Child of the Planet

It’s taken me a week to get the videos cut up (filling in the spaces in-between bursts of gainful employment.) This event was held on Sunday off Sydney’s Eastern beaches. The course is drawn between the first two Surf Life Saving clubs in the world. Starting in front of Bondi Surf Club, it runs out from Bondi, around McKenzies point and down the coast into Bronte Beach. A distance of 2.2 - 2.5km (depending on the positioning of the buoy off McKenzies point). I was pretty impressed watching this mass of people swim out of the bay, down the coast, and then back in to shore. There were young ones, oldies, chunky and thin. They were carefully watched the whole time by the ‘water safety’ folks.

Here are some photos... This event was held on Sunday off Sydney’s Eastern beaches.

Continuing on from the previous post… Time-lapse video set to music, of the Sculpture by the Sea event in Sydney Australia. Last years video had a bit of Time-lapse at the end, and being strapped for inspiration this year, I decided to use the technique all the way through.

This is one of my favourite events in Sydney. Sculptures are placed either side of a path that traces the cliffs above the coast, to the East of Sydney city. I went with some friends of mine who regularly buy pieces if they find something that appeals. Unfortunately this year there seems to have been an increase in the prices, and a decrease in pieces that piqued an interest. I’ve posted some photos in the gallery. Some at a stupid resolution so zoom in and check out the details. I was a bit disappointed by the standard of works this year so it was thin pickings.

Twas a very hot day and I scored a sunburn despite the posh Nivea sunscreen lol While looking for a coffee, I discovered a stall selling ‘non colonialist’ coffee and chocolate. www.mayancoffee.com.au Great coffee (I went back for a second later in the afternoon) All the staff looked like they were volunteers, and I bought a bag of chocolate coated coffee beans with a hint of cinnamon and chilli. They were canvassing for volunteers to travel to Guatemala to teach English and suchlike. Boy the French must be pissed that English and Spanish became the international languages.

Over the summer months there will be many festivals. Some will be free, and others will cost (usually and arm and a leg.) I like the free ones. I think it has something to do with my negative reaction to 'over professionalism' in society these days. First up, a couple of videos of musicians that played at the Surry Hills street festival that was held a couple of weeks back.

LINKS back-to-whales whale-holiday-part-three more-of-whale-holiday http://www.oceania.org.au

Daily Operational Schedule: (Subject to weather and operational factors) • 0600-0630 Breakfast • 0630 Anchor up and underway • 0630-1200 Humpback research • 1200-1230 Environmental readings • 1230-1330 Lunch break • 1330-1630 Humpback research • 1630-1830 Photo-id archiving, matching and data entry • 1700 Anchor down • 1830-1930 Dinner • 1930-2030 Evening activities.  I’ve recently been in email contact with the Oceania guys and they’re having an amazing season of data collection, and general awe and wonderment. Such a shame that with Humpbacks back on the menu, that there may be a few less jumping about in the bay next year. After dinner, we're all a bit exhausted from the day’s activities so we sat around in the cabin and listened to a prepared talk by Wally, or we watched a video documentary with a theme applicable to our mission. I was sleeping out doors in a swag rolled out on the bow of the boat. The dew was really heavy and the water ran off the oiled can

I’m using the new ‘embed’ function in Google Maps, to give you guys an idea of where I was at for a week. The dark polygon approximately outlines the research area. We dropped anchor in the evenings and spent the nights nestled up against the protective curve of the island, and ranged all over the study area during the days. Click on either of the two ‘pins’ and a video should open out showing you the view from that spot. The sunset video was taken on the last night. There is a deep underwater trough which the whales use to exit the bay.

I don't usually take holidays where I sit around on a beach all day, getting sloshed on cocktails, and working on a tan. Work is pretty inane, so a break for me is to do something useful, so I thought it was pretty cool when my mate discovered Earthwatch last year. She spent two weeks in Madagascar studying Limas. The year after I decided to sign up to participate in a Dolphin research mission in Spain. I found out about the Oceania project when Trish (the research lead) posted a comment on one of my videos that I had posted on YouTube from that Spanish trip. I boarded the Moon Dancer, a 12-meter catamaran, early on Sunday morning and got to meet the crew and the other interns. as well as the couple who where leading the expedition, we had a couple of British high school kids, an American girl studying underwater audio, and a volunteer marine biologist from the UK, The crew was the guy that owned the boat, and the son of the research leaders. There was plenty of room on

Great big ‘teabag coloured’ luna arcing across the sky. Last time I saw that I was in York, where I climbed a mound erected by William the Conqueror with a gay girl and a tall blond wanderlust infected Kiwi guy. The bloody churches where ringing the crap out of their bells as though each was weighted down with a mad monk or two. This means I’ve seen a blood moon in both hemispheres.

Woke up the next morning after enjoying a sleep, fathoms deep. Sounds of crowing roosters, dogs barking, and birds singing floated through the bedroom windows on the sea breeze. I had a shower and shave, and discovered that in my rush to catch the plane, I packed way too many socks' and not enough t-shirts. We strolled along the beachfront looking for breakfast and found a beach front cafe that was open. Sipped coffee while scoffed a bowl of yoghurt sweetened with fresh fruit, and watched a tractor drag a machine that shifted pebbles out of the sand. The weather somewhere out in the Med was still crap after a couple of days snooping around the island, so rather then hang around without any guarantees that we would score a passage on a direct route, we bought tickets on a ferry to Naxos, which had a slightly bigger port, Not as small and cute as Parous, but with the prospect of much more nightlife, and a step closer to Turkey. LINKS Part-one

The van did indeed follow the edge of the beach and we passed by a number of small hotels and bars lined up along the road, and soon stopped in front of a really nice little white washed building with a small restaurant in the front. We checked in and discovered the reason for the unnerving manic haste, with which the host had bundled us into the van and sped back to his hotel. The footy was on the tele and the poor guy had been caught between business and pleasure. We were led to a really nice little room at the back of the building. I opened the shutters and took a deep breath of cool island air. Slightly agog at the pleasant room we had found ourselves occupying, and gently fatigued from the twenty-four hours plus of travelling, we stumbled down stairs to the restaurant and were invited to share a complimentary glass of wine with our host. Draining the cool drink while watching a bit of the game on the tele, we excused ourselves and spent an hour scouting out th

When the ship finally shuddered and pulled away from the shore, a buzz spread out amongst the passengers, that the ferry company had been waiting for the ship to fill up before shoving off. Everyone on board had been watching other ferry boats come and go from the naughbouring docks all afternoon. I was a bit mental from sleep deprivation and drifted in and out of consciousness, stretched out on the white slates of a bench, with my pack as a pillow. The boat dragged its self through the sea. A little floating patch of hell. I had one of those 'want to go home’ attacks. The food from the shop was expensive and pretty crap (which is pretty normal of ferry fare all over the planet.) After dinner René and I sat out on the deck and watched the sun set behind the boat, leaving behind a persistent rosy bush fire smudge in the opalescent glow of the horizon. The ferry cruised into Parikia, the main port of Paros, round eleven that night and docked. The concrete finger of t

Emerged from the plane into bright Athens morning sunlight after four hours of MTS. That’s Mass Transport Sleep where you try to grab some kip, jammed into a vehicle with a group of strangers. You can't stretch out and you have no control over the lights or meandering children. Out of the terminal and onto the six o'clock bus that connected the airport to the sea port of Piraeus, where our lightning progress towards Turkey was halted by the weather. Whist it was clear and bright at the port, we were told that all hell was breaking loose somewhere out in the Mediterranean. We had planned a quick hop to the island of Samos, and from there we had hoped to be suffering Turkish immigration by morning the next day. We found some breakfast, and rather then hang around the ‘standard issue’ port, caught a bus back up the coast to the first beach we could find, and burnt some time snoozing on the sand until the sun had climbed high and hot, making slumber uncomfortable.

Entry for September 26, 2006: Suddenly there are dolphins all over the place. We were all up and making preparations for our final day. Breakfast was gobbled down, and the Toftevaag was soon cruising out from behind the breakwater. It was like a choreographed finale. The dolphin sightings started rolling in. At one point I spent four hours piloting the boat as we followed a pod of Bottlenose dolphins as they fed.

Entry for September 24, 2006: god it’s good to be standing on a solid surface again. We were desperate to get out and find some dolphins today, so we ventured out into pretty high seas. We got hit in the face as soon as we rounded the breakwater. I didn’t make use of the biggest toilet in the world, but others on board did. In an effort not to repeat the entertainment of my first day out, I sat in the stern and moaned a bit. I was eventually discovered, and half the women on board formed a queue to ply me with remedies. It was a really sweet idea, but I felt like I’d been cornered by Macbeth's witches. I was wrapped in wet towels, fluffy ´pressure point´ bands encircled both wrists, chunks of ginger floated about in a mug of water in one hand, and a can of Coke bubbled in the other. A patch had been applied to my sweat soaked neck, and I had swallowed a couple of pills of unknown origin. I wish I could have been together enough to have enjoyed the attention.

Entry for September 23, 2006: Day off. My skin is tight from sun and salt. While I'm writing this, I'm pondering the boring bits, which get left out of stories. Especially the waiting, such as for transport to take me somewhere else. Last night the storm blew in from out in the Med, and we were warned ‘that those who chose to sleep out on deck’ should be prepared to quickly decamp to the cabins if the rains came. As we climbed into our bags big winds whipping at the canvas and rigging. It wasn’t long before the two girls who were sleeping either side of the mast escaped the weather down below decks. I slept through most of it, and at one point woke up and watched the clouds speeding across the black sky, and felt a few random drops on my face. A couple of big waves washed over the sea wall. The boat was rolling a bit more then usual in the relatively calm waters of the marina. We’re all waiting to see if we can go out this afternoon. I've been sleeping out on the

I was told that Brighton was dead in the winter. So I put a bit of thought into where I would spend a British winter. Scotland was top of the list. The seasons hold Britain in such a thrall, that one must pick where one lives based on the time of the year. London and Brighton are brilliant in the summer as there are lots of tourists, everyone dresses to impress, there are outdoor gigs, and one can sit in the sun on the sidewalk outside a favourite pub till ten o’clock at night. Scotland is better in the winter when the ‘midges’ have disappeared (to Ibiza I think), the air is crisp and clean, and snow dusts the tops of the Munros. York, better in winter. Newquay, better in the summer. Germany, great in winter. Greek Islands, brilliant in the summer. So I decided to visit Scotland for a bit. A mate from OZ also wanted to check out the top of the island so she borrowed a mates car and we filled it full of backpacks. On the way up we stopped at a pub near Loch Lomo

The one thing I had my heart set to do, during my visit down south, was to spend a bit of time warming a seat in a proper cigar bar so we ended up at the big casino that lurks on the bank of the Yarra river. Walked down beside the river, turned right walking through a glass door, and we were swamped in a crowded shopping precinct. This must have been the ‘family friendly’ face of the casino, and it was jammed with bodies. We found the bar and were instantly transported to a quiet place where soft conversations mingled with the blue cigar smoke wafting around the low ceiling. I noticed that a decent breeze was keeping my smoke alight so there must have been an efficient aircon whisking the smoke away. She had an elderberry and champagne cocktail, He had ten year old Taliska Scotch. Attached is a video of bits snapped while I was down there.

The ‘local’ met me at her local train station out in the suburbs, and we spent the rest of the morning chatting and repositioning sun lounges, as we chased the sunny spots tracking across her overgrown back yard After a bit we decided to go out for pizza in the city and I insisted that I wanted to ride a tram. We don’t have trams in Sydney and it was a bit weird riding in a vehicle that was train shaped, but was cruising through the middle of road bound car type traffic. We ended up in a groovy pub. She was drinking white, I had red. We talked about the feminist position on scrunching and folding, the burgeoning popularity of tapas in Melbourne, and how it’s hard for a single girl to get ‘knocked up’ these days as guys have realized that the government will hunt them down and make them pay for the upkeep of the sprog (as a result condoms are gaining in popularity again.) What I thought was interesting was that she expressed the opinion, that single woman are more interested in hav

I decided I needed a change of scenery so I spent a few days down in Melbourne over Easter. Melbourne is one of those cities where I feel instantly at home. Glasgow, Fethiye, Wellington, Nuremburg, and London are other cities that I have instantly grown an attachment to. The opposite would be places such as Las Vagas which make my skin crawl. My home town of Sydney is notorious for being sunny but soulless. Melbourne is known for being cultured and damp. Good Friday morning was cold and wet and swathed in cloud when I left my flat and caught the bus to the airport. While I was in Melbourne I enjoyed three straight days of bright sparkly solar radiation. Some folk reckon that global warming is to blame for this topsy turvey weather. If this is true, then Melbourne and England will become known for being ‘fun in the sun,’ while Sydney and Spain will assume the mantle of ‘soggy Sao.’ I had arranged to meet a local I knew from the Internet in the city centre, and not finding anyone wai

I’ve dug up a bit out of an old travel journal.   One night while tucked up in our beds, all eight guys were woken by loud female shouting, out in the stairwell. A truly sublime pair of unfettered bosoms, filled to the quivering liquid brim with booze, burst through the door. She was atmospherically rim lit by light spilling in through the open doorway as she bounced into the room, and planted rank alcoholic kisses on the guy occupying the bed nearest the door. A girlfriend appeared and dragged our invader back to her room. A heavy, round silence closed around us and when it seemed that no more action would unfold, one of the guys on a bottom bunk got up and closed the dorm door. On another occasion, I was woken by someone moving close to my bed. Something must have been up, cause the guy that sleeps below me usually doesn’t interrupt my slumber. A head was moving around in the dark, and I recognised its silhouette as the young guy who occupies the lower bunk across the room.

I’ve dug up a bit out of an old travel journal. Scored a nice room in a cosy hostel, up the top of a sturdy old fashioned staircase, on top of a hill, in the west end of Glasgow (supposedly the west end used to be the rich part of town cause the toffs wanted to live ‘up wind,’ from the stink of industry, and the poor.) These days no one can afford the huge stone apartments, and most of the buildings have been re-purposed for tourist accommodation, or are owned by the university. My room has a radio, heater, and even a few pot plants I can water. Most of my worldly needs have been satisfied. I have found comfortable lodgings filled with inoffensive transients, a local library nearby providing free internet, and a new city to explore. During the day I seek out the excellent galleries, encouraged by the councils ‘free entry’ policy. There is also the Gothic drenched Necropolis, which like most urban cemeteries, is a quiet zone completely surrounded by city and industr

Last week I went down to the city to check out the parade. I’ve seen it many times before. These days I tend to be more interested in what happens before, after, and on either side of the celebration.Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gra sydney 07 This event was originally a lot more political and there was a café on Oxford Street (this is our famous ‘gay street,’ bit like Canal Rd in Manchester or San Francisco ;-) that had all the previous years posters that advertised the parade up on the wall. It’s amazing to watch the progression from hard edges screen printed ‘calls for political action’ to glossy ‘let it all hang out dance party invitation.’ These days the event is all about the money. And Sydney has come to expect big influxes of ‘pink dollars’ round this time of year.

I spent my days exploring tiny cobbled streets on the outskirts of town, tramping from shrine, to temple, to drink machine. These coin operated dispensing machines are everywhere, and trying out the taste sensations they deliver with exotic names like ‘Pokari sweat,’ keeps life interesting The city is infested with amazing temples. There was one in particular that I remember, just down the road from where I was staying. The roof of the main building was supported by beams so heavy that back in ancient times, when it was being built. The builders had to use ropes made of woman's hair as the ones made of plant fibre were snapping under the stresses of the enormous weights. There was one length of this rope preserved behind glass. It was coiled up dusty, and rotting, and quite bit Gothic.

Nara is a much smaller city but seen by the locals as just as important as Kyoto. Both were capital cities for Japan in the past. Nara is famous for its park and its many temples. There are these tame deer that it is said, are the messengers of the gods and therefore sacred. These deer have free reign in the park. Visitors buy little deer biscuits from a vendor and are soon be surrounded by anxious, apparently famished deer. Bit like feeding pidgins. Big ones that are as high as your shoulder, and know how to head butt. I saw the biggest Buddha in the world. Huge, trust me. If you liked to be impressed by size and extravagance, visit the Buddha in Nara. It sits in this enormous pavilion (it's amazing how big the Japanese where able to build wooden buildings) accompanied by an entourage of four roof-scraping statues representing the four winds (or seasons, or something.) One of the pillars supporting the roof had a hole roughly sawed in its base. The legend says t

I really wanted to see the monkeys who sit in hot spring during japans snowy winter but it was way too early in the season for snow, so I scanned the Lonely Planet book, picked an interesting town that looked a bit out of the way, and journeyed up into the mountains to Takiyama. The train trip up was utterly picturesque. The scenery had a strong European vibe as the train wound its way up the mountains shadowing a major river. The local specialty is buckwheat noodles and beef. Beef is a bit rear in Japan and it's expensive. I hadn't had a lot of meat during the trip and as I was ambling through the local street markets a rich smell suddenly assaulted my nose and saliva flooded my mouth. I followed the smell to a small cafe where little skewers of meat were sizzling on a grill. I bought three. Moved back out of the way of the next person in the queue, and immediately scoffed them. One afternoon, I walked out of town and up into the hills where an out door histo

Entry for September 22, 2006: Back again. We’re back in Almaria, and the weather has trapped us in port again. We all decided to splash out and have lunch in a Spanish restaurant on shore. We made ourselves comfortable round a big table in the shade. I must be getting my sea legs cause I’m noticing the absence of movement when I step on land (sitting on the loo in the enclosed cubical of the shower block amplifies the sensation.) The local drink isn’t Sangria. It’s a mixture of red wine and lemonade. Really nice on a hot Mediterranean day, accompanying a big black pan of Paella. We all take a turn preparing meals on the boat. No one is taking the task of ‘feeding the crew’ lightly, and I’ve had some great dinners. Lunch is usually served out at sea. A selection of cold meats, salad vegi´s, bread, cheese, tinned tuna, and assorted cold leftovers are spread out over the section of cabin that I have been sleeping on. We all build salad plates or sandwiches for oursel

I once traveled through the Greek islands with a gay girl. The Islands are beautiful and romantic, and at one point as we were threading our way thought the white washed houses adorned with red roses, she remarked ‘I wish I was here with someone I could be romantic with.’ I nodded and replied ‘I know what you mean.’ I wonder why they paint the tree trunks white?

I took these photos years ago when I was living in Islington. I didn't remember the address when I uploaded these to Flickr, so I found the cemetery by locating where I used to live in Islington, then scrolling the map along the route I used to take to get to the cemetery (I used Google maps cause Yahoo's maps don't zoom down far enough.) So cool all the red buses chocking up the streets. This cemetery is in Stoke Newington, and looking at the names of the roads around the cemetery, I reckon this must have had a important building nearby. The grounds were amazingly overgrown, and it looked like some recent hacking to clear out path had occurred. It was like discovering a lost city, in the middle of London.

Entry for September 21, 2006: Knowing the way to San José isn’t the problem. It’s getting away! This is our second day moored to the dock. There has been a storm warning out in the Med. Despite the alert we set out early this morning. We were all tired of hanging around the port. Once outside the breakwater, the swell was pretty choppy and I inquired of the captain, as to whether we would use the possible evacuation of my stomach as an indication that we should head back? His reply was that ‘a decent percentage’ of the crew hanging over the railing would be more persuasive then just my discomfort. Once out there, the captain cruised around a bit, and got concerned that the ship was going to suffer some damage, when she slid into the troughs, and slammed through the oncoming waves, so we headed back to port. Rather then mooching around the boat and surrounding harbor, we all were appointed Boat maintenance jobs. Some people bitched a bit, but I was hanging (not