I love my Mum... bai!

What an amazing week I have had! I’m now in New Delhi, capital of India, lying on an extremely hard, lumpy mattress, in a hot pink hotel called The Ivory Palace – a rather rundown and stale smelling building, definitely made complete with leopard print settees (my new favourite word), and hand paintings of Cupid on the ceiling… classy! However, after a few big days, some unforgettable journeys, and with two lungs filled with Mumbai pollution, this is just what I was looking for!

Flying out of Kuala Lumpur early Monday morning, I was bound for the biggest adventure of my life so far… Mumbai! With an estimated current population of 20.5 million people, I knew I was in for a big city – but I had no idea what I had really managed to get myself into! Mumbai’s international airport is called Chhatrapati Shivaji, and although I speak no Hindi whatsoever, I worked out rather quickly that this loosely translates to ‘Calm Before the Storm’. The airport is very clean, ordered, calm and peaceful. Mumbai on the other hand, is not. I have never, ever, ever in my life been so completely terrified of a city!

With 31kg of luggage (I’m still carrying the bloody Haighs chocolates!), I wisely decided to avoid the bus, train, and never-so-stable tuktuk, and instead jumped in a taxi ($3), bound for the accommodation I had booked online the night before. Through a repetitive process which involved both the English and Hindi language, sign language, charade-style skits from myself, and then giving up and pulling out the MacBook and Google translate, the driver and I finally managed to work out where I was staying, and left the calm and order of the airport, heading into the chaos that is Mumbai. Weaving through traffic and pedestrians with no regard for road rules, speed restrictions, public safety, or my fragile self, the driver wasted no time introducing me to the Indian style of driving, and the art of over-using the horn. I think in my whole driving life, I may have used the horn 3 times on the road – I reckon the driver used the horn 300 on just our short journey! 25 minutes later, and after stopping four times along the way to ask for directions, we finally pulled up outside a small dusty alleyway, filled with street vendors, stray dogs, and children playing cricket in the street – and I hesitantly stepped inside the dilapidated building I thought I was about to call home.

Bandra, Mumbai

Of course, things while traveling are never as easy as they should be, and after a 15 minute wait inside the ghastly yellow sponged interior of the hostel, I was told I was in fact in the wrong place! It turns out the hostel I was staying at has more than one site, and I had been given the directions to the wrong place… however, the hostel manager wasted no time telling me he had a driver who would ‘love to drive an Aussie’ to the other site, and within minutes I found myself squashed in the back of a small, dusty panel van, once again bounding along the streets of Mumbai, feeling every bump and pothole along the way. With this driver also speaking very limited English, conversation was a struggle, however I did manage to learn the other site was less than 2 kilometres away, and he would get me there in ‘very quick time’. 15 minutes later, and MUCH further than 2km away, I began to get a little worried. The driver sped through traffic, past cops, through red lights (there seem to be optional in India), and took corners at extreme speed, while I sat seat-belt-less in the back of the bumping, weaving van. The roads became much busier, the footpaths much dirtier, and as we drove further and further away from the airport, the buildings became more and more derelict, unwelcoming and sinister. Where was this man taking me?

With a sense of panic beginning to make itself present in my mind, the driver pulled off the main road, and into a small, dark, creepy alleyway, careering forward, seemingly unaware of other road users, and hurtling toward a group of young school students just finished school for the day. At the end of the dim, narrow and winding alleyway, where I was sure I was about to be killed and turned into the latest batch of Aloo Tikki Bird, I very reluctantly stepped out of the taxi, and began walking toward the building the driver indicated as ‘the hostel’, yet to my mind looked more like the set of a Chuckie-style horror flick. Approaching the plain, un-signed building, I was led to a low, dark staircase, and was eagerly ushered up-stairs, no doubt toward a large aluminum kadai, already simmering and waiting for my dismembered body to be added as a final, quality, ingredient. With a glint in his eye that said, “prepare the freezer, fresh meat is here!” the driver opened the thick, sound/scream proof, wooden door, and inside I found… the most unexpected hostel ever! Welcomed with big, beaming smiles, and immediately shown to a chair and a cold drink, I was shocked! My almost certain fate seemed so much less certain!

Shocked at my sudden change of fortune, terrified at the idea of ever leaving my new-found paradise to see the sights of Mumbai, and now thinking about the possibility of still perhaps offering up some thigh/breast meat (which I could clearly do without!), I sat down and started filling out the necessary forms. Still slightly wary of my surroundings, and expecting to wake up from my dream at any moment, my next surprise came along… my Mumbai Guardian Angel – Chris! Born in the US, living in Korea, and holidaying in India, Chris stepped into my life at exactly the right moment, casually offering me his left-over lunch, and after some general conversation, was even brave enough to suggest leaving the safety and protection of Anjali Inn, and braving the world of Mumbai together for the afternoon! What a hero!!!

Me and my hero...

With only the afternoon left for sightseeing, we headed to Bandrah, a suburb about halfway to South Mumbai from Anjali, where we nervously stepped off the local train, and into absolute bedlam! Mumbai is crazy – so many people, noises, smells, colours and excitement! The streets are packed with cars, buses, trucks and taxis, the footpaths clogged with stalls, vendors, low-hanging power-lines and runaway mopeds, and the gutters overflow with litter, stray dogs, and broken down tuktuk’s. Giving up on the idea of working out directions, we decided to start walking in the hope of stumbling upon something worth seeing. Of course, we first chose the wrong direction, however we certainly did manage to immerse ourselves in the Indian suburbs! We finally did make it to an American style coffee shop, and got directions from our waitress to Bandstand – an area home to Castella de Aguada, a Portuguese fort built in 1640, now home to stray goats, Indian teenagers desperate to photograph Chris and his blonde hair, and a garden project run by the bandstand conservation group – which turned out to be the Windy Point of Mumbai – hook up central!

The view from Castella de Aguada

Day 2 of sightseeing took us (we sounded like a joke – an Australian, an American, a Canadian, an Englishman, and a Dane) to the laundry, Dhobi Ghat – Mumbai’s version of Edna Turnblad. It is an area backing onto a main trainline, where everyday, a group of men go about getting the washing from Mumbai’s many hotels and hospitals done. The clothes, sheets and hospital gowns (eek!) are washed in open wash-pens, filled with filthy, reused water, and each pen has a large flogging stone, onto which the clothes are flogged, then laid out. The water is brown, the flogging stones are old and discoloured… yet miraculously the washing comes out perfect! The whites are dazzling, the coloured garments look brilliant, and the tourists look on with a sense of disbelief, and no doubt many questions to send in the direction of the OmoCare line. 

Dhobi Ghat - Laundry

From Dhobi Ghat, we walked to Haji Ali Mosque, which is built on a small island off the coast of the city. The mosque is built in honour of Sayyed Peer Haji Ali Shah Bukhar, a pilgrim to Mecca, who supposedly died on his pilgrimage, with his body floating back to the small group of rocks where the Mosque is now found. The walk out to the island is on a low causeway, under water at high tide, bustling with vendors selling everything from flowers to calculators, and offering services such as shoe polishing, and a small child offering to weigh tourists for a fee. Tempting, but no thanks. From the mosque, we headed south, for our first look (what you could see through the smog!) at downtown Mumbai, lunch at the famed Leopold’s restaurant, some casual shopping/bartering, and a stroll around the Gateway to India, built to celebrate the arrival of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911.

Gateway to India

On my third day in Mumbai, it was time to do the ultra touristy thing, and I opened the Lonely Planet to do a walk of the city. Joined by Chris, Ciara (who had flown in the night before from the US), and Helen (The ‘Crazy’ Dane), we got moving early in an attempt to avoid the crowds on the public transport system. We may as well have slept in! The train was ridiculously overcrowded with people on their way to work, so full in fact some commuters had their bags hanging from hooks on the outside of the train, an idea a man later told me was ‘Indian technology’. Chris and I crowded into one carriage (we actually managed to get inside the train this time, unlike the day before when we were hanging from the outside of the train, coming dangerously close to signs/bridges/poles), while the girls found a women-only carriage, to avoid creating a scene like we had the day before when we all chose to sit together – much to the disgust of the local men! Arriving at Churchgate, we spent the next couple of hours walking around the colonial Colaba district, a great contrast to the district we were staying in (the one suburb has a population of over 4 million!) where we admired the colonial architecture, beautiful parks, galleries, the museum, a cruise off the coast, and the Taj Mahal Palace – the hotel that was the center of the 2008 terrorist attacks.

Taj Mahal Palace, Mumbai

Once again thinking we could outsmart the Mumbai public transport system, we decided to leave Colaba early, to beat the crowds on the way home from the city, and once again we failed! Our train ride home from Mumbai that afternoon is something I will never, ever forget, and one of the most amazing, eye-opening experiences of my life. Chris and I ran to get on the train first, to grab a seat for the 40 minute or so journey north, which we now realize was probably not the best idea!!! Taking a seat at the end of the train, we found ourselves made incredibly welcome by a group of local men, who took great interest in my height, weight, age, where we were both from, and of course, my knowledge of cricket! I knew we were in for an adventure when the men found out which station we were headed for, and started warning us we should probably take the slow train, for it would have less people on it, however with a desire to get back to the hostel in as little time as possible, we thanked them for their advice, but decided to stay on the fast train – now filled to the point where most of the men had someone sitting on their lap, and I had two college students standing over one of my legs each! By the time we left the Churchgate station, I thought it was impossible for even one more person to get onboard, yet the next three stations proved me wrong, as even more people crammed onto the train, or took their place hanging from the roof, with their bodies hanging completely outside of the train, only centimeters from poles, lights, bridges and other trains as they passed. Completely overwhelmed by the number of people onboard, particularly the number of people between us and the exit, Chris began to realize our predicament, and why the men suggested not to take that train – we weren’t going to be able to get off!!! Of course, I wasn’t yet ready to admit we had made a mistake, and continued to reassure Chris we would be fine, and the train would probably empty out at the stop before ours, and we would have an easy passage to the door, and freedom beyond! Once again, I was wrong.

My view hanging on outside a train

The journey on the train, while crowded, was absolutely amazing. As we took off from the Churchgate station, the whole train came alive with a shout from one of the Indian men, followed by a loud chant and cheer from all those onboard. A few minutes later, from the other end of the carriage came the rhythmic sound of someone tapping on the side of the train, followed by a man with some sort of clickers, hitting them against the luggage racks above the seats. With the beat set, and the train overcrowded beyond what I believed physically possible, a group broke into song, filling the carriage with the most amazing sound, as they sang a song about former Indian leader, Mahatma Gandhi. As the singing continued, more and more people joined in, until almost the entire carriage was singing along to the beat of the train and the luggage rack musician. It was an absolutely amazing, surreal, and a once-in-a-lifetime privilege to be onboard, surrounded by a group of people who in Australia would protest and complain about the conditions of the public transport, and would NEVER allow another man to sit on his lap, but instead make the most of what they have – an amazing, caring, and unbeatable sense of community. One short journey, on a dirty, old and rundown train, through one of the most crowded cities on earth, reminded me of what really is important in life, and that I hope to never forget.

Four stops before our own station, the local men told us it was time to start pushing toward the door (about a 5m distance), if we wanted any chance of getting off the train. Now, pushing is a lot easier said than done when you have an Indian man on each of your legs, and there is in fact no space in which to push people! It took me a minute just to stand up, raising my bag (containing all my valuables) above my head, and turn to face the direction I was hoping to go. Gripping on to the railing well above the reach of the average Indian man, I started the slow process of pulling my way forward, every centimeter I moved affecting all those within the few meters around me. With Chris (who is a fair bit smaller than me!) hanging on/squashed up against me, his heart beating ridiculously fast, I slowly pulled us forward around half the distance to the door, when we hit the point where there was nowhere further to go. Getting closer to the door was just pushing the people hanging on the outside of the train (some with nowhere to even put their feet for support!) further out the door, yet where we were standing, my chest and body were getting crushed to the point where I could no longer breathe properly. While I could still feel him hanging on for dear life, and he was directly next to me, Chris was buried under hundreds of arms, bags and people, completely obscured from my view. We stood, crushed amongst countless people for a few minutes, struggling to breathe, until the platform came within view, and by no choice of our own, we started to get carried along in the pack of people heading toward the door of the still fast moving train. As the train was still pulling up toward the platform, people started to jump, creating space in front, and we found ourselves pushed forward toward the doors, while the platform continued to race past in front of us. With little choice or chance to object, I jumped from the moving train, much to the fear of the crowds of locals (much shorter and smaller than me, and probably not used to someone like me jumping toward them!), and once landed, turned around to find a rather ill-looking Chris further along the platform where he just managed to get off the train. No words were needed – our shocked looks said it all!

After our big day, and the train ride home, I opted for a quiet night. Cards with a group of biomedical scientists from the UK, a good chat with 2 guys on their way to working visas in Australia, and a bottle of water at midnight to celebrate Australia Day, and my time in Mumbai was almost over! Up early the next day for my flight to Delhi, I was glad to be moving on, yet feel there was so much more to be seen and done in Mumbai… but I do need to leave some stuff for my next trip!

At least we had air-conditioning...

Haji Ali Mosque

An Aussie, an American, a Canadian, a Dane
and an Engishman walk into a bar...

A botanic round-a-bout in the Colaba district

Tall, skinny things... just like me in a year!

The Petronas Twin Towers

View from the ground...

View from the top!

Faiz's Condo... somewhere in the distance!

It's not about the money, money, money...

Malaysia is cheap. It’s cheap, slightly nasty at times, yet amazing. I write this while sipping freshly squeezed orange juice (so far so good on the digestive front) after just devouring a huge serve of Mee Goreng, in quite a fancy garden café (they are playing SClub7 – that’s fancy right?) in the CBD. In any Australian city, I would pay at least $15 for the food, and $7 for the drinks. In KL, I am looking at $2.20 for the food, and the drinks will set me back about $1.30. $3.50 and I am full, feeling a million bucks, and ready to take on Bukit Bintang (the touristy shopping district) for the afternoon!

Obviously this is not the first time I have realized how cheap everything is. The shuttle from the airport (about 70km’s from the dodgy budget terminal) was 8RM, or just over $2 for those playing at home. That includes the return tomorrow! The bus to the CBD this morning, which took about 35 minutes in good traffic, was 1RM, or approx. 30 cents, and the price of petrol, which outrages the locals, is subsidized by the government to a whopping 1.90RM (50c/ltr). At that price, I would have saved $2000 driving to Mt Barker and back last year!

After my day of sightseeing, and a trip to the local Tesco (SO CHEAP!), I went out to dinner last night with 4 locals guys, all approaching 30. Their age was no issue, except they all looked about 4 years younger than me - and I was sporting many more natural highlights than all of them combined! We ate in a tent, on plastic chairs, directly behind Istana Budaya (The National Theatre). This is NOT where tourists normally eat! The tent was quite a big, semi-permanent structure, seating probably 150 people, decorated with pictures of all sorts of weird and wonderful dishes, and complete with a large projector screen playing live soccer to an audience who appeared to have no interest in the game whatsoever. There were stray cats running around our feet, street vendors selling everything from kids toys to what I hope were chicken satays, and what must have been the meeting of the local pirated DVD street sellers association - with much talk, and bustling activity around the latest arrival of illegal DVD’s to be sold on to trashy Australian tourists!

I had no choice in what I ate – the 4 guys insisted I get the house specialty, breaking the bank at 4RM for a large serve ($1.25ish), and reassuringly also ordered by two of the others. The food was great! I didn’t catch the name, and can only describe it as Pud Thai noodles in a fairly spicy, creamy sauce, with vegetables, a fried egg, chicken and prawns – including shell, heads, legs, guts, you name it, I ate it! We then ordered a platter of beef and chicken satays, served with cucumber, onion, and peanut sauce, and washed the whole lot down with a glass of cold, stretched milk tea (on local ice – eek!), and a glass of hot water with barley (no doubt local water too!). Great food, great company, excellent bi-lingual conversation, and an experience I will never forget. Total price for 4 people. 38RM = $10.

Malaysia is amazing!

Why did The Bird cross the road?

There’s something exciting about crossing the road in Asian cities, and it seems no matter how well you think you have got your head around it, you can still never quite get it right!

The top 5 things you need to know about crossing the road. 

1. Traffic lights are optional, for both motorists and pedestrians. I have got my head around this idea quite easily (from this trip, and my last to Singapore and Thailand), however it still makes no sense! Surely if everyone followed the direction of the traffic lights, everyone would win in the long run? Or at least not get run over?
2. Lines are only a guide. I think this goes for all driving in fact, however it is essential to remember when crossing correctly within the designated crossing lines. Motorists will NOT stop at the line, but will rather push their vehicle/your legs forward, in an attempt to ensure the other top 4 things on this list can be provided successfully to all road users and pedestrians.
3. Gutters are deep. It rains a LOT in the tropics, and the depth of the gutters is obviously necessary… however it does add a little icing on the cake when you have just made a quick, life-threatening dash across the Bukit Bintang Walk, only to then have to immediately pull out a Xena-esque leap over a grand-canyon sized gutter, narrowly missing other tourists and vendors selling banana chips on the side of the road. You do feel a bit like McGyver when you pull it off smoothly, so that’s a plus.  
4. Footpaths are not just for foots. Scooters, bikes, junk vendors, 3m deep drains and stray animals also appear to be welcomed. In fact I would even say encouraged. It really does add to the excitement of a walk, when you miraculously make it across the road to the safety of the opposite footpath, only to find yourself right in the path of a Malay Lizzie Maguire look-a-like on her search for her very own pop-star Prince Charming.
5. Things twist. It would appear whatever Australia uses to attach traffic lights to traffic light poles is much stronger and more reliable than what they use in Malaysia. I have never seen a city with so many traffic lights that no longer point in their intended direction, or no longer work at all! Today I found a set at a pedestrian crossing, where I was greeted with a left arrow facing me, while the U64 local bus had my little green walking man all to itself. Give the green men back to the pedestrians I say!

Of course, there is nothing quite like traveling through a foreign city, and by no means would I ever want to change the experience (including the excitement of crossing the road!), however I do wonder what would happen if these 5 things were introduced on Australian roads! Or with my little sister on her L’s as of 2 days ago, maybe they already have?

Lines are just a guide when driving in KL.

The Journey Begins

It’s only been 2 days – but I feel like I have seen so much!!! Setting out from home at 6:30am turned out to be a great time to watch the overweight, not-built-for-lycra men (and a couple of women!) of Adelaide pretend they are pro-cyclists in the Tour Down Under. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be a great time to get to the airport efficiently! However with aManda the Maniacal Mazda Motorist at the wheel, we just made check-in on time, and spent the next couple of hours catching the last minute news and travel advice from those also stupid enough to compete with the Tour Down Under road closures, and see me off.

Denpasar Airport was a hole. Well, that may be a little bit harsh, but as a transit visitor, I hated every second of it. The plane landed, and was parked in the middle of nowhere, quite a distance from any terminal buildings. I can understand that for people heading to Bali for a leisurely holiday, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, it is a nice novelty to walk on the bitumen, and catch a bus to the terminal, but for someone who was already feeling a bit under the weather, carrying ridiculous amounts of Haighs chocolates and hand luggage, and wearing jeans and a jumper, the novelty was lost quite quickly! After finally getting to the front of the ridiculously slow customs line, I was greeted with the news that I had to purchase a visa, even just to transfer on to my next flight. Begrudgingly, I paid my visa (lucky they took Australian dollars!) and made my way through the crowds of yelling taxi drivers, collected my luggage, and made my way to the dingy departure terminal. Checking in, and glad to be rid of my luggage again, I was greeted by my next surprise – on top of the Visa I had just purchased, I now had to also pay an Airport Service Fee, just to get through to the departure lounge. Still not sure what service I hadn’t paid in the tax on the ticket, and with even more begrudge than before, I paid my way in (lucky they also took US dollars!) to the terminal, for 4 hours of enjoying the passive smoke of all the people who clearly didn’t care the terminal was supposed to be smoke free. Not the best stop-over ever, but hopefully it will make the Saudi Arabia one seems better in comparison!

However, with this negativity aside, and without talking myself up too much, I did bloody well with my flights! Everything went well – both budget carriers ran on time, the non-guaranteed connection in Denpasar went without a hitch, and by some miracle of the long-legged-flying God, I self-check-in’d myself into empty rows on both flights! I had so much space to spread out, lie down, and even just move seats for no reason other than a slight change of scenery/view of the dandruff sitting ahead of me.

Arriving in the less than impressive Kuala Lumpur Budget Carrier Terminal (tin shed with no air-conditioning), I jumped on a coach transfer to KL Sentral station, soaked in sweat, hair already curling, and desperate for a shower. I was supposed to meet CS host Faiz at 9.30pm, however had no idea the bus would take so long to get into the city – arriving just before 10.30pm! After finally making my way to our classy designated meeting spot (McDonalds), I was disappointed, but not surprised to find he was not there, and went about trying to change currency, and locate/operate (not as easy as it sounds) a payphone.

Finally meeting Faiz at 11.40pm, I will admit I was pretty glad to be on my way to a shower… or so I thought! Instead, Faiz had a much better plan – and I found myself out to dinner at an Indian/Muslim Restaurant in the centre of the city, looking up directly at the Petronas Towers… at 12.30am. According to Faiz, the restaurants he goes to (I get the impression he still parties harder now at 26 than I did at 18!) have 2 really busy period during the day – the first dinner sitting at midnight, and second sitting at 3am (when the nightclubs close of course). After a night/early morning tour of Merdaka Square, the Petronas Towers, KL Tower, and many other sights, it was off to Faiz’s Condo for the long awaited shower, and a good night sleep.

Faiz (and housemate Kimi) live in a Condominium less than 10km south of KL, in quite a nice residential area. It’s fairly spacious, with 3 bedrooms, a living area, and a kitchen… however there’s one added bonus I think makes the place pretty special. You see, it’s on the bottom floor of the complex, with 18 condo’s directly above… and it has exposed plumbing. Now, the plumbing is actually pretty useful, providing space to hang things in the bathroom, and adding a modern ‘warehouse-y’ feel to the place, however it does also mean that when any one of the 18 condos above flushes the loo… you know all about it! Being quite the multicultural city, with a wide selection of cuisines, I do wonder if different condos produce different sound effects on the way down, but think I will wait for Mumbai to investigate further.

Day 2 saw us headed east of KL, on highways which reminded me of the fateful hospital visit in Thailand, to the Batu Caves. ‘Batu’ means ‘rock’ in Malay, however, regardless of my lack of knowledge of the Malay language, I decided it is also an appropriate name because the caves are the home to a number of animals, including BATS. The cave was discovered, by some person, at some stage, for some reason, but most importantly, it lives up to its name. It is a cave. The entrance to the cave comes directly off a road which I am sure carries more traffic daily than Adelaide does in a decade, and without my expert guide Faiz, I would have had no idea I was even close to such a large site of natural beauty! The cave is in a limestone outcrop, and is found at the top of 272 steps protected by a huge gold statue of Muruga. After discovery, the cave became home to a small Hindu shrine, and then another, and another… until today, where it contains a number of different colourful, decorated shrines, and many overfed, tourist-loving monkeys.

We spent the afternoon heading south of KL, through palm plantations reminiscent of Jurassic Park, developer-built housing estates reminiscent of Harry Potter, and estates of illegally built houses/structures reminiscent of Hannah’s bedroom at home. I found it quite ironic, yet sad, that the houses in the illegal estates are ramshackle and roughly constructed, built of whatever unwanted material people could find, yet many of the houses garaged cars newer and more expensive than mine! Our trip south took us to Putrajaya, the administrative capital of Malaysia, which was a completely unexpected place! Until the 1990’s, Putrajaya was a large agricultural area, producing rubber and palm oil, however it is now a huge, extensively planned, and expensively built city, with no people! I was blown away at the number, size and modern features of the offices, towers, bridges, residences, and landmarks of the city. Every garden bed and round-about is manicured to perfection, every space is filled with perfect, full, and beautiful tropical gardens - even to the point where the street lights have hooks suspending hanging pots of flowing tropical plants! We saw workers tidying, raking, weeding, planting, watering and tending to plants and gardens all over the city, yet there were very few people around to appreciate their work!!! Faiz tells me Putrajaya is like a ghost city – no one wants to live there. The government workers who live there during the week don’t shop or spend their weekends there, there’s no university to attract young people to live, and tourists aren’t taken there, because without more people, there is nothing to do! It was a very interesting place, and it just baffles me as to how and why the government continue to spend so much money and time on developing and maintaining the city, when no one is there to enjoy it. 

I’ve just realized how much I have written, and will point out I have no plans on being this detailed in every destination! I will however finish with a passage from the book I read on the way over – Tropic of Capricorn (2008, BBC Books), by Simon Reeve.

“When we leave our borders we should remember travel is a desire of many, but an honour for a few. As such it carries certain responsibilities. For the time has long gone when we could happily settle for weeks on a sunny beach without considering the environmental impact of our travels, or the fact that our boutique hotel is owned by the son of the local dictator. None of us should now be travelling blind, and learning more about the places we visit makes for a more interesting experience, a more rounded adventure. So following the Tropic of Capricorn is important to me, but the real idea is to use it as the central thread of a journey that teaches me more about issues and places of which we hear little in the West.”

If only I had a Tropic to thread my plans together too.

"So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night!"

"So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night,

I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu,

Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu!"

It's all beginning to get a bit real! In less than 12 hours, I will be flying out of Adelaide, filled with excitement, nerves, anticipation, and no doubt a sneaky Maccas breakfast on the way to the airport! Just 12 hours til my whole world changes forever, and I think I am just beginning to realise what a big adventure I have managed to sign up for! A whole year away from my family, my friends, and everything I know, understand and appreciate. A whole year of changing sleeping surfaces almost every night, of having to search for, pay for, and wait around at laundromats, a year with no car, of standing on crowded public transport or putting my life in danger just to cross the street to buy lunch, or admire yet another creative car-parking attempt.

By January 2013, I will have been exposed to over 55 countries and cultures, attempted basic communication in languages I don’t even know exist yet, and no doubt will have met, traveled alongside and laughed with people from all over the world – however at times I know I will miss home! I went out to dinner last week with family and friends, and as much as the idea started out as a ‘farewell dinner’, it didn’t end up like one at all. It felt like a celebration. A celebration that I am finally doing something, I have made up my mind on where to go, how to go about it, and have stuck to my decision. A celebration of what’s to come, yet an appreciation of what I have done to get to this point, and the people I have met and come to call friends along the way. The food was great, the company was excellent, and the conversation even better, and I thank everyone who came to celebrate with me, and look forward to seeing many of you at various points along my way!

However, it hasn’t all been fine dining and wonderful conversation – there is still plenty of work to get done before departure!

I've almost finished packing my bag, which is easier said than done! With so many compartments, zips, clips, locks, tags, dividers, pockets and options, just getting my head around what goes where was half the challenge! I think my main problem was most of the available space/weight had already been claimed, even before taking into account the basics like clothes. There's the compartment for Haighs Chocolate (I received a pleading email from the Ali's in Nepal last week), the pharmacy compartment (I have JUST managed to fit all my meds into a 2L container, after removing all the packaging and squeezing the blister packs into sandwich bags!), and the compartment for things I am certain I will need, and will no doubt never use. I've got hiking boots, lotions, potions, books, gadgets, computers, maps, itineraries, tickets, my sleeping bag, AND the small air mattress for my overland trips (not that anyone will know I have it, for once I lie down, I am sure to overhang all four sides).

As I head out into the world tomorrow morning, I wish you all a very happy and safe year, and thank you for joining me on my journey from Smiley Fritz to Santiago!