As you may know, in 1997, I took a world holiday away from my computer. There’s another big trip coming up in 2001, and there’ll be something then too. But this is about last time. Before we get to the travel diary, here’s a quick summary of where I went, by country.

(a pre-trip note)
Ambitious? Well, it’s probably the longest trip I’ll ever take, and if I don’t do it now, I’ll never get another chance. No commitments, no debts — but for how long?

(a post trip note)
This page was updated throughout 1997 as I popped into net cafes and friends’ places around the world. Any comments should be sent by e-mail to iain@ecn.net.au.

(it begins...)
13 February, in Kyoto, Japan
Greetings to sunny Brisbane from wintry Kyoto; I’ve just joined up for free, and am using for free, an e-mail account provided by NTT, a Japanese telephone company. Today’s fun included looking about the Kyoto Imperial Palace (while it snowed on me) and lugging a pack about town, passing cheap Hi8 tapes, tiny digital phones (advertised by Quentin Tarantino), and credit card radios. Ice cream with bean curd. And GRAPEFRUIT mentos. Yum.
Contradictions everywhere — no pubic hair allowed in magazines, but porno vending machines (videos) on the street. All fruit is wrapped in plastic, and the cheapest source of hot drinks is, again, a vending machine. In cans.
Happy days ahead...

6 March, Wells, England
I’ve let things slide a little too long; a few words on Japan need written. There is a diary of what I’ve done each day (in existence) but other than the magical view of Mt Fuji from a youth hostel in Fuji Yoshida, there are few specifics any of you would find interesting. Maybe I’ll add them later anyway, but rambling generalities are the order of the day for now.

Japan is a very, very strange place; Westerners can stay for years without being let in. And though some of the people were exceptional — friendly, generous — the culture both eludes and alienated me. It’s the way fruit is often packaged and presented, multiplying the price many times over. It’s also the excessive politeness in the universal welcomes and thankyous — as first into a department store I was a god, bowed to by every employee.

But mostly it’s the commentary which accompanies almost everything — guided tours, souvenir shops, and even documentaries on television, where edited highlights are watched by a group of celebrities who ooh and aah at the right moments. All wasteful, stultifying crap. While I’m on the topic (and doubtless being added to a list of undesirables somewhere), the parks are planned, unnatural, dissent and alternative culture are too well hidden, and there’s not enough of the scruffiness that every civilisation needs. And why do shops, schools, and even parks play sad music when they close? (Think "A Dog Has Died" from any daytime tv movie.)

There is a richness here, cunningly disguised and stuffed between Kyoto’s customs and the sparseness of much of the food preparation. Yet both my gut and my brain need more abstraction and less recipes. I think too many qualities have been quantified.

And England? Wells is great, as were Glastonbury Tor, Winchester, and the Salisbury Cream Tea — thanks go to Uncle Andy, Sharon, and Steve. Now travelling through Somerset, England, after visiting some of my family’s old homes (with my sister, who’s travelling around the UK and some of Europe with me). Before that, Surrey, and next, Bristol. History oozes out of this place; perhaps it flows more easily here because this is where I’m from.

Another note — Bristol was great. Old and new side by side, meshing and clashing but generally mingling. Somewhere to live, not merely visit, alive, growing, thinking, beautiful, and left wing. Yes!

8 March 1997, On the bus, Bath to Ambleside, England
Sprung for a big pricey bus pass each as all other options fell in a large costly heap. And surprisingly, I’ve enjoyed (am enjoying) the bus trip. Not doing anything was a great idea; lucky too as the bus isn’t fast. Relaxing as the countryside changes from rainy Somerset meadows, through the scar that is Birmingham, gently passing to sunshine, then to Lancaster, and soon to the Lakes. (Robertson Davies is recommended reading, btw.) Rich, varied, picturesque. Eurobus should be more even more fun.

28 March 1997, Bromley, Kent, nr London, England
Loads has happened. Just Loads. Place names might help me summarize: Lakes (thanks to Paul and Pauline for Shoelen, Chess, and great fudge), Skye (solitary, incredible), Pitlochry (no damn salmon jumping), Dundee (thanks to Leah, Sarah, and Harry for wine and wild spirits), Edinburgh (thanks Anne, especially for the hot chocolate, and thanks to Mr Boni for the spectacular Knickerbocker Glory — Drambuie Crunch, Zabaglione, and Cointreau ice cream with many other ingredients), St Andrews (thanks to our extended family for grounding me), York (the guy who runs the B&B we had to stay at can get stuffed), Norwich (cycling a long way to see the house where I spent my first two years of life), Oxford (thanks to Fred and Noreen for amazing hospitality and food), and now London (thanks to Nina for lunch pointers and thanks to Nick for providing hot water and warm beds).

A few words of warning about cheap London accomodation: it has a great tendency to be crap. Cheap Tokyo accomodation was a bit more expensive, but that got me a private room in a good location. Two places we’ve stayed at (if you’re not keeping up, I’m travelling with my sister at the moment) were pretty damn bad. At seven pounds a night for a dorm room, you don’t ask too many questions, but you really should. Free breakfast, but you have to pay for showers; the dorm room will be pretty packed with other people, many of them depressive long-termers who are happy to play their music all day, hang their shit everywhere, and generally ignore the other occupants of the world. Maybe ok in the short term, but a bit of a shock when the same price elsewhere in the country at least guarantees carpet and a warm shower. Last night our room (marked "Toilets") had no windows, a cement mixer and a jaffle in the corner, a door that wouldn’t close, no floor covering, and the mural in the common room had (among other stupid things) a picture of a New Zealander screwing a sheep. And some guy knocked on the door at half past six wanting breakfast. Oh yeah.

Notwithstanding the few bum accomodations we’ve had, Britain has provided a great experience. Wandering around ancient monuments, discovering distant relatives, meeting as adults those we knew as children. And travelling is rarely a loss, though we now hate the national bus carrier, and especially their pay toilets. Something else...

Oh, I should probably say hi to my parents. Hi Daph! Hi Jake! See you in September! And hi to all my other friends who I’ve hardly written to. This is entirely the fault of my brain.

15 April, Nice
In French:
"Do you speak English?"
"No, but I speak excellent French."
The last few weeks have been a big heap of fun. To travel backwards:
Lucerne, in Switzerland, was picturesque and calm after the hectic decadence of Italy. Drivers will stop for you at crossings, slowing down before you´re on the road. This is a big thing compared to Italy, where virtually every driver has been handed a score card with their license, except for the Vespa riders. They don´t need licenses, and have assumed that everyone is worth, oooh, lots of points each.

17 April, Avignon — Carcassonne Bus
Sorry about that. I got sidetracked in Nice and walked up the beach and back. Petanque; private beaches; topless bathing; overdressed doormen. Anyway, for anyone planning on coming to Europe, here are a few city notes.
Venice: beautiful, quiet, friendly, crowded, dangerous. Great, but hardly a living city; an old place now surviving from tourist litter. Still great.
Rome: dirty, mad, expensive, great coffee, the ancient expected, decadence. Big, big name sights, but homogenised fast food rip off stands don’t help the atmosphere. Drivers are the worst yet in Europe. It is possible to find a quiet corner, but you’ll spend a while pushing through crowds to get there.
Florence: fast, slow, big, small, fantastic gelati. And very well behaved hordes of tourists sticking to the main tourist trails. After poking your head inside the duomo, head up the hill to the local student hangout, lookout, and haven. Walk off the main streets, and probably just skip the Uffizi and its hour-long queue.
Lucerne: tiny, but big enough, with glorious alps overwhelming the lake, the hotels, and the Swiss Army shops. After Italy, a nice place to calm down, kick back, accept the given breakfast, and wander. Difficult stuff this.

Eurobus is fun, too. Round and round Europe (on the old cool pass), meeting far too many Australians. Met someone who lives in the suburb next to mine. And five of the twelve people on this bus are from my home town, Brisbane. Not a really big place, and a place many of us want to return to, but apparently a popular place to leave. Anwyay, Eurobus provides a handy comfort zone, with usually good music and some people to talk to, to meet again, and to avoid. Probably the single best thing is that you re-meet your new friends further down the road. On a rail pass or going it alone, that just won’t happen. It is a bit restrictive in travel options, though.

And of course, Paris. Wild, proud, old, rich, buttery, hot, fresh, cheap croissants. Where the green man crosses the road in an arty fashion, but the red man keeps his impatient hands on his hips. Where dog shit litters the pavement, but you just step over it. Where Colors mag is made. Where you can row a boat around a peacocked island any day of the week. Where you feel underdressed, but don’t really care.

And I forgot about Nice. Cool resort town with cheap, good food and a long, stony beach.

Next instalment: Spain.

5 May 1997 (though this should have arrived long, long ago)
Things are a little disordered. But anyway... Avignon was fun: kids playing in 14th century city walls. One of them asked me for a cigarette. Worth more notes than that, but I want to talk about Spain now. :)

Barcelona. As cool as everyone’s told you, a great combination of culture, life, food and fun. Legendary architecture from Gaudi spins your head, street performers sing Elvis when you pay them, and the people are terrific. Do nothing, do anything, eat cheaply, beware thieves, wander, learn, bewilder yourself. Very cool stuff. And don’t leave Montserrat out; an oasis of high odd rock in the centre of nothing much, it’s an easy day trip.

The train meets a cable car, which it may be possible to stick your head out of. Do so. No glass means you are as close to flying under your own power as you can be without actually launching yourself from something high. The rock itself is fun to hike about, and there’s a tourist monastery for the timid and the tourguided. A free, poorly amped choir sounded like Karaoke to me; skip them, skip the (ugly!) Black Virgin statue, and skip the doughnuts unless you really like oil.

Madrid has an absurdly late club scene: people eat out till 11 or so, then head to a pub or club, and stay up all night. Some great Dalis in the Reina Sofia, though; you haven’t seen them until you’ve actually seen the canvas. Oh, and Guernica. But really not a fab stop.

San Sebastian is a sleepy beach town, with blowholes to stand on and tapas bars aplenty. I’ll have more to say after I go back, when the weather will include sun. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the capital, the coast, and any other interesting places, especially when all your clothes are dirty.

Now now now: Kirchdorf. After more of Paris, doing less. Small Austrian town where not a lot happens, and that quite slowly. Hire a bike and fall off; corners you take too fast; sulk inside away from the cold and rain; taste the lethal, local schnapps... all this can be yours. Another possibly crap time salvaged by late-night cheat and talk with other travellers. And the downys (duvets, dooners, quilts) are worth the stay alone. Um, no, this is one of the best places yet, with the kitchen, the hot showers, and the secret entrance to the supermarket downstairs. A great holiday from the holiday.

Next: a special report from Cannes...

19 May 1997, in Brussels
Cannes seems ages away, even though it was only a week or so. I’m on the other side of Europe, and it feels very different.

To recap: snuck into Cannes. Multimedia has something to do with film, and multimedia is on my business card, so in I went. Well, I saw some bad flicks, one violent (with gratuitous cruelty to dead animals) and one sappy (with the line "it’s never been like that before"). Real films are too difficult to get into, alas. Free ice cream was found and eaten, and having an official tag on my t-shirt was nice too. :)

After restocking my consumables (soap, lost shampoo, lost towel) in Nice, I gave up waiting for better weather and hopped the bus north, to Zurich. Zurich has a chocolate factory. Chocolate is good.

At first, the Lindt factory is a little disappointing. No tour past mystical chocolate-spitting machines, no Willy Wonka speaking in riddles. But when you find the free claw machine for Lindor balls, you cheer up; when the kind receptionist offers chocolates from a large box she leaves in the corner on top of another two open boxes you become sick, soon. Then you leave, and can’t face the free souvenir chocolate box she gives you as you leave; you can’t bear to buy $80 worth of chocolate for $10 in the mega-cheap chocolate dispensary downstairs. A shame, really.

Reims was bittersweet (tired, wandering, getting the last bed) and nice for a day or two or if you’re into champagne. Brussels is a little dull. Brugge, though, is old, pretty, watery and cobbled. Tourists everywhere, but picturesque as the expensive postcards. Did a mad cross-country cycling trip yesterday with two of the five other Australians in the room; hit the coast (grey, lifeless, and in the Netherlands!) after three hours, headed back as a Wall of Water fell from above; laughed at the swimming pool the road had become, at life, at luck (to maintain sanity, you understand) and slowly plodded on back. Slept through a cup of coffee.

Now? Brussels is still nothing special, but especially so on a public holiday such as today. Probably finding an open patisserie would be a good idea; my travelling stomach quietly calls. Remember your multivitamins, and drink fresh milk wherever you can find it. That UHT stuff tastes bad.

Next? Typing this (written in Brussels) from Amsterdam, going to Berlin soonish. Hope the night Eurobus isn’t full... (bitch, whine, etc.)

23 June 1997, typing in Amsterdam
Way, way, way behind. And it’s been an amazing time, too. To begin where I left:

Amsterdam. One of Europe’s most livable, beautiful cities. Canals, low barges, old buildings amidst new and few in poor taste or condition. A feeling of freedom throughout the city, especially in the (legal) Red Light District. (Find out what some people really do with baseball bats, dogs, and horses.) And of course, if you want to get stoned, this is probably way up on your travel plans, but beware of the strong stuff — I’ve seen two people utterly ripped from sharing one joint.

Dope, ugly daytime prostitutes, and many wandering tourists are not the whole Amsterdam story; trams go fast, but bikes rule the road. Fantastic bagels, muffins, brownies, cheescake, and falafel are yours for the asking, and are even cheap. Guys with husky voices whisper the name of the drug they’re claiming to sell: speed, LSD, ectasy, and one hopeful soul trying to sell hash.

Heard of the Heineken brewery? They offer free beer at the end of an otherwise dull f2 tour. Van Gogh museum? Rijksmuseum? Both worth seeing, and very cheap if you’re under 24: f17.50 gets you into most state run museums in the country for free for a year. That cheesecake? Gary’s Muffins at three cheerful locations, with f1 day-old-brownies. Falafel? A tiny hole in the wall in the alley by Planet Hollywood; all you can squash salad and homemade sauces for f4. More could be said, but I have to get onto...

Berlin. Very interesting stuff. The split between East and West in healing, but the scar down the centre of the city is a mess of above-ground plumbing and construction right now.

Checkpoint Charlie, for example, is being turned into a new commercial centre, using the adline "a new symbol of free trade" and leaving the taste of a McBurger in your mouth. The title of a nearby hairdresser, Hairpoint Charly, seems to sum up the developers’ prevailing attitude nicely.

Nevertheless, there’s also a great zoo, fantastic fountain sculpture, and a thriving underground. Near the centre, the Tiergarten provides a large splash of green and water for two or more to frolic joyfully; wandering around the entire city could take a long, long time if you became fully committed. This city has a (new) lust for life.

Prague next, and it’s a strange place in many ways. Poor — everything but lodging is very, very cheap. If you pay more than $5 to eat out, you’re probably being ripped off. A large US-expat community, too... apparently there’s some level of resentment among the locals. Dirty, yes, unsafe, no, beautiful, in many parts, modern, for electronics and cash access, hopelessly backwards, in the queues outside supermarkets for baskets and trolleys. Contradictions, hills, and Absinth.

Yeah, I should say something about that; Absinth is a horrendously strong (70-80%) emerald green liqueur which tastes of licorice and paint stripper and has sent many poets insane. Buy your shot, soak some into a spoonful of sugar, light the sugar, watch the pretty colours for a few moments, drip the flame into the glass, stir fast, brace yourself, and slam it down.

Evil.

Anyway, Vienna. Much more than I expected. There’s the tourist bit in the middle of town, but skip through that fast and head outwards in any direction to one of the huge parks. Some provide hedges you can crawl between, while others have awesome, ancient, post-apocalyptic structures. Flakturms — the original anti-aircraft flak towers from WW2. Astonishing that they still stand, but too strong to pull down; one currently gives shade to a children’s playground.

Mm... the Danube is not blue. Standard city-river-grey.

Salzburg is much, much fun. Perhaps perceptions have been coloured by the place I’m staying; the cheapest in town with a panoramic view of the city from 80m up. Or maybe just the easy woodland hiking all around, perhaps the deer and mountain goats I keep startling, the wonderful things Austrian bakers do with poppyseeds, the in-mountain glacier I walked through, the mountains, the castle, the fast-flowing river, the sunshine, the violent storms, the cheap bikes which let you play oversize chess in the rain at 11pm, or the terrific company, but I had a great time here.

Black Forest plans were abandoned due to accomodation problems, but Munich was still fun. Saw a movie, looked around, but basically made no effort at all. Relaxing, because I fly out soon, to Scandinavia, then the US. And I just recently returned from Arnhem, where the largest sculpture garden in Europe nestles by a surprisingly good art gallery in the centre of the largest national park in the Netherlands. And the bikes are free. Oh — lucky for me I hitched back to Amsterdam; a power failure has stranded anyone who wanted to catch a train out of the centre of the Netherlands today.

One last thing: I have found the chocolates of the gods. From Brugge, handmade and fantastic; I shared them with fellow travellers while waiting for a delayed Eurobus. We passed each sweet parcel round the table like a joint, and each enjoyed our own private ecstasy. Never before has food been so overwhelmingly fulfilling, delicious, or memorable.

I promise I am not using hyperbole. Neither can I remember the name of the store: Something Moeders, I think. Go there if you come within several hundred miles of Brugge.

And so ends mainland Europe. Looking forward to a change; you do need something to lift you up, to kick your head back into gear every now and again. More than halfway through, and looking forward to everything that’s left. See you on the trail.

31 June 1997, Trondheim, Norway
Ah, Scandinavia. This part of my trip is quite different from the last — I’m not staying in hostels. By great fortune, I have friends to stay with in various places around here. Yes, great for the pocket, but also a new mode of travel. After a while, the repetition of going alone gets to you; forever meeting new-best-friends-for-a-day. Staying with real, live residents allows you into their secret club of pre-dinner aperitifs, home cooking, and drinks down at the local. A slower pace.

Stockholm is beautiful; buildings and people spread over many islands and with enough things to keep tourists, visitors and misc. travellers intrigued for a few days at least.

The long train ride to Trondheim started slowly at low farmland, built up gradually, with more and larger lakes, past snowy peaks, and finally crashed high with a mountain range nearly buried under a crisp, fresh cloud bank. Long train rides (any long ride but flight) can get you down, especially stuck in the kiddy wagon, but mountains and clouds are a failsafe rescue.

Last time, I forgot to enthuse about the Deutsches museum; the best museum I’ve ever seen. Science and anything vaguely related, from musical instruments, to ellipse-drawing tools, even cosmic ray detectors, all with buttons to push and ropes to twist. Effusively oozes geek cool.

Bergen, Oslo, and something else soon, NYC after that. You can recognise me by the Cheshire-cat contented smile that’s ever present On My Face.

13 July, Sunny New Jersey
And hello out there.

Bergen was cool, clean, a bit like Bristol in the UK (some parts new, some old and grungy) and tourists were easily evaded. Just walk away, and if you take a path too narrow for tour buses (or simply uphill) you’re safe. Back from Bergen there’s a wildly touted tourist railway (Flam) which you should obviously avoid if possible. So... walk there, push shoulders with the tourists on the way back, save money, see more, get exercise. And it’s pretty, but not mind-blowing. Possibly my four or five hour sleep wasn’t enough preparation for a 20km walk. Oslo I’m afraid I skipped (again) in order to get to...

Legoland! Unlike other modern toy-related fables, this one is real. Mt Rushmore, Statue of Liberty, Taj Mahal, Bergen (now that was interesting) and others, all of Lego, pixelated in 3D as only small overpriced plastic blocks can be. Some tacky rides, tac ky shows, and a wonderful room where you can assemble a Technic model with the pieces and the instructions they hand out. Note: if you don’t try an advanced model, you risk the scorn of pre-teen youth. Just go for it. It’s nerd kid central, heaven in mult icolour miniature, cheesy yet fun, expensive, a long way from anywhere, but worthwhile for a grown geek-child like me.

Oh, Copenhagen, where the bikes are free. Nice place, but not as free, funky, or safe as Amsterdam feels.

23 July 1997, Philadelphia
Scandinavia is a long way away. For a week or so now (when this was written and when I type are not the same) I’ve been back on the lone trail, after time spent with friends old and new. Special thanks to all those who put me up back there.

A long flight later to NYC; leaving immediately for friendly faces in New Jersey, and the Suburban American Experience. Malls (nearly), fast, surly food, multiplexes (popcorn large enough to obscure your view), fireflies (how cool!), Iced Mocha Latte Frap pucinos with Extraskim Vitamin D milk, the badlands at the wrong end of town, more than 57 channels with nothing on, oppresive heat, and the general feeling that I’ve entered a movie. All the suburban images of the US I grew up with, and they’re true. Wac ky.

To Philadelphia, the Historical American Experience. Free live concerts, cheap diners, skyscrapers, old-looking buildings, street art, both rude and polite people. An old video game exhibit (!), where I lost at Gyruss and Galaga a few times. Predictably. A free music festival was fun too; Playing The Guitar is yet another entry on my list of Things to Dabble In when I get back, or at some point eventually.

7 August, LA Convention Center
New York City. So big, varied, and so much vital culture; free art, book readings, comedy, music, theatre, and even affordable food. Bagels! Fat Ming’s! Pink Grapefruit by the gallon! Ben and Jerry!

There’s a feel in the place; unique, pulsing, definitely big city. Some people are out to sucker you, the ones who claim your friendship within a minute or two. Many others go out of their way to be kind and considerate, offering help, smiling, trying des perately to dispel the image that Hollywood projects, and which, it has to be said, some elements of NYC have rightly earned. The place is so big that there’s room for all types, and those with the most obvious profiles are the best remembered, the most p hotographed.

That helps make New York a far more cosmopolitan place than you might expect; there are many neighborhoods, many styles, many peoples, and few people you’d recognise as a New Yorker. Maybe as someone from a local subculture, but no pre-fab NYC stereotype exists as whole truth. Diversity rules, and well.

On transport: the subway works, the buses are ok but don’t take dollar bills (come on America, use your dollar coins) and therefore suck. Rushhour is when you walk. Cars, half cabs, gridlock the city with selfish glee and then blare away on horns at whatever demon has forced them into the middle of an intersection with nowhere to go. Pedestrians can occasionally be as bad, but, happily, usually jaywalk safely, in front of police, who don’t care. And lots of people walk. Jog. Run. On their feet, on the street with you, always a nice social leveller.

And what to do? Lots. Sundays in Central Park, watching the roller disco spin past, then later the magic Shakespeare Reveries (by Sons of Thunder) who switch and change from scene to scene, from actor to actors, performing one scene in both English and French, another with three Romeos against two Juliets.

My first day in NYC, I was invited to practice with a barbershop quartet singing by a bench somewhere near the middle of Central Park. What the hell. I saw Jaws for free on a pier; comedy for the price of two drinks ($5.50 for beer) where three comedians decided I looked like Kurt Cobain; searched for the latest video gear and found what Japan had six months ago; and was witness to police actually eating donuts. Littering their cups.

Onto the other big US stereo-city:

Los Angeles, home to SIGGRAPH 97 this week, the major reason I’m still here. Not really a fan of commuting, having to sit on a bus for an hour or more is close to my concept of hell, and the heat here isn’t dispelling any malicious fantasies on my part. H omeless people everywhere; you’re rich or poor here. If you’re anyone, you drive, and everybody does. So nobody gets anywhere. And public transport is poor. No subways, and even the ones they’re building are (apparently) a bad idea: earthquake zone.

SIGGRAPH is a source of wonder; the best programs, the newest toys, the most talented gurus, nerds, and artists, all in one spot. Little pockets of fun all over everything here: free large-format printing, free grunty computers to use, many giveaways, eig ht hours of CG animation to watch, and after hours parties which can be very hard to get into for non-industry types like me. But once I dealt with the huge gender imbalance, and the crowds sitting down away from the dance floor, the Rhythm and Hues party was fun anyway. (Evil grin.)

Sitcoms and some spare time await before I trek further north in a couple of days. The fun continues, but I must admit I’m looking forward to home. Cats, friends, family. Big towels.

20 August, Yosemite National Park, off the trail
Just swam in a pool a long way above the valley, safely distant from the slippery slide to death and far from anyone else. My first swim in more than six months (since I left) and a nice drought-breaker.

This park has some amazing rocks, wonderful falls, and more amenities than I’d expected. Wildlife eager to feed from your hand and signs explaining why this is bad (they’re becoming scavengers). Bear warnings everywhere. Free buses (yes!), mostly fair prices, and The Joy of Camping abound. Good healthy back-to-nature-fun-for-the-whole-family.

And San Francisco was a good find too (did I find it? hell no) culturally like New York, but with hills and trams. Mostly hills. And Robot Wars!

That great metal-shredding event took up a fair chunk of my time in SF, but no loss. For helping set the arena up, I got in free, and was able to yell along with the other crazed fans as La Machine, Dough Boy, and the legendary Blendo, among others, did engage in heinous battle.

late August, Seattle
Condensing experiences ever more tightly (it’s a problem) the Green Tortoise took me to Portland, which really is, actually deserves to be called, a nice place. Small, but not too small, calm, friendly. Good food, late nights, little sleep. Portland... needs something else said... but I’m not sure what that should be. Maybe later.

Seattle. Not as grungy as everyone’s image of it, but a pervading sense of coolness throughout. People are really happy, social, and into their coffee even more than in Portland. Nintendo kids filling malls in their fashionably normal clothes. Every coffee chain has its own frappe-type drink; for an ic-head like me, that fact is far more memorable than any old grunge-thing this place once had. Cool stuff.

Almost home. Next update probably after I get back, in mid September. It’s been a hell of a lot of fun, and a hell of a ride.

afternote:
Oops: almost wrote nothing about Canada. Vancouver, and Vancouver Island, which some say are actually much more American than Canadian, were, indeed, much like the US. A bit cheaper, with bilingual food packaging, and slightly different accents. Vancouver is sprawly like home; interesting things happening, but not everywhere, or all the time; British influences creeping in; park- and docklands leading the urban renewal. That description is rushed, but it’s just so blurry now...

Victoria is a calm, slumbering town. An unusual capital, loaded with British expats and imported shops to supply undying chocolate needs. Odd, small, but fun in a simple way. Canada in a nutshell? No idea. From the tiny western tip I saw, I almost could’ve been in Perth.

15 September, Fiji
Nearing the end of my trip; nearing the end of my time in Fiji. Hoping to see the sun before I leave.

Rain, drizzle, and grey skies since (before) I arrived have exhausted all the card and board games around; nearby hills put an end to my cycling ambitions; conversation always drifts back to the sorry state of the weather, and my flight isn’t until Thursday the 18th.

Once home I will be very, very happy, but for now the waiting game wins. Town, Nadi, where the planes live, is a dive, but it’s a cheaper place to await salvation. Father Time, roll on.

30 September, Brisbane, Australia
And that’s it. I was away for a long time, with few rules, no work, a free hand. Great, but draining. Now? Home safe, but not as I left it. Life Phase IIIb calling loudly and me not wanting to hear it. Jobs, or mirages of them, appearing on the horizon, then dipping behind a closer wave. Cats, as ever. Family, updated. Friends, new and improved. Though I couldn’t stay away any longer, and don’t wish to be away, it’s hard to deal with everything. Old and new clashing inside the head. Recarving my niche.

So? My head says I’m definitely better for the experience; don’t hesitate if given the chance. But the landing can be a killer.

A book is on the way, maybe incorporating some of this diary, maybe not. On travelling, why to do it, how to enjoy yourself, how to avoid tacky souvenirs, stuff like that. More details on application and in good time.

Thanks are due to everyone who kept in touch, showed interest, and were generally supportive while I was on the road, even though replies were infrequent and brief (it’s hard!). Lastly, a huge, huge thankyou to everyone who was kind enough to put me up in my travels. Some are listed in the text above, but others include Kjersti, Charley, Siri, Boris, the Leslies of New Jersey, Joshua, the extended Lemke family of Seattle, James, and Crystel. Hassle me if I ever lose touch.

And I think that’s it.