Thor Blimey!

The next chapter of adventure takes place across the cold arctic seas to Norway. It's quite incredible to think that those crazy Vikings made this same journey in boats with no real navigational instruments or know how other than "stay close to the shoreline as long as you can". I wonder for every Viking ship that landed in Scotland, or Iceland, or England etc how many were lost as sea. Perilous stuff.

Norway, is a beautiful country that is comprised mainly of expansive fjords, expansive mountains and a latticework of expensive bridges and expensive tunnels that connect civilisation between them. It's quite stunning and after Iceland it was nice to see some trees again!

If you're not aware, Norway is hyper-expensive. Even the very remote Iceland was cheaper. To give you an idea, a small beer is about 6 to 7 Euro here, which means most backpacking tourists instantly become monks/nuns. And don't even think about a bottle of wine or spirits, those require a mortgage to be taken out or sacrificing your left nut/breast or first born. Even if you have the money, you have to be extremely lucky to buy alchohol during Norway's tight non-prohibition times too.

Indeed when asked "how did Norway fare through the recession?" the response from a local was "what is a recession?" which I think sums it up.

Norwegian cuisine revolves around getting imaginative and personal with fish. Fish overdose limits are always near after you are plied with delicious fish soup topped off with some fish cakes, coupled with fish pancakes, fish balls, fish pies and fish pudding. Suprisingly no one has made fish ice cream ... yet. It's a market gone begging in my humble opinion.

The folk here are also pretty big on a special type of brown cheese called Brunost which is consumed in epidemic proportions. This cheese is really something else, it's like cutting through a milk chocolate coloured block of putty. Once strategically applied to a waiting piece of bread or, in our case, a waffle it deploys a flavour and melted consistency that is like a cross between cheese and peanut butter. It's quite addictive!

The scenery here is majestic, particularly the train trip from Bergen to Oslo (when the train is not in a damned tunnel!). When the snow melts and springs comes to Norway the whole mountainsides come to life with greenery and a million little waterfalls. The water is crystal clear and amazing to drink, for that reason I feel Norwegians have a lifetime of disappointment ahead of them in terms of water quality pretty much everywhere else in the world.

The little Nordic houses perched on ledges in the mountains are extremely picturesque, especially those with grass on the roof which is used as a form of natural insulation. One roof had so much grass that it had a little goat on the roof who kept it mowed. The goat had his own little hut on the roof that he could sleep in too, this made me wonder if on the roof of that little hut was some grass with an even smaller goat and a smaller hut, and on the roof of that smaller hut ....

Norway is apparently the home of magical trolls which live in the forests everywhere just hanging out and being overall benevolent. Somewhat conveniently they turn into moss covered stones during the day when exposed to sunlight, only when it is dark do they become trolls again. It's important to be good friends with the trolls on your land as they bring you good fortune. It also helps to pump out a bit of "The Troll March" on your stereo too to make them feel comfortable. In other words; respect the rocks kids.

The main port of call was Bergen, a small sea side town. It rains a lot in Bergen, their current record is about 85 days straight, which was only just off the world record. It's comforting in some way to know that there is a place somewhere on Earth that has worse weather than England. If you can tolerate the rain Bergen has an incredible waterfront area know as Bryggen. This labyrinth of wonky wooden buildings with stairways going at every which angle is the closest thing you'll experience to a seaside pirate shanty town. It's really quite enchanting and fun to wander through, except when it floods, in which case all the shops at ground level go under water as the water comes up through the floorboards. All and all it's very impressive enough to be world heritage listed and is a great excuse to bring out a multitude of "Yarrggh"s.

Before I wrap this post up I have to make one special mention to Norwegian dancing, I am not sure of the name of it, but there is one dance in particular which results in the guy having to do a spinning Jean Claude Van Damme roundhouse kick to remove a hat from a stick in order to impress the woman. It's pretty awesome, do youtube it.

Now is rest time, all this ridiculously fresh and pristine mountain air and water makes people tired ... apparently. I leave you with some Viking wisdom on travelling:

"Never walk away from home ahead of your axe and sword. You can't always feel a battle in your bones or forsee a fight."

Perhaps a little aggressive for travel, so substitute "axe and sword" with "swiss army knife" and "battle" and "fight" with "picnic" and "surprise cheese platter" respectively.

Fire and Ice

Nothing sums up the country of Iceland better than the post header. This country is essentially a series of non-crossable ice glaciers in the centre, surrounded by lava field moonscapes devoid of trees. Explosive geysirs and steaming thermal vents are also thrown in generously to remind you that you are walking on a giant time bomb. With an economy as unstable as their airport-closing volcanos, the saying "they may not have the cash but they sure can bring the ash" is spot on.

In this volcanic hotbed, stands the chasm between the American and Eurasian tectonic plates. Here, new land is being constantly created for both continents in each direction. 2cm are added every year; always keeping things fresh. Additionally, the barrage of unfathomable sulphur stench that comes with incessant magma activity leaves you a little suspicious of how many people are getting away with passing wind on public buses. I suppose it only compounds the issue that the same sulfur laden geo thermal hot water is used in showers and the water is so soft that you must shower for an hour if you dare use soap. This means that everyone irrevocably smells like fart anyway after a single wash.

Flames, steam and smells included, there is a lot to see in this wild land, aptly described to us as "f$%kin brutal" by the chap at the information desk in the airport. Though I can tell you now that you had better enjoy driving in and out of massive fjords should you come here and hire a car. And be prepared to drive some mountain passes that you would normally ignore instantly back home; they're the ony way to get from A to B sometimes and they are particularly hairy.

You can cover some enormous distances on the roads too at this time of year this far north, since it never gets dark - ever. Sure there are some weird downsides, sleep can be tough and nightclubs are basically shitty bars with really thick curtains, but overall really long days enable you to get some amazing value for money as far as sightseeing goes.

Iceland, flying in the face of international convention as always, offers some lesser known delicacies to the adventurous diner. Skyr (milk that was poured over meat), puffin (yes, the cute little bird) and minke whale shish kebabs (yes, whale) .. affectionately referred to as "Moby Dick on a stick" are all on offer. Whale tastes like venison by the way, nothing fishy about it really.

It is kind of amusing however that despite the capital (Reykavik) having numerous awesome restaurants, the single most popular eatery is a decrepit old hot dog stand down by the old harbour. Seriously, this thing is constantly surrounded by people and the man inside makes satisfying hot dogs satisfyingly fast. When you see a photo on the wall inside the stall showing Bill Clinton chowing down on a dog, you know you've arrived at a hot dog stand of aficionados around the world.

Iceland, was colonised by the Norse vikings and that legacy still shines on to this day. Icelandic language is like a snapshot of Norwegian from 900 years ago, boats and fishing are par for the course, most people have names ending in their father's first name followed by "son" or "dottir" and men still have a fondness for epic neck-beards.

Iceland is covered in arctic horses too, which were brought across by the vikings. These horses are brilliant; they are social, friendly and love to sleep lying down on the ground which I am told is completely alien to other horse breeds. A ride on these beautiful creatures on black ash beaches in the presence of epic mountains drenched in afternoon sunlight was just magic. I seriously can't do justice to how fantastical this horse ride was in words.

Iceland was a stunning place with stunning character and equally stunning price tags ... and you know, it's not really made entirely of ice. I suspect Greenland isn't green either ...

Taunted, a second time ...

Having only been to gay Paris previously and having heard from many that the Parisian experience was vastly different from the rest of France. Now that the admiring of the funky Gaudi-ness of Barcelona was complete, there lay an opportunity to test this theory out and sneak over the border to visit the fabled "south of France".

There was a fleeting thought to go via the tiny principality of Andorra for shits and giggles, but in the end more time in France itself won out. That and backpackers typically have no need for Andorra's mystical tax haven powers right now. Actually I don't even know how that place classes as a country ... Luxembourg and Lichtenstein, yeah I am looking at you too!

Anyway.

The second French adventure most certainly was different. The weather here is simply perfect and the locals have a much more friendlier and happier outlook on tourists and life in general it seems. They also have a love affair with brilliant seafood, salad, bread and wine (which seemingly 99% of the countryside is dedicated to growing). When summer is in full swing the region really comes alive too, it felt like there was a fair or festival in every town visited - this equated to a lot of food tasting and drinking.

In terms of food highlights, any seafood cooked from "La Plancha" is brilliant, sea snail Escargot is amazingly good, and our great friend Francois offered an invite to his parent's house in Carcassonne where THE most amazing cassoulet ever was ready and waiting. This is easily the best French travel food and it is made a little differently from region to region but is normally comprised of haricot beans and meats such as duck or sausage. This is then stewed for hours and layers of breadcrumbs continually added over time. The end result is to die for and likely to interfere with normal locomotion for hours.

Speaking of Carcassonne, this place has a very cool castle that invokes all the right medieval clichés. The name apparently derives from a famous siege of the fortress where the besieged and hungry inhabitants decided to launch their last bit of food, a pig carcass, over the castle wall at the enemy forces (who were pretty damned hungry and low on food too). The attackers believed the defenders must have so much food left that they could afford to give them a whole pig that they gave up and left. It's a nice trick but unfortunately the castle is now under siege from tourists and even a flying pig can't stop these hordes!

Amusingly, the sport of choice in Carcassonne amongst the soldiers on the battlements (and teenage boys in modern times) was to drink yourself silly and then begin urinating against the inner castle wall whilst running along the length of the wall. The man who leaves the longest trail along the wall wins. Rather obtuse but certainly a sport I can seen the entertainment value in. How it is not an Olympic sport I don't know.

Petanque seems to be the sport of choice here amongst men nowadays though. If you have never seen it, it is a game where men throw heavy metal balls along the ground trying to land closest to a little wooden ball that is thrown at the start of the game. I have played this game with friends in Australia many times before however the key difference is that in French Petanque you play on a flat area of dirt whereas our Aussie version seems to have degenerated into a quest to find the shittiest piece of undulating terrain possible; the more tree roots, rocks and general debris in the way, the greater the challenge. The French have a lot to learn from us I think, it's just too easy to play on flat ground!

It really was a wonderful voyage through this realm. Picnics in the dark on mysterious wetlands, adventures in saucisson, house parties on top of mountains in the middle of nowhere, Two Unlimited dance music being played on a piano accordion and joining in singing "The Lost Cities of Gold" theme song in French; all great memories of a place that knows how to celebrate life, love, music and food.

Siestas and Fiestas

As the title suggests, this post comes from the lands of the Iberian peninsula - Spain and Portugal!

Dios mio what a sublime place this is! It is easy to see why so many people fall in love with this area of Europe; sun drenched beaches, lush green mountains, desert mountain ranges with snow on top, cities full of colour, flamenco dresses, matadors, cute little chimneys and extraordinary cuisine. Plus Spanish always sounds so dramatic to speak.

The adventure began some weeks ago for stalwart traveler Renee, she had been doing some work on a remote farm-stay in Asturias in the very north of Spain. When I found her, she´d been living in a stone cottage with no heating and no running water. She had become some sort of wild thing, carrying water up mountains from the spring, foraging for leaves and berries, digging rocks with her hands and more. I tasked myself to communicate with this untamed spirit, teach her about the world again, teach her how to use electricity and remind her that she would have to leave this paradise and return to real life. It was touch and go for a while there, but she is now fully civilised and well kept again.

Ok, I exaggerate a touch. But the farm was remote and foraging for food and water was required, but it was an absolutely majestic location, nestled in mountains lifted straight out of Tolkien and a way of life is so simple and wholesome that I found myself reluctant to leave it too. They also had some wicked cider and stinky cheese that are unique to that area and Favada bean stew and, somewhat surprisingly, Nettle Soup is to die for!

Needles to say, not many folk speak English round here off the beaten tourist track, so crash Spanish training was necessary. It´s a cool language though we it is difficult forcing the lispy "th" sound out for the letter c (ie. Barcelona is pronounced Barthelona). It is all too easy to spit everywhere in a rather undignified manner. All Spaniards and Portuguese also seem to pride themselves on speaking at a kazillion miles an hour too, it´s like a sign of fertility to the other sex or something I think. All swearing and insults in Spanish, just like most other romance languages, pretty much revolve around cursing relatives, descendants and god in truly gruesome ways. 

Somewhat amusingly, Spain and Portugal, just like Italy, are rife with African fake bag / sunglass peddlers. These guys are the epitome of sly, they set up their wares on a small bed sheet with all the products pinned down via pins. Each corner of the sheet is attached to a rope, by which the dodgy trader can quickly convert the whole setup to a bag over their shoulder the moment they spot the boys in blue coming their way. The way the police end up herding these guys through the city like sheep is hilarious - very much like some Benny Hill skit.

Certainly one of the highlights about Spain is tapas. Tapas are basically small dishes of food that you eat with your beer in a Cervaceria. In places like Granada and Sevilla we found that tapas not only comes for free with each beer, but it is devastatingly good too. Inevitably you find yourself ordering more and more beer just to see what the chef is going to throw your way next time. In some tapas bars there are no seats, just high tables. You stand up, drink and eat, with discards going on the floor. The room is filled with boisterous Spanish and the atmosphere is unlike any pubs we´ve encountered before. It´s worth the price of admission to Spain alone just for these tapas bars!

Additionally, I have to also pay mention to Churros. The undisputed king of diet destroyers (all bow before their fried, chocolaty goodness!) and the fact wine is cheaper than water here. Both of these things bring happiness hitherto unfathomable. The hot chocolates here are wickedly thick too; some might describe them as blocks of melted chocolate in a cup, they´d be right too! Drinking one is a challenge, the more appropriate technique is to revert to six year old and pretend you are cleaning a bowl a chocolate cake was mixed in. Dig for victory amigo!

There are some hitches in Iberian cuisine though - firstly, salt content is at Dead Sea ratios. Your kidney´s will be a permanent state of siege; especially for the salted cod which resembles giant vaguely fish shaped clusters of salt. Secondly, the Asturian Hot Dogs are best avoided, buying a bread roll and finding a surprise lukewarm Chorizo in the middle is arguably too character building even for my hardened stomach. 

You´ll drink a lot to wash that salt down, and because the weather in southern Portugal and Spain in Summer is very, very hot. Siesta is serious business here, just after lunch the entire country basically closes their cute little wooden doors and slatted windows and hibernates for several hours. As a tourist this means you are trapped outside during lockdown to melt on the street while saddened locals watch you from the inside knowing they cannot help you without letting the insane heat in.

But once the heat dies down a bit, the doors start to edge open, Siesta mode is disabled and Fiesta mode enabled. The locals then proceed to drink, socialise and generally celebrate something until some ungodly hour of the morning, only to repeat it all again tomorrow.

The architecture in Spain is guaranteed to charm the socks off anyone. In the north it is very traditional and basic with a lot of stone cottages, streets and churches. In the south, just like the cold beer, it is very Moorish (¿see what I did there?). The Alhambra in Granada is absolutely a wonder of the world, filled with incredible fortifications, gardens and a masterful, ancient irrigation and fountain system throughout that will push your bladder control to the edge. The Plaza de Espana is also easily one of our favourites; it is fairly modern but simply epic and an an extraordinary example of workmanship. It also doubles as Naboo in Star Wars. .

Lisbon was also a noteworthy visit - it is basically a city made of marble with really cute old trams that have no guards around the wheels. I imagine that on a wet day this basically turns the city into a giant slippery slide / meat grinder for people. It also seems like a very liberal place too, judging by the uplifting experience of seeing a completely naked dude waltzing around the train station upon arrival.

I must admit at this point that I was also taken aback at how uncommon "Portuguese Peri Peri Chicken" is here. I could not find a single place that sold this, not could I find the royal court of His Succulency Lord Nando. I can´t help but feel a little hollow inside being a long time Nando's fan.

So anyway, that´s all for now - just remember the Spanish word for a fun park ride translates as "thing" - so basically you ask "A ticket to ride your thing please...". Also, Spanish and Portuguese people always look like they are talking in photos because they are saying "Patatas" rather then a word that forces your mouth into a smile like formation.

It´s either that or they are still excited from riding some thing.

Hasta Luego ... baby.

- Adam

Middle East Part IV : They do the sand dance, don'cha know?

The final leg of the Middle Eastern odyssey went far beyond the Dead, alongside the Med and over the Red from Jordan to Egypt.

Unfortunately there is no way to get from Jordan to Egypt via land without going through Israel and again that is something to be avoided as it would have been comprised of a nice ten hour day stint in a sweaty border interrogation office due to shiny Lebanese and Syrian passport stamps. The only option is a ferry from Aqaba to Nuweiba on the Sinai Peninsula instead. In hindsight I am not sure what option was worse.

What followed was typically late arrival at the port and a mad dash from one office to the next to get an exit pass, and then a ticket, and then pay tax, and then get passports stamped and then find the bus that takes you to the boat. Approaching the ferry the pressure was building; the officials were spurring a run and slowly lifting whistles to their lips in an ominous manner in tthe final few metres. What came next was a dramatic dive aboard the ship, bags being dragged on roughly, somewhat reminiscent of one of Indiana Jones' great entries ... the problem was the ferry then sat in the port for another two and half hours...

The ferry, once underway, is quite a blissful ride - that is if you get a seat above deck. If you are in the cabins below you can expect six hours of hardcore foot stench as it's pretty much the norm to kick your shoes off round those parts. At least there was a dramatic sunset across the Red Sea between Egypt and Saudi Arabia, although the relaxation was short lived. Visions of that splendid twilight quickly faded and were replaced with the utter fiasco of disembarkation.

I honestly just can't even remember what the hell happened at this point exactly. You just jump off the boat, stand around in an orgy of people yelling at each other, somehow randomly pick an unlabeled and over crowded bus to get on that drives you the sum total of 30 seconds to a tin shed containing no less than three border checks (that may or may not pay any attention to you) before being dumped out into an alleyway with no signage. 

At the end of the alleyway is a giant prison gate that rolls back to disgorge you into a mass of taxi drivers where you are expected to casually diffuse a kind of taxi driver world war three that follows as they try to secure your fare. The bargaining is fierce, as it is everywhere here. Indeed at one point the offer was "$10 to train station?", followed by "$5 to train station!", then "$2 to train station, you drive!". 

There was already quite a different feeling here. Egypt is a country that has been blessed with near limitless tourism over the years, however the money from this has clearly NOT filtered down. Indeed in most aspects of people's life here, money has so firmly stayed at the upper echelon that the streets showed real poverty. Desperation seemed present and it felt more chaotic then any country encountered so far. 

One word you'll hear a lot here in particular is "Baksheesh", which is basically a tip. You will get asked for Baksheesh relentlessly by people who have done pretty much nothing of any noteworthy value for you. It is so bad in places that you almost have to avert complete eye contact and discussion to avoid falling into yet another over zealous Baksheesh trap. 

Social realities aside, the Sinai Peninsula is stunning. Here lies the oldest working Christian monastery in the world and Mt Sinai, a place you can climb to be greeted by a sunrise to end all sunrises from the summit. It was quite a pilgrimage to say the least climbing this mountain in the dark and your shoes will be covered in enough camel droppings to make quarantine shoot you on the spot should you attempt to ever wear them back to your home country.

Actually it's worth making an addendum here to the previously listed insane traffic rules of the Middle East. It is in Sinai that I note to another brilliant "law of the road" in that when attempting to overtake a bus or a truck at night, you must turn your head lights off and "sneak up" on the beast from behind; pouncing on it at the very last moment and overtaking it on one glorious, swift and death defying motion. If you give the truck or bus driver warning you are coming via your pesky headlights then they just won't let you past and will go out of their way to consume all of the road. Ridiculous I know, but sadly true.

Oh you'll also find that every taxi driver has a business card here. After each transit miracle is completed and you arrive safely at your destination, you'll end up having to accept a one. You'll soon have so many of these that it becomes a collectible car card game, for on the back of each card is a picture of some European luxury saloon or supercar that is completely unrepresentative of the ex-Dakar, diabolical death trap you just drove in. When I quizzed one driver over why his car was a Daihatsu and wasn't the Mercedes S-Class shown on his card he raised a small grin and said "that one is still in the shop right now my friend!". I am guessing he wants you to err on interpreting "shop" as mechanic, not car dealer.

The road to Cairo from Sinai is a long one, much longer than it looks on the map. It's sprinkled with roadside "diners" that might have passed for such about 50 years ago and one very long unventilated tunnel that goes under the Suez canal. The hazy mirage at the end is Cairo, an absolute nightmare of people and traffic with a long lost oasis buried somewhere underneath. Actually it's quite surprising just how green Cairo (and indeed the Nile delta) is.

The stay in Cairo was brief, Luxor was the real Jewel of the Nile to be reached via the wonderfully decrepit Ramses train station. No transit hub on Earth will probably fill you with as much dread and lingering doom as this place, especially when it is undergoing construction and small bits of wood wall on you as you walk through it. It is here that you dream of such luxuries as a toilet, or platform numbers and you'll be wondering why your overnight train has five guys in combat gear wielding M-16 machine guns. 

Now Cairo has some pretty awesome pyramids that you may have heard of, but Luxor's Karnak temple is simply incredible. It is impossible to not be smitten with the sheer scale and quality of the architecture considering its age. It's amazing what unpaid slave overtime can build when you’re Pharaoh. It’s also amazing just how many of your pets you can mummify when you’re Pharaoh too.

Fortunately, it was only two weeks after this visit Egypt that mass riots broke out and the Egyptian people led an uprising against their temporary/permanent military dictatorship. I don't imagine it will be an obvious holiday destination for some time.

Overall the Middle Eastern experience was worth every penny. It's not somewhere I imagine many of you will ever want to go, but if you do, you may never be more welcome as a guest anywhere in the world. In fact you will hear the actual word welcome used more here than you've ever imagined possible. Here are some examples I noted down:

Example 1

?? "Where are you from?"

Us "We're from Australia"

?? "Ahh, welcome ..."

Example 2

?? "This is traditional Bedouin food."

Us "It's delicious!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Example 3

Us "This is an amazing view!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Example 4

Us "Good night!"

?? "Welcome ..."

Everyone leaves the Middle East on a sugar high, with an ample supply of saffron, with newfound respect for road rules, with sand in almost every nook and cranny, with tans, with quirky experiences, new friends and a thousand welcomes. It's the only way.