armchair travel

I thought I would share one of the 'Wonders of the Web' with you. It is easy to forget how utterly amazing the internet can be, and then you come across a site like this.

For those of you unable to get (yet) to Italy, follow the link for a close encounter with one of the finest frescoes in the world - without the crowds.

Sistine Chapel Ceiling

(Then get off your bums and go and see the real thing!!)

eternal inspiration

One of the most inspiring people I have met in regards travelling was a little old lady who's name I don't even know.

It was 1986 and I was early in the Bicycle Europe trip and found myself in Fort William in Scotland. This is the town closest to the UK's highest mountain Ben Nevis.

A modest 1,344 metres in height, it is a 3 - 4 hour climb from sea level to the summit of what the locals refer to as "The Ben". Although not very high, even in June there was still a fair amount of snow remaining scattered around the top.

About 10 minutes from the top I passed an elderly woman on her way up wearing a daypack and carrying a hiking pole. Surprised, I gauged her age to be around 70-75. (More likely closer to the latter.)

When she arrived at where we were standing, she surveyed the splendid scene of the Scottish Highlands laid out at our feet and said:

"I'm SO glad it clear and sunny today - it was so cloudy last week you couldn't see a thing."

Slightly shocked I inquired as to her plans on descent to which she replies:

"I'm hitch-hiking to John O'Groats."

Come hell or high water I am determined to be just like that LOL (Little Old Lady) in my advancing years and hope to be buried with my hiking poles.


firth of forth bridge (you dont want a mouth full of yoghurt when you say it)


en route to the ben


a loch unlocking


summer snow patches


view from near the summit


paul and neal (a canadian cyclist we met on the road who joined us for 3 weeks)at the top


view down to loch eil from the summit


descent


ben nevis from the web as i neglected to take my own photo!!

doggybiscuit kisses

May 1990
It's no secret that for many years up until my trip across Tibet usurped its position, Turkey had long been my favourite travel experience. And I say 'experience' rather than 'country' or 'trip' as it best sums up how I feel about the place. Turkey provided me with the most extraordinarily diverse experiences I think I have ever had on one trip. Not alway good experiences mind you, but worthwhile nonetheless.

Doggybiscuit is the name a chance travel companion and I nicknamed a small town at the far Eastern edge of Turkey called Doğubeyazıt.

It sits close to the point where Turkey, Iran and Armenia meet and is a convenient destination if you are headed north to Yerevan, or Tehran to the south-east. If you heard the name Doğubeyazıt pronounced correctly you would understand the derivation of our moniker.

I was heading there from Mt Nemrut, a little to the west, where I had been to see the giant statues at the summit.


village on road to Nemrut summit


mt nemrut


me for scale

I had crossed Lake Van, meandered around the Rock Of Van (which, if you know your history has inscriptions dating back to 1300BC), searched Van vainly for a cat (any local cat would have sufficed). And then caught a mini bus north eastwards across the most wonderful landscape imaginable.

Desert, lava fields looking like meadows of shiny black toffee, eroded river beds that resembled a mini Grand Canyon, and whirling dust. As we approached Doğubeyazıt at sunset across the plains that skirted several extinct volcanoes, a lightning storm lit up the sky.

The reason I was out this far East was to get a glimpse of the fabled Mount Ararat - that of the supposed last resting place of Noah's Ark. (Also I was harbouring a secret desire that I might find an Ark perched on Ararat in a Snowdome at some market stall somewhere. But that particular pleasure was denied me.)

I checked into my (cheap) hotel and met the very affable owner and his wife. The owner was a stereotypical, slighly rotund middle aged Turkish man who wouldn't have looked out of place wearing a fez. (But of course the fez was banned in Turkey in the 1920's as part of the country's modernisation process). Like most of the Turkish men I interacted with, he was very keen to practice his English.

This can become wearisome at times, especially if it occurs regularly on an hourly and daily basis. But I was feeling relaxed and unpestered so I gave generously of my time. Besides - it helps pay back some of the incredible generosity given by perfect strangers whilst travelling the world.

And so the conversation (usually) goes: "Hello. How are you? Where are you from? What is your name? How old are you? Are you married? What is your job? Are you on holidays? And this one strayed little from the formula. But once past the usual phrases it became a little more difficult. But knowing some Turkish by that stage I was able to tease out more conversation.

Then at one stage he asked me "Can....I....?" and then raised an eyebrow to check if he had chosen a correct word.
"Yes..can I" I repeated reassuringly.
"Uhh..Can I..'av?"
"Yes...that is correct..Can I have..."
"Oh.. yes..uhh..can I 'av..uhh... a keez?"
"I'm sorry!!?
"Can I 'av a keez?"
And just to reinforce his request he puckered up and made kissing noises.
"Well, I don't think so."

The following morning I took a stroll 5km or so out of town and up one of the many hills surrounding Doggybiscuit. The dirt road wound its way through some large open fields on the way up to the ruins of a 17th Century Ottoman palace called İşak Paşa Sarayı.

Halfway along I stopped to take some photos of Mt Ararat as the view was particularly good. But no sooner had I swung my camera up to my eyes than out of nowhere a soldier came running, waving his rifle and gesticulating wildly that photos were forbidden. It was then that I began to be aware that in the fields on either side of the road were in fact an abundance of military vehicles under camouflage netting.

So I hastened on up the hillside to the palace.

On the way back down several hours later I was very careful not to take out my camera. But as I walked, suddenly on the other side of the road to my last confrontation, yet another soldier came walking across the fields calling out "Hey..Johnny..." and beckoning me over to the fence.

As my name was not Johnny I prudently kept walking.
"Hey Johnny..Johnny..come here."
He became quite insistent. And one thing I have learned in my years of worldly travel is that it is not wise to ignore a man with a gun.

So I slowly edged my way closer to the fence. Fortunately there was a kind of culvert between the road and the fence which provided me with a practical barrier from the soldier in question.

By this time he was right at the fence. He had one hand hidden suspiciously behind his back.

"Hello Johnny. Where you from?"
"Uhhh..Australia."
"Oh that is good. I like Australia. Here.. for you."

And with that he lobbed from behind his back a large bunch of wildflowers tied together with reed which he must have spent a good part of the day picking while on sentry duty.

So what was I to do?

I took them back with me and gave them to the hotel owner.


işak paşa sarayı


around işak paşa


back of the palace


palace doorway


distant doğubeyazıt


behind the palace

rambling, rocks and rodents

In the 1980's I was quite active in a bushwalking club.

We walked mostly within NSW but occasionally ventured further afield.

Below are a few more slide scans from a 6 day walk through the Snowy Mountains between Boxing Day and New Years Eve 1985. Most of this walk was off-track, using topographic maps of the area and compass navigation.

One of the things that was memorable about this particular walk was my encounter with bush rats.

It was our first nights camp and the weather had closed in so that it looked as if rain or even snow, was inevitable. As we were close to the popular public areas of the National Park, there was a conveniently located hut nearby which offered shelter from the elements.

It comprised of basically an open plan shed containing a number of bunk beds without mattresses, and a simple fuel stove. There were two small hiking groups sharing the facilities that night so beds were in short supply. I was there with my mate Paul and we generously offered to put our sleeping bags on the floor and sleep there. After all, this really was no different to being in a tent.

After lights out it wasn't long before we could all hear the scrabbling and scratching of rats in the hut. They had found the rubbish and were busily tearing into the old foil packs and other scraps. One of them must have found a piece of rubbish that had formed a natural megaphone because the noise it started making was extremely LOUD!

But most people, comfortably off the floor, appeared to ignore the noise and according to the snores,proceeded to fall asleep. I, on the other hand, lay there eyes wide open playing scenes from Willard over in my head.

After half an hour or so (which in the dark with rats seemed like 3 or 4 hours) I started to feel sleepy and was ready to drift off.

Suddenly I felt a heavy object scurry across my sleeping bag at knee level.

I sat bolt upright and grabbed my torch. It's beam searched the floor until in the distance I could see several bush rats staring at my torchlight, their eyes glittering like luminescent pearly discs.

Now fear and loathing notwithstanding, these bush rats were huge. Not big. Huge. I tried to Google a bush rat picture to show you - but they all looked cute and cuddly and nothing like the actual demonic beasts of my memory.

I slunk lower into my sleeping back and pulled the cord around its hood tight so that the barest minimum of face was exposed - just enough to facilitate breathing. And so i tried yet again to fall asleep with the scrabbling and squeaking going on all around me.

Finally sleep began to overtake me when all of a sudden I felt scratching on the back of my sleeping bag hood against my scalp.

That's why the next morning, the rest of the hikers found me fast asleep on the dining table.


the rat hut


tor


landscape + camouflage


snowgum


snowpatch


landscape


climbing


small lake


small lake2


small lake3


mist


low cloud


evening camp


icy swim


campsite

bergen by bicycle

Here are a few more photos from the slide scanner. These are from one of my first visits to Norway - a country I have now been to innumerable times and feel a close affinity to. (Perhaps I was a viking in a past life?!!)

This was part of the 1986 Cycling-Europe trip I did with one of my closest friends Paul. Norway was the first time we had to ride on the opposite side of the road that we were used to.

The ferry over from the north of England took over 24 hours to get to Bergen on the West coast of Norway.(Sadly there is no longer a ferry service between the UK and Norway) The trip hit some fairly rough water and Paul was as sick as a dog. People really do look green when sea sick!

We were exceptionally fortunate to meet 3 great Norwegians on the ferry who were returning to Bergen after a driving holiday in the UK. So while Paul spent the night upchucking, I sat up and chatted with our new friends for the entire night.

We were then invited to stay with them, and they spent a week entertaining us and showing us their city. They have remained extremely good friends ever since.


beautiful stave church near bergen later deliberately burnt down.


boatshed near bergen


fjord near bergen


paul waiting for a small ferry to take us across the fjord


cycling rest stop midway across norway - this days ride was over 200kms


landscape between bergen and oslo

scanning the past

I recently bought myself a slide scanner.



A nifty little device which has allowed me to revisit some very old pictures I took 24 years ago.

It is far from perfect as reproducing from a positive transparency is difficult. I needed to use a fair amount of Photoshop to try and make the image a little more presentable after the scanning.

Below is a before and after image showing the difference.




I was on a year long trip which began with a month in Japan where I went to see the snow festival in Sapporo on the north island of Hokkaido. These snow festivals seem fairly common these days in various parts of the world, but I think Sapporo back in the '80's was one of very few places holding this type of festival.

Apart from enormous one third scale reproductions of well known international buildings, there were also numerous giant 3D representations of popular comic characters. In addition there was also a section in the centre of the city devoted to ice sculpture carving.