Maple Leafs and Shamrocks with a touch of English Rose

So this is a little strange - I'm writing my travelogue from my Dads computer! Loses a bit of the essence admittedly but I'm still not technically back home so it'll do. That said, tomorrow night I do get on the plane back to real home! So for those of you who’ve found the length of my e-mails slightly challenging the good news is that this e-mail just CAN’T be too long because if I reach Israel before it does it just wont get finished!

But on with the show….

Nothing against Toronto as a tourist spot (although I’ll talk about that later) I probably wouldn’t have considered making the trip were it not for my very good friend Marissa Muscat who moved back there with her hubby Joel after 5 years in Israel a year and a half ago. The main aim for my visit was to catch up with Marissa which in addition to the normal “yachna”ing included getting to know her gorgeous 8 month old daughter Noa. I've said it before and I’ll say it again - people make my trips and my last 3 weeks especially has been a lot about people.

I won’t go into great detail of days filled with playing with Noa and then playing cards in between her sleeps, shopping in huge kosher supermarkets or aptly named outlets such as Bulk Barn and Dollarama but suffice to say mission well accomplished! (Special mention for the fun morning we spent helping out a charity golf tournament watching how the other half live and taking rides on the golf carts) Maybe it could be said for any immigrant population, maybe it could be said for friends you make in your twenties but for me the friendships I’ve made since making Aliyah have been some of the strongest. Staying with Marissa and Joel was just like staying at home and it was amazing how quickly it felt like we’d never been apart. That’s probably why it was far harder to say good-bye because it was only then that I realised that all the jokes I’d made during the week about seeing Noa next time at her wedding (or at least returning to Toronto) were closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

Anyway however happy I was to see family Muscat, Toronto was a new city for me and it deserved some exploring. First things first, let it be known Toronto is a big city. Although I’d visited a few significant cities during my trip – Melbourne, Sydney, Wellington, NY, Boston - they were all on a far smaller scale. (New York City maybe a pretty large city with all five boroughs but inevitably visitors tends to limit themselves just to Manhattan). Toronto reminded me far more of London in regards to the suburbs and distances involved although as I got used to it became slightly smaller! The true size of the city is best appreciated by a trip up the CN tower. Personally I’m not quite sure why this tower was built despite the exhibition about big buildings at the bottom. It’s the tallest freestanding structure (note the wording) in the world and I think it was officially built as a telecom tower. Unofficially (or Lisa’s take on it) it was built as a tourist attraction as it always helps to get an overview of the city your visiting and stereotypically 50% of the population are always going to be disproportionately obsessed by tall structures!

From the CN tower viewing gallery (1136 ft I think) as well as seeing lots of people looking silly having their photos taken on the glass floor, you get to see the beautiful lake Ontario and the greens of Toronto. As I discovered on two separate cycling trips, amidst all the buildings there are still some stunning ravines and rich countryside. My first cycle trip after a comedy of errors (I rented the bicycle after I had managed to miss the guide for a guided tour, the lens from my sunglasses fell out and then just as I was getting going the trail maps flew out of my trouser pocket) was out along the waterfront towards an area called the Beaches. The weather was good and the view was pleasant but I what I got most out of this ride was the activity itself. The cycle paths are well labelled and Toronto is on the whole agreeably flat. I would cycle a lot more were paths limited to flats and declines only! On a different day I took a ride through Mount Pleasant Cemetery, burial place of some famous Canadian premier (Q – isn’t famous Canadian an oxymoron?) and through the Central Ravines and then onto an area called Cabbagetown. Incredibly green and leafy, only complaints would be for my own stupidity of lugging a bicycle down 50 steps instead of looking for the cycle path and then having to carry it part the way up again too. This mistake was probably made as I was referring to the municipality’s Discovery Trails, which are excellent WALKING tours around Toronto. These are highly recommended and are probably available online for anyone planning a trip. Also recommended was my guidebook, which I chose when I despaired of Lonely Planet’s high price and Rough Guides preoccupation with food and drink. Called “The OTHER Guide to Toronto: Opening the Door to Green Tourism”, I loved this book as it gave lots of ideas of walking and cycling trips ideal for those who cant face another museum or cheesy bus tour.

I broke my no museum rule once when I visited the BATA Shoe museum. Basically a museum about the history of the shoe this was one type of museum that unlike a Science or Natural History you don’t get in every city. That aside it was actually an interesting way to spend an hour learning all about footwear. The curator managed to make an association with every religion – while other cultures focus around weddings and other joyous event the “Jewish” shoe was the chalitza shoe worn for divorces only! Apparently length of toe used to be associated with status and a special exhibition on heels demonstrated how these weren’t always just female attire and that the stilt predecessors to platforms were positively death-defying! A few famous shoes were on display including Elton’s, Imelda’s and Diana’s (the latter a disappointing C&A like model). I knew not to expect Dorothys – I’d seen them in the Smithsonian!!! Would probably recommend a visit if you’re in the area or at the very least taken one piece of wisdom proffered on a card in the shoe-themed gift shop – “If the shoe fits buy it in all colours!”

I stayed in Thornhill – a very Jewish suburb about half an hour from the city center (by train). Like all Jewish communities though, the Jewish community has migrated out from the center over the last century. I was lucky enough to catch a tour of the old Jewish Neighbourhood of Kensington on one Sunday morning. Expecting 10-20 people max I was amazed when over 100 people showed up and from my understanding most people were local. (When I later found out that there was a free bagel lunch afterwards at the local JCC it all made sense!) The tour started at the Anshei Minsk synagogue that despite being the recent victim of an arson attempt still remains an active shul serving a mostly student population. The area is now part of Chinatown and the adjacent Kensington Market now selling funky food and clothes started off as Jewish traders selling out of the fronts of their houses. The tour took us passed the standard number of buildings that used to be shuls (there were over a hundred in the area at one point), chedarim and Jewish businesses but what made it more interesting was the contributions of locals verifying and annotating the guides explanations.

I did get to a few other places – the Royal York Hotel, the Queens official place to stay in Toronto; the Hockey Hall of Fame, well the outside; Lawrence Market; Mirvish village; but my favourite things were the less touristy things. Through the internet I had managed to hook up with a weekly Improv workshop held in a small theatre in the Bloor neighbourhood. As I was two weekends in Toronto I was able to attend twice and both workshops were lots of fun. Although I prefer stand up to theatersports a la “Whose line is it anyway” it was incredibly interesting learning and practicing the techniques behind the art of Improv. One other cultural endeavour during my visit was attending a poetry recital at the central library. Of course at this stage in my travelling I was up for anything that was free but I was particularly attracted to this as some of it was travel poetry. I also have recently discovered that poetry can be like modern art – something very relaxing, which gives me time to zone in zone out and reflect on life and the big onion.

Attending these events made me admit to myself that living in Jerusalem/Israel (or perhaps the Anglo world of Jerusalem/Israel) I am limited on these kind of opportunities to access the arts and explore such talents but it is one of my resolutions on my (imminent) return to either find or make such opportunities.

And that was about it for Toronto. A special mention to Marissa’s parents who as well as just recently becoming grandparents for the 7th time (first grandson!) made me very welcome for Shabbat lunch as well as a couple of impromptu visits during the week. I know that they are avid readers of this travelogue (let that not be a reflection on the pace of life in Toronto) so Monty and Eileen – hello and I hope the read was worth all the reformatting!!!

After 10 great days I couldn’t believe I was getting my round the world ticket out for the last time. Wow! How time had flown. I flew into London at 9am (thinking it was 3 am) and experienced my only really bad bout of jet lag, which was thankfully cured with a happy (sleepy) pill. Within a few hours of my arrival I discovered the solution to tension on return to parents houses. Travel for 3 months previous to your trip and you will be more relaxed than you could ever remember. I even agreed to go to Kenton Shul the week of the choir, a Bat Mitzvah and an Aufruf without batting an eyelid. All this was helped by scheduled meetings with friends – Jo, friend and travel agent (plug FlightCentres, Holburn), Nathan, old school friend, whom I met up with to watch the England – Argentina match, superb!, Barny, an Israel friend in England (its all good) and Melissa, another old school friend who accompanied me to a Primary School Reunion and promptly ran out again with me when it was clear that the word had NOT got out to go!

But my trip still hadn’t really ended as I’d decided a few weeks back to take advantage of Ryanair cheap fares to Dublin. At £40 return I was ready to pay out for hostels but having been in touch with a friend I’d met in New Zealand (Mick of St Patricks Day in Christchurch fame) he insisted that I stay there and experience Dublin with a local. Happy to accept I found myself staying in the village of Lucan on the outskirts of Dublin which 20 minutes by bus was a perfect location to get a little bit of green yet still be near the city

Well to sum it up it was a grand grand way to end my trip. Coming from Northern Ireland, Mick isn’t really a local so in addition to going out all three nights on his day off he happily joined me to tour the city as well. It also helped that Ireland managed to score 3 goals for the first time in a World Cup match so the city was buzzing and I got to watch the match in a pub heaving with fans supporting the Boys in Green (Keano! – Robbie not Roy!) in the trendy Temple Bar area.

Before meeting up with Mick on the Monday I took a walking tour from Trinity College, which basically covered the history of Dublin in 2 hours. Although you’d think I’d had enough of tours after all this travelling, this tour was particularly stimulating for several reasons 1) Finally a city with more (far) more than 200 years history. Dublin celebrated its millennium just recently and if you want to talk about European Settlers here you’re talking about the Celts 2500 years ago! 2) The tours were given by PhD or post doc students at Trinity College so the level of information was high and was given with some kind of insight and character 3) I was anxious to understand the history as having lived in England growing up I am embarrassed not to know or understand the roots of the Anglo-Irish conflict. The walk took us from Trinity College onto the Bank of Ireland (former Parliament), Dublin Castle and ended at Christchurch and was incredibly informative. I wouldn’t claim to be an expert but I now have some appreciation how Gaelic culture, Catholic/Anglican tensions and the Potato famine played their part in the Irish people’s fight for home rule.

Later on in the week I took the “Sex and the City” tour given by the same company, which went through Dublin’s history this time focusing on all the myths and scandals eg Molly Malone (mythical) and Kitty O’Shea and Parnell (true and very sloppy) and the influence of pagan tradition and then the Catholic church on the habits and the attitudes of the Irish. Dublin’s history is so rich that it can be studied from any number of perspectives – a visit to the Dublin Writers Museum showed how influenced and influential the literary population of Dublin was over the last few centuries. This literary culture continues until today despite censorship attempts in earlier parts of the century – don’t forget the Irish had to declare a free state before they could censor themselves!

No trip to Dublin is complete without a visit to the Guinness Store House (the brewery itself isn’t open to the public). Although it is mega hype and clearly the limited info that there is on how to make a beer which was stretched out over 5 floors of a state of the art building could have been covered in one room, the exhibit on the Guinness ads will keep you for at least 20 minutes and of course the free bar at the top for longer. If you don’t drink too much of the black stuff you can actually take in a pretty cool view of the city from there too.

I actually wasn’t able to finish my comp Guinness but later on I discovered that I can drink it just not as the first drink of the night! After spending my first night at one of Lucan’s locals, we spent the next two nights in town. Tuesday night was fantastic as Dublin was alive celebrating Ireland’s win. We got to 4 pubs in all finishing off at a pub with a live band playing Irish folk music so I was able to practice the jig I’d learnt back in Christchurch. My last night was also spent at a number of pubs in town including Brazen Head the oldest pub in Ireland, possibly Europe where there was a quartet singing true Irish music (none of this jazzed up stuff).

As I said at the beginning of this email, traveling is about the people you meet. In addition to giving me a great tour of pubs in Dublin it was marvelous to catch up with Mick and get his perspective on Irish history as well as generally talking the traveler talk. As my last few weeks had been spent with friends I hadn’t done this for a while and my 4 days in Dublin brought back all the best things about traveling - meeting new people and connecting with them - people that you'd probably never meet in normal life. What was especially fascinating was speaking to someone who was also getting to know themselves and the world through traveling and had definitely got the travel bug, but at the same time realising a true love for their home country. This was a very affirming thing for me to hear, as I got ready to go back to Israel. I had a fab time and I came back to London on a real high.

So that’s it! And as it is now 3 am, I can say I fly back to Israel today! Thankfully I seem to have a lot going on when I get back (Weddings, visits from friends and family and my first travel writing job! – yes I’m going to be paid so thanks for the practice) so hopefully the bump back to earth wont happen too quickly.

I’ve really enjoyed writing these e-mails (well I can say I’ve always been happy I’ve written them!) but it will be good to see all the people I’ve been writing to them too.

Lots and lots of love to you all, Here’s to peace (yeah man) wherever you are

An American Tale of Two Cities

Writing this journal is actually now making me feeling a little seasick since its distinctly further from real time than when I started out which makes living in the traveling moment a little bit challenging. That said I have spent the last three months planning the next week during the previous so I guess it must be the thinking in three directions that finally blows my brain. However as the song goes I will survive, and this should be my biggest problem!

So I think I must have left you last midst my Crocodile Dundee experience. (Yes I know I didn’t rough it so much but I did go from Alice Springs to New York – via LA within a week). Yes that was quite a culture switch but I don’t know whether it was the anticipation or the time-numbing effect of three flights in 2 days but it passed rather smoothly. Smoothly albeit bizarrely – Thursday 9th May was Groundhog day for me. I’m sure I woke up and had breakfast twice and as the main flight from Sydney to LA showed 3 films – all that I’d seen – that only contributed to the growing deja vu feeling. Three hours layover in LA was no less disorienting as the prices in the airport seemed to be the same as Sydney (the $ sign remains the same even if the market value doesn’t)

Finally arriving at JFK airport the end of that long Thursday I made my way in a cab with a fellow backpacker, Nora from Ireland, to the Upper West Side of Manhattan where I was to be staying with my friend Abby Carmel – ex- Katamonite now current resident of the Westmont block on Columbus and 96th aka the Dorm. In a manner quite usual for the Jewish single population of the Upper West Abby shares a flat with 3 other women (probably paying way more per room than one pays for an apt in Jerusalem). If staying over night in a Bedouin tent is classed as a travel adventure to get to know the population then I think that staying in a block with a doorman should be the same. It’s amazing – someone to take messages for you, hold your key, be there to receive deliveries and parcels, plus of course giving an extra feeling of security. This particular block is jam packed with Jewish singles (I walked in on the first night to meet Emma Saffer, a primary school contemporary whom I hadn’t seen in a good ten years, in the lift.) Potentially claustrophobic as another ex-pat Orlee explained to me – when you move to NY and you have no family it helps to have plenty of people to meet literally on your doorstep.

Of course this is not the only way to live as a single in NY. I visited another friend Dana who’d just made aliya from the East side. She managed to nab a great deal on a studio, which was offered to her by a realtor who overheard her mobile phone conversation moaning about her apt all whilst in a clothing store! Dianne, a friend I met while traveling, lived slightly further down in the Eighties and has clung onto her apt for five years saying she much preferred the brownstone over the doorman approach to apt blocks any day.

My whole trip in the US and Canada has been based around visiting friends. When I decided to make Israel my home I didn’t realize how much that would mean I had homes all over the world. And NY was no exception. As well as the great hospitality shown to me by Abby and her roommates (and her parents) I spent and enjoyed good times both with friends that I had planned to see as well as those that I bumped into. Special note must be given to my friend Rachel who shlapped herself and her 3 kids (all under the age of three) in from New Jersey plus thanks to Karen for allowing me to totally surprise Lawrence (or should I say Rabbi Lawrence) Hajioff just before he was about to give a lecture. Last seen partying in Fallowfield in 1994, Lawrence has since seen the light (the Happy One to be exact) and is now a rabbi living in Monsey working in Outreach. Stranger things have happened…

On my first morning the weather was beautiful so the most appropriate thing to do seemed to be was to walk. So walk I did, so much so that I ended up walking 50 blocks down Amsterdam Avenue to my friend Karen’s office on 42nd and 5th - what an amazing view! And I quickly remembered that much of NY sightseeing is the people as well demonstrated by Carrie in Sex in the City - you can get away with wearing anything in New York.

Then of course there’s nothing like a NY street for good window-shopping and I don’t mean just the huge stores. I love the colourful delis and the specialty shops – shops just selling wallets, shops just selling teapots, a Café Shoe store, Whole Food supermarkets selling non-dairy chocolate milk made out of almonds and “Just veggies” snacks designed to eat like popcorn - dehydrated peas and carrots resembling dehydrated vomit if you ask me but its all good! I love the detail and the quirkiness – Signs advertising a recession sale… in a restaurant; customer appreciation day in another; a pizza place offering deliveries to Central Park and the megaphone from an ambulance getting traffic to move out the way in sarcastic tones “if any of you feeling like waking up!” On the subway a sign requests “Good looking people please move down the car” and a delicate parking sign outside the Met on 5th Ave declares “Don’t even think about parking here!”

My walk also reminded me how expensive everything was for someone thinking in shekels (or any other currency apart from the dollar for that matter). How lucky I was the last time I visited as it was all on business expenses! [a moments silence for the extravagances of the dot com era please]. The main visible change in the city in comparison to then was the replacement of dot com hype with all kinds of 9/11 related media. Whether it was twin tower postcards, memorials, appeals for financial help for victims or adverts for auxiliary services to families of bereaved its all around you. In a calmer way than a few months back but people are definitely still talking about it and there’s the 9/11 perspective to everything. The patriotic look is most definitely in with stars and stripes festooned everywhere. Photos of skyline views of Manhattan are on sale in abundance with and without the twin towers (the latter often preferring Spock like beams up to the heavens in their place). Part of the new 9/11 collection include rusty girders at Ground Zero in shape of a cross together with the American flag plus the famous picture of the three fireman hoisting the flag. The twin towers definitely live on in New York souvenirs even if they don’t always get the years right.

Its true that New York has a distinctive look, it is after all the city that all other cities try to copy. To try and capture that look, I bunged a roll of black and white film in my camera for my stay. Can’t tell the difference when taking the photo but hopefully there will be some nice shots. My tendency to get snap happy is normally good but sometimes there are scenes or views that just can’t be caught on camera. Ignoring that instinct can lead to endless rolls of flat pictures buildings too big for the lens, skylines to distant to impress – the camera just doesn’t get it so I need to learn to commit it to my minds eye instead and learn to record the moment in a different manner. Easy to say but when traveling I’m often dogged by that gut feeling that I need to take a picture to prove I was there or as the ancient philosophical conundrum goes – if no photos or video are taken and no-one saw it did you really bungee jump?!

Anyway the big culture shock was going from the distinctly non-Jewish backpacker trail to the more Jewish than Israel New York “scene”. On Shabbat I experienced “the scene” by making an appearance shul at O.Z shul (pronounce oh-zee) Friday night, the Jewish Center upstairs minyan during the day plus meeting on the great lawn at Central Park on Shabbat afternoon. It was very interesting to watch and I knew enough ex-pats to not feel on the outside. (I do love Central Park and was to have a good walk while playing catch up with my friend Liz who has just arrived in NY before hunting out the crowds). Saturday night I ended up at a surprise party for a friend of a friend Naomi Lipstein with more of the same crowd so all in all I think I survived quite well.

On Sunday following a great brunch at Abby’s parents who live in the Seventies overlooking the Hudson I escaped the uptown scene. I went to visit Jeff a friend from Israel who lives in a loft in Tribeca (I promised I’d stress that) an area that I must confess I hadn’t heard of before although its famous residents include Martin Scorcese, Robert de Niro, Al Pacino. Its location is actually in its name – TriBeCa stands for the “Triangle Below Canal Street”. (Incidentally Soho is also named after its location – South of Houston Street, pronounced ow , its connection to Soho in London still not sure). After walking and shmying around the area we decided to get a taste of the New York comedy scene. Starting at an improv show, which was quite good we moved on to the Comedy Cellar for some real stand up. This proved to be excellent value for money ($10 plus two drinks) with non-stop good (mostly) comedians from 9-12 and later (we just left then). The only guy who was really obnoxious I actually saw later on in my travels – he had a one-line role in the film Spiderman! The latter BTW is a pretty entertaining movie albeit just a set up for a sequel. Spot the scenes that MUST have been added post 9/11 (spoiler – people on bridge helping to fight Spiderman’s enemy shouting – you attack one New Yorker you attack us all!)

On my first visit to New York a few years back I had three main complaints
1) the money is stupid – all the same colour making it impossible to tell a $1 from a $100;
2) if you’re going to charge tax put it on the price tag label and;
3) why do I always need change and not bills for the buses and subway.

Nine years later at least the Metro card is cool - $17 a weeks unlimited travel on subways and buses, which is pretty good value for money. I zipped around on the subway whenever I wasn’t walking and felt very safe and independent. (I nearly caused Abby a heart attack on several occasions when I came home late at night on the subway although the worst – I could visibly see the shame and embarrassment – was when we said good bye to Rachel and I walked out in Manhattan with no shoes on! Abby I love you dearly and I couldn’t even dream of being as elegant as you!!!)

I did do a few touristy things mostly when meeting up with my friend Becky (remember from the Melbourne e-mail) who was visiting NY for the first time on the way to Israel. We went to the Met and apart from heading straight to the café enjoyed our saunter around when we eventually started! I really liked the Modern Art exhibit as I’ve begun to appreciate the sense of space and relaxation that large vivid pieces give me. This was especially helped by the wonderful architecture of this particular building. We also caught the ferry from Battery Park which took us out to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and the new Twin Towerless skyline of the Financial District. We just passed Ground Zero on the bus on way down to the ferry. I had thought of going down there especially but having spoken to a number of friends it didn’t seem appropriate.

A slightly less touristy highlight of my trip but memorable and 100% Manhattan all the same was the Manicure and Pedicure I had at a local Korean Beauty Parlour. It was fab – both the luxury of it all plus the amusing conversations (with fellow clients not the manicurists they chatter to each other in Korean) about such matters as my travels, nail colours and of course the pros and cons of a Brazilian wax!

After a week in the Big Apple the time came for me to move on again and at a futile attempt to save money (talk about locking the gate after the horse had bolted years ago) I followed up a lead I’d got about cheap buses from Chinatown New York to Chinatown Boston. There are several bus companies that run these and I think they’re basically the Chinese equivalent of the Monsey Minyan buses except there’s no stated dress or modesty code! Having to go down to the company’s office (in a shopping center under Manhattan bridge) to get my ticket this definitely proved to be good practice for any future traveling I might do in non-English speaking countries. I ended up asked directions to the office through a child translator, as so many people around me didn’t seem to be able to speak English. I also had never been to a Chinatown that had so little English displayed. I finally managed to get my ticket and I must say that apart from a slightly late departure it was an excellent service and all for $15 less than the Greyhound (it would have been $15 cheaper still if I could have got a later bus)

Heading out of Manhattan via Queens giving a different perspective to say good bye which was a pleasant change. I chatted to the other non-Chinese passenger, a freshman student at NYU, who in addition to giving me recommendations for my visit to Boston also pointed out that there are more dead people in Queens than anywhere-else as there are cemeteries galore. Not sure how this ended up to be the case. Answers on a postcard please.

The bus delivered me very comfortably to Boston by four where my friend Joel Kaye met me. (Dr*) Joel is doing a post doc at Harvard (kvell kvell*) while Sarah his wife is working for an Israeli/American Hi-tech company as a technical writer. Meidan their 3 year old studies Disney Sing-a-long videos, specializing in Aladdin and Under the Sea. They all made me v welcome and I spent a lovely all-at-home Shavuot at their home in Brookline. (BTW it really is pronounced Brookline and its not just Lloyd Grossman being pretentious!)

[*Joel left Israel 5 days after giving in his PhD thesis and it transpires that not too many people are aware that he is indeed a Dr. In gratitude for a week of great hospitality I will do my small bit to right this wrong]

As I hadn’t been to Boston before I decided to be a bit more touristy. I’d been told that I’d like Boston as it was not a typical US city – narrow streets and alleys with hardly a grid system in sight. And that this was where the real history was said to be…

Accordingly (and with the weather after a rather miserable weekend) Family Kaye and I set off for Plymouth (of rock fame) – a v pleasant if typical looking New England town - and visited all the sites that told the stories of the first pilgrims who came to America on the Mayflower and the first ships in early 17th century. As Sarah succinctly put it this was all very interesting if you’re into American history [or coincidentally as one of the most famous American historical figures Abraham Lincoln would have put it “for those who like this kind of thing, this is the kind of thing that they like”]

Aside from the rather under whelming sight of Plymouth Rock (fairs fair it is a rock – never said otherwise) we also visited Mayflower II a mock up of the original ship commissioned in 1951 to commemorate wartime cooperation between US and England. Built based on 17th century images of English merchant ships it was actually sailed across the Atlantic and the crew were issued with Elizabethan clothing for publicity stops. (Apparently they stopped short of simulating scurvy). More impressive was the Plimouth Plantation (different spelling intentional), which is home to a real life mock up of a pilgrim settlement including very talented guides dressed up and acting as pilgrims of that era. Walking around their huts (approx the area of a Manhattan studio) while they cooked lunch and worked on the land you could learn a lot as they told us about “their” lives all in very convincing Olde English accents (and Dutch as the pilgrims came from both countries)

The Pilgrims were not explorers but rather had came to settle and to find a New England, as they were being persecuted for their religion in England. They were Puritans who had tried to purify the newly formed Church of England, as it still seemed to be too much like Catholicism. (To give you an idea of the level of their Puritanism their explanations and dress reminded me of Blackadder’s aunt played by Miriam Margolies in Blackadder II, the one with the funny shaped turnip!) They were Separatists who believed in strict interpretation of the Bible and had established their own illegal congregations when they had been dissatisfied with the official churches of their parish. In settling the land they hoped to have their own religious freedom and in time educate the natives and bring to them the “way of the Lord”.

As well as the good intentions as expressed above, the pilgrims and the other European travelers brought such delights as tools, clothing, flies and infectious diseases and took away tobacco and slaves to help fundraise back home. Very eco-friendly…. Not!

The Plimouth Plantation also included a mock up of a Native American community but this time it was staffed by “real” Native Americans who spoke about their lives today as well as their community’s traditions. They believe that the land didn’t belong to people – people belonged to land (another poor defence against European invaders). The Wampanoag, as the community is known do not have a religion but rather a spirituality, based on respect for Mother Nature - one creator. This respect is extended to animals as they give us food and clothing. Animals are regarded as teachers and they believe that each animal has it own spirit. We heard some of their songs or chants, which they sing to tell and pass on their traditions. Old favourites include the Mocassin song, a fast dance so named as you dance until your moccasins wear out; the Fish song, dance to the side like the gills of a fish and the Duck dance, a more aggressive mating dance played at weddings and other special occasions.

Today the populations of the several Wampanoag communities collectively number at about 5000. Before 1620 there were 100 different communities. Great, I now visit a third country to hear stories of massacres of indigenous populations. Mmm – I’m surprised that there isn’t a worldwide campaign today to boycott British goods or to impose sanctions on England as the more I travel the more I find that the main factor behind most ecological or political conflict are the British!

The Wampanoag of today are a mixed group, very few being of direct descent with full Wampanoag ancestry. Back in the 17th century the pilgrims had tried to convert them, selling them their clothing and “giving” them their language. They had the Bible written in Wampanoag which actually preserved their language, as theirs is more of an oral tradition. Much of the tradition was lost as most of the communities that live on today are descendants of those that became Christian and assimilated in order to survive. Traditions were lost as survival became more important than remembering dances and songs. There are written accounts of the community life several hundred years ago but they were written by the pilgrims who didn’t really understand their ways. Today’s communities tend to prefer home schooling over public schools and one community actually has its own school instead of public schooling. They still wear traditional clothes and cook foods. Our guides spoke about the hardships their communities had suffered in quite a diplomatic and calm tone however later on in my US trip I sat next to a Native American on a bus who told me that unfortunately much as it is hushed up, segregation and aggravation of their communities by whites and the establishment still continues to this day.

Now if in Kansas you follow the yellow brick road, to get a good feel for the city of Boston you follow the red brick road (well line) aka the Freedom trail. Covering a good part of downtown Boston this is a free route which leads you to many of the important historical sights around the city. Choose a nice day to walk and take in the State house on Beacon Hill - Boston’s Golden Dome or the Granary burial ground - named for a nearby storehouse where many famous people of that era are buried including victims of the Boston Massacre and the legendary story teller Mother Goose. Go past Old City Hall and see the statue of the Democratic donkey, see the balcony from where the declaration of Independence was made, smell the Italian restaurants in the North End by Paul Revere’s house and much more. There are museums at many of the stops (I was too cheap to go in) and paper guides to the route are easily obtained from tourist info. The trail ended at what I thought was the US Constitution. It was only when I got there to find a ship and a maritime museum (free so did go in there!) did I realize that I had misread it and that it was the USS Constitution - duh! One important stop of Jewish significance on the trail worth mentioning is Milk Street Café which is kosher yet unrecognizably so (ie its that nice), serves great milchik food and …(and here comes the bargain bucket bonanza for this e-mail) is 20% off between 2-3pm! So time your trips well!

At one point I saw two men in colonial period dress just hanging out on the corner chatting and drinking coffee. Due to their regalia it was quite a funny sight. Having taken a photo from across the street I went over and asked them why they were dressed that way. It transpired that they were educational tour guides for a school group (who were just getting lunch in McDonalds). They were leading a ten day trip on the theme of American independence spanning Boston, Plymouth, Philadelphia to name a few. Apparently they remain in costume all the way through and the tour took an experiential approach as they felt that that was how the students would learn better. As one of them quoted: “Tell me and I will forget, Teach me and I may remember, Involve me and I will learn” - Benjamin Franklin, which is a quote well worth quoting! They also turned out to be really frum Christians who were fascinated to hear I was from Israel. They firmly believed in the US supporting Israel in the Middle East and felt that it was their moral duty to do so. One of them said to me that as far as he was concerned when David beat Goliath that was when “they” had given up an entitlement to the land. I smiled and just encouraged them to one day come visit as there was plenty of room for fancy dress experiential tours back home!

Other trails I took included my own unofficial TV trail. I snapped away at the place “where everybody knows your name”. The Cheers bar does look exactly as it does on the show from the outside but not from within. I resisted the souvenir temptation – sorry no Cheers shot glasses Ashley – and settled for the pics (I even took one in black and white to try and get the look of the credits). Other than that a walk around Beacon Hill gives you some of the look from the Ally McBeal series (last ever episode broadcast the week I was there) although we know that both that show and the Practice are filmed in LA with Boston images bunged in as fillers.

Boston is a bit like the Seinfeld episode where he has a girlfriend who is really pretty from some angles and hideously ugly from others. There is building going on everywhere. In fact they’re so big and have been going on for so long the road works responsible for turning the city’s over ground highways into underground roads are referred to as the Big Dig. Freeway conversion aside the combination of classic buildings together with mirror type skyscrapers is quite stunning. Due to a spate of fires in the 18th century most of the classic buildings seem to have been rebuilt (at least partly) so they are not quite as old as they look, but the effect is still good.

The city is of course also famous for its academic institutions, most notably Harvard and MIT. However, these are just 2 of the 60 colleges in the vicinity. I arrived the weekend to a sea of red as it was Boston University graduation or should I say commencement, which is the correct term in the States. In order to take in some of that academic splendor I arranged to go on a cycle trip to Harvard Square. Cycling is a great way to see a city especially when the route is flat. I was the only person on the tour so I had a personal commentary given to me by Lyle my guide. Our ride started in Boston Common the oldest park in the US where the Puritans used to graze their cattle, took us through the Public Gardens (statues and botanical stuff), down Commonwealth Ave Mall which in actual fact does work on a grid system (roads go alphabetically) and onto the main road by the Charles river crossing on Harvard bridge going from Boston to Cambridge.

Whilst we rode I learnt all about the lead up to Independence. How George Washington led colonials forces in Cambridge as the British who had narrowly won the battle of Bunker Hill but had too many casualties to advance were on the island of Boston (much of Boston today is built on landfill). Washington got colonials to prepare to attack Boston from the south by placing cannons around the island. This allowed them to successfully threaten the Brits until they left and Independence was declared shortly after.

By this point in the story we had reached Harvard Square famous for its multitude of bookstores and colourful population. It was very happening but basically it is a university precinct and looking at the nearby residences and being the shopaholic that I am I can imagine that 3 years spent here would be 3 years well spent (literally – literally!).

Cycling into one of the University Quads I learn more about the institution. As the story goes, one of the libraries is named after a guy who owned a lots of books and died on the Titanic. His mother donated books and a building but on the condition that the building was never rebuilt or rededicated for another cause (as had been done with others). She did this by specifying that a replica of his office be set up within the building, complete with fresh flowers to be changed regularly. She also demanded that in order to avoid a death such as her sons again that a swimming test be part of graduate requirements, which indeed was the case until quite recently.

We passed the statue of John Harvard, which sculpted by the same guy who did the Lincoln memorial in DC, is also known as the 3 lies statue. This is because: a) It says that John Harvard was the founder which is not true – he was just rich and donated a ton of books and the university was renamed after him a few years after its inception; b) the date on the Statue for the founding of the university is a couple of years out and; c) the image is not of him but rather one of the locals as the Sculptor never actually met John Harvard.

The Great Hall of Massachusetts was built to house all the books he donated but alas they were all burnt in a fire several years later. They were all burnt except for one, which had been stolen by a student (it was reference only in those days). Returning it gladly to show that not all was lost the university thanked him profusely and then subsequently expelled him for stealing university property.

All in all the campuses and buildings that we passed were charming, picturesque, the lot and I just loved my cycle around (15k in all). I thoroughly recommend cycle tours for rapid city acquaintances!

Having explored downtown quite a bit I decided to go for one of the few day trip possibilities from Boston and I chose Salem of witch trials fame. First impressions were not the best as the train definitely comes into the ugly side of town and its wharf and there seemed to be lots of lawyers offices down the first street I walked, but the town later showed itself to be very quaint and New Englandy and had nothing else as scary as lawyers!

Salem’s local Tourist Office chose to emphasize the mercantile history of Salem and the local county of Essex and less its witching past yet all other shops and museums were clearly obsessed by the town’s magical heritage. Following friction between groups of settlers the town was named Salem following a suggestion by Rev Francis Higgenson to encourage peace. The local synagogue today is in fact Temple Shalom.

The whole Witches trial story happened between June and September 1692. I chose to go the Salem Witch Museum (one of many) and this is what I understood to be the basic storyline. During the Salem trials – men and women, young and old were arrested on suspicion of witchcraft as defined as making pacts with the devil. 19 people were accused and executed. The first trials began after a group of girls who had been gathering at the house of a local minister to hear stories by his black servant woman started showing signs of madness. Twitching and speaking in tongues these signs didn’t seem to have medical causes but rather the hysteria was thought to be signs that they were possessed by the devil. When the girls were interrogated and challenged for their behavior they turned on different members of the community accusing them of witchcraft. One thing led to another and before you knew it there were major trials being held. In those days it really wasn’t difficult to whip up accusations as the community basically lived under a climate of fear anyway thanks to the surrounding Native American population, disease, the British authorities and the ministers warning of the evil of the devil every Sunday morning.

As an educational side exhibit explained, this was all a classic example of fear and trigger creating the need for a scapegoat, a pattern that has been repeated time and time again in world history.

Having seen the many kind of different shops in the area ranging from gimmicky touristy to full on professional e.g. one shop - Crownlover Corner, Purveyor To Witches Around The World.”, what really interested me was to hear what people who today identify as witches really believe. Probably not new to all of you but modern day witches, Sabrina and Samantha notwithstanding, are followers of the Wicca faith. The Wicca faith follows old pre-Christian Pagan beliefs, which are very nature-based, celebrating the change of seasons and with no connection to Satan at all in the practice of their religion. Those who practice this faith are called witches (men and women) and they worship a God and Godess. With Celtic and Greek roots they have several central principles including ‘harm nothing and do what you will’ and ‘everything you do comes back 3 times’. Much of their beliefs would come under the modern day banner of New Age. Clearly going back in history the Church converted the Pagan (non Christian) woman with healing powers into an evil witch and used this image to frighten their constituents into faith.

I finished off my trip taking a walk by the nice side of the wharf and passing the House of Seven Gables, which is where the author Nathaniel Hawthorne lived and wrote the book the Scarlet Letter. I did wander in to the lobby of the museum there and judging by the conversation going on with the lady at information and a couple of visitors they could probably do with putting up a sign o the lines of “No this isn’t Anne’s house in Green Gables – that was LM Montgomery – try the Prince Edward Islands up North!”

I returned from my Salem visit just in time to have supper with Sarah, Joel and the Hallgartens (Jason and Miriam of Bushwacker fame), who were just in from Israel for Miriam’s brother’s wedding. Other evening activities included going one night to see a preview of a great new play, a black comedy, “The Ten Unknowns”. Most enjoyable and not just because I was getting to the theater twice in 3 months! Its subject was the crisis faced by an artist in his later years and the true meaning of Art which was a good prelude to my visit to Boston’s Museum of Fine Art. There the major exhibit of the moment was an Impressionist STILL LIFE collection (the latter detail I didn’t notice until I’d paid). This is not a subject that would normally thrill me but it was good for my Art History education to understand why and how these artists sometimes chose inanimate objects as their subject as opposed to landscapes or figures. Following on from my experience at the Met I also enjoyed their American and Modern art collections. So despite a rather steep entry price the visit proved worthwhile.

This being my last day in Boston I decided to end it by learning about possibly Boston’s most famous citizen – JFK. The JFK museum has a wonderful white and peaceful exterior and waterfront setting slightly marred by renovations. (Remind me to return to Boston in a few years time when hopefully all the work will be done!). The museum began with a film taking us through JFK’s life until his nomination as presidential candidate. The rest of the museum consisted of memorabilia-rich exhibits telling of his presidency, achievements and legacy he left. There was an outstanding number of artifacts (I especially liked the letter from Winston Churchill thanking him for making Churchill an honorary US citizen) but of course being the official collection there was little of the gossip and stories behind JFK and his famous family.

And with that after one last visit to Harvard Square (to exchange my book – I’ve now worked through seven books on my trip) it was time to leave Boston and head out (pronounced oat) to Toronto.

Amidst all this city travel I had thought that it would be a nice idea to link my US and Canadian visits by driving up and traveling through the Niagara Falls region. Following my Australian experience I chose the overnight option, leaving Boston’s South Station at 8:30 pm. I’ve secretly wanted to take a Greyhound ever since I found out that Billy Joel didn’t literally ride on a dog when he got in a New York State of Mind.

I was pleasantly surprised by the level of camaraderie by passengers on the bus – a mix of people returning home to various destinations on route. Although this soon turned to some kind of cross between the Ricky Lake show and Survivor when one guy got another guy chucked off the bus for being drunk and disorderly about half an hour before our first stop in Albany. Meanwhile at Albany the change over driver forgot to show making us over an hour late with everybody having to make different connections, a situation, which no amount of TV (sit down and watch – a quarter for 15 minutes) would console.

By hook or by crook we did manage to get moving and eventually make it to Niagara Falls (the Canadian side) at 7:45 am (I was actually quite happy that we hadn’t got there much earlier!) Unfortunately the weather was very grey and overcast and the place itself was very tacky! Don’t get me wrong I can enjoy tackiness with the best of them but not so much when exhausted and wet. I did take the Maid of the Mist boat which sails right by both sets of falls (US and Canadian, the latter is more impressive) and got to appreciate the sheer strength and enormity of the waterfall despite the lack of contrasting sky colour!

I hung around a bit (actually a bit more than a bit as I was so out of it that I managed to sit in the bus terminal and miss the announcement for my bus) until getting my bus through to Toronto where I was to stay with more ex-pat friends – Marissa and Joel Muscat.

And that is where I shall leave it – tonight I fly to England and in two weeks I’m back in Israel. (wow!!!) - Happy Jubilee to all my English correspondents and much love as always to everyone else!

Return to the Red Center

In life one measures achievements and successes in ways appropriate to ones environment. Early Tuesday morning 30th April 2002, I realized that my powers of acquisition had exceeded my lifting capabilities or in layman’s terms my eyes were bigger than my luggage allowance. For it was on this day that I first toppled over whilst wearing my backpack! Recovering from this minor yet memorable set back I walked around the corner to a neighboring hostel where I was to meet to join my next trip.

Having completed the East coast route the time had come to visit the Australia that I’d always read about in books, heard about in songs and seen in the movies – the outback, the Bush, the Red Center. Call it what you will – but you know what I mean – dirt trails through scrub lands, towns with populations of 6, hats with corks on, lots of 4X beer and horizons shimmering in the distance.

There are of course literally thousands of miles of outback to choose from. The route that I was to travel was Cairns to Alice Springs which talking of movies was advertised in the Oz Experience book as the “Priscilla” route. Despite the lack of giant high heel shoe on the top of the coach, (and no there were no sightings of a cock in a frock on a rock at any point during our 3 day trip!), I willing boarded the red “Desert Venturer” bus. By this time I’d teamed up with Sabrina who’d also been waiting at the hostel and we grabbed ourselves the front seats on either side of the aisle and in front of Spencer and Amy from Toronto who I’d met in Cape Trib giving us both a social position plus clear view of road ahead which promised to be good.

Our bus driven by Mark – a kind of fatherly kind of driver figure set off up the Kuranda highway reaching 1000m before descending to the center. The route took us through more rainforest country stopping at Millstream Falls allowing us to say one final good bye to the lush greens of the North East as well as saying good bye to other things such as traffic lights, tarmac and thankfully the last McDonalds until Alice Springs. A sad landmark to point out, I know, but the golden arches really are so ubiquitous. Most “adventure” trips you have to sign a “I wont sue if I die” form. As one of the drivers once commented, in the tourist industry adventure is often defined as going anywhere further than 20km from a McDonalds!

Soon after this green departure the trip actually turned into a ride that closely simulated trips on the M1 - lots of bland countryside, grey skies and rain. Perhaps to divert our attention from the distinctly non-outback looking scenery Mark decided to educate us about the area

The main industry of the vicinity used to be timber hence the empty countryside where once was rainforest! The really valuable wood was the red cedar, which became known as cedar gold as anything in its way was burned felled in order to get to this prized commodity. Since the area became World Heritage listed in 1987 the industry has been halted much to the indignation of the locals, as it was basically a family business. That said since then tourism has now more or replaced timber as a major money earner for the region – something that would have not been possible if they had continued to deplete the rain forest.

Next we were also shown a video on kangaroos (well half of it till it fizzled – say good bye to the VCR for the next 1900km!) Apparently the male kangaroo spend their entire life working up a community hierarchy for mating rights whilst women concentrate on caring for young. This rather conservative division of labor is different to all the reptiles and birds where equality reigns relatively freely. That said the child-rearing female has quite a bit of autonomy. She can decide when to have babies (as she stores the fertilized eggs from the mating so the bloke can come along to be told no means sorry still got eggs to fry!) and can choose the gender too. She will normally choose to have her females when young as they stick around whilst the males go off after a year. All the kangaroos I’ve seen have been quite fun and charismatic but one thing I noticed that contrary to pretty pictures of the Joey’s head popping out of his mothers pouch, more often than not you see a rather awkwardly positioned paw hanging out instead that can leave you feeling a bit queasy.

Anyway today’s journey was relatively long at 754km. I guess when you get used to traveling such distances your whole time perspective evidently changes. Take Mark’s announcement at 12:00 for example “As we’re getting nearer for lunch I’ll tell you how it will work” Fair enough but the lunch stop wasn’t for another hour!!!

(Packed) lunch was eventually taken by Lynd Junction Pub the smallest pub in Australia. Food was not the highlight of my trip (more tuna, vegetarian cheese and corn crackers - see rice crackers but replace the grain) but I did get a chance to finally have a proper chat with my mystery parallel group of travelers who I’d just missed about 3 times before (see Brisbane, Fraser island and Cape Trib reports). Spying them when I’d got on it made me think that maybe if you’re destined to meet up with someone then you can just leave it up to fate and you will! (Hey sounds like a film plotline there….)

By the afternoon the M1 scenery had changed to outback although not the conventional desert look as you’d expect. Firstly we now find out why it’s called the red center. Due to some funky reaction with iron oxide the ground is literally red. It’s a fantastic sight especially driving down an endless dirt path. I could sum up the afternoon’s driving as miles and miles of eucalypt forest but that wouldn’t do it justice. Imagine the same but the trees have green leaves and black trunks are surrounded by tall yellow/green grass with a back drop of clear blue sky and all the colors are very deep and bright. Add to this backdrop, flocks of coloured birds flying along and free wheelin’ brown and white cows and you might understand why I was so taken by the view

Cows you say? Whats that about? Well basically the whole route runs through cattle stations, which are bordered by fences and cattle grids. (Oh check out the new come-back if someone calls you a cow – tell them you can’t be because you don’t fall down the grid) Apart from these the cows can roam where ever they want which obviously includes the roads. Its thus up to the drivers to look out for the cows and vice versa. This meant that we often found ourselves playing the game “chicken” with some either pretty courageous or suicidal cows (in fact the game has now been renamed “cow”!). Unfortunately not all vehicles are able to or care to slow down such as the giant trucks, called Road Trains, which pull up to three huge trailers and roar through the outback. These get right of way on the 2-way highway with one lane (drivers in cars move to the side) so you can imagine the cows don’t stand much of a chance. So if you see a cow laying legs up the side of the road I hate to break it to you but its not sunbathing!

Anyway so that was the landscape almost all the way (past Porcupine Gorge an impressive canyony gorge kind of thing on the side) until the scrub savannah appeared maybe 10-20 minutes before we arrived at our night’s destination, Hughenden.

The second day promised to be more relaxed as we only had to travel 572 km! Leaving the Grand Hotel (the town’s local pub basically) around 7ish, the main highlight of the day was the town of Winton established in 1875, named after a suburb of Bournemouth, the hometown of Banjo Pattison the author of the infamous Ozzie ditty, Waltzing Matilda, the Bush poetry capital k, plus, if that wasn’t enough also the place where the concept of Quantas airlines was first dreamt up. Not bad for a town with a population of less than 1000.

Known best as the commercial airline with a spotless record (Thanks Dustin) Quantas actually stands for Queensland and Northern Territory Air Service and it was in Winton where the first board meeting was held to establish it in order to provided a much needed service to the outback. I’m not sure by whom or much more detail than that but there wasn’t a museum all about its history. I can tell you what a billabong is though (a deep waterhole) as there was a whole museum devoted to the town’s Waltzing Matilda heritage! Yup a whole museum about a song originally written for the shearer’s strike of the 1920s which has now become a “Song to the Soul of Our Country” according to some! As explained by Rolf Harris (on tape on the bus alas and not in person), the song is about an Aussie hobo with a swag (bedroll kind of thing) he calls Matilda and it basically makes a hero of a fictitious suicidal itinerant worker.

The museum was actually quite interesting going into the history of the song, legends about its authorship (music and lyrics), its meaning to the Australian nation, different versions, outback slang and its origin. Sample slang would be saying riding shanks pony or waltzing matilda or going on the wallaby to describe traveling in the bush. Plus I finally understood the nickname the Katamon Aussies gave my ex-flat mate Miriam Braunschweiger. The Bushwackers were an Aussie pop group who also released a version of the famous song!

Two more stops that day, one at Middleton, a town with a population of 1.5 (the barmaid is transient) and Cawnpore lookout which I basically mention so I remember what I’ve taken a photo of! So many of these stops are just stunning views and miracles of nature but its hard to remember which is which etc and the worst becoming blasé – “Oh yes here’s another incredible canyon blah blah” Less attractive but significant all the same we also we passed the largest manmade structure in Australia a trans something dingo fence. (Yes I know my fact taking has become a bit shoddy and no I don’t know if its visible from the moon!)


Back on the bus (with cow vaccine to be delivered to our night’s destination – such communal spirit) the crowd began getting restless. So out came the bus bowls - lots of fun for everyone especially when the guest MC introducing the players and taking the crowd through the playoffs was me! You can tell I’m relaxed with a crowd when I’m comfortable enough to let me entertain! Actually the people on this trip really made it for me. There were a couple of groups of friends, but mostly independent travelers out to be friendly and have a laugh. Age didn’t seem to matter (I was well up in the highest percentile but thankfully Toronto couple were older) and I really think a good time was had by all.

Second night we stayed in Boulia, home to 300 residents and the legendary “min min” light which is kind of on par with the yeti and the loch ness monster but more light less monster. It’s said to be a shining light in the black of the night, which appears at night without notice and follows you. Some of us thought of suggesting to the locals that maybe it was a car light but then decided to leave it. After all stuck in the middle of nowhere they really don’t get much entertainment! (Trust me we were staying a floor up from the local bar!)

Our third and final day and we were up before the sun as we had nearly 800km to cover. After stopping for the sunrise we head onwards first crossing the Tropic of Capricorn and then the border of Nothern Territory (we’ve been traveling in Queensland up until now). Wierdest thing about that was putting our clocks back by half an hour! I’d never moved in half hour time zones before!

Stops were very few and far between today (what a good thing that we all WERE getting on well!) Pictures next to a huge termite mound taller than the bus was followed a few hours later by lunch at a cattle station, followed a few hours later by a stop at the general store of an aboriginal community Atitijere. We didn’t meet any of the locals or hear much about the community but it was pointed out that this was one, which its leaders had declared alcohol free in an attempt to correct some of the social problems that they like others have experienced in recent years.

Finally getting of the dirt path and onto the Stuart highway at 6pm we eventually arrive in Alice Springs as dusk drew close. To celebrate our arrival in Alice Springs, capital of the Outback, we are treated to pizza and tacky but fun Club Med like evening at one of the local hostels which resulted in Friday being a VERY laid back day! What was especially nice was that about 9 of us ended up having supper together on Friday night (I had the Osem pasta dish, they had chicken, noch!). It was so nice as what I like about Shabbat more than anything is the social relaxing around the table. By that time they knew quite a bit about Jewish stuff. Funniest comment had to be Jeff-Prince-William-look-a-alike-gap-year-boy from Oxford. He told me that he thought his Dad went to a Jewish school. I thought perhaps he was referring to Clifton College that used to have a Jews house but he actually meant Haberdashers!!!

Shabbat was more relaxation – said good bye to the girls who were off on their Ayres Rock tour that morning and then hung out exerting myself a bit to go out to the viewpoint at Anzacs Hill which looks over the town. Alice is pretty modern has all the conveniences of a regular town (population of 25,000) in contrast to the small places we’d been hanging out over the last 3 days.

Oh well no long term rest for the wicked, on Sunday morning and at the unrecognizable hour of 5:15 I was up dressed and ready to be picked up for my trip to Uluru aka Ayres Rock. When I say unrecognizable this seemed to be the case when by 5:45 still no show so I called up the company at 5:45 only to find out that our tour had been combined with another one so the starting time had been changed to 6:45 but whoops they’d forgot to tell us (I was with another couple at our hostel)

I don’t want to spend the rest of the e-mail bitching so I’m going to get it out of my system now: Unfortunately the company that I traveled with let me down somewhat. The tour was advertised as “unleashed” ie big hikes, camping away from conventional campsites, off the beaten track etc but it ended up being a just like a standard one just more disorganized and not at all away from the crowds. I’d also specifically chosen this company over another cheaper one because of the so guaranteed quality. (Lesson learnt never trust travel agents that work on commission!) In addition the make up of the group (probably unfairly contrasted against my last wonderful experience) did not make for good optimum bonding - 2 couples plus 4 girls who’d lived together in Perth. The people were nice but no one had real incentive to get to know new people. The guide had a bit of an attitude too although he did know his stuff. We kept bumping into the group from the other company who seemed to be having a great time, which was a bit frustrating. Then again when I got back I got an e-mail from a friend from the Desert Venturer bus who’d gone with that company a day or so before and had had a not too good experience either so I guess the lesson we learn from that is that it really is random. And more importantly not a reflection on me when things aren’t perfect! (Sounds crazy but any of you who know me well will understand)

OK vent over, now let’s get back to the trip.

Finally on the road again, the familiar red road brought back some serenity with the delightful black cockatoos flying around, occasionally resting on the phone line, flashing their red tails as they flew. Meanwhile nearer to the ground, sitting up front again I did get to see my first wild red kangaroo. Unfortunately it was dead and driving past it we managed to scare off a winched tail eagle (Australia’s largest bird of prey with a 2 metre wingspan) from its hearty breakfast albeit momentarily. Other interesting wildlife included wild camels! Although an introduced species (from the Canary Islands) they’re actually not too much of a pest as they don’t do much damage – they have padded feet and graze while wandering so never over graze in one area. In fact Alice Springs is known for its camel races which are rather popular

As we were driving in a 4WD we were able to take a slightly more scenic route down the Giles track named after one of the early explorers. Passing several creeks along the way (including Doughboy creek - naming conventions evidently went slightly off at some point) the Giles track eventually lead us back to regular sealed road where we reached our lunch destination near Kings Creek Station.

From there we traveled to the Watarrka National Park which is land leased from the local Aborigine community. There we tackled our first hike of the trip. This 6km walk which took us around 3 hours led us up to see the stunning Kings Canyon which gave us our first taste of the infamous rock colour and texture as associated with Uluru. The red colours of the rock together with the green were just outstanding. Please excuse the incredibly mundane way of describing a natural beauty but the only way I can accurately describe the red and green hues and successful contrast, without conjuring up a Xmas scene minus the snow, is to refer you to a v popular mid nineties colour scheme for kitchens! The green was a shade darker than bottle green and the red was a roof tile red. (I’m racking my brains for sample households - Mum, think of the Blooms’ kitchen in Rehovot!!!). Hidden in the shade of the walls of the Canyon half way through we reached the Garden of Eden watering hole, aptly named if a touch on the cold side!

It may sound surprising to hear of all the green in a supposedly desert region. The huge amount of green is the result of unusually large amounts of rainfall which is well supported by the flat landscape and subsequently well utilized by a natural system of underground water storage - plants tap roots Plant science 101 blah blah!. The terrain is now classified as a semi arid zone. As you can imagine if you get an average of 725ml a year for two years after years of much less (ok I don’t have figures) its going to radically affect the plant communities of the area and indeed bird and plant species have returned after years of absence. Just as a comparison the Negev has less than 100ml of rain a year.

Both nights we stayed either in or just outside campsites (very unleashed, not! bygones!) That night suitably tired after our days efforts, following food cooked around the old camp fire we did go to sleep under the stars (tents are for girlie cowards) Do not fear we did not tempt frost bite or any lurking friendly but poisonous snakes for we slept in swags which not only protected you by covering you totally but also sneakily provided a really comfy mattress which made it one of the easiest sleeps I’ve had camping.

Next day I’m woken up by a kick on the swag (such is the etiquette… ) and we’re off traveling three hours to get to the Uluru- Kata Tjuta National Park passing Mount Connor on the way – another great mountain which can be easily mistaken for Uluru by the uninitiated. The plan was to visit the Aboriginal Cultural Center in the morning and then hike around Kata Tjuta (aka the Olgas) today and to visit Uluru the following day. As you can see the trip to Uluru entails more than just that one specific site. Kata Tjuta is a collection of domes (36 in all I think) standing as impressively (if not more so) as Uluru, just 50km down the road. We took a looped walk along the valley of winds named for obvious reasons and enjoyed more of the same terrain as Kings Canyon (yet this time a bit more curvaceous and no water). Much of the area is out of bounds due to religious beliefs (see below) but we were able to get some good views of the neighbouring domes from this trail.

Now the big question on your mind now (apart from where on earth does she find the time to write all of this – answer to that is don’t ask!) is whether I climbed Uluru. Well I had heard previously that it was a religious site so I’d kind of already decided not to out of respect. Our guide’s philosophy when asked was to let us go to the Cultural Center, read about it and decide for ourselves as he felt it wasn’t so clear cut seeing as the climb was still open.

Ok so this is what I learnt about the Aboriginal culture which sadly was not too much (well probably enough detail to handle but nowhere near enough from personal testimony)

The Aborgine people have their law known as Tjukurapa which describes the relationship between people and places, their environment and creation and acts as the basis for their social, religious, legal and ethical systems. They believe that the journeys of ancestral beings (tjakuritja) created all features in a world that was originally flat and featureless. This creation when the world and people began is known as Dreamtime (also known as Tjukurapa). Every Aboriginal is related to one or more of the Dreamtime ancestors. The law is passed on through song, dance, painting and ceremony which allows them to refresh and pass on their knowledge of the legends and features of the landscape which to them are the complete and truthful end of the Tjukurapa. This knowledge is only passed onto appropriate people at the appropriate age. Therefore the older one is, the more respect they accrue because their knowledge and skills are greater. This applies to both men and women).

Reading this with my yid- tinted glasses I couldn’t help but seeing parallels with Judaism - Lets leave the lack of monotheism out of this for the moment – but on a ritual level. All the songs etc sound a lot like an Oral Law to me as it originally was and we all know that despite Roseanne and Madonna’s attempts otherwise that there are parts of our law such as the Kaballah and Zohar which are traditionally studied by people over a certain age and with particular learning standards only.

Further still all Aboriginal communities have their own land. The traditional owners of the Uluru land are the Anangu . Ngura is the name they use to refer to the place where they live. Thus they have Tjukurpa (the law), Ngura (the land), Anangu (the people) and they believe that all are interconnected and if you take one of them away the others cannot survive. That is why it is important for them to live on their land and look after it properly. Anyone whos been to as many BA mifkadim as I have couldn’t possibly miss the parallel there!

The rock has always been very famous for its climb but the Anangu don’t believe it is right to climb Uluru as the climb, (which incidentally looked and apparently is dead hard), is the traditional route taken by initiated ancestral Mala (Rufous hare/wallaby) men on their arrival at Uluru. The official reason they give for encouraging people not to climb is that they feel that while we are visiting their land they have a duty to look after us and they would feel great sadness if anyone dies or is hurt on the climb (Uluru has indeed claimed its fair share of victims) Instead they recommend the walk around the rock which is what we did in the end. It was quite awe inspiring as it is so immense and there are areas traditionally used for preparation for religious ceremonies and you could feel the tranquility that would foster the appropriate atmosphere for this. On certain parts of this walk photography was forbidden, as these were areas used by initiated members only. A further aspect of the Anangu belief is that the Tjukmiya still exist and can be seen through nature and thus one needs to see more than the photo of a place – to see the spirit within making them quite anti-photography.

As I mentioned although the Anangu were returned their land rites in 1985 the climb does remain open to the public. Matt our guide was a bit cynical about this as he said that if they really don’t want people to climb then they could just shut it down, suggesting that they were tempted by the national park fees received. I, wishy washy liberal to the end, understood it to be part of a friendly compromise made with the Australian government when the land was given back as they have made a lot of changes to the area to how it was in Ayres Rock days (Ayres was an Australian governor a couple of hundred years back)

Before 1985 there was a pub, campsite (site of the famous Linda Chamberlain – a dingo stole my baby - affair, post office and even an airplane runway at the foot of the rock. Now this isn’t just Brighton Rock you know. Uluru is a huge monolith, literally one huge red rock that can be seen for miles around (it actually stretches about 3or so miles below the ground too!). It has a plethora of different shades of red depending where the sun is hence the fascination with viewing it at sunrise and sunset (we did both). Its shape projects major shadows and a walk around reveals ancient paintings and markings. How anyone could think of putting a resort at the bottom is criminal. Religion aside there should be a law to protect natural beauties against plain tackiness (spoiler – just been to Niagara and I see such a law there would be way too late!) Surely you don’t need to be religious to respect natural beauty?

I feel that the Aboriginal community has probably suffered at least to a certain degree as a result of a lack of good PR, which due to the structure of their beliefs is kind of inevitable. Not only are there areas that are so sacred that uninitiated people cannot visit them but also there is much of their culture that cannot even be explained to outsiders. Kind of makes getting to know with European invaders you a little harder I suppose.

So with that it was time to head on back home. Our long drive back was broken with a stop about an hour outside Alice at a little known gem called Rainbow valley. Again another iron oxide trick – this time interacting with sand stone to literally give a rainbow effect which we watched change colour as the sunset

Back to Alice that night there was just enough time to reconnect with Sabrina, Charlotte and Vickie from my last trip until flying back to Sydney the next day. We even fitted in a bit of education when in the morning we visited the Royal Flying Doctors Base. Its amazing the work they do - flying miles to reach their patients covering emergencies, mercy calls and regular health care and all that with no government support (plus paying 10% tax). Also did you know that lots of doctors consultations are done over the phone or radio, yearly medicals have to be booked a year in advance and that pregnant women have to get to a town six weeks before their due date.? All very interesting although unfortunately no guest appearances by Shane from Flying Doctors and before that Neighbours (don? kid yourself about maybe seeing these superstars. Did you know that the actor that played Rick Alessi is now a tour guide with Adventure Tours - the company I don’t like and apparently the actor who played Todd works on the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb?!)

That afternoon I flew back to Sydney and spent my last 18 hours in Oz at Bondai not surfing but shopping, interneting, reading etc. Found a nice bookshop on the same road as the Hokoah Jewish social club that had an acoustic singer who did great funky versions of bootlicious and THE kylie song in a kind of jazzy way. I stayed at Noahs Backpackers - a good way to get me excited for normal housing again but it was well located. As promised I took the Bronte walk from Bondai to the neighbouring Bronte beach early in the morning and was dazzled by the sun, the blue sea and the millions of joggers.

And what with one last final shop (best bargains always in that last look) before I knew it I was on the shuttle bus to the airport - NY here I come!

So that’s it from the southern hemisphere so before I leave (metaphorically of course – I’m in Toronto already!) I’d just like to get on my soapbox and talk about a couple of issues that came my way during these travels.

Firstly I’d like to say that I am jealous of French people living in France or for that matter Norwegian people living in Norway. Confused? Well at least when people say where are you from they can just say France (or Norway if they’re Norwegian otherwise that would be lying) and then move on with minimum judgment or perceived judgment. While traveling I often get asked “So where in England are you from?” and partly through ideology and partly just through kharma-needing-honesty I would answer well I’m from London originally but I live in Israel now. This would start a chain of questions: how long have you lived there?, why?, are you going back?, what’s it like?; are your parents Israeli? so you’re not really Israeli then, leading onto my explaining my Jewish connection to Israel etc. Even though this is often over in minimum time it still reminds to me that I have to convince people of who I am.

This can be quite discomforting, to feel that I can never just blend in unless I hide part of me. It even makes me think sometimes who am I kidding – I sound English, I understand the English but then I realize I haven’t lived an English life in 7 years and have no plans too in the near future either. When I meet English people I can get nostalgic about TV programs but when I meet Israelis I talk about life. There’s probably no resolution and I need to accept that I’ll be explaining myself for quite a few more years to come. It reminds me of the Achinoam Nini song Ilanot or Oranim (I forget which tree) when she sings about having roots on both sides of the Atlantic.

Secondly I’d like to propose that age is in the eye of the beholder. I could have easily returned from this trip feeling the oldest person alive (ooh don’t think I’d want to do that) as most travelers were younger than me but the truth is their reactions to my age is what will keep me going back for more of this travel thing. I think the public consensus was probably that I was about 24/5 max! And I didn’t really mind fessing up to my age after a while because I felt like I was being an ambassador for the 29s (I refuse to say 30s until that’s true!). I’ve definitely enjoyed myself more in the last year or so than I have for years and anyway now there are all these early twenties people who believe that they might still have their own teeth at the age of 29!

Finally (and this is more of an observation than a major issue) I’d like to officially announce that the age where piercing and tattoos were signs of anger and rebellion is well and truly over. I must have seen hundreds of them when I was away yet I don’t think the word anarchy or tory pig was uttered once, no-one (disappointingly) insisted on listening to angry girl music instead of borgoise pop and a couple of people even said they went with their parents to have them done

Oh well we live and learn…. Ok time to collapse.

I’m back in Israel pretty soon three weeks today I think. England people get ready – I’ll be over there before you know it

Wow cant believe it…. Ok got to sleep

Love and carpal tunnel syndrome

Escalating up the East Coast

Its been a while but here's some of what's been happening since we last spoke...

Following almost 3 weeks staying in the lap of luxury in Melbourne and Sydney, I brought myself back to the backpacker life with a bump by starting the next leg of my tour -- LG meets Australia's East Coast on an overnight bus traveling a mere 13 hours.

Such a long overnight bus journey may sound like a mare but armed with my trusty fleece-cum-pillow I do actually manage to get some kip on these buses albeit in 2 hour intervals but that's better than nothing. The bus stops every 2-3 hours anyway and being in semi-zombie state you could be easily fooled into thinking that every town up the East Coast looks like a BP service station. When it gets light you do get a chance to see the towns and general scenery you are driving through but then you discover that it doesn’t look dramatically different from England or rather you definitely haven’t hit the outback yet. The only real difference that might stick out is Australia's fascination with "big things". Go past Coffs Harbour and meet the Big Banana youth hostel (banana on roof – that’s normal). Stop further up and you'll be amazed by the taste and design that's gone into the "Great Prawn restaurant" (the latter is really of Digby the Biggest Dog in the world proportions). See these sites and you’ll understand why Australia is so well known for its aesthetics (not)

My first stop on the East Coast was Byron Bay. In retrospect I should have scheduled at least 4-5 days here yet even in retro I know that I didn’t have the time. Actually I've done ok to cover what I have seeing that all my trips have been planned around making sure I'm not on the road over Shabbat. Considering the distances involved this needs not a small amount of logistics.

Anyway although a pretty essential spot on the East Coast route (I covered only a number out of quite a few potentials), Byron is hardly a typical East Coast resort. Originally and still a big surfer Mecca, Byron is now far more famous for being a huge hippie hangout. Picture one of those festivals that happen in Israel every chag or so (Shantipi, Bereshit, Segol etc) and you'll get the picture. If that's not enough to understand then perhaps you’ll get an idea from my Sydney host Marion's comment that she liked the place but she wasn’t mad about the funny people there!

Through recommendation I stayed in a hostel called the Arts Factory, infamous for its “scene” many travelers stay there for extended periods and often come back for more. As a result when I first got there (possibly as I was conscious of my limited sojourn) it seemed as if everyone knew each other and I personally found it quite intimidating and cliquey. This together with all the activities that were being pushed at me made it seem a bit like a New Age Butlins. All in all it was rather full on for my first hostel in Australia. It was thus with great relief that I bumped into Karen and Jill, my friends from Canada, who’d also just arrived and were staying in the campsite.. I went out with them in the evening to hear several of the live performances that were happening in the town's open air bars which was really rather cool.

Despite only being there for 2 days, once I'd gotten over the initial landing shock I decided to make the most of it. As well as the standard stroll and shop around town I also managed to fit in a juggling lesson (fire sticks – no flames - hopefully to be seen at a wedding near you soon) and a wonderful afternoon learning Swedish massage (probably not to be seen at a wedding unless someone severely spikes the segula wine). That was basically the highlight of my visit because as well as being incredibly relaxing (both giving and receiving) the setting was less than 10 metres away from sounds and sights of the beach.

Two hours later and I'm back on the McCafferty's bus route (technically it may have been a Greyhound bus but the latter company has actually been taken over by the former and the two names have been kept on to hide this rather huge monopoly). We traveled from Byron to Brisbane via the ‘Gold Coast’. This is the nickname given to the section of the East Coast where such famous beach resorts as Surfers Paradise can be found. Our stop there was all of five minutes but we didn’t need to be there long to note the stark difference in landscape from Byron. Coming from the fishing village look we had now arrived in the Costa Del Sol / Netanya - v tacky environs with huge blocks of flats and flashing lights. Myself and Dawn, a fellow traveler who I’d met at the bus stop at Byron whilst trying to work out if there was time to grab a snack while we waited for the bus which was late by half an hour, were both v amused by some of the typical Australian advertising displayed around the area. A prime example was an ad for flower delivery services. It read: “Want great sex?” - call this number - 1-800-flowers. (If this needs explaining then you’re safe to visit Oz without having any feminist tendencies offended).

I’ve come to the conclusion that Aussies aren’t so much tongue in cheek as tongue all out there. This is the country where everyone is informal – sports commentators have no problem in describing sportsman as w%&ers on TV (Beckham should consider himself lucky he doesn’t play Aussie rules) and I don’t think they’d even begin to understand something like the BBC 9:00 watershed. (Next week’s TV highlight is the uncut version of Temptation Island sex and all – need I say more?)

However one should not mistake this informality for emotional openness. IMHO Aussies are as emotionally repressed as the Brits and compared to the Kiwis they are far less friendly. People are nice on the whole but still customer service can get dangerously near to being compared to Israel’s. This has been a real surprise to me and it was sadly a bit of a relief when I find out that Israel isn’t as unique as I thought. They don’t have the Middle East excuse they just have “no worries mate!”. There’s even a joke that NT, the abbreviation for the Northern Territory (one of Australia’s states) actually stands for “Not today, not tomorrow, next Thursday”!

Anyway onto Brisbane (a.k.a. BrisVegas – its an ironic nickname) for a 10 hour stay in a grim city backpackers. These are the kind of hostels I hate because they look like prison blocks painted fluorescent. When choosing hostels I try to work on recommendations but this was a case of “location location location” as it was just down the road from the bus station and I was arriving late and leaving early. Whatever, it was just enough time for me to really briefly meet a group of friends who I’d then keep meeting up the coast randomly and lose a favourite top and trousers. I wouldn’t mind but I totally repacked my bag there as well! These particular garments were victims of the “left in bathroom” syndrome. It really is quite a challenge keeping track of everything. Truth is I think the average backpackers travels are 25% sightseeing and 75% repacking bags in hostels.

8:30 next morning and I’m back on the bus - destination Hervey Bay, departure point for a 3 day trip I was booked onto on Fraser Island. I needed to be at the bus station by 2:00 in time for the 3:00 orientation meeting for my trip (more details later). On this journey I couldn’t really complain about unfriendly Australians as the old lady who sat next to me almost all the way took it upon herself to give me a constant commentary. Highlights of this personal tour included an explanation of means tested public health in Brisbane and Queensland (we past the hospital), the annual Easter agricultural show, that she was a 4th or 5th generation descendant of French lace makers who came to Australia as assisted immigrants; she was on a return journey of 28 hours having visited her sister in NSW (trip used to take less than half the time before Anset Airlines went under) and that she owned a sugar cane farm that she was looking to sell off now that she was widowed and that her children had moved away but this was proving quite hard especially after the lack of rain in the rainy season. Her politic was revealed when she was particularly rude and impatient with some Japanese tourists on our bus who nearly got back onto the wrong bus at one of the rest stops (couldn’t they just learn to read properly) and when she expressed lack of sympathy about a traveler reported missing on Fraser Island (he had been smoking “those funny cigarettes” after all) Probably could have done with a bit of a break but I think she mistook my notepad for enthusiasm and anyway its always interesting hearing how it is from locals who aren’t paid to tell you.

Finally arriving at Hervey Bay I started focusing on my forthcoming trip. Fraser Island is the world’s largest sand island which is best (only?) explored by 4WD vehicles. There are various ways of visiting the island, and one much favoured amongst backpackers is the self drive option. This means that you’re put in a group of 9-11 people and you’re let loose on the island for 3 days with a 4WD jeep, food, camping equipment and suggested itinerary. I was a little apprehensive about the group I would end up with as this was my first overnight trip in Oz and all the day trips I’d been on had been made up more of couples and groups than single travelers (quite different to my New Zealand experience). Expressing this concern to a girl with whom I was in the courtesy bus from the station to the hostel, she promptly invited me to join the friends that she was meeting up with. They were a motley crew of 3 guys, 3 girls who’d met working in a fairground in Melbourne. Aged between 18 and 28 and including a Canadian (Leighanne), a German (Mia) and 4 English (Nick, Matt, Smithy and Hanna) we were soon joined by Judith, 25 from Holland (no, not Jewish) and Erica, 23 from Florida (oh yes, very Jewish) and thankfully it worked out really well.

The orientation meeting consisted of a long list of dos and don’ts about how to deal with dingoes, how to treat the island and most importantly it seemed, your vehicle. All this was obviously really important to know but it became a bit much when every warning was accompanied by a huge fine or a threat to lose our $60 bond (each!). Must lock up all food so as not to attract dingoes ($1500 fine), no driving through saltwater (lose bond if found and no cleaning of vehicle to hide evidence), must taste puddles to check difference between rain and seawater and check for depth before driving through washouts. Oy! with all that hanging over us we considered just leaving the vehicle at the car park by the ferry and walking around the island!

That done the next was step was to go to buy the food ( I left the others to order the meat and alcohol order obviously participating in the latter and not the former). I haven’t been doing too badly with my food here. I carry around my travel pots and what looks like a bag of “Ready Steady Cook” ingredients and just do the best I can (Lets not forget that a lot of the choc is ok here too!) Anyway by being one of the two to do the supermarket shop it meant that I could make sure I had stuff to cook with. The other vegetarian was Erica from America. In fact that’s how I found out she was Jewish when I was explaining to her exactly what my deal was. We both agreed that a universally recognised secret sign/code word was definitely needed when meeting a fellow member of the tribe.

I’ve had some rather funny experiences as invariably neither one asks the no go question of “Are you Jewish?” but rather going through a kind of dance of words until it is clear without saying the J word!

For beginners there’s always the good old Magen David although these days you do get some false positives so don’t assume automatically. Also the least friendly fellow Jew I met wore a very large Magen David and even did the vegetarian thing for Kosher reasons but wasn’t interested in J-bonding at all.

Knowledge of Israel is often a giveaway as well. For example there was a particularly WASPy looking couple in the Blue Mountains who asked me where in Jerusalem I lived which was slightly more revealing than asking where in Israel. However still not 100% proof I responded with “Why, do you have friends or family there?” The yes to family confirmed it. Of course if I’d just picked up that the two were New Yorkers - a Doctor and a Lawyer I should have known…. (they’d just been doing voluntary work in Lima with the JDC as well).

Next to the guy in New Zealand who after a few beers started singing Dayenu my favourite (probably for its subtlety I think) was the ex-Habo girl I met in Byron who I hadn’t clicked to being Jewish at all until she said “I think we’ve met before” very quietly. When I responded “Oh really where are you from? her response of “I live in Archway but my parents are from ‘The Suburb’ ” that said it all to me. I’ve come to realize meeting English people everywhere that I grew up in an almost an alternative Jewish North West London vocabulary – an invisible lingual ghetto if you wish.

Anyway back to the shopping which was done at the local equivalent of Sainsburys/Mega. It actually became rather like Dale Winton’s supermarket sweep when the Hostel’s courtesy bus was rather discourteous and left without us twice but we managed in the end thanks to taxis and kind locals.

Next morning we were up bright and early to receive our vehicle and equipment. Before leaving we had to collect all the equipment and I was given the responsibility of inspecting the car for damage already done. Years of buying shoes with my mother prepared me for this task and once the form was filled in (and then some) we were on our way to the ferry over.

Fraser Island really is a spectacular place made up of rainforests with sand trails plus beautiful lakes and sea. Our days were spent driving around the island visiting its various sites. The first and I think most famous of these was Lake McKenzie – a rain water lake which is totally clear with stunning colour gradients running from the white white sands through to aqua shallow water and dark navy deep water in the center. A drastic change from the normal gold and green combinations. One of the dos and don’ts that we were told was not to use sun screen before entering the lake as it was bad for the environment. Of course there’s nothing wrong about using it afterwards which I promptly forgot meaning I burnt something rotten but I guess my sacrifice was for the good of the ecosystem!

The group agreed not to rush around the sites just to tick them off a check list but we still managed to get to most of them. The next lake we visited was Lake Wabby a stunning lake hidden down amongst wonderful sand dunes, viewed through a lookout but best appreciated by taking the time to take the 20 minute walk down. There you could choose to sit out on the beautiful stretch of sand going out to the horizon (for images see the final scene in Shakespeare in Love) or roll down the sand dune straight into the lake.

Other sites included Eli Creek – walk through or by on the boardwalk; Lake Allom (?) – nicknamed the tea lake as it literally was the colour of tea complete with matching sand; Lake Birabeen (?) where you can swim with the turtles if you don’t scare them off first; the rusted remains of a huge shipwreck – from 60-70 years ago we think. Please excuse the question marks but being self guide the experience was more experiential than factual!

We slept out in tents by the beach. There were proper campsites further inland but inland was not an option when you could camp as the sun set over the sea (we couldn’t swim in it because of currents and sharks but a midnight paddle was fine) and anyway the campsites had 9:00 noise curfews. Most groups chose the beach as well but we tried to be a bit exclusive and not do the whole mass group thing which meant that both nights we were in pretty isolated areas. By deciding this we forfeited the luxury of the campsite’s conveniences. That said we had been supplied with a shovel for a purpose and it was soon decided that one had not had the true Fraser experience if you hadn’t used it as intended!

Nothing beats sleeping out especially as IMHO the southern hemisphere got the better deal when the stars were dealt out. My body clock worked particularly efficiently for a change and woke me up 5 mins before sunrise on both mornings. Its amazing that with all my travels its the things that you don’t have to pay for and in theory you can get anywhere – the stars and the sun – that are the most memorable.

If life is about the journey and not just the destination then it was the same for Fraser Island. One of the highlights for me was driving a 4WD vehicle. There were two types of driving. One was on the beach- the busiest you’d ever encounter almost highway like and the other was full on up and down through the sand trails learning when to use low and high 4WD gears as the sand went from wettish to light and fluffy often with little warning. All this was done whilst trying to think of the poor passengers in the back who had to grasp on to all the equipment as we had no roof rack. Well the first day of the trip was actually Yom Haatzmaut so I celebrated in my own way — the others had a BBQ and I drove badly!

It was a wonderful trip and we were sad to leave on Friday. What was so cool was being out of touch with the outside world – anything could have happened and we wouldn’t have known. I was slightly reminded of my other life though when I bumped into an ex-chanicha from Salford BA days after breakfast on the 3rd day! What’s more she was in a group with the lads I’d met in Brisbane. Its a small world but I wouldn’t want to paint it!

When we did get back we had a bit of a stations tochnit returning and cleaning everything in time but all was good and not only did we get our $60 bonds back but we also got $4 out of our $10 petrol deposit back which was rapidly exchanged for alternative fuel at the bar!

Shabbat was spent in Hervey Bay, a pleasant enough town, slightly reminiscent of a Southern American town judging by the amount of country & western and religious radio stations we found when trying to tune the 4WD’s radio in. Nothing much else to write home about – oh shame on me, how can I say that? I do have a vague recollection of a big shark on a restaurant somewhere!

Next on my East Coast agenda was a boat trip through the stunning Whitsunday Islands, a group of seventy plus islands off the coast of Australia at the start of the Great Barrier Reef. Of course no 2 day trip through idyllic waters can be fully appreciated unless one has completed another overnight bus to get to the departure point! Leaving Hervey Bay 10:00pm on Sat night I arrived 11am in Airlie Beach. Quite a pleasant holiday resort, the name is a bit misleading as there isn’t actually a beach there although there is a harbour which is where we were to meet our boat the next day. The truth is that as you go up the coast the sea becomes more and more out of bounds for regular bathers as the Stinger season coincides almost exactly with the summer season. (You can swim in the sea you just have to wear stinger suits which is cool for snorkeling just not that effective for tanning purposes!) To make up for this Airlie Beach has a lagoon – a kind of landscaped out door pool – this is a common solution in Australia, for example, Brisbane also has one.

There are various packages available to explore the Whitsunday Islands – large catamarans, small sailing boats, overnight cruise, island stays etc. As a result of my squeezed timetable I ended up booking a boat “The Pride of Airlie” which took around 35 people and docked both nights on the privately owned South Molle Island. I probably would have liked to have tried sleeping out on the open waves but it was not to be this time so I decided to grin and bear it and stay on a tropical island resort instead!

The first day of our trip basically just took us to the island. Although we as backpackers were quickly shoved to a different side to the posh people it really was a fantasy island kind of resort. (Well it was good entertainment looking at the people on our boat and trying to work out their issues that they’d come to the island to resolve!) Before supper whilst others played golf or swam, myself and a couple of the others (the Fraser Island gang minus Mia were on the boat too) took a 20 minute walk over to Paddle Bay to view the sunset from the coral beach (no taking home corals on pain of big fines at airport).

I’ve become horribly blase about sunsets but I kinda like the theory that Smithy came up with which can make for more active viewing. Essentially looking at the whole sky, and not just the west where the sun is setting, you see all the colours of the rainbow – red, orange and yellow are the obvious ones then going further up the sky there’s a hint of green and then you get the stunning blue, indigo and violet effects. Nice, eh? Sundown and back for supper and then what better way to end the evening than a Jacuzzi by the pool?

This relaxing evening was very needed as we had an early start and one needs a lot of energy for sitting on the deck lapping up the sun and sailing through straits such as the Hook Island Passage on still blue seas, past lush green islands. This can be quite stressful if you haven’t had enough sleep! Most of the islands are untouched but several have resorts. We did pass one which was very tackily built up with 70s looking hotels – the biggest hotel ever apparently (Confession - I’m starting to disbelieve all these biggest and largest claims, enough already) – but in general things were tasteful.

Our first stop was at the famous Whitehaven beach which gets it stunning white colour from the 97% silica of its “sands”. The lighter blue colour of the sea is attributed to our distance from the South Pole which also increases the ability to float. I must have looked stunning (well others looked stunned!) when I chose to jump off the boat (in my stinger suit) and swim into the beach instead of catching the dinghy. I didn’t get to the lookout for the best views but instead did a quick refresher lesson for snorkeling. When later we stopped at a bay to go snorkeling I couldn’t believe how quickly an hour went. I was using a float which made me feel safer and less panicky and as we had to be careful not to tread on the reef (takes 5 years for an inch growth) that also helped me not crush thousands of years of growth. I just had a blast floating around snapping away with my underwater camera.

Snorkeling was my limit for underwater exploration as I cant dive due to being a slight claustrophobe and asthmatic – I have to wheeze in very open spaces – but I loved it anyway. Whilst swimming around I found myself thinking that this was the most amazing experience and then wondering at how many times I’d thought that in the last two months. I really am so grateful for having the chance to do so many incredible things and all in such a short space of time. I’m probably getting rather spoilt. Hopefully the mundane will have some kind of novelty by the time I get back. Then again its made me think that not all at home is mundane and these adventures need not be limited to going abroad. For example when snorkeling it made me question why on earth it had been ten years since I’d last snorkeled in Eilat. I will NOT wait another ten years I promise!

Nor are all adventures of the action kind. Sometimes everyday occurrences can be elevated to an adventure when put in a different setting. Like bumping into a friend for example. I was just drying off from snorkeling when not quite sure how much water I’d swallowed but I was sure I could hear someone yelling “Is there a Lisa Gold on your boat?” I quickly rush over to starboard or whatever that part of the boat is called and incredibly enough there was my friend Ilana Lipski on a passing boat. Having met up in Melbourne we had been trying unsuccessfully for the last couple of weeks to arrange to meet up in Queensland. What mobile phones and e-mail had failed to do the magic of the sea did instead!

Our third day saw more lazing and snorkeling and a completion of our journey around most of the islands by around 2:30pm. All in all the boat was fun but 35 people was a bit too much, a group of 14-20 staying on the boat would probably have been better – then again I also heard other stories of severe sea sickness, uncomfy bunks and running out of water on the boat so you never can tell.

Fresh back from the boat no rest for the wicked and it was just a case of whiling away the ten hours or so before catching the 1 am bus through to Cairns. I didn’t have a hostel room but the Fraser gang let me shower and crash in their hostel room until I set out. On my way down to the bus stop I met up with Jen and Vicky from York, gap year travelers. We chatted and I even texted a friend using Vicky’s mobile and it was while talking about the mobile that something happened that made me realise how small the backpacker world is. I was saying how I was having a break from mobiles and Vicky said that she had it mainly because of her boyfriend back home but anyway it was very useful for emergencies. For example they were traveling with a 3rd girl who had to go back to England for a funeral and was meeting up with them again in Sydney. It then transpired that this wasn’t just any funeral but rather it was for their school friend Caroline who had been tragically murdered in Bundaberg just a couple of weeks before, an event that I think most of you heard about. When something bad happens in Israel I almost expect to know someone who knows someone but it never occurred to me that it could be the same elsewhere in the world.

I arrived in Cairns at 11 am, an appropriate hour I thought, considering it was Anzac Day (25th April). I hoped I’d be just in time for a memorial ceremony but I subsequently found out that no, that had already taken place at 4:45 am! According to friends I made later on in the trip who did get up to see it, the day began with a brief ceremony and then at 5 am (yes you read it right) the pubs opened and everyone , veterans, current soldiers and general public sat and started drinking and eating Anzac biscuits, while the old boys told their stories. On the outset an alien way to commemorate the fallen, rather different in tone to memorial day in Israel or even England for that matter, however the result seems to be the same. We remember the fallen by speaking about their lives and passing their legacy and stories of their bravery and experiences to today’s generation.

Everyone had told me that Cairns was nothing special and to use it just as a base for visiting the surrounding rainforest and reef. Again, despite being the gateway to the Great Barrier Reef, Cairns doesn’t have its own beach – just a pier and mud flats. Both man made, the mudflats were created fifty or so years ago from the beach that USED to be there when it was decided to build a harbour to encourage trade. These mudflats are continually maintained for this purpose but now they’re spending millions of dollars to build a beach/lagoon kind of thing to boost tourism (many a tourist is surprsed by lack of sand and sea). My my, how the environment gets mucked around by that fickle race they call humans!

I stayed in a wonderfully small and cosy hostel recommended by friends which came as a great change to the large conveyor belt hostels I’d stayed in up the East Coast as part of my various trip packages. Called Dreamtime as a reference to the aboriginal creation stories it could have been named after the great sleep I was going to get due to the welcomed absence of bunk beds and noise!

Traditionally the East coast traveler route stops at Cairns but for those in the know, the true delight can be found just a couple of hours north of Cairns in Cape Tribulation and the Daintree National Park. Advised to be the ultimate tranquil setting – beaches amidst the rainforest I set about getting up there for some real R&R over Shabbat.

Starting early Friday morning we traveled past Australia’s most northern set of traffic lights just north of Cairns and then onto an animal sanctuary in Port Douglas. I’m not sure why I’m still going to these animal places as I really don’t like them. Nevermind, this time I learnt the difference between a wallaby and a kanagaroo, about a Dr Doolittlesque creature called the Kasoway, an emu like creature with horn and how to spot a crocodile (basically to be safe become suspicious of any log you see in a river).

We entered the National Park by crossing the Daintree river and from this point no settlements have electrical power – check out the solar powered telephone booth! Viewing the wonderful green forest representing 40,000 years of growth from the Alexander range look out, you can see why the park has been a World Heritage site since 1987. In the area of 2 football pitches you can find 150 different species of trees compared to 180 in the whole of Europe. Later we went on a bushwalk down the Maardja boardwalk where we learnt about the predominant rainforest features including buttress roots, wait a while vines, the evolutionary proving properties of the fern, the success of hepophytes such as the fig tree and the basket ferns, tarzan like swing things that are actually made of cane which later make furniture, the coralysis effect working on vines (ie which way it wraps round is the same direction as water down a plughole) and more. I think I can take in more on these rainforest walks as the atmosphere is so relaxing — standing under the dense and shady canopy of the forest.

BTW do not be misled by the names given to the area such as Cape Tribulation, Mount Misery and Mount Sorrow. These are just egotistical names a la Captain Cook whose boat came a cropper when he crashed into the Great Barrier Reef a couple of hundred years ago. According to that theory the Whitefield exit of the M62 should be named the “Cape of oh bugger I’m facing the wrong way because I was driving too fast in the rain”!

But anyway, by 1pm we were dropped off at our accomodations. Booked in for two nights the Cape Trib Beach House was a wonderful collection of deluxe huts literally within a rainforest, just five minutes walk from an outside bar/ sitting area, pool and then onto the beach. Of course along with the trees came the wildlife and it was not rare to see bush hens or small marsupials roaming around in addition to beautiful large blue butterflies. There were also large spiders sitting peacefully in their cobwebs which I found astoundingly unscary perhaps because it was so clear it was not me they were sitting in wait for!

One stalling factor which was soon overcome was that due to the shops being shut for Anzacs day the day before, I hadn’t managed to buy any food for Shabbat. 4 km away from any shops (and more to a good one) I managed to get a lift to the local general store with Dick who was driving the afternoon horse riders to the stables. A bit of a Crocodile Dundee character, Dick was originally from Victoria but had gone back packing 15 years ago and never gone back (the original campervan is still around apparently). Living in nearby Cow Bay he remembers when all the roads north of the Daintree river were dust roads and there were no traffic lights in Cairns. That was all relatively recently and you still have to travel an hour and a half to get a pizza on a Saturday night!

Shabbat was pure bliss – the room key activated electricity potential crisis was averted when I just left it up to the whim of my roommates who managed to put the air conditioning on so strong that I slept with a sleeping bag and two blankets in the middle of the rain forest! During the day reading and lazing was interrupted by a gentle stroll on the beach to the Cape Trib look out and then some card playing and general shmoozing in the evening with Beth and Billy, students from the US who I’d met on the way up.

Sunday’s pick up wasn’t until 1:00 so I decided to fit some horse riding in as I’d especially gone horse riding in Jerusalem before I went away so I wouldn’t be too rusty if the opportunity arose when away. Not surprisingly these horses were far more patient of nervous riders than their Israeli counterparts and in addition to getting a unique perspective on the area through our 2 hour ride I can now boast being able to get on a horse in one try for the first time ever!

Our trip back to Cairns took us again via the Daintree river, this time stopping for an hour cruise to spot crocs and snakes — only tourists pay to look for things they’re scared of and then to Mossman Gorge a huge boulder ridden rainforest river which was much fun to splash around in.

Which brings us to Monday. Due to drive out to Alice Springs on the Tuesday I decided to spend one more day in rainforest country by going on a one day trip to the Atherton Tablelands, south of Cairns. My choice not to go on a reef trip was probably wise seeing as the weather that day was pretty bad and so I may well have seen the colour of my own vomit rather than the corals! Anyway the trip I did do took me up the steepest bendiest road ever (McGillies highway) to a couple more rainforest walks and crater lake visits — I knew that maybe I’d done enough when I was beginning to be able to answer all the guides questions and then what I really wanted to do – canoeing around Lake Tinaroo. Actually a manmade lake I had great fun with my German boatmate going partly round in circles but partly getting to view the banks for more wildlife. The rain meant it wasnt really worth capsizing as we were drenched anyway so after stopping to paint our faces with red ochre aboriginal style we all returned totally soaked but happy all the same.

So that is all from me — phew. To let you into a little secret, I am actually already in New York (I’m wildlife spotting from a window overlooking Columbus Ave). I hope to get my final Oz account out before I move on again. My body already is confused enough from having started off the week in Alice Springs about 17.5 hours ahead so I don't want to confuse my mind by having to store more facts about a different country for too long.

Staying with the Sydneysiders

Long time no write I know but time is precious and so are Internet costs and connectivity (Yahoo is notoriously bad here sometimes). My last few mails have been written through the night at gracious hosts who have been polite enough not to complain about my nocturnal writing habits. But now alas I have to settle for authentic backpacker Internet spots so I hope my imitable style wont be affected by this change in conditions. BTW I'm actually now in Cairns (and tomorrow I go to Cape Tribulation for Shabbat) having worked my way up the East Coast since my visit to Sydney but details about that will have to come in my next mail!

So for those of you hadn’t noticed, I am feeling more relaxed than ever as I continue to pretend I never have to work again and that travelling is my life. This is especially true since I've now been away long enough so I cant remember everyday routine too well and I've got enough travelling in front of me that I don't have to focus on getting back to it quite yet!

I mention this now as I first experienced a real sense of blessing and gratitude for this new state of mind during my week in Sydney. The city manages to maintain a great holiday, relaxed feeling whilst still being an internationally important city. My preferred mode of touring cities is always to walk around the streets and travel its local transport to really get the vibes, rather than rush in and out of a "must see" checklist of museums and attractions, and Sydney was wonderfully suited to this method.

I am not going to enter into the Melbourne or Sydney debate as I don't want to lose friends however another friend asked me to settle a Cape Town or Sydney dispute and at risk of South African wrath I must say I far prefer Sydney. Then again that could be an unfair comparison as I was a different kind of traveller when I visited Cape Town 8 years ago.

I was very fortunate to have a great base in Sydney staying in the stunning neighbourhood of Vaucluse in Sydney's Eastern suburbs. My hosts were Molly and Alan Joffe, parents of my friend Sharon Berger who made me exceptionally welcome and even had the decency to arrange to have a most wonderful view of Sydney harbour -- bridge AND opera house -- from their balcony. In fact following my more people focused stay in Melbourne I was pretty much flung back into full time tourist mode immediately on my arrival.

The Joffes live just across the road from "The Gap" cliff walk in Watson’s Bay. This consists of beautiful sea and rock views leading down to what was originally a small fishing village. Like many former working class areas in prime locations around the world this is now being bought up and renovated by yuppies. The same goes for inner city terraces in Sydney proving that 21st century Yuppies are to inner-cities what 18th century travellers were to undiscovered lands. Anyway Watson Bay features some stunning houses among the beautiful trees and birds. (I'm amazed by the multicoloured "common-garden" birds here which make Britain’s robin red breasts and blue tits look very monochromic and sillily-named! On my first afternoon we walked through the village and along its very non-commercial beach. Highlights included seeing an expert at sandcastle sculpture at work and a minor local celebrity picnicking with friends - Hugo Weaving (Lord of the Rings and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert to mention a couple of regionally relevant appearances).

We ended at the ferry terminal at Watsons Bay which is the last stop on the ferry service coming out of Circular Quay in the city. (Real name is Semi-Circular Quay for obvious reasons when you visit but shortened because Australians really can't handle too many syllables). The whole week I was in Sydney I travelled around on one travel pass that took me on the bus, ferry or train, all of which go into the city. The train and bus weren't bad at all (I especially liked the huge TV screens on the train platforms) but there was something incredibly idyllic about getting the ferry in and out of the city. I was reminded of that Bacardi advert from the UK a few years back, when the ad is narrated as if its a regular day in London and at the end the guy jumps on a speed boat off some desert island and the narration is "Catching the last bus home". Probably lost a lot on translation but that sums it up for me.

The ferry docks at a number of stops on the way to the city -- Rose Bay (Jewish area - if Bondi is Jewish Home and Away then the ferry stop here reminded me a bit of Dawsons Creek ), Double Bay (also a bit Jewish but chiefly known to be very expensive, hence the nickname "Double Pay") and then before you know it you're in the city centre in half the time as the bus or train.

I got down to seriously exploring Sydney center the next day, arriving by train at Central Station. I chose to walk through to the Harbour by walking myself through the historical sites of the city. As it was about noon when I began, this meant that as well as looking at Sydney's architecture I also got to see corporate Sydney at lunch, most of which enjoyed their break outside in the "Autumnal" climate of Sydney - 20 degrees at least! Interestingly most of historiuc Sydney was designed by an exconvict architect, who was pardoned due to his talents and even appeared on Aussie money until recently. (Someone finally noticed that there was a convicted forgerer on the currency - slightly inappropriate perhaps!)

Memorable sites included the Anzac Memorial and its mirror lake next to it, the great shady trees of Hyde Park, Maquarie Street (named after one of the first governors of Sydney who commissioned most of the buildings along the way with or without permission from the Mother country), and the Queen Victoria Buildings (QVB). I eventually arrived at the Opera House first viewing it from behind through the luscious greens of the Botanical Gardens. Whichever way you approach it, it is quite amazing at first sight. I experienced a bizarre feeling of seeing something very familiar yet awesome and incredible at the same time. No great spiritual connections as experienced when seeing great natural sites or religious places but just an icon of great sites in the world, a symbol of our era...

Interestingly enough the people behind the Opera House's conception would be very happy to hear this comment as that’s basically why it was built. In the 1950s the Govt of Australia wanted to make a postcard view to attract people to come to Oz. There were similar moves made twenty or so years earlier as the harbour bridge was built to encourage people after the depression in 1932. It may seem ironic to mention in a time where Australia is in the news for a very strict Immigration policy, resultant rallies and breakouts at "Detention Centers" for illegal immigrants,but, over the years Australia has launched several assisted immigrant schemes in order to boost its economy with the need to, in the words of those times, "populate or perish". Now of course is not one of those times although if you have enough money and a good trade plus family ties, immigration is still a good and viable option.

Having admired the Opera House from the outside (its interior 70s decor has not aged as gracefully as it exterior and the tour that day was limited as there were rehearsals in the main concert hall) I moved onto a district next to the harbour known as the Rocks. Its significance is not entirely clear when you first visit as now its an upmarket shopping area with nice outside eateries and live music at lunch time but this was the first part of Sydney to be settled. It’s called the Rocks due to the nature of the terrain as first sighted by Sydney’s first settlers. You can see these big vertical slabs in a small section of the district positioned slightly above street level. I read up about their history by following a small walkway above these known as Bunker Hill. BTW all information plaques in Oz seem to have been unveiled by an MP. I'm not one to interfere but there are ALOT of plaques, surely they could be doing better things with their time....?

On the whole my over-priced adventure travelling urge was covered by New Zealand but there was one thing I'd decided I was willing to pay through the nose for to do and that was the Sydney Harbour Bridge climb. A totally corporately designed venture -- breathalyser tests at the beginning, another "if i die i wont sue" form to sign, group get to know yous, groovy climbing suits and safety harnesses, walky talky radios -- it was a very cool way to get a view (verbal and physical) of Sydney. Three hours all in all I really enjoyed myself and would recommend it to anyone who likes to see things from the top and getting potted histories of a city but cant cope with one more monotonous cruise/ferry commentary. Of course my most impressive achievement while standing above Sydney and all its glory was discovering that one of the crew went to JFS (my old school) and finding out that of course we knew people in common. Guess some things never change.

Talking of Jews I did visit the infamous Bondi Beach a couple of times although admittedly not for a great amount of time. We had supper at fa airly typical "run-by-an-Israeli-chutz-laaretz-deli-cum-restaurant". As is well known about Bondi you can hear lots of Hebrew and the great Israeli presence means as well as lots of kosher restaurants there are several treif Israeli ones too. The beach itself seems pretty enough (many complain that its too commercialised) but I don’t think I had proper chance to take it all in so I have decided to decided to spend my last night there (wedged between Alice Springs and New York) to give it a real chance. I also want to do the Bronte beach walk which I have been recommended which I think sounds like a nice way to spend my last morning in the Southern Hemisphere.

The only other time I got to Bondi was on Shabbat. I stayed in Rose Bay with Marion and Alan Spiro - parents of my friend Dani Wassner but walked over on Shabbat to the Or Chadash shul in Bondi. Shabbat was a good one for the "Who do you know game". On Friday night, Dani's sister brought a friend whose sister was married to the brother of a friend of Dani's (Deb Galasko) who Marion knows, plus on Shabbat I met a woman Leonie Hardy, who knew my host-to-be-in-New-York Abby Carmel*. Coincidentally Leonie worked in Terem when she was in Israel so I was able to tell the "Fell on head while dancing" story which pertains both to Terem and Abby but now I REALLY digress!!! (* I hope that the host offer is still on following that mention...)

So where were we? Jews... ah yes, so, so far no-one has been able to an accurate figure for the size of the Jewish communities in Melbourne and Sydney (estimates varied from 80,000 and 20,000 respectively to 40,000 each). That aside it is generally agreed that despite Melbourne being the more observant community, Sydney's Jewish Museum (there's one in both) is superior. I chose to see for myself partly out of general interest but mostly because I was to be in Sydney for Yom Hashoah and wanted to do something appropriate on the day. It was a good thing that that was my intention because there's disappointingly little about the history of the Sydney's Jewish community included within the exhibits and the majority of the museum dedicated to the Holocaust. I did learn a bit though, particularly about the six phases of Jewish migration to Australia. This began with the Convict Era 220 years ago; through the Gold Rush era of the mid 19th century; Eastern European migration from the turn of the century; Pre-holocaust refugees in the 1930s; Post WWII refugees who managed to get in despite the Australian Government’s initially anti-Semitic immigration policy; and finally the most recent influx since 1967 from South Africa and Russia. It almost reflects the aliyot to Israel and it would seem from a discussion I had with my Shabbat hosts that Sydney Jewry has displayed attitudes to these new influxes similar to Israelis . Today no-one blinks while saying anything about how "those South Africans" do things. Back a generation Marion remembered feeling strange that her parents were not survivors as all her classmates parents were were and noted that her parents generation were not as welcoming as one would have thought to the refugees after the war.

But my purpose was to see the Holocaust exhibit and it was quite impressive. Designed for those who no little about the period I didn’t expect to learn any new facts myself. However a key element of the museum is to be guided through by a survivor who annotates the exhibits with his or her own personal story. (This presents educational difficulties for years to come which the museum is addressing. I'll be interested to see how this works out) I missed the tour but just sitting and watching personal accounts on TVs positioned around the museum did a lot to bring me past the statistics and through to the human, personal side. I then managed to sit down with Eva, a Rumanian survivor of Auschwitz who told me her story one on one.

Now I know I agreed not to mention it too much in my e-mails, but it goes without saying that the current situation in Israel has never been far from my mind. Without other sundry matters such as work and normal life to bug me I have had moments when I've had time to think and question whether I could be doing more, should be doing/ feeling something else etc. My visit the previous day to the Anzac Memorial had already affected me and triggered off thoughts. The main focus of the memorial is a sculpture of a fallen soldier supported by his mother, wife and sister, designed to show that even those who do not literally sacrifice their lives still bear the burden of war. The memorial to me seemed very appropriate but it made me think how it is relatively easy to be poignant and defined in our reactions when we are talking about conflicts and wars finished and in the past, but how do these memorials help us face challenges today? I’m not sure I’m expressing myself correctly but I guess I feel that these memorials don’t offer me adequate practical lessons for today. Perhaps I'm asking too much and its an unreasonable thing to expect but it almost hurts to look at a memorial that was built with a hope that this war will be the last when clearly it isn’t. Maybe I should recognise that I was just feeling sadness and frustration that will ultimately never be resolved but will pass at some point albeit temporarily?

So there I was listening to Eva's story and just when I thought I could lose myself in that "that was 50 years ago not now" feeling, Eva asked me where I was from. I explained Israel and why I'd come to the museum and she started to cry. She had just related her story which ended with her escaping from one of the work marches out of Auschwitz with a cousin and friend. So why was she crying now? Well apparently the same friend who had escaped the camps with her had been related to the family who had been killed in the Netanya Pesach bombing. She said she felt a great connection to Israel and visited a lot but she had cancelled her trip for her grand nephew's bar-mitzva because of the situation and that it all saddened her too much. Again I don’t know exactly that has to offer but I felt it was not serendipity that led me to meet Eva that day.

On a brighter note, that evening I met up with my Canadian friends Jill and Karen who I'd met in New Zealand. I didn’t really know people my age in Sydney and as I wasn’t hostelling it I had little opportunity to meet any. Thus it was nice to meet up with them and hear what they had been upto. We went over to Darling Harbour, another over-priced but pretty area of Sydney to the left of the harbour. We went over by monorail which we got for free cos as we were deliberating whether to get on or not the driver pointed out it was the last one so we should just get on! We also posed next to a couple of the colourful cows that can now be sighted all over Sydney city centre. Apparently this is a world bovine tour and these cows are not unique to Sydney (they were in London just recently it seems) but we had fun anyway!

Once one has toured around Sydney city center for a couple of days its nice to take a ferry trip out to one of the other sites around the harbour. This visit has more or less confirmed it for me that when it comes to animals (and as a consequence zoos) I can take 'em or leave 'em, preferably the latter. (This reaction could be latent agression following the infamous "London-Zoo-goat-ate-my-chocolate-and-crisps-fiasco" of 1976 but this remains scientifically unproven). This given, it meant it wasn’t a difficult decision for me to opt to visit the Sydney suburb of Manly instead of Tooronga Zoo.

Manly is famous for its beautiful beaches (ocean AND harbour beaches, noch) and its scenic walkway which follows the harbour shore inland from Manly Cove all the way back to Spit Bridge on Middle Harbour (about a 3 hour walk). Manly is so named because when Captain Arthur Philip discovered the area he noticed how the Aborigines of the region were rather well built and manly! This interested me so much that I actually considered trying to find out how I could have the suburb twinned with Jerusalem for ironic reasons ... just kidding guys! Anyway all I can say that because Manly had such womanly targeted great sales I didn’t get on with the walkway until about 3pm so I missed the sunset I'd wanted to get back to the Harbour Bridge for – nevermind! The walkway was a fresh change from shopping and was slightly reminiscent of the Abel Tasman Track (in a kind of Junior beginners training kind of way) as the walk was through forests overlooking secluded beaches. I'd recommend it and thanks to Rachel H, former North Shore Sydney-sider for recommending it to me. (It should be noted that between Rachel and Dani Wassner my Rough guide was mere commentary to a wonderful Sydney itinery that they set out for me before I left - ta!)

One side observation. Sydney on the whole is very relaxed except for the drivers. This may seem strange but I think I can understand their road rage. For some unknown reason the traffic lights (of which there are many) have the timing of a grandfather clock one pendulum short. There's always ages where no one seems to have right of way. This frustration is shared by the pedestrians who not only inevitably end up jaywalking a ton but also have to put up with strains of Atari Space Invader like beeps everytime they actually can cross. Absolutely unconnected to anything I just thought this was a useful word of warning for those of you planning to visit.

Uptil now most of my touring in Sydney was pretty local however I did take myself out of Sydney for one day and that was to visit the Blue Mountain, a trip highly recommended by all

The Blue Mountains are so named as they actually look blue due to the blue haze emitted by the eucalyptus trees (eucalyptus = gum btw -- this I find out rather belatedly!). Aussie's are rather into their eucalyptus oil. Every guide seems to come with a new use - to clear your sinuses (aka olbas oil), to remove red wine stains, to suffocate fleas for dogs, an effective wool wash... the list goes on.

The mountains are part of the Great Dividing Range which runs along the East Coast (? I think!) of Australia. Basically all mountains in Australia have the same appearance but this particular bunch got the name, as they were the first mountains to be discovered when Sydney was established. They are a pretty impressive set of mountains. Impressive that is to all except to New Zealanders who often refer to them as the Blue Hills!)

But before we got to the Blue Mountains we had one stop just 20mins outside the city -- of a more manmade nature -- the Olympic Village. Huge and spacious this site has become somewhat of a white elephant. Stadia have been altered so they can be used for rugby matches and the Olympic "fast" swimming pool (water flows over the side and there are square dividers between lanes) is open for public use, but the place is so huge it just cant be used to its full capacity. To add insult to injury, unlike the sports crazy Melbournians, Sydney-siders just aren’t into sport. (Surfing isn’t a sport its a way of life).

That said the site was very impressive and as our guide told us these were the "Green Olympics". For example the site used solar panels for electricity, recycled water in the loos and public transport was heavily encouraged (there's not one car park in the place) just to mention a few "green" moves.

Apparently these Olympics also managed to make a profit 9although one wonders iff that will remain true over time) and the Greeks are now desperately trying to get Australian help to get them out of pending disaster for the 2004 games. The city shut down when the Olympics were on and whole road systems were built and modified especially for the event (including the Madonna bra like Anzac bridge). I particularly liked the way that they used school buses from all over the country to ferry people around. What comes with local school buses? -- Local school drivers of course! After a day of thousand of drivers getting lost around Sydney the organisers appealed to public for volunteers to sit along side each driver and show them the way!

So back to the Blue Mountains. You probably all heard about the recent bush fires (around last Christmas). Well they happened in this area, very near to Sydney, infact the nearest one came within 14km of Sydney Harbour Bridge.

The first of our bush walks of the day (bush walk definition = taking a walk where there is no defined path0 was near the same town of Glen brook which was deeply affected by the fire. At one point there were 2 fire trucks for every house in the town and 30 of 90 house were burnt down. We could see signs of how bad it got such as telegraph poles, treated not to burn if cars crash into them, totally burnt and in ruins plus trees with black bark and furry leaves. The trees didn’t totally burn down a la the trees in the Jerusalem forest in 1995 but rather developed a furry coating as a result of their natural emergency mode kicking into gear. Basically the Eucalyptus "wonder" oil causes the tree to go into "freak out" mode where endodermic seeds burst out making the leaves close to the trunk.

It is believed that the fires were partly started by natural causes such as lightening (there hadn’t been any rain for up to a month before which made them more vulnerable) and partly by arsonists (mostly youths who couldn’t even be punished through the law). It was a mammoth operation getting the fires out and it was interesting to hear about it from our driver as he was directly involved. His next door neighbours house was burnt right down. He was slightly luckier – his house wasn’t burnt down but having evacuated the house it was flooded by the two weeks of floods that the area received immediately afterwards. Fire trucks and staff were brought in from all over the country -- even fireman from New Zealand. I was surprised to hear how little government compensation they received. The Bush fire brigade is a voluntary service so many of the men lost out on wages as they just couldn’t go into work. Many of the houses were underinsured and evacuation procedures had to be done so quickly that residents often grabbed for sentimental items first seeking refuge in the local pub where many residents celebrated Christmas together. In general there was a very communal feeling, people with pools marked their post boxes with pink ribbons so the firemen knew where to come and get more water. To make up for lost wages and insurance a telethon was held raising over 2 million dollars for victims of the disaster. There was some looting so police patrolled the areas together with locals checking the cars of those non-residents for Christmas presents taken from the houses.

This lack of government intervention, Prime Minister John Howard had appealed to employers to pay employees who were volunteering for the fire brigade made me appreciate the welfare state environment that I am very used to – both in UK and Israel. This made me read up about the political culture in Australia and it didn’t surprise me to find out that there has never really been any socialist tradition here.

Our second bush walk was over the stunning Wentworth falls and by Jannson valley (think I’ve got that right). Whatever this was the first view to really amaze me since New Zealand. This wonderfully deep green valley is older than the Grand Canyon, a result of erosion from the Ice Age. The Blue Mountains are a world heritage site, which should mean they are protected yet they still mine coal there – bit strange. Similarly other Australian world heritage sites include Kakadu National park – where you can mine for uranium and the Great Barrier Reef where there have been oil spillages of late….

Our last bush walk took us right down into the rain forest to see the famous Three Sisters which are 3 huge rocks/mountain things (ok I’m getting tired now). The highlight was right at the bottom you get on a scenic railway with the steepest gradient in the world (50 degrees I believe). Sensation and view was amazing – perfect end to a beautiful and informative day.

So that was my Sydney experience bar the stuff that I must have forgotten. I left Sydney for Byron Bay Saturday nigh 13th April (first of 3 overnight 12-hour trips). Since then the time has been whizzing but I can say that I’m happy to be back on the backpacker trail again.

Matza in Melbourne

Well I hope that the title of this e-mail didn’t put too many people off from opening it. Being in that post-pesach state of “even-see-matza-I’ll-vomit” myself I appreciate that this could happen. This aforementioned fragile condition wasn’t helped this morning when I got on the flight from Melbourne to Sydney to be served a Pesach snack complete with chocolate coconut craparoons! Never mind! I’m in Sydney now, have just been out to eat pies in Bondai Beach and I can see the Harbor bridge AND the Opera House from where I’m staying. All is good!

But back to Melbourne!

If you remember from my last installment, I arrived in Melbourne erev Pesach with a severe case of sleep deprivation. My friend Becky picked me up from the airport, (most appreciated particularly in my zombie state) and dropped me off at my friend Adina Rathner’s house where I spent the first 3 days of Chag. The Rathners were very welcoming and tolerant – in particular when I went up for a small nap during the Seder meal only to return several hours later to find them just finishing clearing up! No, there were no hand actions and funny noises to “Chad gad ya” for me this year (and Adina’s 95 year old uncle sung it in Yiddish as well!) Although I wasn’t keeping second day I went to Adina’s sister at half time to catch supper and possibly second half of Seder to make up for the night before but alas this was not to be as fatigue got the better of me again…. Ho hum – next year…

For those of you who may be currently (understandably) going through a crisis about living in Israel please allow me to point out at least one good reason for sticking things out… transglobal friends! Melbourne was a really surreal experience in as far as I’d never been there before yet I knew so many people – both those who I’d planned to see and those I just bumped into (mostly outside Mizrachi shul – legendary among the “Bnei” people I know from Israel). The former made up a group of about 15 friends in various states of transition between Israel and Melbourne - be it holiday/ shlichut/ permanent return/ on route to other destinations. Good to see them anytime of the year but particularly great to catch up over Pesach because what else is there to do over Yomtov?

Overall I did like Melbourne. It was cosmopolitan, had a funky scene, a good nightlife, green leafy suburbs, accessible out of town trips, good (if varied) weather, sea and views - what more could you ask for? I’m not sure, perhaps I’m just not a big city fan (you’ve seen one botanical garden/skyscraper/arts complex you’ve seen ‘em all) but it definitely wasn’t THE highlight of my trip. Then again a city that has a good vibe to live in may not make the best city to holiday in and vice versa. Also its juxtaposition to New Zealand in my itinerary may have put it at a disadvantage as New Zealand was just so outstanding and I had such a good time that the following destinations were bound to suffer in comparison. Realizing that I cant be the only one to feel this way makes me wonder how people travel the world in a year or even less and really appreciate everything they see and experience.

I tried to minimize the comparison by having a different type of visit. Well firstly I was in a city whereas New Zealand I limited my city stays to a very minimum. Then, staying with friends and not in backpacker hostels made a big change, and not just for obvious differences in comfort level. Its totally different seeing a place from the eyes of people who are working and living there (particularly in an ethnic community as our own), as opposed to when you’re almost solely in the company of backpackers and tourist industry professionals. I think both give you insights but of different varieties. I’ll be quite happy to get back to the less down to earth traveler insights, as I think that’s what taking a trip is about, but it was good to have a break all the same.

Friday, aka second day Yom Tov for suckers, I went on a whistle stop tour of downtown Melbourne with my friends Ilana and Ahron. This exclusive outing covered: the recently rejuvenated trendy area of St Kilda; Ackland St (home of the historical European cake shops); St Kilda’s pier (well the land end at least); the Crown Casino (open 24hours, 365 days a year, floors of pokies and card table – common cause of family tzurus and in particular a current court case in the Melbourne Jewish community of a man who embezzled much clients money whilst telling his wife he was at work where the phone lines weren’t working); Southgate (no not a north London suburb but rather a snazzy newly built urban promenade on the bank of the Yarra river ); the Victoria Art Museum complex (is that the Eiffel tower on your roof or are you just happy to see me?) Flinders St station (meet you under the clocks) and then finally home via Chapel St – popular local shopping and entertainment area often to be classified as FOJ (full of Jews). A nice day all round with the added bonus of a demonstration of Melbourne’s weather being four seasons in one day. As they say, in Melbourne if you want to see what the weather is like – wait a minute!

Anyway… so what’s next? Well what do you know - Shabbat again, and this time round to my friend Rochelle Harding (nee Goldberg) parents’ house for Lunch.

What has been very interesting for me here in Melbourne has been meeting and hearing about my friends families because the community is so different from England. Whereas 3 out of 4 of my grandparents were born in England, most of my friends parents weren’t even born in Australia. Hearing about Hungarian and Polish rivalries (we’re peasants a proud!), European accents, stories of kindertransport and relative reunions years later on, successful businessmen today who only learnt English aged 17 - all these are stories of past generations for me but they are very much present here as the community is essentially a post-war community. I felt like an assimilated Jew when Adina’s mother tried to explain to me the food she was making for breakfast and I don’t know any of the Yiddush terms. What was even more interesting I think is the affect of this generation difference has on the most random things. For example everyone was telling me how big Melbourne was but I couldn’t get it and then I realized why - I wasn’t used to the Jewish suburbs/ghetto being so near the city centre. Then I realized that the Jews just haven’t had chance to move out to the outer suburbs yet ala along the tube lines in London or out towards Whitefield or Cheadle in Manchester.

I think the difference in generation and the space available really made the difference between here and the Jewish communities I know. It really strikes you when visiting Caulfield and East St Kilda - the Melbourne Jewish Ghetto - just how beautiful and un-ghetto like the streets and houses look.(PPA in Golders Green is a slum compared) Personally I was gob smacked, coming from London and Israel, both places of cramped housing. Walking around the area I found the whole atmosphere far too relaxed to be all-Jewish! Houses that would look quite at home in Herzilya or Hampstead seem relatively commonplace here. I couldn’t get over how many public buildings and James Bond hideouts one street could have! A bit too much for me but if this lifestyle is really affordable can you really blame the community for getting comfortable. After the recent suffering that just the last generations have been through its pretty clear that they plan to stay here for a while. Lets hope that the Melbourne community can maintain its vibrancy and diversity to support this stay. Funnily enough the Melbourne community is still very Zionistic and I saw many more kippot srugot than expected but as my friend and social commentator Jane Jacobs said, these people are arm chair Zionists sitting very firmly in their armchairs. But again I find it hard to blame them

Sunday was an easy day. Moved over to Becky’s flat (a really nice place in East St Kilda) and then shopping and comedy – a winning combination by me! The former was done in Chatstone (puts Brent Cross to shame in prices and size) and Queen Victoria Market (tacky souvenirs and cheap clothes) The latter was the Crème of Irish – 3 Irish comedians, pretty funny (I liked the line about 10 green bottles – perhaps by the time you get to the 5th green bottle accidentally falling you might begin to suspect foul play) although their level didn’t seem so far off from what I can do (on a good night!) so that got me thinking again…. Not sure what about but thinking all the same!

On Monday I took a trip to the Great Ocean Road. This is a must for a visitor to Melbourne / Victoria in anyone’s books. It’s a grand scenic route running along the Victoria coastline, which was built between 1916 and 1932 in memory of WWI martyrs by WWI veterans, literally with pick and shovel. The aim was to create work for those returning from war as well as to be a memorial. It is a very beautiful route that you can take several days going down, staying overnight at any of the resorts on the way. This wasn’t happening for me so I decided to day trip it instead. I was warned about doing this in one day as it is basically a 5 hour drive one way to get to the major sites making it a 13/14 hour day trip all in but following Yomtov and Shabbat this didn’t faze me, especially as I didn’t have to drive. The weather was great and I enjoyed all our stops on the way at various points of interest. I also enjoyed discovering Victoria’s Gold 104, cheesy 60s to 80s hits all the way – fantastic - just what you need for a good road trip!

Our first stop was to spot wild Eastern gray kangaroos roaming freely on Anglesey golf course. I found the phenomenon of golfers (not traditionally a particularly tolerant and inclusive breed) willing to put up with kangaroos actually more amazing than the animals themselves. Next stop Lorne a local fishing spot and popular resort, followed by “Teddy’s look out” to do exactly that (the lookout point is so-called because the area used to be populated by many koalas however since a bush fire, I think in 1983 known as Ash Wednesday although I could have my dates confused, they are no longer – no habitat no koalas said Fred). Anyway at this point I was still in mode of nothing compares to New Zealand but this view was still quite stunning and it was here that knowing that I hadn’t seen coast lines and windy roads like this in New Zealand I realized that it actually reminded me of Chapman’s Peak Drive in Capetown which is not an uncomplimentary comparison. Our stop for lunch (explaining matza sandwiches to “Wade” our actually Kiwi part Maori driver was made slightly easier by the fact he’d spent 8 months in Israel and loved it) was preceded by a drive up through a Eucalyptus forest to spot koalas. Did u know that koalas sleep 19 hours a day and can only feed of 2 out of 800 species of eucalyptus? Well now you do… Did you also know that Mother Nature is Queen camouflage hence finding koalas in Eucalyptus trees makes “Where’s wally/waldo?”,(delete as appropriate for cultural accuracy) a breeze? Post lunch onto a drop off stop at Apollo Bay, then to do a short rainforest walk (15mins, huge trees, pretty cool – the whole coast line used to be rainforests until the white man came and yelled the first immortal “timber!” last century) and finally we headed on for the true highlights of the trip – sets of great rock formations, one the site of a famous shipwreck whose name totally escapes me and the other the 12 apostles – huge rock like cliffs standing independently on the shores of the ocean (cant quite count 12 but impressive all the same).

Next day’s trip was less about natural phenomenon and more about man’s (yes I do mean man – I shall always refer to the white MAN when talking about ruining countries!) reaction to one. In Sovereign Hill, Ballarat about an hour and a half outside Melbourne there is a mock mining town on the site of what was a real mining town during the Gold Rush, which began in 1851. (Well technically Ballarat McDOnalds is on the site of the original mine but we’ll ignore that for the romantics amongst you) On the way, almost by accident we passed Ballarat shul which was consecrated in 1860. It kind of makes sense that out of the people that flocked in to make a quick cent out of the gold rush that there would be a fair number of Jews. (The museum at Sovereign Hill actually gave a breakdown of nationalities of immigrants at the time, the majority coming from the British Isles. An interesting indication of the long distances involved was given by the numbers whose nationality was counted as “born at sea”!)

Sovereign hill is a great place to take kids – as there are oads of activities all within the set up of a mock township. I was there with Ilana, Ahron and Ilana’s nine year old brother Ezra who enjoyed the mine tour (with real water and ladders) and dressing up as a soldier on parade. A lot of effort has been made to give the feel of the place – all staff were dressed in period dress which put my Tower of David Queen Miriam to shame.

I enjoyed a candle-making demonstration, which was the unlikely setting for my first discussion related to the indigenous Aboriginal people which had an even more unlikely segway. The guide (in shopkeeper dress) was explaining how candles were made – the differences between those made from tallow (which is animal based) and paraffin. He pointed out how many rather dangerous ingredients have been in candles over the years including arsenic and lead oxide and that how candles, soap and chocolate actually had quite similar components (living as I was on pesach food I was familiar with that concept). Somebody made a comment about the candle factory being next to the funeral parlour and the guide in character gave a kind of joking throwaway line about when they ran out of tallow (which is made out of animal fat) that was always an option. There was a bit of a hush in the rom and the guide coming to the end of his official speech went on to tell an anecdote about how he made that comment before in the presence of some German tourists who had pointed out that that what was done by the Nazis in WWII and meanwhile at the back there was a Jewish couple (by description obviously Haredi) and that how they had not looked very comfortable at this exchange. This line of discussion somehow lead the guide to talk about information that wasn’t mentioned around the museum. Apparently at the time of the Gold Rush there was a 40th regiment of the army notorious for getting rid of “unwanted” peoples. They played a key role in aborigine massacres and were shipped abroad to help fight others such as the Maori in New Zealand and so on. In the model township they have soldiers in this uniform parade and the guide said that not surprisingly they don’t bring up this rather unsightly part of their history as its not seen to be part of the history of the gold mine but how he felt very conscious of it while wearing the costume in front of Aboriginal visitors.

Just recently the museum have introduced an Aborigine educator to start kids programs but up until now no Aborigine history was mentioned at Sovereign Hill at all. One thing they had learnt already from this educator was that some of the local names did not mean what they had thought. For example near by Wynderee was thought to mean “Near by water” because it was near a lake. In fact it would transpire to mean “Go Away” which was what the Aborigines were trying to say to the European invaders.

Interesting where candles for the gold mine can lead you hey?

Wednesday, brought last day Yomtov for me, and a chance to catch up with friend and former boss Jo Friedman, hubby Andye and kids. Now taking out Yomtov Israeli style is a little difficult because you can’t actually eat chametz or at least not what you’ve sold or any bread. This did not prevent me from using my time well however. One thing I had been recommended to do while visiting Melbourne was to go to the Gold Class cinema. This a cinema which seats maximum 20 people and everyone gets an easy Joe armchair (or whatever they’re called). In addition to this sheer luxury you can order food or drink from the bar and have it served to you at different times of the film so for example – I’ll have an orange juice after half an hour, M&Ms after an hour and a coffee after 2 hours. Total unadulterated pampering but hey I’m worth it! The film I chose to see was “A Beautiful Mind” which I did enjoy even though I understood the criticisms it received. What I particularly was impressed with – spoiler coming now – skip to next paragraph if necessary – was how they portrayed the voices he heard. It was very clear that these never go away but somehow (inadequately portrayed by the film admittedly) one can over come and choose not to bend to their powers. I found this very powerful as I think we all have our demons, temptations, weaknesses we just have a choice whether to surrender to them or one day at a time seek the strength to overcome.

My last trip in Melbourne, on Thursday was one I wanted to do but even I didn’t I would really have had little choice. Philip Island is famous for its penguin parade where you can watch the penguins come out of the sea and waddle into shore to rest for the night. For those of you who don’t know, my sister Debbie has a huge penguin fetish (no I have NO idea why) so basically I went on a great penguin pilgrimage in her name! The parade only happens 6:45ish in the evening (thank goodness the clocks went back otherwise would have been there even later!) so the trip, leaving Melbourne at 12:00 stopped off on several places on the way. These included some kind of Wildlife Wonderland, which was so tacky although we did get to see a wombat (called Forest Grunt) and feed more kangaroos. It was set out very gloomily with peepholes to look at the wombats in every point when they weren’t being put in a yard next to roosters!. There was a sign saying that they don’t breed well in captivity. Not bloody surprising with people peering in all the time (they’re nocturnal animals) and roosters next door. To be fair the Center do good work as they take orphans whose mothers are killed by cars and release them back to the wild when they’re big enough to cope but the place was grim. Maybe it was the giant worm collection that put me off or the pickled white shark (Damien Hirst eat your sheep’s heart out) but I’m just finding that tourist stops here are just that bit more common than New Zealand’s were. Am I biased or a snob or both? Don’t know but Aileen who I’d got chatting to on the bus (from New Forest – manages properties for Jewish retirees in Bournemouth and actually likes them) agreed. I think it was the wonderful car signs they were selling that really raised the tone (“go bra-less and get rid of your wrinkles” was a particular favourite). Also went to a koala sanctuary where they were slightly easier to spot but still no chance to hold one.

As your mother often said when in the car – look outside and be observant. Well it’s definitely worth doing that in Australia as they have some hysterical road signs that you don’t want to miss. Here are three of my current favourites.

1) “Wrong Way – Go Back”.
Slightly paternalistic, even more banale, this seems to be found positioned facing traffic coming in the opposite direction. Surely you could stretch the argument and have that on every road???

2) “Caution Cemetery Ahead”
Coloured the same as the “caution koalas” or “caution kangaroos” signs one wonders what they expect – cadavers ala Michael Jackson Thriller walking across the highway?

3) Keep Out – You may step on a penguin
Cute and to the point but I just liked the imagery!

Well back to penguins and final stop before the penguin parade was at the Nobbies. Yes I know only the Australians could have a place named the Nobbies but this was actually one of the most impressive sites I’ve seen so far. You’ve seen the opening scene to Grease – Olivia Newton John saying goodbye to John Travolta with “Love is a many splendoured thing” playing. Well the waves crashing against these huge rocks, which is what the Nobbies are, were just outstanding. The sea was just white foam for ages and the water showered up so high every time the waves crashed down. Also as you’re not allowed to take photos at the parade, this was our chance to see if we could catch a shot of penguins already inland. At this time of year the penguins eat a tonne so they can come in land for 17 days to shed their feathers. We managed to sport several just going into their holes to moult. Those we didn’t spot gave themselves away through rather big grepses for such small creatures.

I think watching the penguins come in during the parade was the nearest I’d come to cheering on a marathon. As the sun is setting one penguin will emerge from the shore as a kind of scout comes out (theme of Exodus would be a good soundtrack for this) and then about 10 mins later a whole troop of penguins suddenly swim in. (Not sure if it’s a troop or a school of penguins. Somebody suggested a packet perhaps?). Once they’re on the shore they waddle along all going in their own way and own speed branching off to their own places for the night. We waited for a second group and then we walked up with them (behind rails of course) By the end you’re accompanying maybe a group of 4-5 as the others have gone their own way and you feel you want to cheer them on. I was already with the orange quarters and the Mars foil capes for the end! It was all extra cute because these penguins were a certain type of penguin called the little penguin… for a reason! Barely a foot tall I was almost tempted to take one!

My last proper day in Melbourne was spent doing odds and ends in town, sorting out forward travel and trps. Was quite proud of myself as I finally worked out how to pay for the trams and make my way into town. (Everybody says its easy because Melbourne is like New York, its on a grid. Well that’s all fine and dandy but New York has NUMBERED streets, duh!) I got my photos back from New Zealand, which are great but really made me appreciate the importance of writing down things as they happen as my memories become so dependent on pictures. There’s always the occasion where you couldn’t take a camera or sometime the picture just doesn’t capture it all. This was a good lesson to realize during my trip.

Coming from Israel I am used to ex-pat memorabilia and one thing I’ve noticed is that the persons birthplace is often well represented in the art they display. If one is from Wellington you may have a watercolour of the harbour and bay. If you are from Capetown you will definitely have a picture (one at least!) of Table Mountain. But if you are from Melbourne if you have anything you will probably have a large framed painting of the most sacred landmark from your hometown… the MCG! (Melbourne Cricket Ground, where ironically they play most of the Aussie rules football - Melbourne is the heart of Aussie Rules at the sport started here in the 1850’s.)

As my last tourist spot I had a toss up between the MCG and the Immigration museum. Not quite sure how it reflects on me but I went for the MCG. Of course somebody somewhere didn’t want me to go because as I got there at 2:30 I found that the 3:00 tour (that’s what’s worth going to) had been cancelled due of the game that evening. I went into the Olympic museum and the Cricket Hall of Fame but it just wasn’t the same. Sorry Dad, I tried… I even went to the Aussie rules exhibit but it gave no explanation as to why they wear such funny looking vest tops and tight shorts to play in….

This leads me to Shabbat where I finally spent some quality time with Becky who also entertained Shabbat lunch. Sat night I went to the cinema and saw Monsters Ball - a real pick me up film – not! This one the academy can keep. And that leads me to today. I’m Vaucluse in Sydney where I’ll be till next Saturday night.

Love again to all of you. Of course I didn’t mention how hearing about the situation has hardly been pleasant not to mention the irony of me calling my parents in Netanya to check they were ok. Thinking about you all as ever and I AM coming back and I think its that fact alone that’s allowing me to have this incredible break

As always
As ever

Welcome to the Beautiful South

For those of you who were wondering what had happened to me, last “seen” stuck in a thermal mud pool, I’ve spent two amazing weeks in New Zealand’s South Island. Now I am in Melbourne and having had meat and some sleep for the first time in 3 weeks I have just about enough energy to regale to you all my adventures. I appreciate that some of you have limited reading time and I realise that my e-mails have expanded rather exponentially akin to Harry Potter novels so I will try to be as brief as possible. Please note however, that that promise may prove to be just lip service as it is a challenge to cut down when I’m visiting such terrific places and meeting interesting people. Plus this time I have to cover two weeks.... Hey, I know, why don't you just print this out and read it at home instead?

Oh well, lets not waste anymore time and get this road on the show.

So as you probably got from my last e-mail New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, have a really good nature complemented by a wickedly dry sense of humour. Personally it took some adjustment to be around such genuinely nice people for long periods of time so it came as a relief to hear that even the Kiwis have their chips and issues.

Firstly, Kiwis hate Aussies, often making jokes suggesting that Australians are not too intelligent. Whether that be true or not, the Aussies lost whatever chance they had of a fair hearing in New Zealand when they bowled an under arm bowl at the end of some crucial test match a few years back thus preventing NZ from winning with a six. This grudge is so ingrained in the Kiwi identity that its even mentioned in their national museum!

Secondly, there is fierce competition between the North and South Island. Basically the general opinion is that if you only visit one you should opt for the South and that there isn't much of worth to see on the North Island. Having visited both I can see why you would go for the South as it is so sensational and breathtaking. That said, I really liked the North. In its own way it more than just a little incredible and I think its a place with amazing surroundings that’s still liveable in - the South doesn't strike me as a place you could live a normal life in unless you were a sheep farmer or a bungy instructor (or a sheep bungy instructor.. interesting!) Anyway, I think one of the drivers summed it up well (obviously he was a North Islander) when he said that the South is astounding because of its stark differences - lots of giant mountains, glaciers and amazing lakes but the North has much more variety in a smaller area - large lakes, alpine areas, desert terrains, thermal areas plus rolling pastures. Whatever, like most regional grievances rational arguments hold little weight so I would just suggest that you come and visit both and decide for yourself and please don’t attempt to convince any of the locals to change their minds.

Finally, all Kiwis (North or South) hate Aucklanders. Auckland is not the capital but it is the city with the largest population and the nearest you’re going to get to an international city. Aucklanders are nicknamed JAFAs which apparently are some kind of food but as one driver explained its also an acronym for Just Another F^&%ing Aucklander! Kiwis living out of Auckland don’t get on with these big city people more or less for the same reason as any city people and country people don’t get on, for example many are disgruntled as petrol prices were recently raised nationally by 5c to fund road building in Auckland which has notoriously bad transport systems. Many of our guides were Aucklanders who’d moved on desperately trying to forge new identities and loyalties in other parts of the country so one way to get a Kiwi wound up is by making them reveal their true Auckland roots!

Anthropology lessons aside lets get back to ME!

I finished off my visit in the North Island by spending a day in Wellington. IMHO it was slightly reminiscent of San Francisco - coloured houses overlooking a beautiful bay. This comparison seems appropriate as Wellington shares up to 3 major fault lines with the home of the Golden Gate. As a result Wellington experiences a lot of quake activity (quakes happen 95% of the time, obviously mostly harmless) - parts of the city as known today didn't even exist until they were brought up by an earthquake in 1855! This phenomenon plus other unique Kiwi facts are explained and demonstrated very effectively at New Zealand’s national museum Te Papa where I spent a couple of hours before leaving the city. Opened a couple of years ago. Te Papa serves not only as a national monument (its name correctly revealing its politically correct slant) but as one local friend suggested it also serves the dilemma of what to do in Wellington if you only have time to do one thing.

So that and other errands done (internet, supermarket and book exchange) I left Wellington from its “international airport”. Like Hong Kong, the runway in Wellington airport is surrounded by water which limits the kinds of aircraft that can land and take off to a Boeing 737 as the largest. Our plane was a 12 passenger plane which according to others I was travelling with was huge compared to what we could have flown in. I of course loved it and behaved like a child taken into the cockpit. Well we were basically flying in the cockpit as it was a studio flat of passenger planes. The seatbelts were amusingly like the one (!) I had fitted in my VW Beetle and there was less headroom than in my Hyundai Atoz but that just added to the cosy atmosphere! Being at close quarters with the pilot meant all fears of turbulence were a laid as I guess looking up and seeing the pilot chatting - “look no hands!” meant I was worrying over nothing. The view was amazing as we flew into the South Island over the Marlborough Sounds - just the beginning of that whole huge mountain, great lakes thing and before I knew it we had arrived in Picton Airport. Akin to the proportions of our plane Picton airport terminal was literally a garden shed. As we drove into town by bus where we passed Picton corner store which was at least 4 times the size of the airport!

Taking a break from the “Magic Bus” itinerary for a couple of days my next stop was Nelson by regular InterCity bus as it was to be my base for going onto one of New Zealand’s National Parks, the Abel Tasman. (If I said that the Magic Bus drivers were like Galgalaz or Virgin 1215 then just think of InterCity bus drivers as the Radio 2 of bus drivers, need I say more?)

It’s not surprising that the Abel Tasman trek is one of the most popular walks as it is basically an up-to 3 day trek of delicious rainforest overlooking secluded beaches. I chose to do a 2 day option where we kayaked one day up to one of the two beaches which have running drinking water, camped overnight and then walked on further until the water taxi picked me up and returned me to base. Apart from the first 15 minutes of kayaking where every muscle in my upper torso and arms went on unilateral protest at this undue strain it was a totally enjoyable experience as the weather and scenery were awesome plus I had that feeling of virtue of great adventure as well. As we were kayaking our guide and instructor Chris (NB all guides in New Zealand are called Chris) pointed out mountains where the opening scene of Lord of the Rings was set. I asked him if he saw it being filmed and he said no, he just recognised it from the film. I could identify with that coming from famous filming land myself (Fawlty Towers of course - the episode with the broken down car and the restaurant, you know...) Obviously everyone in New Zealand knows their local L.O.R.R. spot which is good as all the tourists are looking for them. What’s amusing is the number of people reading the book as if it was necessary travel reading. So much so that on occasion I almost felt it important to point out that the book wasn’t actually based in New Zealand but I never did as after all why discourage good reading hobbits, sorry habits!

I was actually travelling at this point with Su from the Isle of Man a woman I’d met earlier on in the week who’d asked to join me for the trek. This went to prove that you don’t necessarily stay life long friends with everyone you meet on your travels. All was bearable until she woke me up during the night saying she thought she’d heard a possum eating her food outside and that she was scared so should she go out? I assured her that I had food to share and that maybe if she was scared she shouldn’t go outside, advice that she promptly ignored choosing instead to go out and shine a bright torch on an animal that can actually be dangerous and then come back in and moan the rest of the night. Fortunately by the morning her possum encounter had tired her so much that she preferred to stick around and have the water taxi pick her and our stuff up from the beach where we had camped. This left me to do the walk by myself, a much calming experience. I was rerouted in my path as by the time I left the tide was too high for me to take the quicker low tide route but the high tide route from Anchorage beach to Torrent Bay is not quite as frustrating as an A41 detour or the back road via Ein Kerem and I just gloried in the stunning silver beeches overlooking the sea as I strolled through.

It seems appropriate at this juncture to mention how New Zealand is known as the Land of the Floating Cloud. The reason behind this seemingly derogatory nickname became clear during my Abel Tasman trip . Unlike many countries where clouds are just dull things in the sky that more than often signal bad weather, in New Zealand they rule. A cloud can change the lighting, the plethora of colours, the whole dimensions of a place. Sitting on the beach waiting for sunset, with one majestic move the whole mood of the beach changes from daylight to golden glow, the hills reflect different hues of greens and blues. The clouds are so large and majestic, it is clear that the name was given out of a deep knowledge and appreciation of the country.

Finishing my Abel Tasman trip on Friday afternoon this meant that I had to stayed in Nelson for Shabbat before moving on. Not a bad little town it was still not the most riveting of weekends. I stayed in the YHA which whilst perfectly clean, functional and well located, it lacked slightly in personality as did most of its residents - the Youth in YHA is often ironic. I coped by visiting the craft market and the town’s four bookshops (respect!) during the day (safest time to visit when you can’t spend money) as well as the local cathedral which had a roped off section marking where Queen Elizabeth sat 50 years ago indicating the frequency of celebrity visits to these parts. The cathedral also had an amusing saga about its building plans which reminded me somewhat of the great Kenton shul extension fiasco, pardon, plans of 1986 so I guess there was a Shabbat connection there somewhere.

Sunday morning I eagerly got up early to leave to get back to Picton where I would be picking up the trans-coastal train to Christchurch. I ended up hanging about in Picton, a kind of a Bournemouth resort but without the pier, for a while. an hour of internet plus a walk out to a harbour view later I was more than itchy to meet up with interesting people again. I was beginning to worry that my earlier stint had just been beginners luck. Knowing that this was not something I could really control I found myself just praying for anything to lift the boredom.

G-d bless, the Lord does listen occasionally. Upon boarding the train within 10 minutes I met up with someone who was to be on my Magic bus the next morning - “Quality” Kevin from Catford who was joined at the next stop by “Class” Mick from just outside Belfast. Kevin and Mick proved to be two really good blokes to whom I chatted to for the whole of the 6 hour journey (347km in 6 hours makes Railtrak look supersonic). It was a beautiful train ride passing through Kaikoura “the” place to swim with dolphins, whales, sharks and other swimming pool hogs and onto Christchurch. By the time we arrived, noting the brick houses, non existent in the more quake prone areas of the North it seemed that the description of Christchurch as the most English of towns outside England was not necessarily complimentary. More importantly by this time we’d realised that tonight was St Patrick's Day and that Mick being obviously Irish and Kevin whose parents were Irish had some celebrating to do. Well we taxied to our hostels together and arranged to meet later at “The Bog“ pub. By that time Kevin and Mick had been joined by Ruth from County Cork and it was fair to say that if my Purim celebrations were a little toned down this year I made up for it with St Paddy's day. Wherever we were it was clear that everyone and everything was Irish for the night. We heard two different live bands, I learnt how to jig and even saw 2 of the England cricket team (Butcher and Flintoff I do believe) tanked up following their success (finally!) against New Zealand. (There were also plenty of fans - England’s “barmy army“ hanging around too.) A good time was definitely had by all....

Next morning we met up with the new Magic gang (Jo who worked on the Whitsunday Islands in Oz but knew about boats from home in South England - rather Howard's Way like; Dianne, 30+ from Manhattan who’d just got in from Asia via Melbourne and was v West side in the nicest way; Justin, from Devon who I’d already met up North on a holiday after working in Oz who managed to describe anything and everything bungy and hostels alike as “it was ok”; Olly and Vicky “just friends, just out of uni and touring the world; Roz, 50+ finally touring the world leaving her kids at him; Richard and Linda from Sweden and so on) and headed down to Mount Cook and glacier country. As we drove through the initial flat lands of the Canterbury plains the weather was a bit grim but slowly got better. (this kind of matched Mick and Kevin’s hangovers as they had stayed out all night after walking myself and Ruth home at about 1:30.) The landscape soon became hilly and alpine-like until we could see snow capped mountains. Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki displayed a stunning aqua blue colour, the result of glacier silts apparently. Whatever, the view was stunning - real chocolate box cheesy. One of the outposts we were brought to was the Church of the Last Shepherd, a small chapel about the size of a small rural airport terminal. This was set up so that the front of the church had a big window over looking this stunning view in place of an ark (excuse the comparison - lehavdil) . All I can say is that I can’t imagine anyone having problems getting some kind of kavanah together there. By the way this would be a good point to warn you to be careful when guidebooks tell you that something is really isolated. Even if it looks so in the picture it just means the picture was taken when the last tourist bus had driven off. Trust me if its in a guidebook, it aint going to be too isolated!

Our new driver proved himself to be quite amusing as he told us about the various animals that have been introduced to the New Zealand countryside and then have had to been eradicated due to environmental problems over the years (The British and other European busybodies proving themselves to be the ultimate pests) As well as the polystyrene sheep (what do you mean no, did you ever see them move?) he also pointed out the two kinds of possum - the garden variety, brown and found in the fields etc and the other that was brown, red and flat and could be found on the roads....

Arriving at the Mt Cook resort we couldn’t do any of the glacier boat activities as they were all booked up due to earlier tours postponed because of that morning’s bad weather. However we were able to take walks at the bottom and gaze up at New Zealand’s tallest mountain (slightly shorter since losing 10 m in the early nineties) in all its glory. We were very lucky as it has been known to be under cloud for up to 5 weeks at a time and for us it was totally lucid and clear of cloud. The Mt Cook settlement is only small, made up of researcher housing and a couple of hotel-like places (we stayed in chalets belonging to one of the hotels) so there was absolutely no light pollution. This meant that that night we were treated to the starriest night I’ve ever seen - milky ways, galaxies, dairy milk, the lot - really fantastic!

[OK I have a confession. Every time history to do with Captain Cook is mentioned I get confused with Captain Hook. I reiterate. Please do not rely on my e-mails for correct historical fact - use your guide books!]

Back to the story. Well as the saying goes, it’s alway calmest before the storm and that night it was incredibly stormy and we set off for Queenstown amidst a huge down pouring of rain. On the bright side as the sun struggled to peak through we saw many rainbows out the window and yesterday’s lakes were transformed with ripples and waves, providing stunning scenery all the way down to Queenstown.

Now for those of you who don’t know - Queenstown is the self-proclaimed adventure capital of the world. The first bungy ever was set up here by A J Hackett in 1988 and today there are 65 different activities you can do. This according to Chris the driver (remember what I said about Chris’s) would cost you $4500 NZ to do them all and would take you minimum of 9 days (weather conditions providing). I think the hardest part about Queenstown is that in addition to the crazy day activities there is also a hectic nightlife there too. Its totally touristy but in a relatively tasteful way and its bizarre to look down what looks like a regular high street but find adventure shops, internet stops, trendy bars and outdoor adventure clothing outlets instead of chemists and newsagents! All this overlooking a stunning lake and mountains, for a change (am I getting too blase perhaps?)

Bungy not interesting me much... my first adventure was rather low risk - a day trip to the Milford Sound. Actually technically my first adventure in Queenstown was a visit to the Doctor. I’d been feeling a bit dodgy and my glands were up so I thought I’d be sensible. $60 later plus medication it came down to allergies but isn't it amazing how much doctors like to chat when they’re not tied down to NHS regulations or Kupa/HMO quotas!

Back to Milford Sound... Situated in “Fjordland - that's an area not a fun park” Milford Sound is really a fjord it just seems it was named that way to make it easier to pronounce. To clarify, a sound is a drowned river valley, a fjord is a drowned glacier valley. We drove down 5 hours to reach this body of water where we took a cruise where we could stare up at these giant mountains and waterfalls. That said, the ride was awesome in itself. Following a bland Hugh Grant movie which allowed us to catch up on sleep and then good chats with Heather an English girl I’d met on Magic who was one of the most travelled people I’d met (she’d visited Israel before and had a passion for world politics so the “what’s life like?“ questions could be answered with slightly more depth and intelligence) we then reached the point where we were just gazing outside and straining our necks to look up and see everything around us as everything was so enormous. On the way we drove past the beginning of several of amazing 3-4 day tracks which I’ll have to attempt on my next visit, when I have more time. We also stopped off on the Milford Road for various photo opportunities. This road was built by depression workers between 1929-1954 - toll roads now pay for all the maintenance needed due to little things such as tree avalanches and rocks the size of houses rolling onto the road. It rained on the way but that was good news as it just created new, spontaneous waterfalls. The cruise itself was wonderful and serene interrupted only by dolphins showing off outside and a spoilt Israeli teenager having a tantrum inside. The journey back was more sleep and movie focussed allowing sufficient rest before meeting up with the rest of the gang that night. Like we needed an excuse to drink - Mick was moving on due to time restraints so obviously a good send-off was called off.

I guess it was slightly bad timing on my part, if unavoidable, to do my high risk option about 3 hours after getting back from the aforementioned send-off. This option was the Shotover river three - White water rafting, a maniac ride on the Shotover jet ski and a helicopter ride through Skippers Canyon in the middle. At 7:30 in the morning my main challenge was clearly going to coping with the two v loud American women who were in on leave from their military base in Japan than any of the aqua-adventures. Encounters with people like these made me realise that thank G-d, the vast majority of Americans are nowhere near as loud or as obnoxious as we sometimes like to pretend they are. Loud Americans and hangovers aside white water rafting was a fun experience - the rubbery outfits made one identify pretty well with a flattened Michelin man and grade 3 rapids were sufficient to give the beginner experience with a kick. The helicopter ride through the valley was thrilling but not long enough, and the jet ski was an adrenalin rush however unfortunately it was raining which meant we had the added effect of feeling like we had hail stones being thrust in our faces. Mmmm - pleasant! On return to my hostel at 2:30 I was absolutely knackered and was already to shower and change into nice clean clothes when I realised I didn't have any - grrrr! Just as I finished my laundry, my Canadian friends from the North Island popped round (we‘d bumped into each other, the previous evening), one thing led to another and before I knew it was time to go meet people to go up on the gondoliers and watch the sunset over Queenstown.

Oh for the calm routine of the office............. not!

Friday morning and the Queenstown survivors head off to Wanaka, on a 50K road which takes and hour and a half - trust me it was windy. On recommendation I had chosen to stay in Wanaka for Shabbat. Before parting company we visit “Puzzling World” a couple of kilometres out of the town. This was a bizarre activity place (most bizarre by its location I think) dedicated to optical illusion and the like. Between the room on a 15 degree slant and the maze it was probably just all a bit too early in the morning to be fully appreciated! After photos by the bus I said good bye to all and was dropped off at The Purple Cow youth hostel (probably some reference to the Milka cow I suppose). I knew straight away that this had been sound advice (all from the women's magazines real life journalist Anna I’d met in Christchurch, yes those stories do really happen). Wanaka is built round a lake with glacier scenery and the hostel had huge windows from the reception and dining room which meant whatever you were doing you couldn't help but look out on this golden vision. After my hectic week in Queenstown it was just what the doctor ordered. Funnily enough about 10 minutes after I’d checked in Kevin walked in. He said he’d been in the supermarket getting supplies before the next stop and he looked around and asked himself why he was rushing through such a beautiful place. He also confessed to being exhausted from the week’s activities so I was rather relieved to find out that it wasn't just me who felt like an altakakker!

I had meant to a sky dive that afternoon but it was too windy so I postponed it till Sun morning. Meanwhile I took a bike ride on Friday afternoon out to one of the bays where I sat and chilled. On the way I rode past some amazing houses and quite a few building sites. By the extent of activity it would seem that some land had just recently come up for sale. Forget what they tell you in Ramat Bet Shemesh or even Boring Wood. Trust me, this is real prime location. Any noisy neighbours, ehm, the seagulls?

Enough energy exerted, I made my way back to the hostel and concentrated on lazing, sleeping, eating and reading over Shabbat, occasionally chatting to others I met in the hostel. For some reason this hostel had quite a few Israelis and it was here that my Israeli policy crystallized. Israelis in groups of 1 or 2 (3 maybe but you could be pushing it) are on the whole a pleasure to meet and to play landsleit with. More than that and you’re onto a chamoulla who you want to avoid like the plague. My logic is that in small groups they are being genuine thinking travellers who want to get to know the place and people around them. More than that and then they’re oblivious to anyone-else, they haven't really escaped their own world and can be totally rude and obnoxious to anyone who gets in their way. Vast generalization of course but who said this e-mail was objective?

Anyway back to relaxing... I did actually venture out for a walk in the afternoon along the other side of the lake to my bike ride. Here I discovered a very nice hotel which I would recommend to the more senior of you who are probably not up to youth hostels however nice the view!

All this rest and calming karma meant that I was in a great mood Sunday morning to do what I’d been wanting to do all my visit - a tandem skydive. Although I’d wanted to do this in Taupo which was cheaper and higher I was happy to sky dive over Wanaka as it meant I could see the deep blues, golds, browns and greens from the sky and it really sealed my Wanaka experience. Jumping from 9000 feet may sounds terribly heroic but to be honest its all tandem and you are basically just an appendage to someone-else who’s done thousands of these jumps before. I was actually quite surprised as to how unfazed I was. There was another instructor and girl who jumped from the plane before us and before I knew it I was there hanging out the plane goggles down smiling at the camera on the wing in “cool banana” position and ready to jump. The 30 seconds of free fall was a bit heart racing, G-d knows how I was supposed to have breathed through my nose, but once the parachute came out it was just a wicked way to see more of the country.

Of course I couldn’t hear much of the country for the next few hours but that didn't seem to matter. Back on the Magic bus I met up with Kevin and Dianne. Dianne had gone on an overnight to Milford Sound and so was catching up with us now. She wasn't too well but chose to move ahead anyway as it was her birthday the next day and she wanted to be with people she knew. We made our way down to Fox glacier via the Haast pass and a stunning bridge over a deeply stirring valley chocca with dark green foliage and 30 m waterfalls, appropriately named Thunder Creek Falls. On the bus I appreciated my temporary lack of hearing as we had a new driver who did not know of Joseph or our AOR preferences for music preferring to blast rap instead. Last stop was at Lake Matheson for sunset which is the most famous of the mirror lakes, literally lakes that are still and clear enough to accurately reflect everything above them, in this case, guess what -- incredible mountains and foliage!

By the way it’s true that you don’t hear too much about the Maori on the South Island as the original settlements were mostly North Island focussed. However there are all kinds of Maori legends explaining how mountains terrains ended up where - stories of marriages and betrothals and wars betweens mountains which suddenly make all those stories about G-d visiting and talking to all the mountains before choosing Mount Sinai sound quite normal!

Continuing the calm vibe as started in Wanaka our stay over at Fox Glacier was pretty low key. A coffee at a cafe and a drink at the one bar still open after 10. Next morning I left Dianne the birthday girl waiting for her antibiotics to kick in and went on a half-day walk on the glacier. First things first, this is when I learnt that a glacier is in fact a frozen river (yeh I had no idea - though it was a name for a snow capped mountain - duh!). The half day hike up to the glacier meant we got to walk on it using crampons and sticks and told to walk like a man (scratching optional). We could have done a heli hike which took you up to the top or “neve” of the glacier and explore caves and cool things like that but apart from being v expensive and booked out I liked our hike as I felt we got a really good explanation from our guide. Before getting to the glacier we actually walked a steep climb through rainforests which confused me. Apparently Fox Glacier, its neighbour Franz Josef together with some glaciers in Chile are the only glaciers to exist along side rainforests. I’m only a beginner but this doesn't surprise me because its totally wild to have an environment warm enough for a rainforest near such a cold environment as a glacier.

My last night spent in a hostel in New Zealand was spent in Greymouth, the place where we were to catch our train the next day. As it would seem from the guidebook, all of the hostels there are themed - we stayed at Noah’s Ark backpackers where each room is a different animal. We were in the leopard room - grrr. They also have the famous $3 all-you-can-eat BBQ at the local railway hotel. This all sounds nice but it is soon pretty evident that there is a lot of overcompensation going on here. As Dianne said - she would never look at Newark, New Jersey as ugly again. The hotel itself was so grim that we ended up going back and celebrating Dianne’s birthday by watching the Oscars (in normal time!) in the comfort of Noah’s lounge.

Next day (my last day in New Zealand - boo hoo) we hung out in the morning and then caught the Tranzalpine train that afternoon. Unlike the Tranzcoastal it was pretty full as there were lots of old biddies on a daytrip from Christchurch. Dianne and I escaped to the viewing carriage where we met the other two young people on the train - Adam and Rob from Chicago - and proceeded to have a good laugh with them till Christchurch. The view was quite amazing but by this time we were having too much of a good time to do the whole camera thing as we probably should of! Once in town we checked into a hostel (well I just left my luggage) and then went into town. I am yet to see Christchurch during the day but I have now spent two excellent evenings out there so the impression stays good with me. Cutting a long story short rather than stay the night at the airport I left the karaoke bar where we ended up at 3 o’clock and got a cab to the airport.

I was of course exhausted but didn't really realise until security discovered that I’d left my penknife, cutlery knife and nail scissors in my hand luggage and duly confiscated these dangerous items. On finding out that no they could NOT be mailed to me and they would just be incinerated I promptly burst into tears wailing “wasn't it bad enough what those b*&%ards were doing back at home?!” Of course this just made the security guard looked at me wondering what else I might have that wouldn't be safe in my hands while I stood there with that old mother adage “she’s so tired she doesn't know what to do with herself” resonating in my head.

And so thus ended my wonderful trip to New Zealand, otherwise known as Godzone (i.e. God’s own land). Maybe it was just the first real holiday I’d had in 7 years (or at all?) or maybe it really is such a special place - I definitely found it worth the money and the distance. Then again perhaps holidays are all about where you’re coming from as much as where you’re going. I was talking to Dianne who said that so far she’d actually preferred her Asia trip - the negotiating, totally different lifestyle, meeting totally different people and it got me thinking. I am probably closer now to being ready for that kind of break having been away for a few weeks, but I know that at first, coming from Israel it was such a relief to be in a place that things will happen when they’re supposed to, I don’t have to negotiate on everything, I can feel pampered even at a hostel level, and yes the biggest headline is going to be that the Aussies are trying to host the rugby world cup by themselves. Even the people I was meeting, that were predominantly English/ European supposedly from similar backgrounds to me - as someone who led most of my life in predominantly Jewish circles when in the UK and lived in Israel all my adult life they were almost as exotic and unknown to me as a person of any age or nationality could have been. Sad and sheltered perhaps but at least I’m getting a small chance to fix that now.

OK, if you’re still reading now then I really appreciate your patience and hope you’ve enjoyed. Melbourne so far is good although I dare say my next report will be shorter.

Wishing you all a very happy rest of Pesach

As always