The Matterhorn of the South

I made my way to Wanaka after the Nuns Veil trip. With a large pack, small pack, banana box full of food as well as a cooler bag full, hitching just wasn't an option, so I caught a bus. I was the only passenger from Cromwell onwards, so I sat up front with the driver. We had an excellent debate/discussion on mostly climate change but also tangents. We both genuinely enjoyed it, told each other as much on parting, and I was again reminded of how open and warm some of these Kiwi's can be.

I met up with Skye and Luke in Wanaka, friends from the Rockies back home. The weather was average, but I hardly needed that reason to justify a few rest days. I was starting to feel worn out from the amount I'd been doing with minimal rest days, so decided on doing as little as possible for the few days until Jimmy arrived. In contrast to Unwin, which is a relatively isolated place, I now felt like I was on holiday. For three days the BBQ saw an extraordinary amount of food get cooked on it, and I of course caught up on some NZ craft beer and coffee cake and paper time. Veritably, this was all in the name of carb-loading for our respective upcoming trips.

Jimmy arrived in Wanaka via Christchurch around 14:30 on Tuesday and hit the ground running - we had a short weather window to get in and climb Mt Aspiring. We'd both had this beautiful mountain, often referred to as the 'Matterhorn of the South', on our minds for some time. After quickly arranging his stuff, we were on our way within half an hour of his arrival, in the car of some lovely Swiss girls with whom I'd arranged a lift. After 7 odd hours of walking, we got to French Ridge hut some time after 23:00 and crashed out.

We were back out the door the next morning, continuing up French Ridge to gain the Bonar Glacier via the Quarterdeck. We met Luke and Skye over morning tea; they were coming down off Mt French. We had a good laugh about Jimmy being dressed as only a mountaineer from Orange would - in ruggers, fluoro plastic hand-me-down boots and old thermal cut down to short sleeves - and parted ways. As we crossed the Bonar we noticed an abnormal amount of helicopter activity around, and soon observed that it was concentrated around the SW ridge of Aspiring. We knew that two guys from Melbourne had set out to climb the route this day, and we hoped nothing untoward had happened. Our hopes, however, were not helped when we saw one helicopter leaving the bottom of the route with an object dangling from a cable below it. As we later found out, one of them had fallen off the route to his death. I cannot begin to imagine the pain his family and friends would have been feeling at his loss this Christmas. It was an admirable effort made by his partner, who climbed the rest of the route to the summit, around 200m, by himself, sought out a guided group who had come up he NW ridge in order to call in the emergency services, then descended the mountain with them.

After an afternoon's rest at the busy Colin Todd Hut, with intermittent thoughts and discussions about a death so close by, we rose at 03:00 to climb as planned. Our chosen route was the NW ridge, which we gained via 'The Kangaroo Patch'. Don't tell any New Zealanders, but I think it actually looks like a Kiwi! It was all good snow until the ridge, which was mostly rock. Not too loose, and just gentle enough that we soloed up through the dawn.

As we progressed up and along the ridge, we noticed that the top of the mountain was being buffeted by winds coming in from the north. It was an incredible display as they arced over the ridge. As we ascended into them, they proved to be only lightly affronting, their worst effect being reducing the visibility to around 20m. Lucky then that we were climbing a ridge to a most prominent point - no vis needed!

We summited around 08:20, though naturally our summit photos could have been taken anywhere with a grey background. In the 5 minutes we were on top, the clouds parted twice, momentarily, to afford a stretching vista and assure us we actually were on top. We passed two guided groups on our descent - 'great view up there!' - and made our way down in a measured manner, performing 3 rappels down the steeper section of ridge immediately above 'The Kangaroo'. Safely back at the hut, some 10 hours after setting out that morning, we hoed into some lunch and had as short as rest as we'd allow ourselves.

It was around 16:00 when we walked back out the door for the 5 hour trudge back across the Bonar - just another lazy 500m of ascent! - and back down to French Ridge hut. It was a beautiful time of day to be out walking and we were both feeling surprisingly energetic after climbing through the morning. We even entertained the thought of continuing all the way down past French Ridge Hut to Aspiring Hut, down in the valley. But no, this would mean about 3000m of descent in one day, which would be torture to our knees. By the time we got to French Ridge Hut we were well fatigued, but for myself it was a very pleasant form of tiredness, a feeling of utter contentment at having had such a great day and being able to finally sleep.

The morning greeted us as forecast - with rain. We were glad we'd pushed on to where we were, as the Bonar would likely be in whiteout conditions in such weather. It was down to the last push - back down and out of the valley. It was tempting to laze around the comfort of the hut indefinitely, but we steeled our wills and walked out the door into the wet. It certainly wasn't pleasant but, as always with Jimmy, we made good conversation and the metres passed us by. The last stretch back to the car park was pretty awful at the time, but who remembers the bad parts?

Back in Wanaka we very quickly became engaged in discussions with Luke and Skye on what to climb next. It took a little effort to put it out of my mind and concentrate on relaxing properly after our Aspiring trip. Overnight, I made the decision to cut my trip short by a week and go home early, a decision which fit in well with the others, and one which I was glad to make. It spelled the end to a nearly two month long trip, a trip in which I'd been far more active than I'd anticipated. I'd enjoyed the company of all the characters I'd been in the hills with over the length of the trip, but being out and about with Jimmy again was fantastic, we are on such similar wavelengths, and being in such company makes a trip a completely different experience. The Aspiring trip was the icing on the cake, a culmination of all the climbing I had been doing providing me with the fitness and confidence required to climb the NW Ridge in both good time and good style, walk in walk out. A fitting note to end on.

Crossing The Divide

It was on everybody's lips. The weather was unseasonably warm. The week of continuous sunshine we'd had whilst up the Tasman was all but unheard of. We were lucky in that there were some good freezes to start with, but they were soon to disappear with rising temperatures. People were saying that this season, in terms of snow melt and route condition, was a month advanced, that it is to be a la nina summer. This all meant that snow and ice climbs would be a grim prospect, if climbable at all, and that rock climbs were the far more sensible order of the day.

This was not really what I wanted to hear. As an Australian, with plenty of rock climbing back home and little snow and ice to speak of, I was here to climb the white stuff. But if you want to have a good time, you have to go with conditions, which I was of course fine with, because I do love rock climbing regardless of what else I may be missing out on.

I teamed up with James and Sleake to walk in and climb the classic West Ridge of Malte Brun, a route on reputedly good rock. We didn't make it very far - whilst descending the moraine wall on to the Tasman Glacier James slipped and twisted his ankle. It brought an end to his trip. We were lucky it had happened where it had, rather than somewhere amidst the Tasman moraine. I must admit a part of me was glad I didn't have to walk up the Tasman moraine with such a heavy pack.

Sleake and I set out soon afterward from MCV for a crossing of the main divide into the Copland Valley. I'd had this trip, a walk out to the West Coast via the Copland, on my mind for some time, and had decided to combine it with an ascent of Mt Sefton along the way. Mt Sefton is an incredibly prominent peak perched above MCV, and as such my eye had been drawn to in many a time from many a place over the preceding weeks. It's East Face is wild and difficult to access; our plan was to climb its West Ridge, accessed from the Copland Valley via Scott Creek.

Rather than cross via the Copland Shelter and Pass, we ascended an avalanche gut soon after hitting Hooker Lake, thereby avoiding what was meant to be one of the worse moraine walls around. A sidle under some bluffs to avoid some ice cliffs put us in a fine and dandy couloir which got us promptly onto the ridge coming down from Madonna Peak, which we soon traversed around from to cross the divide via Fitzgerald Pass, about a k south of the Copland Pass. It all worked a treat, and we got to Douglas Rock Hut, a beautiful old hut which is high on my list of favourite visited, a little under 12 hours after setting out.

The next morning we left the Copland track and started making our way up Scott Creek. It was far more involved than either of us had anticipated, and involved lots of rock hopping, scrambling, water crossing, crossing over deposited snow build ups as well as under them in channels worn by the passage of water, and a bit of jungle bashing/slab climbing to get past an initial waterfall. None of these obstacles stopped us, but as we came across another one, for which we would have to get the rope out to pass, we sat down and had a natter. It was midday, and we'd only ascended 400 vertical metres. We had another 1000m to get to the bivy site. Many factors influenced our ensuing decision to turn around, but the bottom line was that we did not want to get caught out in Scott Creek on the Sunday when they were forecasting rain - west coast rain. We did not rate our chances of climbing Sefton in a morning from the bivy (about 1300m of ascent) then descending 2700m back down through Scott Creek to Welcome Flat Hut all on the Saturday.

Once the decision was made, and we were back down past most of the obstacles encountered on Scott Creek, we noticeably lightened up. It happens frequently when climbing, when you realise that you are back down out of all (or most) of the dangers, and you switch your mind off from being so serious and focused on every thing going on, and you look to the future, what you'll be feasting on back at the hut, what you'll be doing next week back in civilization, what you'll be doing when you're back home.

I proceeded to walk out to the West Coast, via some welcome thermal hot pools at Welcome Flat. Despite not reaching Sefton, it had been an incredible trip, just the Copland in itself was an amazing walk through a landscape completely different to that on the east of the divide, the mountains being much more rocky and precipitous. My impressions of Scott Creek cannot be done justice by words, but the one word which I feel comes closest to describing it is 'wild'. It was one of the most wild places I have ever been.

At Fox Glacier I returned to the same cafe in which I had first seen a breakfast of pancakes with bacon, banana and maple syrup, when our guide had ordered it on my first trip to NZ a few years previous. They still had it on the menu, and it was great, such a good combination! I took it fairly easy, making my way up to Hokitika, and eventually hitched my way back around to MCV via Wanaka.

I unpacked upon returning to Unwin Lodge in the evening, and immediately repacked for another outing the next day. Steve, Chris, Andrew and I accessed our climb in style, by boat across Tasman Lake. We made our way up Gorilla Stream to a bivy site just before the route turned to snow.

The Nuns Veil was the peak on our agenda, a nice looking thing which stands out above its immediate neighbours on the eastern side of the Tasman. We were up at the earliest time yet this trip, 01:00, but we had a boat to catch in the arvo, after a reasonable climb and a 2000m descent back down Gorilla Stream. It was a good freeze, and the mornings ascent passed by quickly. It steepened up a little near a bergschrund below the summit, and it was a little windy and thus cold in the pre-dawn, but the sun rose just as we were approaching the top, and life was good! We took in the incredible views of the peaks along the main divide, dominated by the huge bulk that is Aoraki/Mt Cook, then descended back to the bivy for an early lunch. The descent wasn't too bad, but the 8kms or so back up the Tasman to the boat pick-up was verging on soul destroying. It was about a 14 hour day, and back at Unwin I reveled in complete exhaustion.

A week up the Upper Tasman

The weather may not have been great for the hills, but it was good enough to make a few outings from Unwin. Mt Edgar Thompson far exceeded my expectations; the ~1700m of elevation gain passed easily enough, but my knees felt half worn through after descending the same again. An overnight trip up the Hoophorn Ridge saw us bivvying in the valley below it rather than up on the Annette Plateau as planned. It was a pleasant bivvy, disturbed only by a couple of watchful Kea's. The ridge the next day was quite loose but provided some fun scrambling up to the plateau, where we were met with some ugly weather and thus hotfooted it down to Mueller Hut, then back to Unwin after some soup.

After a rest day, I joined a trip being run by the Wellington section of the New Zealand Alpine Club (NZAC). Rob, Lisa, Andrew, Alex and I flew up to Tasman Saddle Hut hot on the heels of an excellent forecast for the coming week. Despite my preference of avoiding flights, for various reasons, I was quickly reminded that helicopters are just about the darned coolest things getting about.

We were in the hut long enough to throw our stuff on a bunk before we headed back out the door. The weather was just too good to be true, and I quickly dispelled any thoughts of me needing any more rest days after my Unwin outings. We headed over to Aylmer, climbed its short south face, then traversed over Hochstetter Dome.

The next day we were up at 05:00 - what was to be on this trip quite a luxurious time to rise. First up was the East Face of Mt Green, from Divers Col. Conditions were great, though my calves were burning from all the front-pointing. Green was both an aesthetically pleasing peak to climb, and also a nice climb/line in itself, with some lovely ridge climbing to gain Divers Col in the first place. Andrew and I headed back to the hut after Green, while the others went on to climb Mt Walter, a straightforward climb also from Divers Col. The going joke by evening was that this would be the trip of two climbs a day!

The following morning was a much more regular get-up time of 02:30. We were setting off for Mt Elie De Beaumont via the Anna Glacier route. The Anna Glacier has a tendency to break up quite early on in the season and thus become impassable, but luckily for us a party had forged a way through the day before us.We found ourselves in the huge, shearing bergschrund while it was still dark, standing on a floor of broken collapsed snow and ice which had been refrozen where it was. It was not immediately clear which path to take, but it ended up involving climbing a pitch up and another across the lower face of Walter. Back on the glacier it was an easy enough ascent to the summit, which was not lingered on for long thanks to some ~55km/hr winds blowing across it. Back at the schrund well before 11:00, small snow slides were already coming down the face of Walter, and we followed our route-setters example and rapped into the guts of the schrund. Conditions were still cold and the ground reassuringly firm underfoot. It meant that, while still needing to move quickly to get back to safer ground, we could appreciate the place we were in. I felt privileged to be granted safe travel through such a special, dynamic, uninhabitable place. We enjoyed a lazy lunch in the sun, and were back at the hut by 13:30.

The weather the following day, Wednesday, was again fantastic, but I had an enforced rest day while the others made the most of the day. It was nice having a rest day that was sunny, and I typically punctuated my day of reading and cleaning with plenty of eating. It was another early rise on Thursday as Rob, Alex and I set off for the Couloir Route on Mt Annan. It was in better condition than anticipated, and made for a really enjoyable climb. The ridge to Annan was quite loose, so after summiting we down climbed the couloir rather than continue down the ridge. We were back at the hut by 09:00, a perfect time for a second breakfast of pancakes, bacon, banana and golden syrup.

Time we had, and the following morning we set out once again, early, this time for a peak in the Murchison - we'd just about climbed the immediate area out of all sensible options! The conditions, though, were terrible, thanks to rising freezing levels, and after slogging through the snow as far as Tasman Saddle, we decided it wasn't worth pusing on given how soft the snow was. We returned to the hut, slept in to a decent hour, then flew out later in the day. It was a great trip, not only thanks to the incredibly good weather, but also due to it being such an excellent group of people.

Land of the Long White Cloud

My trip to NZ commenced in Christchurch, which was a veritable ghost town on my first day of strolling it. Was is the recent earthquakes? They had certainly caused a lot of damage - buildings and whole street sections were cordoned off left right and centre, either under repair or demolition.

I had some organising to do, but it didn't take up too much of my time. Thus I set about enacting one of my favourite activities: finding the best places to eat, have good coffee, beer wifi et al. I had planned to be on the strictest budget possible this trip, but I quickly found that there are some things in life that I just can't skimp on.

New Zealand has an excellent craft beer scene, and admittedly I had already promised myself before the trip that good beer would not be subject to my cost cutting. The beer highlight of Chch was The Twisted Hop, a brew/pub in the centre of town. It is a prime example of the kind of establishment I would love to see more of. They have a simple, good menu of comforting beer food. They support other craft breweries by having many bottles from various breweries available, as well as a guest tap. The highlight though, is of course their own beer. They have about 5 English-style cask conditioned ales on hand pump, and a few other styles, such as a pilsner that showcases NZ Sauvin hops. Also great was Pommeroy's, a pub about 20 minutes walk from the centre, which has 12 odd taps and a couple of hand pumps all dispensing various NZ craft beer.

Other highlights included some arvo cragging in the Port Hills, and some chilli mushrooms for breakfast one morning from the Beat Street Cafe. I then broke one of my cost cutting measure - hitching everywhere - by getting a bus to Wanaka. I'm glad I did, for various reasons, not least of which was the fact I had to carry around half my body weight in luggage!

It was nice to be back in Wanaka. It is hard to imagine a more beautiful setting for a town, perched on a lake as it is and surrounded by mountains, with a view to the snow peaks of Aspiring NP. I only stayed there one night though before heading up the West Matukituki Valley - the weather forecast was fantastic and I was keen to do some tramping. My planned itinerary was to cross to the Dart Valley via Cascade Saddle, and walk out to Glenorchy (and of course return to Wanaka via Fergburger in Queenstown) but there was just too much snow around the tops. Good for climbing - bad for walking. Instead I spent four wonderful days wandering the West Matukituki and then the East Matukituki in perfect weather.

I had a couple of rest days back in Wanaka, which naturally included a few brews, and even a visit to the local craft brewery, Wanaka Beerworks. They stick to three, not-so-adventurous styles, but they do them very well. I then headed back into Aspiring NO as the next weather window was coming about.

I was keen to climb Mt Aspiring, but couldn't find any partners, so climbed the SE ridge of Mt Barff, as had been recommended to me, instead. The name belies how pretty a mountain it actually is, and the route itself was 'just what the doctor ordered'. When walking by oneself up the valley, it's possible to think many thoughts, many doubtful, but when I was up there and the sun rose to shine on me on my way up, my very soul felt warmed by it.

After Barff-ing (haha, how lame...) I eventually made my way to Mount Cook Village (MCV). It is a small, out of the way place, especially compared to Wanaka, but is at the doorstep of the most extensive range of 'hills' here, and is also (or therefore) a place where many travelling climbers come to meet partners. Unfortunately the weather has been fairly average, causing plenty of hut time (where thinking of how to concoct the next meal from a limited supply of ingredients is the main agenda), but a couple of us did get out cragging on some great 'greywhacke', which I'm keen to revisit some time, and we fitted in a good day walk/climb the other day up a nearby ridge. In the meantime, we're just waiting for all those long white clouds to go away.

Liam was here

Yup. I did make it back to Australia. I managed to take two Air China pillows with me (great for 'luxurious' camping), and succeeded in bringing some Chinese tea and some wooden items back into the country. They were probably all safe enough to get through customs, but I always prefer to employ the 'decoy' method when going through.

Once I was back in Aus, I was more or less down to two options. One: go about finding work in Sydney, and thus not know when I may next have an extended period of time free. Two: continue my 'binge' (of unemployment and climbing) and head to New Zealand for a couple of months. Money would be the issue: NZ is a considerably more expensive country to bum around in than, say, China. Once I deemed that my funds would just allow for a (cheap as bro) trip, all it took was for a catch up with Jimmy to flick the switch in my mind to firmly YES (catching up with Jimmy can be very empowering, or dangerous, in that way - we seem to bounce ideas off each other in a way that makes anything seem possible).

And so, exactly one week after arriving back in Sydney, I booked return flights to Christchurch, NZ, departing about three weeks later.

The time that I did spend back in Aus, about a month, felt considerably busy, especially given my unemployed status.

Initially there was an enormous satisfaction in enjoying things like good sourdough bread, cheese, wine, good, craft beer, black pudding, pasta, etc etc, after a couple of months in China. That list could well go on.

I really do enjoy cooking, and so I was surprised at how long it took me to find the motivation to do some. Really, it was another installment of Kim & Lyndal's Epic BBQ that got me going. I got carried away by preparing/cooking three different things, but my Dulce do Leche cheese cake was the only thing I was reasonably happy with.

Eddie and Jo's wedding was the reason I came back when I did, and a lovely evening it was. I hate to focus so much on one theme, food, but the food at the wedding was fantastic! Usually 'function' food served out in quantity is merely acceptable; but this stuff was exceptional. Sumo wrestling at the Buck's party was also a hoot.

Within a week of my return, as Adam and I had discussed whilst in Croatia, we got together to put down a brew. We cooked up, more or less, an American style pale ale. Some Chinook hops went in for bittering, but all the rest were Cascade flower hops (grown in Aus - it is not possible to import hops in their flower form). We bottled it just before I left for NZ, and I can't wait to get back and try some. Christmas will be prime time.

Despite hypochondriac-esque fears of injury, I did get out rock climbing a couple of times. I spent the October long weekend down at Point Perpendicular with some old as well as new, well met friends. I really love Pt Perp. The climbing is in such a spectacular position, that even if the climbs were horrible it could still be worth it. They're not, though, there are a plethora of fantastic routes. Perhaps one of the drawbacks is the local cuisine - 'Chinese' at a local bowlo was a rude reminder as to what is going on in large parts of Australia.

One week I tee'd up some climbing at the Warrumbungles. I love that place! Hey, wait a minute.... Well, who cares if I've just repeated myself, I love the Bungles as well as Pt Perp, and many other places to boot! Monday morning saw me on a cityrail train to Lithgow. From there I hitched with a fascinating couple in their 70's. Who'd expect to be talking all about le tour on a hitch between Lithgow and Bathurst! From Bathurst I hitched with an expat Pole to Orange, where I dropped by my fave, Bills, for an awesome espresso. Not so awesome was the price, $3.50. Honestly, I am so sick of paying the same price for an espresso as a milky coffee. I got a ride to Dubbo in a B-double; 'twas a new experience travelling in one of them.

In Dubbo I met up with Heath, and we drove straight out to the Bungles for the walk up the yellow brick road to Balor Hut. What followed were three days (2.5 really) of great weather and fantastic climbing. Day one we climbed Flight of the Phoenix (300m 18) on Bluff Mountain, one of the classics of the area, if not Australia. The rock, largely, was surprisingly good (the Bungles has a well earnt reputation for loose rock and route-finding difficulties). The traverse out the 'wing' was magic.

Day two we jumped on Lieben (200m 17), another classic of the area. Put up by Bryden Allen and Ted Batty in 1962, it was for a time the hardest graded climb in Australia. The route ascends the west face of Crater Bluff, which is one of the most intimidating faces I have seen, and despite it being a grade lower than Flight, the thought of it always gave me more heebie jeebies than Flight. In climbing it, I did find the crux pitch as difficult as anything encountered on Flight. It was another great climb, and not quite as intimidating in practice as it looks from the ground.

Our final day, after much deliberation, we set out for Out and Beyond on Belougery Spire, typically did not find it, but did find Caucusus Corner (325m 17) - so started up it. We climbed four pitches up to the half way ledge. I was taken by surprise - they were fantastic, as enjoyable as anything on Flight or Lieben. From the ledge I commenced a traverse out; the exposure was exhilarating, fingers and toes keeping me on the rock above the void, protection just sufficient. It was, however, off-route, and I eventually climbed back in towards the ledge. We made a call to bail after that, and good thing we did as it started pelting down an hour later!

The trip to the Bungles all but concluded what had been an excellent month back in Aus. I was even at times questioning whether I really wanted to be leaving at all, but when else in life do we get a chance to do these things? I look forward to returning home, but it will be different this time, I will be faced with the realities of work and all that is involved with life in Sydney.

China part II: Yangshuo

I had read about the climbing around Yangshuo in a couple of mags, and I had this in my mind when I decided to spend 7 odd weeks in China. Once the decision was made to stop travelling and go climbing, I was very eager to get to Yangshuo and settle in.

Those that have been to Yangshuo before (and are still at a stage in life where they go out) will almost certainly have heard of Monkey Jane's. This is where I chose to stay, in a single room for about AU$35 a week. Their rooftop bar is what they are known for, and my first three nights were spent their, imbibing typically weak Chinese lager and mingling. Is this a sign of things to come, I wondered? Will every night be spent at Monkey Jane's, playing beer pong, meeting everyone that passes through and those that stay? Fortunately for my health, this was not the case, but several nights were spent there throughout my stay, and they were always, always good fun.

I met Con, a climber from Melbourne, early on. We had similar trains of thought as well as climbing abilities, and I did most of my climbing with him. Olmo (Spain) and Marty (Polsk!) were soon to fall in with us, and we made a good bunch that enjoyed drinking with each other as much as we did climbing. It was really easy to meet other climbers, I guess because most of them were there specifically on a climbing holiday, and we all ended up talking, climbing and hanging out together.

After not having climbed for several months, it took me a couple of weeks to regain some specific strength and really feel good on the rock. All the climbing was on limestone, sport, though trad lines do exist, and was typically steep often with fingery holds. I had to make sure I took sufficient rest days - doing something so strenuous continually is a recipe for injury. My rest days were typically preceded by a Western meal and a big night out. Ah, to be a creature of habit....

One hindrance to climbing was the heat. We just could not climb in the sun, and had to pick our crags accordingly. Often a half day's climbing, until the cliff came into the sun, was enough to wear one out. A couple of crags were close enough to the Yulong River to go and jump in between climbs, dodging all the Chinese tourists going down it on bamboo rafts. We mostly got around by bike, you could hire one for the day for just under AU$1. It was a great freedom to be able to ride oneself out to the crag, and very convenient that so many of them were so close to town.

Apart from 'cragging' at the local cliffs, we made a day trip out to a cliff dubbed 'The Great Wall'. The climbing on this cliff is in the early stages of development. A 40m pitch accesses a ledge system, from which several more climbs go up the wall in several pitches. It was great to get on some decent, long, multi-pitches, and the position and surrounding scenery was fantastic. There are so many karst formations around, it is mind boggling to think about how many great cliffs are around. The issue then is access.

What made Yanghsuo though for me was the length of time I was there and the freedom it thus gave me. It was the first time in my life I have committed such a time to such a simple task, and never have I felt more able to do 'whatever the f#ck I want'. If all I wanted to do for half a day was read my book, I would do it, with no regrets about not getting some other little project done. I was only there to climb, and even then I had no specific goals, so I really felt free to do whatever I want. Then come all the other benefits of learning all the good places to eat etc when you stay an extended time in the one place. Yangshuo is very touristy, but I found it possible to ignore 'all that' somewhat, and live each day how I pleased. It was a completely different experience to travelling through other parts of China.

China. Where u at?

First things first - I am currently back in Australia. Most of you reading this were already made aware of the fact that I would not be able to update my blog whilst in China. This is due to their grand firewall, which also keeps out sites like facebook. Of course, most computer savvy people just install software which masks their IP and go about their business. I had neither a laptop on which to install this software, nor any particular motivation to go to great lengths to access these restricted sites. So I have left my blog entries until now. I am thinking I will divide it into two entries. Not particularly easy, considering not only the length of time I spent in China, but the contrast of the country to everywhere else I have previously been and thus my desire to note down dozens of personal observations. I do, though, much prefer this condensing of my trip, because quite frankly I just don't like working, and writing blog entries after a trip just seems to me too much like work.

In the beginning, there was Beijing, mega-city of my arrival. Man, that place is polluted. I am still boggled by how people live there, breathing all that dirty air in every day of the week. I was blessed, though, upon my return to Beijing, at the end of my trip. I left the obligatory viewing of The Great Wall until this time because I had been told it was muh nicer to visit in the Autumn. I'm glad I did - the day I headed out to see the wall the skies were blue and that stranger to Beijing, the sun, was out for all to see. I visited a more remote, unregulated (officially) section of the wall. It was worth the headache of catching various buses and dealing with touts to get there. I was shocked at how steep some sections of he wall were - it is no walk in the park. Seeing it roll on over hills and up and down ridges into the distance sparked a desire to shoulder a pack and go for a multi-day hike along its length, or at least part thereof.

Beijing otherwise did not really appeal to me. I surprised even myself by how underwhelmed I was by both Tian'anmen square and The Forbidden City. The city is so vast that walking around taking in all the sights and smells, which I love, was rarely feasable. I did enjoy the street food, and wandering through the networks of laneways.

From Beijing I headed to Xi'an in order to see the Terracotta Warriors. I had one of my more memorable food moments here. For breakfast before heading to see the warriors, I stopped at a popular looking food stall just down the road from my hostel. Two pairs of deft hands made me a fried dough and egg fold-up, with obligatory chilli paste, chopped greens and lettuce folded into it, all for about AU$0.30. It was the penultimate breakfast (I'm yet to decide on the ultimate). I chuckled to myself upon thinking about the lost souls paying exorbidant prices for poor imitations of Western breakfasts in the hostel.

Xi'an was just a big smoggy city with consumerism shining through most notably in the form of enormous shopping malls. Its city walls were intact, but they could've been built yesterday for all I knew; this seemed the way with most Chinese structures, it is very hard to tell their true age, and as a result I held little appreciation of them. One area of Xi'an I liked was the Muslim Quarter, which was a pleasure to all the senses to walk through and eat in of an evening. I ate at Muslim restaurants as frequently as I could whilst in China. There are several Muslim minority groups, not just the Uigurs which we hear of in Australia, and they generally make excellent hand pulled noodles, cook beef and mutton very well, and use a bunch of spices different to other varieties of Chinese cooking.

I took an overnight train from Xi'an to Sichuan province on the 'hard seat' class. The seats are not literally hard, though with my bony bum they might as well be after sitting on them for half an hour. What sets hard seat carriages apart from the sleeping classes is that they fill them up with standing class tickets. I found it nigh on impossible to get any sleep with a carriage full of writhing bodies, people playing their music at whichever volume they desired, and a constant stream of staff pushing trollies through the mass of bodies. I observed that more of these trollies contained toys, perfume and other odds and ends than they did useful, requisite items such as food and fluids. At least the Tibetan family on my shoulder slept wonderfully (I was more than happy to offer my shoulder, bony as it may be).

The food in Sichuan province was fantastic. I love spicy food. Admittedly it is very oily, and if you're into that hoo haa then you'd probably also say it's quite fatty. I've never really eaten tofu, but upon my first try of 'mapo doufu', I was hooked. I was lucky enough to meet some friendly students in my travels in Sichuan. 'Lexi' and 'Wayne' took me to their favourite hotpot place, where I lost about 3 litres of sweat consuming skewer after skewer of all variety of meat and veges, including goose heart and duck tongue, cooked in a hotpot of spicy spicy broth. Yang Fan invited me to his hometown, Dujiangyan, a sattelite of Chengdu. It suffered immense damage during the 2008 earthquake, though the only visible indicator is the amount of new buildings. Which, ah, isn't too different to anywhere else in China. We had an excellent array of Sichuan dishes that evening. My chinese hosts paid for these dinners. I was touched by their hospitaliy, and impressed by their sense of pride in entertaining a foreigner - it would have been offensive had I insisted in contributing to the bill.

I intended to enter Yunnan province via the mountains in the west of Sichuan, an autonomous Tibetan region which was actually part of Tibet until it was annexed into Sichuan some years ago. Unfortunately, upon reaching Kangding, I realised I was quite ill, and booked a bus back out of the mountains, in the direction of Yunnan, the next morning. All I can say about Kangding is how I amazed I was by the plethora of mushrooms being sold. Local lined the streets selling far more varieties of mushroom than I have ever seen in my life.

I made it to Kunming, capital of Yunnan province, via an off-the-tourist-trail city and some antibiotics, or at least I think they were. The language barrier prevented fluid communication, but hand gestures and 'infection' and 'antiobotics' entered into a phone translator went a long way. I did nothing in Kunming really other than wait for a sleeper train to Yangshuo. I had made the call to get to Yangshuo, where I would stay until the end of my trip to get some rock climbing done.

Beer - plenty of it.

Having had my dose of time in the hills, I decided I would spend the final week of my time in Europe in Germany. I hadn't actually spent much time there previously, and with my, ah, appetite, for beer, I thought it would be a good place to spend some time in.

First stop was Munich. I arrived off a night train, so after dropping my bag off and getting a coffee, I found myself at the Augustiner Keller before noon. To hell with it. I was sick of sights, and I was in Germany just to wind down and try plenty of beer. So, a litre of lager and half a pork knuckle thanks. The beer was fantastic, the knuckle was sufficiently fatty and crackly, and the garden was a beautiful area.

The hostel I was in was pretty big and impersonal, so I joined a beer tour that night to be amongst company. First stop was the Schneide Weisse house, where I had an Aventinus, in my opinion one of the best (I guess that means 'my favourite') beers in the World. We did a quick tour of the Paulaner micro-brewery (as opposed to their mega-brewery) next. There's a variety of quirky laws in Munich (perhaps Bavaria) and even more long-held traditions that apply to beer. The micro-breweries that exist in the city of Munich itself (there are only three) are only allowed to sell their product on premises. Another quirk is that when the word 'brauhaus' has an umlaut (two dots) over the a, it is a brewery as opposed to somewhere that just serves beer.

The tour finished at the infamous Hofbrau haus. Literally the royal beer hall, in these democratic days it is state owned. Three beers are available: a light (in colour) and dark lager, and wheat beer. The lagers are served by the litre, which is called a 'mass'. The wheat beer in the typical tall 500mI glass. If you ask for your beer in a smaller vessel you'll probably be asked to leave, or given rude looks at best. I had the word 'stein' in my head, which translates as stone: mass is in fact the most common name for that size of beer, usually served in a glass. At festivals they typically serve all liters of beer in a stein. One thing I love about the Hofbrau haus is that something so historical is still being used in such a jovial way. Every night (I'm led to believe) the tables are populated with jolly beer drinkers, yet it's history and traditions continue, too. Above many tables is hanging a symbol, for example the German Post emblem. No table can be reserved, but when local drinkers belonging to that particular group come in, they can kick anyone off their table. They typically drink out of their own lidded stein, which has been passed down the generations and is kept on the premises in a locker type system. This costs the owner a few Euro a year, but to keep their place they need to drink there a minimum number of days a week! I love this, it's like even though the feudal system is long gone, a form of drinking royalty continues.

I ticked off another grand tradition the following morning (no, not in the same session as the night before), when I had a weisswurst and weiss beer. This has to be consumed before midday. I had it in the altmarkt in the centre of town, a really nice (albeit touristy and expensive) market area. They have a series of tables set up here, which go by the same traditions as those in the beer gardens. One is that you can bring your own food if you want, as long as you are drinking something from the nearby stalls. Also all tables are communal, so you just ask politely if you can join a group, and they give you a nod and you join them. It sounds so simple, but we could learn so much from this. In Australia, a beer garden seems to me to be merely where the smokers go to drink. The Bavarians even have a law for their beer gardens, stating that all gardens must be shaded by chestnut trees. Nice. Another really nice beer garden I visited was the Hofbrau Keller.

From Munich I caught a train to Freising, only about 20km north. From there, it's a short stroll up to Weihenstephan - home to the World's oldest brewery (1040). Aside from that title, they just happen to be one of my favourite breweries - their wheat beers are fantastic. I got to join their tour for free, as it was in German, but it was great just to see such a historic place. The technology they employ now, of course, is state of the art.

Next stop was Bamberg, which I was also visiting primarily on account of their beer culture. The city itself is a beautiful place - the entire old town is UNESCO world heritage listed. It was much more peaceful here than Munich, and I happily spent four nights.

Bamberg is a beer centre on many accounts. Most hops and malt put in Munich beers (and probably most of German brews) come from the region. It is home to one of the most famous malteries in the World, Weyermann Specialty Malts. Just in town there are EIGHT breweries. Two of these produce a beer that Bamberg is famous for - rauch (smoke) beer. A smokiness is imparted from the barley being malted over a fire of beechwood.

It certainly wasn't a party town, but for the beer lover it's a real pleasure to be able to walk between breweries and drink some beer which has travelled all of 20m from where it was brewed. Along with some hearty German fare, of course. Most of he breweries are quite old and thus housed in beautiful historic buildings, but when the weather is nice, several of them also have nice gardens.

One day there I got a train out to 'Anna fest', a festival in nearby Forcheim, with a couple of Brits. Unfortunately it was raining, but it was nice to see the locals in their element. It was a fun afternoon, but i'm against drinking beer by the litre. Its dangerous. I was much more a fan of appreciating all the different Bamberg beers at my own pace in their beautiful brew houses.

To the hills!

As mentioned, I was getting tired of cities and their offerings. I'd previously decided to make a bee-line for the hills, so I grabbed a ride with Adam and Dez aboard Norm north of Budapest, in the general direction of the Tatra mountains. We didn't make it too far before pulling up and having a tripe porkault ('goulash') for dinner. Apparently it was the only thing they were doing on the menu (it was a Sunday evening). The sauce was pretty tasty - but I tell you I'm sick of tripe; it's so bland.

We didn't make it so far the next day either - Norm was leaking oil, and the call was made to stay put and get it fixed. Ever faithful and dependant friend that I am, I dissed A&D and hit the road. A local bus took me to the border, which I then walked across into Slovakia. I hitched to the next town with a bus terminal, got another local bus to somewhere else I can't remember the name of, then managed to get on a regional bus which took me within a reasonable distance of my target. There wasn't an onward train for several hours though, so after a quick language lesson from the friendly lady at the station, I had tea across the road, before getting a train to Poprad - target reached. My good luck continued when the owners of the full hostel let me stay in their apartment, along with another ring in. They were a friendly bunch, and even after such a long and tiring day, I was happy to have a glass of Slovak white and a game of Yahzee before bed.

By the next afternoon my bag was packed and I was on my way up into the High Tatras. They're a mountain range that straddle the border between Poland and Slovakia, described in one guide I read as the most significant European range outside of the Alps. I headed up to a relatively low mountain hut for the night. Compared to unstaffed NZ alpine huts, I always find it amusing being able to purcase a hot meal and a TAP beer at these places. I saw some guys walking up to these huts wih a keg on their backs, attached by an uncomfortable looking contraption. No wonder these Eastern European countries crank out such hard alpinists.

I continued up the valley the following morning, rising out of pine forests to a beautiful elevated meadow, before another climb to a 'proper' high hut. It was hot in the sun, but the refreshment provided by the multitudes of pristine alpine meltwater is perhaps enough to thank the heat for providing such an opportunity. My path took me over and through a few valleys by means of col's, no peaks or ridges, but the surrounding terrain was quite precipitous, the distant terrain lush and green, and I was happy to be there. I ended up putting in a long hard day, in able to set myself up well for an ascent the following day: about 11hours in total. It was a nice surprise to have the company of a Czech girl for the last hour down to the hut - she'd lived in NZ for a few years.

Another relatively luxurious accomodation for the night - I even had a shower! I can't complain about the availability of grog at these places. It's incredibly refreshing to have a cold beer after a day in the sun. It's also easy to justify after a day of excercise, and I like to think that a drink or two helps the body relax and muscles recover during the night!

Next on the cards was an ascent of Rysy (2499m), which went down easily enough in the morning. Rysy lies on the Slovak/Polish border, and they have a little office up there in which I had to purchase a visa. Only kidding. Though few years previous, when things were less 'Shengened', they apparently used to monitor border crossings in the mountains.
Soon after starting my descent into Poland, some bad weather came in. The chains in place provided some piece of mind in the wet, though it also meant I was in the queue. But I was just glad to be on my way down. To my wonder, though not my surprise, plenty of people were still on their way up. Never mind that they wouldn't be able to see anything; someone had been killed by lightning just a day or two previous on an adjacent range.

Once the clouds parted way, the view was magnificent, two stunning lakes framed by steep walls either side. I was still glad to get to the hut and dry out though. It had been anoher reasonably big day, with the last half at a decent pace to get out of the rain. The hut was chockas - I hadn't realised it was so accessable. Even the Pope had been to the place! And apparently Lenin had once ascended Rysy.... I tucked into a Bigos (polish stew) and had a siesta.

The next morning I was up reasonably early and on another trail up. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and I was almost alone on the track. When I got to the little summit, I had it to myself, and enjoyed a second breakfast while admiring the views. I was back on the border, and in all directions the valleys were dotted with alpine lakes. From here I made a long descent, all the way back to a road (via another 'bigos'), then on a bus back to Poprad. I'd decided to call it after four days - not only were my knees a little sore from not being in condition, most other huts were full up. It seems in Europe it's very difficult to get away from the masses.

Bulgaria to Budapest

My wake up in Bulgaria would rate among one of my worst in memory. I was perhaps 2 hours into a relatively deep sleep after a problematic night, when I was woken up and told to get off the bus - we were in Plovdiv. It was about 4am, I was as close to being asleep as you can be whilst appearing to be awake, I was in a new country in which I couldn't decipher any of their Cyrillic script, nor did I have any of their currency, but to top it all off, I really needed to visit the mens room - bad.

Whadayaknow, I pulled through it ok though. First stop, a 24hr gaming room to use their toilet. Then a hotel to leave my bag at. Then some money, a 24hr fast food joint for a breakfast burger and some basic language tutelage, and things were looking up! The old town of Plovdiv, on top of one of their 'seven hills' was really beautiful, with some nice period homes, and an old roman amphitheater to boot. I also found amusing what appeared to be an old amphitheater sunk into the middle of the main pedestrian way in the 'new' centre. Apparently they'd dug it up by accident during a construction project. By the time business had started for the day, I felt I'd just about seen enough of the town. I was starting to realise at this point that I couldn't justify staying in every town and city with history I passed through. Quite frankly, I was getting a bit sick of the same thing (history!), and felt that the sooner I got to some mountains for a bit of nature, the better. And so by around midday I found myself on a bus to Sofia.

My only sightseeing in Sofia was wandering past the government buildings and their big orthodox church. I'm not sure whether the likeness of the orthodox churches I saw to mosques came from the prominence of domes, or from them once being the other and then converted by a conquering empire. Anyway, it was big and beautiful, but just another church. Travelling through these regions that have seen so much conflict and shifts in power, I can't help but question whether religion has had more negative consequences than positive. The bus driver in Croatia pointed out that a church four times as large as that which had been destructed had been built, while people still lived in substandard housing. All around here the churches are big and beautiful, even ones that are still being constructed have so much marble and other materials going into them I can't even fathom how much it would be worth. Meanwhile, there is still a lot of poverty around. In Australia I think you'd have to really stretch your imagination to think of a large conflict on the basis of religion, but over here I don't think it's too far fetched an idea - even still, after all the 'lessons' learnt. Of course many may deny it having anything to do with religion, but it all depends on how you define ethnicity and peoples beliefs.

In the evening, rather than go out alone (it was a very quiet - but lovely and peaceful - hostel that I was staying in), I joined Julia, whose first day it was working at the hostel, and her friend in going to the movies. Don't laugh - we saw that Twilight movie. Rest assured, our intent from the beginning was merely to have a laugh, both at the movie and the teenage girls enamoured with whatever stupid facet of the it. The people responsible for making such crap (I can only speak for the movie - I've never read the books) should have to answer to a committee on what is a tasteful way to raise the youth.

I searched out a brewpub afterwards to sample their brew - it was refreshing to have an ale after so many lagers, but it wasn't fantastic. The chicken and mushroom pizza I got on the way home (to complement my dinner thus far of ice cream, pop corn and ale), made by two chatty (read: distracted) fat ladies, I was expecting to be an overcooked abomination, but it was absolutely fantastic. For lunch the next day I again searched out a recommended establishment. The 'Nun's salad' I had (a mix of all the good stuff really - cheese stuffed peppers, purée eggplant, etc) was excellent. I now had an inkling as to why Kalina, back in Aus, is known to make the most superb salads - it's in her blood!

I got a night train from Sofia to Belgrade, Serbia, then the following night another sleeper from Belgrade to Budapest, Hungary. In such heat, it was an immense pleasure to stick my head out the window as the train started moving, an immediate shift from feeling like I was about to shut down, to feeling that everything will actually be splendid. I slept pretty well each night - it was a much better way of travelling than by bus.

It was hot in Belgrade. Everywhere had been stinking hot. People were quick to point out that as an Australian, I should be more than used to it, but I couldn't stand it. Honestly, to add to my list of things that make me less Australian (such as a complete disregard for footy), I can add that I'm a cold weather person. I was getting more sick of the heat than I can convey here - to me, it was debilitating. Anyway, my day in Belgrade was really about drinking the coldest thing possible, over as long as time as possible, and ALWAYS walking on the side of the street that was in the shade. I at least had some company in another traveller performing the same train journies as myself. Belgrade wasn't overly interesting to me. You'd have to tell me I was in the old town for me to know it. The nicest part was the old fort, inside of which is a largely green area, a free public space overlooking the Danube.

Budapest seemed like a much more happening place than Belgrade, and it is certainly a more beautiful place. Not nearly as cheap though. I stayed at a hippy hostel (sorry, here's another wide ranging slur, but sometimes I feel like full on hippies are as misguided as staunch capatalists that believe we humans are not having an ill effect on the Earth) which I couldn't get into until later in the morning. It felt like the kind of place where getting up before midday is frowned upon. They were a good bunch of people thouh, owners and guests. I got to lie down for some further shut eye after my two night trains, then by midday I was up and at 'em. Wandering along the banks of the Danube a few hours later, I was as surprised as they come to see Adam and Dezarae walking along the bank towards me. We'd planned on meeting up in Budapest, but neither of us had been in touch since arriving so it was by complete chance that we crossed paths.

We pulled up a couple of chairs on the footpath of a quiet street and enjoyed a refreshing beer. Whilst there, a motorcade rider stopped at the intersection with the main road nearby. Expecting some foreign dignitry to come through, we were greeted by a procession of skaters. I thought it was great to see policeman blocking the road for skaters: for some (ridiculous) reason there's always been a stigma between cops and skaters. After some further wandering we had a nice dinner sampling some Hungarian fare - no 'goulash' though (what we call goulash they call porkolt - proper 'gulyas' is actually more like a soup). I think the highlight of a huge share plate of roast pork was actually the crispy roast potatoes underneath, drenched in pork fat as they were. After getting back to the hostel, I went out to a pretty sweet garden bar with a few fellow guests, but I was not in the mood, partly in anticipation of an early rise the following day so as to see a bit more of Budapest before leaving wih A&D in Norm, so I left after one mojito.

Sorry, but I must make a mention of my guts

I left Istanbul on a bus, and went to Çanakkale, on the eastern peninsula of the Dardanelles, oposite the Gallipoli Peninsula. The few buses I did go on in Turkey were of excellent quality. Always an attendant (or two) as well as the driver, serving basic drinks and sometimes some snacks. They even have wifi! They had screens in the backs of seats as well, but I didn't watch any movies as they were dubbed not subtitled.

I headed back across the Dardanelles the next morning, to Eceabat, where I decided to scrap the guided tour of the battlefields and cemeteries and go it myself. I got a 'dolmus' (a kind of shared taxi which leaves when full - I love that the name basically means 'stuffed' - think dolma / dolmades) to the museum, which was a complete waste of money, then proceeded to walk into the park, where there's no public transport. It was a hot day, and I covered a lot of k's, but I felt I was taking a lot more in than the people passing by in cars and buses. I visited a few of the cemeteries, ANZAC and Turkish, a few of the landmarks where some of the fiercest battles took place, then walked down to the coastline and along to ANZAC Cove.

Here I went for a swim. Apart from being refreshing on such a hot day, it also happened to be in the same spot that the ANZACs made their first landing all those years ago. The sea was lapping up against the beach, and foremost in my mind was how the sea had being doing thus for such a long time, irrespective of human indifferences. Ninety five years previous those gently breaking waves would have been washing bodies up on the beach and the swell and currents would have been slowly dispersing the blood.

I find it hard to connect with the events that occured on Gallipoli during that time. I have no family members that were involved. People talk about a visit being a pilgrimage of sorts for Australians and Kiwis. It is the most remarkable military event in our history so far, and I think there's something in that to do with using it to give our young nation a bit stronger sense of identity. There are no signs of the terrible things that happened at Gallipoli other than the cemeteries and memorials; the dense, tough scrub could be found in many places like it (it reminded me a bit of the 'maquis' on Corsica). So it's all in the head, really, going there and remembering. 'Lest we forget' - forget what? Countless people have died in atrocities the world round - it's terrible, but I think it's most important to remember how purposless the loss was, and ensure it never happens again.

Now to change the topic completely. Around the time I got a Çanakkale my downloads, shall I say, started to become less solid. The morning after my visit to Gallipoli (and the watching of the World Cup final following that) I was lucky to have a half day lazing around the quiet hostel I was staying at before I got on my next bus. The reason I bring this is up, isn't to raise pity for my situation, but to point out something I found very ironic. In Turkey, you see, the food is so great, but in Australia we'd probably classify it as 'junk' food. Ugh, I hate using that term, but it is - all fast, fairly greasy - but honestly, it's all such great quality. The thing is, there was little else I could eat, even if I wanted to, that may have been easier on my guts.

Either way, I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of trying as many different foods as I could. The evening I got to Edirne, I went straight to a recommended 'ciğerci'. Edirne is famous for their ciğer, which are livers (typically calf I believe) battered and deep fried in sunlower oil. In a ciğerci, the only you choose is what to drink, and whether you will have soup as a starter. Otherwise, without fail you will be brought bread, a plate with sliced tomato and dry roasted yellow peppers (awesome!) on it, and a plate of ciğer. It was so good, I had it the two evenings I spent in Edirne. I also had a cheese burek for breakfast, and a doner kebap for lunch. See - good food for an upset stomach!

I also visited the Selimiya Mosque in Edirne. Also designed by the revered Turkish architect Sinan, he himself proclaimed it to be his masterpiece. I went inside, in between prayer times as it is a functioning mosque (as opposed to Aya Sofia). It was an incredible structure - I think what struck me most about the place was the symmetry; how every nook and cranny seemed to be exactly as desired. I didn't do too much else in Edirne, but it was a pleasant city to wander in.

I left Edirne to get a night bus over the border to Plovdiv, Bulgaria. It ended up being one of those chains of events where everything seems to go wrong. I think I got ripped off by the taxi when I was told there was no more dolmuses going to the place where I was to meet the bus (which did not stop right in Edirne, being an exress from Instanbul). Apparently. Then the bus didn't even stop at the hotel/sercive station complex where I was waiting! Someone saw me slightly distressed (when I watched a Metro bus drive right pass) and bundled me onto another bus, so that I could meet that very Metro bus as the border and jump on. Lucky. Unfortunately though, it had me leaving Turkey in bad spirits.

Istanbul

Leaving Adam and Dez in Bar, Montenegro, I jumped on an overnight bus to Ohrid, Macedonia. The beers we had whilst watching the football before the bus didn't help me sleep as planned. My eyes were closed for most of the trip though, so I didn't see anything of Albania.

Ohrid, my first taste of Macedonia, was a pretty, old town on Lake Ohrid, which connects Macedonia with Albania and Greece. There's not much one can do at 5:30am, so I just wandered around until I eventually found a little cafe that opened earlier than the rest, and accepted my euros. I needed, and indeed ordered a coffee, but the local men were sitting around drinking their tea. This was the first time I saw this kind of hanging serving platter: the owner would load it up with tea and coffee, then jump on his bike dangling the platter wih one hand to go and deliver them, presumably to other shop owners starting their day. A nice community feel.

I jumped on a bus that afternoon to Skopje, capital of Macedonia, where all I did was have a good feed. The highlight was a kind of cottage cheese cooked in a dish with capsicum, tomato, 'erbs and an egg on top. I then got straight back on another bus, this one being an overnighter to Istanbul. I actually slept quite well on this journey, though if I learnt a lesson from spending two nights on buses, it's to change my underwear in between journeys; or at least wear something more comfortable than jocks.

Would I have done anything else on my first day in Turkey other than get a kebap? Of course not! Just a basic one, for 2TL, chicken on a roll with tomato, lettuce and seasoning. I'm sure there's entire websites dedicated to the kebap, so while I like the idea of speaking all day about the kebap, I'm not going to spend the time researching it. I can at least tell you about the ones I had though. A great, chilli chicken kebap in pide, another chicken in pide, and an 'iskender' (aka Bursa) kebap, which is a doner kebap on a plate with tomato sauce and yoghurt on top - this one was a bit dissapointing actually, but the venue I chose was the reason. Holy cow! Only 4 kebaps! Well, I'm obviously going to have to sample a couple more doner kebaps before I leave Turkey. I should perhaps make a quick comparison of the kebaps I had to their Australian counterparts. In Australia the 'kebab' is always enormous - I can only justify eating them when I'm sloshed - where as those I've had here are a more sensible size. Also, the meat I've had, and especially seen here, seems to me a much better quality than the uniform density doner meat in Aus - here you can always see the layers of actual meat.

Ok, so where to start with Istanbul? Again, you can do your own research, but it's a city of close to 20 million. It straddles the continents of Europe and Asia. It's been around for aaiiiges, was once the capital of the Byzantine empire until the Ottomans took it and made it the capital of theirs. How can anyone possibly absorb all that history?

Istanbul is expensive, at least compared to the Western Balkans I had been travelling through. I spent a fortune in one day seeing three of the main sites. That's a poor way to talk about such amazing places though - first of all was Topkapı Palace, home to the Ottoman Sultans for centuries. The interior was beautiful, with a lot of tiles, in particular delft tiles, indicating a progression towards Western influences. The 'Summer Pavilion' was also the place where the Crown Princes were circumcised - I loved the contrast! The court of the concubines was less interesting to look at than to think about the goings on. I believe one Sultan fathered more than 100 children! One highlight for me was seeing the Imperial Council, where the Ottoman Viziers held heir meetings, and the metal grill up on the wall behind which the Sultan sat and observed. I'd heard about this grill, this place, where so many shaping events in the Ottomans history had taken place. It was amazing to think about how all those things happened, right there, just a few hundred years ago!

The Basilica cistern, built by emperor Justinian in the 6th century, was a nice cool place to visit in the heat of the day. Amazing that something built so long ago, had been used to store the cities water for so long, and is still in such good condition today. Also built by Justinian was the Aya Sofya, originally as a church, then converted into a mosque, it was then converted into a museum by Ataturk. I've never been inside anything like it. The enormity of the main dome and the whole inner space just takes your breath away. On another day, I headed out to the Chora church museum, which had some pretty gnarly Byzantine mosaics - which had been covered up by plaster for hundreds of years when it was converted into a mosque.

While out at Chora, I treated myself to a fancy lunch at a restaurant called Asitane. They claim to have carried out extensive studies of traditional Ottoman cuisine, and go about recreating them. Some stuffed vine leaves (with sour cherries - is that what made them Ottoman?) were average - not worth their price. But the main, a melon half stuffed with mince, rice, almonds, pine nuts and currants, was fantastic, especially the cooked bits of melon sitting beside. Other meals of note included a couple of fish sandwiches down by the water, on the 'Golden Horn' - apparently an Istanbul institution. Fresh fish, grilled, chucked on a roll with some onion and lettuce - excellent. There are plenty of veges around, which I found great, but the problem for vegetarians is they are always served with meat!

I never got to a 'meyhane', where mezes and raki are the order of the day, but I did drink enough raki to determine it's just a Turkish version of ouzo, pastis, or any other aniseed liquor out there. One raki fuelled night started with some expats I met in a brew pub, in which I was ostensibly sheltering from the downpour outside. One member of the party was an expat Yank, who co-ownded a hostel in Istanbul - he'd been living there for five years on tourist visas, walking across the border to Greece and back every three months! We ended up at a bar with some great live music. It was (I guess) somewhat traditional, but they were all young musicians, obviously passionate, and had a great energy about them. At one stage they sung in that wavering way in which the call to prayer is made five times a day. It really captured me, as did hearing the call to prayer, though I'm sure it would wear thin after awhile.

One morning I jumped on a ferry, and for little more than a dollar crossed the Bosphorous from Europe to Asia. Cool! I searched out a recommended coffee shop, where I had a mastic turkish coffee (interesting) and also a regular turkish, also good. The Turks don't actually drink much turkish coffee - they appear to prefer their black tea, çay. It is always served in little tulip shaped, stemless glasses. My guts decided they weren't overly happy with me in Asia, so after walking through the neighbourhoods north to another terminal, I got a ferry back to Europe and chilled out awhile. In the evening I visited the çemberlitaş hammam, which was designed by Sinan, a famous Turkish architect who also designed the Süleymaniye Mosque among many other things. I received a vigorous scrub down by a Turkish man, followed by a wash (with a lot of bone cracking, the good sort) then a massage. I'd never felt cleaner! It was a fabulous way to wind down after a couple of busy days.

On the road with Norm

Norm has a chequered past. He originates from the UK; I'm not sure of his precise lineage but he is of the Ford family. His recent history is quite tumultuous, in particular the replacement of his engine in Port Grimaud, France.

I was pleased to make the acquaintance of Norm in Zadar. He provided plenty of comfort with 3 of us on board. He wasn't a huge fan of the hills though. The Bastow-pioneered way of travelling up inclines was to 'just tractor'. It was actually a real pleasure to pop him into 2nd gear and just mosey on up the hills.

Norm sure saw some great scenery in the last coupla weeks we were travelling together. The Adriatic coast was breathtaking; one could not decide whether to gaze out to sea or look up into the precipitous mountains.

The back road from Sarajevo to Dubrovnik was a real gem. It started with a AU$0.60 espresso (for serious). It continued through a series of luscious green valleys, speckled with limestone cliffs and outcrops, then opened up into some 'proper' mountains, some with snow atop. Norm was happy uphill as long as he was just tractoring. I was astounded by the scenery. I had no expectations - all I knew about Bosnia was the little I knew about its conflicts - so I was taken away with the beauty of the countryside. At a roadside lunch stop I looked at all the ridgelines above me, and I though how great it would be to go hiking here. No crowds, and much cheaper than Western Europe. The daydreams were somewhat quelled by the ongoing existence (so we had been told) of land mines in Bosnia.

Down out of the mountains, a policeman in the form of a Bosnian Jean-Claude Van Damme pulled us over, eventually pointed to my bare feet and the front of he car, and asked for 20€. When I walked over to their car with a 50 in my hand, he pulled an enormous wad of cash out of his wallet (is that your lunch money officer?), and got 30€ change ready. I proceeded to ask for a slip of paper, hoping they'd either not bother wih the bribe whoops I mean fine at all, or at least make it legit. They deliberated for some time, wrote me a slip of paper, and instructed us to go back to the Gacko post office to pay. Which we did: 15€, the correct conversion. During this time, they also felt the need to keep all three of our passports.

Returning to the police on the road, said BJCVD was going nuts and pointing at the front of the car. We had no idea what we was banging on about, but eventually figured out that our lights had not been on when they should have been. Well, this finally explained one half of the initial fine, but now they wanted to fine us again for the same offence! I just sat by their car, acted polite as I could, and sat there moving my hands and pointing and all that, until he eventually gave back our passports and told us to keep going. All in all, a loss of and hour or two's time, but at least we injected 15€ into the Bosnian economy rather than pay for a months worth of coffees for BJCVD and co.

Down at Dubrovnik, we paid a fortune for the only camp ground around, but I would not have skipped a visit of Dubrovnik's old town for anything. Dubrovnik is an absolute jewel. As Branka had suggested, right up there with Venice. They seemed similar to me in several ways: absolutely lovely, but I couldn't spend too much time there unless I was rolling in cash, and there with a partner. Dubrovnik fended off the Ottoman Turks, and many other aggressors, for centuries, and remained its own city state for a remarkable amount of time. When you see the city walls it's easy to imagine how they managed this. I sweet talked my way into a heavily discounted student ticket, and spent a couple of hours circling the walls.

The following days were spent at a more relaxed pace, with another night in the south of Croatia, before entering Montenegro. We knew nothing about Montenegro, but all three of us thought that they seemed a mostly unhappy (outwardly, at least) people. A few of them did open and smile once we talked a bit. There is obviously a huge amount of money going into Montenegro. This is evidenced in all the buildings popping up. We drove straight through the larger town of Budva - it looked disgusting. Any charm it may have had is being eaten up by the consumers desire for more, bigger, better. By chance, we happened across a lovely little campground away from all the Paris Hilton look at me's, where we spent a couple of nights. It was holiday mode - lazing around at the rocky beach, with all the Montenegrans, Serbs and their deck chairs. We saw next to no foreigners in Montenegro; most other countries have plenty of travelling Euro's in them (e.g. Germans on the Croatian coast!)

From Montenegro it was time to say farewell to Norm, and thus Adam and Dezarae also. We'd only been together for about ten days, but on account of them being held up for four weeks to mend Norm, they'd missed out on more of central Europe than they would have liked. So while they are ferrying over to Italy, I am continuing east.

A change of mode

Falling in with Adam and Dez meant that we were now all travelling in 'Norm', which they'd driven thus far from the UK. We took it very easy on our first day together - they'd been on the move for a few days, covering a lot of ground in order to catch up with me. Adam and I went for a long stroll throuh the little village we were in, observing how just about every house was growing a combination of produce. A swim in the sea was a nice prelude to dinner, which was cooked in Norm and complimented well with some drinks I'd brought with me for the occasion.

We made three stops on our first day on the road. Zadar was a beautiful place, set on a mostly flat island, but was very touristy. Sibenik was a gem, a conglomerate of narrow laneways on a fairly steep hillside. We caught a boat that night from our camp site across to Trogir. Trogir was similar to Zadar in being an old city on a flat island, but to me had a lot more charm. The laneways were narrower and less grand. We had a nice dinner that night, ostensibly for Dezarae's birthday, the highlight of which was a black (squid ink) risotto. It's on the menu all down this Adriatic coast, but one we had more recently proved how bad they can be.

Split was next on the itinerary, the major city of the region. In the centre of town is an old palace that dates back to the roman era. It's quite well preserved, and was a pleasant place to stroll around within. I got some dried figs from the market - they use beam balances and weights to weigh everything! A nice touch, but I'm sure many a tourist gets stung.

We stayed at a camp ground right by the water, not far south of Split. It really is an incredible coastline. The sea is punctuated with islands and jutting peninsulas, then turn around and limestone mountains rise up hundreds of metres, often in striking ridge lines and sheer cliffs.

We went away from the sea after this. The morning started with another sour cherry strudel - they're everywhere, and fantastic. Then we crossed the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina. First stop was Mostar, which had a beautiful old centre - though a lot of it is rebuilt. Shrapnel wounds on the buildings are a very common site. It was quite touristy actually, and my thoughts were that seeing something first hand is always different to the opinion you form of somewhere from the media.

In Sarajevo the next day, seeing men cut the grass with a sickle was to me an image and indication of a country still 'catching up'. The tram ride into town was interesting, observing the people as well as the buildings outside, some intact merely covered in shrapnel wounds, others damaged so badly only a skeleton remained, and brand new German car dealerships next to it all.

The city still has a lot of beautiful old buildings, but shrapnel wounds are ubiquitous. Observing all the mosque's, churches and synagogues next to each other goes some way to explaining many of the problems that have arisen in the region. I did a tour that focused on the most recent war, but it didn't provide a great deal of insight. I, of course, went to the place where Franz Ferdinand was assassinated. I saw a couple of Sarajevo Roses, which are particularly large shrapnel wounds in the ground that were filled in with a red resin. Apparently a famous poet labelled the people of Sarajevo as roses. I felt very uncomfortable taking a photo of one of the more public ones - I'm sure a lot of locals would be offended at the tourists interest in such horrible events that were so recent. But personally, I only wish to gain some understanding of what it must have been like, which is a difficult thing, having grown up in such comfort and safety.

Croatia, climbing, and a kitten's best friend

After a few days in Slovenia, the weather proved itself to be the driving force in my decision making. I sadly dropped any ideas of hiking in the Julian Alps, and instead jumped on a train to Croatia. In Zagreb, the capital, I walked my way through the rain to a hostel that was just off the main square.

My hopes of catching some museum/gallery time went down the drain - it was a Monday and most of them were closed. Instead I enacted that favourite pastime of mine. Walking, a lot, or at least until I began to saturate, all around the city. The old city was really beautiful, and could justify a lot more time in better weather. As with so many cities over here, there was a great, indoor market in the centre of town. I had an espresso in a tiny bar in the corner of it. It was all of about 8m2, filled with locals, all of whom were smoking. You can't capture that in a photo.

In the afternoon, a bunch of us from the hostel went to a local brew pub to watch the football. What else to do on a rainy afternoon? The beers were ok, the food hearty, and the company entertaining.

Myself and two Canadians headed to Plitvice lakes the following day. They were quite stunning, but like Iguazu falls, I couldn't help but be put off by the hordes. We chose a longer track, partly to get away from all the people, but found ourselves wondering 'where are these lakes then?'. We were at least following a marked path, but when we finally came over a rise, we were greeted by a view of fields and a few houses rather than any lakes! It ended up being a nice opportunity to stroll amongst some rural Croatian houses; one had their own hams curing outside. It was one of many indicators that people in this part of the world are quite self-sufficient. We made it back to the lakes without too much hassle, and got a bus down to Zadar, on the coast.

The next morning, from where I was staying, I got a local bus to the terminal - but I missed the stop. The bus driver was rather humoured by this, and at the outskirts of town where we had ended up up, pointed out some wartime remnants. A destroyed church there, the tank that most likely did the damage there, bomb shelters there, all amongst peoples houses. He said that though Croatia is now a much improved country, it is only really the youth that are free from the war. Those that were in it, such as himself, who had been injured twice in seven years of service, could not easily forget these things.

After this I managed to make it out to Paklenica national park, where I got a nice view out to the water (and imagined myself overwatching the trade route that went through there in the middle ages, as the sign instructed me to), before heading up to the climbing areas. It was all quite spectacular, steep limestone cliffs rising out of a narrow gorge, and much more to my taste than lakes and cascades. I fell in with a jolly bunch of Bulgarian climbers from Sofia, and got a couple of nice climbs in before hitch hiking back to Zadar.

Back in Zadar, wondering what I would do with myself that evening, I had the pleasant surprise of seeing Adam and Dezarae as I walked out of my room. We had plans of meeting the following day, but they had pushed on through Slovenia to arrive and surprise me that evening.

Never go to Slovenia

I was in a terrible state when I arrived in Ljubljana - whatever throat infection I had had robbed me of my voice. Luckily Branka, a friend I'd met in Argentina, did most of the talking.

My first day there we jumped in the car and drove a whole hour to Trieste, Italy. A 1€ mortadella roll from the supermarket was as enjoyable a lunch one could ask for, and a macchiato afterwards from one of illy's own cafe's (they're based in Trieste) was the best I'd had since leaving Aus. I must confess that the coffee's I was getting in Melbourne before I left, and what I get from my favourite cafe's in Sydney, are far superior to my taste buds to what I've had so far over here. But with this point it must be remembered that where I had been getting coffee's in Aus were the 'crema de la caffe' - the typical coffee's from these places was very rich, syrupy espresso, where as the roasts over here (so far) have been more mellow and rounded. And before anyone feels the need to attack me over the above comments, I think an important difference to note is that you're likely to get crap coffee in an overwhelming majority of cafe's in Aus, where as in Italy the median coffee quality is going to be satisfactorily high. The price of coffee also reflects a more historical, ingrained coffee culture in many of these euro countries, where you can get an espresso for around AU$1.50 - this should be ubiquitous.

We only had a short wander around Trieste. The piazza was quite grand, but the waters edge was mediocre, the city's prominence as an inustrial port city shining through.

Next stop was Koper, back in Slovenia, all of about 10 minutes away. It's another old Venician city, yet distinctly different for all of it's proximity to Italy. Of note was that it used to be an island but is now connected to the mainland. The main, old town consists of three main streets - I walked most of the city in 2 hours - but it's really lovely, all narrow, winding cobblestone lanes.

Only slightly further down the coast, we parked the car and walked around to Piran, another of Slovenia's three coastal towns. It was absolutely beautiful. Of course it was touristy, but only slightly so, it felt very casual and relaxed. We grabbed some take aways and enjoyed a beer up on the hill by an old citadel, with a view to the Italian coast line in one direction and the Croatian coast in the other. Seafood for dinner, right by the water, wasn't exorbidantly priced at all, and it went down well with some local Malvazija.

In Ljubljana, Branka's place was only 10 mins stroll from the city centre, which itself is only 20 mins walk across. It's a beautiful little city, with an extremely laid back casual feel - a rarity amongst European capitals - though it's population is only around 200,000. It just has such a great atmosphere, with plenty of bars lining the river; there are also some wonderful markets that are a fixture every day of the week. I can also say that I have never seen a greater concentration of beautiful women anywhere else in my life.

We went for a short day trip to Bohinj where I refused to pay 2.50€ to see a natural waterfall in a national park, but some barley stew 'with sausages' for lunch - a traditional Slovene alpine dish - was fantastic. Lake Bled was spectacular, but unfortunately the sun was nowhere to be seen. We watched Slovenia play USA in Bled. I particularly noted that noone clapped when USA scored - read what you will into that.

And that was pretty much Slovenia. I would have stayed longer for some hiking in their beautiful alps, but the weather has been incredibly average, so instead I've gone to Zagreb, capital of Croatia, for some culture (yes, I am having beers with a concentration of anglophiles). I am indebted to Branka, for putting my sick self up and showing me such a great side of Slovenia. So - Slovenia in summary? Well, you can't beat it really. An eclectic mix of Mediterranean, Continental and Balkan/Eastern Europe, all of which it borders. It's so nice and quiet compared to everything else 'round here'. So make sure you tell everyone, never go to Slovenia, stay well away, and it may maintain some of it's charm.

Ever the optimist

I flew with Air China from Sydney to Frankfurt. The flight was surprisingly cheap, especially given the time of year, and the fare also included one stopover in Beijing. Arriving in Shanghai, we were lucky enough to spend a substantial amount of time on our feet thanks to a requirement of having to go through customs, rather than simply transferring straight through.

Our good luck streak continued when we were given the opportunity to watch the start of the Socceroos vs Germany game. This came about because rather than jump straight back on the same plane we'd arrived on and set off within the planned hour transfer time, we were delayed by seven hours due to inclement weather in Beijing, our next port of call. I didn't see the whole game, but did get to see the second goal, which will surely be one of the best goals of the Cup.

This delay meant I missed my connecting flight to Frankfurt. Dealing with Air China was a pain. Several of us had been booked through on the same flight to Frankfurt. Your typical airline would notify you before you disembark what you have to do in order to continue on, but not Air China, oh no. I could say though that the headache involved in dealing with the uncommunicative Air China was good preperation for what to expect upon my return to China in August.

Given a further eight hours to wait until the next flight to Frankfurt was a perfect opportunity to really appreciate the architecture of Beijing airport. It really is an incredible space. I got a quite comprensive view of most aspects of it in the hours wandering and sitting. Some congee went down a treat, too.

By the time I got on my flight to Frankfurt I was beginning to realise that 30 hours of air conditioning (and counting) is not good for us humans. I like to think that this observation merely furthered my preference for the natural world over the built environment. I should point out that my time at Beijing airport also gave me a chance to go outside and breathe some, uh, smog.

Not having my own movie screen for the 10 hour leg to Frankfurt provided an opportunity to draft this post. Great.

I won't say anything about the disgusting consumeristic nature of all the airports I went through, because that would just put too negative a spin on this post. Nothing positive I can say about it really. Maybe: "good to see the economy's going strong!"

And then Germany. Ah, familiarity. How easy it was to be here, just another western country where most people speak English. How lazy of me! It's brought back the 'language guilt' though - I hate having to ask everyone if they speak my language, seeing as I don't speak theirs.

I spent the night in Frankfurt. At a comfortable hostel a stones throw from the station. My perception that euro hostels are full of Australian guys who's primary interests whilst travelling are getting drunk and picking up, reinforced while at the reception/bar, was somewhat dispelled when I discovered my room mates to be a South African teacher and a German fella who was jetting off the following morning to St Petersburg for a chess tournament. Out on the street, World Cup fever was evident at all the bars, each one of which had a TV facing onto their outdoor seating. I liked that the Turkish restaurant was broadcasting Turkish commentary, the French hangout French (bien sur!) and I think I saw an Italian joint at one point.

I'm now staying with a friend in Ljubljana (Solvenia) after getting a train here from Frankfurt. It feels good, after three days in transit, to actually feel like I'm at the start of my trip.

A year in a minute or two

Following straight on from my last post: was a period of rest and recuperation. I had two physio appointments a week for around 3 months. I couldn't do much - at all - which I was ok with. In hindsight I didn't read nearly enough books. One highlight was when the scar was healed enough to actually submerge my hand in water and give it a good wash - several weeks without washing a body part is a long time. Now, it's back to more or less normal, albeit with quite a scar. I tried tying my shoe one handed the other day but failed - it's amazing how quickly some things are forgotten.

Being back in Sydney gave me a chance to be inducted to The Epic BBQ. It is an event that has turned into something of a tradition, involving a BBQ at Kim and Lyndal's house where all guests are asked to bring something, be it anything of their choosing from a dish to cocktail ingredients, along for everyone to try. No, it doesn't turn into a day of degustacion, but is much more reminiscent of La Grande Bouffe - minus the hookers.

I've been getting into my beer much more than my food in the last year. I've steadily been working my way through a plethora of interesting craft beers, mostly from Aus and NZ but also abroad, and I have also started home brewing. So far so good - but there's so much more to be learnt, and much improvement to be made. At times I almost wish I could get rid of the beer quicker so that I can justify a new batch (anyone want to share my company and my home brew? I can't just palm the beer off alone....)

Once my hand hit the three month mark, I was given the all clear to get back climbing again. I haven't gotten as much in as I would have liked, but have still had plenty of great outings.Though with all this beer, food, work and travel interest I find it too easy to forget how pleasurable a day on the rock is.

With my hand mostly mended, I had no more excuses to not be working. I picked up a surveying job with an old employer, close to home, a few days a week. The casual roster suited me, as I still had the odd physio appointment, and was partaking in weekly Spanish lessons to boot. My situation wasn't enlightening, however, and when an opportunity arose to get back to mine surveying, I took it.

It was this work that has kept me busy for about the last twelve months. It was a role which was convenient to me: NSW mine sites, using my registration for mostly short-term work, and a flexible roster. I (in my typically unrealistic, dreamy way) foresaw my time divided evenly between work, climbing, and Sydney. I did get a lot of free time in, which I made the most of with climbing trips, Sydney time, Epic BBQ's, a Melbourne visit; but after awhile, whilst working at a mine near Parkes, I decided that rather than take a holiday, I'd resign and take an extended holiday.

Which brings us to now. I jet off this Sunday, first stop Ljubljana - where I intend to learn how to pronounce the name of Slovenia's capital!