Killing me softly

This blog is going to be more rambling than ever: more picaresque than picturesque. There are a number of reasons for this. the first is the long period of time this blog covers. The second is that for some inexplicable reason Blogspot has periods of time where it is impossible to use the edit mode. This is frustrating and leads to the third reason which is a form of blogger's block. The fourth reason is that my iPhone where I keep all my notes has frozen and nobody in South East Asia can repair it.  I hope that the Genius bar in the next Apple shop I get to will be able to sort it out. The fifth reason is that I lost my passport and credit cards a month ago and so for a period of time was a refugee and homeless. There will be events and visits missed out or in the wrong order but I am recording the essence of South East Asia here. The reason I am able to devote some time to this blog is that at present I am relatively immobile in Vietnam because of an infected insect bite on my right foot. Life hasn't been boring. 

It's been a hectic travelling period. I returned to England for my birthday and to try and sort out visas. I went to Dubai and had a great chill-out though with temperatures of 40 degrees I imagine that is an inappropriate word to use. The Burj  al Arab hotel on Jumeira Beach is the most spectacular new building I have encountered (interior is shown below). I have been fortunate enough to visit lots of great buildings but this has to be the best.

It is up there with the Chrysler building and Sydney Opera House. All my views of older buildings were changed in Cambodia but I'll come to that later. Back in England I begin a mad 48 hour journey of the world's best airports starting at Heathrow, progressing to Hong Kong then Singapore and Bangkok to catch up on my round-the-world ticket again. Although I had managed to get an Indian visa, I had failed to get a Chinese one whilst in England.

The Indian visa story provides an insight into what I may expect after October 2nd. I arrived at the Indian Embassy in Birmingham and went through the security gate where I was given my ticket. All around the waitingroom were notices in all languages imploring people to be patient and to be respectful to the officials who were trying to deal with numerous enquiries. These notices were ignored and in one case torn off the wall and shoved in the face of one official. The room was hot and the mood was hotter. I predicted a riot but it didn't happen. After about 90 minutes my number was called and I went to the counter only to be told that the Embassy no longer issued visas. The task had been sub-contracted to a company down the road. My suggestion that this information should be put on the front door of the Embassy was met with quizzical agnosticism. I then went down to the company issuing visas. I was given another ticket and after a short wait of 10 minutes my number was called. I went to the counter only to be told that the afternoon period was for the issuing of visas and not for visa application. The person behind the counter gave me a web address where I could apply online. I was getting close here- or so I thought. The online application form was impossible: I needed to know which excepted territories I would be visiting even though there was no definition of an excepted territory; I needed to provide the names, addresses and phone numbers of two referees in India and I needed confirmation of an Indian address where I would be staying. So I went back to the visa company. The security guard recognised me from the day before and I told him my difficulties in completing the online form. He said that this is always happening and gave me an A5 form to complete. I explained that I did not have any references or hotels and so he gave me the names and addresses of his brothers and said I could say I was staying with them. After that it was all plain sailing except that the passport photo machine had broken down and there wasn't another in the immediate vicinity. After 3 more days I collected my visa and bought the security guard a pint.

On my whistle stop tour of the world's greatest airports I managed to get 6 hours in Sydney. I went to the Rocks and had a pleasant tour of Cadman's Cottage, the original harbour master's house in the shadow of  Sydney Harbour Bridge (shown below). It is a great free visit and pleasantly passes the time way 

After a second visit to the Biennial art exhibition and a swift pint in the Fortune 

of War it was time to get back to the airport. At the Biennal there was a new exhibit of video art - the highspot of which was a 90 second video entitled "I piss where, when and how I want."

Bangkok is the same madhouse as ever. The traffic is relentless; crossing the road is dangerous. The City is full of white men (young and old) accompanied by Thai women (young and old). I do not have any particular view on sex tourism. It seems to be a classic barter situation: the mutual exchange of wants but there is a sadness to it that I feel for both parties. When I hear an older Thai women telling a Liverpudlian that he had spoiled a girl by paying her 2000 Baht (32pounds) I think there may be some issues here. Meanwhile at Kao Sahn Road mayhem continues. It is Blackpool and Soho combined. The sex traders vie with the frog sellers for Bahts; backpackers find cheap accommodation; old white men find cheap girls; everyone finds some sort of gratification. Mine is the sweetcorn and watching the traffic police and the food vendors go through the nightly ritual of being moved along and then returning. The police have a job to do - the vendors a living to make. More and more being an old white man I am stereotyped as being in Bangkok for sex. I am the target; it's quite amusing and playing the game is sport itself. I notice an increasing number of white men and Thai girls with children. This is changing the face of Bangkok. 

I would like to reflect for a moment on sex tourism in Thailand having witnessed it in Bangkok, Phuket, Chang Mai and Pattaya. As a Guardian-reading liberal

you would expect me to take a view that it is despicable in that it subjugates and demeans women. As a matter of observation and talking with those involved I believe the situation is much more subtle and complex. On the street itself, it is obviously the women who are in control. Gaggles of girls sitting outside the many bars on Soi 6 take the piss relentlessly out of humiliated groups of men. The girls work with each other in this endeavour; men are isolated and  cajoled into a tryst. It is definitely the men who are humiliated. The women lead a largely boring life: most of the time is spent sitting down talking to their fellow workers in other bars throughout Thailand on their mobile phones, preening each other and adjusting the many facets of make-up from finger nails to eye-brows. These periods of boredom are punctuated by bouts of hassling and hustling their prey. This produces much excitement and amusement. The girls love it; I'mnot sure that the same is thought by the men. Once every couple of hours the boredom is broken by a women taking a man inside the darkness of the bar. What goes on in there is a private matter lying somewhere between excitement and more boredom.  The relationships are more complicated when they become long-term according to the couples I have spoken to. The working girls will typically make  1000 baht (16 pounds) for each arrangement. Of this the bar management will take 200 baht. The girls live in very sparse accommodation either above the bar or close to it. Typically, this accommodation will consist of mattresses on the floor, coat hooks and hangers begged from the local laundry, a wash-basin, cold shower and a shared toilet. It will be shared by 2 or 3 girls. Being chosen by a man after a night's work in the bar means: a bed to sleep on as opposed to a floor; a TV; a hot shower and inevitably boring sex.  That is why a long-term "marriage" with any man is the great escape. All the men I spoken to have the following in common: a sense of loss of England as it used to be and in their mind as it should be; divorce and a bitter divorce settlement; golf and the love of the freedom afforded by Thailand. On reflection it seems  as though it's a win-win situation. In economic theory I wished that Adam Smith could have seen Thailand before writing The Wealth of Nations.

One of the well-hidden jewels of the Kao Sahn Road is Starbucks: ( left) it is tucked away up a little avenue off the main road and it is the most beautiful Starbucks I have ever been in. Its tranquility is welcome after all the hustle and bustle of the neighbouring roads. There is nothing better than reading Agatha Christie, listening to The Delays, drinking iced latte sitting in a leather armchair watching the various groups come 

and go in its air-conditioned splendour.

From Thailand the next stop is Cambodia - a country of tears and reconciliation. Phnom Penh is a great city. Cambodia is a great country. The traffic here is hectic. There is no hierarchy here everyone believes that the road was built for them. There is a right-of-way system at cross-roads and junctions: everybody has the right-of way. People drive on the right hand side of the road unless that is crowded and the left hand side is less so and then it seems obvious that you

should then you drive on the left. The most amusing thing about the traffic is the motor bike. These range from mopeds to 750 Kawasakis but it is what they carry which fascinates me. In the whole of Cambodia I do not think that I have ever seen just one person on a bike. The most I have seen is 7. The average is 3. The combination of two people and two pigs seemed

 the most unmanageable. The multi-tasking involved in four people on a motorbike 3 of whom (including the driver) are using mobile phones while carrying nets of balloons in the morning mayhem of Independence Day in Phnom Penh is something to behold.  From there it is a short hop by plane to Siem Reap where the temples of Angkor Wat await. The guide-book recommends a tour of all the temples lasting five days and at the very 

least 3 days but you can do them all and  throw in a visit to  a floating village easily in a day. The temples are stunning and are in the top 5 must-see places according to Guardian readers. On this journey 

I've been fortunate enough to manage all 5.  These temples are the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. The most moving part of my whole trip has been a visit to the Killing Fields. I have now been there 3 times and every time I find out something more horrific about the Khmer Rouge. It is impossible to describe the absolute quiet in this open air museum of death. The monument containing thousands of skulls is impressive but it is the field itself which holds the stories of what went on. Because Cambodia is a poor country the fields are presented in a very amateurish way. The signs are hand written in poor English. The mass graves are totally accessible. Clothes and bones and teeth are found all over the site particularly after a heavy rain storm. If it were possible everyone should go there. But even as I write this we are doing it all over again in various locations in Africa but it's a long way away so it doesn't really count does it. Beaten to death so as not to waste bullets. Babies were the easiest they could be buried alive if necessary. And I say to myself what a wonderful world. Less than 40 years ago.

The next part of this blog will be a snapshot of weeks of travel which included the misfortunes I referred to earlier. I want to get this blog out of the way so that I can get back on track. A return home, five South East Asian countries, various monsoons and other events will be fleshed out if I ever get round to writing this adventure up as a book and if my iPhone gets repaired. 

India is a shit hole. I know this is an unfair way of summing up the world's largest democracy but it was the second worst country I have visited after Fiji. I didn't want it to be. I wanted it to be great and to be fair I will go back 

there and give it another chance. Perhaps I chose the worst time of the year. It was unbearably hot even by the sea in Goa. However, these are not the ramblings of an old colonial here there is a dour heaviness about the country compared with the rest of South East Asia. At times I thought I was in an Apocalyptical vision of the future akin to an eastern Blade Runner. Mumbai is brown. Beggars using children make walking the city uncomfortable at any time of day. I have encountered begging in many forms in many cities but in Mumbai they do not understand the meaning of "No". The traffic is impossible. Drivers think that the horn is a second accelerator; they use it all the time. Everybody seems to be on the make. Even in an art gallery where the entrance was free somebody tried to charge at the exit. On my 30000 miles of travelling it is the only place I have been given counterfeit money. The rupee itself is impossible to exchange outside India as I have found to my cost.The high spot of the visit was being with a group of yuppies from the city in a bijou bar on a Friday night . They concurred with my view of the place. I decided to escape to Goa. That was better - marginally. There are over 40 beaches in north and south Goa and I may just have been unlucky enough to choose the worst 3. I had planned to spend 7 weeks there I lasted less than a week. I did plan to go back there but my lost passport contained my visa so return was impossible. I will go back again in the very near future it has to be better than this Ineed to

give it another chance. My overwhelming memory of India will be ofbeing on a beach in Goa when a herd of cows walked their patch. This place was obviously not meant for me. I returned to Bangkok, went to Laos (twice) Cambodia (twice) . Laos is to cool and chilled for me to have any lasting memories of it. I am sure that it is fine for young drop-outs to find their inner self but I did that too many years ago. I went to Philippines in the monsoon period. I had confused Malaysia with Manila earlier on tour. Over 50 people died on an capsized ferry. I have been allowed into Vietnam for 3 days because I lost my passport here I am still officially a refugee. My overall impression of Indo-China because that is where I have spent most of my time is of nations who will in the end make it. Cambodia and Thailand  take religion and royalty seriously. Taxi drivers and prostitutes bow before Buddha. Thailand has been in mourning for the Queen since January. She will be buried next week and the bars will be closed for four days. Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam are fighting a losing battle against sex tourism. The Philippines have already lost that battle. From here it's the festival of lights on the river in Bangkok on 12 November  then down to Malaysia before heading back to Europe on the final leg. Ciao.

Reading Third Girl

Listening Delays

Watching Fawlty Towers

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional (Australia-Part 1)

ps

New Zealand was also the first country to bring about universal suffrage: some 30 years before women had to ruin a perfectly good horse race in order to bring a nation's attention to their plight. If New Zealand is the young girl with whom you have fallen in love, Australia is the big brother. You know they are related byblood (pace Spencer) but that is the end of any serious similarities to which you are attracted. Australia is big and brash; Australia is overly self-confident; Australia is doing well. But somewhere in Australia there is a serious flaw; I will have to connect it to my general theory of humanity. I don't get it yet but as Hercule Poirot says " I have a little idea.".

Agatha Christie wrote over 70 books in 50 years and I am trying to read them all on this trip - not doing very well at moment - only read 9.

The highlight of trip was catching up with my middle son, Danny. We met in Sydney and then travelled to Cairns together. He is off to Darwin next looking for gainful employment. On the left you can see him and a turtle having a brief encounter at the Great Barrier Reef . Danny is a neat kid: in a roundabout way I sorted out his bad leg (after I almost caused its amputation) and he sorted out my iTunes (from setting up the account to syncing the iPhone and Mac)

and the problems with iMovie. It isn't a proper fix and is probably a problem with Apple. Danny is also a pretty decent pool player. Talking of Apple the first Apple store in the southern hemisphere opened in Sydney 2 days after I arrived there. I have been in some mad crowds on this trip- La U, Boca Juniors, All Blacks- but the crowd at the opening of the Apple store in Sydney was the maddest. The queue started at 0830 two days before the store was to open and I'm told there were 4000 people waiting to go in on Thursday evening at 5.00. I was there but not in line. It was raining and Apple supplied umbrellas for the faithful. I was there the following mor

ning and had the first one-to-one in the southern hemisphere. Five people from their Genius Bar could not help me with my iMovie problem which I have had unexpectedly in the last few months. This interface difficulty (which Danny thinks is caused by an earlier iMovie update of software from Apple ) - the people in the Apple shop had not identified this as a possible cause.

This has stopped me producing any more Shirt of the Villa movies for my adoring (except the clarets) audience. Even though the manager of the Apple store in Sydney was born in Bromsgrove, he couldn't solve the problem either.

It's a sort of Grand Canyon moment seeing the Sydney Harbour Bridge through the canyons of shops formed by George Street. this is the iconic centre of Sydney and it deserves its reputation. In a few days time I will climb it with Danny but seeing it for the first time took my breath away.

The quotation which forms the title of this blog came from a 26-year-old Canadian and I think it sums up my frame of mind at the moment. Being old, I can appreciate prejudice for the first time in my life. The world is made for the young and if you are in their environment then you do experience prejudice akin to racism and sexism. I will return to this later. Sydney and, indeed, most of Australia is very diverse. The dominant groups are Chinese, Japanese and Korean. I had assumed, wrongly, that this was a recent phenomenon but obviouly it goes back 2 centuries to the Gold Rush and the sugar cane farming. Another large ethnic group is the Pacific Islanders; it seems that every bouncer in Sydney was born on some remote island in the Pacific. Everyone seems at ease with this diverse population. The only fly in the ointment ( another metaphor may be more succinct but less appropriate) is the problem of the indigenous Aborigines. These are the dispossessed, the homeless, the vagrants and the beggars who everyone tries to ignore. Australians even find it difficult to talk about the issue. Unlike the Kiwis who have addressed the Maori issue the Aussies do not seem able to face up to it. This is the tragic flaw I referred to earlier.

I manage to get to watch Australia versus China in a World Cup qualifier. Australia lose 1-0 but still go through to the next stage of qualifications. I would now like to digress and begin a description of two important strands of my general theory of relativity: hostel life and dancing. There is a clear hierarchy in round-the-world travellers. I am sure the top 3 levels are occupied by multi-millionaires in private jets, travelling first-class or on cruises. Then there is my domain. I am regarded as a flash-packer because I stay in YHA hostels; there are other hostel chains which are similar such as YMCA and Nomad. We drink in pubs such as the 3 Wise Monkeys and the Trafalgar. Then there is the sole trader hostel where you can share an eight-

bunk dormitory with 15 other people. These hostels are the closest thing in modern times to doss houses; I imagine Rowton House in Birmingham was pretty much like this. The rooms look as though they have been hit by a hurricane with clothes and other personal possessions strewn throughout. In these hostels there are individuals who are staying for free in return for 3 or 4 hours cleaning.

At the bottom of this strata are the free-fooders. In every hostel there is an area set aside for people to leave any spare food they have at the end of their stay. The free-fooders survive on these left-overs - apparently noodles cooked in peanut butter is delicious. At the bottom of the travelling pile are the camper-vanners. These people, most of whom seem to be Scandinavians who indulge in hard dancing which looks to the untrained eye the same as fighting, buy a van anywhere and sell it once their money has run out. They occupy kerb-side positions throughout Australia where they cook exotic meals on their community camp stoves. I'd like to spend a little time talking about dancing. All women dancers at this stage in history are trying to be lap dancers or pole dancers; all men are trying to be Hollywood Red Indian braves dancing around a camp fire and all Scandinavians are fighting on the dance floor. This combination does not lead to dance hall harmony but to Ballroom Blitz - still nobody has died yet. The other combination which irks is the really bad dancer who thinks s/he is a good dancer. This is made worse by the bad dancer being with a good dancer.

The most striking thing about Sydney isn't the bridge or the opera house but the

bus service. The buses run frequently, are cheap and clean and the drivers are courteous, helpful and informative. Because of this human side to the service I think this is best public transport system I've encountered so far. Before leaving Sydney for the Great Barrier Reef I make a nostalgic trip to Blacktown. This is where my family lived for 3 years when we emigrated to Australia almost 50 years ago. I meet a postman who tells me where Bungarribee Road is but he says that there isn't a number 4b - there isn't even a number 4. I remember walking to school from the house down Patrick Street. I get to the junction and am delighted that the house is still there and is now number 170. When we lived there there were only two houses and a shed 

but now the whole road is developed. Danny joins me and I show him the place where my formative youth was spent - I am so glad the house is still there. I wish my mother could have seen the photographs I took.

The harbour bridge climb lasting three hours is well worth the effort; the views are magnificant and you get a great sense of

 Sydney Horbour and its many coves. It also takes you to The Rocks area of Sydney which is may favourite area with its charming Victorian houses and its many old pubs and bars. At the Bridge I was forced to get out of my sandals for the first time on the trip. This footwear which has been to Alaska and Tierra del Fuego was not considered safe enough to go on the bridge. After the exertion of the climb I visited the Sydney Biennale which is an exhibition of modern art. It is interesting to note that Maurizo Cattelan's dead horse which I first saw in Phoenix over 10 years ago is still causing a fuss.

I managed to watch the World Cup final in a bar in Sydney even though it was on at 4 in the morning of my flight to Cairns. There is something satisfying about seeing Spain win in an Irish bar full of Germans, Irish and Australians - all of whom have varying degrees of hatred for and animosity towards the English.

Danny and I get to Cairns without any fuss and we have a great time there - the highlight of which is the Great Barrier Reef which is certainly one of the 7 natural wonders of the world. In Cairns there is an interesting incident on July 1st which is Canada Day. A congenial and jovial night in the local bar used by Canadians ends in a fight between those who want to sing "La Marseillaise" and those who want to sing "God Save the Queen". Interesting stuff - this nationalism. The sporting highlight of my stay in Cairns is the third match (1-1) in Rugby League in the State of Origin Rugby League series. Queensland beat New South Wales even though NSW had a perfectly good try disallowed in the last 3 minutes. I like the term 'origin': it seems to me much more appropriate than heritage. If you are ever in Cairns make sure you go into the Rattle and Hum toilets- the view from the Gents is magnificent. Obviously I cannot vouch the same for the women's toilet. Cairns is also home of the Goldfish racing world cup. The guy who runs this simple race is very happy with his job which nets (no pun intended) him about AU$200 a night. Punters at the pub buy a goldfish in an auction and the race is on. The owner of the fish keeps the cash raised in the auction. The temporary owner of the winning goldfish wins a prize which has been donated by a local business. Everbody seems happy with the arrangement.

I leave Danny in Cairns to go to Alice Springs and my Northern Territory experience. This experience will include: camping outside in a swag in the NT; seeing Uluru (Ayer's Rock); trekking King's Canyon the confirmation of my views about Australia and the Aborigines. My first night in Alice Springs reminded me of the night I spent in Johannesburg. After 9pm the streets were empty except for groups of Aborigines standing at street corners or sitting under trees. The women wear the traditional aboriginal costume of green and gold tracksuit and check shirt. They are not particularly antagonistic as most of the fights and loud quarrelling are among themselves but the experience itself is quite intimidating. Talking to an Aboriginal social worker the following afternoon, I was told of the many challenges caused by the lost generation programme, alcohol and drugs. Ironically, in the spiriual home of the Aborigines, Uluru, I was able to see another side of this rift in Australian society. At the Uluru Cultural Centre I saw 7 aboriginal women sitting on the floor of the art gallery producing paintings in almost battery-hen conditions. The owners and supervisors of the gallery who were all white whould not tell me what percentage of the paintings price - some of which were selling for AU$5000- went to the artists. My Northern Territory experience was shared with 19 other fellow travellers - all of whom were charming and interesting. On the left you can see our group at the top of King's Canyon.

The Northern Territory is a different country: they still smoke in bars and other public places; they advertise on television of the dangers of sleeping on the road; it is the only place in the world I think with a time change of 30 minutes; at the equivalent of a Young Farmers' Club a bloke (they're all blokes here) sings "Waltzing Matilda" with the backing and rhythm provided by his whip cracking and on my arrival at Alice there is the world cup in camel racing.  They have drive-through outdoors or bottle shops. There is a whole new language when it comes to drinking: pots; schooners; midis; big-ones and stubbies. This cannot be real. 

The red centre of Australia is spectacular. On the right you see my attempt to 

capture this mysticism in iPhoto. Uluru is mystical but sleeping outside in a swag with the Southern Cross and thousands of other stars as your ceiling is magical . At first, I did not believe the guide, Sheldon, who told me that sleeping in a swag was warmer than sleeping in a tent but he was right. I'm going to try and find one when I return to England - and, more importantly, I am going to use it.

I return to Sydney at the worst of all possible times - World Youth Day. this involves about 150,000 young catholics turning up in one place every year and bringing their chosen destination to a standstill. The Pope usually joins them and this makes matters worse. The only way to get round the City is to walk - this is OK most of the time but not for the woman from China on my Shuttle Bus who has four suitcases and the closest we can get to her hotel is 800 metres - I help her with her load. I'm so happy I'm travelling light.

If anyone reads this there is a party at The Gate on Friday 25 July from 8.30pm.

Reading The mirror cracked from side to side

Watching Hancock

On iPod Duffy

Published Shirt of the Villa South Pacific within 5 days

 

Trains and boats and planes (and buses)

My orientation of Auckland is done by a ride on the free circular bus around the city centre. The city itself is quite small and it is dominated by the University and the waterfront. I am staying at a hostel in the centre of town and hostel life continues: card games; pool games and holding digital cameras in the air to get photos for the next episode of Facebook. There are some very peculiar New Zealand traits: no one as far as I can tell uses cash; netball is such a big game over here; the betting shops are licensed premises as well or the bars have betting shops attached to them; there are no beggars or homeless as far as I can tell; they do not seem to have an immigration hang-up and are prepared to tackle the indigenous Maori challenges; the Premier's house is guarded by only a 5 foot high fence; it is a nuclear-free country;Kiwis eat cheese and spinach sanwiches and the trains (with one exception) never run on time. The rules of speech are interesting too. It seems that vowels are interchangeable: hence a tixi will get you home at night and good finces make good neighbours. Consonants can disppear. The woman sitting next to me on the train lived 5 minutes from Suffus. I looked at her quizzically and it was only after 30 minutes or so of conversation about Suffus I realised that she lived near Sufers' Paradise. Another interesting fact is that the Kiwis are not part of the war on terror and have disbanded the strike arm of their air-force. The only act of terrorism committed on New Zealand territory was by the French when they mined Rainbow Warrior in the 1980s.

The scenery in New Zealand is spectacular. I have seen glaciers, snow-capped mountains, sunny golden beaches and lush green fields full of grazing sheep all in the same day. I went into the forest used in Lord of the Rings for a number of scenes and it was only 2 minutes from the centre of Wellington.

From Auckland I purchased a 7 day rail pass and my first stop was Wellington for the Ireland v All Blacks game. The train was 4 hours late because of goods traffic. This was to be true of all my journeys by rail. This is all the more curious and even more

amazing when you consider that for most of the journey there is only one train per day on a single track. You would have thought that someone might have been able to sort that out. I believe that in the whole history of New Zealand rail the only train to have run on time was the 1528 from Karikourai to Christchurch. I got to the station at 1530 because of a mix-up with my luggage at the hostel. I waved to the guard as the train left the station and she waved back as the train slowly but surely disappeared into the distance. The game itself was miserable. Ireland played with heart and well enough but the weather was atrocious: wet and freezing. This left the cake-tin (the local name for the stadium) half empty as most people had wisely decided to watch the game on the telly in their local bar. It is not good to be a northern hemisphere supporter of rugby in New Zealand: the piss-taking is relentless. I had to resort to the relatively poor performance of the All Blacks

in the last World Cup to have any chance of parrying the banter. I imagine that the best place to watch a rugby match in New Zealand is at the only Welsh bar in the southern hemisphere The Dragon in the heart of Wellington. Wales does have a lot in common with New Zealand: sheep; rugby and no Apple shops. The bar itself is a converted public convenience - no further comments needed.

From Wellington I caught the ferry to Picton. It was strange watching Ironman on a boat crossing the Cook Straits. I loved the south island of New Zealand: Queenstown is spectacular and Christchurch is charming. I did black-water rafting and sledging in Queenstown and walked the streets of Christchurch. Christchurch is charming; it is very English.

On Tuesday night an Irish music session was advertised at The Bog. I expected 3 bearded, Irish-heritage Kiwis to be singing earnestly about how bad te English are to various melodies based on the phase diddly dee diddly doo. How wrong I was: when I arrived there were 23 musicians aged from 7 to 76 from 7 different countries. This was the community session sponsored by Jamesons. They welcome anyone to play with them at these sessions. If you're ever in Christchurch don't miss them. If you are there on the Tuesday you may as well stay till the Wednesday and go to the hep dancing and jive session at the Loaded Hog - equally quaint and charming. Christchurch is such a pleasant place to be - wonderful art galleries, beautifully restored

buildings and imaginative uses for old university buildings. It's also got a dyslexia garden which talks you through the experiences of those with dyslexia; in the garden is some of the most evocative sculpture I have ever seen. Christchurch is great: it's in my top ten.

Whilst in New Zealand I finished reading the latest biography of Einstein. Since it is about 100 years between the publication of his special theory of relativity and his genral theory I have decided to commemorate the occasion with a couple of my own theories. They are the special theory of humanity and the general theory of humanity. The special theory will explain why a pint of lager always costs between three and four pounds in all capital cities - no matter what the exchange rate or the standard of living of the country. The general theory will prove that all countries have: bad governments; a pre-occupation with house prices; immigration problems; low-paid jobs being performed by undocumented or illegal immigrants and a rising standard of living. The New Zealand paradox will form part of this theory. Papers will be published on these theories in the near future.

Reading: The Clocks by Agatha Christie

Published: Still technical problems but will be sorted with opening of Apple store in Sydney on June 19

On the iPod Sawdust by The Killers

Tuesday I got Thursday on my mind

I could be in England: the Union Jack is flying everywhere; the Queen's face smiles from the $10 notes: the natives are complaining about immigrants taking all their jobs. There are a few differences: it is mid-winter and the temperature is 75F; the immigrants in question came to Fiji about 70 years ago as a result of British colonialism; there is an interim military government as a result of a military coup a couple of years ago and there is live food sold everywhere. I hadn't realised. just how Indian Fiji was: from Patel's supermarket to the magnificent Hindu Temple shown below; from the Prince Charles and  N V  Patel national stadium to the roti and sari shops.

There is an ever larger and growing resentment among the indigenous population about the Indians' position of privilege; the Indians think the Fijians are lazy. Depending who your taxi driver is you get a different view of the future of these beautiful islands.

Arriving there was confusing because I lost Wednesday as a result of  crossing the international date line. The beauty of Fiji is that there is no-one hassling or hustling you; there is no tipping and it is not encouraged. What surprised me is that it was so much more a developing country than I expected. I thought it was going to be more of a developed and sophisticated tourist venue - something

 like Hawaii but it was closer to  Gambia. The streets aredusty and the market is crowded, dirty and full of exotic foods both dead and alive. the last time I saw anything like this I was in Vietnam.This paradox will be explained later. The new colonialists are the phone companies: Vodafone sponsored everything. There is only one McDonald's and there are queues to get in. Brands,too, are everywhere - why are a 19 year-old woman and her 3 year-old daughter wearing Ramones' T shirts?

The buses of Fiji are amazng: they race taxis; there is no such thing as a full bus; there is one every 5 minutes and they are so cheap - it is the only way to travel

on the island until 11pm. Nadi (pronounced Nandi) was particularly busy because it was the Fiji cup finals of soccer. I managed to watch 3 games including the final. I also watched the final of the Super 14 on TV. This is Rugby but not as I know it. Waratha from Sydney were playing the Crusaders from Christchurch. The game was played at such a pace and with such finesse that I believe a Northern hemisphere side will find it difficult to win the World Cup for the next decade at least. In the end Christchurch won because their South Pacific players were better than Sydney's. All over the island you can see home-made pitches with bamboo rugby posts.

Fiji was my first real experience of backpackers. I stayed at a hostel and was treated as a bit of a curiosity. The backpackers' life is not as I expected: it is quite staid compared to, say, my retirement party in Vegas. Much of the day is spent playing cards or Pictogram or sunbathing. A lot of the nights are spent watching movies. Friday and Saturday are party nights where the whole of the night is spent holding digital cameras in the air to take shots for Facebook or other social networking sights.

 The islands of Fiji are beautiful and many. I went on a sailing ship to the island featured in Tom Hanks' Castaway. On the last day I discovered Denarau Island. This is the Hawaii of Fiji: manicured or herbicured lawns; $1 million houses; golf and racquet clubs; the finest hotels and massive yachts. And yet it is only 2 miles from the shanties outside Nadi. How long can they co-exist? It puts me in mind of the Waterfront in Capetown co-existing with the townships only miles away. How long can that last?

On the iPod: Coldplay

Reading: Einstein

Published: Due to technical difficulties and the lack of Apple stores in the Southern Hemisphere there will be no Shirt of the Villa for a while. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Where Route 66 meets Route 1

I'm sitting in the King's Head in Santa Monica watching Man U and Chelsea; 1-1 at half-time. This place is rammed with English people. I think Chelsea just outnumber the Mancs and there are 3 people from Birmingham including me: I'm not sure of the team they support - never heard of them. I'm sure this game will end in penalties. I've mentioned on a number of occasions the divided states of America. My trip down Highway 1 has confirmed this view. Travelling from Seattle to San Diego has proven to me  how divided the sates are. I knew there was a difference between the North and the South. I knew that the East coast was different from the mid-West. I'd been to both Nebraska and Montana and knew those differences. What shocked me was the differences on the West coast. I expected Long Beach to be cool; but there was nothing there. I loved Portland with its free public transport in the centre of the city. It was also the first time I encountered the concept of drinking the wall. Paddy's wall in Portland is shown above. In a number of bars down the west coast there are walls of about 1000 different drinks which people try to drink in their lifetime. In Santa Cruz for instance there is a wall with 99 beers on it and Craig Allison has drunk it 15 times so far. I've mentioned the differences in America. Many of these coastal towns are very conservative, very Republican backwaters. They represent the hidden California for me - this is not the Beach Boys' laid- back California by any stretch of the imagination.  I'd like to go to some constants. All along the West coast the following are true: Mexicans work in the kitchens; young white college girls serve at tables; black and white old men panhandle and clear the trash bins; obscenely large cars and trucks are driven all over the place and lots of  people are fat. One other unifying event has been Ironman.  I've now seen it four times: it is a great movie. I am Iron Man are 4 words as significant as Tomorrow is another day.

One other big difference in the trip has been the availability of taxis. In some places they are everywhere; in others you can't get any. An example of non-availability is Cannery Row. As a Steinbeck fan I was looking forward to going there which I did but getting back was impossible.

Having been employed in a sector for 38 years which has a mission to get people into employment I have been very interested in new jobs and  peoples' job satisfaction. The happiest people I have met on the West coast so far are:

Alaskan crab fishermen;

bubble blowers on Santa Monica pier;

drivers of Ducks in several cities;

crab cooks in Santa Barbara;

clay sculptors in Monterey;

midgets who sing  Paint it Black;

drummers on Venice Beach.

I wonder where they got the careers advice from to live a full and happy life.

There was a great letter in The Guardian last week from a session musician who had been playing for 30 years and making a lot of money who fears that if she were at school under the current Labour government would risk her parents going to jail for her not getting qualified. 

The best time and place I've been so far is the John Paul Getty center in the Santa Monica mountains. It is superb public space; it is free; it has great views of LA and it has Wheatstacks.

On the Radio: Guns and Roses Black Sabbath Patsy Cline

Reading: On the Road

Published on YouTube: Shirt of the Villa: Pacific Highway

Hunkered down in Anchorage

Sitting in a bar in Freemont, Seattle watching  Chelsea and Liverpool is a very different experience from being in Anchorage after a 24 inch snowfall. Yesterday  Alan and I were in the same bar when Manchester United beat Barcelona. You can watch the hundreds of fans celebrating the victory on Youtube: Shirt of the Villa. As I write, Drogba has just netted for Chelsea and one fifth of the bar goes wild; the other 80% stand and sit in silence waiting. I think it's probably wise to put my Mac away in case any beer starts to spill. What is amazing about this bar is that for the last 2 days hundreds of supporters of English football teams have been coming here to watch the games, I don't know why. On the left you can see a woman from China who is a Chelsea fan; on the right some Manchester fans.

Alaska is strange. First there are Christmas trees in all the shops even though it is nearly May.  Second it is the land of the midnight sun: it just won't go dark even at 1030 at night. Third, you can have 24 inches of snow in one day, the biggest earthquake in the whole of America in 1964 and

 nobody bothers but if the Darwin's Theory doesn't open at 1000 then there is trouble. Our tour guide, a 39 -year-old single Alaskan woman describes why she is still single even though men  outnumber women by 2 to 1 : the odds are good but the goods are odd. Alaska is also beautiful. We do a sea-trip from Seward and see Puffins, Sea lions, Eagles and Whales - not bad for a 4 hour voyage. Then it's off for the flight to Washington state.

Seattle is a great city: one of my top 5 ever. It is beautiful, it has character and it is fun. What other city would put a massive troll

 under its main bridge? All great cities have a water presence and 

Seattle has it everywhere. Not many cities have an underground city running in  parallel but Seattle does. You can see what was left of one of the bathrooms on the left. the underground city tour is really worth doing.  I love this place. It has a Bolshevik statue of Lenin in Freemont - the heart of its entrepreneurial district. It also has a Science Fiction Museum, a music centre which was featuring Jimi Hendrix and an IMAX cinema screen which was showing Shine a Light, the Scorcese biopic of The Rolling Stones.

We have now hired a car and are on our way from Seattle to San Diego - first stop Long Beach.

Reading Bill Bryson's Shakespeare

On iPod Love

Published Shirt of the Villa USA

Leaving Las Vegas

Sitting in LAX en route to Alaska is a strange feeling particularly after five days in Las Vegas. Originally I was going to do one blog from America but I have always thought that this is not one country. The East coast and the West coast are different from the rest of America. The North is different from the South. The mid-West is something else. These are the divided states of America. Las Vegas certainly isn't like anywhere else on earth. You can be anywhere: have a drink under the Eiffel Tower; you can have an ice cream by the Trevi fountain; you can ride in a gondola by the Doge's palace or you can just visit Times Square. Not only is Vegas no respecter of geography but it also has no idea about the value of time. In an historical context you can go back to the 50s or forward to 2020. There are no clocks in Vegas as far as I know. This makes living any normal sort of life very difficult. Because my body clock was running at a different time to what the hotel maids though was normal sleeping patterns. I ran out of towels on Day 3. Another strange thing about Vegas is the number of wedding chapels - even the cathedral has a wedding chapel attached to it which seems a strange duplication of effort but I imagine it has something to do with specialism. There are stand-alone wedding chapels; wedding chapels in hotels; wedding chapels attached to restaurants and there is really a drive-thru wedding chapel. No wonder Britney couldn't resist the temptation.

I am joined in Vegas by friends from Coleshill: Neil and Sara and Andy and Karen. I am also joined by Alan who is going to do the rest of North America with me. Calzaghe beats Hopkins and Villa beat Blues so life goes on as normal.

Outside the airport there are signs advertising the 10 commandments: the taxis throughout Vegas advertise gun stores

where you can try one before you buy one. This seems a strange

combination of features: thou shalt not kill but if you want to try it without any commitment that's OK. 

 

On the iPod Tranquilise

Reading Bill Bryson's Shakespeare

Published Shirt of the Villa: Las Vegas