Happy St Paddys Day

Hope everyones enjoying their Guiness. I'll be trying to find one/many tonight but after being served this in Sesimbra last Sunday Im not too hopeful - anyone else spot something wrong with the colour?!

Redondo

One of the advantages of being away from Montemor/Escoural was I could take some of the photos of old men sitting around talking about how the world used to be in the square - Ive being dying to take pics like these since I got here. And even here I wasnt brave enough to get too close.
If you want to look like a local you have to dress like a local. Flat caps essential. And a bargain at 6 euros!
I can tell what you're thinking. Its the middle of the week so why the hell is Bill wandering off playing tourist when he should be at work. Theres no mines in these pictures, no rocks.

Simple. This week was the deadline for lodging your tax return. Since I didnt have the codes to do it online I had to lodge it at the local tax office. Except that everyone else was doing it too - at the office inMontemor the queue was already out the door and down the stairs. Mailing it isnt an option apparently. Rather than stand for 2 hours we drove to Redondo (90kms east of Montemor, past Evora), put the return in in 10 minutes, had lunch and drove back. Easy.
Welcome to bureaucracy. To pay my water bills I had to visit 4 counters 5 times.

Sesimbra

Theres nothing better on a sunny Sunday than sittting back in a cafe with a beer after a good seafood lunch next to the beach ......

(finally I get to write the opening sentence I want!)

I can't think of much more to say here since the photos say it all. The fort is the Fortaleza de Santiago. Sesimbra is a fishing village to the south of Lisbon on the Costa Azul, just off the freeway into town. And since its so close its become less of a fishing village now and more one of the favourite day trips from Lisbon (especially if you have a motorbike). A sizeable proportion of its population decided to join me for a Sunday lunch and people-watch, and then to walk along the promenade to enjoy the sunset, or sit on the sea wall to relax with an icecream. They then joined me in driving back to Lisbon meaning the 18kms from Sesimbra to Seixal took 35 minutes. At least I waited an hour and a half after dark to join the queue. I dont know if they also joined me in sending bragging sms's around the world but Id like to think so.

That however was not the reason I was driving around the freeways north of Lisbon at 1am (for your info - to get to Montemor you take the southbound freeway). It had something to do with a dinner invitation which changed into beers in a cafe overlooking the dark Atlantic without explanation, arguing about opening a bookshop/art gallery/cafe/wine bar, intellect not quite reached by being taught the 20 words for 'penis' in Portuguese while driving along the Tejo, a bag never unpacked, an unused hotel reservation and the final contradiction between a home close enough to drive back at midnight but the journey being made longer by wrong directions. It wasnt anything exciting really but Sunday felt good since the sun was out and in the sun life is much enjoyable.

This weeks safety initiative

(I havent used those words since leaving a certain large multinational corporation!)

Traffic/speed control in Portugal: The flashing lights mean that the radar controls in the traffic lights in the distance are active. If you go over 50km/h (or 70 for others) the lights go red. Stay below 50, they stay green. No fines, no cops, no photographs (although I have been told a couple are fitted with cameras - as is typical here one person has said thats true, three people have said its not!). Simply if you're speeding then you're forced to slow down by being made to stop.

Very good idea especially for country towns like this one or bad stretches of road. One flaw - they tend to only get installed close to mayoral/national elections, and therefore any two bit town may get one out of greed not need whereas others miss out. Thats politics.....

Not for animal lovers

Warning this post contains photos of dead animals, and cooked animals. You may think Im being funny but they traumitised someone at work the other day
.
By popular request! On the left baby deer, on the right grouse. On the extreme right sh*t white wine/vinegar.

Around here the perfect accessory for your truck/tractor is wild pig tails. And how do you get them? See the guy below. This shows you the sort of guys I work with. The following photos are from a hunt a couple of the guys went on last Sunday - the results are shown in the last photo (dead animal warning). Im used to fieldies/drillers/whoever asking me to print out photos from their weekend/break - at times some have been more "interesting" than others but these are certainly unique. Carlos would probably like me to point out that the big black one is the one that he shot.

Im not sure if I should be outraged here or defend them - on the good side the people hunting are not the rich but local people ie the traditional hunters, it is restricted to two days a week in season and only to licensed hunters. When a pig is killed the whole animal is used and none of it wasted. But they are still hunting for enjoyment not out of need.

Pequena coisas 3: conversations over coffee

Today is a public holiday. The first I knew was a sign in the gym Monday saying "We're open for the holiday". My diary says its a holiday in Angola. Only after asking everyone at work did I find out that its a public holiday just for this town/area. So all of my fieldies are having a holiday but all the geos are at work as they are from different areas and would rather have the public holidays set down for that area. Confused? Well thats why Im at work as I dont know whether to have a day off or not - also since I wasnt expecting to have a day off Id just waste it anyway. But then when do I have holidays? Maybe I should take all the Australian public holidays from now on.

*****

One of the great things about living in Europe is the chance to watch quality football live e.g. Barcelona-Chelsea last night. Of course the game was made more enjoyable by a few glasses of wine in a cafe eating a good dinner - I dont get cable so I had to procrastinate over dinner to watch the game. The Mourinho factor mean that the game attracted more interest in Portugal than England v Spain usually would - the man is revered here. I loved his reaction after Ronaldhino's magic goal - one of the trainers was frantically telling him what they could do and he seemed to just shrug his shoulders and say "What can we do? The guy is brilliant and the game is over".

*****

This conversation is typical when ordering food in Portugal:
Waiter: How many portions (doses)?
Us: Well what do you think? How many will we need?

(the size of servings in Portugal range from large to huge - its always nice to have an idea of just how big)
Waiter: Well do you eat a lot or not much?
Us: Well normal, I mean theres 5 of us and we came for lunch.
Waiter: Right 5 servings then.
5 servings appear each big enough to feed 2-3. This is one of the reasons lunch takes twice as long in Portugal

*****

Portuguese Guy: Wow what are these things in my tea?
Me: Cloves.... ummm I dont know the Portuguese. You use them in fruit, sometimes in stews?
PG asks waitress what they are. Answer is "crevinho" for those playing at home.
PG: Ah yes I know these. My mum uses them for roasting meat. You know the Portuguese discovered these and brought them back to Europe?
I explode with laughter at his confidence/pride in Portugals discoveries since 30 seconds ago he didnt know what it was.

Although he's probably right - historically the Portuguese were one of the worlds great seafaring nations and explorers and many spices, countries ... were discovered by them. Portuguese pride dictates that I must be made aware of exactly who/what is Portuguese at all times (the actor who played the bad guy in 24? Portuguese). It reminds me of that skit in Goodness Gracious Me where the dad walks around pointing at things and telling anyone who'll listen its "Indian".

*****

Not that I should pretend to be smarter:
Me: So turkey is "peru" right?
Portuguese Guy 2: Yes thats right
Me: Hmmm thats weird. You know for me Peru is a country
PG2: Yes well for us Turkey is a country.
*me looks at toes sheepishly

*****

Of course urban myths are largely spread by either stupidity or deliberate misinformation. Australian tourists specialise in the latter. I assume that when I was asked last weekend "Do you have cats in Australia?" it was because some top Aussie has spread the story about keeping roos and koalas for pets instead of cats and dogs. Of course its the truth ;) Have I ever told you about the drop bears......

Minas do Sao Domingos

The Minas do Sao Domingos are an abandoned Au-Cu mine in the south-east of Portugal. Mining began during Roman times and started again in the 1950s. Now its a ghost town of miners cottages, ruined mine offices, warehouses, even a railway station (above). Ironically the landscape was strangely Australian - similar iron-rich soils, the buildings reminded me of Big Bell and it was the first open pit Id seen in a while. Like most I'd worked around it was filled with water (and due to the sulphides in the ore it was a "little" acidic - pH 1). There are storks everywhere - I liked this one on the old chimney. Otherwise theyre on power poles.

The ChurchThe town of Mertola nearby. Down in the river theres a ruined Roman pier

It was the weekend for trips to old, abandoned mines - on Saturday we went to Canal Caveira an old copper mine SE of Lisbon. Of course this was also a good excuse to for a day trip and a a decent lunch out of town so three out of four fieldies came. Also the carpenter. Two hours there, two hours for a very nice lunch and maybe half an hour kicking rocks. Just the way I like it. On the way back we stopped at the dam near Torrao to admire the view and have the most expensive coffee in Portugal thus far. Its was a very Trainspotting moment - the five of us leaning on a wall having a smoke (well 4 out of 5) looking at a half empty dam and admiring mans's ability to contain water under grey skies about to pour on us at any moment.

My fellow bloggers

A think piece all the fault of the myopic one

Yesterday I went for lunch and a drive with the guys. I accidentally left my camera in my car which provoked some stress during the day. I mean a whole day without photos. What would happen if I saw something?

Since I got my digicam I have been an absolute pain (as those who have been with me when Im playing will attest). Im too focussed on photographing to share the experience with those with me, even to listen/talk to them. I slow down walks with the need to take a photo every 10m. And I obsess about taking a particular shot at the expense of others which are probably better. Im not the only one. I can list the places Ive been where everyone is too busy photographing the moment to actually live/enjoy it. At Wicklow I saw two teenagers posing with 5 taking photos - no doubt all 5 of those photos were blogged that night.

It is the obsession of our generation. No longer do you travel with a pair of jocks, a 3rd hand 5 year old Lonely Planet guide and a towel. Now its digital camera and laptop (and a pair of jocks and a towel!). Add in a GPS and compass for me since work is never far from play. I was amazed in a Muinch hostel last year at the absence of boring stories from my fellow backpackers. Instead they whipped out a camera and showed me the photos. Which helps avoid those stories of "You know the one, you walk up the main road, turn right across the bridge and its on the other side". Call it a diary, a web log, a photo journal, documenting, life caching, whatever you will but everyones doing it. Some are travel journals, others diaries, some are scrapbooks of fragments of poetry, art, photography. Some are all at once. A new one for me from Europe is the group blog - a uni/school class use their blog as a bulletin board, all blogging their news or just posting jokes and pictures that otherwise would be forwarded around.

I started blogging when I moved here as a way to avoid group emails or writing the same email to 20 people with a little change each time. Its a way to get allow everyone access to see the things Im seeing, hear the things Im hearing, join in the things Im doing. Its up to you if you look at it or not so I dont have to worry if the people receiving are interested or not, whether I should have more/less/bigger/smaller photos so I dont fill peoples inboxes, if their mailbox is full or that email address isnt checked anymore. For those that do read they have the choice to only look at what they want (photos only cos I talk too much? Fine!) or to ask more questions about the bits they're interested in. With any luck it might inspire, or provoke a response or just provide a start to a conversation and yes occasionally it is attention seeking.

Its not just a mix of a photo-journal, diary and travel log but a means of communication and expression too. So its occasionally wordy, sometimes verbose and certainly not a list of places seen. Think about the difference between a documentary maker and a film maker - a film maker tries to tell a story and make you feel, a documentary maker holds up a mirror, transmits a view. Some people are more natural journalists, other create stories, sometimes about fact, sometimes about fiction. Certainly a lot of my writing is creative. Partly that comes from my nervousness at time to take photos in public (I hate revealing myself as a tourist or feeling that Im exposing myself as "different"). As a result I often end up painting word pictures. When I talk about a town I dont just give the tourist view I give my view. Right or wrong, factual or ill-informed and occasionally a personal connection.

And thats where it gets interesting as I try not to make it too personal. I hate the million blogs from college students called Rebecca or Brad that crap on about their not very interesting lives ("OMG I have a 3000 word essay to write before Monday and Im soooo tired after going out last night with Nicole but you should seen this guy she kissed"). Yes those conversations have a place but taking up megabytes on the internet isnt it. I dont believe people are that interested in whether Im tired or have a lot of work on or that I had muesli for breakfast. Fair point that I often blog what I did on my weekend and sometimes it isnt that interesting. But I dont like spilling my guts in public - I keep most feelings to myself and like it that way. However I also feel that keeping all my views/feelings out means losing the point of view which makes this more than just a photojournal or a travel guide. So the line between personal impression and personal diary is hard to maintain at times.

Whether blog or fiction whenever people can identify themselves there is a possibility of that relationship being altered. I am (or at least I feel I am) easily identifiable both at home and also in Portugal. So what I say can not only affect my personal life but my professional one - my reputation in the community, my relationship with the guys I work with, my company's image, even share market disclosure laws. Like an true egoshootr I am able to impress and embarass with one post, to communicate and open myself could also be to shoot myself in the foot. Hence my natural paranoia about the photos I take reaches new heights, and my desire to keep things anonymous and impersonal is increased. A lot of the guys here know that I take photos "for my mates in Australia", and some know I have a blog. But photos of people are only posted after much angst. Nicknames are preferred to names and used only when absolutely neccessary. Which keeps more to be hinted at, to be read beneath the lines.

A lot of time a response surprises you - there are times you forget that an audience is out there. At other times you find yourself expecting others to respond. Some are more confident in commenting on blogs, in turning them into a conversation. I find it hard at times with others, and certainly dont expect it on mine. But I probably view it as sending the first email and become passive at other forms of commnication as a result. I have been surprised at some of the people who have read this blog - its fantastic, hopefully it gives them a window into the experience - but they also remind you that what you write is out there and being read and makes you careful what you say. Ive chosen to have this blog public and freely shared the address. Hey why not?! l love telling stories - I just hate revealing my feelings!! In keeping other people out of the subject matter I make this blog more and more about me, meaning that when others react to what Im saying or feeling they really react to how they see their place in my life or my development. Which of course may not be anything to do with what Im trying to say. Many of these posts are written for or inspired by people, often with more feeling in them than is apparent. Those who know me can read the signs, can understand the jokes aimed at them, those sentences baited to provoke a response. But being a public blog means it has to be vague, hinted at, an intellectual game for the audience to play.

In doing that I keep a control on myself too. No-one blogs in preference to going to the pub, or heading out on a trip. Blogging by definition is a solo game, often done in a reflective mood. If its done after a good night out it can be in the afterglow of a great time, or equally during the come down, the tired and hungover day after, those January blues after a great silly season, a winters day kept inside with no outlet for creativity except work and blog. For those prone to introspection the solitude can give such expression a melancholy tone, something as simple as thoughtful pondering can sound like despair and depression. Again thats the audience. In being more explicit you could dissuade those thoughts. But that loses the lyricism of the writer, the beauty of the unspoken moment. At any stage where you expose yourself to public view you risk analysis and embarrasment, self analysis in hindsight can make you cringe at some of the things you've written.

Others are more open and more personal in their blogs, partly because they are more comfortable with who's reading or that theres less information linking them to their blog. They may be more circumspect in keeping their blog for themselves, or for their friends, either by friend-locking, only revealing the url to a chosen few or the complete extreme of a public blog which can't be linked to them. That other net phenomenon - the setting up of an internet persona, someone who is not you, that nom de plume who can be hidden behind when you want to get on with your own life, or who represents things that you are not neccessarily in your day to day life and gives you the confidence to say things that otherwise you wouldnt. The internet equivalent on putting on a mask and cape and becoming a superhero. This can confuse those who know your disguise with who you really are - the person across the table in the cafe or the blogger. But also the essence of the creative process, to put yourself in someone else's shoes and write as if you weren't yourself. People can be more creative in their blogs when theyre not based on fact/linked to their life. But if they turn their blogs into fiction does that ruin the benefit of anonymity. Equally if people turn their lives into novels using their blogs as a framework how will that work for them? Their audience may be comfortable with the relationship as a blog, the ability to comment, to restrict who sees. Also does an entertaining blog make an entertaining book, if you convert it into fiction will you have to take some of the time&place context out? In removing that, or removing parts about yourself do you remove the essence?

The future will probably start with pruning - easier access to and wider reading of the good ones, death to the bad. Even publication (if that isnt a backward step). Also easier sharing of photos (as you take them?), or other multimedia. Will reality TV is replaced by people carrying a webcam with them? And then the same choices/angst - some will have them on all the time, some just when they're out or when youre travelling - but these issues will make those of blogging pale in comparison. Will you be talking to your friend over coffee, or to all their friends too through the net? Will you switch your cam off while your friend asks your advice? Will you keep yours on during a date so your friends can sms advice (and hers can give her their impression of you? And if it goes well will you switch your cam off while having sex?!

The Carnevale which never was.....

I wanted to start this post on Monday with something like "Theres nothing better on a weekend than walking through a sunny day in Lisbon and having a coffee overlooking the Tejo". But it rained solidly all Saturday. The dangers of expectation.

I got to Lisbon Friday night after being delayed with beer, prawns, sauteed baby deer (it tasted like wild pig which has me wondering) and stewed grouse. Animal lovers are now going to lynch me. Wait til you see the next post or so. Oh musn't forget the chocolate cake either. With no-one out I went to see "Walk the Line" - movies in Lisbon are like the old days where you get allocated a seat and if you're late you get shown to it with a torch. After that I wandered round looking for a bar for an hour.

I still havent really found where to have a quiet beer in Lisbon. Bairro Alto is most of the bars are but in true European style you're as likely to walk into a gay bar or a skinhead bar as a "normal" bar (normal in Bairro Alto is Berlin normal so pretty alternative). Theres a couple of touristy nightspots with fake Irish pubs, a few yuppie bar/cafes but the the rest of Lisbon drinks in the narrow smoky cafe/cervejarias like those in the country.

So I ended up in a yuppie bar in Saldanha where they ignored me for 10 minutes, served me, ignored me for another 10 minutes after Id finished my beer before telling me they wouldnt serve me as there was only 5 minutes til closing. Just as I was starting to relax. I suspect because Lisbon is a city which has evolved from the country anyone wanting to run a "different" type of bar had to get away from the traditional to appeal to those who believe they live in a city. This evolution has a lot of similarities to that seen in Australian cities. The end result is too cool for school and not wanting to serve a thirsty country boy. However there was a silver lining as it meant I got a bonus phonecall from the girl.

Saturday became a mix of trying to chill out before my bosses arrived and make the most of being in a proper city - without getting wet. It became fairly typical of my time here - time wandering shopping centres for clothes, shoes, food - i found tonkatsu sauce! - and browsing bookstores. Then running into a couple of people and an explosion of conversation over coffee about where to eat, movies, how many points Porto were ahead of Sporting, describing Japan to those who want to go. Then alone just as suddenly and sitting in a cafe with a coffee and a pastry writing some postcards trying to make sense of it all.

And thats before I got sucked into the whirlwind of dinner, wine, talk of new projects, current projects, trips to Eastern Europe and Northern Africa next week, next month, later this year (todays post is brought to you by the letters A and M for those playing at home). Sunday was driving out to the project and back with 2 bottles of wine with lunch and "Why are you drilling that hole" "What has this done to the resource" "Why don't you drill a deep hole to test that?" "Maybe you should stay here til that hole's finished".... and then having to drag my arse out of bed Monday and make it all happen.

Monday night/Tuesday was Carnevale - dress up, mask up and party. Except no-one told me where the party was. My gym had a dinner on which I almost went to but who socialises with people from their gym? Mind you the instructors seemed happy enough dressed up as women for the night ("Its Brasilian"). And tonight they told me they were out partying until 8am. So maybe I shouldnt be so snobby about fratenising with the gym dudes. Personally I crashed out and slept most of the next day, even though I didnt think I had anything to recover from.

Walk with me

(Warning: reading this post may lead to exercise)

About once a week someone turns up at the office needing a bill paid straight away, or the drillers need to borrow cash for parts until the money get transferred from Romania. It means I end up forking out (mostly because I have company $$$ and hate any of my guys forking out their own) and usually means I have to take a walk down to the ATM or Multibanco or hole in the wall or whatever you wish to call it. Its also the same walk I do if I have to post my water meter reading, or post postcards to you all.

I walk down our street past the dogs which bark whenever anything moves near them and the orange trees we steal from whenever in season. I turn on to the main road and walk past the service station which isnt in service these days, past the primary school with the kids playing football, sitting on the wall looking at these strange adults and yelling at each other, climbing trees. I walk past the old men sat around the cafe and around the old fountain, each with a walking stick, most with flat caps, and the sheepskin jacket (black wool on the outside) traditional to the region, all talking about everything and anything. Sometimes one of the guys we use for earthmoving or the electrician or the carpenter will drive past and wave.

The road becomes cobbled after the fountain so if its morning I walk past the street sweepers, a gang of old ladies in straw hats sweeping the street with a broom. It also narrows a lot which increases the chance of being mown down by an insane Portuguese motorist. Crossing is fraught with danger - we've watched amazed a cat stop, look left, look right, look both ways again and then walk across the pedestrian crossing. Since its happened twice it cant be just a coincidence.

The walk is one of the only "Bill" moments in the day. Its different to the same walk that we do as a group to go to lunch every day, even though its the same walk. At the moment Im alone just before work but I can hear the cars pulling in. Then the conversation and arguing starts, the radio noise, the planning of the day/week/lunch, and a semi-regular trail of people through my door with questions, ideas, receipts, invoices, drilling reports, or just stuff to come and have a look at. Therefore as a break the walk is precious. I have started it in every emotion from tired to angry to frustrated to purposeful to happy to thoughtful. As I walk my mind, my thoughts expand and are released, my mood dissipates.

Some days those thoughts mean I dont see whats around me and could be walking anywhere. Some days I am like a child looking around for every new and different thing. Usually Im just enjoying the sense of being here, of the fresh air and the olive trees on the hill, the town and the people that have become so familiar.

There is this strange stocktake in my mind at the moment of other places I've walked - the walk to school through Hamer Park, along City/Floreat Beach, walking from the mine to camp at Big Bell looking down on the pit, the walks after work through the Pilbara, around the airstrip at Rhodes, the walk along the Swan near Applecross. And not just Perth - the walk up a mountain at Jasper, the drunken stagger through Vancouver, the walk through Highams Park re-tracing steps I trod as a child, through Kreuzberg or Frederichstein, the opposites of sunny, quiet Schwabing and a hectic and crowded New York and then around Ako and Kobe with the strange serene sense of calm in a place that is so crowded and artificial/concrete/glass/neon. Its almost like a wrap-up, a summary and suddenly the question "Is this it?" is in my head. To ignore it I start asking myself what else do I want to see, where else do I want to experience.

What is your walk? Where is it? Go on, go and do it. My challenge for the weekend. Its as easy as walking home from work, into the town centre or to the shops, around the park near your place, going up to a lookout over your town and city or even to the water if you have it. Get out, let your thoughts go and experience your surroundings.

So what DID give me food poisoning?

Yes I stole that title from Deeevo. I find it ironic that Im laid low in a European country with a stomach bug from something - either a bad yoghurt (the boys today told me to be careful which brands you buy) or the leftover pastry from yesterday (highly suss although it was a really nice shop in Evora) or just an overload of good (i.e. rich) food - not through eating something weird and wonderful in Japan or drinking til dawn last night (didn't even have one!). Whatever it was I couldnt eat anything at lunch today (will spare you the gory details) and have spent the afternoon between bed and the couch (thankfully not the toilet anymore). Note I have to word this to balance seeking attention with avoiding being fussed over. I mean I already have my head fieldy ringing me every couple of hours to make sure Im getting better. And I dont want to write one of those "Im sick so Im not going to write anything but look at me!!" posts.

So yes good food. Thats how you celebrate the end of a drill programme - pastrys in the afternoon on the rig, bread, sausages, beer and wine after work, lunches of bread, egg and coriander soup with chicken on the side (and wine), half a pig grilled in Evora yesterday (with wine) and today wouldve been the other half of the pig (with wine) if I could stomach it. That is the flip side to all the pain you go through running a project e.g. my post earlier in the week which those in my job will recognise as the usual shit you go through - just it always happens all at once!

So now the couch once again on a Saturday night (aint my life glamorous?!). Portuguese TV is helping me through with Spurs-Liverpool reruns, Elektra, the news, "Rat Wars", The Price Is Right PT-style (called Dinheiro na mao or Money in the Hand) and a strange Harrison Ford movie Ive never seen where he's a Russian sub commander. MTV has Madonna (yes ABBA covers are that popular) and Beyonce (better!). Thank f*k I just found Futurama.

Therefore being bored Im playing with all the weird and wonderful things on the internet. I have plugged it already but I am in awe of Pandora - pick a band and it makes a playlist full of similar music from around the world. No longer do you have to take a punt on import CDs talked up by NME/Rolling Stone which turn out to sound completely different to their description. Or you can compare and contrast Antena Tres and Triple J - both independent state-owned youth-focussed broadcasters.

Other stuff to play with - you could create a map of the world and see how much of a world traveller you are. I thought I was OK but only have managed 4% of the world :(

Notice that Africa and South America are glaringly absent. Mind you so is Asia.

To skew the odds in my favour I focussed on Europe. Up to 15%. Theres a lot out there who will do better than me on this. Notice I've managed to go all around Spain and not visit it. Hmm. That should change in the next 6 months. As should the lack of visits to Eastern Europe or the Austro-Hungarian empire. Scandanavia's another big hole when you look at Europe like this.

I have to win one of these so I zoomed in on England. I'm supposed to link here "I've visited the counties in yellow. Which counties have you visited?". Go on. You know you want to. I mean you might even beat me? In reality I cheated since I harrassed my parents for details of the trips I did as a kid to make sure I almost filled one of these bloody things!!! Part of me believes if you can't remember being there it shouldnt count.

made by marnanel
map reproduced from Ordnance Survey map data by permission of the Ordnance Survey.
© Crown copyright 2001.

The sudden realisation I'm back at work

Or: how it only took one week to drive me round the bend again

Spring has arrived in Portugal. Its sunny and warm outside (kind of - 15 during the day, Im still freezing at night and in the office). As proof these two are running around the back of our office eating anything within reach.

I can hear the "awwwwww's" from here. They're actually both evil. Between them they are completely killing what little work ethic there was around here. Not that motivation was helped by last week:

• Monday - looked at core from hole finished on Saturday again and realised Id ended hole in mineralisation. Also that they waited 8 hours on standby before I finished - ie if they'd drilled through night shift they would've come out of the zone. Then approved lab invoice only to realise next day they'd analysed for something we didnt ask for and therefore overcharged us.
• Tuesday - delete connection to mail server from outlook in morning almost breaking email. Not that I can connect to server using outlook anyway (since its in Perth) but is still nice for things like contacts. This is part of NEW REGIME where instead of web-based email I'm using outlook/POP and also using new extenal HDD instead of a very full & slow C:drive. But since laptop hasnt been reformatted yet Im still working from both drives which in the short terms is slower and will inevitably lead to data mis-matches and loss, making the new regime all the more difficult to implement. As it is now I hate Outlook 2003.
• Tuesday PM - join a gym. Entertaining going through all the "Do you drink? smoke? have a heart condition?" in another language. "How many coffees a week?" Ummmm. The gym guys here are disturbingly (and genuinely) friendly and always walk past and give a big thumbs up and a "great, keep going" or ask "everything good?". Which is really nice although I suspect an evil motive behind "now hold that for 20 seconds - its the best!" - its not as my abs bloody hurt after 10 .
• Wednesday - go out to see current status of diamond hole which will not end (actually ended yesterday after one blown motor, one blown repair job and 70m past planned depth). On way back get distracted so end up half in ditch - roads are a bit narrower compared to the Pilbara. Also theres more traffic so you cant drive down the middle of the road (well not as much). Would all have been OK except that as I realised where I was the road went over a little bridge with some nice brick edging. So wipe out bottom of car. Steering starts feeling a bit funny. This piece of metal may or may not have come from the bottom of the car (no way I'm saying more without lawyers). Of course I did an incident report/investigation....

• Thursday - find out have broken a steering bar on the car. Cost 350 euros. Not allowed by head fieldy to pay for it as we have to take car back to Lisbon/rental company to get it done. Instead I can lend drillers 450 euros so they can get a new fuel pump for their Land Rover as any money transfer wont get to their account til Monday.
• Friday - driller turns up at office asking for me to print an email from his office. The GNR (local cops) turn up on his heels. The email is the renewed insurance form for their car to replace the out of date version he gave the cops that morning. But they would also like to see his license, especially since they thought thats what he was going to get when he drove away from them...... So the fun starts. We go through "I don't have it on me", "its being renewed so its in the mail", "I didnt get given a temporary license" and "my old ones were stolen in Indo" (all this while refusing to budge from my office) and get to "Why do they want to see my passport?" Gee I wonder. Again no comment in case its used against me in a court of law.

That probably is a better answer for "Whats it like over there?" than the long and vague spiel I gave people in Perth. Did I mention the sun was shining and the lambs were frolicking?!

Perth or What I did on my holiday by Bill O aged 27.5

Tourist definition: "Perth is the major city on the west coast of Australia with 1.9 million inhabitants and the capital of Western Australia (the biggest state in Australia), also the most isolated city in the world. It lies on the Swan River which also hosts the port of Fremantle. Between the river and the beaches most of Perth's beauty and attractions revolve around the water. Climate is anything from pleasant to hot to humid to chucking it down in rain but usually its pleasant (according to me thats 23-32 degrees, sunny and light breezes). It is a windy city though with a strong sea breeze most evenings."

I couldve just shown a photo to say that:

Perth is an important financial centre - easy with only 8 cities you say but as WA contains most of Australia's mineral resources the CBD/West Perth are home to most of Australia's major and junior mining companies. Its convenient when your company's head office is in your home city - you could argue that the proximity to all this mining led to my career but in fact most of the workforce in these companies is from other states or New Zealand. Choice bro.But for Bill Perth is not just a place. Perth is home and therefore includes much much more. Lets be Portuguese and start with food. Yes theres the iconic barbies. But how about Szechaun sausage with bubble tea at 1am as a way to sober up?! Cuisine consists of or is influenced by anything thats been brought with our many immigrants. While I was back I had Thai, Vietnamese, Italian, Turkish bread with hummus (may not sound special but if I say Ankara those who know will understand), nachos (again not so unique but I made them and they were damn good - satay chicken nachos with guacamole). I missed Indian, Greek, Indonesian, African and thats just the specialty restaraunts. Most cafes have at least one curry, one noodle/stir-fry dish, pasta dishes or dishes like chilli mussels or chicken soup with coriander and rice noodles or grilled chorizo, dishes now thought to be "Australian".

Of course there was a few nights out too - Perth "entertainment" tries to marry the English pub with the Latin al fresco and usually comes up with drinking beer outside in the sun, near water where possible. Theres only half a million mock English/Irish pubs. Aussie beer is changing too from the ice cold refreshment used to cool you down while drinking in the sun to more English, fuller flavoured ales or pilseners. And no-one drinks Fosters.

My home suburb of Mount Lawley was orginally declared a "dry" suburb by its founder. Which means my usual haunts the Queens and the Inglewood are seperated by a good 2kms. Controversially one of the cafes managed to morph into the Flying Scotsman around 10 years ago which means theres a handy refreshment stop around 1.4kms into the walk. For some reason the Scotto has always looked like this to me when Ive walked past over the last 10 years and its nice to see it hasnt changed.
There are some more worrying changes to Perth, especially when it comes to urban planning.
Dont panic potential tourist. Perth is not riddled with cross-dressing prostitutes. Only sometimes when fancy dress themes for birthday parties get stretched to the limits of a velvet slip dress padded with balloons :) Other special occasions like Australia Day get explosions and alcohol as befits the anniversary of the English running aground to start a penal colony in a foreign country using their rules (ignoring subtle details like the people already there, the climate and the lack of water).

The normal Australia Day celebration in Perth is drinking smuggled alcohol (public drinking is illegal in Australia) from midday thus getting completely drunk and stupid and missing the fireworks through being passed out or arrested. Departing from the norm we relaxed on a balcony drinking mango daquiris (Bills recipe - 1.5 caps bacardi, 1 mango, lots of ice, mix, blend, drink), tequila sunrises, eating homemade gourmet mini-pizzas and crackers double stacked with grape and brie, with the cricket and the Hottest 100 on in the background. Only when the sun was setting did we venture to the waterfront to watch the sky light up. To enhance the fireworks experience a commercial FM station puts together an soundtrack of Australian commerical hits (ie pub rock standards and ex-Neighbours pop) from the last 30 years. Unfortunately we had no radio. Luckily someone decided to rise to the occasion and describe the fireworks for the benefit of all, well more acting as an early warning system "It's coming, it's coming". And so is Christmas. In fact it was "sparkling like a Christmas tree" (poetry m'dear). As his excitement grew during the frenzied finale he began to shout "Rocket coming, rocket coming" or "Big Rocket coming". I suspect his day job is narrating porn movies.

Somehow my time in Perth coincided with the 2 one-day cricket internationals. Coincidence - I think not ;) Those who dont like sport or can't understand cricket might appreciate the spectacle - since we don't particularly like our national flag everyone dresses in green and gold (not canary yellow) meaning a full and colourful WACA. Not so colourful is the rubbish thrown during the mexican wave or the fights between aggro drunks. Its strange how pissed you can get on mid-strength (only beer sold in the ground). Anyone else seeing a pattern between smuggled booze, drunken idiots and typical "Aussie" celebrations? Those who appreciate cricket will understand the joy in seeing Gilly smacking 100 off 88 balls. WA's isolation from the rest of Australia makes us a little parochial when it comes to sport, economics, in fact anything really. Dont get me started on how much of Australia's export earnings we contribute. So even if its Australia playing the crowd will be supporting half the team a little more.
To this mix of what Perth is and what I do with it I add some emotion - the strange feeling of not having my own home in my hometown, the frantic juggle to sort out my "affairs" (no not those - packing my belongings into storage and trying to work out what needs to be paid or cancelled or changed), the effort to achieve all the work things I wanted to do, and the desire to catch up with everyone and spend time with those I love. The welcoming hug of home can become constricting when you add to it the pressure of your own expectations. I reckon I did none of those well but somehow I managed to do them all - drinking at the Ingie, the Queens and out the back of 209, eating at the Boatshed, Little Creatures, Sienas and the Red Orchid, lunch in West Perth without wanting to go back to work, meetings where I forgot all the important items I was going to push for, playing beach volleyball everywhere but at the beach, sleeping on the grass in the sun at the WACA, walking around the Swan, even singing "The Gambler" on Cathys birthday, yes, all of my normal life. Perth never seems to change when I go back, it lets me slot back in like I never went away. It was a shock to be back in the middle of it rather than only able to observe and react through the detachment of email. Most important was seeing that everyone was OK, that life moves on, quicker for some, slower for others, the same battles and frustrations or exciting and incomprehensible new challenges. It seems a lot now when I look back on it and the delay in blogging it partly represents an attempt to reflect. Contradictions abound - Im more relaxed yet more determined, Im glad to be back yet wish Id had more time at home, its nice to be alone again yet if anything Im missing people more, I dont really feel like talking yet Im spilling my guts on a blog. Im back in Portugal and it doesn't seem like I left here either. Confused? I am.

Your next trip should be to Singapore......

On the Perth-Singapore flight I sat next to a middle-aged Singaporean lady. Strangely enough we began talking about Perth and Singapore.... I was talking about Perth and mentioned that I thought it wasn't as rich as Singapore when sharply "Who told you Singapore was rich? Its not rich, there is no money there". She went on to explain - that the ruling family holds all the money while everyone else lived in decaying 60's and 70's apartment blocks. That all the companies are run by their sons and daughters and all the profits stay in the family. That no-one can speak up about it as to criticise would mean ending up in jail. That everyone keeps their head down, their mouths shut.

She tells me a joke - theres two fisherman, one Malay, one Singaporean. They fish all day and the Malaysian has a full load of fish, while the Singaporean has nothing. The Malaysian asks the Singaporean why and he answers "Its because the fish here dont open their mouths"

I looked down at her wrist and saw a diamond studded watch. I listened to her tell me "I am old and I am ill in my kidneys. Singapore stresses me so I go to Perth every month". But not next month. Next month she's going to London to see her son. He went to school in Perth, at Christ Church, he started university doing Science/Engineering at UWA. But then he got a scholarship to Oxford. He's an astrophysicist now, he's still in the UK. But he won't come back to Singapore. So she goes to visit him a few times in the year.

She says again that Singaporeans arent rich, that they spend all the money they get. I start thinking that even if its everything they've got its still a lot of money being spent. I wonder whether thats because their children do so well that any notion of leaving an inheritance, leaving a legacy has no point. But I say nothing. So she asks me whether Ive been to Singapore. And I say no.

And suddenly her voice changes a little. "One day you must try and spend a few hours. Take the bus from the airport - its free - and you can get on and off at all the attractions. You can do it in 3 hours, its easy, everything is very close together. Not like Perth. Maybe one time you could even fly in from London in the morning and take the evening plane to Perth. That way you can see everything, you just take the train into town. Don't bother staying overnight, dont spend money on a hotel. You should go to the island of Sentosa. Do you like food? Theres wonderful food everywhere. You must visit."

Home. Thats what it means.

On my way......

Its as if Portugal had to prove how unpredictable it is. Its crazy enough when its calm but last night the guys decided we had to have a dinner for my going away. No Im not leaving already, my contract hasnt ended, I havent quit, the company hasnt been taken over. Im going back to Australia for just over 2 weeks. Thats it. But I had to have a send-off dinner?! I suspect any excuse to have a boys dinner out is good (I can just imagine them getting home and explaining to their wives "Sorry darling but it was terrible, the boss made me stay out until 1am!") but it was also a very nice gesture and one of the reasons I love it here. You never quite know when your next dinner is coming from (last Monday I was settling in on the couch at 8pm when the phone rang "Will you have dinner with us?"), in fact you never quite know when your next course is coming from. Last night we had soup alentejano which is soup with coriander, garlic, egg and about a loaf of bread soaked in it, with two trays of chicken pieces if you feel like adding meat to your soup - this is after the customary starter of bread, cheese and olives. I wasn't quite sure whether there was another course coming or not - as it turned out only chips and salad followed. Other days I would've expected half a pig to be the next course. You never know so you eat tentatively waiting for a sign you should restrain or go the whole hog (pardon the pun!) - which isnt a bad thing as dinner stretches out over a couple of hours anyway (no such thing as fast food!).

Its funny how just before I leave I feel most at home in a place. In a way I dont want to go back home as theres so much happening here. In fact Im having problems working out where "home" is for me! especially when hearing others about "home" be it Australia, Zimbabwe, England, Ireland, Germany. I wonder what Im feeling for Portgual. Its funny - I can understand the connection for places you grew up in a place, or lived/worked there for a long time, or have family, but Ive only been here such a short time! Mind you I had similar feelings for Berlin but its hard to understand especially when Im also looking forward to the people I'll see in Perth, to sun and heat and beach and the Indian Ocean and the Swan, to volleyball and cricket not just football, to thai or indian food and no fries. I cant win can I?! Suddenly I relate to BJ in trying to explain a feeling in a way that I dont alarm or offend - how can I explain that while I cant wait to see everyone, I can't wait to be home but I'll be sad to be away from here? How can I feel both those things?! Maybe a pic is the best way to explain why Im a little confused - this was the scene out at the rig this morning. At times its hard to make people believe we actually do work. Its impossible for me to justify it based on this photo!!!!

I haven't told too many people Im coming back, not because Im trying to be secretive but because I have work stuff on the first week and until I know whats happening there I can't plan much. But I'd forgotten that Im not the only one who needs to plan around work - we all work in the mining industry and as such our lives are governed for us at times. In a lot of ways Im a little jealous of the geos here as they have a job geos in Australia would dream of - they can be in Lisbon every night (or wherever home is) and really havent had to sacrifice much of their personal life for their choice of career. I feel terrible at times trying to make them put the project first because while Ive done it and endured it do I really want to force that on others?

Anyway Im close to heading off. For those in Perth I'll be in touch - promise!! For others Im not sure what I'll blog from Aus - like Dublin I predict it will be a lot happening and a lot of fun but perhaps not much to tell. Its hardest to write when all you think you're doing is "the usual" and the places is familiar to you, yet its probably just as interesting for others. Im sure I had more to write about Dublin but when it came to it I couldnt think of what to say other than I had a good time!!! Retrospective blogging.... never quite what it should be..... sometimes it helps to be spur of the moment instead of considered. Partly I wanted to be sure Id finished one trip before I headed off on the next but it says something that I found Dublin so familiar that I couldnt pick out something "different" to share.

Glendalough (Wicklow)

Even if I cant say much about Ireland's history it does make for nice photos. And the scenery is beautiful.

Dublin

Luckily the Cardiff cabbie was proved wrong. My uncle and aunt restrained themselves to plying me with a port after dinner. Im not sure I ever managed to recover from New Years Eve due to a steady diet of Guiness. And yes it does taste different in Ireland. Guiness have also brought out a “new and different” range of boutique stouts each available for a limited time only. They all taste like, ummm, Guiness.......

Im not quite sure what to write about Dublin. My cousin asked me “did you not find it both nouveau-riche and falling apart at the edges?” Well yes there is a certain amount of bling and fake tan slapped onto an ageing city which might not have been that attractive to start with. The “celtic tiger” economic boom (which appears to have been driven by the Irish ability to con the EU out of money) has driven the prices up, allowed it to put on airs like a uppity housewife and put up lights everywhere. And build a very excellent new tram system.

But that’s not what I take away from Dublin, I wasn’t really sightseeing, I didn’t really “see” that side despite spending a lot of time wandering around. It is a nice town, full of monuments, old buildings, Trinity College, the old bank, museums, statues (have you guessed I didn’t do my research?), the Book of Kells was amazingly intricate and spectacular, Brian Borus harp (its not his but don’t let the truth spoil a good story), ancient churches at Glendalough/Wicklow, the green hills etc. etc. Seeing more modern history too – the copy of the Proclamation of the Republic, including “The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all of the children of the nation equally….” A stunning realisation that maybe history wasn’t meant to be this way. The feeling I had was almost homey, it seemed more familiar than a new city should. Partly this was because Dublin became the backdrop to catching up with family and others, the scenery behind scandals and gossip and innuendo, the ground from which old alliances were built again. It was great to spend with my cousins and catch up on their lives, it amazes me with all the time and distance from our childhood, the paths we’ve taken and the different people we are now that we are still close and keen to understand and support each other. Its probably not that inexplicable since they are extremely nice and wonderful human being and also given we started from similar backgrounds. My favourite memory is on my way to have another drink with my cuz after seeing the other cuz off on the bus, walking through Dublin alive at night and just feeling good. Something to do with the half dozen pints of Guiness perhaps?

Maybe I should end where I started with the Guiness as I was also on a mad dash through every gradient of the spectrum that is “the Irish pub”. From the ‘roughness” of Mulligan’s (where you’re not allowed to smoke OR use your mobile inside – which is the more dangerous addiction?!), more respectable establishments like the Castle Inn and the M1, inner-city bars like McDaids with endless staircases, ignoring the touristy traps of Temple Bar (apart from Messrs Maguires where they brew their own although I had to deal with a Swans supporter) all the way to the red velvet couches and mood lighting of The Front Lounge where you weren’t sure who was being nicer, the barmaid or the guy letting you through to get a drink. Oddly enough the extreme ends of the spectrum were my favourite. Throughout all this the craic and the humour stood out. There was something the barman at Mulligans said that made me piss myself laughing. I wish I could remember it to tell you, but I can remember him spreading cream cheese on his cracker biscuit while telling stories with a cheeky grin. Or the graffiti on a condom machine in one of the toilets - underneath "Tested to EU and international standards" was etched "so was the titanic”.

The most precise fine in all Ireland. You wouldnt want to be short 5 euro.

Happy New Year?

And the wheel comes full circle.

Im back where I was 2 weeks ago but with a Guiness-induced hangover that proves that until 7.30am this morning I was in another country. That I have only had 3 hours sleep (there may be an argument Ive been on a different planet thats neither here nor there since 4.30am!). That I have about 4 posts still to come from my trip (are you all getting bored of photos yet?!). That Ive already shelled out 50 euros for work stuff in the first hour. I have that sneaking feeling that life is moving on and Im still standing still counting the change.

Must blog.

Marty's Wedding (Cardiff)

After this headline I was too afraid to move from my 5 star luxury resort (nice change from a hostel in Dresden!). Well apart from getting fitted for suits and getting rained on in luverly Cardiff. As a result of this quick trip we were two cars away from an "interesting" 3 car smash - Stu and I spent the rest of the day deciding how it had actually happened, me using all my accident investigation skills. The photo below is taken in the markets when we were chasing brunch - somehow we resisted the rows and rows of bacon rolls, ham off the bone etc. etc. and ended up in a pub for breakfast beers! (well it was midday).
The night before the wedding we marked Marty's stag in less alcoholic but more entertaining fashion than usual. We went go-karting where I stood out at the other end of the ladder managing to be beaten by a Tongan front-rower and a Welsh blonde. Since Im being PC I wont mention the sex of the latter (is it still sexism when you use it for you?). Lets just say dinner was more fun for me.

The wedding was lovely - nice old church, Welsh choir with everyone's favourite hymns to be belted out (and a male voice choir for "incidental" music), the bride looked beautiful in vintage silk (I might have made that up), the bridesmaids looked gorgeous in red dresses, blonde curls, and 3 old UWA geos even managed to clean up their act for the day.
Some of us didnt completely clean up our act - my memory is a bit lacking after too many pre-dinner champers and Fosters (everytime I asked for a Kronenbourg I got a Fosters. Must be my accent?!) then some Aussie red with dinner. I remember heckling the speeches "a bit" but live in fear I might have been a drunken idiot instead of funny. With any luck the smile in Marty's eyes is joy at cutting the cake with his lovely new bride not "Shut up Bill or I'll throw the knife"
After the reception we had to negotiate the 2kms back to the hotel from the clubhouse (whhere the reception was held). I suspect the walk might have done me good but I accepted the offer of a lift... an idea we all reconsidered during the couple of laps of the carpark trying to find the exit. Hmm. Not that I can talk - apparently my commentary about getting stuck in, then through, the revolving door at the front of the hotel was insanely funny for the person on the other end of the phone. I do remember being in the hotel bar at 3am, with the amassed Welsh youth singing Oasis and thinking it was about the time I should be moving towards bed.

At 8am the next day I was wondering why I bothered. The cab driver was touching in his concern "My God you're going to Ireland? You'll be given a drink before you leave the airport". I suspect his concern was easily brought (85quid cab fare from hotel to airport) but it was touching nonetheless. As was Ryanairs surprising ability to leave on time and arrive in Dublin early (so much for a sleep on the plane). For those playing at home the airline with the worst reputation was the only one to be punctual - what the?!