Confession time

I'm here because of Leonardo di Caprio. Let me explain. When I was young, I don't think it ever occurred to me to jet off to see other landscapes and cultures. My obsessions, as far back as I can remember them, run as follows: car transporters, James Galway, Lego, maps, aeroplanes, Bananarama, playing golf, designing golf courses, designing airports, REM, Twin Peaks, playing guitar, SW London, running and, currently, Texas Hold 'Em. It seems at some point I was innoculated against the travel bug, as evinced by my infuriating habit (until recently) of turning first to the Dangers and Annoyances section of each Lonely Planet guide I acquired.

Since about 2002 though, one man has been cajoling and entreating me in equal measure to get out there and see the world. Leo. More particularly, him in The Beach, a love of which, though I have tried, I cannot give up. Even more particularly the end scene where, to strains of Dario G's Voices (Acoustic Version) he receives by an email a photo of his adventure in Thailand. He squirms in his seat with excitement, and checks to see no one else in the Internet cafe is prying on his reminiscences. It never failed to raise my heart rate, stir the cauldron at the base of my gut, and get me murmuring, "I will".

I believe the story is based loosely on real events, back in the early days of backpacking when there were dozens of deserted beaches in exotic parts of Asia just waiting to be "discovered" and claimed with a ceremonial raising into the night sky of marijuana smoke and chords of Redemption Song. The events in the film can't happen any more, it is said, but that's not the point. It works better as pure fantasy, and as sustenance for one half of the doublethink that travellers succumb to. A minature anthropic principle reduces the appreciation of your travels because, by virtue of where you are, you are surrounded by people who either are doing, have done, or will do all of the amazing things you are doing, probably cheaper, with better photos. Cue Leo and Dario G, and the remembrance that it is an adventure, your adventure, something you said you would do, saved for, planned, and are doing. No matter how unspecial you feel as you park your converted Toyota Previa next to all the other ones, you tell yourself that it's not every day you drive 200km along a Pacific highway, eat a steak and cheese pie from a clapperboard roadside store, see a Kiwi, and plan whether you will walk or fly onto a glacier tomorrow.

These musings were prompted by an unfinished conversation Dan and I had in Vietnam. So, for completeness, Dan, here are my five favourites (at 31/3/09):

Films: The Beach, Closer, The Seventh Seal, Ghostbusters, and Apocalypse Now

Albums: Highway 61 revisited, University, Meat is murder, A grand don't come for free (Wiki not really painting a pretty picture here, might have to do something about that), Parklife

Hot off the precipice

Call the search party off. Avalanche Peak has been safety negotiated, and the first self-congratulatory beer imbibed. A fantastic 3,500 climb up to around 6,000ft with stunning views across the Southern Alps. And what a beautiful day to do it! I started out at 9am, walking steeply up through trees and bush. Then, after an hour or so, came a glimpse 50 yards ahead of a bald, sheer-faced mountain and I emerged onto a small ledge, with a 1,500 ft drop the other side. My breathe was briefly taken at the change from enclosed forest walk to ridge-top hike. After a few vertiginous glances down, I stuck off uphill, following the markers for another hour to the top of the peak, joining two early birds at the top snapping away on our cameras like kids with a new toy. And these aren't really the big hills yet! More to come!

The best of intentions

Hiking in NZ is so organised you wouldn't believe it. Every two-bit town has a Dept of Conservation office or tourist information place with detailed maps and advice about the local walks and hikes. When you go on any kind of decent walk, you are supposed to register your intentions on, er, an intentions sheet, so they come looking for you if you don't return.

So I register my intentions here. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I climb Avalanche Peak (!), where hopefully I will get my first glimpse of the snow-capped Southern Alps. If I don't blog again soon, send the rescue party :-)

A dozen unformed thoughts

A week in NZ now, 4 days on the road in my lurid "campa" van, and I'm still getting to grips with travelling here. Driving hundreds of km a day affords you time to think, but the stunning scenery and vertiginous drops allow your mind to wander only so long, before your vehicle itself begins to wander away from the (not very) straight and (perilously) narrow.

NZ is beautiful, friendly, like Scotland but cleaner and with higher mountains. And terribly dull. At least, so far. Travellers here are young; and singles generally opt for the Kiwi Experience, a hop on / off bus tour with compulsory mirth on the journey and vomiting at the end of each night. (Or so my prejudice has me believe). Perhaps the extreme sports that are the most conspicuous aspect of this country's culture are a response to the genteelness of the people. Whatever the reason, I would say people here are holidaying, not travelling. For me, it's paling in comparison to the vibrancy of Vietnam, or the laughter in Laos.

Notwithstanding this ennui, probably borne of too little human company, I managed to make friends with some Dusky Dolphins this morning. Kaikoura, north of Christchurch on the Pacific coast, has an unsually deep trench just offshore which brings seals, dolphin and whales reliably within day trip distance of the town. Having seen sea lions first hand in the Galapagos (what? hasn't everyone?) and whales in Scotland, I opted for a Dolphin encounter at dawn. My wetsuit was so thick I could hardly lift it, but at least this provided some mental preparation for the minute or so of hyperventilation on entering the chilly waters. True enough, though, the cold was swiftly forgotten as I swam with 250 dolphin who emerged from the gloom heading towards land after a night's feeding. Singing to attract them, diving to see them, and kicking hard to keep up with them (all at the same time) was a challenge, but getting up close to the beautiful animals was fantastic. There wasn't exactly Flipper-like levels of interaction - they were clearly more interested in each other - but they oozed aquine cool as they cut through the waves. I did think about asking my guide what they tasted like, but then I remembered I'd left Vietnam

If one picture could tell a thousand words...

... it might be this one. That's me on the far left, on point in a raft on the Rangitata River here in good ol' NZ. Some of the bext Grade V rapids in the country apparently, and we got through without capsizing, unlike the rest of the boats. Must have been something to do with the bloke at the front.

A clarification

If anyone was in doubt as to why Cane Toads are a pest, I hope this photo of one, courtesy of my Dad, will clarify matters!

Looking north

It's Paddy's Day, and here in Brisbane the green T-shirts are out and the Guinness is flowing like the Liffey, begorrah. I have to rise at 5am, and as I write in my humid, 6'x7', $45 backpacker cell I'm predicting about 2 hours' sleep at the most.

My thoughts are not with the global influence of the Celts, however, but with a more dominant race, the Chinese. It is geographically obvious that the countries I have visited feel its growing presence more acutely than the UK. The emergence of China as a superpower is palpable here, and everyday people can see the impacts that politicians in the UK are still "predicting". Queensland's modest but beautiful Museum of Modern Art is even in on the act, deciphering the State's historical and present connections to the giant in the North. One exhibit, a collage of hundreds of advertisements styled as Communist propaganda posters, captures the tone of western companies' attitudes to this huge new market. It is presented not as traditional exploitation but the desperation of the potentially marginalised. It underlines that, here in the Pacific Rim, the balance of world power is perceived to have already shifted sunstantially to the East.

It's their world, more than ours

The wildlife in tropical Queensland can make everywhere else seem sterile. Sit for a while on a verandah, day or night, and you'll get the impression that nature is trying to claw back your incongruous humans-only space, such is the number of bats, bugs, lizards, frogs, birds and marsupials that come out of the forest to crawl on you, fly around you, and generally disturb your enjoyment of a cold beer. My family out here is extremely aware of and concerned about man's ability to damage ecosystems, but I did have to note a favourable comparison to Vietnam and Laos, where hunting, pollution and deforestation have, from my limited observations, decimated what was probably once a very similar environment.

Aussies do know a real pest when they see one, and they put them to good use. In the case of the local hotel (pub) in Arcadia on Magnetic Island, Cane Toads are raced for the amusement and financial gain of tourists. Clearly we have a future as toad trainers - we won two of the three races, pocketing a couple of T-shirts and nearly $200!

Hangin with Hamish

Hamish may not be famous in Europe, but he's makin waves here on Magnetic Island off the Queensland coast - literally. Hamish is a Category 5 Hurriane who threatened to put a real dampener on my week of r'n'r with my family in Oz. Happily for us, he's moving south towards the Whitsundays and may wreak havoc on infinitely more glitzy Hayman Island. Guess he'll be voting Labor in the forthcoming State elections...

Dan the Man!

I think it is a sign of how I've settled into being on the road that, now Dan has departed back to Blighty, there is a faint sense of returning to reality.

Going travelling is, I'm beginning to think, a quite selfish act, and having a good friend join you and catching up on gossip about friends, football, and general 30-something issues and angst reveals what a self-centred bubble you can create around yourself. You get used to intense but transient friendships, living more in the moment of a beautiful view or enjoyable meal than in the complexity of life back home. The contrast of going back to being on my own, combined with the incessant noise, oppressive humidity and general chaos of Saigon and the prospect of a new continent in a couple of days, has put me in a limbo. I'm trying to suck the marrow of Vietnam one last time while allowing myself to be happy about leaving the place and moving on to something different.

But I'm impressed with Dan for venturing to this amazing place. He's not an instinctive traveller, and 10 days out of his annual leave is a big commitment. It was easy for me to act the seasoned wanderer, but he didn't see the days in Vientiane and Hanoi where I wandered around the same streets trying to get up to speed with SE Asia and pluck the courage to sit down for a road side meal. There are many Dans, but there is only one Man.