just enthusiastic and aren’t shy about approaching girls.

So, for your benefit dear readers, I have compiled a list of some of the lines I have heard while in Turkey.  They are pretty funny and many are used simply to get tourists to visit their brother’s/friend’s carpet shop, or to find a wife.  Whichever:

“Have I died? I just saw an angel”

“Madam, you dropped something…. my heart”

“Are you looking for me?”

“Hey there Spice Girl”

"Are you three sisters?" Hmmm, yes, and our surname is Jolie-Pitt

“You have no job? You can work here, I need a waitress and a wife”.

“Is it you, Helen of Troy?”

“You have no boyfriend? Are Australian men blind?”

“Many Turkish men marry New Zealand and Australian women….”

“I can make your dreams come true, just give me a few minutes”.

So that’s it.  Due to popular vote, tomorrow I leave the friendly shores of Turkey and am flying to the Greek Island of Crete via Athens.  I don’t really know anything about Crete but it was the only island I could get to easily as most of the ferries have shut down for the winter.  From there I hope to get to Santorini, but we shall see.  Until then, hoşça kalın (goodbye).

Ephesus

I was having a wee look-see at stuff.co.nz and happened across a travel story about a place in Turkey that I visited yesterday. So, out of laziness, I will let the author describe it to you:

Turkey’s ancient splendour

By BRENDA WEBB – The Marlborough Express

The ruins of Ephesus on Turkey’s west coast are among the best preserved and most impressive in the Mediterranean.

Imagine 250,000 people living in an area roughly the size of Picton township.

Throw in an amphitheatre that seats 25,000 people, a massive three-storey library, several temples, an agora (market place), a brothel, Roman baths complex, a gymnasium and various basilicas, temples and fountains.

This gives some idea of the size and complexity of the amazing ancient city of Ephesus, one of the 12 cities of the Ionian League and a once thriving Mediterranean port where skilful artisans and rich merchants gathered.

Today it’s a frantically busy historical site, so it’s best to visit early morning or late afternoon and avoid peak holiday season of July and August.

Half an hour inland from the Turkish coastal city of Kusadasi, Ephesus retains much of its former grandeur thanks to sensitive excavation and preservation that began around 100 years ago and continues today, with only 20 per cent of the site uncovered.

It certainly is a work in progress – the day we visited a huge crane was removing rubble from yet another new excavation site beside the magnificent amphitheatre that took 60 years to build.

In was here that gladiatorial combats were said to be held during Roman times as well as less brutal concerts and theatrical performances.

The acoustics in the amphitheatre are fantastic. We watched and listened in awe as an Italian tourist recited poetry on the stage, his words clearly reaching us some distance away.

Ephesus was first inhabited as long ago as 6000BC but reached its peak in Roman times and most of the remains you see today date from then.

Despite its age and years of plundering, Ephesus remains surprisingly intact, especially its marble streets, the much photographed library and massive amphitheatre.

Some of the best-preserved artefacts, statues and tools have been taken to the nearby Ephesus Museum in Selcuk but some amazing structures remain and it is its completeness that gives it the edge over other historical sites in the Mediterranean.

We entered through the top gate and spent hours wandering along centuries-old uneven marble streets, lined with spectacular marble columns, statues, temples and fountains, to the bottom gate.

Near the bottom gate the impressive column-lined Arcadian St leads to the ancient harbour that is long silted up. In fact, today Ephesus is 10km from the sea.

There’s much to see at Ephesus and it’s easy to duck off down side streets to places such as the Temple of Hadrian, the terraced houses, the Odeon or small theatre, intricately carved fountains and beautifully ornate monuments.

During Roman times Ephesus was a hub of the Aegean and a commercial centre that played a significant role in the spread of Christianity.

It is believed the Virgin Mary spent her last days here. Both apostles Paul and John also lived here.

Over the years the city, its temples and treasures were repeatedly plundered and it was the subject of many takeovers being ruled variously by Turks, Egyptians, Ionians, Lydians, Persians, Greeks and Romans.

One of its most well-known rulers was Lysimachus, a successor of Alexander the Great who conquered it in 283BC and moved it further away from the marshy flat land of the silted up harbour to avoid risk of malaria.

He also built huge stone walls to enclose the city and under his rule much building restoration went on.

The city reached its height under his rule, becoming one of the richest in the region, a huge centre for trade and the busiest and most important port in Anatolia.

Jubilant days ended in 3AD when Goths attacked and plundered Ephesus and the nearby Temple of Artemis, which was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

Today the evocative remains of Ephesus are a fantastic place to visit and it’s a wonderful experience to imagine and envisage how life must have been in its Roman heyday.

The Turkish Bath

It kind of looked like this, although I was less relaxed

Ahhhhhhhh.

Somehow I got talked into going to a Turkish Bath.  Let me just begin by saying that I am not a big fan of being touched, so when I realised that I was to have a three-stage massage by three rather burly Turkish men, I was a little overwhelmed.  As luck would have it however, I was the first of our group to go so I only discovered this fact as each stage progressed.

To tell you the truth, the Turkish Bath is quite an amazing experience.  You go in there, totally starkers (except wearing an oversized tea-towel) and get yourself wet using a bucket and a scoop.  Then, you lie on a massive marble circle thing, which is heated, so you sweat up a B.O. storm.

It was after this process that I first met (who I will call) Ivor.  Ivor scrubbed me raw top to toe with a goat skin glove.  It was so gross  I could see all the dead skin come to the surface.  Ivor said, “very dirty”.  Thanks Ivor.  He then said, “now, go to there, you will have soap massage”.

And that was where I met Abdulkadir (again, my imagination) who massaged soap suds all over me while I hoped desperately that the tea-towel would not ride up my butt crack too much.

Finally, I climbed a marble staircase to come face to face with Habib.  A large Turkish man with a prominent moustache who was not keen on saying too much.  “Lie down” was his greeting.  This was the oil massage part of the proceedings.  I think he thought I was highly strung as he kept emphasising this was “gentle massage” while I quietly prayed he wouldn’t break any bones.  Oh, and by the way, he wasn’t a big fan of using the tea towel either, but I insisted.  What a prude.

Turkey…. or Russia?

So, here’s what I can tell you about Gallipoli… it was an amazing experience and well worth the effort.  I learned so much (that I had forgotten) about the campaign and how it solidified not only the New Zealand and Australian identities but also the Turkish.  There were cemetaries everywhere which was really sad and when we went to look at the trenches, our guide – who we called ‘Kazza’ (because we couldn’t remember his real name) – encouraged us to look for war “treasures”.  None of our group found anything but the bus driver managed to find a piece of army-issued pottery.

The final stop of the day was Chunuk Bair which is the highest point of the peninsula and the place both the Turks and ANZACs were fighting to gain.  At one point, the New Zealanders held Chunuk Bair but due to something dumb the British did (I forget), the allies lost it again and this marked the beginning of the end at Gallipoli.  I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well.

Anyway, at Chunuk Bair is the NZ memorial.  Me and Michelle (another kiwi travelling in my group) had a few shots taken together here.  It’s weird, cos the more time I spend around her, the stronger/more kiwi my accent is getting.  Look out Australia!

Right, so, after Gallipoli the next morning (this morning) we went to see the ancient city of Troy – or what is left of it.  It was alright, a bit boring but educational.  Nothing like the Brad Pitt movie which is a bit of a shame.  They have a big old fake Trojan horse at Troy for the snap-happy tourists, and you can climb into it if you like also.  The horse they used when making the movie has been donated to the nearby town, and to be honest, it’s better looking than the one they are palming off as “original-ish” at Troy.

So now we are on a bus to another place which I do not know the name of, to do I don’t know what.  All in good time!  Can you believe the bus has free wifi??? What are we doing in NZ and Australia?  You can’t even get wifi in your house without massive dramas.

I’m not quite sure what I think of Turkey yet.  It’s quite a bit different to what I imagined… less mediterranean-like and more Russian-esque (is that a word?)  The lack of falafel, hommus, tabouli and all the other food that I have been evily deceived into thinking is Turkish is making me sad.  I want a falafel kebab damnit!  There seems to be a liking for food that is stewed, containing copious amounts of meat and the people are very serious and even look Russian to me (especially when wearing sunglasses, very KGB).

Alright.  My Turkey adventure finishes on Saturday and after that I don’t really know what I am going to do/where I am going to go.  Was thinking a Greek island but dunno if it’s possible.  There seems to be boats from ports along to Aegean to Lesbos (the home of lesbians) and from there I could go to Santorini or such.  Otherwise, I could be lazy and just fly to Italy or such.  Not really sure, any suggestions???