Author: These Two Eyes

These Two Eyeshttp://www.thesetwoeyes.comI believe that experiences are the key to life and travelling shapes those experiences. I try and get away to experience somewhere, something, anything and everything new as often as I can, and it's typically the thought on my mind on a regular basis – so what’s next? Meeting people and hearing their stories, experiencing other cultures, and having a laugh along the way. Trying new food, marvelling at the similarities, the differences. Feeling anxious and scared, and excited and envious all at the same time. This is what it's all about. Thanks for listening to my stories. Eat, drink, explore, meet, laugh...it all makes living worth it.
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Where the beer flows like wine: Margaret River


Take a big whiff. Stick your nose in the glass, hold it by your fingertips and inhale slowly. Using your wrist, twirl the glass around in circles. Take another whiff. Smell different?

Ah, the art of wine tasting. Yes, the likes of France, Italy, California, and Chile all have their appeal but to Australians why would they bother trying such foreign wines when some of the best of the best is in their very own backyard.

I’m lucky that in my short time here (a year and a half already, sheesh) I’ve sampled some fine Shiraz in the Barossa Valley, Semillon in the Hunter Valley, Chardonnays and Pinot Noirs in the Yarra Valley and finally, the Cabernet’s and Sauvignon Blanc’s of Margaret River – with a few others in between of course. It almost seems like no matter where you are in Australia, you’re bound to stumble upon some damn fine wine.

Lucky for me just 3.5 hours drive south of Perth, Western Australia resides the small wine region of Margaret River. A friend from Brisbane was also in Perth the same weekend so it was a no brainer to rent a car for a full fledge road trip to indulge in another yet to be undertaken wine region.

As with everything I’d experienced outside of the city of Perth in WA, the landscape traveling south was barren. Flat farmland stretched for miles with mom and pop service stations scant. Running out of petrol (aka gas) was not an option. Music pumped, windows down with the sun setting over striking vineyards we approached the endearing town of Margaret River.

Interestingly enough, Margaret River is the name of the region, river, and town. And a beautiful region that is, with hiking trails, beautiful beaches and world renowned surf breaks, endless vineyards and more or less one main drag in the center of it all, Bussell Highway. This small and quiet town is consistently invaded by pinky finger sipping tourists and grape picking backpackers. And at the heart of it after a full day of exploring is the main pub in town, Settlers Tavern, as they quote “the kind of pub every wine region should have”.

Lucky for us arriving at about 7:30 pm on a Saturday, coinciding with the AFL (Australia Football League) Grand Final with the Sydney Swans taking the reins, it was off to the Settlers Tavern for some good old fashion pub grub and a taste of some local beer, specifically the quite mild yet delicious Margaret River Pale Ale on tap. The townies were a bit too celebratory so it was back to the hostel where I befriended Hazel from Wales, the boys from northern England who coined me “Alabama” because they couldn’t remember where in America I was from (a first) and a few other locals before eventually making my way back to where all things end, the Settlers Tavern again just a few hours later to rock out to Zarm, a fantastic live Rastafarian band who were as good as Bob Marley himself.

After a very late night it was an early rise to meet Bushtucker Wine Tours to indulge in what we came here for, to taste the fabulous wines of Margaret River. A small group of about 15, it was nice to actually join a tour that was in the vicinity to where we were staying, as opposed to on my excursions having to travel outside of a city, into the country etc. Getting back without having to pee is always a struggle, but thank goodness for Margaret River’s locality, wooh.

Stop 1: Adifern Winery

We approached our first vineyard at about 11 am. I found the tasting very rushed and detached. Being that it was a holiday weekend (strangely it was the Queen’s birthday but not really they just moved it to this Monday randomly) it was quite busy in the area and I felt we were hurried in and out. With that, none of the wines particularly stood out for me, although others on the tour disagreed, so I had my samples and moved on. The property however was beautiful, with bright flowers, endless fields of vines and farm animals roaming.

Before traveling on our guide did something that made me very unhappy at the time. She asked everyone to get on the bus and to sit next to someone they don’t know, introduce yourself, and have a chat until we got to the next place. I was not interested in playing this game one bit, so I sat in the row with the single seat hoping it would save me while I heard my friend Louise chiming away a few rows behind me. In the end I spoke to my neighbor Caitlin, who coincidentally is also from Brisbane and was traveling by herself. Darnist thing, now she’s our friend and we’re organizing dinner parties and making introductions to our groups of friends back in town.

Stop 2: Brookwood Estate

We started the tasting with a sweet yet soft sip of the bubbles. Hmmm, yes I can dig this. Normally I don’t purchase the bubbles but with summer nearly here I envisioned myself sitting in the local park with a glass of these bubbles soaking up the rays with some friends and so I forked over the $30 for a bottle to live out my new fantasy. I was also a strong fan of the Shiraz Cabernet 2010 but at the time only wanted to commit to one, so the bubbles it was.

Unfortunately however I found the staff very rude. While trying to decide, Shiraz/Cab verses bubbles, shiraz/cab verses bubbles, shiraz/cab verses bubbles I was hoping to gain a bit more information about the wines, as I also was purchasing a SSB (Semillon Sauvignon Blanc) for the colleague who’s house I stayed at the week prior, and just found this one staff member’s demeanor downright snooty and unappreciative of my business. In the end I still bought the wines, because they were mighty tasty, however I strongly feel it can’t go unsaid.

But then it was lunch time, wahoo! Sitting out on the veranda looking out over the vineyard I sipped the purchased glass of the aforementioned Shiraz/Cabernet Sauvignon 2010 since it wasn’t coming home with me and indulged in delights such as smoked crocodile, fresh pumpkin bread, and locally crafted chutneys and spreads. It was a bit unique offering of cold tapas but in the end was very satisfying and a great intense mixture of flavors.

Then the fun really began. Our guide offered up the witchetty grub to the group. Say what? Yes, it’s a bug or technically moth larvae and is a traditional provision for Aboriginals. The first person who raised their hand got to choose the head or the tail since it was going to be consumed after being cut in half. Immediately Louise’s hand jumped up, and we looked around the table and realized she was the only one who volunteered to eat the thing. The seconds ticked by as I contemplated if I should take one for the team with my friend, but then just before I braved it another girl in the group jumped in and ate the bit with the head. When asked what it tasted like Louise told us “it’s crunchy but soft inside, tastes like a macadamia nut.” I guess I’ll never know.

Stop 3: Tassell Park

In terms of atmosphere and fun this winery took the cake. It might have been because we’ve already sampled two other wineries, had lunch and therefore I’ve shaken my hangover and sour mood but the overall reason was the hostess. She was fun, educational and gave everyone a laugh and a smile. We tried everything from the lower range all the way to the private bin labels. And although in the balmy weather we ended the tasting with a zesty sampling of mulled wine, I walked out of there with a packet so get ready for a Christmas special recipe!

Stop 4: Cowaramup Brewing Company

Yay, beer break. Cowaramup is another town just a few kilometers outside of Margaret River off of Bussell Highway. If you can’t remember the name, just call it cowabunga like I did. For $14.50 you can get a taster of all the beers on tap, which of course is what we did, and then enjoyed the sun in the green pasture out back where we chatted to some other people on the tour who live in a remote area of Western Australia up near Broome. Nowhere zone.  I could have sat there for hours, taking in the rays, sipping deliciousness from light to dark, enjoying life. But then we had to move on.

Stop 5: Margaret River Dairy Company

I LOVE cheese! Cheese, cheese, cheese. This cute little dairy complex had a just enough room to squeeze us in, sample a few, and my golly the feta and brie were fabulous, make a purchase and head out the door. While Louise scored us some deliciousness to divulge later, I wandered around the property snapping photos. It was a quick stop off, and then we were on our way.

Stop 6: Margaret River Chocolate Factory

Whew, this is a lot of stuff isn’t it? I wasn’t event tempted by the chocolate at this stage. Well, that’s not true, this was probably the busiest place we ventured to all day, as all tours stop here. The chocolate warehouse was huge and had chocolates in all shapes, sizes, flavors etc. There was popcorn and ice-cream and it was a bit like heaven I would imagine. I just found my way to the free samples, which is very generous because you can scoop out the serves yourself, and then was ready to move on to the final stop off.

Stop 7: Thompson Estate

The owner of this last winery, a cardiologist, spoke to us all about the family business. I sipped, and swirled and chatted away as I realized this was my last chance to make a purchase. Their wines consisted of the Thompson Estate Range and the Locum Range, which is the cheaper of two. Interestingly enough, at times I enjoyed the Locum Range better than the more expensive so I walked out of there with a crisp bottle of 2011 Chardonnay, a new variety favorite of mine, to compliment the cheeses we just purchased for an afternoon snack.

We returned to Margaret River Backpackers around 5 and as the weather was fantastic that day we found all of our new friends from the previous evening hanging out back on the porch. Louise and I glowing from our wine tasting saddled up to the table to savor the cheese and wine and tell stories from the day. We found our way back to Settler’s Tavern that evening for dinner and then mingled the night away.

On the drive back to Perth the next morning we took our time on Bussell Highway, having breakfast in “cowabunga” where cow statues line the road before stopping off in Busselton to walk the longest jetty in the southern hemisphere. Families were fishing off the jetty enjoying the Monday holiday in the sun. As we casually made our way closer to the city we realized we made the unforgiving mistake when the gas light ticked on and we needed to find a servo (gas station) fast. Luckily we did, but the stress got tenser as the clocked ticked on, the traffic backed up, and my flight back to Brisbane inched closer and closer. Luckily for me, Louise’s skilled driving dropped me at the Perth Airport a mere 10 minutes before the flight departed, some charming skills convinced the ticket agents to print a boarding pass even though the flight was closed and I rushed through the gates after getting picked on for the bomb swat test, every time! And only to find the flight delayed an hour. Whew. I swear though, walking the longest jetty in the southern hemisphere, 1.8 kilometers across Geographe Bay, sure was worth it.

Dubbya Eyh


These two eyes have expanded. They’re growing wider and wiser. They’ve stretched themselves up and down the east coast, along the southern states and finally made it out west. Hello Western Australia, commonly referred to as WA or more accurately pronounced ‘dubbya eyh’. For some reason though I had ignored all of my own first-rate advice. In fact, it didn’t even register for me until after I boarded the plane that I was embarking on a 5 hour flight and spending 10 days across the country. Slipper socks – fail. Inflatable neck pillow – fail. Camera charger – fail.

On my way to the Perth City YHA hostel my taxi driver chatted to me about Perth. “You’ll talk to everyone around here. Actually, everyone will want to talk to you whether you want to talk or not.” That’s the perception about out west. The population is scarce, and backwards, and slow, and friendly. But that’s about it. Or so they say.

I joined Pinnacles Tours for a full day adventure outside of the city of Perth, heading north into the vast emptiness. This is what I had pictured rural Australia to look like. Driving through the bush, our bus rumbling over flat orange-colored dusted roads, miles of nothingness, no cars in sight, no street lights or intersections, just random clusters of yellow flowers hugging the way.

Joey in the pouch

Our first stop was to Caversham Wildlife Park. As with most tours, no itinerary would be complete without feeding a kangaroo and giving a koala a light pat. So as you do, I did. But this time around I experienced two firsts. I actually saw a little Joey inside a mama kangaroo’s pouch. And although that sounds all cute and cuddly and picturesque, it really was quite awkward. Poor little guy just had one leg sticking out and was sort of in there upside down. To each their own I guess. The other first was that I pet a southern hairy nose wombat. But then, that’s when my camera died.

Koalas are not bears.

My wombat friend

On our way to Nambung National Park and Cervantes, we passed wind farms that sustain the local area’s electricity. For a moment in time I could have been in the Netherlands. 50 windmills source 55,000 homes. Pretty impressive.

Ze Lobster Factory

The quant fishing village of Cervantes is home to the Indian Ocean Rock Lobster Factory. Technically, these lobsters are crayfish, but called lobsters because that’s what they’re more commonly known and appeal to the desirable export locations. Cray cray. At first I thought the notion of going on a tour of the facility was quite silly, who cares, but I walked out of there completely fascinated (and hungry!). It was interesting to see how the lobsters are chosen, sized and then packed live for shipping. Over an audio tour I learned how first they sort them in long containers based on size, as orders come in requesting certain specifications. They starve them so they remove all of the poo, as they can survive for 30 hours without eating, then whisk them off to be packed after checking to make sure all their legs are still intact. A quick dip in freezing cold water stuns them long enough to be packed in a crate with wood chips and shipped overseas. Visitors can then dine at The Lobster Shack or nibble off the tours supplied lunch that was very unimpressive and underwhelming. I should have paid the extra $30 for the lobster.

Big guy, all legs intact

About 250 kilometers northeast of Perth lay Nambung National Park, and the Pinnacles Desert. This is what I’ve been waiting for! Sand dunes more or less comprising of calcified plants and trees that formed crazy looking limestone formations sticking out of the earth, a zillion times over. Breathtaking is an understatement, mesmerizing is more like it.

One with the desert

To me, this represented the true desert in my mind. Rock structures of all shapes and sizes extending for miles. The cold wind blowing against my ear, the fine grains of sand into my eyes and the fresh air abundant. There were tourists, but not a ridiculous amount. You could easily walk a few feet in one direction and have nothingness stretched out in front of you. The Indian Ocean resting on one side, and endless counts of mounds in every other direction with green shrubbery scattered in between. I wanted to just take a seat to take it all in. I felt like I had been let in on some secret, like I wasn’t supposed to be there. If it wasn’t for the tourists, the only sound was the rush of wind.

The Pinnacles

Traveling on to Lancelin making our way back down south, I saw heaps of animals in the wild. There were kangaroos, cows, horses, sheep but another first, an emu – the largest bird native to Australia.

Lancelin is another small fishing village but also a place to explore the massive dunes on four-wheel drive or better yet, taking up the sport of sand boarding. Now, I’ve heard of this being done in the far North of New Zealand which I missed out on, and in Peru, but here was an opportunity right here in Australia. Let’s face it, I was nervous and scared. The dunes were mammoth but all the locals didn’t mind as they casually and expertly glided down. The sand boards provided were the sitting down kind, not the standing up (thank goodness), and so I forced myself to give it a go. Actually, it was quite exhilarating and I attempted one or two more shoddy slides down the substantial hill before taking a spectators seat and offering my board to another.  A few hours drive back to Perth and my tour was over. Whew, what a long day.

Hiking up to board down

Now, back at the YHA it was about 8 pm and I needed to make a decision – what to do tomorrow? Clearly the only way to decide whether to adventure to Rottnest Island or take a leisure day in Fremantle was to think it over a few pints. Down at Packaz Backpacker Bar within the hostel I made friends with Irish lads Mark and Darren who were over here earning some fine Australian dollars to send back to their families in Ireland. According to them, the YHA was like a hotel. Hmmm. I must have missed something here. The damn Irish, they’re everywhere here in Australia. But at about 1 am it was decided, both! I booked myself on the 8:30 am ferry to Rottnest that cost $92 roundtrip with a return at 2:30 pm dropping me in Fremantle. Done deal.

The Rottnest Express was quite an ordeal. The early ferry was crawling with tourists, screaming kids and crying babies and was fully packed. It took about an hour to get to Fremantle to board more passengers, then another 25 minutes to the Island. It was an hour late and I was feeling a bit seedy on the open sea but at least the commentary on board was informative. The ultimate Rottnest experience is to rent a bike and peddle to the little alcoves all over the island to take in some of Australia’s best beaches. Unfortunately for me, the bike line was way too long and I was running short on time so had to travel on foot, which means I didn’t get very far.

As soon as I hit land, escaped the tourists and walked along the beach alone, with the sun beaming on my face, my hangover was instantly cleared and a smile was slapped across it. I realized that the silly move of booking the ferry at 1 am wasn’t so silly after all and well worth it. I made it to Thompson Bay and had the whole beach to myself. Then I went for a wander amongst some of the hiking trails, that is until I heard little critters in the bush and started to get freaked out. I came face to face with a furry quokka – a marsupial known to roam the island, and although harmless, told the little bugger to piss right off. When I came across the sign that read “beware of venomous snakes”, I knew it was time for me to go! In the end, I wish I had more time, and look forward to going back to explore the other beaches, snorkel areas, and hiking trails around the island.

Danger!

Next stop Fremantle or Freo as it’s commonly known as. This is supposed to be the cool place. Everyone in Perth knows Freo is where it’s at. It’s on the water, has great restaurants, history, boutiques and is a university town. I stopped off at E Shed markets, which reminded me a bit of Seattle, although I didn’t purchase anything from the stalls. Home of Little Creatures Brewery, I detoured for a pint of their Pip Squeak Cider for a break in the sun and people watching. They offer free tours at 1, 2 and 3 pm daily but I just missed it. Next I was off to Cicerellos known as WA’s first fish and chip shop. Served in paper and doused in vinegar it brought back nostalgia of my first true fish and chips in the Cotswold’s, England in 1996. This was a good day, and I’m happy!

Freo just gave off good vibes. In the green patch of the Esplanade children played cricket, families had picnics, and all the locals were enjoying the outdoors. I stumbled upon some other  markets, some more Irish accents, and then hopped the train back to Perth to meet a colleague.

3 nights I stayed with my welcoming colleague who made her home mine. Home cooked meals, washing done, we visited a few local universities and toured some other sites like Kings Park ,which is bigger than Central Park, and sits above the beautiful Perth skyline lit up at night. I then moved on to Kings Perth Hotel in the center of the city, do not stay here it’s disgusting, yet was the only hotel in town that didn’t cost $400 a night, while attending a conference for the next few days.

Look out from Kings Park

Saturday I was off to another fine wine region, Margaret River. Stay tuned…

The Art of the Long Haul Flight


Flying economy is a skill. I mean this whole heartedly. But flying long haul economy is a talent.

Sort of like the band Nada Surf’s “teenage guide to popularity” in the 1996 alternative hit “Popular”, the below is my ABC’s to a successful long haul flight.

Firstly, it all starts with the airline. There are airlines that I praise, as do others hence why they win awards. They soar in excellence for in-flight service, entertainment, customer care, culinary delights, cabin décor and leg room. Of those I’ve personally flown I put Qantas, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic, Air Canada, Air New Zealand and Emirates on this list yet I know there are still many more to dip my luxury toes in.

Jaime and I on Emirates from JFK to Thailand via Dubai in 2009

Then there is the DO NOT fly list. And I will more than happily cough over an extra few hundred dollars to avoid this list. This includes Olympic Air, Iceland Air, United or better yet, any US airline both internationally and domestically. But those are all a story for another day. Let’s assume you’ve done the sensible thing and purchased a ticket on a credible airline.

Eileen and I not happy campers on Olympic Air on our way to Athens in 2008

You’ll need to arrive at the airport approximately 1.5 hours before the flight, merely due to immigration hold ups as you will undoubtedly experience a smooth check in procedure as your chosen airline is a professional and competent organization.

After checking in and upon clearing immigration, grab that bottle of water and start the stretches. Long haul flights are long, and you want to avoid leg cramps otherwise known as DVT (deep vein thrombosis). Use the furniture such as a chair to prop your leg up on and reach for your toes. Try the big floor to ceiling window next. Put your hand on the glass while admiring the massive plane you’re about to board and the base of your foot against the bottom of the window to stretch your calves. Next grab hold of the vending machine to stable yourself while pulling your leg back to stretch those thighs.

It should be almost time to board. They may call you by row number, or request flyers with more elite statuses to approach first, however I like to assume I’m one of the elite and begin boarding as soon as possible. Yes, it’s annoying to have to sit on the plane longer then needed however people can be stupid, and if you can avoid watching them try to awkwardly maneuver their suitcase into the overhead compartments or tell their child…not that row, keep going, not that one either, hurry up people are waiting…you get the idea.

The big debate – aisle verses window. You’ll need to make this decision the moment you purchase your ticket, because not only do you want your preferred seat you also want to be as far in the front of the plane as possible and this can only be guaranteed if you choose your seat immediately while booking.

I see the perks in both sides of this debacle yet I’ve been a loyal snoozer to the window for nearly ten years. So saddle in to your window seat, remove your shoes and put on a comfy pair of slippers, or slipper socks is what I prefer. Pack your water, Kindle, and journal into the seat pocket in front of you but leave the iPod behind, there’s plenty of in-flight entertainment to satisfy your aural needs. Open the in-flight magazine and let the journey begin.

To put the next 24 hours of flying into context, let’s assume you’re flying from Sydney to New York. The first hour will be spent reading the in-flight magazine from front to back cover, even admiring all those lines dotting around the world map in the very last page while you envision yourself and all the air miles you’d acquire connecting them. While reading, safety procedures will be conducted by the air hostesses in the background.

Once finished the in-flight magazine, turn on your in-flight entertainment screen on the headrest in front of you and scan the entire list of movies, yes even the classics, TV shows, games, destination guides and the flight map. Pick at least 4-6 of your favorites. Begin movie # 1.

Around the time that movie #1 ends you’ll have been distributed a menu for the duration of the flight, as well as some sort of compliments bag containing an eye mask, tooth brush etc. Dinner will now be served, yet it’s probably only noon or 1 pm in the afternoon. Enjoy it, it’s probably delicious and while you’re at it drink at least 2 mini bottles of red wine throughout the process. You’ll need them and they’re free.

An hour of fine wining and dining and then your meal will be collected. You’re now about halfway into movie #2. You may feel the urge to go to the toilet but not just yet, you’re in the window seat remember. Wait until movie #2 finishes, take a peek at your neighbors, and then do the old, “I’m really sorry, do you mind?” with an apologetic smile.

The next part is up to you. The lights are dimmed, it’s probably early afternoon, and it’s time to pretend it’s night time and sleep meanwhile you’ve only been awake for less than 8 hours. You have a few options – movie #3, but then again, you know you’ll never make it through the whole thing; read, but you’ll probably piss off your neighbor with that darn light; or just go for it, sleep. For approximately 6 hours.

At some point they’re bound to get up, and if they do, that’s your one shot. Do a few laps around the plane, and hang out in the very back by the toilets. You’ll thank yourself for getting a good seat in the front and not having all the people like you linger in the back. Plus, they usually store extra snacks back there so help yourself.

It’s movie #3 time and will you look at that, the cabin lights are slowly glowing brighter. Rise and shine! Breakfast is served, and it’s an option of hot eggs and mushrooms and bacon or boring cereal. Go for the eggs! Yawn, yawn but you know what this means, you probably only have 3.5 hours left. This is very exciting. That’s only one more movie, and a few reruns of The Big Bang Theory.

Take a moment to fill out your landing card so you don’t waste time at customs in LAX and flip over to the flight map. Spend the last hour watching yourself get closer and closer to landing. Boom, you’re there before you know it.

Now, you’ll most likely have a minimum of 2 hours in LAX but after clearing customs and having a beer or 2 at 7 am California time you’ll be on another plane shortly. 5.5 hours to New York is a breeze, and because you will have barely slept on the first leg, this is your chance to catch up because once you land in New York, its go time, probably only 6 pm the same day you left Australia. Weird.

So now that you have this excellent advice from a well versed long haul economy flyer, I wish you luck on your travels to visit me here in Australia or elsewhere around the globe. I’m embarrassed to say I just booked a long haul economy flight on United to visit Philadelphia for Christmas and will not be privileged to any of the aforementioned perks however will stretch adequately prior to boarding.

Start spreading the news…


Start spreading the news…I want to be a part of it, New York, New York!

Descending into John F. Kennedy Airport in Queens, New York, I imagine myself landing in the city that so many people dream about for the first time. It’s by far not my first time, I grew up in Jersey for crying out loud, but that feeling still never goes away. There’s so many of them; teeny tiny lights. They’re clustered nearly on top of each other, and appear endless. This is the true definition of population density.

Stepping foot into Manhattan that old feeling rushes back. It’s euphoric, and energizing, and makes me want to scream from the inside out, “ahh, I love you New York!” There really isn’t anywhere else like it.

Walking the old streets again made me feel like I had never left. The smell of Nuts for Nuts, zigzagging the unpleasant bustle of mid-town, instant aggravation. I craved shopping, took one look at Macy’s with lust, then took another look and remembered the vow I made to never step foot in Macy’s on 34th Street again. It’s an anxiety attack jam packed into one old iconic building.

I jaywalk without fear of a ticket, hop in the back of cab to catch up on the daily news, and squeal a bit that I can go so far, for so cheap. I look up at the symbolic Empire State Building and curse myself for never actually making the journey up myself. Then pass the line down the street, the tourists huddled in groups being bombarded by sightseeing companies. I’m just one with the locals; they don’t know I left.

But the even better part is going to the old hang outs. Dirty dives in the East Village and restaurants that deny you a table without a month’s advance reservation. These streets are just every day streets, with everyday people. It’s not chaos, it’s just living. Cab horn beeping, siren blaring, crazies cursing, stroller pushing, frat boys smoking, high heels wearing, beer drinking, cocktail sipping New York!

And I miss the days where I had no pretentions about it. I knew exactly where to get a $2 beer and 2:1 meals. Where live jazz in an unmarked door in the West Village kept me up past my bedtime on a work night. Or when I’d wake in the morning to the sun on a friend’s penthouse balcony in Hell’s Kitchen or to 3 people in a Murphy bed in a studio on the Upper East Side.  But that was a different time.

This is my New York now, nostalgia for all that New York is.

My View of Manhattan from Jersey

 

Never Say Never: Splendour In The Grass 2012


Splendour! Splendour! Can you feel it now…Splendour! Splendour! The madness has begun.

I’m slowly growing warmer and warmer. The joints in my lower back are aching and then, achu! No! Not another sneeze. Cough. Oh no I didn’t!

It’s the evening before departing for a four day bender at musical festival extraordinaire, Splendour in the Grass, and I’m down with the flu. Unforeseen, but then again, the same thing happened to me last year. A full day of rest has me hoping it will blow over and then around 8:30 pm I get the call, “we’re here!” It’s time to head south to Byron.

Splendour in Byron Bay means the luxury of five adults squeezed into a 1 bedroom apartment costing us each 400 bucks a pop. But what I would pay for warm showers and cold beer. About a kilometer walk in one direction is the festival grounds, and in the other the sanctuary of town – where coffee and warm breakfast await alongside the ocean.

With our phones synchronized to monitor the weather as if the apocalypse would come and cancel the event, we were all smiles as 4 days of yellow suns appeared on our iPhones and Blackberry’s smiling back at us. In a rush to devour the must have Hare Krishna feast of Govinda’s, it was quite a shock as the skies darkened outside the food tent and it slowly began to drizzle. Panic set in as our flouro attire and stylish kicks were worn without fear of disaster.

Fork in mouth, I continued to devour my kofta balls observing festival goers embrace the rain and newly acquired mud. The festival now deamed Splendour in the Mud. The gum boot stand apparently sold out of rain boots and people were lining up for ponchos. The kofta balls came to an end and we contemplated heading over to another Splendour staple, the Moroccan Wine Bar, and just then, the apocalypse we never saw coming came. Hail! Mother of all hail, big hail, little hail, fast hail and slow hail. What looked fun at first, looked like it would hurt as it kept coming down.  And then moments later the skies cleared, the sun came out, and we moved on. Did that just happen?

Aside from the mud, my favorite part of Splendour is two things: music and food. Let’s start with the food.  Apart from Govinda’s, duh,  there were  scrumptious corn fritters topped with meat balls, and deep fried crab rolls with cream cheese with sweet soy drizzled on top, and noodles covered in satay. Whew, and I wish I got to try to more.

And then there’s the music. I was a bit upset at first, comparing the set up of Splendour 2012 at Byron Bay to my experience last year where the event was hosted in the Sunshine Coast hinterlands of Woodford. I was expecting an amphitheatre, and outdoor space, and places to chill. I also wanted the plethora of toilets that didn’t seem to be present here. But once all the anxiety settled and I appreciated what was at hand everything worked out.

The attraction of Splendour, with headliners like The Shins and the Smashing Pumpkins is incentive enough, but my personal appreciation for the event is getting acclimated with Australian bands I know I would never come across in the States. Two piece band of awesomeness Big Scary, Brisbane firecracker’s Ball Park Music, San Cisco, Tame Impala, Last Dinosaurs, Jinja Safari and more!

But my 3 top moments were Jack White’s overwhelming performance and belting out classics like Hotel Yorba and ending in a crowd fisting Seven Nation Army; Super cutey Luke Pritchard and the Kooks taking me back to London 2006; and then ending with Smashing Pumpkins reminiscences of my 14 year-old self.

Until next year, thank you Splendour!

Junk of the Heart


Finding a flawless junk boat to cruise the picture perfect waters of Ha Long Bay isn’t an easy task. They can range $30 for a one night, two day cruise to up to a couple of hundred. You can go economical, with an extra dash of rats to compliment the grime, or pay a premium for a bit more comfort knowing your odds of sinking may be in your favor and the seafood has been caught fresh that day.

Divine Hanoi Rendezvous Hotel didn’t give us much of a choice when they offered the option aboard Oriental Sails, in which they partner with. For $119 USD a pop, we knew we were on the steeper end of the scale, potentially sacrificing a late night party and a backpacker social scene for elegance and safety. I thought go with the recommendation and know we are booked in, rather then scour the internet and take a bigger risk with another chain.

We were picked up bright and early from the hotel after finishing off our complimentary breakfast of the staple Vietnamese dish of pho. After stepping into the van to begin our four hour journey our predictions were confirmed; two Vietnamese couples and a young French/Italian pair accompanied by her parents. And that was it, the lot. Or so we thought…until minutes after leaving the center of Hanoi to set off to the coast we pulled over to let some stragglers on. And we were in luck, 3 cute Kiwi guys!

The journey northeast was slightly bumpy but overall a breeze, as the cushy bus with a/c was a treat in the exhausting northern heat. We stopped off at a lacquer factory which supports disabled people with affects of agent-orange who create beautifully sculpted lacquer figurines and hand sewn, life-like pictures of Vietnamese countryside’s, flowers, sunsets and more.

After a few hours of our tour guide Tuan, who tried incredibly and sincerely to get a good vibe amongst the group by initiating corny ice breaker games and getting a bit of karaoke going on the bus, we arrived at the port in the Gulf of Tonkin to board the beauty otherwise known as Oriental Sails Deluxe. What’s a shame is that the “junk boats”, modeled off of the Chinese sailing vessel design, were stripped of their signature brown wooden exterior with towering, powerful sails to be painted all white in a need to make them all look the same, the assumption that it would be more aesthetically pleasing to tourists. I think looking back this mistake will be one for the history books to have ruined the symbolic look and value of the vessels.

Taking in the masses of boats polluting the bay and getting ready to sail for the night, we settled into our cabins and were greeted with a welcome drink before sitting for lunch. This is where it began to get really good! Amazing seaweed, fried fish, octopus, beef, pear and the list goes on. Tuan joked with us about being served dog, something that is quite a delicacy to locals however they typically keep it off of tourist menus as it doesn’t appeal to too many. Really, wonder why? Poor Rover.

Amazing Cave

The bay, being a Unesco World Heritage Site, is full of jutting limestone cliffs, tucked away caves, and clear aqua water. We stopped off for a visit to the Amazing Cave (Sung Sot Cave) and a kayak along the outskirts of the bay. Always a word of advice to kayakers is to hug the land. Unfortunately for some other tourists, we witnessed them being run over by a junk boat, their kayak submerged and their life vests kept them afloat and visible to be rescued. Only in Vietnam do you get run over by a junk boat.

After returning from the long and strenuous, yet breathtaking (literally) kayak adventure, some bought beer, snacks and cigarettes from the “floating markets”, or more realistically, women in wooden boats offering cheaper alternatives to the overpriced snacks aboard our vessel. Still, it was a perfect picture to take. Then as the sun set we photographed and observed the boys doing flips off the top deck into the ocean. One guy was nearly inches from a giant jellyfish with tentacles approximately two feet long. The water was so clear we could see it from the deck, and all I could think was, man, I’m so glad I’m not in that water and up here safe just watching.

The trip itself was one of the most memorable of all of the places in Vietnam. The striking landscape of large lime stones contrasting against the calm sea is unforgettable. We were truly at ease and finally on vacation; something much appreciated after the busyness of Hanoi. The food at dinner was endless: crabs, shrimps with their heads on, vegetables cut into flower décor, fresh fish. It was exquisite. Afterwards the Americans girls and Kiwi boys sat up all night learning new card games and swapping stories until the French mother stormed up and told us abruptly in a language we didn’t understand, hands flaring, that it was time to go to bed.

The next morning, after paying the bill for beverages I consumed aboard, I joined the $1,000,000 Dong club. That’s less than $50 USD. Yes, what beautiful place!

The Gang: The Americans, the Kiwis, and Tuan the tour guide!

Hoi An, Vietnam


I like to say that Hoi An, a city on the south central coast of Vietnam, is a place where all things are made. Ceramics, robes of fine silk, and tailor shops up to whazoo that custom make suits, dresses and shoes to fit any shape and size.

Outside of this picturesque city is the major port of Da Nang, home of Da Nang International Airport, as well as the endless white sand and tropical waters of China Beach and the cluster of Marble Mountains; each their own worth a visit. However, cutesy Hoi An is a destination to seek out.

As a major trading port for Southeast Asia in the 18th century, Hoi An’s beautiful architecture reflects a strong Chinese influence in its historic homes and temples. The unique “Japanese Bridge” is apparently the only known covered bridge with a Buddhist pagoda attached to one side. In 1999 Hoi An was designated a World Heritage Site and its old world charm makes it a “must see” place on the Vietnam tourist track.

For me it was simple. Weather and fool proof Northface Jacket, $28; Silk robe hemmed on the spot, $15; 3 handmade dresses custom fit in less than 24 hours, $15 each; one pair of handmade shoes, $12. Enough said.

The heat though, a bit unbearable. The small city, snuggled against the murky Thu Bon River is generally pedestrian friendly aside from the motorbikes. If there was one place in Vietnam to take a motorbike taxi, this would be your “safest” bet in comparison to the big cities, but I still chickened out. The absence of cars however makes it accessible to roam the small streets and cafes throughout on foot.

Renee got the flu at this point and we were all hoping it wasn’t anything more. Heat exhaustion fell upon each of us, as we scoured the streets in search of a strong ceiling fan and ten cent beers. The days were spent in simplicity. Shower, walk, beer/fan, shop, beer/fan, lunch, beer/fan, nap, shower, shop, beer/fan,  dinner, beer/fan, sleep.

I had two of my best meals in all of Vietnam in this city. At Hai Café, in ‘Old Hoi An’, sitting outside on the veranda overlooking the various tailor stores, I had curried shrimp wrapped in banana leaf and a large cold Saigon. It was amazing and the atmosphere was cute and elegant; the perfect lunch stop off. Mermaid Restaurant on the other hand, recommended both by the guide book and by a friend, was the first restaurant in Hoi An established in 1992. The pork stuffed squid was impeccable and I’m well glad to have taken the friend’s recommendation. That is, until I saw horror on Renee’s face just as we had our plates cleared. She screamed then stood up. There was a foot long rat rustling through the ivy in the doorway above my head. Oh – my – gosh. Naturally we were all disgusted and it was right back to the hotel, into the AC and to bed.

In our time spent in Vietnam up until this point we had rarely encountered many Westerners. Escaping the heat in a small café we engaged in conversation with two US veterans fulfilling their bucket list of returning for the first time since the Vietnam War. Their stories were interesting, and it was nice to engage in some casual conversations as we hadn’t met many other travelers. When they began disrespecting the staff however, demanding air conditioning because “that’s what you do for American visitors” and speaking in broken English, it was unfortunate but we had enough and preferred the company of local food and culture.

The street food stalls, the cafes, the rows upon rows of tailor shops, motorbikes whizzing by your ear and colorful lanterns lighting the streets at night. Definitely worth a visit.

Side-Saddle Saigon


Mayhem. Absolute mayhem. This seems to be the only appropriate term to describe Saigon traffic.

Stepping out of the airport to greet my driver to take me to my hotel in the Pham Ngu Lao backpacker area I immediately feel the rush of unbearable heat. Whew, this is going to take some getting used to. I jump into the back seat of a luxury sedan and take in my first encounter with Saigon, or the metropolis that is more commonly referred to these days as Ho Chi Minh City.

There’s hundreds, thousands even. I’m not even sure how to count all of the motorbikes, scooters, and push bikes. The rev of engines, headlights flashing to get past, two quick beeps, one long honk. There seems to be a method to all this madness but to the untrained eye, mayhem I tell you, pure mayhem.

Our car travels on as the traffic gets more and more dense. Next to me I watch a family calmly wait for a light to change. They are so close to my car that I can see the sweat on their foreheads. A small child is in the front, standing on the piece of plastic between the front wheel and the seat. The father is driving as the pregnant mother sits behind him with an infant squished in between the two. All seems calm and normal. These children grow up on motorbikes no different than a westerner in a car seat fastened safely in the back of a minivan.

The variety of bikes is vast, from knock off Gucci labeling to beat up motorbikes with missing mirrors. Many wear hospital masks covering their faces, even ones with cutesy designs to protect themselves from the thick smog. Traveling on motorbike or scooter (the cheaper of the two) is the most economical, and popular of ways to travel around. I see men in suits commuting carrying briefcases, women in high heels, other travelers without shirts even. But the true testament to the means of transport is witnessing a motorbike with chicken coups fastened to each wheel, or multiple vases with arrangements of fresh flowers. I’ve seen huge pieces of timber being balanced on one’s head, and full meals being consumed while texting at the same time. Riding side saddle, hands free – no problem. It’s a way of life for all.

But as an outsider stepping into the world it seems hectic and overwhelming. When the light turns red the masses stop at the break, well, some of them. The scooters inch nearer and nearer as if it were a starting line, each wedging their bike closer to the finish. I sit in the back seat and wonder, what’s going to happen when the light turns green? Who’s going to win because there is not enough road space for everyone to make it on the first go? Oh, how naïve I am so early into my adventure.

What I would deem are normal rules of traffic don’t apply here. People drive in whatever direction they wish, avoid whatever traffic signals are present, and even use the sidewalk as a means to get ahead or around. The light turns green and it’s a free for all, the horns being the main indicator to let your presence be known. Some beeps are meant to be just a friendly warning to say, “Hey, I’m over here,” while others mean “move it!” and “move it, now!”

The biggest challenge after witnessing the chaos on the roads came when it actually became time for us to cross the street. There was a lot of hesitation. And a lot of fear. But we were offered some good advice, just go and keep a steady pace. They will judge your speed, and go around you. Thank you for sharing that secret law. Without, we would have never been able to leave a one block radius.

Check out this quick video I took of some mayhem:
http://youtu.be/-3w1ecWUS9I .

Groovy Grapes


Traveling through Adelaide Hills in South Australia with Groovy Grape Getaways on my way to the Barossa Valley I rested my head on the mini-bus window and gazed at the world going by. Rolling hills encompassed with varying shades of green on green; rows upon rows of vines. They seemed endless as we traveled further away from the city of Adelaide deeper into wine country.

Our first stop was to The Big Rocking Horse and The Toy Factory, home of the largest rocking horse in the world. It was just a quick break to rev up on coffee and take a photo snap before moving on. For $2 you can climb it, could be a bucket list fulfillment for some, but I found warmth inside and watched an older gentleman through the glass windows of the workers factory assemble a child size rocking horse from freshly carved wood. Then it was time to move on.

The Whispering Wall is said to be an engineering phenomenon. What looks just like a huge concrete dam in the middle of the Barossa Reservoir is in fact an unusual masterpiece known for its parabola effect. At first glance I didn’t quite get it, but my guide urged a few of us down the small steps at the start of one end to begin whispering. I hesitated to be the one to go first, but it had to be done. “Hello…” I said into the wall, feeling a bit silly. There were a handful of tourists standing only a few feet above me making their way to the other side so I had assumed I was just overhearing them speaking. “Where are you from?” I heard back.

Giggle, giggle, its working! “Um…the States.” “I’m from Victoria,” he replied. “Just visiting for the weekend with my family.” And that was that. I was a bit shy about the whole thing so told him it was great to chat and let some of the others have a go. I left feeling a bit dumbfounded that I had just had a conversation with someone over 100 meters away.

It was just after 11 am as we pulled into the first winery of the day, world famous Jacob’s Creek. Before the tasting we went on a mini-tour at the Jacob’s Creek Visitor’s Centre to learn a bit about the history of the vineyard. The grounds were gorgeous, and perfectly manicured, a big part being the eco friendliness of solar panels, recycled timber beams, and over 4500 native Australian flora. Yeah, and the wine was pretty tasty too but I thought I’d save my pennies for a less mainstream vineyard.

Next we pulled into Kies, a cute family run vineyard to enjoy another tasting and relaxed bbq lunch. I was smitten by the Klauber Block Shiraz and purchased a bottle for safe keeping. What I find most interesting as I travel all over Australia and New Zealand, often tasting wines, is that Shiraz is not something I appreciate much in the States, however have acquired a small fondness as I experiment more and more its regions of origin.

Line up, line up. Sausages, steaks, veggies, salad, and mmm mmm mmm kangaroo. We enjoyed a lovely casual lunch outside under the gazebo amongst roses and lush landscape. Seeing I was by myself,  it was great to catch up with a backpacker from France, another from Sweden, and a cute pair of older women – best friends in their 70s – who make it a priority to travel once a year together wherever $2000 will get them. Hint, hint friends…let’s make this our new annual get together plan from now until we’re 70! I thought it was so great.

At the chateau of Richmond Grove we toured the cellars and learnt a bit about barreling. I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about any particular wines so enjoyed the tasting but didn’t make any purchases. Many of the grape varieties grown here are shared with Jacob’s Creek. I learnt that 2011 was not a good year, but 2002 and 2008 were, and 2012 is looking promising so take note.

Our last visit was to Seppeltsfields where I tried for the first time a sparkling Shiraz. Quite an interesting sensation in the mouth as sparkling or bubbly reds aren’t something I’ve come across before however are meant to be the perfect complement to bacon and eggs breaky. Seppeltsfields is most famously known for its fortified wines like tawny and port and was a great place to have a wander amongst the vintage bottles secured in glass cabinets, some over 100 years old.

After departing it was a straight shot back to the city. We said our goodbyes as the guide dropped each guest to the respective hotel or hostel. I was happy to check comfortably in to the Stamford Plaza before beginning my week long work trip out to the local universities.

When You Wish Upon A Star


It is pitch black as there is absolutely no fissure for natural light to seep through. As I look up, it appears as if the sky is filled with tiny stars; a mini Milky Way almost. The small boat I’m in glides along the river avoiding hitting the narrow walls. In the distance I can hear rushing water. The further we travel on the louder it gets. I know I’m safe but I can’t help but think at any moment we could go over the edge. Due to the darkness the only indicator that we would have reached it would be my terrorized scream, if it were even possible to get out.

It turns out to be okay though. The raft taps gently against a board of wood that was positioned deep into the cave for the very purpose of prohibiting us from travelling any further. We turn back in the direction we started and once the boat brushes against the platform I know that this short journey is over. The tiny elements in the sky are still lit though, but my turn is done. I step up onto the platform and flip on the small headlamp attached to my helmet.

It’s impossible for stars to be underground, which is exactly where I am in the Waitomo Caves in the North Island of New Zealand. In fact, with my headlamp on its clear that the millions of “glow worms” lighting the roof of the cave aren’t even in fact worms, they’re maggots. I don’t want to think about it though so I turn my headlamp off and stare at the beauty all around me while I wait for the others to complete their journey through the luminary tunnel.

The small town of Waitomo, famous for the unique underground limestone caves and illuminating creatures that reside inside them, primarily survives on caving tourism, in addition to farming, mining and forestry. Waitomo is a Maori (the indigenous people of New Zealand) word made up of two parts, ‘Wai’ which translates as water and ‘tomo’ which means entrance or hole. Evidently 30 million years ago the entire Waitomo region was under the sea.

Most famously many adventure seekers come to Waitomo for black water rafting trips in which they explore the caves in complete darkness aside from their headlamp, and use a rafting tube to drift through the various passageways and swim through underground holes. Others begin with a 30 meter abseil to the bottom of the cave floor, and include many other climbing, swinging, and rope oriented maneuvers.

I, however, took the cruisey tour and booked with Spellbound, who provided a relaxed look into both the geological formations and the glow worms. The first stop was The Cave of the Spirit (Te Ana o te Atua). The clearly delineated path had lights that could be switched on as we went deeper into the cave to take a closer look at the various stalagmites and other formations.  I was told that it took 3 men 7 months to carve out the section of the cave we were able to visit, although I was assured that engineers do tests often to ensure it is structurally sound. Resting amongst the beautiful natural arrangements sat several types of decaying animal bones, including those of the known to be extinct Moa bird.

Before moving on to our meet and greet with the infamous glowing insects we made a quick stop at the cafe, or to be more realistic a wooden shack sitting atop the underground world to share in some instant coffee, hot chocolate and biscuits while looking at interesting fossils found in the area. To my luck there was even a toilet positioned further away in the grassy area, and when my guide jokingly told me to not fall in, I understood why after looking down into an endless hole I was meant to squat over. Yikes.

Then it was time to put on our retched smelling, unsure if they’ve ever been washed, I hope I didn’t pick up lice, helmets before entering the second cave. The glow worms, Arachnocampa luminosa, are apparently unique to New Zealand, however not just to caves, as they typically live in forestry environments. Being a “glow worm” is just one stage of four that the fungus gnat fly completes in its life cycle.  Despite what they are, experiencing the stunning phenomenon of watching the stardom of their poo glow is quite an unforgettable experience.