Hongkong and Maccau

Hongkong is a bad city to be jet lagged in. There is always something to do. Hong kong really only gets started afterdark with lazer light showes in the harbour and busy nightmarkets and late shopping. Wondering the streets till past midnight is just part of hongkong life. When you can't sleep anyway it difficult to fall asleap untill early, then sleep late.

Macau is much less touristy, much more chinese, a unique mix of portugese and asian (Latin Asisa) cultures this little island gives us a glimpse into a dirtyer rawer hongkong days. Few White Tourisits and not so much of the Luis Viton, Visace megastore attmosphere. That's not to say Macau is poor by any means. Huge Vegas style cassinos, complete with fountain displays huge pools and luxry gaming salons. Fisherman's warf is dotted with theam casinos like volcaoes, egiptian palace, chinese temple, all Exessivly tuperwear plastic. But there is anotherside, getto like old districts span much of the island and historic hill forts colonial houses and gardens cover more - a great place just to walk around and explore. Though seeing a franciscan monistary covered in chinese characters rather than latin bible script is still an odd sight.

Ode to Germany!

I love Australia, i really do, but sometimes I can’t help but want more – sometimes I have needs that Australia can’t satisfy. Germany, you, can provide me with such exquisite pleasures, with exactitude and efficiency, culture and history, and a sense of belonging that stretches back to when the first cavemen decided a winter in Europe might be a bloody good idea.

Germany my Germany, you may be a harsh mistress at times but I wouldn’t have you any other way. Some people think you cold, Germany, mistaking your strength and pride for hostility - but they have not seen your inner warmth. Your people, so friendly, always ready to make it better easier and clearer - efficient. Some people even think you ugly, because you lake the fine sun-blessed curvatious scapes of that poster child brazil, but i would not have a hundred brazils for but the one Germany. What has brazil compared against the softer curves of your exquisite wine regions, against the almost timeless history I see in you, Nothing! And so we have shared many a time full of hidden pleasures and surprising delights.

More than any other European I fell you, Germany, are not selfish - always ready to provide the very best of Europe; to share in the bounty of French wine, Italian salami, Swiss chesse, Spainish gaspachio, and the many more delights from beyond that you lay at my feet. Germany the food you provide is mouth-watering; there is fleishsalat (meat-salads), sauerkraut, bratwurst, slachtplatte (a slaughter plate of assorted cooked meets), maultashen (like ravioli) , spetzle (vaguely pasta like), milshschnitten (a milky treat), exquisite sweets (gummy bears), good chocolate, and great beer... 3,500 breweries, each one better than the next - add to that some good wine and anyone can start to see my fondness for you, my Germany.

Germany you have shown me a rich culture of thousands of years, with castles and museums, art galleries and theatres. Germany you care for me with friendly efficiency, that nurtures me with directness of approach and cold reasoned honesty. I am fascinated by your intellectual beauty and your hard, prod, unshakable core. What more could i want?

What more, indeed...

Alas my Germany, you and I are just too different. We were close once but we have changed, grown apart. You want me to conform, to give myself over to you, your systems, completely surrender, and I am just not ready to make that sort of commitment right now. Australia accepts me for who i am, with a carefree grace that easy charm. And so i will return to my companion of many years Australia, though grateful for the times we have had together. I have missed Australia’s natural beauty, and uncomplicated living. How I long to again work those wide open plains, to be cradled in the comfort of those familiar mountains, to rest in that penetrating warmth. No, it is with Australia that i belong; But you will always be special to me Germany, always be a part of me, always.

Nice, very nice.

A more appropriately named place may not exist. Nice, Côte d'Azur, france, is a medium size town with a beautiful park and ruins, excellent museums and while i was there fireworks. The Last day of the carnival had been delayed due to wind. The carnival involved some performing kids... nice for them. Followed by burning the king (no mere burning man for us). and the best fireworks displays i have ever seen! It was not the biggest (no were near rio’s) but it was less than 100m away, and it used some special effects i have never seen before(like spiralling twisting shooting stars, interlocking fire, etc) all reasonably well choreographed The best thing was the receptive croweds (grooving along to the songs) but also the finale so intense you could feel the shocks from the hundred explosions on your face.



From Nice i explored the coast and the mountains to the south dotted with little villages, rocky and sandy beaches and generally pleasant atmosphere. Oddly the Cote de Azure always reminds me of Tassie, in pictures as in life. The sun sets slowly casting a beautiful warm glow across granitic peaks that wash into tumultuous blue seas. Small towns with friendly people, rural but alive in a way. The weather is a bit too cold to swim, but nice enough for a walk. Granted, there are a few old buildings around, castles and churches and the like, but i think we just have to build few back home.

Driving Dream - Italy to France

WOW! There is no other way to describe it. Set amongst towering snowy mountains are 150km of pristine twisting roads full of chicanes and cliff edge passes, spectacular views and . Mountains and villages full of snow to the French border then sunny shear cliffs . Roads so amazing Jeremy Clarkson would have wet dreams about them. So many twists and turns that Mr. Kruss would drool and babble incomprehensible motorbike references (just like on his bucks night). Like a 8 year old on a roller coaster I too whooted and hollered with some of the sharp turns and fast passes. At one point i smelt the exciting mix of clutch and break fumes as i hear the Roar and Growl of a sports car on a narrow pass, i glace at my lancia a car with Italian racing pedigree and an engine that sounded much like a diseased squirrel in distress, next i glace to my left as a Ferrari overtakes just before a maserattii comes the other way. RraaaaaW. There were times i myself had to control myself, stop take a deep breath and take some pictures of the ammasing views, before i too suffered a messy accident in my pants... or on the road.

Lunch was in a historic mountain town in itally, the best tourist information in Europe (yet) a brochure, guided walks, around churches and fascists. Look at the picture on the left of thier town hero... No that’s not Hitler it’s Duccio Galimberti who is giving his speech “We will not rest till every German is driven out of here and there is no trace of fascism left” Really? Maybe you should start with the Hitler moustache, Mussolini. An awesome accent in Italy followed by a breathtaking decent through France i got to the village of Sospel. In Sospel old men play botchet in the square, cats roam the tight allies and grape vines hug the hills around... This is France!

For dinner I thought a quick relaxing drive through Monaco... This drive turned out to be less than quick and less than relaxing too. So I settled down in Nice, which as it turns out is. (Especially with a nice hostel and 1 euro beers)

TAKE THAT! symbol of tyranny

Italy has not been kind to me, filled with hangovers, people who pinched my car keys and the wasted day or two to get everything back on track. So when the opportunity presented it’s self to vent my frustrations at a symbol of Italian rule, I Took it!
Ivrea, Turin province, Italy. The festival of the oranges is centred around one thing, the orange battles. In the closest thing to hate week i have yet discovered, people pack the tiny squares of Ivrea ready for a fight. Decked out in ‘team’ colours which include the ravens, daemons, jokers, and my favourite the Brigade of the Orange Death (skull and crossbones for a symbol). As so you wait with throngs of orange holding masses an uneasy tension and a ruckus nature surround all.Suddenly a Cry starts up as the hated symbols of power and authority ride in to the square, decked in armour with helmets, riding in a chariot drawn by warhorses. The despotic carts throw oranges at the people, but the people fight back! Soon the cart is surrounded by a hundred unarmoured but fiercely fighting citizens. Oranges are flying from everywhere and smacking against stones, heads, and bodies in an avalanche of orange. A few blood oranges hit with violent effect sending sprays of red to match the orange madness. Eventually the hated symbols of power flea the square to jubilant shoats from the crowds of fee men. There are about 20 carts that make this long procession though the 10 or so squares. An orange is not quite the weapon of death you may be thinking of, in theory it is a round weighty projectile that is easy to throw accurately. In practice at range it quickly loses its potency and with more power, say point blank, it breaks sending streams of orange juice flying. A hit in the jacket is little more than uncomfortable, and a hit in the face is like a girls punch, by no means pleasant but not going to do any serious harm. Of course you can cry Swiss, neutrality, and wear a red cap meaning you won’t be targeted and you can’t trow oranges. You can also cower behind nets, or sissy string, stung from the buildings allowing you to get close in (take some nice photos), or just rest up between battles, without fear of oranges. By the end of the day the streets are thick with oranges and you are more likely to do yourself harm by slipping on the soft mess than by stray orange fire, the men and women of the fight are exhausted from battle and retire for some communal drinking.

Rage against Switzerland

The biggest thing wrong with Switzerland is that there is nothing wrong with it. Ok it’s expensive but hey, it’s only money, at least it’s not pretentious. Take the students for example, rebellious drunken louts right? No, they have a beautiful campus that like the rest of Switzerland is pristinely clean and well versed in almost all subjects. When things get to the swiss do they take up arms? (remember that by law EVERY Swiss man has an assault-rifle at home and they have to pass a yearly shooting test) no, they just go skiing for the weekend, or hiking, or have a cheese fondue. Ok you think, politics, someone has lots of power and makes trouble for people, right? Wrong again, they have 7 presidents who are voted in and then oversee the government, reaching decisions by consensus... The Swiss may not be great decision makers but they have a quality life, rich with history and low in hate.

I was sitting at the Cabaret Voltaire, the art hangout of avent-grad and dadist painters of the day (from here started that slippery slope that led to all that post-modernistic abstractive-expressionistic nonsense that we all hate, blame these bastards [not that I don’t like Dali, Picasso and the rest of them]). So I sit sipping my beer and gorging myself on the free cheese. So many types of cheese, hard soft white goat, you name it they had 5 of each. Listening to the student band do quite a good jazz number, and discussing such politics with a few well spoken swiss (speaking not just swiss-german, German & English and most of them spoke French as well)

Of course i did not waste all my time sipping wine and eating cheese, looking at Chagall windows. The Mt. Titlis Ski resort was very enjoyable, even if I was a little sore afterwards. Biggest titlis i ever did see, at a whopping 3229m more than 2km vertical is skilifted. Nice!

Descent into madness 3, The Madening – Lucern Carnival

The whole affair revolved around marching bands that would march though the streets and into a square and play music to the masses then march around somewhere else and drink while other bands played there. This goes on pretty much all day. What they lacked talent or coordination they more than made up with in raw drunken enthusiasm. The raw energy (and perhaps the massive quantities of alcohol) meant that everyone joined in jumping around or swaying along. The happy mood is truly infections. There is a Large parade around midday but the biggest fun is the after party which clogs every street square and building.
The music is varied and fun, but it is harder than spicks and specks to guess what the song is as the 30 trumpets, 5 tubas, 4 drum-kits, and several large drums pound merrily into the dancers overwhelming the brain with the command to bomp along... I did recognised Alice cooper and Meatloaf amongst others.

The first time you see a giant chicken playing the tuba you think it’s kind of weird... but then you see a large collection of fish-men with Gatling gun you only wonder where they keep the alcohol. I do have to admit that every time I bumped into a squadron of the French foreign legion, the Spanish soldiers, or the incredibly drunk ‘English police’ (all talking swiss-german) I had the compulsion to hide my drink and look nonchalant. But the truly amassing thing was the vast range of things people dress up as, of course the always popular vampires and pirates where there, and a lot of gumibears, but there were a lot of unusual people goblins, golf balls, spacemen, angry vegetables, sea creatures, frogs, artists, Disney characters like Mickey (and you can be sure they are drunk - just like at Disneyworld), dogs, gods, angry man with giant head, and SO SO much more.

It was about the time when i was dancing with four dwarves, two knights, and a fish, to the sounds of a brass band (of 39 Mario and Luigis including 4 tubas, some big bass drums and one squeaking penguin) playing Livin' la Vida Loca, that two thoughts struck me. (1) – no matter how nice a body you may have a 3 foot beard is not a good look on a chick. (2) – This is probably one of those moments i will long remember, and remember fondly.