Bali

I didn't like it. No sir, I did not. The land is beautiful, the weather warm, the beaches sandy. But the people? Sadly, I can count the number of locals whose company I enjoyed (mostly couchsurfers) on one hand. There is a single reason for this: tourism. As a white person in Bali you are, in the eyes of most locals, an ATM. I was short-changed almost every time, especially in bars. Hotel staff had no qualms lying that the dorm room was full in order to fill the suites. The taxis, peddlers, beggars and massage girls swarmed like flies on a fresh turd.

The last photo my camera took,
moments before it flooded.

Okay sure, I spent most of my time in tourist places. I made an honest effort to stay away from Kuta, but when I went to another suburb looking for accommodation, I was redirected back to Kuta. Damn. I met up with some couchsurfers, hit the town like a proper tourist, travelled around with some folks from my backpacker dorm and went diving.

To be fair, I didn't have a bad time; I just disliked the way I was treated. I met with some couchsurfers and made friends with Fabrice, a newly-arrived French-Swiss guy was couchsurfing also had a backpacker guitar! Sadly we never quite managed to jam. His host (a local) was a cool guy and showed us a really cool bar by the beach.

I joined a merry band of backpackers in Kuta; Shira (USA), Narua (Spain) and Bart (Netherlands). Together we taxied out into the country with grand intentions of hiking up Mt. Batur. The cartels in Bali are well established. Even in this little place in the middle of nowhere locals were waiting for us when we arrived in the taxi. They followed us to our hotel where they sat and waited like cops on a stakeout. They wanted to know where we were going and what we wanted to do. Basically, they wanted to get a cut and were patient and persistent about it. Sometimes they boldly fared into the hotel to ask if we wanted to buy their art. Even the Arrack (homebrew rum) we bought as a novelty was clearly watered down. Well we still drank it. There was a hippy rave happening not far from us, which we went to. "Dance for peace".

Next morning, after around four hours sleep our man came to take us to the mountian. Oh, don't think we could simply have walked up the mountain - nonono. The cartels had identified a tourist demand for walking to the top of a volcano so a guide was necessary. For safety and shit. Yeah whatever. We rose blearily and stumbled into the waiting car, paid our fee and zombied our way up the hill, passing the hippy rave site, now in its death throes but still emanating a booming base pulse across the valley. The guide took us to the 'lookout' area and protested when we wanted to, like, go to the top. We went, and he led the way, albeit grudgingly. The sunrise was spectacular however.

So true

Next stop was Ubud, yet another tourist destination, full to the hilt with white fools and unscrupulous money-grabbers. I'm convinced that the restaurants across the whole town deliberately serve tiny portions to keep people ordering seconds. The locals there listen into your conversation to get your name, after which it's 'Hey Marco! Would you like a massage?' Crafty buggers.
We checked out the local monkey temple and took a taxi out to some temple other (incredibly the entry was free there, though I had to run the gauntlet of sarong saleswomen to get to it).

The group eventually disbanded and I headed out to dive a WW2 shipwreck in Tulamben, on the east coast. I had a 24 hour gut bug, did some pretty good diving and finally found myself in a taxi to the airport in Denpasar. Next stop Darwin, Australia. 

Bikes, Birthdays and Good-byes

We went for a 25km bike ride in the country near Kutina. It was a well organised event and included bike transport by train, snacks, drinks, road marking, police escort, and cultural events and activities at the end. It was attended by hundreds (if not a few thousand) cyclists.

The talky conductor guy

Beer @ wrong way!

I spent two domesticated weeks of sleeping in, hanging out, practicing my baking and socialising with couchsurfers. I returned to Fulenbach, Switzerland to celebrate my 30th birthday with friends and family, most of whom came all the way from Zurich. I put on burgers and beer for the masses, and people came and went until the early hours. As nice as it is seeing old friends, it's always tinged with bittersweet when you know you're going to leave again shortly for a potentially longer time. With my upcoming return to NZ this was the case, particularly with the grandparents who have both tipped 90.

 

Some collective arm-twisting convinced Ryan to hold another Open Mic night at McGee's. His daughter, Tory, another guy (who failed to show) and myself were all having birthdays on the 6th. I brought the remains of Sandra's birthday muffins, Ryan brought some cinnamon swirls and Gitti baked me a Rueblitorte! So in addition to the standard beer for playing, we were able to offer a slice of birthday cake too. It was a fantastic event. The performing list filled up even before kickoff, the bar was full, and I played the closing set at around midnight. Many of my old friends had stopped by and seen me off throughout the evening (though nobody made it through to see me play, which really wasn't that bad).

The return to Zagreb for the final fortnight before my southwards departure. We biked out to Samobor with friends for a daytrip and went camping at the incredibly beautiful Plitice National Park. Nina burned her hand quite badly, but according to two doctors who inspected the injury my rakija-assisted first aid procedures were beyond reproach.

 Coffee, Custard squares and Ćevapi

Since I forgot my camera and my phone is not with me, here are some pictures I blatantly stole from Facebook.

Ah, such good times. After many months of traipsing around Europe (and particularly Zagreb) I repacked my things, kissed the girl goodbye and with a very, very heavy heart boarded my flight. The next planned destination is Bali, then Australia (Darwin, then Melbourne) and then home to New Zealand where I will embark on a four-month sailing voyage from Christchurch to Vanuatu and back. Life never ceases to be interesting it seems.

An old picture of Sunshine which I found at my Grandparent's

The Lead-Up to Lyon

View from Pedy's terrace

Lyon. I arrived on Monday evening by train. I'm staying for nearly a week at my old friend Pedy's flat, who I knew years ago at uni in New Zealand. Yesterday I wandered around the city with one of the flatmates, Diego, who gave me a guided tour of the city. Being an architecture student he was able to tell me a lot about the development of the city.

[edit 16/03/2012: added Thursday]

Tuesday

Lyon 

A painted building with famous local figures  / This clock was built back when they thought the sun revolved the earth.

 Lunch / coffee with Diego

 The old Roman amphitheatre

Thursday

 So children, today we will talk about the best country in the world. And play guitar of course.

 Pedy. The fresh prince.

Pedy is a schoolteacher. On Thursday morning I was given a unique opportunity to teach English to two of  Pedy's classes. It was awesome. You could almost see their curious little minds blowing - just like a room full of popcorn. Introductions. Q&A session. Singing an English song.

Down by the river

I spent the rest of the day cruising the streets of central Lyon. Did you know that Bellecour is the largest square in Europe? I sure didn't. The town has a nice relaxed groove to it. I found a stretch of chill-out-zone and played Plucky for a bit before meeting Pedy and Diego in the evening for beers and dinner.

Like the one in Zagreb, but with breasts. 

Prelude
Um... how did I get here? At the end of my last post I left you all in suspense as I shockingly revealed that my next destination was in fact Vienna. Well... a girl was meeting me there. C'est la Vie. :) I've spent the time since mid January flitting back and forth between Fulenbach, Zürich and Zagreb seeing my girl, catching up with old friends and spending time with family in Fulenbach. What follows is a picture diary in more-or-less chronological order of the intervening time.

I took this picture from my window seat as I flew from Thailand to Vienna. It looks cold down there. And it was. I arrived with no warm clothes. I was given a hoody by Manuel (with whom we couchsurfed) and bought some jeans in Zagreb. It wasn't till I got back to Fulenbach that I was reunited with my winter wardrobe.

This was take from a Notwist concert in Arena (a squat) in Vienna. We didn't even know it was happening and were let in at half time for free. Sweeet.

 That's us, Zürich / Back to my attic room, Fulenbach.

Making necessary repairs to Plucky. It's good to have access to a joinery. I glued up five cracks, cleaned, sanded and oiled it, and changed the strings. Ready for the next adventure.

 Grossmoiti at her 90th birthday party, surrounded by great-grandchildren.

Everything is frozen. 

Sledding in Adelboden with Roger, Sandra and the kids.

 Spent two nights with my cousin Karin in Thun. This is the view from her balcony.

The spontaneous return to Zagreb

 Skiing in Slovenia

Falling is not Failing, but there's an I in both.

Walking up Sljeme, the hill above Zagreb

 Working in Fulenbach. Pruning trees, cutting firewood, gluing window frames. Nice times.

Packing again, then off to see friends in Zürich before heading on to France.