Defying Gravity

It’s now been just over a month since we landed on Australian soil but when I recap our movements since arriving home I question whether we’ve actually landed at all. Apart from currently living in all of 3 houses, actively catching up with everyone we haven’t seen in so long, sending out CVs for anything and everything, reacquainting ourselves with sunny old Sydney and me starting a new career as a barista, we’ve not even had time to attend to the most important thing in our lives; capping off this epic blog!? :)

When we last left you, Nic was vainly performing the caliper test on her arse (she broke the calipers actually – “tight like a tiger”! :)) and we were entertaining romantic visions of sipping cocktails as we sunned ourselves on Ipanema beach. What a glorious way to have spent the last two weeks of a 2 year world trip we reckoned! As is so often the case however, fantasy and reality do tend to be two starkly different things and in keeping with the theme of not bullshitting ourselves too much, perhaps we ought to admit that thinking that a tropical paradise at the beginning of the wet season would be anything but wet – with a little (or even a lot of) rain thrown in for good measure – was always a bit deluded.

Having said that, after arriving in Rio de Janeiro in a downpour, our first morning gave rise to a beautiful day and without even realising how lucky we were, fortunately we managed to take full advantage of it. We’d decided to stay in Botafogo – which is a kind of a nothing (meaning cheap!) suburb that’s conveniently located smack bang in between Central Rio and the beaches – and given that we were virtually right at the base of Sugar Loaf, we headed straight up for the most famous and arguably most stunning view of Rio first thing that morning (or approx 10am in our case :)). And what a magnificent view it is... I think I’ll just let the picture tell the story here... though I will add that anyone who thinks that Sydney or any other place for that matter is anywhere near as impressive from the air ought to take a good look at themselves... it’s not! (Though, I’ll return to this point later).


We only spent a couple of hours held captive by the view down onto Rio, taking no less than a couple of hundred photos and meeting the local rain forest inhabitants for the first time (the Sagui monkeys), before eventually descending and making our way out to the beaches for an afternoon in the sun. Walking through the back streets of Copacabana and out past the neoclassical Copacabana Palace Hotel, we were out on the famous black and white mosaic promenade in no time and thirstily in search of our first caipiriniha on the beach.

Now, given that we’d been avoiding being ripped blind by anyone and everyone for the last 3 months, perhaps we should have been less eager to have that drink and more discerning about the price but within moments of stepping onto the beach we were accosted by an all too eager to please ‘barraqueiro’ called Phil – just one of the many favela guys that run beach stands or ‘barracas’ along the beaches of Copacabana and Ipenema – sat down and promptly made our cocktails. Disarmed by the big man’s beaming smile and his constantly telling us how much he loved us (it was it just a little bit confronting too to be constantly hugged by this big man), not only did we not even think to suspect that he was charging us triple the going rate for our drinks but we actually insisted on tipping him for his outstanding service. Beware of these overly friendly Brazilians I tell you! If they’re not trying to rob you chances are that they already have :).



Wanting to break up our stay in Rio with a few day trip down the Costa Verde, the following day (again in abysmal weather) we headed off to a little Portuguese colonial town called Paraty – though pronounced Parachi for some reason? Forgoing the fact that Cariocans (or natives of Rio de Janeiro) seem to speak Portuguese with a very strong Sean Connery accent (why that is I don’t know – maybe they’re just real big fans :)), let me just add how confused my usage of Latin languages had gotten upon arriving in Brazil here anyway. I’d tried rather hard to pick up as much French as I could our first time around in France and given my interest in learning the language followed this up with 10 weeks of False Beginner’s French in London. Thrilled with actually making some progress and for the first time understanding what it meant to conjugate a verb (let me just thank the Australian education system for that one), upon our second time around in France I was doing quite well parler-ing in my broken French I thought. As this was of course my first foray into foreign languages however, the moment we set foot in Latin America, almost instinctively, I’d found myself parler-ing in my broken French again – much to the confusion of the locals. A week of Spanish lessons later, followed by another month of getting my ear into Peruvian Spanish and just when ‘como se llama’ and ‘dos cervezas por favor’ were starting to roll off the tongue quite naturally, of course we crossed over into Argentina. Here ‘pollo’ (or chicken for the turkeys among you that only speak one language) was no longer ‘poyo’ but ‘posho’, which later became ‘pojo’ (which is to say that the accent as well as certain words started to change throwing you right off) but you could still somehow manage to get your head around this and communicate in a very simple Tony Yugoslav (“give me my money faarken!”) kind of way :). Enter Sean Connery speaking Spanish badly and that’s where I’d started to lose the plot however – this is Cariocan Portuguese! Even ‘gracias’ became ‘obrigado’ or obrigada’, depending on whether you are a man talking to another man or a woman (though we never actually worked this one out) and all three languages together with multiple accents started to meld into the one unintelligible dribble. But most sadly perhaps the next time I’d found myself trying to engage a couple of Frenchies in their native tongue all I could come up with was “si... shaken not stirred”.

Anyway, only just managing to communicate where the hell we actually wanted to go at the bus station (Paraty and ‘Parachi’ aren’t the same place it would seem when you’re speaking Goulasz Portuguese) we eventually arrived in this gorgeous little town some 300kms south of Rio. This once major port – used to export gold, coffee and other commodities to Portugal in the day – was virtually forgotten in time from the late 19th century and thus now provides one of the best examples of Portuguese colonial architecture in the world. The scenic old town, with its cobble stone streets and quaint little whitewashed dwellings was a great place to hang out for a few days and is definitely a must see for anyone traveling to Brazil. We were even afforded a morning’s sunshine which allowed us to get out into the bay on a beautifully refurbished 19th century ketch, stop at a number of the various islands and beaches (there are some 65 islands in this bay) and even go swimming in these pristine waters before the heavens eventually opened up at around 2pm – just on time to end our little boat trip.





Despite the weather presenting another challenge to our tireless pursuit of a good time, having befriended a small crew of likeminded cohorts and recalling seeing a little bar doing 5 real caipirinihas the prior evening, we wasted no time in changing tack and opted instead for an afternoon/evening of gasbagging and grog. As it would seem too, there’s always some know-it-all Dane called Miki that happens to speak 7 languages in any random group of strangers and apart from having a great time with our single-use friends, he managed to impart loads of Brazilian history to us and most importantly, informed us that Paraty was famous for producing some of the best sugar cane liquor in Brazil (if not the world). Further to this, perhaps it’s quite fitting to note that our Frenchie friends, Stefan and Marie (who happen to have a better blog than us the bastards – check it out if you like at www.byebyeparis.fr... we’re very jealous) had just as much trouble as me confusing their Latin languages (or at least Stefan seemed to empathise with my saying that I did) and that caipirinihas are in fact shaken and not stirred, whether or not one is trying to speak bad French, Portuguese or just trying to put on his best Sean Connery accent :).

Nursing some pretty serious hangovers the following morning (too much lime and sugar we reckon) and vaguely recalling someone saying that Paraty was famous for making a decent drop of Cachaça, we decided to abandon plans to head down the coast to the beaches of Trinidade (no points for guessing why – ‘twas pissing down again wasn’t it!) and instead booked ourselves in on a distillery tour. Aside from being stuck in the back of a ’68 Wily with the dullest bunch of Swiss kiddies we’ve ever had the pleasure of coming across – the 4 of them managed to communicate all of maybe 3 words to us over the course of the entire tour – we also managed to have the ultimate Brazilian tour guide experience; a day on Brazilian time with trusty Tiago. Now, I know what you’re thinking (hey I’m thinking it myself) – Is this relevant? Well, yes frankly! It’s relevant as we’d been on so many tours in South America and had so many tour guides (some of whom were really good) that it’s important to note the worst one of all of them! I mean how Trusty managed to get that 4 year tourism degree he suggested he had we still ponder but it’s unbelievable just how little information this guy had to offer. He couldn’t recall the names of any of the native rainforest plants that we recognised; he had no idea how any of the falls had been formed; he nearly forgot that we were actually there to do some Cachaça tastings (I’m not kidding here!); we only went to half the distilleries that were told we would (and these were some of the lesser known ones too); and in fact the only thing he was apt to do on the tour was hold back a few palm leaves for us... and this he wasn’t much good at that either! Completely faarken useless I tell you! And he’s probably still wondering why we didn’t tip him!


Having given our ‘Worst Tour Guide on Tour Award’ to the lovable Trusty Tiago, the following day we were back in Botafogo. We had hoped we’d spend a day or two frolicking on the unspoilt beaches of Ilha Grande before making our way back to Rio but you know (there’s a little theme developing here if you hadn’t noticed), the tropical cyclone that had decided to taint our Brazilian experience was kind of out to get us that week so we opted to seek the shelter of the city instead. The next few days generally involved lots of indoor activities; we’d befriend randoms such as Jeremy, Cedric, Victoria, Steve and Matt (and others), with whom we’d drink copious amounts of Lorenzo’s caipirinihas (and other concoctions) at the Hostel (a pretty cool change for us really as we’d generally endeavoured to steer clear of the backpacker trail wherever we could); indulge in Beto’s all-u-can eat dinners (though this proved somewhat difficult for me in the last few days of our stay there as I found myself having to compete with 6’4” 17 year old female volleyball players for 2nd and 3rd helpings – you should have seen these girls and moreover you should see these babies shaking their booties in some out of pretty out of control movements... in fact you will as we’ll be adding a video of them to this last post!); generally have a great time; and on occasion even braved the rain to see different parts of the city.



On one such excursion we found ourselves out on a tour of a favela called Rocinha with a serial free hugger called Ara from Melbourne – irrelevant I know but I thought to throw it in just for our reference... and yes he decided to confront people with free hugs the very next day outside of the very busy Carioca metro station at lunchtime – big balls for a little Armenian-Australian (particularly given the size of the blokes in Rio). In any case the tour of this shanty town of some 300,000 inhabitants provided us with an important insight into the conditions in which a quarter of all Cariocans live. We learned here how 20-something drug lords run these neighbourhoods and saw first hand how teenagers armed with automatic weapons controlled the peace and protected their interests in these slums. This tour also highlighted how these illegal settlements – sprawling up most of the hillsides around Rio – have become an integral part of the economy as well as highly sought after inner city real estate – complete with residents seeking to build on top of one another and free electricity. Bonus... though pity about that ever so strong smell of shit – with no sewerage system, waste flows down the narrow pathways between the dwellings all the way to the more affordably priced rentals at the bottom of the hill.


On a subsequent occasion, having been waiting for days for a slight break in the weather, the moment we got a glimpse of blue sky we headed straight up to the top of Corcovado to see Cristo el Redentor (or Christ the Redeemer) – one of the ‘new 7 wonders of the world’... bet you didn’t know we now had ‘new’ wonders of the world wonder of the world did ya? It goes without saying too that the iconic 38m high statue of Christ protecting the city below is amazing (it was sculpted by a Polak – it’s true, look it up) but so is obviously the view down from this 700m high vantage. Still second as far as I’m concerned to that from Sugar Loaf but nonetheless breathtakingly spectacular.




The next Friday night, given that Rio celebrates the start of the weekend by having a big street party in the old town suburb of Lapa, we thought it was culturally imperative that we partake in these festivities. So, well primed for the occasion by the El Misti all you can drink caipiriniha special that evening and with our partners in crime Paddy the Irishman and Drew from Coffs (insert nasally accent here – ah yeeaaah!) we were soon mixing it up with the locals. As Irish luck (or should we say Paddy) would have it too, before we knew it we had all hooked up with a random Cariocan girl by the name of Ilena and proceeded to party the night away. And following many hours of what was a very authentic local experience we found ourselves still out as we welcomed in the new day.


Following one hell of a night out, with virtually no sleep and excited to be seeing the sun for the first time in what seemed like months, we wasted no time in heading out to the beach to nurse those hangovers and get our first taste of weekend life on the beach in Rio.

Only a few hours later however it was time to for us to experience the Brazilian passion for 'Futbol'. We’d always wanted to go to a game in Rio but as it turned out we really couldn’t have done very much better than to go to see Flamengo play at Maracana Stadium on a Saturday night! To give you a little heads up on what this means to Brazilians generally and perhaps Cariocans more particularly, firstly let me just state for the record that Maracana Stadium is the largest stadium in the world with a capacity of 120,000. Secondly, Flamengo is the one of the biggest clubs in the world with an estimated supporter base of approx 40 million. In fact it’s also known as the ‘people’s team’ having developed off the back of a players revolt back in 1911 and that its supporters would literally kill for their team – many have too as I understand it... in fact we were also told by one tour guide and staunch Botafogo supporter that she couldn’t openly display her team allegiance (a Botafogo tattoo across her back) in certain places around town as it wasn’t ‘safe’ for her to do so. And lastly, this particular game had been sold out for days. Suffice to say it was a big game. As it turned out of course our tour guide Ronaldo – no not that Ronaldo... he plays for AC Milan and this one would have surely had a heart attack if he had to run half the length of a field – happened to be running on Brazilian time... or some 45 minutes late and totally oblivious. What is it with these conscientious Brazilian tour guides? As a result we only just managed to get to the game just before kick off and due to this guy speaking Sean Connery Spanish with a real bad slur we had absolutely no idea what was happening as we were being ushered into this monsterous stadium. Once we had found our seats however, the energy of the crowd just consumed us... the chants, the waves, the flags, the atmosphere was something that’s just beyond description – absolutely electric. Despite this awesome vibe the next 90 minutes didn’t amount to the most exciting game of football that I’ve ever seen. In typical Brazilian style, the home team played a hero-like game with the odd unsuccessful break and pathetic shot at goal and had their defense broken by the stronger team on the night, Atlético MG, 3-0. With Ronaldo in tears on the way back to the hostel, the only disappointment from the night however was that we couldn’t cheer for the scoring team for fear of losing our lives.


Graced with sunshine again the following day, we were back out on the beach to soak up the vibe. But as luck would have it our last day ‘on tour’ wasn’t altogether without drama either.


Has to be said here too before I forget, that yes Alex, you were completely right! And whilst not a substitute for ‘dulce de leche’ (which rocks too!), Açai became a daily addiction of mine in Rio and something that I was deeply depressed about never being able to have again when we were leaving (though I will add that you can find the stuff all over Sydney as it turns out which is pretty cool). As this needs some explanation, my mate Zom – a crazy Brazilian who for all intents and purposes will never leave Clapham... must be the weather or something :) – when giving us some must do recommendations for Rio suggested that we’d have to try this drink (thing?) called Açai. Now, I guess if this had never been pointed out to us we would have never known any better but this stuff is the bomb! Açai, as my Google search indicates, is a superfruit! A palm tree berry, that grows deep in the Amazon jungle, has some amazing nutritional properties and is snap frozen and sent to virtually every juice bar around Brazil. Here it’s blended to make a dark purple slurpy that tastes of mixed berries and chocolate. Absolutely awesome! And something that you really just can’t go without having at least once a day, if not morning, noon and night.

The drama, as many dramas do, revolves around money – though perhaps more specifically the Brazilian banking industry? No, I’m not going to lecture you here about finance and how excessive leverage was always going to end badly (it’d probably go right over your heads again anyway :)). Rather, I just wanted to say that the Micky Mouse banking infrastructure in Brazil often results in interbank communications being down and if you’re unfortunate enough to find yourself penniless on one of these occasions you ain’t got a hope in hell of getting your Açai fix while stretching out on the beach – or do you? We happened to be confronted by this unfortunate tragedy on our last day in Rio, so we have some experience of this. Somehow though, after being approached by countless Açai salesmen (there are all sorts of salesmen and women on the beach... you really don’t need to go anywhere but the beach in Rio! Zom was right again?), we managed to come across one guy who was willing to negotiate in the only currency that we actually had – Argentine Pesos. In an ironic twist of fate, while no Brazilian bank would exchange this bankrupt currency, this buff Açai salesman took pity on my hopeless addiction and agreed to take my last 10 Pesos in exchange for this fantastic drink. And contented we were able to enjoy our final afternoon in Rio in glorious weather, finally able to catch some rays on Ipanema beach.



Following a great last night out at a local Churrascaria, where we ate arguably the best barbeque we’d had in South America, the drive out to the airport the next morning signaled the virtual end of our grand adventure. Having booked our flights home (as well as every other ticket) online and giving ourselves ample time to make our flight etc, we never envisaged having any problems. But as it turns either entering or exiting South America is always a chore. There at the check-in gate at opening, with flight number and booking reference in hand, we were being advised that we were in fact booked on another flight that we had already missed, at and altogether different airport, with connections that we couldn’t physically make? I mean how this eDreams booking reference didn’t match the flight number that we were given we’ll never know but there we were with credit card in hand, trying hard to relax those rectal muscles in preparation for what was surely about to come. Following a lengthy explanation of the situation however, you can imagine our relief when the bookings lady simply said “that’ll be alright, I’ll just transfer your tickets to this flight you should have been booked on in the first place”.

There was of course one last thing that happened as we were leaving South America which still makes my blood boil... and I still don’t know who it is that’s to blame. Whilst we’d put a couple of bottles of grog in the backpacks at check-in, we’d always planned to pick up some duty free wine on the way home. So prior to getting on the plane in Rio, we asked what the alcohol limit into Australia was and having been told it was 2.25l per person we proceeded to pick up a few Luigi Bosca Malbecs and Cabernets (Luigi Bosca is known for producing some of the best Alta Vista Malbecs in the world so we were obviously very keen to bring some home with us) and a bottle of aged Cachaça – approx $150 worth of stuff all up. Now, with a few hours to kill laying over at Santiago airport, when we thought we could maybe get another bottle or two to get us right up to our alcohol limit we caught wind of the possibility that we may not be allowed to bring any alcohol onto the plane? How this works we still don’t know but we were given an Australian Government brochure talking about how it was illegal to carry any liquids beyond 150ml on the plane and said something about how it was impossible for us to board the plane with our sealed duty free bags of alcohol given that we were transferring through Auckland? (Though this was later denied by Australian Customs so go figure). While I cried, caused a massive scene and cursed our insane bureaucracy, 15 minutes later we boarded the plane having been forced to gift the LAN cabin crew our fine liquor. And nearly beating the 75 year old man seated behind me to a pulp – largely on account of this event (though also because he was being entirely too belligerent for his own good) – some hours later we entered back into Australia.


It needs to be said here too that particularly in the last couple of months of our little world trip we had become blatantly intolerant of, and in fact went out of our way to avoid, that Australian arrogance that seeks to assert (at the top its voice and in a strange nasally drawl whilst bringing embarrassment to the rest of us) that Australia is the best place on earth. There are some other pretty farken cool places in the world! We know! And Sydney is so far removed from the rest of the world that it really does need to get over itself! So I guess it was with a degree of hesitation that we were returning home. Not even a week into being home however, we had our mate Phil, the Val d’Isere Kiwi, arrive on our (or more correctly Nic’s mother’s) doorstep and spending the next few days playing tour guide in our home town was the best way we could have hoped to reacquaint ourselves with this amazing city and to start to settle back in. Visiting many of our old haunts and seeking out those things that we’ve always loved most about Sydney (the food for example) was an important means of properly appreciating the diversity, richness and beauty of this place and getting over any of those regrets about being back. Most importantly however, with special thanks to Mick and Bel for hosting our welcome home bbq, it was particularly great to be able to catch up with everyone we hadn’t seen in so long and to feel so welcomed by family and friends.



Since then one could say we’ve entered into a state of ‘uniform motion’. Our pursuit of those full-time marketing and investment jobs has been unrelenting and we remain undeterred in the face of that convenient financial meltdown, which coupled with Australian industry generally moving into Christmas mode, has been making things somewhat difficult for us on this front. In response to these challenges we’ve recently taken up casual work and are now quite able to deal with the reality of these exorbitantly high beer prices here in Sydney, so all is good – our busy social schedule comes with a hefty price tag you know :). While my initial attempts at selling myself as a full-time Somellier were disappointingly unsuccessful (had they not been I would have already abandoned any thoughts of re-establishing myself as an Investment Analyst/Soothsayer for a more balanced and likely much more interesting life), I’ve managed to convince a French patissier to give me a go at being a part-time barista. And having constantly boasted how coffee in Australia has to be some of the best in the world (just crazy when you note that there are some 4 coffee schools training baristas in ‘Abstract Latte Art’ here in Sydney – I’m not kidding either) I’m pleased to say that mine is arguably the best coffee on Planet Mosman – if I’ve suggested too that Sydneysiders can have their heads up their arses a bit at times, you should see the sort of Mosman women I have to deal with on a regular occasion... Planet Mosman is definitely the centre of the universe as far as this mob’s concerned! Nic on the other hand has just started doing promotional sampling work which has similarly been proving a bit of a laugh... she’s recently been ‘mystery shopping’ which involves testing certain sales strategies which are being implemented in various retail outlets around town – all of which is riveting stuff! In any case, while many could have thought that following such a grand adventure we would necessarily have to come down to earth, we’re proving that being constantly busy results in a ‘special relativity’ that has no dramas defying Newton’s 3rd Law!

Lastly, a big thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read our ramblings and have virtually travelled around most of the world with us over the last 2 years. We hope you’ve enjoyed reading this blog as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it and we look forward to inviting you on a subsequent adventure in the future.

‘Til then,

The Goulaszes

The Bikini Diet

It’s a couple of days before we hit Rio and from the depths of my backpack I’ve just dug out that bikini I’ve been carting around with me for the last 6 months... I’ve been carrying it of course with the ultimate vision of frolicking on the beach looking as good as those scantily clad Brazilian women - however deluded that may be!? Guess we’ve all got to have some sort of aspirations and one of mine is to pretend I’m not pasty and flabby but instead tanned and svelte and ready to compete for attention with g-string wearing goddesses on Copacabana beach :)

So with this vision in mind you’d think I’d be embarking on some mega detox diet of diuretic foods, vegetable juices and the like. No! I’ve instead been forced to partake in the ‘Argentine Bikini Diet’... Not read about this one in Cosmo this year? Look out for it! This high sugar, red meat and pastry diet is certain to be all the rage! Though perhaps it should be referred to as the ‘Strap it on your Arse Diet’ or the ‘Add 3 kilos in 3 weeks Diet’ :)

If you haven’t been to Argentina then this might need a little explaining... though maybe I could just say this nation eats caramel sauce or ‘dulce de leche’ with virtually everything. Breakfast consists of spreading it onto white bread and medialunas (or croissants) – something Konrad has become rather addicted to... that’s cream, sugar and butter every morning on white bread with added healthy lashings of butter! Feeling sick? Then perhaps you need an ‘alfajore’ or biscuit covered in chocolate and filled with ‘dulce de leche’ to give you that required morning sugar high? And of course following this nutritious start to the day, for lunch, the bikini diet requires that you eat least 6 empanadas and/or a big juicy ‘lomito’ or steak sandwich! And just when you thought you’d eaten for 3 of you already, come dinner time (at the spritely hour of 10pm) we’ll need at least 500g of steak at the ‘Parilla’ with additional white bread and ‘papas fritas’ or chips on the side. Given too that you’re likely to be experiencing some major sugar lows during the day, then maybe a little tasty cake or pastry with some more dulce will sort you out... even better how about a big tub of ice-cream with some more healthy dulce? :) And as for vegetables, well who needs them anyway? Aren’t fries some kind of vegetable? Okay the occasional tomato or onion is allowed with your hunk of meat as long as you don’t forget that side of dulce :)




With a diet like this you’d think you’d be a prime candidate for bowel cancer and a serious case of haemorrhoids. However, after consultation with a random woman authority on the subject, I was informed that the local remedy for the traffic jam in your gut is the digestive drink of Yerba Mate – which is a disgustingly bitter herbal tea Argentines seem to drink incessantly out of a special cup or ‘mate’ through this funky straw. We made the mistake of trying it once and I don’t care how blocked up I am, I’m never drinking that shit again! I read somewhere once that bitter herbs are good for liver and bowel cleansing so I guess as long as you drink 5cups of this medicine a day, then hopefully you’ll digest that 3kgs of red meat and 10kg of sugar you are consuming per week. I think I would prefer to eat some fruit and vegetables instead however :)

To illustrate this practice for you, I have provided a snap of a gentleman at Iguazu Falls having a sip on his Yerba which he of course brought a large supply of, together with his thermos, for his outing to the waterfalls! Never leave home without it!


And then of course there is the red wine that you need to consume copious amounts of as well! Not that we are complaining about this one though. As most of you are well aware we are both big fans of this nectar of the gods and here in Argentina they produce a great drop at a great price! I’m glad to report that we’re taking full advantage of this :).

When we last left you, we were on our way to San Rafael and Mendoza to take in some of the wineries or ‘bodegas’ as they are known locally and of course do some serious wine tasting. And this we did! 4 bodegas in San Rafael, a highlight of which was drinking the Bianchi Particular Malbec, 2004 (one of the best wine’s I have ever tasted) and; 6 in Mendoza, which involved hiring a bicycle and cycling approximately 25kms – quite an adventure when you haven’t ridden a pushbike since riding around your tennis court in Joburg at the age of 10 and when you’ve been consuming various glasses of plonk along the way. Some of the highlights from this day out were the fantastic wine museum at Rutini (their wines are amazing too) and being gifted a bottle of Temperanillo from a boutique winery called Boschi. All in all it was a great couple of days in this region and although they are famous for producing the best Malbec in the world, we had the pleasure of tasting some fantastic other varietals as well.



From Mendoza we travelled through the original capital of Cordoba and onto the swinging, kick arse, super cool city of Buenos Aires!! Honestly, what a fantastic place... Parisian architecture and cafes, Barcelona night life, London shopping, New York energy all with a little touch of tango and Latino flair. If you haven’t already been, then I suggest you book in a trip now! We spent an awesome week there wandering aimlessly through the barrios of San Telmo, Palermo and Recoletta; visiting markets; shopping for shoes (yes I did pick up a couple of pairs, including a fabulous pair of purple snake skin numbers – by way of example, Palermo seems to have more designer stores than Soho in New York) and; just soaking up the vibes.

Of course we wanted to experience the excellent nightlife this city has to offer and while we did make it to one of BA’s top jazz bars to watch a great fusion jazz band that was recommended to us by some locals, we were unsuccessful in our attempt to hit ‘The Big One’- a 2000 capacity nightclub playing the best of BA electronica music recommended to us by our friend Ignacio at Telmotango Hostel. Being Australian and having started our drinking all too early that day (without eating dinner either as the bikini diet prescribes dinner only after 10pm remember) we unfortunately hit the wall around 1:30am - way too early to hit the dance floor given that the club only opened at 1am, no self respecting Buenos Airean would be arriving before 3am and the place didn’t actually get going until around 5am! I guess grandma and grandpa should have gone to bed around 6pm and set the alarm to wake up around 2am to start drinking vodka shots to ready themselves for the party! We will know better for next time!








It may come as somewhat of a surprise but Argentina is famous for the sport of polo – yes that pretentious sport invented in England and only played by the likes of Prince Charles – is actually most popular in and around BA. The large number of horses on the land has lent itself perfectly to the establishment of many polo clubs, produced the best polo players in the world (a fact the Argentines are quick to point out) and resulted in plenty of annual polo tournaments open to the viewing public. Of course being the upper class wannabe wankers that we are, we thought this no better place to experience the sport first hand and so organised our way out to the Tortugas Open on a Saturday afternoon to watch Indios Chapaleufú II and Pilará play - just for the record Pilará won 14-12. This was to be a particularly exceptional match as each team had 37 goals (very good as 40 is the maximum goal handicap per team... look it up on Wikipedia if you think you need to know more) and thus was very fast paced and of the highest quality. Although knowing very little else about the rules of polo I was sufficiently entertained throughout the afternoon as we sophisticatedly downed a bottle of Torrentes from Salta (though this may have contributed to our not making it to ‘The Big One'... perhaps we should have instead taken to sipping on Yerba Mates as all the locals seemed to be doing). In any case we thoroughly enjoyed the occasion though it has to be said that this was without a doubt the smeggiest sporting event I have ever witnessed. In this particular tournament each player had between 12 and 20 horses and there were just 3 families of brothers represented across the two teams – we were told that 5 Argentine families dominate the sport as you really do need a small fortune to even think about venturing onto the field to wack that little white ball around. That said the players did of course display some excellent horsemanship coupled with superior hand-eye coordination and the play was so faultless and smooth that we had to remind ourselves of the incredible skill involved by those on the field.



Sad to be leaving this great city – we really could have spent another couple of weeks there – we next visited the spectacular Iguazu Falls on the Brazilian/Argentinean border. Having arrived in some very torrential rain, we were getting ready to pull out our 2 dollar garbage bag ponchos purchased just before we started the Inca Trail and brave the park. To our good fortune however, the following day was just beautiful and we got to enjoy an amazing day at the falls. Overall the park comprises of 275 waterfalls which makes for some spectacular views from the many walking trails made accessible to the visitor. We especially enjoyed the view from the ‘Garganta del Diablo’ or the Devil’s Throat where you get to watch 1800 cubic metres of water per second (that's a hell of a lot of water) pour over a 70 metre drop onto the river below. I can’t say whether or not we enjoyed them more than Victoria Falls but the shear number of waterfalls and the jungle environment in which they are surrounded make them very unique and something well worth visiting. We spent 7 hours there enjoying the views and took only about 300 happy snaps :)





We have just arrived in Rio and are about to bring this grand 2 year adventure of ours to an end. We are eager to explore this beautiful city as well as head down the coast to Parati and Ilha Grande for some sun and beach action. I’m of course very much looking forward to donning that bikini of mine and showing my body some sun after too long, so stay tuned for pics of me looking fabulous (or not … maybe I’ll spare the world those images :)).

It’s time to go and drink some Caipirihnas so I’ll sign off and look forward to seeing most of you very soon.

Ciao

The Amazing Race

I’m lying on a tropical beach being fanned by a cohort of 7 adoring blondes and as I go to take another sip on my mojito, bang! A light shines blindingly into my eyes. What’s happening? Am I being interrogated by the Thought Police? No it’s Nic (well kind of a Thought Police I suppose :)). She’s looking particularly dashing wearing her head torch following another restful night’s sleep on the hard ground and she’s saying “get your lazy arse out of bed! it’s 4 o’clock already”. Being violently wrenched from a dream, particularly one involving 7 blondes, is never a good way to start the day and the next half an hour is like a blur; within minutes of being woken our things are packed, we’re out of the tent (which the porters have already started to pack away) and breakfast is literally being hoovered up.

When I finally come to my senses it’s a about 5:00am and our troop of 6 is lined up at the Wiñay Wayna control gate. Our guide Coco’s just left us, likely to ensure an easy passage through the control and there we are wandering how it is that at least 70 or so other muppets have made it to the gate earlier then us this morning? Guess the fact that Machupicchu is still 7kms away (or approx a 2hr walk); that most people tend to come up by bus from Aguas Calientes where buses start running from 5:30am; that there are only 400 tickets issued a day for Wayna Picchu (the best lookout for Machupicchu); and that likely only the top finishers are going to get a ticket, is sufficient incentive to have everyone up well before the crack of dawn.

As we anxiously follow the procession of hikers on this 4th morning of the Inca Trail, the dawn slowly breaks only to reveal a thick fog blanketing the lush rainforest we’re marching through. The pace starts to quicken and we manage to pass a first group of other hopefuls who’ve had to slow down. We pass another, and then another before reaching the Monkey Stairs and as others stop to admire the heavy fog at Intipunku (or the Sun Gate) – the other and probably most famous vantage of Machupicchu – we shift gear. Carrying full backpacks and now moving at ‘porter pace’ I hear a sad voice call out “don’t end it badly” as I dart past the decrepit farker. Slowing down for a second to see where the rest of the group is, Ryan the 20 year old California from Santa Cruz runs past and as Nic chants “we’re not going to make it anyway” I declare “It’s just for sport now!”


Not quite able to outpace the young lunged American (he had a smaller backpack than me the bastard :)) I come in second with Nic closely behind. To our delight the whole of our group has matched our pace and despite a lengthy queue at the Wayna Picchu gate somewhat denting our optimism at a quarter to 7 in the morning, we’ve won the race and are duly rewarded with a ticket to climb to the lookout at 8:30am! It’s not likely that we’re going to see anything given the heavy cloud but we’re still going to chance it we reckon – I mean it was only a light run this morning and we could all still do with another 400m vertical ascent :). (It did obviously clear up once we reached the top - ref title photo).


Of course the preceding days on the trail weren’t nearly as rushed. Nor were the couple of days prior in Cusco for that matter (or Qosco as the locals prefer to refer to this once Inca capital and thus “centre of the world”... the conquistadors thought instead to rename it Cusco meaning “small dog” in Quechua). The town of Qosco, destroyed by the Spanish and subsequently rebuilt on top of the remaining Inca ruins, carries such a strong sense of history – not just for the remaining ruins but also because of the many 16th century buildings (including some amazing churches) that were built atop of this once grand Inca city. And a visit out to the Sacred Valley; the ruins of Pisac, Ollantaytambo and Chinchero, provide further insight into the scale, beliefs, social structure, eventual disbanding, etc, of what between the 12th and 16th centuries is thought to have been the largest empire in the world.





However, walking the 400 year old stone path that was reserved for the Inca nobles is obviously the best way to experience what this world was actually like. To think that messengers would relay information across this 42km trail within hours while it look us 4 days to walk is amazing. So too of course is the magnificent landscape of the mountains, cloud-forest and rainforest that the trail meanders through, and it has to be said that for all our recent hiking, this has to be up there as one of the best.





It’s most astonishing however that although the Spanish are known to have walked through the valley below the city of Machupicchu this jewel was never found and thus remained so well preserved until its discovery in 1911. Even more so is the fact that, as the Inca’s knew (and as is reflected in the designs of some of their structures), the area is prone to seismic activity and despite the efforts of curators and academics to preserve the site the fact that it sits directly on a fault line is sure to eventually destroy it. (Is this the real reason why the Incas abandoned it?)



At the risk of killing you with endless useless facts however, I’d best get back to the real Amazing Race. You didn’t think it was just going to be about Machupicchu did you?

A few days before setting off on the Inca Trail I get an email out of the blue from Tony (not quite out of the blue as I’d written to him sometime before but still a pleasant surprise). As I’m responding to his email, or more specifically justifying how it’s not in the budget, that it’s off our route, that given the timing of the Inca Trail (which we had to book 5 months in advance) it was late season, etc, it hits me like a solid left jab straight in the nose: We’re not going skiing? What do you mean we’re not going skiing? This can’t be! We love skiing!

Now, sure we’re here on the backpacker route, acting all experienced, only a step away from sporting happy pants (it’s a farken big step! but I did buy an Alpaca jumper that not even my dad would wear – guess we’ll see at Christmas though won’t we :)) and still pained with being removed from the heavenly bliss of life in Val d’Isere (we miss you guys back there loads too) we thought we’d try to forget this skiing obsession of ours. You know, we thought maybe we should pursue other interests. Perhaps basket weaving? (Perhaps not! :) – sorry AJ we just couldn’t do that sort of shit to ourselves). And as for this hiking thing that we’ve started to get into... sure its good to go for a leisurely walk in the mountains but you gotta be kidding if you think this is some kind of sport! C’mon, you can only walk up so many faarken hills before you have to start skiing down some of them!

Right, with mission in hand and one Inca Trail to get in the way of planning time we had no time to lose! We were going skiing, no matter the distance, no matter the cost (within some semblance of reason) and completely foregoing that we had initially planned to spend 2 weeks in Bolivia... who gives a shit about Bolivia right? There’s nothing to see there anyway! Well, perhaps just a couple of things... mental note; just add a couple of things to the plan... maybe... if there’s time that is :). And given that my all too conscientious research assistant Nicola had just discovered that it’d recently dumped 1.5m of snow, we now had our objective firmly in sight: Get overland from Cusco to Las Lenas (only some 2000kms away) through Bolivia (seeing stuff?) before the snow melts and go skiing!

The Amazing Race had just begun!

Day 1:

10:00pm: Freeze your arse off on an overnight bus from Cusco to Puno.

Day 2:

6:00am: Arrive in Puno.
9:00am: Take boat out to Uros floating islands.
9:30am: Wake Nic as she falls asleep during crappy demonstration of how islands were made.
12:00am:Try to avoid getting sick off lunch.
2:00pm: Board bus to La Paz
7:00pm: Watch bus as it nearly sinks trying to float across the lake with our luggage.
11:00pm:Find dogdy hostel.
12:00pm:Sleep.


Day 3:

9:00am: Wake up.
9:05am: Try to shower. Oh that’s right there was only enough ‘aqua caliente’ in the whole of the hostel for one Goulasz to take a shower this morning. (I didn’t need to shower anyway!)
9:30am: Do La Paz!
6:00pm: Board overnight bus to Sucre.



Day 4:

7:00am: Find another dodgy hostel.
8:00am: Have breakfast and do the tourist thing again! (Remember to happy snap all the pretty colonial architecture).
2:00pm: Bored!
8:00pm: Brave some pizza.
2:00am: (Nic) Wake with chronic indigestion!



Days 5 & 6:

Embark on 36 hour transfer from Sucre to Salta in Argentina... Very long! (Of course made somewhat more interesting by having one last bout of that mystery rotten egg gas burp stomach bug thingy).


Day 7:

Have a well earned bottle of Malbec on the main square in Salta :) Feel free to eat street food again! (You really can’t go past the Lomitos – or steak sandwiches... yummy!)


Days 8 & 9:

Take final 28 hour transfer to Malargue through Mendoza (pen this amazing post :)).

Race successfully completed, we were ready to take our just reward of 3 days of skiing in Las Lenas – one of the premier ski resorts in South America :))!!!


The next morning, with packed lunch in hand we arrive at Las Lenas about 9:30am (we’re transferring everyday from Malargue which is an hour away) and given that the condition of the 50% ticket discount that we’re after is that we hire our skis and boots at the resort, we head straight to the rental shop. Seeing as we’re so keen to get out there (it’s a beautiful sunny day and there is no time to lose – we only have 3 days remember) we take the first pair of boots we try and without even noticing that there is no wax on the skis we’re given we march to the door in true Slavic Warrior (over-excited) fashion with a couple of pairs of Salomon X-wing 8s. As soon as we actually manage to pay for our rental (this is no mean feat as they won’t accept Visa and that’s all we got) – and go through a similar ordeal getting our lift tickets – we head straight up to the highest lifted point, the top of the Marte chair.


As we try to put our first turns in down a little blue run however, both of us seem to be finding this sport incredibly difficult? Feeling very uncoordinated and not willing to accept that we’d both forgotten how to ski after a couple of months of hiking (damn this quasi sport... I knew too much walking wasn’t good for you :)) I finally decide that these skis have a dodgy tune (did I mention they hadn’t seen wax in months) and desperately need a service. Instructing the service guy that the edge on a set of skis needs to be de-tuned by half a degree for them to be ski-able (not easy when you don’t speak much Spanish – but it did seem like he knew what I was talking about... I think I’ve had this problem before you know... though just a couple of times perhaps :)) we head off to have our sandwiches and a couple of beers. We return a half an hour later with renewed enthusiasm and are ready for the afternoon session!


With the weather closing in and with both of us having even more trouble trying to carve these skis than in the morning session it soon becomes clear that either his hand-file tuning job on these skis made them even less ski-able then before or just that Salomon has managed to produce another shit pair of skis! Likely a bit of both! And not being able to stand my own whinging anymore (skiing’s about carving not whinging kiddies!) we do the only thing we can... trade in the top of the line Argentinian rental gear for a pair of Atomic Izor 7.5s for Nic and Rossi 8S Oversize for me. Having wasted nearly a whole day on some really shit skis we now have skis that do what you tell them to and are finally ready to really take on the mountain!


To our good fortune the bad weather that afternoon results in 30cms of fresh snow overnight and the following day is just amazing; we start with carving out fresh lines in 5-10cms of powder on top of the groomers, then get some real leg burn trying to float carve skis in some deeper snow off the back of the Marte chair and finish with a great afternoon work out carving up the pistes again. And just when you thought it couldn’t get much better than the day before, the colder temperature overnight dries out the snow a little for our last day which is as near a perfect day of skiing as you can have – a bluebird, with hard packed perfectly groomed pistes first thing in the morning, followed by some fresh lines off-piste later that morning (so accessible too... fantastic) and ending with skiing the groomers until both of us are so exhausted we can barely put a turn in.



What a wicked couple of days skiing! And what a fantastic little resort Las Lenas is; with literally everything from great long pistes for carving; to easily accessible steep couloirs and powder bowls (for the brave) – you just need to luck out on the conditions which I’m glad to gloat that we did :).

In keeping with the themes of ski resorts and wine regions we’re now off to San Raphael and Mendoza for a few days of wine tasting. Life is hard :). But only for another month or so :(.

Ciao

Are you experienced?

There we were sitting on the bus from Vaqueria to Huaraz, having just completed a 4 day hike in the Cordillera Blanca (a 5 hour collectivos ride on a pretty gnarly mountain road), being forced to endure some pretty noxious BO (as none of the 15 of us in the van had showered in days) and we’re being subjected to ‘Mary from Middle America’ trying to convince us that she’s the most ‘experienced’ of all the ‘enlightened travellers’ on the well trodden backpacker route through South America. She had quit her fabulously high paying regulatory job (that she loved and was exceptionally ‘good’ at), given up that MBA they were putting her through in the process, forgotten to shave her armpits, recruited some burly Romanian who was apparently really good at “kicking some arse” and together with her other Israeli recruit proceeded to boast how they had managed to avoid paying the park entry fee. Incidentally the Israeli guy claimed to be so good at avoiding entrance fees that he had managed to gain entry into Machupicchu via some back entrance free of charge.

The conversation continued along the lines of who had been travelling the longest, had the greatest backpacking cred (whatever that is) and who was managing to spend the least amount of money possible... Yawn! Sure we’ve heard of Couch Surfing, we’ve even hung out with one of its biggest advocates (and we’re still amazed at how Daniel managed to go on holiday to Spain from London for a week on 50 pounds) but we’re not sure this actually amounts to the best travel experience. As we were being advised however, living on crackers and cheese alone for weeks is the done thing and wherever possible it’s best to avoid gaining any kind of knowledge from local guides – the preference instead is to ignorantly stumble your way through national parks and historical sites. The fact however that they were later detained and forced to pay a significant fine for attempting to enter Huascaran National Park free of charge was almost as amusing as our guide declaring at the same control that he was not a guide and had not escorted our group of 5 on the trek... But we’ll pick that one up later!

During all of this riveting travel banter I couldn’t help but reflect on our experiences in South America thus far. Weren’t we the ‘most experienced’ of all world travellers after all? With almost two years on the road, countless road trips and multiple borders, we figured the last few months of our world trip should go relatively to plan. However rewinding back to LA airport where at 1:30am we were being denied check-in to our flight to Lima perhaps this wasn’t all going to be so easy. Maybe we should have read the Peruvian entry requirements more thoroughly but instead we found ourselves trying to rationalise with this check-in chick who would not bend the rules in any way nor accept that we were planning on travelling overland out of Peru into Bolivia on a bus we hadn’t yet booked on September 3... 1 hour later, 1 Mastercard purchase of $1200 for flights to La Paz and we were on our way (don’t worry we recouped the funds 24 hours later in Lima by cancelling the flight).

From our first day in polluted Lima, riding local collectivos and attempting to see some of the city’s sites, it became very apparent we desperately needed to learn some Spanish. We relied on our hostal to book our bus to Huaraz, do our laundry and I think we paid the respective price for this – only double the going rate!

After a relatively comfortable overnight bus trip (the first of many and in hindsight the easiest) we arrived in the mountain town of Huaraz – approximately 400km north of Lima and at the heart of the Cordillera Blanca, which is home to Peru’s highest mountain, Huascaran (which at 6768m is incidentally the second highest in South America). Since we had naively booked our 2 weeks accommodation on the internet, our host Jamie was there to meet us. So we had overpaid for our room, there was no hot water as advertised, the internet was actually at the shop across the road and the breakfast didn’t exist. Lesson number 1; never book in advance in South America!! We managed to negotiate the price a little, insist on breakfast (which was actually a bad mistake as it turns out the fresh strawberry juice poisoned us and marked the start of our never ending stomach ails) and organise Spanish classes with Jamie’s sister in-law Sylvia. We spent the large part of the first 10 days taking Spanish classes and acclimatising to life at over 3000m. Gracias Sylvia! Me llamo Nicola, soy Australiana, quisiera un bebida y nosotros estamos yendo a Cusco por dos noches por favour! So that is about the extent of the Spanish we learnt but we are now able to book buses and accommodation, negotiate prices at markets and understand some restaurant menus – what else do you need hey?


We also managed to fit in some treks. The first one to Laguna 69 was a bit of a fizzer as Konrad was the first to go down from the dreaded strawberry juice and spent about 4 hours in some Swiss guy’s tent curled up with a high fever and making frequent dashes to the dunny with bad diarrhoea... Nice! A big thanks to the Verbier ski instructor Sebastian (how do we keep running into these people?) who kept me company and tried to assist with Konrad’s ails by providing a warm sleeping bag, coca tea and aspirin. Not immune to Granny’s evil tonic either, I was unfortunate enough to experience the same thing for the following 5 days which meant not a lot of action – other than lots of visits to the toilet (though I’ll spare you any more details). We did however make a day trip out to the ruins of Chavin de Huantar which we thought to do by local bus. Of course this turned out to take 3 times as long, involved sitting on the floor for 3 hours on the return journey as there were no seats left on the bus (reference title photo) and cost more than the guided tour! I suppose this is the price you pay for being so ‘experienced’! Also, we successfully hiked up to Lake Churup – which at 4450m was the first of our high altitude treks. This trek was not without incidence either as I started the day by vomiting, though persisted with the hike only to then encounter a rather challenging rock climb right at the end (see pic below). If you have seen me indoor rock climb then you will understand it is not my forte... I did manage to make it up there with the assistance of my mountain guide Konrad only to burst into tears out of shear trauma at the top and then have 3 Peruvian girls find the whole thing so hysterically funny they thought to laugh and point at me :( How rude!!


So with all this ‘experience’ behind us we next embarked on researching the 4 day hike to Santa Cruz/Alpamaya which unbeknown to us is apparently most beautiful mountain in the world? Now talking to the tourist office, local guides, tour companies, guide books etc we were repeatedly being told that we could only do this trek with a registered guide... and besides we have no camping gear either so this seemed to make the most sense. After walking around town and working out the going rate for the hike we finally signed with our chosen agency which ensured us a registered guide, the best equipment, food and of course expert local knowledge. So we again naively believed another Peruvian trying to sell us something! I guess we shouldn’t have been too surprised when our 22 year old guide Marco showed up, spoke only Spanish (luckily there was a French bloke who spoke a little Spanish who could translate from Spanish into French, which we could then translate to the other 2 Danish girls into English), was curiously taking us to a different entry point for the trek and seemingly knew very little about the surrounding mountain ranges! Did I mention the tent he provided us with had a cover which was 2 sizes too small thus allowing wind and rain to enter in during some exceptionally cold nights camping at over 4000m? Oh and that’s right, when it came to going through control he declared he wasn’t even a registered guide!!!! Well I guess we paid the park entrance fee, unlike our smelly friends on the bus! I’m not sure who was more experienced here though, ‘Mary from Middle America’ or Mr and Mrs Goulasz :) At least we had food for our 4 days and didn’t have to live on crackers... though I will say Marco’s carbo loading diet of pasta, rice, potatoes and bread all in one meal has to have caused the biggest digestive traffic jam either of us has ever had to deal with... better than diarrhoea I suppose! Sorry I’ll try not to talk too much about our guts but it’s hard not too when it’s been such a big part of the adventure in Peru so far! Despite this the trek was amazing and we were exposed some of the most ruggedly beautiful mountains either of us has ever seen – though we only saw the backhand side of Alpamayo for 20 minutes whilst the clouds cleared and thus can’t declare whether or not we agree with it being the most beautiful mountain in the world. We also hiked to 4750m and although we nearly punctured a lung or two along the way, it was a great achievement to get up that high.




Having completed our first mountain adventure, it was time to move south and onto the town of Nazca. Not much to say here actually... the most interesting bit is me throwing up for 3 hours on the bus due to a newly developed tendance towards motion sickness (sorry, there I go talking about my guts again). We did however survive a rather hair raising bus trip where our bus driver decided it was a good idea to travel at 120km/hour in virtually no visibility and continually overtake on blind corners – we had some really close calls and even Konrad was freaking out. If you have the time you should Google traffic incidents in Peru! I made the mistake and found out through a travel warning to all Britains that 776 people died in the first six months of this year and a further 1300 were injured. Needless to say we are now holding tightly onto the Virgin Mary which Bozena kindly gifted to us before leaving Oz to keep us safe. Unfortunately when we did get to Nazca, we didn’t take the flight over the lines due to bad weather that morning (even though we had a flight booked) but rather climbed up the pathetic viewing tower and took a trip out to an archaeological site – all pretty uneventful and we quickly moved onto the beautiful city of Arequipa.

We were very impressed with the Spanish architecture in Arequipa, in particular the beautiful main square with the El Misti Volcano towering behind, the churches and the Santa Catalina monastery. We also managed to find great French coffee and crepes and drink beer in a lovely French bar! There appeared to be a lot of French people in this town for whatever reason, in fact there seem to be quite a few French people on the backpacker trail who we constantly bump into and get the chance to practice our bad French :)



From Arequipa we ventured into the beautiful Colca Canyon. Again we considered doing this trip alone but after working out costs it proved more cost effective for us to join a tour group. This time however we were pleasantly surprised with an excellent guide who gave us a great insight into the canyon (Colca meaning store or shop and where the Incas came to gather food and medicinal plants), its fruits (including cactus fruits such as Tuna and Sancayo), plants and local communities. Here we were also fortunate enough to engage with a local family, drink chicha with them, make an offering to Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) and work one of their ancient terraces. We mustn’t forget viewing the flight of the magnificent Condors first thing in the morning either. And I know what you are thinking, what’s this about us being impressed with ‘travelling birds’? Guess you need to experience the grandeur of these creatures first hand to fully appreciate them – just amazing!






Of course no trip to South America would be complete without a visit to the jungle and with limited time we decided our best bet was to make our way to the town of Puerto Maldonado and the Tambopata Reserve (again this involved about 5 hours of painstaking pavement pounding and information gathering in Cusco before we made our final decision). As we are also on limited funds, we went against the advice to take the 45 minute flight from Cusco and instead opted for an 18 hour bus trip at a tenth of the cost! Okay, I don’t think either of us had any idea what we were in for and our decision was purely based on cost (if we had more money I swear we would have flown). When the bus turned up at the bus station, I thought Konrad was going to pick up our bags and walk out :)... Obviously he didn’t and instead we boarded the bus. So how bad can 18 hours on a smelly bus with non-reclinable seats, no toilets, loud chicha or jungle music playing constantly and seriously bumpy, unpaved road be? Hmmm – REALLY BAD!! I wish I had videoed Konrad’s comments at 4am but let me just say cranky does not nearly describe the mood!!

We eventually made it to our destination and once in our lovely jungle hut the pain of the journey became a distant memory. We spent the next 5 days exploring the Madre de Dios River (which eventually flows into the Amazon) and the Tambopata Reserve. We were lucky enough to have a guide virtually to ourselves for most of the excursions and quite fortunate to experience some great jungle walks, boat rides, local fruits (including the cocoa tree – see pic below for where chocolate comes from) and excellent wildlife. To name a few of the mammal species we saw; Saddleback Tamarin monkeys, Dusky Titi monkeys, Brown Capuchin monkeys, Coatis and the Red Amazon Squirrel. We also had the pleasure of observing about 10 Giant Otters feeding on fish in Sandoval Lake, saw some amazing birdlife (including Chestnut Eared and Yellow Ringed Toucan, Hoatzin and a number of Macaw, Parakeets and Parrots) and caught a glimpse of several White Caiman along the river bank.









Having just endured the 18 hour return bus trip from hell to Cusco (OMG!!) we are now taking in some of the sites of this beautiful town, recovering from another stomach upset and look forward to embarking on our Inca Trail to Machupicchu on August 28th.


‘Til next time and bon apetite :)

Where art meets crime

I must confess that I borrowed the title for this post from a t-shirt I saw recently on Venice Beach (hey one needs to cite any non-original thinking) and while the title shot is from SoMa (or South of Market) in San Francisco – a place you tend to walk through with firm intent (read tightly holding onto your belongings and praying you won’t have to fend for your life) – I think it’s a reasonable descriptor of what is America. To spare you too much of my philosophising perhaps most importantly it just makes for a great post title :).

That said, mulling over what best captures America you come up with so many things; though terms such as red-neck, ignorant, arrogant, loud-mouthed, SUV driving, fat-arse hick seem to come to mind almost too easily... sorry just had to get that out of my system :). I guess ‘Sheet Negro!’ (insert big Samuel L Jackson voice) also finds itself on the tip of one’s tongue... though given recent controversy surrounding the ‘n-word’ perhaps I shouldn’t be using that one? (If you haven’t heard, it’s ok for a brother to call a brother a nigger as long as the brother’s not a whitie; or Reverend Jessie Jackson; who’d been calling for the ‘n-word’ to be stricken from the American vernacular for years yet thought to apply it in derogatory reference to Barack Obama without realising he wasn’t quite off air – oops :)). Just on that thought maybe ‘excessive political correctness’ should be added to the list of adjectives on America too? You should have seen how much media attention this issue got... whole hour long TV debates on the inappropriateness of the term... and this was somehow still the most riveting stuff on TV :).

Without being too biased however we’d all be surprised to note how integral America has been in shaping language, culture and life generally in the world and for all the US bashing that I’m (we’re?) prone to doing it was great to be able to travel through North America, experience its diversity, beauty and extravagance as well as its humility... nowhere’s perfect... despite what the Americans may think of their country.

Anyway, I won’t rehash Nic’s last blog – we thought we’d give you all a little reprieve from my excessively verbose ramblings for a change (you’re still not exempt from having to read this shit though Garth!) – but I will firstly say that it was great to travel the East Coast with Doug and Flick. It took some getting used to travelling with others for a change but they were sorely missed when they were gone and it was fantastic to catch up with them again at Bill and Ravit’s place in Seattle. Just on that note, I can’t stress enough how good it was to hang out at Hotel Vlandis for a week, join Billy’s Boot Camp everyday, partake in America’s favourite past time of shopping (yes we all bought shit we didn’t need!), barbeque, drink great American beer (they really do have this down pat – no not Bud, I’m thinking all IPAs including Sierra Nevada, Samuel Adams etc), play test pilot for the new Doug and Flick mobile (ugly as it is I’m sure if it survived a test drive from me you should be right :)) and to play with the Kungfu Panda, Nicolas (guys, you’re blessed to have such a great son)... while Uncle Goulasz isn’t the best with newborns it was great to meet Ethan and Mikhalya too :o). Can’t wait to see all of you again soon!


Moving right along, let me say that walking back to your fabulously priced lodging past homeless people camped out over the pavement, smackies perched on every other corner, street workers soliciting their stuff and ever other dude looking at you menacingly is a bit confronting but despite these first impressions we both really liked San Fran and thoroughly enjoyed our stay there. In fact, our only regret is that we only had 3 days there and didn’t just hang out for a little longer. We really loved the Victorian architecture that defines the city, the cable cars, how cosmopolitan it is, that you can find almost every type of cuisine there, that you can get really good French sourdough bread at Boudin (the clam chowder in their sourdough loaf is worth mentioning too) and that you can actually find a decent coffee! That they call it a ‘Gibraltar’ rather than a ‘flat white’ is another matter but the fact that you can get a real coffee and not just perculated garbage is a big thing! – remember all these guys drink is Starbucks, Tim Horton’s (dare I say even worse than Starbucks) and a whole bunch of other rubbish coffee chains.




Now, if you hadn’t noticed (you’d be Garth :)) but there are a number of themes running through this blog and the rental car upgrade theme is one of our absolute favourites. Having been disappointed in Calgary by actually having to take the bottom of the line Ford Focus we actually paid for, it was reassuring to find that our supersizing American/Puerto Rican friends at Alamo decided that the Goulaszes would be better off driving around California in a 3.5L V6 Pontiac G6 GT Coupe rather than whatever piece of junk they actually paid for. So with Nic finally winning that free tank of gas she’d been after since New York – this car wasn’t about to give us decent milage... perhaps not the 3 miles per gallon you’d expect from the everyday Dodge RAM 3500 that most yanks cruise around in but still not good – we were ready to hit the road.

One of the striking things about North America is its tipping culture. Whenever you take an ideology to an extreme you eventually reach absurdity and paying staff wages of 2 dollars an hour is the libertarian doctrine gone horribly wrong! The fact that a beer which costs 5 bucks is actually 5.50 when you add tax and ends up being 7 bucks when you add in the additional dollar a drink tip that you’re expected to give makes my blood boil. And forget about this resulting in any improvement in service either – most of these guys are pretty pissed off that they’re on 2 dollars an hour, irrespective of the fact they’re making 50 bucks an hour in tips. This is just a case of our bourgeoisie brethren being allowed to take the piss – don’t legislate war you muppets try for fair wages, public health, education and social security... hold on wouldn’t equality diminish the power of the ruling class? Anyway, you all know we’re quite fond of the finer things in life, so from the comfort of our swanky Pontiac and hiding the fact that we were staying in a dive just off the freeway outside Vallejo (rather than in either Sonoma or Napa which weren’t quite in the budget), we went off wine tasting.


Noting the above, the offshoot of the tipping culture in America is the fact that those with money are all too eager to flaunt it – should ostentatiousness be added to the list? Perhaps then it should have come as no surprise to us that all wine tastings are paid for. And in fact the more chique the place the more you can expect to pay for a tasting. When I mean tasting too, I don’t mean a nip or even half a nip, I’m talking about 10mls in a glass times 4 glasses coming in at anywhere between 10 and 40 dollars per person – you really have to be business owner to be able to afford this. The whole culture has gone a little awry as given the extravagance of most of the wineries in the Napa and Sonoma Valleys it’s also little wonder that they’re charging on average 50 bucks a bottle for anything worth drinking... the price point comparison I can make to Aussie wine here is around 30 dollars a bottle (I would say less but I’m being chastised by Nic for always spinning too much shit). I guess however they have to recoup the cost of their OTT cellar doors somehow – our personal favourite being the Persian Palace below... for the record we refused to pay the 25 dollar tasting fee here. Despite our lack of budget we managed to share the odd tasting, try some fantastic wines, extract the odd free tasting (it’s amazing how far a little bullshit can get you – trying 100 to 150 dollar a bottle Cabernets at Ledson being one such example), do a great food and wine matching at Mayo and generally have a great time.


As this is after all our world tour of wine regions and ski resorts it was only fitting that we would next move onto Lake Tahoe – the home of Squaw Valley and Heavenly, which according to my mate Matt is one of the best ski resorts in North America (pity we didn’t make it during the winter – perhaps next time). Following a beautiful drive into the Sierra Nevada we arrived at the town of South Lake Tahoe which to our disappointment however can best be described as tack central – it was quite a shock to see big casinos on the Nevada side of the town and dodgy diners spoiling what is otherwise quite a stunning environment. Despite this, we took in a great hike around Emerald Bay and drove along the western side of the lake up to Tahoe City and Squaw Valley, both of which we found quite beautiful.

For all of my continuous US bashing (it’s a bad habit I know) it needs to be said that the US is a world within a country and has some of the most glorious natural scenery imaginable. Purely by chance, with Mike, our Norwegian hotelier from San Francisco to thank, the drive from the Nevada desert back into California along Route 4 is up there as one of the most beautiful roads we’ve ever had the pleasure of driving. And just as you think it couldn’t get much more picture perfect you stumble upon an oasis such as Mosquito Lake which literally makes you leap out of the car with camera in hand and go happy snap mad (maybe that’s just me :)). Similarly, driving through the pine forests of the Sierra Nevada is in itself breathtaking and even more particularly so when you stop to have a look at the giant Sierra Redwoods along the way – the size of these thousand year old trees can only truly be appreciated from the ground up.



Next, we headed to the most visited National Park in North America - Yosemite. With its towering peaks of white/grey granite rock contrasting with the thick green pine of the valley floor it’s easy to see why this park is so popular. Without getting too put off by the hordes of people at some of the most popular vistas – the most telling of which perhaps was when we witnessed maybe as many as 70 people scare away a foraging black bear and her cub near the car park of the Bridal Veil Falls – we were able to appreciate the beauty and space of this great park. Here we did two hikes; one from Yosemite Valley along what’s known as the Mist Trail to the top of Nevada Falls and; the second from Tuollomne Meadows to Lake Elizabeth. Whilst quite different both walks made for some truly awesome scenery and provided some respite from the scores of people everywhere else.




Whilst spinning a yarn with a couple over a wine tasting in Sonoma we were advised that no visit to California would be complete without taking Highway 1 down the coast into Los Angeles. Although this meant some backtracking through the breadbasket parts of California we headed back onto the coast and started our descent south from Monterey – just near Laguna Seca for any die hard Moto GP nuts out there… we were there just days before the GP too. A quick note to anyone thinking of visiting California, there’s plenty of whale watching to be done here and we were quite gutted to find that we’d only missed the last Orca watching trip of the day here by an half an hour or so – there’s another thing to do on a return trip. We were quite fortunate however to drive down the coast as just days prior the road had been closed to traffic on account of bushfires so perhaps we shouldn’t be complaining.


Driving down some very pretty coastal road through Big Sur we next stopped into what looks like the exact place that Keanu learnt how to surf in Point Break – Pismo Beach. And following a quick stop the next morning at the place of Nic’s favourite teenage soap, Santa Barbara, we were about to hit LA.


The first thing that struck me as we dropped off our car at Los Angeles Airport was that this was the only airport I’d ever been to that seemed not to exhibit any public transport directions. You could find virtually any car rental company transfer service imaginable, getting to any of the 50 different airport parking lots was a relative cinch but finding out how best to get to Venice Beach by bus was proving to be no mean feat. Without sending even the most vehement reader to sleep (I’ve likely lost you already) we obviously made it out to our hostel by public transport. I guess the point I’m seeking to make here is that I think LA epitomises our obsession/reliance on cars and is perhaps the least people friendly and maybe the most car friendly city I’ve ever been to. With respect to this, it is perhaps also important to note that on first impressions I thought this was one of the ugliest cities we’d ever been to.

Following an afternoon of hanging out on the beach, just getting to Hollywood by bus the next day reinforced this perception and given the difficulties that this place presents with regard to getting around we soon found ourselves relenting and naively handing over 50 bucks for a tour of Hollywood and Beverly Hills. As is the case usually with these things 50 bucks doesn’t include tax, the advertised stretched limo is of course a Ford F250 van and what they forget to tell you is that they’re not paying the guy driving the truck so your tips are in fact paying his wage. Having said that, we did get a good tour of Sunset Boulevard, walked along Rodeo Drive, sighted many a beautiful gate in Beverly Hills and Belaire and learnt that Aaron Spelling (you know the guy with that really ugly daughter) spends 80k a month just cleaning his 150 room mansion – is that the definition of largesse? All vital stuff however!


With one further day to kill in the US we figured rather than braving the lack of a public transport system in this place we would just hang out in Santa Monica and walk back from Santa Monica pier, past Muscle Beach, ‘Real Riders’ showing off their super cool wheels (wouldn’t you just love one of these low riders – see pic below) and plenty of street artists and vendors back to Venice Beach. This is of course the actual place ‘where art meets crime’ and whether or not you like the aesthetic you need to acknowledge that it’s one cool place to hang out.





We’re now in Huaraz Peru so stay tuned for further adventures from Latin America.

Hasta luega!

A North American Tale

It was a dark and stormy night when the Goulaszes arrived in New York City. Feeling abandoned by our friends who weren't there to meet us as the airport, we wandered the city contemplating the mood and impressions of the Big Apple. Why are all the buildings so tall? Why did Konrad just get kicked out of an electronics store? Why are New Yorkers so abrupt? And where are Doug and Felicity?


Exhausted from their travels, perhaps it was not surprising that we would find them the following day gorging themselves on a pastrami on rye sandwich! Or perhaps that was a Reuben? Whatever it was the trend of eating excessively had just begun!

United at last and with bellies full of pastrami (which incidentally took the rest of our stay in New York to digest) we headed straight downtown to pound the pavement and take in the sights.

The Polish paparazzi geared up for a few days of solid happy snapping. Celebrities all over New York were alerted to stay indoors and the rest of the crew were forced to endure an average of 60 shots per hour – he’s a hard worker, this one.

Not to put our resident photographer down too much, we were nonetheless delighted with the result of all this shuttering activity! As we pounded the pavement, he snapped the sights, hung off balustrades, opted for avante garde under-the-park-bench angles and generally became to our tag along Japanese tourist.

But with all this walking, the crew was starting to whinge! “Why aren’t we eating? Where are we going? I’m hungry!” Given our reputation as being the tighest travellers to ever grace the backpacking circuit, we were of course appalled with having to spend all this money on food, and were forever chastising this inefficient use of calories. But we eventually relented to the request and took them out for pizza :)

The next day feeling guilty about the amount of food consumed, we hit the park and tried to burn some calories. I’m sure we needed to do 16 laps to burn off all that food, somehow we only managed one!


“Holy Fuck Batman!"
“You can’t swear on this blog Robin!”
"Fuck off Batman, I can say whatever I like. And by the way I wasn’t swearing, I was referring to a really cool electonica outfit that our superheroes took in whilst in Brooklyn one night”

“What’s that – you’re hungry again? I’m confused …. Are we filming the next version of Supersize Me? Oh I get it, this is the diner from Seinfeld!!!! My all time favourite TV show! That’s fine, we can eat there. I want the Big Salad like Elaine”

How did Doug manage to steal the keys off Michael Schumacher? Perhaps Michael shouldn’t haven’t been so busy playing paparazzi. Doug will of course argue that he was doing all of New England a favour after Michael nearly cleaned up a few pedestrians in New York. Irrespective, following his first performance Doug was banned from commandeering the wheel again.

Between Doug’s driving and Flick’s navigating how we got to Boston I don’t know :) But when we did get there we found it to be a beautiful city and a welcome change of pace from New York.

Forever calling out for her daily icecream, we were all surprised to learn that Flick had never tasted Ben & Jerry’s. This was possibly just a line of course but given that we only had to make a 4 hour detour to visit their first icecream factory in Vermont and with a resolute (did I mention hungry) girl in the backseat of the Chevy we made a subsequent food stop. (Watch out for next year’s Cheesecake Brownie flavour – it got Flick’s approval!).

Ou est-ce qu’on? Tout le monde parlent en Francais ici. Ils sont confus. Ils ont les ‘ARRET Signs’ au lieu de ‘STOP’, lls dissent ‘faire du maganizage’ .... for those who don’t speak bad French or for those Frenchies who don’t understand our bad French, these confused Francophone Canadians seek to be more French than the French … pity they don’t have any idea about good cheese or wine! And come on guys despite chips with cheese curd drowned in gravy being quite nice no self respecting Frenchie would go anywhere near poutine.

Wow despite what we just said about Quebecans that’s one impressive chateau up there! Possibly more impressive than any we’ve seen in Europe!

Busted! Doug are you thinking of buying something special for Flick? Could there a special announcement sometime soon?





Are you kidding? These two stud muffins aint getting hitched anytime soon!


Sad to have parted company with our travel companions and feeling like we’d packed on the pounds it was time to burn some serious calories in the Rockie Mountains! We spent a week travelling through Banff, Lake Louise and Yoho National Parks – taking in some amazing hikes, spectacular scenery and spotting loads of wildlife along the way! (Try 7 Black Bears plus countless lazy Hoary Marmots).

Our journey ended in the lovely city of Vancouver, where despite staying in possibly the dodgiest part of any city we’ve ever been to, we had a great time enjoying the harbour, beaches, parks and mountains that make this a beautiful city and great place to hang out!

We are now resting at Hostel Vlandis for a few days in Seattle before flying to San Fran on July 7th. We look forward to our 4th of July parade experience and also spending lots of time with this ever expanding family! Thanks guys so much for your hospitality!

Til next time ...

A Toast from Britain

It may come as a surprise to many of you that I tend not to drink whiskey much (if at all) these days. Johnny Black and soda just doesn’t roll off the tongue as well as rhum et ananas, t-punch or le bite dans cu when I’m parler-ing in my best Franglais, so I’ve tended not to bother with it recently (getting that throaty ‘rrrr’ sound out right I find very addictive too). However, having just completed a two week tour of Scotland and England and with only a few days left ‘til we head to the States I thought it appropriate to raise a glass and enter into another gripping monologue. (For the record too, I never really knew why it was that my blue blooded palate has usually preferred blended whiskies rather than single malts but that dram of 18 year old Chivas we had at the Strathisla distillery was definitely worth toasting with).

Following on from our culinary successes (just look out for that reference to The Goulaszes in this next year’s Michelin guide – we’re sure to be in there) we had the sad realisation that we’d never forked out for a Michelin star restaurant – perhaps not that surprising given that the guide’s only started to cover cities outside of Europe in the last few years (and Sydney isn’t on the list yet) but inexcusable nonetheless. So amongst all those taxing powder sessions (hey we worked really hard on Nic’s skiing – it was a full time job in effect... have I mentioned that we skied fresh, dry powder just days before they closed the resort too? I will get over the fact that we’re no longer skiing eventually... though it may just take a little while :(), the crazy parties and planning our tour of North America we thought we’d better look into remedying this.

Anyway, despite London being reputed to be the most Michelin starred city in Europe (though we do reckon the British just perpetuate these sorts of rumours to make themselves appear to know anything about cuisine), we figured there was no better place than Paris, the home of gastronomy, to embark on this experience. So, in consultation with our resident expert on the finer things in life Steven (how is it that a 24 year old can know so much about great food and wine?), we found ourselves booking a night at Alain Senderens. The appeal here was that he had removed the tablecloths, he had returned the 3 Michelin stars that he had held for over 28 years in protest to all the pomp and the average 400 euro per person price tag that often associated with eating in these sorts of establishments, he was attributed with inventing ‘nouvelle cuisine’ in France, his degustation menu looked better than all the others we had looked at but perhaps most importantly he happened to be cheaper than most other 2 Michelin star restaurants in Paris :).

Following a long day of pounding the pavements of Paris in search of that perfect happy snap (it needs to be said that I’ve become totally obsessed with this new sport – hey something had to take over from skiing... hmmm... I will be alright... the season had to come to an end I suppose :(), with tripod in one hand and camera in the other, wearing our finest (or is that only) jeans and only slightly smelly t-shirts we presented ourselves at the restaurant. Greeted with only a hint of bemused disapproval by the Maitres d’ we were soon seated, sipping a 1998 champagne, studying the menu and feeling only mildly disturbed that we were the most casually dressed in the whole restaurant – I know I should have packed a dinner jacket but I think I’ve been through Nic’s underwear obsession and our baggage situation already. Luckily a few fellow antipodeans, looking more dishevelled then ourselves were soon seated right next to us, absolving us of any feeling of unease and we were left to indulge in the ‘menu degustation avec vins’ for the next 3 hours. Without going into too much further detail this consisted of 7 courses with matching wines and it has to be said that the ‘foie gras de canard poche aux morilles, noix et curry’ or poached foie gras with morel mushrooms, nuts and curry has to be the most amazing dish I’ve ever had – and when I think about it I’ve had some pretty amazing dishes.


Quickly passing through London, let me firstly say that it was awesome to catch up with friends, inhabit Alex’s floor in Clapham for a couple of nights and see the place going nuts on account of some unusually good weather – it could have even been as warm as 25 degrees... this is virtually unheard of for the UK :). Given this we practically spent the whole of the weekend catching rays in commons and parks, barbequing and drinking loads of Pimms and lemonade – great stuff that and loads better sounding than Johnny Black and soda when I’m putting on my best geezer accent too.


Come Monday morning, just as the rest of London was recovering in the office from a solid weekend of drinking, we were nursing hangovers from the freezing discomfort of our tiny seats on the Megabus en-route to Edinburgh. Suffice it to say too that Alex’s fears from the weekend, that the whole of the UK would go into anarchy should the good weather persist (quite possible actually), should have largely been allayed with the prompt return of the usual woeful weather (drizzle and cold) as we headed up to Scotland – Alex, one fear you should never have is that the weather should be too good for too long in the UK. Following a painful, though absurdly cheap 9 hour bus trip it had seemed as if we had escaped the pursuing rain as we crossed the boarder into bonnie Scotland.

Staying with our mate John in Edinburgh for a few days we did the usual tourist things here. A visit to Edinburgh Castle resulted in a much needed history lesson; revealing the succession of Kings and Queens of Scotland, giving insight into their nationalistic pride and showcasing the crown jewels and the Stone of Destiny (or perhaps a good copy – it’s hotly debated whether Queen Elizabeth’s thrown still contains the original stone used in Scottish coronations or whether she’s given it back to the people of Scotland as claimed). We also got a real sense of history while chasing ghosts on a tour of Mary King’s Close (one of the many Closes or alleyways from the 16th century which since have been covered over), as we learned of how the people of the day lived and worked in their own excrement, eventually dying of the plague, and making this otherwise beautiful City one of the most haunted in the world. (I’m sure that was just John having fun with me rather than someone regularly tapping me on the shoulder down there :) – having said that, at least we didn’t have some spook hanging out with us for the next few weeks as Nic did the last time she visited the place). Apart from climbing Arthur’s Seat, having a great time hanging out with John, we also managed to get into a few Scottish delicacies such as haggis (or oats and offal cooked in sheep’s stomach for those of you salivating there – quite nice actually) and deep fried Mars bars – I’ve heard these were in fact invented in Bondi but perhaps we’ll have to let the nation that deep fries everything from burgers to pizzas (yes I’m not kidding here) lay claim to these.


Picking up a Holden (I mean Vauxhall) Corsa, that could have been a Vectra but was in fact an Astra – to clarify, the tightarse tip here is to book the cheapest rental car you can online and then upgrade to whatever you actually want when you arrive at the pick-up – we next ventured into the Scottish countryside. Heading over the Firth of Forth (or Forth of Firth if you’re a bit dyslexic like me – trying saying that five times really quickly)... sorry, just had to throw Firth of Firth of Firth into my blog somehow... we headed across Scotland’s oldest national park of Loch Lomond and the Trossachs in search of bens, glens, clans, drams and Jesus, Mary and Joseph... hmmm could be confusing Scotland with Ireland here... at least I didn’t suggest they were British though, that could’ve resulted in a beheading in these parts of the British kingdom – even in this day and age.

Anyway, moving swiftly though Killin and Oban, where we stayed a night at a time, we next landed in Gavin’s (Nic’s brother-in-law’s) home town and popular trekking/outdoor spot of Fort William. Walking through the glen and up the ben (doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?... just like ‘aye’... or maybe ‘shiver me timbers’... hmmm could be confusing the Scottish with the Pirate-ish here – who knows, they’re all similar barbarians really) we managed to bag a Munro by climbing the highest point in Britain, Ben Nevis – only 283 to go. For your information, a ben’s a hill (though there are 7 different types); a glen’s a pass between 2 bens (though it’s often confused with a strath which is a slightly wider type of valley) and; bagging Munros usually involves some Scot donning his kilt and enduring what’s likely significant shrinkage (bloody cold up there) as he climbs any ben that’s higher than 3000ft. Confused? Me too :) Though I will add that we were quite lucky to climb this 1340m hill given that Fort William receives 150 inches of rain a year and that I’m not at all surprised that Tash never made the 6 hour hike when she lived there for 2 years.




Following this grand feat of ours we next went in search of a just reward on the Malt Whiskey trail. Hard as it was to convince Nic that we ought to spend a day drinking whiskey we managed to take in a couple of distillery tours – can’t imagine why really... I mean just because she hates the taste of it doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to enjoy myself :). In truth it was my insistence that we visit Balmoral Castle that morning that actually resulted in us only visiting two that day though having said that I suppose there are only so many wash backs (or vats) and stills you can bring yourself to seeing anyway. Still (mind the pun), having done our research we went to two of the oldest and most beautiful distilleries in the Cairngorm region and those reputed to offer the best tours - those of Glenlivet and Strathisla (best known for Chivas Regal). And Nic did manage to gain somewhat of an appreciation for the treasured dram (or drink for those that need a translation). The fact that not only the difference in the mineral content of the water used or even the malting process itself but also the size and shape of each of the copper stills and their chemical reactions with the malt bears a difference on the end product (without even touching on the barrelling) was fascinating to me though for some reason boring as batshit to Nic :)


Let me just declare that if I ever see a castle again it’ll be too soon! I mean I’ve never really given much of a toss about the Royal Family nor had any idea who the Earls of Strathmore were (nor the Bownes-Lyon connection with the Windsors for that matter) but I do have a penchant towards the strappings of wealth so perhaps it was this that drew me to a near obsession with these grand houses complete with fine furniture, art, silverware and glorious grounds and gardens. It seemed like we were always taking a detour to take in another castle and in total, excluding ruins of which there were loads too, I think we managed to see 9 castles in 7 days on the road in Scotland and we’ve now totally had our fix. I reckon we could walk straight past the most fairy-tail of castles and hardly even notice. That said, we did see some absolute gems.






Of course no trip to Scotland, at least not for anyone who’s ever spoilt a lovely walk in the park by chasing a little white ball around, would be complete without paying homage to the home of Golf – St Andrews. I guess the fact that I’m neither a member of a golf course nor do I have a handicap nor did I book a place with the R&A 6 months in advance only to go into a raffle for a round on the Old Course, meant that I couldn’t let hacking around spoil my walking the fairways of this grand old course but pay homage at least I did. For the record even on the lovely day that we had it was windy as hell and would have been a complete nightmare to play – you got to love it.


Next we wrapped up our little road trip with a couple of days visiting the beautiful Lake District. It’s easy to see why this is recognised as the most popular holiday destination in Britain as well as the inspiration for the works of William Wordsworth, Beatrix Potter and John Ruskin.



Lastly, we spent a few of days with Nic’s uncle Antony in Manchester (thanks so much for letting us invade your flat for a little while), before heading down to London.

Having thoroughly enjoyed every moment of this final tour of Britain and having tied up a few remaining loose ends, we look forward to our last catch-ups with friends here in London and heading off to the New York in a few days.

Until next time and slanche-vah!

Our First Michelin Star

I’ve been addicted to watching cooking shows for some time now. In fact, I have been known to sit down for 3 or 4 hours straight watching one TV Chef after another - my favourites being Rick Stein, Hugh Fernley Whittingstall, Raymond Blanc, food scientist Heston Blumenthal and of course that boy from Essex, Jamie Oliver. (I’ve never really been a fan of Gordon Ramsey – he just annoys me for some reason. Where is the love Gordon? And all that swearing in the kitchen can’t result in decent food.) Let’s not forget those reality TV cooking contests which I’m totally obsessed with either – Masterchef and The Restaurant being two of my personal favourites. Anyway, we’ve been traveling the world on a shoestring now for the last 18 months and although I’m addicted to watching these chefs on the box, I’ve only been able to afford to go to one of their restaurants and even that was the cheap trattoria section of Fifteen in London. I’ve heard about Michelin Stars and seen too many potential Masterchefs being thrown into Michelin Star restaurants attempting to replicate their food but never in my wildest dreams had I expected to be awarded that honour!

On our first night in Chalet Angelique, possibly the most annoying mother in the world Suzie, hit the nail on the head when she declared, “Oh, you’ve never cooked in this kitchen before? And this is your first week? It’s like a reality TV show!” Of course having seen so many of these Reality TV cooking shows likely gave us a clear advantage over other would be chalet hosts but what would a reality TV show be without disasters and drama? And in that first week there was plenty of that. Following completely foreign recipes in a 4 star chalet for 10 guests each paying 3000 pounds for the week, was to say the least, mildly intimidating! We managed to keep our head above water ... just ... but I tried to sever my fingers a few times, grab things out of the oven with my bare hands, burn the pastry, make a soup that no-one wanted to eat, overcook the meat ... you name it, the first week with the Riley family was definitely a rocky start. At least they were kind enough to tip – they either felt sorry for us or just liked throwing their money around. Perhaps it was Daddy’s way of answering little Johnny’s question one morning whilst we served breakfast of “What is the difference between a servant and a slave?”

As with every good reality TV cooking show, lows are usually followed by highs and following the first week from hell things had to improve dramatically. The compliments started to flow, I managed to relax, ignore those stupid recipe suggestions made by our employers (clearly they weren’t as well versed in TV cooking prowess as we were), improvise a little and cook things I was more comfortable with. Soon after came the ultimate accolade from the Morris family when they awarded me a Michelin Star for my chicken and mushroom pie. And despite Tilly, their 19 year old gap year/ski-bum daughter (with 3 pairs of skis and 10 ski outfits), who was on a diet of one Danois Big Breakfast a day not eating anything, I think the Morris’s were pretty well credentialed to award this prestigious prize. I mean any parents who don’t mind paying their daughter’s 2500 pound mobile phone bill (wake up to yourselves you morons!) must have graced the inside of at least a couple of Michelin Star restaurants. I’m not sure you’ll find a Michelin Star chicken and mushroom pie anywhere else in Europe, so I’m quite chuffed with this award! Further, they then went on to inform our employers that over 15 years visiting Val ours was the best chalet food they had ever eaten! I’m not sure whether it was just my food or Konrad’s excellent fire making, wine pouring, ski advice and general chit chat (probably a combination of both) but by the end of our 3 week stint, we’d started to find it all rather pleasant and maybe even consider a career change? Chalet Hosting with the Goulaszes! I’m just wondering how we go about selling this concept to the BBC?

With 3 weeks of work complete and ski passes secured, there was even plenty of tip money – except for that last mob of 12 (half vegetarian, half confused, half who ate bacon but no pork and some children who only ate couscous, strawberries and carrots). Their thanks were quite sincere I know but they failed to leave any financial reward behind! Don’t these guys get it, we don’t care for verbal compliments, its all about cold hard cash! I know we should have done it for the love of cooking and great service but financial realities have to be taken into consideration sometimes too. This is likely one of the most expensive places in world and beers don’t come cheap – even when you are best mates with the barmen. Show me the money!!!

Anyway, since we have found solace in the fact that in late March the snow started to fall and hasn’t stopped. It’s now the 20th of April and we’ve had nothing but powder sessions on the mountain! I have skied more off-piste in the last two weeks than in my whole skiing career and I’ve finally started to weight my skis properly in the powder! We won’t mention too much about our near encounter with an avalanche but we are being safe and just playing around in the white stuff while it lasts. There are now only two weeks of the season left and we’re going to try and not let the sore ribs (yes Konrad got on a snowboard a couple of times and has taken a few hits), manky rash on my feet from being in ski boots for too long and other muscle ails from getting in the way of a fantastic end of season here in Val.

We plan to leave here around the 7th of May, before heading up to Scotland to visit John and Emma in Edinburgh and hopefully get in a spot of camping in the Highlands.

I'll leave you with lots of photos of skiing and powder :)

'Til next time ...

Nous et Nos Baggages

So there we were, late in the morning on beautiful bluebird day, it had just snowed, I had just turned 32, we were in Verbier (which is a reasonably worthy contender for the Goulaszes’ Meilleure Station du Monde Award) and we’re having a coffee rather than ripping up the slopes? It takes a lot to break a Goulasz! Even more to dissuade him from skiing on his birthday! And as I sit here writing this post I still can’t believe that I would be admitting that on that 2nd morning in Verbier I was too ill to get up the hill.

Rewind back to the previous Thursday and it’s possible that my body could have been weakened by that Yellow Fever vaccination or the Hep A booster? (Just in case you were wondering, no the Yellow Fever jab wasn’t for Switzerland… sure they all look as if they’re a little disease ridden but I’m advised it’s not a high risk zone :)). Maybe the all night session with Garth et al on the Saturday night prior had taken its toll? Hmmm… there’ll all good possibilities but I still reckon the culprit was that faaarking 47kg ski bag!!

I know what you’re thinking. And sure, you’re right! It’s all our own fault... we have entirely too much ski gear and we really do need to do a big cull. I’ve been telling Nic for weeks that we don’t need more than one pair of undies each – I don’t know why she won’t just turn them inside out? And that pair of skis of hers... honestly it’d really be cheaper for both of us if only I went up anyway :) – kidding sweetie... hmmm I think I may have just become an eligible bachelor again ladies. Anyway, despite not wanting to take too much rubbish away with us (and of course leaving a whole bunch of other stuff back in London in any case) you do end up finding yourself thinking you could do with this and that and given that this 6ft ski bag of ours seems to be comprised of antimatter or something you just find yourself saying “yeah of course it’ll fit... you take that 78th pair of undies sweetie”. I guess then we shouldn’t have been too surprised to find that following the longest tube interchange of my life at Green Park, where we were actually asked who it was that we were dragging away with us on a couple of occasions, when we checked in at Heathrow the ski bag weighted in at 46.8kg. I’m still amazed that they didn’t make a fuss about letting us on the plane.

The next 11 hours of transfer saw all sorts of special privileges being afforded to Mr Ski Bag. I mean not only did he manage to take up at least 4 seats on the multiple trains that we needed to take to Verbier from Geneva but I’m sure I also heard every courtesy being extended to him as he muscled his way past unsuspecting commuters – I’m sure “Attention, degage” is a courtesy... at least that’s how we chose to receive it. Following an exhausting day of cursing our luggage we arrived at “The Bunker”.


Now, I know that we claim to be ‘Traveling the World in Style’ and we’re forever being greeted with “vous etes toujours en vacances” (or ‘you guys are always on holidays’... some of which is true I suppose) but the less glamorous side of seeking to do as much as possible on a shoestring is staying at the most modestly priced accommodation in a place – one that boasts invitation only bars that sell 50 pound mojitos and cater to Russian oligarch’s mistresses’ tastes by offering 5000 pound cocktails. (I’ve no idea why we weren’t invited into this place. Had they not heard that we were coming?) Anyway, to set the scene “When it reeks of Funk, You know you’re in The Bunk” was where we staying in Verbier. And when I come to think of it, although the graffiti warnings inside this remnant of the Cold War (it really is a converted old bomb shelter) referred mostly to mysterious skin diseases, it is possible that there may have been an altogether different bug that I could have contracted here – I think I prefer my ski bag story though.

We spent all of 4 days in Verbier although only managed to get up for one day due to bad weather (which meant we didn’t actually get to see all of the resort either due to lift closures etc) and me picking up that mysterious bug. A rating really shouldn’t be put on Verbier but we’re not sure it’ll be the Meilleure Station du Monde.


Following this we went on the most beautiful train ride in the Swiss Alps from Verbier to Chamonix, France. We had done the drive in the Summer and traveling in the winter by train was no less spectacular, with Chamonix’s peaks and many glaciers making it a unique and extraordinary place to be at any time of the year. More importantly though this is the alleged home of mountaineering, it was one of the first places to host the Winter Games, it is the place that always features on Warren Miller videos not to mention the place we had finally decided against for last season due to its more cumbersome ski accessibility – you’re a good 45min to an hour from getting up the mountain in the morning. To the die hard however this place is awesome – the steeps of Le Grand Montets, Flegere and Brevent, the rock formations, the possibility of absolutely crazy (I can hear Finfin saying “It was like a... a knife edge” in the background) descents, the don’t forget your passport and peanut butter sandwiches free-riding, the extreme rock climbing up sheer rock faces and needles etc do make this a truly exceptional place. Great resorts and if you can remain patient this place has a real and fantastic non pretentious vibe too. It was awesome to hang out with Garth and enjoy the next 10 days there in a Hostel in Les Pelerins.




Of course other than just being an amazing place to hang out and go skiing Chamonix Mont-Blanc is home of the highest lifted point in the world, Aiguille du Midi (though this may have just been overtaken by Kashmir), the highest mountain in Europe and one of the most famous off-piste runs in the world, the Vallee Blanche. The ascent of 2800m from Chamonix to the peak of Aiguille du Midi – the start of the run, was also a great place for Nic to try to conquer her fear of heights. We started the decent from the top with one of our group and our Guide Lillian both wearing crampons and all of us roped together in order not to accidentally slide all the way to the bottom of the valley – I was of course the only one in the group to slip on the icy ridge... not at all helping with Nic’s vertigo. The run itself on top of the glacier with its crevasses and seracs and magnificent scenery is something not to be missed when in the area and we’re stoked to have been able to do it.




From Les Pelerins there was just one last 1km walk to the train station at 6 in the morning with Mr Ski Bag before our final transfer back to our surrogate home in the mountains of Val d’Isere. Greeted by Phil at Bourg St Maurice, we were delighted to arrive back to see friends and the village covered in 1m of snow. A special thanks to Phil and Alex for putting us up at the Hotel for the first couple of days before we could move into our apartment. Speaking of thank-you's, a huge thanks also to Magalie for sorting out our lovely studio apartment. (What a step up from last year –mezzanine bedroom, flat screen TV, washer drier, dishwasher and most importantly right in the centre of town.)



Anyway, between the first days of skiing we also managed to run into Paul and Debbie from Mountain Rooms (while visiting Philippe and Simonetta who we worked for last year) who we found to be desperate for a couple of Chalet Hosts – for their 5 star, 3 storey palatial ‘vieux village’ 10 person Chalet. Knowing full well that there’s no challenge beyond our superhuman abilities, it was the fact that we had trusty, never miss a ski trip (and No, I don’t read your blog!) Garth and Arek and Kasia from Poland on their way for the Easter weekend that had us saying “we’d love to help out but only after the weekend”. Despite this of course, as luck (or perhaps the financial incentive of 2 ski passes to the end of the season for working the Easter weekend) would have it, we found ourselves saying yes to running our own Chalets for a couple of weeks. I mean how hard could it be? ‘Roast red onion, sun dried tomato and pear tart with puy lentil cream; Roasted rack of lamb with gratin and trio of steamed beans served with roast garlic and olive jus, and; Lemon Brulee with poppy seed shortbread’ couldn’t be that hard to pull off? Could it? (With Garth moving into our cool little studio with us it was time to practice, as that’s what we ate on our first night for dinner at Chalet Goulasz).


Having now hosted five amazing dinner parties for high paying guests, while at the same time skiing and partying with our guests Garth, Arek and Kasia (apologies again for having to work over the weekend guys) – not to mention the local crew – we pick up our season passes this afternoon having spent our first day by ourselves in our little Chalet of an apartment on our day off. Setting tea-towels on fire, dropping whole pepper corns into a children’s bolognaise, putting salt instead of sugar into the satay sauce and many burns and cuts to the poor old hands have all just been part of the fun :).


The conditions here are absolutely fantastic, the snow was too deep to ski off-piste just a few days ago, we managed to find a few days of work to help pay for being here and we look forward to an amazing 6 weeks of skiing to the end of the season. Look forward to telling you all about it next time!

Sante!

Why Does Houseshare Always End in Tears?

I moved out of home when I was 18, so you'd think I'd know enough about the world to avoid putting myself into a houseshare arrangement at the age of 30. I know I haven't always been perfect (sorry Tash for the clothes graveyard - I have improved somewhat since then) but the list of crazy flatmates is long and exhaustive - there was Chris the steroid pumped protein shake freak, the ex DJ Sally ‘please make no noise’ Sound, not to mention Zoe the Salsa dancing man-eater just to name a few but I hadn't envisaged adding any more names to the list! With all this worldly knowledge behind me, you'd think I might have worked out that houseshare really isn’t worth the few pennies in savings! However, having come to London with the very clear objective to save money and run, in our blind optimism (it had been a year since we’d been in the real world after all) we figured it was the most viable solution... oh, the fact that no real estate agent would talk to us without jobs or bank accounts may have been a secondary consideration. I will also add that I thought it would benefit Konrad, who had the luxury of being cooked and cleaned for by his mother for 27 years, to have flatties for a few months. How can one go through life without this experience? (In blissful ignorance I suppose).

Firstly, let me say I think Konrad is one of the most anally retentive men I’ve ever come across... sorry sweetie, you know I love you but there is a reason your nickname is sudsy and it’s got everything to do with the exfoliating gloves, the bottle of bleach, those perfectly hung suits and your daily obsession with washing everything in sight! By all accounts you sound like the perfect flatmate however your complete lack of tolerance for anyone who is slightly below par in the cleaning stakes is perhaps something you needed to work on – every cloud has a silver lining! You like to run a clean and highly ordered life! You are used to spending 3 hours vacuuming one room, breaking out in a sweat when cleaning the bathroom, scrubbing the dishes until every last piece of bacteria has been removed! I know you think that's what everyone does and I know you think you're not highly strung but that 'my way or the highway' attitude to shared living perhaps wasn't always the best tack to take.

The signs were there the day we moved in... the 3cms of dust on the picture rails, the 3 month old splash of yoghurt down the back of the fridge, the caked on exploded egg in the microwave, the flatmate that locks her room, wears thongs in the shower to avoid the dirt (that's flip flops not a g-string for those who need an English language translation) and lives on Sainsbury’s Tikka Masala ready meals. We ignored all of these and approached the situation with zest and enthusiasm! This was going to be great! We will do a bit of cleaning to begin with (about 5 hours in the end) and the house will be ours and liveable. We will inspire them to keep it clean by ‘setting the right example’. They will want to keep it that way. We will change ourselves and the world of our housemates forever – never to look back!

I successfully counselled Konrad through the first month, however not long after he burst into the living room to find a pair of jeans being dried on the radiator with the couch in the middle of the room. I wasn’t actually in the room but all I heard was "this is not a Chinese laundry!" being yelled at the top of his lungs. Okay so maybe he was being a bit unreasonable and others did have certain rights in the house too but the next thing we are being told by the righteous one was "this is a democracy" - hadn't she ever heard of 'Konrad the Despot'? And how can we now be denied access to her pots and pans (that were only worth 10 quid 3 years ago) in this democracy? We don't eat ready meals! Nor are we able to use that stanky arse microwave!

Anyway, I could go on to list another 30 odd incidences including taking our wet washing and throwing it on the dirty floor, constantly having to pick up long black hair from the bathroom floor, watching the garbage bin overflow until the bag burst, finding wax strips with body hair stuck to the to the top of the garbage bin and the piece de resistance, putting a dirty dish in a clean dishwasher and re-running it so as to avoid having to unstack it. Yes they're all true! Come to think about it though wearing shoes in the shower to avoid cleaning actually does take the cake.

Houseshare is a democracy though I suppose and we are all allowed to behave however we like as we all pay rent... fair enough... but finally, I snapped. There was this "this is about everybody" line that I was subjected to last week. Sensing the mounting tensions, Santosh decided to approach me for a 'discussion’... wanting to clear her name of all wrong doing before we left. The conversation went something like this "I think it’s unfair that I should do any cleaning, if the other housemate involved does not do his fair share"... I don’t remember much else... all I know is my blood started boiling and I yelled "you are so f*&n lazy.... watching us clean for 6 months is completely fair and democratic then? I love your long black hair... it gives me pleasure to have to pick it out of the shower every morning". Yes I suppose I had finally lost it too! Maybe a little immature of me but that 'all about me' logic had just gone too far - even though the fact that she used to vacuum her room up to her door and happily watch us do the rest of the house had been grating on my nerves for a while. So it’s all gone pear-shaped again - another flatmate relationship to the grave! This one will be remembered as Santosh - The Democratic One... it’s about everybody as long as I don’t have to lift a finger for anybody!

Chatting to my sister on messenger this morning, she did point out that all this will in fact be good practice if we ever decide to have children. She tells me through great experience that it is all about them - you clean the place, they trash it, you clean it, they trash it and then never give anything back... sorry Mum, it must have been awful!

Houseshare rant complete, back onto our travels – this is supposed to be a travel blog after all. The 6 month money run is over – our mission is complete! The work contracts are drawing to a close and we are ready to pack it all in and resume that more glamourous life of skiing, travel and adventure. Most of you reading this probably think – geez guys, you're not living in the real world. Back on the road again? Aren’t the frivolities over yet? Aren't you going to finally realise you have to settle down, progress your career, have a family and lay claim to some assets. Yeah maybe? But not until we’ve skied Verbier and Chamonix, seen NYC and the States, learnt Spanish, scaled the mountains to Machu Pichu and partied in Rio :). Maybe then we'll think about settling down... or maybe we'll just have to start up a business in the Alps :)) Only time will tell.

Let me just finally reflect on our experiences of the last six months for a moment. London to me is like an unsettled relationship... you love it, you hate it, you want to leave but you don’t. It gives you money but restricts your freedoms. It makes you laugh, cry, get angry and all fuzzy inside... and then finally you leave but with some fond memories of all those experiences and emotions and you’re glad that you went there but not sure if you’ll ever go back again. You know what they say, if you make it to 6 months you’ll make it to 2 years, if you make it past 2 years you’ll make it to 5. I guess we’re not going to make it much past 6 months so perhaps it’s been a fairly superficial experience. We do feel like we’ve gotten to know it a little bit, fall in love with it a little bit and despite that we’re now ready to move on.

Thanks to everyone who helped make it an enjoyable time here. Garth in particular who just kept inviting us to those crazy Clapham BBQs. Thanks to you and your lovely friends we managed to develop some sort of social circle whilst we were here and we’re really looking forward to gatecrashing Shazza’s farewell party on Saturday night and calling it our own :). A note to all the visitors as well – Mick and Bel, Nora, Scott, Dany & Clare, Billy, Antho & Amanda and most recently Art. We thoroughly enjoyed seeing you all and it was great that you could share our experience of London with us.

I’ll leave you with some final photo impressions of the UK, including a recent trip in the rain up to the beautiful university town of Cambridge.

Cheers and we’ll look forward to blogging next from the Alps.

Is that the ghost of London? ... Garth in supernatural mode.



Art and the 75,000 Pound Mammoth Tusk in Harrods! Just what you need for your townhouse back home.


Riding the London bus!


Outside Jamie's Restaurant after an excellent meal.


View from St James' Park


St Pauls Cathedral


One of the hundreds of Ferraris driving the city on a daily basis!


First Tripod Shot with NEW camera - a few things to master but we'll get there


Cambridge


Cambridge


Dedicated sightseeing in the rain - Cambridge



PS: And for those that are interested here is a rough itinerary of our plans for the next 6 months:

March 3 – 7: Verbier, Switzerland
March 7 – 16: Chamonix, France
March 16 – May 4: Val d’Isere, France (Will have an apartment so if you're in the area please stop in and stay!)
May 4 – 7: Paris (One last stop in one of my favourite cities)
May 7 – June 3: London, Edinburgh, Scotland, Lakes District, Cornwall
June 4 – July 18: Canada & US
July 18 till the money ends: South America
Sept/Oct: Arrive in Oz

A Quick Vitamin D Hit!

It takes a little while to come to terms with living a pseudo civilized, routine life in Hampstead and although not unhappy it seems that our zest for life recently has been somewhat tempered. So we’re living in a pretty swish part of London – we have the odd 17th century public house (with some fantastic Ales to had), this amazing French creperie (that’s been around for 27 years) on the High Street, a boulangerie or even two for that matter selling pretty decent French breads and patisseries – but it seems like there’s just that something missing. I mean having to suspend yourself like Superman over a crowd of people on the Central line Tube every morning while trying to make it to the office on time (though mildly amusing at first) doesn’t really tell the whole story either. No, to fully appreciate it, you need to feel the gloom descend on the city gradually, observe it engulfing the commuting public, sense the tiring mood in the office and find yourself reading in the Daily Mail that “20% of British children are vitamin D deficient”.


You wonder why really? So the sun only gets out of bed after you’ve had to. You spend the first moments of your day sandwiching yourself into crowds of people so as not to risk having to let every train pass you by. But you’re indoors all day absorbing reasonably healthy doses of ultra-violet radiation from you computer screen – surely your body’s metabolising that somehow? Ok, so by the time you finish the daily grind it’s already been dark for a few hours but hey there’s always 2 or 3 hours of sunlight that you could catch on the occasional sunny weekend… I mean you could get lucky! Then again perhaps you could even spend a couple of hours every week in the solarium to get your daily dose… that said, not wanting to risk potentially becoming some manic depressive statistic we instead headed to the Alps for that very much needed vitamin D hit (see title pic).

It was just in time too I reckon as having been uninspired to write anything for a while chances were that the soap opera of our lives could have been pulled off the air… hmm perhaps not (as I do like the sound of my own voice) but it was really good to be back on the continent, get some sun, spend some time with friends, put a few turns in and contemplate the meaning of life. (The answer by the way we figure isn’t actually 42 it’s more like 44 when you add more ski time into the equation – very important!).

Rewind back to Nic’s last post in late October and though the weekends always seem just that little bit too short we’ve nonetheless managed to keep ourselves manically busy. As mentioned, the day after her post we found ourselves at the London Wine Show and it didn’t take very long at all for us to have tried sufficiently enough wine for me to be tasting all sorts of things in the wine on offer – interestingly most things did in fact have strong overtones of ‘plums’:). It’s worth mentioning how good it was to get such a broad exposure to the product on offer from across the world. Literally every “new” and “old” world region was covered. We sampled from Chile and Argentina to California to some of the best from France – mind you, despite their trying to re-gain market share we had to pay for the 50 pound a bottle ‘premier cru’ from Bourgogne that we tried and just refused to pay 10 pounds a taste for the 150 pound bottle on offer at the same stand. (Don’t these guys get it? It’s supposed to be free… it’s a Wine Show!). Anyway, bang for buck the Goulasz award for ‘best at show’ goes to a 12 pound Malbec from Argentina – fruity, velvety and awesome. As for the Frenchies, the fact that their product is so stupidly overpriced here really isn’t doing them any good – drink French wine only when in France I say! Nor is the fact that Australian wine is very well regarded here also; be prepared to pay through the nose for anything that’s worth drinking – Jacob’s Creek, Hardy’s, Rosemount, etc, aren’t actually worth drinking, nor are they worth the 10 pounds they’re selling for! Guess it’s probably a good thing that English don’t know any better… the half price Spanish Tempranillo from Sainsbury’s is usually the better pick we reckon.


Moving from Wine onto Cars, MPH the following weekend was in fact just as the ad said… Car Heaven! An impressive amount of beautiful toys for me to drool over followed by Jeremy Clarkson (who interestingly is being petitioned to replace Gordon Brown as PM – what would happen to Top Gear if that happened?), Richard Hammond and James May suggesting the introduction of new Olympic sports for 2008 such as; dodge ball played with 3 series convertible BMWs armed with tennis ball canons and; car football played with Suzuki Swifts and one great big soccer ball (sorry I mean foot ball). I wonder if we’ll see them in Beijing?

A couple of weeks hence we found ourselves doing the Friday night after work run out to Heathrow for an all too rushed weekend with Scott in Amsterdam – great to see you again mate. It was all a bit dazed and confused really but we visited a few ‘typical tourist hang-outs’ (mum I didn’t inhale I promise) and somehow managed to avoid getting run over by those crazed “farjars” on their bicycles (ref Goldmember if you’ve never heard the Dutch being referred to as that). While we did also manage to make it into the Rijksmuseum for a brief visit – we’re really not as uncultured as would seem – we mostly wandered the beautiful canals, noted the roaring trade being done in the red-light district on Saturday night, ate these really tasty deep fried pastry balls and took entirely too many average happy snaps. (Damn this flat, hardly existent northern European light!)




Other notable highlights since have been; our visit to Worthing to see Nic’s Aunt Marian, Uncle Colin and cousin Amanda – this was followed by staying a night at the English seaside town of Brighton (inviting isn’t it? – see pic below); paying homage to John Lennon at the Abbey Road studios; strolling down the canals of Little Venice; and finding a recognition of Australian greatness while on a visit back to Brighton to catch up with Mike and Daisy (pretty self explanatory really, though I will add that given that there just aren’t enough Australian trained baristas here we’ve both just switched to drinking tea in any case).






Of course it would be remiss of me not to admit being somewhat taken aback by British greatness too – despite the fact that they can’t do something as simple as make a decent flat white… in fact most of them don’t actually know what one is… and for the record a Gingerbread Latte from Starbucks doesn’t constitute a real coffee!! Its American crap catered to the unsophisticated, jacket potato with beans and cheese eating English palate!! Anyway, back to noting British greatness (could be the only time ever you know), I was particularly awestruck on a visit to Greenwich, where after seeing John Harrison’s first attempts at solving the problem of longitude (he was the inventor of the world’s first marine chronometer – H4 was accurate to 5.1 seconds over a period of 2 months on it’s test sea voyage) and looking down the Prime Meridian of the World from Observatory Hill, you really have to acknowledge the fact that this is the epicenter of Western civilization.


Coming into Christmas its worth noting too how beautiful a festive London is (see pics of Covent Garden below), as is that this year was my first ever traditional English Christmas – being Polish we’ve generally always celebrated on Christmas Eve. It was fantastic to spend Christmas with Anthony, Amanda and Maya (who we were meeting for the first time – congratulations again on a beautiful baby girl guys) and Amanda’s parents Steven and Jenny in their home in Wantage, just outside of Oxford. We really enjoyed spending time with all of you and also feasting on the traditional English Christmas lunch foods of Turkey, Goose, Gammon, roasted vegetables (including parsnip), and of course Christmas pudding with custard and brandy butter.




Starved of sunlight and carrying an additional 5 kilos each following all that Christmas cheer, need I mention how good it was to end the holiday break with an all too short a visit back to Val d’Isere. It was fantastic to be so warmly received by the entire crew (you know who you are – you seem like family to us), to spend an amazing New Year’s Eve with you all and to be back in our surrogate home in the mountains – can’t wait to get back there soon. Also, a brief apology to all those whose lack of physical condition we were so completely oblivious to last season. Gradually working ourselves into the skiing we didn’t even notice how physically demanding a sport it is and the pain felt on day 2 this time around was I guess our comeuppance.



Finally a very Happy New Year to everyone… we wish you all a fantastic 2008 and look forward to reporting on our further adventures as they fall due.

The Daily Grind - October Edition

For Internal Use Only – not to be distributed to the outside world


I’m starting to feel a certain pressure when it’s my turn to write the blog. Sir Konrad takes his blog writing responsibilities very seriously and well I’ll be the first to admit that he is far more creative than me. This pressure is exaggerated by the fact I’m feeling particularly uninspired of late and it’s all too easy just to log into Facebook, SuperPoke someone and log back out again (I fear we are now only able to communicate via a bunch of all too generic facebook apps). Also, it’s back to work and I feel like my creativity has been sucked out of me and I’m now able to summarise our life in the last month via a series of bullet points and action items!

* It’s getting cold and dark – ACTION: Buy coat and gloves
* I live for the weekend – ACTION: Keep myself amused by forever booking weekend events.
* If we leave home after 8:15am we can't squeeze into the sardine can that is the tube – ACTION: Get out of bed earlier (not easy).
* Avoid being diagnosed with the worst of London diseases ‘The Heathrow Injection’ - ACTION: Exercise after work in the dark and not drink 5 pints a night (but what else is there to do)

… but to spare you from that misery, I’ll move away from the bullets and into a little attempt to make a story out of our life in the last month.

Let’s start with work. Much to my shock, horror and disgust I'm back at work - hey I knew it had to happen eventually – but not to me? I was always going to stumble across some form of inherited wealth or meet a rich sponsor one day. But alas, I am now working long hours, servicing the marketing/ customer reference requirements of Microsoft (and that’s likely why I feel I've lost all my creative inspirations - customer reference is some of dryest work I've ever participated in ... then there was that stint in teleconferencing I guess). Anyway, apparently I am doing such a great job of this they have now offered me a position full time, with the promise of training courses and a prosperous future! I’m not quite sure how I manage to fool people into believing I’m doing such a great job – though this is not the first time this has happened to me :) Luckily I’ve somehow managed to ‘postpone’ having to make this decision until after xmas.

Konrad is also working long hours – staring at performance spreadsheets and numbers 9 hours a day. Not nearly as glamorous as being a ski-man or professional happy snapper (slightly better paying however :)). Unlike me, he is on an hourly rate and god bless his cotton socks, spends entirely too much time worrying whether or not he should bill for that toilet break? Too honest for the big smoke I tell you :). My response is always bill, bill, bill – go for the overtime … he on the other hand keeps arguing that is is all about being honest. Investment Management? Honest? Am I missing something here? ... he is keeping his creative spirits alive by capturing the mood of the city on his way to work the other day.



Moving onto living for the weekend, we ventured out on our first weekend away in Europe a few weeks ago. It was a Ryan Air/Stanstead express jobbie so by the time we actually arrived in Stockholm it was some 12 hours later (4 hours on buses/3 hours on trains and 2 hours in the air :) - take a good book!). And before we knew it we were back in the office with distant memories of head banging in a rock bar with a bunch of Swedes, while conveniently missing getting beaten by the Poms in the rugby. But we did have a great weekend and thought it a very beautiful city. No signs of 80s Swedish tennis stars or Abba but we did spot plenty of Volvo drivers and IKEA stores! Oh And lots of blondes. I made Konrad try the salty licorice and he almost threw up :) We much preferred the sushi and vodka that was also on offer.




There was also our weekend away in a ‘Wicked Camper’ with the John, Paul, George and Ringo - ‘I am the Walrus, Coo Coo Coochoo’ (our van which had the Beatles plastered all over it drew some attention to us whilst we pottered through the English countryside). We spent the Friday night sleeping in the centre of Oxford after a visit to a uni rock bar (I'm not sure what the obsession with rock bars is), followed by a trip up the “Romantic Way” through the Cotswolds and up to Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford Upon-Avon. Our Saturday night in a camp site near Cheltenham was rather chilly but hardened after 3 months of the European summer, we had no trouble cuddling up together in 5 degrees. It was a great weekend and we thoroughly enjoyed visiting the towns and hamlets along the route – just beautiful. Pub lunches, afternoon teas, autumn trees, rolling hills – picture perfect really :)




We had a surprise visit from our favourite Swiss friends Cony and Fabian. Thanks to them for all that Swiss chocolate! It’s confirmed – the Swiss definitely make the best chocolate in the world. What else can I say – 5 bars consumed in 2 weeks! Shame we didn't make Fifteen but Konrad is still talking about that frogs legs starter in Angel - I need to get over my childhood phobia of frogs before I verify whether this was actually edible or not. Thanks guys for a great night – it's always really enjoyable to see you both and we look forward to hopefully going skiing with you in February/March. I think a good time would be just after French school holidays finish in the first week of March? Let me know what you think.

Speaking of skiing, we are both looking forward to a New Years trip to Val d’Isere to see the crew! Can’t wait to ski and party with you all for 5 days!! I missed last NY due to terrible gastro so really looking forward to using those tickets I purchased for last year’s bash at Bar l’Alexandra! Phil please put our names on the door for this years soiree. We are also very much looking forward to spending Christmas with Antho, Amanda and Maya! Finally we get to meet the little person that we have seen so many pictures of!

We are commencing 10 weeks of lessons en Francais next week (at our appropriate levels). Konrad was most pleased to be graded as a ‘false’ beginner and seems to have learnt about 10 weeks’ worth of lessons during his time in the shop in Val last season. So watch out Frenchies, we will arriver a Nouvelle Annee et en Fevrier with a whole new vocabulaire pour parler avec vous. Ooh la la, tres bien, impeccable, absolutement parfait!!

This weekend it’s exhibition time and we are going to the ski and snowboard expo on Saturday (just to investigate those Canadian and South American resorts we want to visit in 2008) ... speaking of which if anyone wants to meet us for a ski in Chile/Argentina around August 08, then let us know ... we will be there! Sunday it's a trip to the London Wine Show (this is our world tour of ski resorts and wine regions after all), where we will be sampling many fabulous wines from around the globe – all for 8 quid! I know what happened last time we ended up trying to be cultured at the Australian Wine Show but this time I promise I’ll spit some of them out :). As for the Slavic Warrior (for those not in the know – Sir Konrad has been aptly renamed after some heroic stunts on the ski slopes), well he can’t promise as much and is likely to roll out of the event muttering ‘plums’ under his breath. I look forward to it! Wine shows are always a good place to taste as much expensive wine as you can in as short a time as possible. Monday morning back on the daily grind could be difficult.

Next weekend we are off to the MPH show, where Konrad tells me we will be seeing fabulous cars and Jeremy, Richard and James blowing things up. Have I been conned into believing this is going to be fun? For all fans of Top Gear, well it’s the same crew doing a live show at Earls Court in London and Konrad is VERY excited about this! So I’m going along for the ride (ha - pardon the pun!)

And after that we’ve got a weekend of fun in Amsterdam with Scott. I’m not sure what plans he has for us but I’m sure we’ll have a great time. I hear there are other things to do there besides consume illegal substances not available anywhere else in Europe! (or visit live sex shows). The Van Gogh Museum or Ann Frank's house perhaps? Any other suggestions welcome? This is a blog after all people and no-one is blogging anymore. You’ve all moved to Facebook! We’re in desperate need of a comment or two. Let’s bring Blogger back to life!

Finally, whilst we’re talking about collaboration (another Microsoft buzzword I seem to use all too often these days), we’ve just worked out how to use Skype and GoogleTalk (oops sorry client, not supposed to use that G word) ... have attempted to get Messenger voice chat working but without much success. So whichever one of those you are on, you now have no excuse not to call us for FREE! Send me your details and we’ll give you a buzz!




That’s it for now. Take care and we’ll write again soon.

xxxx

Like sand through an hourglass

There I was on the phone to my old boss Adrian, you know just saying G’day as I’m prone to doing, shooting the breeze, seeking some form of encouragement, trying to recapture a fleeting sense of self worth (maybe not a bad a thing in my case), when he added “I really enjoy reading your blog Konrad… it’s like watching a soap opera… you wonder what’s going to happen next and hang out for the next episode.” Quite taken aback, I’m not sure which shocked me more, that our adventures were being likened to “Days of our Lives” or that I was hearing an Englishman call a spade a spade :) In that vein however, into our 7th week here in the UK I thought it was about time that I put pen to paper and for both your and my amusement to present the comedy, the tragedy and the drama that has been the Goulaszes’ transition back to life in the real world, in London.

Maybe it was because we had become used to living life at a certain pace, maybe because Garth in his characteristic directness had made it clear that we should only inhabit his living room floor for so long or maybe it was just because we had once again had to lug all our worldly possessions to yet another place and wanted desperately to unpack as soon as was possible but we literally found ourselves hitting the ground running as soon as we arrived in London. Only an hour or so into our first morning we had already identified 5 apartments we had wanted to see that day and with notepad in one hand and London mini A to Z in the other, we darted out the door to brave that typical English summer weather – a beautiful 12 degrees and drizzling.

Popping into both banks along the High Street in Clapham Common – you know just to investigate how we would later have to overcome the task of setting up bank accounts (with no jobs nor a fixed address) – before you knew it we’d found ourselves with mobile phone numbers and we were organizing apartment viewings for that afternoon. In all truth we only saw the one apartment that afternoon; the price was an exorbitant 300 pounds (or 750 bucks) a week + rates and bills, the apartment a not too special one bedder and we really didn’t even pick up on the fact that the landlord was in fact justified in thinking that he was doing us a favor – even though at the time we really did think he was ‘having a laugh’ (to borrow a saying from the Poms). A couple of expressions of interest later, on our second day on the job, with a visiting Nora in tow, we found that even a private apartment between a mosque and a pornographic cinema required referees and jobs and so forth. Not to be too disheartened however (it’s not easy to get a Goulasz down), we had already thought about changing tack and decided to look into sub-letting a room from a dodgy Polak called Lukasz; who’d already rented it out to someone 2 weeks hence. Suffice it to say, with Nora as our witness, this was the low of our search for accommodation – I still wonder how they managed to get a double bed into a room as small as that one. Anyway, we only dealt with one other eastern European (pretty sure she was Polish too) who tried to let us a room short term in a place that had already been sold but where the parties were in the process of exchanging contracts (hey, there’s a two week dossing window there!). Fortunately we ran into 2 Jewish guys that wanted out of their house-share in Hampstead the following day. I guess we really couldn’t believe our luck; lovely area, great big place, good room mates, relatively cheap and a property management company run by two Greek blokes called Nicos and Adonis who couldn’t care less whether we had jobs or money for food or bank accounts or whatever. Bit heartless perhaps but nonetheless just the way we like it.





With a roof over our heads we next had to attend to the task of getting ourselves off the Australian Peso – you know it really doesn’t buy you very much on this side of the world. CVs were updated with the utmost urgency and even losing access to an unsecured wireless LAN from Garth’s place (sorry about that mate but honestly it was just a matter of time until you guys lost your free internet), was really only a tiny bump in the road; our resolve was absolute and no hindrance was going to stop us from getting highly paid, professional, short term work in London! That was of course until we encountered the London variety of that pariah of the business world: Enter the Recruitment Consultant!

Following a fantastic few interviews in that first week out of our Hampstead living room office, there were Directorships aplenty; the opportunities here were just mind blowing, the dynamism, the energy, the buzz in the market was electric. And coming into the Bank Holiday long weekend, having a couple of pints with Dany and Clare, you couldn’t contain our excitement and enthusiasm; Sam said “this will be an amazing opportunity”; Rachel said “you’ll be employed sooner rather than later”; Mary “the market is starved of your experience”. Now I know what you’re thinking, you guys weren’t born yesterday... c’mon… and yes I guess you’re right, we should have known that the only skill ever exhibited by the trusted recruiter is spinning a bit of a yarn and that one should not to believe a word of it. I’m not making excuses here (ok maybe I am), but look we’d been traveling for a little while, we just weren’t used to hearing nor spinning bullshit 24/7.

Now, to offer a fair account, there must be some admittance of naïve stupidity on our part; as there is. Nic’s never been too comfortable lying (even though she’s fantastic at it :)); and me, well I’m just absolutely useless at offering any less than all the information in the world on any particular subject (just get me started); and while this did result in each of us flunking one client interview in the first two weeks of job hunting, following this seemingly unstoppable momentum in the first week, the otherwise unemployable, friendly Job Spec to CV matcher was literally no where to be found. The task for us had thus become that of recruiting recruitment consultants and hounding them to be put forward for any job whatsoever. In the frustration Nic had even considered adding ‘tea making’ to her list of job skills (this is highly prized here I believe) as she presented to a secretarial recruiter who wasn’t quite sure whether her diary management skills (read ability to use Outlook) were quite on the mark for those top-level ‘sechetary’ jobs.

With Pesos running thinner by the day, when Mick and Bel, completely chilled from lazing on a yacht off the coast of Turkey, came to relieve us from our stir crazy living room existence we really had no idea what was going on. Nic’s verbal acceptance of a PA position she hadn’t even interviewed for was still under consideration and I guess my posse at the time of 7 recruitment consultants had finally felt somewhat obliged to put me forward for a few jobs but the question really was what the hell are we doing here again? I’m not sure we’re having all that much fun going nuts here in our living room! Within this environment it was obviously great to have close friends offer us encouragement, get us out of the house and make us drown our frustrations (literally) for a couple of days.





Taking matters into our hands the following week, Nic applied for a job direct, had two interviews in quick succession and got a Senior Account Manager position in a marketing agency on a 6 month contract. I ended up going direct to an employer for a pseudo permanent position (yes we had even considered staying here indefinitely) only to also interview twice over the following 2 weeks… and well, I’m still waiting to hear back from the employer, who’s recruitment manager has since gone on holiday. Since then, now two weeks ago, I’ve recruited 4 other recruiters (which makes 9 interviews with recruiters over 7 weeks… that’s got to be worthy of a record?) and off the back of one of them I found myself in front of a good investment management house for a Performance Analyst position this week which has now been officially offered to me – highly paid, professional, short term work in London! Success! Third time lucky, though I suppose it was only a matter of time until perseverance finally paid off. (Having said that we could have done without the stress – we are supposed to be on holiday after all!)

Whilst the transition back to life in the big smoke has definitely come as a rude shock to the system we have of course managed to have a few crazy adventures over the last few weeks here just the same: Apart from the whirlwind visits of Nora, Dany and Clare and Mick and Bel which I’ve already mentioned, we were stoked to be able to get together with Garth and Billy Boy (who was visiting on business) for a one night only rendition of “Val d’Isere, yeah, yeah, yeah” (ref La Meilleure Station du Monde post) in Covent Garden – you get your arse back here Billy! Nic managed to resurrect a long lost friend Sarah (from her last ski season in Meribel) through Facebook, which resulted in us finding ourselves out in Bracknell (South West of London) a few weekends ago for her 30th Birthday: We did a day trip out to Bath, Stonehenge and Windsor in a Smart Car that looked very much like a 2Lt Ford Mondeo (sixT rentals – great value!). We’ve managed to run into some interesting types at a Hampstead institution called the Duke of Hamilton; like Ricardo the mild mannered writer who’s convinced himself that he was once a gangster in Kings Cross (Sydney) and his derelict white wine spritzer drinking artist/painter mate Grant from Zim’: We’ve found ourselves unwittingly consuming someone else’s Veuve Clicquot and accompanying white chocolate raspberries with Garth at the Tabby Cat Lounge: We had the pleasure of attending Adrian’s 60th Birthday dinner in Cobham & Stoke d’Abernon – Happy Birthday again! Not to mention the obligatory sightseeing of Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, The London Eye, Piccadilly Circus, Regent Street, Portobello Rd, Borough St Market, Camden Town, Brick Lane just to name a few. Suffice it to say despite the hardship and drama there have been more than a few laughs along the way.











We’re off to the Cotswolds this weekend in a ‘Wicked Camper’, there’s Manu Chao on Tuesday, we’re flying to Stockholm next weekend, an Amsterdam trip has been booked in with Scott, John we’re still waiting on our Edinburgh invitation :) and given that the money will now be flowing in the opposite direction for a while we’re bound to have a few more laughs to share with you into the future.

‘Til next time.

G & T Anyone?

It was only appropriate that we cross the Pyrenees on our way into Barcelona. Why not conquer the final Mountain range in Europe, as we in our trusty A5 mobile had done to all the other ranges on the continent? The French Alps from Chamonix all the way down the Route Napolean to Briancon in the South Alps; the Swiss and Austrian Alps; the Julian Alps in Slovenia and the Tatra Mountains bordering Slovakia and Poland. I didn't count the total number of mountain passes completed but it feels like at least 5,000 of the total 14,000 kilometres were spent on windy narrow roads, hairpins bends and often in poor visibility. But we survived them all (somewhat of a miracle with Konrad behind the wheel) and I have a new appreciation for mountain ranges and would now like to think of myself as somewhat of an Alpine scenery expert. For the record, the Chamonix Valley is definitely the most spectacular, the Austrian Alps some of the prettiest and the Swiss and French Alps the biggest and most impressive. But they were all great and I definitely have a bias towards spending my holidays in the mountains - winter or summer! :)

So after a very foggy cross over the Pyrenees we arrived in hot, dry Spain and were very happy to finally get a taste of the European summer we have been longing for since April! Also great to have the opportunity to work on our tans - being still somewhat pale after 6 weeks in the poor excuse of a summer in most of central Europe.

After our best argument yet over directions in Barcelona (I'm not sure how I am supposed to know where I am when the street we are on is not on my map of "Central Barcelona" ... where is that GPS unit when you need it?), we arrived at our apartment and were greeted by Dany & Clare with the other crew delayed in London due to bad weather!? Even more appropriately, they promptly disappeared for a few hours in search of the address of Barcelona Fitness First (definitely the first thing I look up when in a new city) and Konrad went on his usual mission to find a bottle of Gin and some tonic! Needless to say the next 3 days were spent drinking Gin & Tonics, Sangria, partying, eating and throwing in a couple of the city sights. Saturday night after a rooftop party on our apartment building with Leszek the Polak entrepeneur landlord (I knew polish was the international party language) we danced the night away in a club for Bel's 30th. And while we all slept off our hang-overs the next morning, the award goes to young Donato Gruosso who went for an early morning jog!? Good on ya mate!




On Monday we said good-bye to most of the crew and took a flight to the beautiful island paradise of Menorca with Mick, Bel and Jo. We stayed in a hacienda near the town of Ciutadella with Mick's friend Richard and his lovely girlfriend Isabel. Here we were delighted to find a local brand of Menorcan Gin, which was introduced by the British in the 17th Century and has since been improved over the centuries (as is usually the case). Needless to say over the next 5 days we created a bit of a fiesta for ourselves and lazed in the sun, swam, ate and drank lots of local gin. In between all of that, we also managed to catch an island festival involving a horse show of local landowners and their workers, and a beach fashion show. Menorca is a very beautiful island with pristine white beaches, amazing blue water and beautiful coves everywhere! I think we could each have spent a month there enjoying the sun, sand and sea! (and the gin of course).





After an early morning flight on Saturday back to the mainland we headed north to the the coastal retreat of Cadaques, before crossing back into France to Avignon, then to Cannes to visit Connie and Fabian for a couple more days of beach and sun.




After 84 days on the road, our trip ended appropriately in Val d'Isere where we spent a week with Phil and Alex in hotel La Galise. Here we were blessed with typical mountain weather - 4 days of rain, fog and yes some snow! (really in August) and 3 days of beautiful sunny weather ... life at 1850 hey? The top temperature was 33 and four days later it hit a chilly 4 degrees!! Just nuts. But we did manage a great hike up the mountain, some golf and lazing around the pool at Clochetons restaurant in the Manchet Valley. When the sun was out it was incredibly beautiful place to be! Almost as beautiful as when it's covered in snow (but not quite:)).Thanks guys for a fabulous week and we look forward to seeing you again in February 2008.



We are now in Solothurn, Switzerland and leave for London tomorrow morning. The car has been returned and we are now staring down the barrel of an office job and a 'real life' for the next 6 months. I'm somewhat looking forward to having a home again and I'm sure once the money starts flowing that we will start to enjoy ourselves.

Till next time ...

Pierogi, Kolano & Mozart's Balls!

Firstly, let me just state for the record that it was the Poles who invented goulash and not some mythical Hungarian cowboys! I mean really, the sort of sensationalist garbage that you read on the net these days... they're just vying for your attention you know?... you just can't believe a word of it! You don't just add water to some dried meat and expect it to be edible. Maybe that's what the Hungarian's do (where the hell did these guys come from again?) but trust me that's not what makes a great goulash and you won't find any of that sort of rubbish in Poland that's for sure! And just on the topic of great things, it further needs to be said that all of the best of European culture, food, art, science, architecture, and even BEER god damn it! all decends from the Slavs, who in turn descend from the Poles (look they all speak Polish I tell you!) and thus all of it is Polish!!!

Given these facts it should come as no surprise that it was with a profound sence of awe and anticipation that we crossed over from the once Polish provence of Slovakia, across the Tatry mountains into the Polish mountaineering town of Zakopane. Despite not agreeing with my father stating in Val that we should have gone skiing in Zakopane (he said this just before he was confronted with the prospect of having to come down the Face de Belevarde... which made him turn and interesting shade of white... not that I would have done that to him in anycase) we were nonetheless delighted with the energy and beauty of this place. Here we went on a hike through the picturesque valley of Koscieliska, enjoyed the 'olde Polish' traditions of the 'Gurale' or 'mountain people' and ate the best pierogi I have ever had - sorry Mum. (If at this point you haven't had pierogi I suggest you adjurn to consult your local Polish delicatessen as you really have been missing out... pierogi are these dumplings filled with either, meat, cheese, cabbage, berries, sweet cheese, etc and are some of the most delicious food you can have... we had so many varieties in so many places in Poland that it would take a whole other blog to list them all!)


Anyway, following an hour long pitstop along the way (resulting from the exhaust falling off the A5 mobile for a second time... nothing that was really any trouble for the Polish backyardy that we managed to find), we moved onto the once Polish capital of Krakow. In typical Goulasz fashion, with no booking, nor any idea of where we were going to stay, we negotiated detours, road closures, swarms of people and three hostel rejections before settling in the Jewish quarter/nightclub district of Kazimierz in the centre of town. Now, I know it had been 12 years since I had last been to Krakow but we were quite taken aback by the reception that we had received upon entering this town. We only held onto the notion that hundreds of thousands of people, one of Europe's largest every open-air discos on the Vistula River and fireworks were all in our honour but it was a nice thought while it lasted. We enjoyed many of the Wianki festivities of that Saturday night (which were in celebration of Krakow's 750 year anniversary), as well as the vibrant night life of this beautiful place.


We next visited one of the oldest and largest active salt mines in the world of Wieliczka, before making a pilgrimage to Czestochowa... where in German occupied Poland one Peter Hans Heinrich Stamm was born... not that I have any issue with that whatsoever!! Then, reaching 'ludicrous' speed at times (ref the movie Spaceballs) we made our way to my birth town of Wroclaw where my family had been expecting us in true wog-relo fashion for dinner at 4pm sharp. Having not left Czestochowa until arround 5pm (some 250km away) this was clearly proving to be a difficult situation to manage... there's just no empathy from these relos I tell you... guess they hadn't seen anyone from the outside world since our last pilgrimage back to the 'old country'. :) And making matters worse than arriving at 8:30pm was me asserting that we were staying for only 2 nights... which was responded to with "what sort of hospitality is this?... you should be staying for 2 months". We ended up extending our stay in Wroclaw for one more night - it seemed like the decent thing to do :o). We did however thoroughly enjoy visiting Wroclaw, doing shots of Zubrowka with Uncle Szymon, hanging out with Karol and Aunt Zosia and going to places like the PRL Bar (Polska Rzeczypospolita Ludowa Bar or the People's Republic of Poland Bar) where since shortly after the fall of communism the Poles have been taking the piss out of this bygone era in a happening central Wroclaw nightclub.




Passing north through the Capital Warszawa (which I'm not even going to talk about really - this place of a population of 2 million isn't really worth mentioning relative to other much cooler places in Poland) was where we (and particularly Nic... she would kind of turn an interesting shade of white too), were introduced to the thrilling sport of '3rd lane overtaking'. Degressing for a second, it was a bunch of crazed, tobacco snorting Norwegians, with the cheek to take the mickey our of that slight twang of an accent of our's in a bar in Budapest, that introduced us to the theory that "flat countries were prone to being ruled by despots". Now, in response, while this may well have been true and even applicable to the Poles (the country had in fact been stricken off the map prior to WWI and really is the most unexciting flat that you've ever seen) prior to the advent of the motorcar, but let me reassure you that no nation full of so many white-knuckled psychopaths could be ruled by anyone!! I know some of you have accused me of being a little crazed behind the wheel. Some of you may well have refused to sit in the car with me driving. Art once had the gall to say "Konrad, you're giving me chest pains". But until you've seen a car, passing a car being passed by another car (while 3 others remain in waiting), on a two lane road with foot deep ruts and oncoming traffic you "ain't seen 'nothin'!!!" This is the sport of '3rd lane overtaking' or 'wyprzedzanie na trzeciego' :) And of all the things that the Poles can most be proud of being the best at perhaps it's the fact that this sport has ensured that they are number 1 in the world in terms of road toll per capita, only number 2 to Germany in overall roadtoll and 2nd only to Cyprus with regard to those who they say enjoy driving the fastest!!

We did partake of course, though also somehow managed to avoid becoming a statistic on our way to seeing my mate Arek in Gdynia. We fell into the ordered chaos that is Arek's life (please say something here mate) and thoroughly enjoyed spending time with him and his circle of friends. Let me add too that I don't think I've ever laughed so hard as we did when Nic and I each bought a pair of 4 euro 'sports shoes' from the local Tesco en route to the mudpit that was the Gdynia Open'er Festival... shoes were something you had to be willing to sacrifice in going there... we are on a budget... and you just had to have been there. :) Bloc Party, Beastie Boys (playing their "In sound from way out" Jazz set) and Bjork all rocked! As did the whole of our time in the 'Troj Miasto' or 3 cities of Gdynia, Sopot and Gdansk.


From Poland we went to visit what we both agree to be one of the coolest cities that we've experienced thus far in Europe; Berlin. Our Melbourne born, Modern History PhD student/tourguide (it was kind of a free tour) highlighted the juxtapositions (where have you ever seen that word thrown in for good measure... quality hey?) of East and West, new and old, ordered and chaotic, straight but edgy that make the city of Berlin what it is. Perhaps the fact that the place had a wall encircling the Western sectors during the Cold War makes so many parts of it so different, interesting and with their own uniqueness and energy. Very cool! Go there! We'll be coming back that's for sure!






Fact: 900 grams of pork knuckle or kolano takes 3 days to digest when you're blessed with an iron Polish digestive system. Any mere mortal may have not survived. (Ref title photo).

This was however a highlight of our visit to Prague. I mean it has to be without a doubt one of the most stunning cities anywhere in the world but it's completely overrun with tourists which tends to detract somewhat from it's appeal. Cesky Krumlov on the other hand was one of the most beautiful medieval towns we have ever seen.




So what's anything got to do with Mozart's Balls I hear you ask? Well, departing from Eastern (I mean Middle) Europe, with a 20 minute interogation session at the Czech/Austrian border (hey, there's nothing suspicious about a Polak and a German, speaking English and pretending to be Swiss!), we passed through Salzburg where these delightful little chocolates filled with marzipan and praline are all the rage. We spent a good part of the afternoon loitering around Salzburg and seeking out the best deal for Mozart's Balls (perhaps not surprisingly the best rate was subsequently found outside of Salzburg :)), before heading off to the beautiful Austrian Alps to meet up with an old English mate from Australia, John and his new wife Emma. Despite this poor excuse of a summer, meaning incessant showers and 10 - 13 degrees, we managed a hike involving a 700m vertical ascent, took in the Polish Festival that was being held there, and spent 3 days under the haze of a hangover. Thank you guys, we had a fantastic time and look forward to picking up where we left off in the UK.


We're currently camping on a farm in beautiful Languedoc, in France (by far our favorite country in Europe) and are about to head off to Barcelona for 3 days of partying with Mick and Bel, Dany and Clare, et al.




We look forward to blogging again before we arrive in London and finally have to wake up to the realities of life... lack of money :) 'Til then.