And now its final

Dear Attendee,
Although the Organising Commitee knows that nothing would keep you away from the National Conference you signed up for, we know that on the first night Portugal plays in the semi-finals and ....

Therefore we have organised to show the game on a big screen in the Bernardim Ribeiro Theater after the Conference sessions for that day, and the conference dinner will be served immediately at the end of the game instead of 9pm.
Shows you how football-mad we are that even a geology conference gets reorganised around the World Cup. Lots of disappointed people in Portugal tonight. Someone remarked "Today everyone is interested in football", well tomorrow I think there will be a lot of people saying its just a silly game again. The real reason Portugal lost is because I wasn't watching in the Regalenga Bar, Jose wasn't in Lisbon, Nuno wasn't in Figueira. Superstition means nothing in sport right? Well consider that Holland haven't beaten Portugal in 14 years, England haven't beaten them since '66 (?? - loose stat, but it's been a long time anyway) and Portugal haven't beaten France in 21 years. Doesn't make sense when you consider all the variables involved but it all becomes very predictable.......

And so both the teams I'm closest to fall victim to dodgy penalty decisions. Ironic given Portugal's progress thus far has been marked (aided at times) by dodgy refereeing. English papers in particular are vitriolic at the moment about the Portuguese style of play, and while I hate diving and play acting I've kind of enjoyed barracking for a team that does use a bit of "gamemanship" at times. Given how close a lot of these decisions are there isn't a lot wrong with appealing to the ref to make a call, especially since there often is contact made, a foot outstretched, a hand on the shoulder so really the opposition are pretty stupid to give them the chance. But they love to play too - all the people I was watching it with loved the final minutes with the goalkeeper in the box for the corners, shots taken from anywhere, no holds barred, nothing to chance. None of this sit back and play carefully. Metaphor for life anyone?

Aftermath

Anticipation

The streets are eerily quiet. No shouting, no cars, no mopeds. Only some birds. Everyone has taken up their position for the game. But earlier the shops and the streets were full of people trying to finish their shopping before game time, buying beer and snacks.

The television isn't. All day every channel has been building and building to the game, interviews with people in streets and bars around Portugal, in Germany, players, trainers, journalists, anyone. In between there's songs and dancing from the sort of "light" "popular" entertainers who only emerge for occasions like this, decked in flags, scarves and Portugal tops, cheesy commerical songs, adaptions of traditional ones, all backed by an even cheesier accordion, brass band and drum machine.

Woe if you're trying to find a Portugal t-shirt to fit in with the crowd. In a small town the shops are already sold out, and to make matters worse everyone is wearing their own already at 11am, as if to make the point that the true supporters are prepared, and not just jumping on the bandwagon on game day. After an hour and a half trawling the discount shops and bazaars I finally have one, so with that and a Euro 2004 scarf I was given last week I have 22 minutes to get to the pub. Forca Portugal!

My niece

Meet Katherine Margaret - born June 29th, daughter to proud (and possibly exhausted) Lynne and Derek, niece to yours truly (who can take none of the credit!). Wow. Congratulations for the millionth time to you both.

Stats for those who can interpret them: 3678g / 8lb 1.7oz, 52.1cm / 20.5 inches
It feels a lot more real seeing a photo now, although of course reality will come when I can hold her. And that will be just one point in her life/growth, I expect every time I meet her I'll be meeting a new person. The world is changing - or perhaps just following its natural cycle.

That came home to me last week here. On the same day it was Ricardo's daughter's 1st birthday (she's sort of our project baby since she was born during a drilling day) and a funeral in town as well. Mixed emotions, the only way to deal with it is to celebrate life. The wheel turns.

Dingo got rid of my baby plus every roo for kms

In a week where you could be proud to be Aussie this story puts Australia right back to the "strange" side of the world. These stories usually mean those of us overseas start explaining. Except here I suspect - I continually get asked why we don't eat our native animals like koalas since "they have nice soft fur, I'm sure they'd be good roasted". One of the things vegetarians miss out on in foreign countries is that leap of faith you take when you put your fork in a piece of meat and put it in your mouth not quite knowing what animal it is, let alone which part of that animal.......

Salisbury

I seem to end up in the UK a lot. It is supposed to be only 2 hours away but after a 1hr delay in Lisbon and an hour holding over London it didn't seem so close. I headed to Bristol to meet people who understood why leaving a sunny 30deg day in Lisbon took some adjusting. The support process included drinking capirinhas in a Brazilian bar with Portuguese friends in Clifton. What the?!

Then the next day it was off to Salisbury to meet my brother who was singing at the cathedral for the weekend. The cathedral has the highest spire in the UK and dominates the town skyline, I have millions of photos of it to prove this fact. The normal postcard photo is the catherdral seen from across the fields, however I like this one better.
As blogged before I always find it interesting dealing with the English after being away, the nuances, the wit,the cynicism, the questioning about who you are to try to connect with you ("Ah, Evora, we thought of buying a house there once"). Thus being part of a choir thrown together for a weekend was interesting, watching the group interact tentatively, shifting between points where I was comfortable and where I felt as if I didn't fit (since I was a child in England I wasn't involved as much in social situations as my brother). As if getting used to that wasn't enough we were staying in a theological college in the Cathedral close, not the sort of place you'd expect to find me staying. The close is like a town within a town, surrounded by 10m high walls and gates that close at 11.30pm every night. Definitely not the sort of accommodation I'm used to. In revenge for this curfew being placed on our drinking we spent one night trying our best to drink the college bar dry, proving our aim for the weekend wasn't exactly "intellectual and spiritual growth and development".

It was also interesting, and good, to be back with my brother - we live on opposite sides of the world and catch up all too rarely. Yet bizarrely with a lot happening in our lives (especially at the moment) there are times we don't have much to say to each other. It's a credit to the effort we make to keep in contact and the effectiveness of email but also reflects that with somebody close it can be more important to be able to be comfortable enough to relax over lunch and read the paper unlike with others where you need to spend the time getting to know each other

Anyway one essential part of coping with the slightly familar is to get back to something you feel more comfortable with. So I set off on a Bank Holiday Sunday to have a few beers and think Australian instead of English (pardon?!) while catching up with Cathy and some other Aussie mates. One thing to remember is that Bank Holidays means rail maintenance means instead of a 2hr train ride to London I ended up on a 2hr bus trip through Surrey with half a dozen drunk Aussies next to me and got into London 4 hours after I left Salisbury. The other thing to keep in mind is that Bank Holidays always mean great weather for being outdoors. The English attitude of "We're here, it's a holiday, we're going to enjoy the outdoors despite wind and rain" may be bloody stupid but you have to admire it.
After all that the prospect of a the return trip, and the likely outcome of standing outside aforementioned locked gates at 11.35pm without a bed was enough to drive me to drink. None of you will be surprised that I ended up crashing the night in London, the decision made halfway through 2-for-1 cocktail hour, and some may have well copped sms's just before closing time (I still never know when pubs close in London!). But it was good to see people from "home" and feel that the world isn't so big after all, also to share some stories and talk more about the experience I'm having here. That continued later in the week when Derek came back to Portugal with me and experienced some of the "wows" that I end up gushing about on here all too often. As with Bry it amazed me how much I want visitors to enjoy Portugal and the pride I have in the place.

Forca Portugal

The horns have almost stopped. The town is almost quiet. There is only the occasional "Portugal ole". But for an hour or so after the game it certainly wasn't the case. Why? Because Portugal are through to the quarter finals. The roar in the pub when the goal went in and when the final whistle went was as loud as any I have heard in any sports stadium or bar across the world. In celebration everyone seemed to be driving laps of the town, horns honking, hazard lights on, as many flags/scarves/people hanging out of the window as you can, all yelling the fact that Portugal are winners. A truck is really better, you can fit all your family/friends on the back to chant. Something tells me some of the people shouldn't have been driving either given the way some of the cars were weaving. If you're not driving you're watching the parade, waving your scarf/flags at the cars, even playing your trumpet or drums if they come to hand. Not quite dancing in the streets but close. And magical. The good side of the passion and pride that football can bring.

You bewdy no 2 of ???

Hopefully this is just number 2 of lots more World Cup style euphoria. What price a table in Lygon St on Monday? And for those wondering if I could see the game since Brazil-Japan was on at the same time - this is how Kewell's equaliser looked to me on a blocked out pay-TV channel reading HTML commentary while I desperately searched for radio coverage online:

Presents

"It was the most useless thing I could find in the store"

Descida do Zezere

Saturday dawned cloudy and grey, both weather-wise and in my head. An excuse for being in the bar was the football was only on pay-TV, but not for going back there at midnight. No long lie-in either as I was off on a gym trip kayaking down the Tejo. In Australia this would be a meticulously organised operation timed to the second. On Saturday we left 45 minutes after the scheduled time, not only because of people running late but time organising who was driving, which route, who needed fuel, how much extra we had to pay. I could’ve saved a couple of people the effort if I’d brought my 5-seater but silly me assumed there would be a bus or something so it wouldn’t be needed.

Instead I ended up in the front of the only decked-out Polo I have ever seen: 2 jet-engine sized sub-woofers in the back, DVD player and LCD screen in the front, the most unnecessary ironing board spoiler in history. Unlike the usual street racer image the music videos were commercial R’n’B/MTV chart, possibly sensing that the mood wasn’t appropriate he put on The Fast and the Furious. Its not so much the fact he drove like the movie, it was more I wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t watching more of it than you should while doing 140 on a back road!
So we drove north for the next 2 hours. I only know it was north after tracing the route on the map yesterday. What worried me was when the other guys in the car gave up trying to work out where we were going. Towns, villages, paddocks, market gardens, vineyards, dams, bridges all flashed by in endless pursuit of the car that knew the destination.

We got to Constancia (near Abrantes) in time for lunch. Because of the Portugal-Iran game the restaurant that runs the kayaking was fully booked so we were escorted up the hill to the backup restaurant. I’d been warned lunch was bad, but these are Portuguese standards. As lunch came to an end and the start of the game approached I began to wonder whether we would do any kayaking at all, a hypothesis supported when we returned to the bar and tried to watch the game through the windows and the open door, while the patrons inside got in our way as much as possible.

My hypothesis was proved wrong – half time brought movement. The guy began ordering others to hitch/unhitch trailers of canoes from his crutches and herded us into a van. He then proceeded to struggle into the driver side, assuring us “I drive well, OK?” before we could think the contrary. And drive well he did along the side of the valley, while we looked down on the river below (until he got on his mobile while going round a hairpin bend which had nothing to do with a handicap). If I thought the slope to the river was steep the road across the dam wall provoked vertigo looking down the 100m sheer concrete face of the spillway (plus thoughts of The Fugitive), but we followed the less direct route down to the river past the hydroelectric power station and parked next to one of the “Zona Perigosa” signs (No swimming, no fishing). I wasn’t game to read the sign any closer.
And then finally onto the river (and occasionally into it). We weren’t kayaking on the Tejo, but the Zezere instead. The Zezere is pretty tame, the river isn’t exactly quick and there wasn’t much white water on the rapids with the recent rain. We were in double ocean kayaks (goat boats) and I was paired first with a guy I work with. The fact we were the two heaviest guys, and some communication breakdowns, ran us aground very quickly and left us in the water at the first rapids. So I was re-assigned to another boat. After establishing “Eu nao falo ingles” I spent the rest of the trip trying to read which side she was going to paddle on, and less time looking at the view than I should’ve. But we wound our way in the late afternoon back to the bar through gravel islands and overhanging trees and river grasses with little white flowers, looking up at slopes filled with pine trees. The new team didn’t stop us landing in the water at some rapids further down and by the second rest stop I gave up and went for a swim for the hell of it. The water was not warm.

Another key difference between the races: because the lunch was so bad I was advised to bring some snacks. So I brought some fruit and some water figuring no matter how bad lunch was I could still survive the afternoon on it. Everyone else brought a couple of rolls, half a dozen pastries, some drinks….. (this is for a 3 hour kayak remember).
Back at the bar we found out the result of the game, had a beer and a snack and headed back. Again a bit of a blur due to speed and tiredness, but the sun decided to show itself as we climbed out of the river valley leaving us with a magical view behind, the reflections off the Tejo as we crossed it and sun setting into the wetlands nearby sparkling etched themselves into my subconscious.

I’ve painted the day as a mission but I spelt it out becuase a lot of days end up like that. It’s not like its Africa or somewhere really hard to live but it can be frustrating at times. Of course the language barrier makes me a lot more uncomprehending. This could have all been planned: arrive for lunch, watch the first half, then at 3 when lunch has settled and the heat of the day passed (not an issue this day but possible) get onto the river and paddle about. And this trip was one of my highlights so far, not just the views and the kayaking but the people, as sad as going on a gym trip might seem it was nice to meet some people and try to talk to them (which is what travelling's all about) and then to be able to say hi to a couple of guys in the gym tonight makes the frustration worthwhile.

More football

OK if you don't want more football analysis then as soon as Blogger lets me post photos I'll have another one up.

FOX here is getting great mileage out of the Simpsons episode where Springfield hosts a football game. Why? I never realised this but it was Mexico v Portugal. The soundbyte of Homer saying "I'll kill myself if Portugal doesn't win" is the phrase I've most heard this week. We'll wait for Wednesday to see how Homer goes.

The other thing I've heard this week is not Australia played well, but why didn't we score? In a way it's great, it's respect. Not the patronising "Oh you lost but you played well", it's independent viewers saying "If you have as much of the ball as your opponents, if you have half a dozen good chances on goal, you have as much right to win it as them. Who cares which team is Brazil." I loved the way the Aussie midfielders played the ball around, kept possesion, one-touch football, look for the opening. None of this long ball shit, none of this panic when you have the best players in the world running at you.

My love of Guus remains. SBS said he was conservative in only playing one striker and stacking the midfield but I nearly fell off the couch when he took Moore off and put Aloisi on. Taking off your central defender against Brazil? Who here would do that?! But it sends a message to the players and to the country - we're not here to "lose by a little", we're good enough to win and we're going to chase that win.

This is what I mean when I say how much this means to Australia. We're a country of arrogant over-achievers in sport football is something we're ranked no. 44 in the world in and that doesn't sit well, that belief we have in ever other sport isn't there. Yet. Respect. It's almost there. The next stage is to progress, and somehow I'm comforted Guus is at the helm. Australia historically have failed in these tactical games but this World Cup is different so far, so fingers crossed. Don't worry boys the Alentejo is with you!

One thing I'm not so proud of was some of the fans in Munich. Don't ask me why but some idiot holding up the holiest of holies (Munich beer) and say "Gee the beer's not bad here" makes my teeth clench. There are some Aussie tourists who don't quite integrate or learn or just shut up when they should. Like the one on the travel channel last night who somehow got into a story on Vanuatu (methinks the local guy hosting picked her up and couldn't get rid of her in the morning) with no journalistic talent except saying "awesome" 8 times in a 5 minute story.

Sardines and beer

I like it when the images tell the story better than I could describe it. Writing is hard enough usually but today my brain isn't working. Last night was the night of Saint Antonio's day and the tradition is to cook/eat a lot of sardines and have a big street party in the old quarter. Not that different to most weekends in Lisbon. You spend your night squeezing through narrow alleys or staggering up and down staircases with a mass of people passing by you, beer in hand and reeling from half a dozen sardines.

I do have a technical point to rant about though - a mate last night looked at my photos and said "Ah lots of yellow." However I prefer flash-less photos, to me they seem to have warmth and seem more natural whereas flash photos look artificial. So thats why you'll always get blurry yellow photos here. The blurriness is completely unrelated to alcohol.

Photos of those things

Blogger wouldnt let me add photos yesterday so here's what the north of Portugal looks like. I was told last night this town is "the most isolated part of Portugal" which might explain the need for a defendable castle/keep.

Another follow up from yesterday - Timmy Cahill you bewdy! I'd managed to control my desire to go to Germany for the Cup but it's back and bigger now. The Socceroos win is a big deal - football in Australia has long been the poor cousin with a constant battle for fans for respect both from fans of other codes and from other countries. The guys at work now take Australia more seriously instead of as a novelty. Not just because of the result but the tactics and the way we played, I'm not convinced an Australian coach, even an English coach, wouldve taken the gambles Hiddink did. In Europe the coaches seem to have more confidence and be more willing to take chances, perhaps it's the knowledge they will be under scrutiny regardless?!

Photo by Robert Cianflone/Getty Images

Things I do for work

As you drop down from the ring of mountains into the town Fundao you understand why its named the bottom of the cup. Stone houses, stone walls and medieval castles have replaced the whitewashed walls of the Alentejo as we've driven from fields into the mountains, valleys, pine trees and orchards of the north.

Its my first time in the north but we’re late and theres been no time to explore. Instead I just get tempted by the passing attractions - as we past one turn-off: “Down there is a village still surrounded by a Roman wall, with a Roman road in the middle and a Roman milestone. The church has a Roman door, an Early Christian door and a later door”. Indanha-a-Velha for those salivating at the prospect. Through another town we drive up to the town walls and sneak a peek through to the almost entirely preserved medieval town, like looking through a window into history. I almost expect a horse and carriage to come rattling through the gate.

Some things in the north are lacking – over dinner the house wine is not up to Alentejo standard. “In the Alentejo the majority of the wine is good. In the Douro most of it is bad, unless you find a good brand or pay a lot of money.” I start feeling a little parochial, even a little angry, at coming into a new place and being served sub-standard wine. I realise at the same time how spoilt I am, the wine is actually very drinkable. And there are benefits to being in the north in summer – its cherry season and they are grown around Fundao. So dessert was a soupbowl full of cherries on ice.

It’s also the season for summer music festivals. The best bit is that you dont actually have to go as most are telecast live. While work dinner saved me choosing whether to make the drive to see Franz Ferdinand & Keane this week I spent last Saturday night watching Kasabian and Red Hot Chilli Peppers live from Rock in Rio. Instead of waiting for Sting to play the following night I switched over to Rock Am Ring and wasn't surprised to see Depeche Mode on stage - I still laugh at the memory of their CD being on continous play in a pub in Dresden.

All I ever wanted, All I ever needed,

Is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

- "Enjoy the Silence", Depeche Mode

And of course its World Cup - not a season, more a fever. There are Portuguese flags everywhere, a trend started for Euro2004 when the coach told the country to put the flag in their window. Unfortunately since that was in Portugal and the Cup is in Germany the effect might not be as inspirational for the players this time. In a “wow I’m in Europe” moment I have the choice of watching French, German or Portuguese coverage (although for those studying media Portugal has followed the Australian model with one game a day on to free to air, the rest on cable). The combination should make sure I don’t miss a game – although ironically the Socceroos-Japan game doesn’t seem to be covered by anyone. The lady serving me dinner last night thought the concept of Japan running rings around the legs of the Aussies hilarious, I'm just hoping that isnt foresight.

She knew full well who Australians were though. On hearing I was Aussie she ran into the kitchen and pulled out a photo of her with two girls. "They came in at 2 in the afternoon, all they wanted was soup and red wine. Nothing else to drink. Porrrrrrr." Aussie, Aussie, Aussie.

Lisbon and back, three times

Less of a post, more of an update. I have lots of posts lined up in my head, from the exotic and wow to the mundane, things from Armenia still to show and tell (I also have work still to do from there - oops!), all ready to write but not the time. But I have a ton of work to finish and I'm off to the UK on Friday to catch up with my brother for the first time in a year. I wasn't sure what I'd do in Salisbury while he's singing but conveniently the Historic Inn walking tour is on Sunday (it'd better be a drinking tour too). I am a little scared of Salisbury Live though.

This photo explains why I had/am having the biggest hayfever attack I've had in years (another excuse not to blog, even when I've had half a chance the motivation isn't there to type through streaming eyes). It doesn't show the farcical consequence of all the sneezing - re-injuring my back (assisted by a half-stack on the stairs :( Don't tell anyone, that's embarrassing. Alcohol wasn't even involved, damn these multi-storey houses!). So a couple of days of back stretching doped up on anti-histamines before off to Lisbon to meet our directors.

Tiled houses, Alfama, Lisbon - have posted before but another photo to make the point

As alluded to elsewhere these visits are full of good food and booze. What I haven't mentioned is that you pay for the good life, not $$$ but constant questioning and scrutiny of everything related to the project. This isn't just meetings, it continues throughout the drive(s) to site and back, lunch, dinner, beers afterwards, not constrained to one lease or commodity but any type of deposit we can target anywhere else in the world. It's not a bad thing - it's part of the job after all - but I haven't had that sort of scientific challenge since uni, and it's added on top of the normal pressure from your project being reviewed. I freely admit most of the pressure comes from my own expectations.

It can then be hard to relax after hours when you're with the same people you were arguing with an hour ago, unlike in bigger companies/minesites where you can go and have a beer with different people. I took my boss into Bairro Alto bar-hopping and ran into one of our geos, who was a little scarred by having to deal with both of her bosses drunk. It is also interesting going sightseeing with the guys, we went back to Sintra for more fish on the beach but toured the palace this time (resisting temptation to post pics - I'm really going to have set my Flickr up soon). As a result of the guys visiting I've now been to a bullfight which is another post.

Torre de Belem - the Old Customs House.

Built in the middle of the Tejo, subsequent land reclamation means it is now on the shoreline

Another consequence was the media flurry following my director presenting to government/industry and the government milking publicity to prove they encourage investment. First I knew was a radio journalist at the front door of the office, followed by a TV crew. While we were having lunch in the cafe a different TV channel had the story (although they interviewed a farmer and the old guys in the village square). Last week another newspaper interview during which they took 40 photos of me in the office (great example of a geo). Self obsession- spending 3euros on the paper to see the article. Irony- a photo of an abandoned mine being used for the article. The result of all this attention is a heap of calls "Can you tell me the email of the director of Human Resources?" "I am a supplier of survey instruments...". Today I had a geo knock on the door and ask if there's any vacancies.

The reason is that we are one of only a few exploration/mining companies in Portugal. The two big mines (Neves Corvo Cu-Zn and Panasqueria tungsten) are re-starting near-mine exploration now because of the boom. Of the other 3 companies we are the most active (and high-profile!) and also the ones closest to mining. A new mine is unusual, even though there were 80 mines active in Portugal 25 years ago. Geologists here work in engineering geology, quarrying (for construction or ornamental rocks e.g. marble - its deposit characteristics/genesis is a big part of geological courses here) or stay at university doing research so we are a unique and reasonably attractive employer. It means a short-term operation is a novel concept too - I was asked in last weeks interview "So what will happen after those 5-10 years of mining?" where that question wouldn't be relevant in Australia. 5 years is a reasonable life for a gold mine, especially with underground potential, and a company wouldn't be expected to detail further plans until the inital mining phase is running.

Bill's Safety Observation 01/2006 - Alfama, Lisbon

An aside about health and safety - great news about the Beaconsfield guys getting out but I don't understand the calls for the mine to be shut. It needs an inquiry/investigation but I suspect there will be little wrong with the operating procedures they were following or present in the mine. While mines are operating they are under strict guidelines both legislative and professional and unfortunately rockfalls/seismicity can still result from the ground they are working under - more rock-bolting or longer exclusion periods following blasting are not really controls. Where they should look is the approvals prior to new mines starting, especially in the current resources boom, as this is where the problems usually stem from. There's no way to re-build a mine based on incomplete geotechnical data or using the wrong mining method used, you can't put all the dirt back in the hole and start again. When you compare Australia's record against China (contrasting news stories in the same week) or other countries the laws, procedures and guidelines in place did their job - they enabled two guys to have a chance at life where in 90% of countries they would've had no chance (its also a reflection on the value of a life - similar efforts might not have been made). Interesting to hear the guys talking about how much their training helped them to deal with the situation - I remember course after course with drillers sitting around complaining that they had to be there. I wonder if those guys listened to that and understood why it is so important.

So then almost back to "normal" last week, couple of dinners out and nights in the pub, beach day on Saturday, some nice "shells"/clams, back to the gym yesterday. The project review also meant more planning so a better idea of what the next few months hold with August a little clearer and the end of the year planned too - Christmas in Africa it is. Still trying to sneak that Berlin trip in there. The only certainty is that I will be busy - the other good thing about this job is that you get a lot closer to the business end and get more opportunities there. I opened my mouth this trip and as a result I'm coordinating a pre-feas study, I know it won't all be my baby and also that it's a stretch (there's a lot of dumb questions being fired around my contacts list at the moment) but it lets me try different things and learn more, instead of just planning/running work programmes. Having said that I now have to go and plan more drilling.

The apostrophes in this post are brought to you by Stern Taskmistress Glitz

Sintra

Before I left Australia a couple of friends were telling me about the best surf spots in Portugal. While I haven't been to the best yet the Praia Grande rated a mention. But I ate fish instead of going for a surf.

Sintra was another town where the royal family built a palace. All their friends seem to have built palaces here too. The first one below is now a 5 star hotel and I seriously annoyed a couple in a Mercedes by crawling around the driveway so Bry could take photos.
As is typical in Portugal the history, the nice buildings and the beach pale in significance to the presence of a very good pastelaria in the centre of town. The actual town is a tight maze of stairways and small buildings in contrast to the vast estates and beaches which make up the area surrounding it. Unfortunately I can't tell you how good the pastries are as it was so busy on this Sunday we would have had to wait half an hour to just buy one. This is the "waiting on stairs starving" pic. Still didnt get us fed, we weren't too convincing as the size of lunch meant we weren't exactly starving.

L to R reads like the start of a joke - the Australians, the Portuguese and the Chileans.....

The evening mist meant we couldnt see the royal palace through the trees. Thanks to Bry for the sensational photo.

Sugar, sugar

There is a trail of ants across my lounge room floor. They walk back and forwards between the couch where I sit and the TV in front of me. They're not feeding on dropped food or dried fruit juice, nor searching my kitchen just in case. Instead they're walking the ant highway from the square to the street behind my place. In the front door, across the lounge, down the steps , along the kitchen wall past the crate of empty stubbies and out through the back door. Back and forth, all day long.

Im not really sure what to do with them. I thought the house being cleaned Thursday wouldve got rid of the scent theyre following. I dont really want to spray them as theyre not being pests. If I break the trail then they might start wandering the house and actually cause trouble. Im actually stepping over them to be sure.

******

Ants - sugar - Meghri. My eternal memory of Meghri is waking in the morning feeeling like I have a mouthful of sugar syrup. The reason wasn't the Armenian love of Coke/Fanta, or the ladles of sugar in tea/coffee. Instead it was waking at 3am with a dry mouth after vodka drinking, realising Ive drunk all my bottled water, walking downstairs to get something to drink and finding a choice of Coke or Fanta in the fridge. Then trying to get to sleep during the sugar rush.
(Visitors to Armenia are advised to only drink bottled water or boil water. I shouldve gone the kettle option really, althought it would've woken everyone in the house).

Sleep depravation doesn't help you cope with the primitive side of Armenia. The ugly and dilapidated buildings were one thing. The suspected absence of hygiene/food storage was another. Squat toilets are gross no matter where they are. The haze of pollution, diesel fumes and constant cigarette smoke everywhere (they smoke constantly but mostly long light North Korean cigarettes). The littering was something else. Even away from town, up on top of the hill there was still a couple of Coke and vodka bottles. In town plastic bottles, cans, food scraps and more vodka bottles. The tip was a parking space in a side street next to the police station, plastic bags of rubbish piled high, a couple of stray dogs foraging. You just drive past, throw your bag on the pile and get the windows up as quick as you can. Every week or so it was burnt and the ashes scraped by a dozer.

******

I learnt the V-sign isn't rude in Portugal. Or the banks really dont care. Also to watch for passing pilgrims when driving on Sundays (they're strolling up the second busiest highway in the area )Next thing I learnt - "Want education? You pay"

Meghri

Meghri is where I stayed while onsite and is down the valley at its the widest point. The local emblem is a goat – understandable looking at the slopes. Mchro had a story about some Alpine climbers who came to Meghri to train and being unable to climb the slopes as they couldn’t use conventional climbing methods. For the locals its second nature to run up and down them (well slide down mostly). At one stage when we were working in the mine Mchro turned around and told us “You guys are city guys, Im from around here, its too dangerous for you to go down there so I’ll go and get your samples, you stay here and tell me where to get them”. I am so the exploitative Westerner. The amount of water off the mountains means the valley is extremely fertile and covered with grass and fruit trees, absolutely beautiful if like me you’re lucky enough to visit in spring when they’re in blossom. The fruit juices and cordials around here are excellent (as are the fruit vodkas! fruit based = more alcohol though).
Meghri is also at the southern end of the country, this is the border with Iran. You’ll note theres a river and a decent sized mountain range – most borders in Armenia are easy to distinguish. You’re on this side of the mountain, you’re in Armenia. You’re on the other side, you’re in Iran, Turkey, Azerbaijan. Explains why Armenia doesn’t share the best of relations with its neighbours – you wouldn’t come over those mountains without wanting to start something. According to all the info I got only the border with Georgia is open but in practise you can get into Iran and the Iranians can go to Meghri to drink and go to the strip bar (is there a religious law that if you don’t do it in your own country its not a sin?!). By the way the only pub in Meghri is a strip bar. Not that different to an Aussie mining town.
This is the photo taken on the church roof. The boss to my right, the translator to my left. Hell awaits us all.
The local winery. Aside from normal wines (which I think were fortified with vodka) they also make a pomegranate wine - all pretty rough. Conversely the pomegranate vodka was very smooth but +50% alc. Its all kept/matured in similar steel tanks inside the building. To add to the randomness the guy giving us the wines to taste was dressed in camouflage army gear. Meghri was my introduction to serious vodka drinking. Every 10-15 minutes during dinner, a toast, and another shot. Well you only actually have to scull the first, the rest you can sip. I learnt this rule late and chose to ignore it at times. The toasts are harder – you try finding something to drink to when you’ve drunk to each other’s country’s, families, your business together, to my visit, to them coming to visit my home. It goes umm, er, f*k I’m drunk. There is one rule: the third and the last toast are to your parents. This is not just respect but to piss off the Georgians as they drink the first toast to their parents. The Armenians say this is because they forget their parents after a few drinks. You get the impression the Armenians don’t really get on with any of their neighbours?!

Dining room with a view

Site

I have to be careful here– so anything said in this post is from my personal perspective and is neither my professional opinion or representative of the views of my company. That wont cover me but it’s a start.

Our mine in Armenia is an entirely underground operation, with adits (tunnels) driven into the side of very very steep slopes (steep-dipping quartz veins for the geos). Also for the geos note the well-rounded boulders in the foreground deposited by the glacial river which roars down the valley next to the plant & offices. Those are powerlines too, not too many mines in Australia have mains power running through the site.
The mining is old school – wooden timbers used as roofs to stop cave-ins, narrow airlegs. This mine was opened, around 25kms of development done (ie they made the entire mine and got right to where the gold was) but never produced a substantial amount due to the Soviet co-operative way of working (ie we need x tonnes of gold this year from the country which means you will produce this many tonnes). An interesting story is that while resource estimates from the USSR are very reliably calculated the actual figures were often understated in case they were expected to increase the resource each year – hard to do with a finite resource, harder when you don’t actually have a budget to drill.

All visitors to site will be accompanied by the site dog

My job there was sampling of old stockpiles and auger drilling of the tails dam. Simple enough except for the climbing up aforementioned steep slope to get to stockpiles. Did I mention they were scree slopes i.e. made up mostly of loose rocks?!
Mchro was one of the few locals – most of the rest were brought in when the Russians opened the mines in this region up and have stayed despite the collapse of the USSR. They’re all highly skilled and very used to the hard life, especially in recent times where the collapse of the USSR may have meant democracy but also meant the loss of a certain job, and if they had a job no guarantee that their employer could actually pay them at the end of the month. Im not sure where their families are, whether they go back on break or stay there permanently until they have enough to buy a house or whatever they need. They sleep in dormitory-style rooms 4 or 6 to a room, I heard a story that we were going to build single’s quarters where everyone would get there own room but were told that the guys prefer bunking in together. Means you can pass the vodka bottle at night I guess.
Yes that’s a road. Thank Christ we didn’t drive up it. Mchro told us that all the locals are just shaking their heads and waiting for the accident. By the way the road I was on had a different danger – you drive past a missile silo. The dogs seemed to have more interest in guarding the country than the kids on national service.

Not many mines have this view behind them.

Nostalgic, nostalgic, nostalgic

This is self-indulgent, if you dont feel like indulging me then wait for more Armenia or Portugal in the coming days depending on how the mood takes me.

If you're still with me now to really tear up an already shredded time-line. It is a year to the day since this photo was taken of a jetlagged person in the sun pointing:

Im not the only one blogging "This time last year in Berlin" this week but .... I arrived in Berlin with no idea what I would find. Spending the first couple of hours circling Zoo Station trying to find my cousin didn't exactly clarify matters (we assumed we'd recognise each other after 17 years - after all we're related!). I found a great city, a lot of "wow" moments and a lot of fun. Somehow I connected to it in a way I shouldnt have. Nothing will quite match that first sunny spring evening wandering round Kreuzberg cafe- and bar-hopping, trying to work out what exactly all those shops sold, loving all the 4-storey apartment buildings, communicating despite not speaking German at all, writing drunken and excited postcards to Paraburdoo, talking a million miles an hour over sushi and beer.

I think that week is one of the reasons Im here now, while I maintain (feebly) my overseas trip last year didnt change me as a person it certainly reminded me of a lot of things I am, and that I wanted to do or be. In that time I also recreated bonds to my cousins in this hemisphere, two very special people who I had lost a connection with in the 17 years since I left London (despite staying in semi-contact). This week contains another anniversary - its 10 months since I was in Carnegies eyeing up a girl - and when all is said and done this year hasnt ended up anything like I thought it would when I flew out of Perth with a belly full of curry and wishing Id taken it easy the previous Saturday night. It certainly hasn't turned out badly.

As if on cue this lobbed in my inbox last week from an online booking company to spark nostalgia:
Berlin is boom city, wildly energetic, creative and happening, the New York of the New Europe. Bombed to rubble after WWII and split by the wall for years, that blank hole at its heart has exploded into a shiny jangle of wild new buildings and life. Unter den Linden is once again the elegant boulevard of cafes it once was when Berlin was the arts and fun capital of the world, and suddenly is again. Everybody is going to Berlin, for every good reason, from the hippest DJs to the edgiest new art, theatre, fashion, architecture and nightlife. It buzzes. But there are also more parks, lakes, woodlands and museums to unwind in than you'll ever have time to enjoy. We have every kind of hotel for you, businessman or beer-lover, from cheap and cheerful to super slick, all at the lowest rates. Berlin rocks. Jump in.

Its all true. Berlin rocks. Jump in.