Next monday marks the 5 month anniversary of this blog. Technically the end of my adventure. Wow. Time bloody flies.
This week also marks the end of the road for my Aussie cricket mates who also just happened to head this way at the same time I did. Nic flew out last night and Davo, who i owe for some of the hilarious Chelmsford anecdotes in earlier posts, flew out tonight. I feel empty. I barely spent any time with Nic, but it was comfortable knowing he was just a few hours away if I really needed a quick getaway from London. I think the boys are full of mixed emotions as well. Both had kind of planned to stay, but for one reason or another (a severe lack of funds being the main culprit) they'll be drinking £5+ pints of Toohey's Extra Dry from an English themed pub and eating fruit loops by the weekend.
Monday is also my scheduled return flight back to Perth. It was reassuring for those first couple of months. Knowing it was sitting there, and easily changeable if things didn't quite come up millhouse. But it also gave me a bit of a goal to aim for. Most people who have done this 'pilgrimage' warned of those first 6 months. It's not quite 6, but i still feel a little warm inside knowing i've reached the end of my ticket.
So, do I like it here? Hmmmm, that's something i still don't know how to answer.
Back before i'd even set foot on an aeroplane, i imagined this move would have me living somewhere I didn't particularly want to, but at least put the world at my doorstep. That part has lived up to expectation. London at times has been depressing, but thanks to cost of living, I really don't feel i travel as much as i thought i would.
Thing are stupidly close. Within an hour or so, I can fly to some exciting and newly opened up places where up until a few years ago i would've needed a passport full of visas and a bullet proof vest to get in. Yet all i seem to find myself doing is dreaming up more new places to see and the matching itineraries i'd take. Basically what i was doing in Perth. I should be grateful. I did go on a fun little jaunt for a few weeks back in June, but that felt like it was a million years ago, and Belfast was a bit of a disaster.
A few months back now, i had a 10 day gap in my roster, and a crazy thought came over me to go see some of Northern Africa. After quickly eliminating most countries, i settled on Morocco. Not quite true Africa, but something totally different to anything i'd have seen. A long story short - funds stopped me from getting past the dreaming stages. Also, after running the idea past a colleague at work, he promptly pointed out it was 45c+ that time of year. It pays to do a bit of research. Two months later, Ramadan is over and the temperatures are a more bearable 20c+ so I think it might try again. I may even have a travel companion this time too which means i can leave Marrakech and do a 2 day trek into the High Atlas mountains. I've also heard great things about a place called Essaouira. It sits on the South Atlantic coast and has everything Agadir offers, minus the tourists. Once i work out who's in and nutted out the bits and pieces, i'll post them up. I'm excited again!
I've also recently started preparing for the winter. I picked up an awesome jacket from designer factory warehouse T.K Maxx for £80 down from £259.
Pow! Chew on that.
l8r
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Belfast: Full of bad guys wearing balaclavas
I have a dirty little secret. I LOVE cricket!
I also have a particular fancy for my adopted nation's cricket team. When i saw the fixture between Ireland and England way back in February this year, i knew i had to be there.
I'd been wanting to book my flights for months. As dodgy as they are, Ryan Air had them for £20 return. Bargain! The only thing stopping me was not knowing if i was working that week. It's the one thing that really shits me about working at Sky. All these cheap flights, and i can't book any because i only get my shifts a week or so in advance. Thankfully, all the moons, stars and editing shifts aligned to make the trip possible. The only down side was flights had now reached £70 each way. I promptly booked with Easyjet instead.
It wasn't only the cricket that excited me about heading to Northern Ireland's capital. I'd heard so much about the problems up there throughout my life thanks to mum so I finally wanted to see if the hoo-har really was worth all the hoo-harring over. It was also going to be the most hastily arranged trip on the tightest budget i'd ever made.
Getting to Stansted (at 90 mins drive away, how that airport is classified as London is beyond me) was a breeze, as was getting into Belfast. But then trouble struck. I went to an ATM/Cashpoint/hole in the wall to get some cash out, but there wasn't any there. No way! I'd checked before I left that i had a few hundred quid. Nope. Nichts. Nothing. Fuck! What on earth is going on. After a heated discussion with a bank teller, i'd discovered my ISP had decided not to just take out one 5 month payment, but three 5 month payments. I managed to scrounge around enough money to pay my hostel and used the little that was left in my Aussie bank account to buy me booze.
Hostels are strange things. Some i've stayed in have been soulless corridors of bunk beds and full of those overly clean suitcase backpackers. Others have had that nightclub effect, where at night when you're downstairs at the bar pissed with a bunch of Americans they're fantastic. When you're having breakfast the next morning, it looks like someone's pissed all over the walls, and the floor is sticky. Arnie's sat somewhere in the middle. He was cosy, and so was his place.
I shared a room with an English bloke called Mike, and Fatima, a French girl of African/Arabic descent. Mike had a bit of a dilemma. He was born to a Polish Jewish father and Irish catholic mother, which had seem to piss the catholic side off to the point of disowning him. So for the last 10 years, he had planned a 6 week motorbiking tour of his Mother's homeland to hopefully make some connection with it. However, any reconnection with family seemed doomed on his first day when he road his bike into Newry, they refused to even go near him. That night we decided we'd both had pretty bad days so we should at least go and see some well known local establishments.
'You know this place has survived over 35 bombings?' Mike casually pointed out. I spat out my guinness. '..uhh, what?' i replied. 'Well, not exactly bombs in this place', pointing over to the Europa Hotel. 'That hotel was one of the main targets of the IRA. The Crown just happened to cop a fair bit of the debris. There hasn't been an attack in ages'. I put my heart back under my rib cage. We moved on to what would have been one of those shitty Irish themed bars anywhere in the world, but because it was in Ireland, we classified it as authentic. Inside it was Irish and shitty, but they had authentic guinness, just at an irish and shitty price. We both had big days coming up so promptly called it a night. A big tick to Belfast's night life though.
The next morning, i was up before anyone in the whole hostel except for a Swiss German girl who'd been studying in Belfast for the past 2 years. She was trying to sell her car before she headed back to Switzerland on the weekend. It was a interesting trend someone pointed out to me earlier. A lot more students had now started to come to Belfast to study. It's exactly what the city needs. At the very very worst it'll at least give the two waring sides someone new to direct their anger towards. It was great chatting to an interesting random. It really is one of the great things about hostels and traveling.
After a stale 75p muffin for breakfast, i headed down to Stormont for the cricket. It was a cute little ground with around 6,500 temporary seats and no cover from the weather. This would come back to haunt me.
The differences i had noticed in English cricket seemed to also feature in Irish cricket. Everyone's polite, nobody really claps and gets excited when they should, and there's no real signs of dissent that you so commonly see on the other side of world. I sat up the back of a stand and watched England self destruct between the rain showers. They managed to scramble to 202/9 at the break. A 45 minute break stretched out to 3 hours with the wind and rain making it unbearably cold. Everywhere I went in Belfast I made sure I had a raincoat. I swear i packed it that day. Turns out i didn't. I never bothered to go to a doctor to work out exactly what i had, but the symptoms sounded exactly like acute bronchitis. That stupid move put me in bed for 2 weeks straight. The game did resume, and Ireland fell 3 agonising runs short. I was almost there for history in the making. Maybe next year. I'll defiantly be bringing the raincoat.
On my last morning i thought it was time to make an effort to see the darker side of Belfast. I didn't have to walk far to find my first murals and loyalist flags. They're everywhere. It's peaceful now and most people you talk to want change but there's that minority that still hold on to the past. As I made my way back to Arnie's, I ran into the Swiss girl again. She'd finally sold her car, and was going shopping before flying back home. I also finally got paid too. Time for me to go shopping!
I noticed one thing about Belfast city on my last day. Unlike it's counterpart in the south, it's yet to be taken over by tourists. Especially the ones wielding the almighty U.S dollar. I hope for its sake it stays like that for just a little while longer so others can enjoy it too.
I also have a particular fancy for my adopted nation's cricket team. When i saw the fixture between Ireland and England way back in February this year, i knew i had to be there.
I'd been wanting to book my flights for months. As dodgy as they are, Ryan Air had them for £20 return. Bargain! The only thing stopping me was not knowing if i was working that week. It's the one thing that really shits me about working at Sky. All these cheap flights, and i can't book any because i only get my shifts a week or so in advance. Thankfully, all the moons, stars and editing shifts aligned to make the trip possible. The only down side was flights had now reached £70 each way. I promptly booked with Easyjet instead.
It wasn't only the cricket that excited me about heading to Northern Ireland's capital. I'd heard so much about the problems up there throughout my life thanks to mum so I finally wanted to see if the hoo-har really was worth all the hoo-harring over. It was also going to be the most hastily arranged trip on the tightest budget i'd ever made.
Getting to Stansted (at 90 mins drive away, how that airport is classified as London is beyond me) was a breeze, as was getting into Belfast. But then trouble struck. I went to an ATM/Cashpoint/hole in the wall to get some cash out, but there wasn't any there. No way! I'd checked before I left that i had a few hundred quid. Nope. Nichts. Nothing. Fuck! What on earth is going on. After a heated discussion with a bank teller, i'd discovered my ISP had decided not to just take out one 5 month payment, but three 5 month payments. I managed to scrounge around enough money to pay my hostel and used the little that was left in my Aussie bank account to buy me booze.
Hostels are strange things. Some i've stayed in have been soulless corridors of bunk beds and full of those overly clean suitcase backpackers. Others have had that nightclub effect, where at night when you're downstairs at the bar pissed with a bunch of Americans they're fantastic. When you're having breakfast the next morning, it looks like someone's pissed all over the walls, and the floor is sticky. Arnie's sat somewhere in the middle. He was cosy, and so was his place.
I shared a room with an English bloke called Mike, and Fatima, a French girl of African/Arabic descent. Mike had a bit of a dilemma. He was born to a Polish Jewish father and Irish catholic mother, which had seem to piss the catholic side off to the point of disowning him. So for the last 10 years, he had planned a 6 week motorbiking tour of his Mother's homeland to hopefully make some connection with it. However, any reconnection with family seemed doomed on his first day when he road his bike into Newry, they refused to even go near him. That night we decided we'd both had pretty bad days so we should at least go and see some well known local establishments.
'You know this place has survived over 35 bombings?' Mike casually pointed out. I spat out my guinness. '..uhh, what?' i replied. 'Well, not exactly bombs in this place', pointing over to the Europa Hotel. 'That hotel was one of the main targets of the IRA. The Crown just happened to cop a fair bit of the debris. There hasn't been an attack in ages'. I put my heart back under my rib cage. We moved on to what would have been one of those shitty Irish themed bars anywhere in the world, but because it was in Ireland, we classified it as authentic. Inside it was Irish and shitty, but they had authentic guinness, just at an irish and shitty price. We both had big days coming up so promptly called it a night. A big tick to Belfast's night life though.
The next morning, i was up before anyone in the whole hostel except for a Swiss German girl who'd been studying in Belfast for the past 2 years. She was trying to sell her car before she headed back to Switzerland on the weekend. It was a interesting trend someone pointed out to me earlier. A lot more students had now started to come to Belfast to study. It's exactly what the city needs. At the very very worst it'll at least give the two waring sides someone new to direct their anger towards. It was great chatting to an interesting random. It really is one of the great things about hostels and traveling.
After a stale 75p muffin for breakfast, i headed down to Stormont for the cricket. It was a cute little ground with around 6,500 temporary seats and no cover from the weather. This would come back to haunt me.
The differences i had noticed in English cricket seemed to also feature in Irish cricket. Everyone's polite, nobody really claps and gets excited when they should, and there's no real signs of dissent that you so commonly see on the other side of world. I sat up the back of a stand and watched England self destruct between the rain showers. They managed to scramble to 202/9 at the break. A 45 minute break stretched out to 3 hours with the wind and rain making it unbearably cold. Everywhere I went in Belfast I made sure I had a raincoat. I swear i packed it that day. Turns out i didn't. I never bothered to go to a doctor to work out exactly what i had, but the symptoms sounded exactly like acute bronchitis. That stupid move put me in bed for 2 weeks straight. The game did resume, and Ireland fell 3 agonising runs short. I was almost there for history in the making. Maybe next year. I'll defiantly be bringing the raincoat.
On my last morning i thought it was time to make an effort to see the darker side of Belfast. I didn't have to walk far to find my first murals and loyalist flags. They're everywhere. It's peaceful now and most people you talk to want change but there's that minority that still hold on to the past. As I made my way back to Arnie's, I ran into the Swiss girl again. She'd finally sold her car, and was going shopping before flying back home. I also finally got paid too. Time for me to go shopping!
I noticed one thing about Belfast city on my last day. Unlike it's counterpart in the south, it's yet to be taken over by tourists. Especially the ones wielding the almighty U.S dollar. I hope for its sake it stays like that for just a little while longer so others can enjoy it too.
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