Amazingly I am typing this short extract from underneath a mosquito net. Yes, in India I made the painful discovery that I am definitely allergic to mosquitoes. As I have never been allergic to anything before in my life, I was very surprised however it could not be denied when my whole forearm decided to swell up from one bite. Luckily for me India is an amazing country and has been able to take my mind off the agonising pain!
Our first stop was Amritsar where we discovered alcohol in India was free flowing and there were actually bars. Whilst others went to the Golden Temple and were being all cultured I went back to my Welsh roots and propped the bar up with my favourite Irish squaddie (he was much better at it than me, as after a couple of beers I had to have an afternoon nap)! And, that was pretty much Amritsar, sorry!
The following day we encountered a long drive to Delhi where I discovered Indian food is actually amazing. I have now turned vegetarian in a desperate attempt to avoid ‘Delhi Belly’, an illness which has struck many of our group down, India supplies vegetarian food in vast amounts and the curry is amazing (much better than anything you will get in your local Indian and at half the price). We ate and we drank, safe in the knowledge we would be returning to Delhi in a couple of days and could see the place then. Oh and England lost the rugby, what a pity!
We ended up seeing Delhi a lot sooner than we thought as the following morning we were dropped near the Red Fort, India’s largest mosque and the bazaar. We went and saw all of these things (see, I can be cultured when I need to be) and made up our own history for them instead of paying for a guide (to be honest we have heard so much history, all the stories are pretty much the same so I don’t think we did a bad job although deciding the ‘stream of paradise’ was a bowling alley may have been taking things a bit far). At the mosque I was given an attractive blanket to wear over my skirt and watched as local people and some stupid non-local people drank holy water from a big pond which the pigeons had just been pooing in, and they wonder why they get sick! The mosque was amazingly beautiful and very inviting.
We left Delhi to head to the Corbett Tiger Reserve where I had high hopes of seeing a real life tiger. We found the reserve, were warned monkeys were likely to come in our tents and maul us, shrugged this warning off with Ozbus spirit and congregated around the campfire before another great India meal was served. The next morning we were up bright and early ready for our safaris where we saw…spotted deer and black faced monkeys. NO TIGERS! That afternoon we sunbathed and lounged for the first time in six weeks and as the sun began to set we set out on an elephant safari where again we saw, spotted deer and black faced monkeys! Our elephant, Helena was gorgeous and safely delivered us back in time for another amazing Indian meal.
The following day we returned to Delhi where we found a bar (for a change). I think if you make alcohol inaccessible to Western people for a certain amount of time (i.e. Iran and Pakistan) then it is inevitable they will find bars the most attractive option when they get to a city which has them! On our way to the bar we decided to squeeze four people into a tuk-tuk (small automobile powered by a lawnmower engine) and our South African traveller decided to try and strike up a conversation with the driver. On realising he said ‘yes’ to everything she promptly told him that and then asked him if his mother was a man. Strange question but more strange was his answer, ‘yes’.
Luckily a cultured day was planned for the next day in India with a visit to the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately this day was marred not by the hangovers, but by the announcement from my favourite Irish squaddie that he was to leave the group for a few days to ‘have some space’. Goodbyes were said, not from me, I do not believe in saying goodbye unless you do not plan on seeing someone again, tears were shed and then the announcement that we will not be going across the friendship highway to China and Laos was made. I think after this we could all have ‘done a Diana’ at the Taj Mahal but again the Ozbus spirit came out and we enjoyed the day as best we can.
As for the Taj Mahal itself, it is amazing. There is little else to say.
We moved on from the Taj Mahal to Varanasi, the home of the Hindu faith. Hear we were awoken at 4am to see the sunrise and funerals along the Ganges. We took a boat ride and our guide took us to the area where cremations are performed which is right on the riverbed. As we watched the burning a body was brought down, covered in bright cloth and was laid by the edge of the river. This body was not to be cremated. Monks, children under the age of five and cobra bite victims are classed as more holy and are their bodies therefore have stones tied to them and are taken to the middle of the river and thrown in. The Ganges is an extremely religious place for Hindus. They wash their sins away each morning in the river, they each have a vile of river water which they keep with them, for they are to drink this with their dying breath to ensure entry into heaven. Their ashes are scattered in the river. To watch so many people wash away their sins in water that is so dirty is crazy, but this is their belief.
Afterwards we made our way back to the hotel, had a bit of a sleep, a play on the internet and a lovely afternoon by the pool with a beer. In the evening we went back to the river to see more ceremonies being performed where people swing fire around, and drop bits of the flame into the water. We were hassled by boat owners asking us to come and watch more cremations (apparently they would be much better burning bodies than the ones we saw that morning), were blessed by god with a red spot being put on our foreheads and were harassed by the cutest little girl who wanted us to buy some face paint from her (I gave her 10 rupees but she still wanted me to buy the bloody facepaint!).
India has been an am amazing country. The food, which I will say, I was a little afraid of before coming here, has been the best so far. I have loved every meal. I would recommend India to anyone I knew. It is so far removed from the life I know and so interesting to see the way people live. The people here are Hindu and have respect for everyone and everything and that is obvious when you are here. I understand now, why people come here and feel the need to help this country. I have left out of my ramblings all mention of the beggar children I have seen, the way they cling to your leg desperate for money because I do not want to taint the view of India. This is a poor country but an amazing one too. The only thing I would change about this visit was that my favourite Irish squaddie had not left and I pray that he is returned safely to us by the time I write my next instalment.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Saturday, 27 October 2007
To all commentors
FYI - A number of people who are on the Ozbus are writing blogs, like this one, and we are receving comments with a number of questions. Unfortunately we cannot reply directly to you unless you open your profile. I would be more than happy to answer any questions directly.
Pakistan
Upon leaving Iran we were warned of an eighteen hour drive across rebel desert territory where our bus would not stop. We arrived at the Iran/Pakistan border ready to take up this challenge and prepared for the worst. We exchanged our Iranian bus for 2 Toyota buses and split the group. I was in the cool bus where old Irish songs, rugby songs and silly games were the order of the day. The journey was going great right up until we were half an hour from our destination. A police car pulled alongside our bus, distracted our driver and our bus started to veer towards the left of the road. The next thing we knew, the bus was falling down a ditch and ended up hanging at an angle. My favourite Irish squaddie took control of the situation and turned the engine off, climbed out of the window and began attaching ropes to the bus to secure us. Then the other bus (who hadn’t noticed our accident) arrived at the scene and my favourite Australian squaddie jumped out and helped the Irish squaddie out. Before we knew it the bus was secured and we were climbing out of the windows (not before I attempted to save the rugby ball – I don’t know what I was thinking). The squaddies (with the help of some locals and others) got the bus back on the road, in my head they pulled it back up onto the road with their bare hands and that is the way I will leave it in your imaginations too. I would also like to think these guys saved my and my fellow travellers lives, I know I am exaggerating the crash but it sounds better like that! Anyway, thanks to the squaddies we were back on the road and arrived in Pakistan safely with no serious injuries!
I have no idea what I thought Pakistan was going to be like. It was not a country I listed in my memorised itinerary when people asked me where I was going so I can only guess I wasn’t at all fazed by it.
My image of Pakistan is of girls from home, from Pakistani families being brought back here to be married off in an arranged marriage. In one way this image is correct. Arranged marriages are the norm however, to only see this side of Pakistan would be wrong. Our guide Khalid, the best guide we have had so far on this journey, would answer any of our questions and told us of his own family. He married his wife when he was thirty and she was twenty three. Neither saw each other until the wedding day out of choice and their union was in no way forced. Eight years on they have four children and he is now considering a vasectomy (something I did not think would ever enter the mind of an Pakistani man). Khalid has two unmarried sisters and there is no pressure on them to get married. The image I had of girls being forced into marriage at a young age is clearly wrong, the average age for girls to marry is twenty three.
This is a very poor country and it is obvious everywhere you go. When walking along the streets you are asked for money constantly, in the first place we visited, Quetta, we saw children picking through large areas of rubbish to try and forage for food. People here are so poor their mode of transport is normally a camel or donkey. Five people fit on one motorbike and mothers carry small babies (as young as six months) with them on the bikes.
Western people are a massive novelty here, especially women. In both Quetta and our second stop, Sukkur, we immediately drew a crowd of people. The crowd grows to around 100 people and men begin to grope the women if they feel the crowd has grown big enough they will not be seen. The strange thing about the groping is that it is not aggressive, not like being in a crowded pub at home where drunken men attempt to surreptitiously grab a feel, these men are curious and think Western women will not mind. That’s not to say that they got away with it, a few of the men got some pretty hard slaps!
Our third stop was Multan, which is the oldest surviving town in the world along with Damascus. While here we visited a shrine and were amazed by the positive reception we again were greeted with. In the areas around the shrine people would stop wanting to talk to us, to shake our hands and take our pictures. An older women came over to one of the beautiful Australians in our group and gave her a ring as a gift, as she has a beautiful smile. The hospitality of these people is amazing and puts many Westerners to shame.
Inside the shrine, we saw people praying openly and those who were deep in thought. The shrine itself was very crowded and amazingly, the men seemed to think it was again ok to grope the western women! I think it is something we will just have to get used to.
Our final stop was Lahore. This city was the biggest surprise of all. Just as we had got used to crowds of people gathering to see us and being groped left right and centre, it all stopped. These people are used to seeing Westerners, as business people come here often and we were largely treated just as one of the crowd. We saw the changing of the guards which is a big ceremony with Pakistan and India competing to put on the best show, wandered around the bazaar, ate wonderful food and went to a drumming ceremony. The drumming ceremony was a surprise to say the least, this is clearly how Pakistani men spend their Friday night. In Pakistan alcohol is illegal unless you have a permit, so Friday night here is spent smoking marijuana, which is freely handed around and listening to drums. Not my thing, but interesting all the same (many of our group did partake in the marijuana smoking but I steered clear of the stuff).
Although alcohol is illegal here, being Westerners we are allowed to drink and out guide managed to obtain some for us so, finally we have alcohol again (with Iran being a dry country we were all dying for a drink). The Irish contingency have been given life back with my favourite Irish squaddie staying up for about 3 days straight drinking whisky and talking shite. Ahh well, he deserves it after saving us from our earlier crash!
Would I recommend Pakistan? Yes! If you want to experience a different culture and somewhere not touristy, this is the place to come. This is not a strict Muslim country as it is often potrayed and the people here are friendly, welcoming and curious about Westerners mainly because they never see any!
I have no idea what I thought Pakistan was going to be like. It was not a country I listed in my memorised itinerary when people asked me where I was going so I can only guess I wasn’t at all fazed by it.
My image of Pakistan is of girls from home, from Pakistani families being brought back here to be married off in an arranged marriage. In one way this image is correct. Arranged marriages are the norm however, to only see this side of Pakistan would be wrong. Our guide Khalid, the best guide we have had so far on this journey, would answer any of our questions and told us of his own family. He married his wife when he was thirty and she was twenty three. Neither saw each other until the wedding day out of choice and their union was in no way forced. Eight years on they have four children and he is now considering a vasectomy (something I did not think would ever enter the mind of an Pakistani man). Khalid has two unmarried sisters and there is no pressure on them to get married. The image I had of girls being forced into marriage at a young age is clearly wrong, the average age for girls to marry is twenty three.
This is a very poor country and it is obvious everywhere you go. When walking along the streets you are asked for money constantly, in the first place we visited, Quetta, we saw children picking through large areas of rubbish to try and forage for food. People here are so poor their mode of transport is normally a camel or donkey. Five people fit on one motorbike and mothers carry small babies (as young as six months) with them on the bikes.
Western people are a massive novelty here, especially women. In both Quetta and our second stop, Sukkur, we immediately drew a crowd of people. The crowd grows to around 100 people and men begin to grope the women if they feel the crowd has grown big enough they will not be seen. The strange thing about the groping is that it is not aggressive, not like being in a crowded pub at home where drunken men attempt to surreptitiously grab a feel, these men are curious and think Western women will not mind. That’s not to say that they got away with it, a few of the men got some pretty hard slaps!
Our third stop was Multan, which is the oldest surviving town in the world along with Damascus. While here we visited a shrine and were amazed by the positive reception we again were greeted with. In the areas around the shrine people would stop wanting to talk to us, to shake our hands and take our pictures. An older women came over to one of the beautiful Australians in our group and gave her a ring as a gift, as she has a beautiful smile. The hospitality of these people is amazing and puts many Westerners to shame.
Inside the shrine, we saw people praying openly and those who were deep in thought. The shrine itself was very crowded and amazingly, the men seemed to think it was again ok to grope the western women! I think it is something we will just have to get used to.
Our final stop was Lahore. This city was the biggest surprise of all. Just as we had got used to crowds of people gathering to see us and being groped left right and centre, it all stopped. These people are used to seeing Westerners, as business people come here often and we were largely treated just as one of the crowd. We saw the changing of the guards which is a big ceremony with Pakistan and India competing to put on the best show, wandered around the bazaar, ate wonderful food and went to a drumming ceremony. The drumming ceremony was a surprise to say the least, this is clearly how Pakistani men spend their Friday night. In Pakistan alcohol is illegal unless you have a permit, so Friday night here is spent smoking marijuana, which is freely handed around and listening to drums. Not my thing, but interesting all the same (many of our group did partake in the marijuana smoking but I steered clear of the stuff).
Although alcohol is illegal here, being Westerners we are allowed to drink and out guide managed to obtain some for us so, finally we have alcohol again (with Iran being a dry country we were all dying for a drink). The Irish contingency have been given life back with my favourite Irish squaddie staying up for about 3 days straight drinking whisky and talking shite. Ahh well, he deserves it after saving us from our earlier crash!
Would I recommend Pakistan? Yes! If you want to experience a different culture and somewhere not touristy, this is the place to come. This is not a strict Muslim country as it is often potrayed and the people here are friendly, welcoming and curious about Westerners mainly because they never see any!
Thursday, 18 October 2007
Mutiny on the Ozbus in Iran
Internet access has been had to get hold of and I am aware (from the texts I have been receiving) that a number of people read the not so great article about ‘mutiny on the Ozbus’ on Monday. To reassure everyone, there is no real drama. Yes, we were all a bit peed off. The bus (see email below which was written before the article, just not sent) was breaking down every five minutes, we got stuck in Tehran waiting for a replacement bus. Lucky for us, Tehran was a really nice place and we were up and running again in half a day. The breakdown and need of a replacement bus actually raised spirits for this is where the tour ends and the adventure really beings.
Iran itself has been surprising. The first night was awful. The impression we had truly terrible, being turned away from places for being Western, people trying to pull us into cars, it all made us just want to be out of here. Three days in and things had vastly improved. We spent the break down day in Tehran where we spent ages in a bank trying to change money – the Iranian banking system is not connected to the rest of the world, so everything is done in cash. It was like being transported back fifty years as we watched the way everyone queued inside the bank, waiting for their number to be called and giving or receiving large amounts of cash. The biggest relief was seeing a woman smile. The majority of workers in the bank were women and they all found us Westerners hilarious as we stood not sure what to do to exchange our cash. The people were normal, they had a sense of humour, they were happy and that was important.
From Tehran we moved on the Estafan where we visited the Grand Bazaar and fell in love with the small city. The people there were friendly, although the respect for women is not what it should be, they would definitely make an effort. We were welcomed into shops, offered tea, taught about other cities in Iran and about the history of the country. We were invited to the homes of some of the Iranians (something we later found out was illegal) and genuinely felt their warmth and friendliness. These are the educated people, people who want the country to change its strict Islamic laws. It was at this point we all thought we were wrong about Iran and the people, that was until today.
Having travelled through a number of cities and small villages we parked up in Kerman. Having been warned we will be entering unsafe, rebel territory tomorrow we all decided that today we would look around this town in small groups, without our tour guide. What we saw was shocking. The poverty strikes you immediately, a boy of about fifteen who was severely disabled with no feet (how he lost them we do not know) crawled through the markets, pushing an empty bowl and moaning, clearly begging for food. There was nothing we could do to help. It was too risky to reach for your purse to give him anything and we were forced to walk on by with the worst guilty feeling I think I will ever experience.
After this a decision was made to go straight back to the hotel for the rest of the day and night as none of us wanted to experience these terrible sights anymore. Luckily we were in a mixed group, had no problem getting a taxi and arrived back safely. Unforunately for others in the group things were not so easy. Four girls agreed a price with a driver, got in his cab and thankfully got back to the hotel. On leaving the cab the driver demanded four times the amount he had agreed, was aggressive and would not take no for an answer. Luckily a man employed by the hotel argued their case. As women they would not be taken seriously.
With only 2 nights left in Iran, I relaxed slightly thinking I had seen the worst of the country; again I was wrong. From Kerman to Bam we were informed a tourist had gone missing in Bam and we were to have a military escort into Bam and were on lock down in the hotel. Guards with big guns stood by the doors, watching our every move and ensuring not only did anyone get in, but we did not get out.
The countries sexist rule was magnified as the men were allowed to go swimming and generally do what ever they liked. Menus in restaurants were handed to men only, change was given to man regardless of who paid and any conversation or explanation was directed towards the men. Although annoyed the women in the group remained calm and sat in reception to play a quiet game of cards. The police arrived to tell the women to stop playing cards and to ensure any female smokers extinguished their cigarettes. Women clearly are not allowed to do anything but sit and look pretty (or as pretty as you can with a head scarf, no make-up and clothes covering from your neck to your ankles)!
The following day we were not expecting a lot, a long drive to Zahedan, stay in a hotel and then an early morning to get to the Iran/Pakistan border. Our military escort accompanied us the whole way but we still had to make stops at a number of police checks. It was at one of these police checks that the most surprising and, had things gone another way, most disastrous thing happened. Our driver, who is Kurdish, and up to now had been reasonably friendly started to argue with our tour leaders. He then went to the police and told them the women on the bus were not wearing head scarves the whole time (this is true but the police agreed that the vehicle is classed as private space and we therefore do not have to), that the men all had big tattoos which is blasphemous and that we were all having sex on the bus (I wish)! Luckily the police recognised the bus driver was a fruit loop and let us carry on our journey. No tip for him then!!
The overall impression of Iran is mixed. Big towns are great, small cities are awful. Women here are clearly degraded and inferior. Without the company of some of the strong men (strong in character as well as build) I would not feel safe here. I am glad to have experienced it but will also be glad to leave. Bring on Pakistan!
Iran itself has been surprising. The first night was awful. The impression we had truly terrible, being turned away from places for being Western, people trying to pull us into cars, it all made us just want to be out of here. Three days in and things had vastly improved. We spent the break down day in Tehran where we spent ages in a bank trying to change money – the Iranian banking system is not connected to the rest of the world, so everything is done in cash. It was like being transported back fifty years as we watched the way everyone queued inside the bank, waiting for their number to be called and giving or receiving large amounts of cash. The biggest relief was seeing a woman smile. The majority of workers in the bank were women and they all found us Westerners hilarious as we stood not sure what to do to exchange our cash. The people were normal, they had a sense of humour, they were happy and that was important.
From Tehran we moved on the Estafan where we visited the Grand Bazaar and fell in love with the small city. The people there were friendly, although the respect for women is not what it should be, they would definitely make an effort. We were welcomed into shops, offered tea, taught about other cities in Iran and about the history of the country. We were invited to the homes of some of the Iranians (something we later found out was illegal) and genuinely felt their warmth and friendliness. These are the educated people, people who want the country to change its strict Islamic laws. It was at this point we all thought we were wrong about Iran and the people, that was until today.
Having travelled through a number of cities and small villages we parked up in Kerman. Having been warned we will be entering unsafe, rebel territory tomorrow we all decided that today we would look around this town in small groups, without our tour guide. What we saw was shocking. The poverty strikes you immediately, a boy of about fifteen who was severely disabled with no feet (how he lost them we do not know) crawled through the markets, pushing an empty bowl and moaning, clearly begging for food. There was nothing we could do to help. It was too risky to reach for your purse to give him anything and we were forced to walk on by with the worst guilty feeling I think I will ever experience.
After this a decision was made to go straight back to the hotel for the rest of the day and night as none of us wanted to experience these terrible sights anymore. Luckily we were in a mixed group, had no problem getting a taxi and arrived back safely. Unforunately for others in the group things were not so easy. Four girls agreed a price with a driver, got in his cab and thankfully got back to the hotel. On leaving the cab the driver demanded four times the amount he had agreed, was aggressive and would not take no for an answer. Luckily a man employed by the hotel argued their case. As women they would not be taken seriously.
With only 2 nights left in Iran, I relaxed slightly thinking I had seen the worst of the country; again I was wrong. From Kerman to Bam we were informed a tourist had gone missing in Bam and we were to have a military escort into Bam and were on lock down in the hotel. Guards with big guns stood by the doors, watching our every move and ensuring not only did anyone get in, but we did not get out.
The countries sexist rule was magnified as the men were allowed to go swimming and generally do what ever they liked. Menus in restaurants were handed to men only, change was given to man regardless of who paid and any conversation or explanation was directed towards the men. Although annoyed the women in the group remained calm and sat in reception to play a quiet game of cards. The police arrived to tell the women to stop playing cards and to ensure any female smokers extinguished their cigarettes. Women clearly are not allowed to do anything but sit and look pretty (or as pretty as you can with a head scarf, no make-up and clothes covering from your neck to your ankles)!
The following day we were not expecting a lot, a long drive to Zahedan, stay in a hotel and then an early morning to get to the Iran/Pakistan border. Our military escort accompanied us the whole way but we still had to make stops at a number of police checks. It was at one of these police checks that the most surprising and, had things gone another way, most disastrous thing happened. Our driver, who is Kurdish, and up to now had been reasonably friendly started to argue with our tour leaders. He then went to the police and told them the women on the bus were not wearing head scarves the whole time (this is true but the police agreed that the vehicle is classed as private space and we therefore do not have to), that the men all had big tattoos which is blasphemous and that we were all having sex on the bus (I wish)! Luckily the police recognised the bus driver was a fruit loop and let us carry on our journey. No tip for him then!!
The overall impression of Iran is mixed. Big towns are great, small cities are awful. Women here are clearly degraded and inferior. Without the company of some of the strong men (strong in character as well as build) I would not feel safe here. I am glad to have experienced it but will also be glad to leave. Bring on Pakistan!
THE GOOD, THE BAD & THE UGLY
The subject of this email sums it all up at the moment. The Ozbus has had its good moments, it has certainly had its bad moments and now all the girls have been forced to wear head scarves and totally cover up with no body shape showing, we certainly feel pretty ugly!
THE GOOD
We are in Iran, which is a country very few people from the UK and even the Western world will ever experience. In our journey here we have seen many wonderful things including the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, Ephesus and the underground city of Derinkuyu as well as visiting Gallipoli, which for Australians is their equivalent of Dunkirk. We have woken at the crack of dawn and gone hot air ballooning over somewhere in Turkey I can’t remember the name of, climbed Mount Nemrut to see the sun rise and generally had some amazing experiences.
The people on the bus are amazing and if it wasn’t for them, this trip wouldn’t be half as good as it is.
THE BAD
Unfortunately there are bad points.
The coach – Ozbus didn’t manage to convert a coach for us (this was done in time for the second group, more than likely with our money) so we have a hired coach which is more suitable for a day trip to Blackpool than a 12 week overland journey from London to Sydney. So far, the water pipe broke because it was rotten, then the bus overheated because our ‘mechanic’ (I use the term very lightly) bus driver overfilled the radiator causing it to overheat, the exhaust fell off when trying to manoeuvre onto a ferry, our bus driver pulled off taking a sign with him and leaving our rear bumper and lights behind, then the front corner of the bus was smashed up on the curb, then we ran out of fuel discovered later that day after refuelling, this was due to the fact we were leaking fuel and then our mirror fell off. To put it bluntly the bus is being held together by gaffa tape (no joke) and if it weren’t for our ex squaddie travellers who have fixed the bus every time (with little to no help from our driver or the tool kit which consisted of rusty nails) we would be going no where.
The promotional itinerary – Having read the itinerary online (all 39 of us) we were excited about many of the places mentioned, especially Mount Everest base camp. We have now been told this was never going to happen and the itinerary we read was ‘promotional’ only and has no bearing on our trip!
China and Laos – We were told 8 weeks before we left not to get a Chinese visa as this would be arranged for us. Surprise, surprise, we are more than likely not going through China, which means we cannot go through Laos. The excuse is that the highway between the 2 countries is closed – if anyone can find out if this is true, I know 38 travellers who would be very interested. Instead we will fly (who covers the cost of this flight we are yet to find out) – so much for flightless travel
The list goes on. Promises were made which were not kept (e.g. we would have a big party before hitting Iran – not true; Iran is a safe hospitable country – not true, the men are perverts who have tried grabbing the arses and boobs of appropriately dressed Western women and seem to think it is ok to stare and letch after us. They also won’t serve us in many restaurants), the website falsely advertised the trip and stated things which were not true, we are spending far too much time on the coach and then, to top it all off, 2 weeks in they tried to get us to sign a disclaimer saying Ozbus were not liable for anything that happens to us (luckily 2 of our travellers are solicitors (1 Irish and 1 a retired partner from Lovells) who advised us against this.
LEARNING POINT – NEVER GO ON THE FIRST EVER TRIP; DON’T BE THE GUINEA PIGS
THE UGLY
Now we have entered the full on Muslim countries we must cover up. Women are seen as inferior, change is always handed to the man and conversation directed at the man. Women walking around on their own (especially Western women) are assumed to be prostitutes.
It has been 3 weeks since I’ve worn make-up, I have had over 48 hours where I have been unable to shower and am forced to use squatter toilets which are smeared in poo. I could easily say I have never felt so unattractive. Luckily all the men are gagging for it so tell us ladies we are beautiful no matter what!
THE CONCULSION
Analysing the experience so far (at time of writing it is the end of day 21), would I do this again? Yes. The people I have met are wonderful, the good experiences have been out of this world. I will go back to Vienna and the hot air ballooning place and am more aware of the Muslim culture than I could ever be had I never been to Iran (my opinion remains the same – women here are degraded and it needs change). The experience is anything but smooth but after this, I think we all can cope with pretty much anything, as long as we have a few good friends around us. Bring it on, we will cope!
THE GOOD
We are in Iran, which is a country very few people from the UK and even the Western world will ever experience. In our journey here we have seen many wonderful things including the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, Ephesus and the underground city of Derinkuyu as well as visiting Gallipoli, which for Australians is their equivalent of Dunkirk. We have woken at the crack of dawn and gone hot air ballooning over somewhere in Turkey I can’t remember the name of, climbed Mount Nemrut to see the sun rise and generally had some amazing experiences.
The people on the bus are amazing and if it wasn’t for them, this trip wouldn’t be half as good as it is.
THE BAD
Unfortunately there are bad points.
The coach – Ozbus didn’t manage to convert a coach for us (this was done in time for the second group, more than likely with our money) so we have a hired coach which is more suitable for a day trip to Blackpool than a 12 week overland journey from London to Sydney. So far, the water pipe broke because it was rotten, then the bus overheated because our ‘mechanic’ (I use the term very lightly) bus driver overfilled the radiator causing it to overheat, the exhaust fell off when trying to manoeuvre onto a ferry, our bus driver pulled off taking a sign with him and leaving our rear bumper and lights behind, then the front corner of the bus was smashed up on the curb, then we ran out of fuel discovered later that day after refuelling, this was due to the fact we were leaking fuel and then our mirror fell off. To put it bluntly the bus is being held together by gaffa tape (no joke) and if it weren’t for our ex squaddie travellers who have fixed the bus every time (with little to no help from our driver or the tool kit which consisted of rusty nails) we would be going no where.
The promotional itinerary – Having read the itinerary online (all 39 of us) we were excited about many of the places mentioned, especially Mount Everest base camp. We have now been told this was never going to happen and the itinerary we read was ‘promotional’ only and has no bearing on our trip!
China and Laos – We were told 8 weeks before we left not to get a Chinese visa as this would be arranged for us. Surprise, surprise, we are more than likely not going through China, which means we cannot go through Laos. The excuse is that the highway between the 2 countries is closed – if anyone can find out if this is true, I know 38 travellers who would be very interested. Instead we will fly (who covers the cost of this flight we are yet to find out) – so much for flightless travel
The list goes on. Promises were made which were not kept (e.g. we would have a big party before hitting Iran – not true; Iran is a safe hospitable country – not true, the men are perverts who have tried grabbing the arses and boobs of appropriately dressed Western women and seem to think it is ok to stare and letch after us. They also won’t serve us in many restaurants), the website falsely advertised the trip and stated things which were not true, we are spending far too much time on the coach and then, to top it all off, 2 weeks in they tried to get us to sign a disclaimer saying Ozbus were not liable for anything that happens to us (luckily 2 of our travellers are solicitors (1 Irish and 1 a retired partner from Lovells) who advised us against this.
LEARNING POINT – NEVER GO ON THE FIRST EVER TRIP; DON’T BE THE GUINEA PIGS
THE UGLY
Now we have entered the full on Muslim countries we must cover up. Women are seen as inferior, change is always handed to the man and conversation directed at the man. Women walking around on their own (especially Western women) are assumed to be prostitutes.
It has been 3 weeks since I’ve worn make-up, I have had over 48 hours where I have been unable to shower and am forced to use squatter toilets which are smeared in poo. I could easily say I have never felt so unattractive. Luckily all the men are gagging for it so tell us ladies we are beautiful no matter what!
THE CONCULSION
Analysing the experience so far (at time of writing it is the end of day 21), would I do this again? Yes. The people I have met are wonderful, the good experiences have been out of this world. I will go back to Vienna and the hot air ballooning place and am more aware of the Muslim culture than I could ever be had I never been to Iran (my opinion remains the same – women here are degraded and it needs change). The experience is anything but smooth but after this, I think we all can cope with pretty much anything, as long as we have a few good friends around us. Bring it on, we will cope!
The beginning of the adventure
The Ozbus journey began on an early Saturday morning with hangovers all around (strangely enough we all went drinking the night before to get to know each other). There we were 39 strangers, ready to spend three months together seeing the world.
The first 3 weeks of the journey involved lots of drinking and more getting to know you sessions. The countries we visited were amazing and included Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey. We saw the sites, we ate, we drank and we were merry. But the adventure did not start until we hit the countries we would never have ventured to alone. The adventure started with Iran.
The first 3 weeks of the journey involved lots of drinking and more getting to know you sessions. The countries we visited were amazing and included Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey. We saw the sites, we ate, we drank and we were merry. But the adventure did not start until we hit the countries we would never have ventured to alone. The adventure started with Iran.
Enough with London...
The updates with my London life should really go on. I spent two years living and working in the city, made lots of great friends but realised that there was more to the world to than this (and I couldn't really handle the English for much longer) so I decided to take a bus from London to Sydney. Not that I am at all crazy!
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
The amazing homeless woman
I am now getting used to living in London and used to some very unusual sights and unusual people but nothing could have prepared me for the amazing homeless woman. I was walking to walk one normal morning when, at the end of the street I saw a homeless woman peeing out of her bum. Yes, this was impossible I thought. But, there she was as brazen as anyone bending over with pee coming out of her bum. How she did it I do not know and the other thing I do not understand is why she didn’t go down the lane which is just a few short steps away (and to be fair any girl with a bit of ‘class’ would use it. I am not averse to using it as a last resort myself when I am caught short on a night out). I guess I will never know why or how she did it!
Every day you learn something new
As the months go on and we get more used to living in the flat and away from the comfort of home, more disasters seem to strike but let’s look at the positive we learn something from each of them.
Disaster 1 – I try to set-up a TV/DVD combi. I know this was a stupid decision. I bought the TV/DVD thing thinking this would be a good idea. I am a high earning, marketing assistant, working in London. I can set-up a DVD combi. I do not need a man and I do not for one second believe men are better at these things (unlike my mother, and I stick to that even after the disaster ensued). I spent the evening screaming, shouting, throwing boxes (empty ones) across the room and shouting at dizzy blonde receptionist (who, to pay her her dues, listened patiently as I screamed and shouted and ranted and raved). I could not do it. I eventually discovered that I was missing a scart lead and an indoor aerial. Well, if only they’d told me that!! I swear those instructions are written by men. Why not say, before you start you will need TV/DVD combi, scart lead and indoor aerial? Why put that at the end of the instructions when you’ve got everything out of the box and have already tried to assemble it? Even better, why not provide you with everything you need?
Disaster 2 - Unfortunately I was not the only one to have to learn something this week. Dizzy blonde receptionist flooded the kitchen again. This time she did not attempt to clean the dishwasher with fairy liquid, she came in drunk and decided to open the washing machine door whilst it was still going. This time I came in to find her drunk with a little girl look on her face and lots of towels on the floor trying to soak up the mess. Learning point, do not dizzy blonde receptionist near modern, electrical kitchen equipment and try and keep her away from water.
Disaster 1 – I try to set-up a TV/DVD combi. I know this was a stupid decision. I bought the TV/DVD thing thinking this would be a good idea. I am a high earning, marketing assistant, working in London. I can set-up a DVD combi. I do not need a man and I do not for one second believe men are better at these things (unlike my mother, and I stick to that even after the disaster ensued). I spent the evening screaming, shouting, throwing boxes (empty ones) across the room and shouting at dizzy blonde receptionist (who, to pay her her dues, listened patiently as I screamed and shouted and ranted and raved). I could not do it. I eventually discovered that I was missing a scart lead and an indoor aerial. Well, if only they’d told me that!! I swear those instructions are written by men. Why not say, before you start you will need TV/DVD combi, scart lead and indoor aerial? Why put that at the end of the instructions when you’ve got everything out of the box and have already tried to assemble it? Even better, why not provide you with everything you need?
Disaster 2 - Unfortunately I was not the only one to have to learn something this week. Dizzy blonde receptionist flooded the kitchen again. This time she did not attempt to clean the dishwasher with fairy liquid, she came in drunk and decided to open the washing machine door whilst it was still going. This time I came in to find her drunk with a little girl look on her face and lots of towels on the floor trying to soak up the mess. Learning point, do not dizzy blonde receptionist near modern, electrical kitchen equipment and try and keep her away from water.
Flat bonding
Well it was about time dizzy blonde receptionist, rich girl and I had a night out together. Dizzy blonde receptionist chose the venue (should have known better) and we ended up in Hammersmith at the Palais. Sounds very nice but trust me, this is deceiving. To enter the Palais you need to show ID, go through metal detectors, have your bag searched, every page of your passport checked for drugs and any chewing gum (even unopened packets) are taken off you, for fear they are drugs. So everyone in there is eighteen, knife and gun free, drug free but with smelly breath. We proceeded to get very drunk, avoided a few fights and by two in the morning rich girl and I had had enough but dizzy blonde receptionist wanted to carry on partying. Eventually we dragged her out, avoided the unlicensed cab she wanted to get in, flagged a black cab and made our way home where dizzy blonde receptionist decided to make scrambled eggs and I crashed out on my bed (I say on and not in), fully clothed with the light on but fast asleep. It could have been worse, I might not have made it to the bed!
Entertaining by text turns into an actual physical date
I decided, after many entertaining texts, to humour the nice man who asked me out on a date. To refresh your memory I didn’t fancy him (although I later found out he is an ex-marine; that should definitely be my type) but did meet him. I did have a good night, it was lovely and we talked and we laughed but nothing can make you fancy something when that chemistry is not there and when it came to the end of the night I knew that awful kiss moment was going to approach. I politely (?) offered my cheek and felt guilty for the rest of the night that I had led him on. He text me saying he had a great time and would like to do it again soon and the following day I text him back and said I had a really great time and would like to meet him again soon too but only as friends. Strangely enough, I didn’t hear from him again. New rule: don’t date men you don’t fancy.
New year’s resolutions?
We all make them but do any of us actually keep them? It seems rich girls resolution is to attempt to beat the world record for the number of times you can wash your clothes in a week. We are on the third was this week and with her using dizzy blonde receptionist’s fabric conditioner (apparently at the alarming rate of half a bottle for four items of clothing) it might be handbags at dawn (and I’m not getting involved after the new year).
I would love to make a resolution to be less judgemental but I simply can’t. The marketing assistant and I were asked to attend a breakfast seminar at the Ritz, very nice but please, if you are ever lucky enough to be able to go follow these simple rules (it’s common courtesy):
Do not eat with yuot mouth open – it is disgusting and I do not want to see your food sloshing about in your mouth
Do not ask for tomato ketchup in the middle of the Ritz part way through the seminar – it is rude and just not the done thing
Do not scratch your head constantly throughout the seminar – the person behind you will get annoyed and think you have nits (not nice)
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind, should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne…
To be fair I did very well to type that much of the song as the title to this piece, I am always very drunk at New Year and it’s not like anyone sings the song at any other time! Most people just kinda hum the tune anyone and I happen to be one of them.
This was the new year of 2006 and it was handbags at dawn for me. I made the fatal mistake (as I do every year) of going out in my home town (normally this is ok, but not this night). The evening was going well, I was surrounded by good friends, good drink and the more good drink I consumed the better the friends got, even strangers or faint acquaintances became good friends. Typically for my home town, a fight kicked off. Now random ex, who was mentioned earlier, is an ex-doorman and having spent many a night out with him and being taught how to defend myself and diffuse a fight, after a few drinks I tend to think I can stop any fight in the world. Not a great move! It started off well, the fight calmed and then I fatally said the wrong thing. Surprisingly the wrong thing to say was ‘calm down’. Not a common one to provoke someone but there we go, this was my huge mistake. A scatty blonde launched at me screaming, ‘don’t you tell me boyfriend to calm down’ and next thing her hands are in my hair trying to pull it out (well, understandable; I have very nice hair). My one friend is on the other side hitting this scatty blonde in the face shouting ‘let go’ and another friend’s boyfriend is stood behind me trying to pull me out. Eventually I escaped, missing a bit of hair, but pretty much unscathed. The scatty blonde then decided to drive home drunk and I continued with my new year’s eve celebration.
I later found out she worked in the pub she had attacked me in and was sacked as soon as she came in for her next shift. Violence just doesn’t pay.
That night, I also made my plan for the coming year. I hand my notice in in the Summer, having gained a valuable six months work experience at a top London law firm, then I leave to go travelling. A good friend would be in Japan attempting to teach English (he doesn’t quite know how to speak it himself so it’ll be interesting to see him teach it) so that will be my first stop, then to Sydney and Queensland where I know no one but hope to work, then to New Zealand where another friend will hopefully be putting me up and showing me the sights, then on the Las Vegas because it’s the best place in the world, then to LA where I’ll meet Robbie Williams and we’ll get married and that’s where we’ll reside. In the glorious, luxurious Hollywood hills. Fingers crossed it’ll all happen.
This was the new year of 2006 and it was handbags at dawn for me. I made the fatal mistake (as I do every year) of going out in my home town (normally this is ok, but not this night). The evening was going well, I was surrounded by good friends, good drink and the more good drink I consumed the better the friends got, even strangers or faint acquaintances became good friends. Typically for my home town, a fight kicked off. Now random ex, who was mentioned earlier, is an ex-doorman and having spent many a night out with him and being taught how to defend myself and diffuse a fight, after a few drinks I tend to think I can stop any fight in the world. Not a great move! It started off well, the fight calmed and then I fatally said the wrong thing. Surprisingly the wrong thing to say was ‘calm down’. Not a common one to provoke someone but there we go, this was my huge mistake. A scatty blonde launched at me screaming, ‘don’t you tell me boyfriend to calm down’ and next thing her hands are in my hair trying to pull it out (well, understandable; I have very nice hair). My one friend is on the other side hitting this scatty blonde in the face shouting ‘let go’ and another friend’s boyfriend is stood behind me trying to pull me out. Eventually I escaped, missing a bit of hair, but pretty much unscathed. The scatty blonde then decided to drive home drunk and I continued with my new year’s eve celebration.
I later found out she worked in the pub she had attacked me in and was sacked as soon as she came in for her next shift. Violence just doesn’t pay.
That night, I also made my plan for the coming year. I hand my notice in in the Summer, having gained a valuable six months work experience at a top London law firm, then I leave to go travelling. A good friend would be in Japan attempting to teach English (he doesn’t quite know how to speak it himself so it’ll be interesting to see him teach it) so that will be my first stop, then to Sydney and Queensland where I know no one but hope to work, then to New Zealand where another friend will hopefully be putting me up and showing me the sights, then on the Las Vegas because it’s the best place in the world, then to LA where I’ll meet Robbie Williams and we’ll get married and that’s where we’ll reside. In the glorious, luxurious Hollywood hills. Fingers crossed it’ll all happen.
The blissful lonely days
The days between Christmas and New Year I was back in work and alone at the flat. Dizzy blonde receptionist decided to stay at the boyfriend’s place and rich girl has tonsillitis, otherwise known as homesickness or not wanting to come back to London to work as a waitress over Christmas (rich girl was a freelance photographer trying to make it in London. Mummy and Daddy gave her a generous allowance but insisted she did some work and made her get a job as a waitress in a pizza restaurant).
Alone at home I decided it was time I got out and met some people and when pondering how to do this, I came across a website for ‘like-minded people in London’ who wanted to meet others and I decided to give it a go. Slightly crazy idea, but hey, it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last (I can assure you). The idea of the night was to turn up a pub in central London and talk. So, I turned up expecting a bunch of geeky weirdos to be sat around the table discussing The Times crossword but was surprised to find myself laughing a joking with a great bunch of people. By midnight I found myself with an American girl doing shots of strawberry vodka and even stranger ended up in a gay bar in Soho where we were asked if we were ‘together’. Strange but interesting and at least I can say I’ve been to a gay bar in Soho (that’s one London thing ticked off my list)!
Alone at home I decided it was time I got out and met some people and when pondering how to do this, I came across a website for ‘like-minded people in London’ who wanted to meet others and I decided to give it a go. Slightly crazy idea, but hey, it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last (I can assure you). The idea of the night was to turn up a pub in central London and talk. So, I turned up expecting a bunch of geeky weirdos to be sat around the table discussing The Times crossword but was surprised to find myself laughing a joking with a great bunch of people. By midnight I found myself with an American girl doing shots of strawberry vodka and even stranger ended up in a gay bar in Soho where we were asked if we were ‘together’. Strange but interesting and at least I can say I’ve been to a gay bar in Soho (that’s one London thing ticked off my list)!
Snow is falling, all around us, children playing, having fun…
With my first few weeks in London under my belt Christmas was fast approaching. It was that wonderful time of year when families across the world come together and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ (or, as most of my friends would like to see this time, the time of year when we receive presents – to be fair no one really likes the giving, all that Christmas shopping is a bit stressful). The celebration usually involves lots of alcohol, lots of food and god forbid, the family board game (don’t bring out the trivial pursuit) and inevitably lots of arguments (lots of cheating at the game) and lots of fighting, or is that just my family?
This first Christmas in London began as a joyous occasion as all Christmases do. I awoke to an empty flat. Both dizzy blonde receptionist and rich girl had both made an early departure home leaving the emptying of the fridge, clearing of the dead flowers (we didn’t have flowers often and so they had been left there until there was literally no life left in them) and taking out of the bin and recycling bag to me. To be fair, this did not leave me in the best of moods and I decided, slightly pig headedly, that I was not going to make two trips, I was going to do this all in one. So, with bin bag, recycling bag and (rather large) suitcase in hand I attempted the stairs…and fell.
I opened my eyes to find a split up bin bag, the contents on the floor and an old jacket potato skin in my hair. Back up the stairs to get the dustpan and brush I limped (my ankle had been twisted in the fall). So much for not going up back and forth up the stairs. I cleaned up the mess and made my way to work and then to a packed Paddington station, with everyone trying to get home for Christmas.
This first Christmas in London began as a joyous occasion as all Christmases do. I awoke to an empty flat. Both dizzy blonde receptionist and rich girl had both made an early departure home leaving the emptying of the fridge, clearing of the dead flowers (we didn’t have flowers often and so they had been left there until there was literally no life left in them) and taking out of the bin and recycling bag to me. To be fair, this did not leave me in the best of moods and I decided, slightly pig headedly, that I was not going to make two trips, I was going to do this all in one. So, with bin bag, recycling bag and (rather large) suitcase in hand I attempted the stairs…and fell.
I opened my eyes to find a split up bin bag, the contents on the floor and an old jacket potato skin in my hair. Back up the stairs to get the dustpan and brush I limped (my ankle had been twisted in the fall). So much for not going up back and forth up the stairs. I cleaned up the mess and made my way to work and then to a packed Paddington station, with everyone trying to get home for Christmas.
The first London date
I have now been in London for a grand three weeks and for a city which contains so many people, there were very few eligible men. So, when I finally got asked out on a date, I jumped for joy. One problem – I didn’t fancy him. Don’t get me wrong he was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination, in fact I had heard a number of women in the office discussing his sex appeal, but he just didn’t do it for me. I decided to play about with him for a while well, he was entertaining me, admittedly by text message (no dirty ones, thank you) but entertaining me all the same whilst I waited for my Prince Charming or Robbie Williams to show up begging me to marry him.
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
Full bill of health
My work, wanting to ensure they have not employed someone who is at death’s door have made me, as part of my contract, go for a medical. At first I thought this was totally unnecessary, but that was before I saw the Harley Street offices of our firm doctor. Well, that is it, I decided then and there, I must find myself a rich man to keep me in the manner I was about to be made accustomed to!
I arrived in the doctor’s office and he asked me to strip to my underwear and put on the robe (what is the point in putting on the robe when the opening, unlike in all US hospital shows, has to be at the front? I may as well be naked). Now, I figured, he must be a rich man, a bit old for my liking, but I could deal with that if I was to have a lifestyle where I visited doctors like this and so, when he asked me to strip, I thought I was in. I was disappointed to find all he wanted to do was hit me on my back, check my heart beat and take my blood pressure – what a disappointment! That’s the first time a man has ever got me that naked and not tried anything (and I kind of hope it’s the last; although this is not an invitation for a doctor to start touching me up! I need to check your bank balance first!). I may not have a man, or money but I now know, I have my health.
I arrived in the doctor’s office and he asked me to strip to my underwear and put on the robe (what is the point in putting on the robe when the opening, unlike in all US hospital shows, has to be at the front? I may as well be naked). Now, I figured, he must be a rich man, a bit old for my liking, but I could deal with that if I was to have a lifestyle where I visited doctors like this and so, when he asked me to strip, I thought I was in. I was disappointed to find all he wanted to do was hit me on my back, check my heart beat and take my blood pressure – what a disappointment! That’s the first time a man has ever got me that naked and not tried anything (and I kind of hope it’s the last; although this is not an invitation for a doctor to start touching me up! I need to check your bank balance first!). I may not have a man, or money but I now know, I have my health.
Two’s company but is three a crowd?
Despite the disasters of the first week, dizzy blonde receptionist and I were getting along great. It had been just the two of as rich girl (flatmate number three) had not yet moved in (Mummy and Daddy had paid for her to go skiing) but her arrival was imminent.
The warning signs were there, the rich girl had already expressed an interest in getting internet installed in the flat, working out exactly how much it would cost each of us but not taking into consideration that neither dizzy blonde receptionist or I had a laptop, she wanted to pay less than her third for the bills because she had a smaller room, reduced rent was not enough . It’s not that I’m mean but with rich girl joining dizzy blonde receptionist’s team in the lights on/lights off game, I was not going to being paying more than her for electricity! I had prepared myself for her arrival mentally and had dressed appropriately in my fighting gear.
Surprisingly all went well. She moved in on Sunday and although the place was a mess initially, it was all sparkly by Tuesday and we had even begun a Christmas theme. Dizzy blonde receptionist had put up some ‘Merry Christmas’ signs and a nice tree. I modestly added a number of Christmas cards (our shelves were bare) and rich girl added fairy lights, a fairy for the tree and some homemade snowflakes. Yes, you read right, homemade snowflakes. No, we do not have any children so this could not have been a nice creative activity to keep them entertained, it was serious. Our flat began to look like a primary school class room. Classy!
Like the last week, the second week brought with it a number of disasters however this time they did not revolve around dizzy blonde receptionist:
I got drunk! Firstly this is not out of the norm, however getting drunk from three small glasses of wine is! And, to top it off, I have bruises to show just how drunk I was. I had a classic fall, heel stuck in the little gap in the pavement, straight over, the bruises are impressive but I am totally unimpressed by my new reputation as a light weight!
New girl starts at work. First impressions count, please remember that if ever going for a job. I have a bad habit (I have lots of them but will only detail one for you here) of not liking new people. Usually I hate them for about the first two months and then they start to grow on me. To be fair, I am still very good friends with a number of new people I have hated as they turned out to be far better than their first impression but this one took the biscuit. New girl phoned in sick on the second day, promising to be in on her third and then phoned in sick on the third! Not impressed and yes, I am being hard. Maybe she was really sick but to top it all off, she came in on the fourth day and said, ‘I know I sound really ill, but I’m feeling a lot better’. Don’t tell people you sound ill (you actually don’t) wait for them to say something to you. Then, she phoned in sick again on the fifth day. How important are fist impressions again?
My parents are getting a divorce! Not really (or I hope not). But, I do find it quite confusing and suspicious that they sent me separate Christmas cards. One from Dad, one from Mum. Very strange. I informed them promptly, that if this was a hint and they were trying to ease me into the change, not to bother, but I expect double the number of Christmas presents!
The warning signs were there, the rich girl had already expressed an interest in getting internet installed in the flat, working out exactly how much it would cost each of us but not taking into consideration that neither dizzy blonde receptionist or I had a laptop, she wanted to pay less than her third for the bills because she had a smaller room, reduced rent was not enough . It’s not that I’m mean but with rich girl joining dizzy blonde receptionist’s team in the lights on/lights off game, I was not going to being paying more than her for electricity! I had prepared myself for her arrival mentally and had dressed appropriately in my fighting gear.
Surprisingly all went well. She moved in on Sunday and although the place was a mess initially, it was all sparkly by Tuesday and we had even begun a Christmas theme. Dizzy blonde receptionist had put up some ‘Merry Christmas’ signs and a nice tree. I modestly added a number of Christmas cards (our shelves were bare) and rich girl added fairy lights, a fairy for the tree and some homemade snowflakes. Yes, you read right, homemade snowflakes. No, we do not have any children so this could not have been a nice creative activity to keep them entertained, it was serious. Our flat began to look like a primary school class room. Classy!
Like the last week, the second week brought with it a number of disasters however this time they did not revolve around dizzy blonde receptionist:
I got drunk! Firstly this is not out of the norm, however getting drunk from three small glasses of wine is! And, to top it off, I have bruises to show just how drunk I was. I had a classic fall, heel stuck in the little gap in the pavement, straight over, the bruises are impressive but I am totally unimpressed by my new reputation as a light weight!
New girl starts at work. First impressions count, please remember that if ever going for a job. I have a bad habit (I have lots of them but will only detail one for you here) of not liking new people. Usually I hate them for about the first two months and then they start to grow on me. To be fair, I am still very good friends with a number of new people I have hated as they turned out to be far better than their first impression but this one took the biscuit. New girl phoned in sick on the second day, promising to be in on her third and then phoned in sick on the third! Not impressed and yes, I am being hard. Maybe she was really sick but to top it all off, she came in on the fourth day and said, ‘I know I sound really ill, but I’m feeling a lot better’. Don’t tell people you sound ill (you actually don’t) wait for them to say something to you. Then, she phoned in sick again on the fifth day. How important are fist impressions again?
My parents are getting a divorce! Not really (or I hope not). But, I do find it quite confusing and suspicious that they sent me separate Christmas cards. One from Dad, one from Mum. Very strange. I informed them promptly, that if this was a hint and they were trying to ease me into the change, not to bother, but I expect double the number of Christmas presents!
The learning curve
Now, I had lived away from home before, admittedly I use the word ‘lived’ very lightly. I moved twenty minutes up the road in Cardiff when I went to university. I took my washing home every weekend and let my Mum by my shopping in Tesco for me, but I did have to cook for myself, wash up and learn a few basic skills. The dizzy blonde receptionist had never been away from home.
We began a new fun game (again the word ‘fun’ here is used very lightly; no pun intended (see next line). It’s called ‘how many lights can dizzy blonde receptionist leave on. The aim of the game is that dizzy blonde receptionist leaves on as many lights as she can and I run around trying to turn them off. Try it at home, it will certainly keep you fit!
Our first week together saw a number of dizzy disasters:
Dizzy blonde receptionist attempts to clean the dishwasher…with fairy liquid. Yes, you guessed it, I walked in after a long day at the office to find suds all over the place and dizzy blonde receptionist standing there in her PJs with a child like ‘I’ve done something and you’re not going to like it’ look on her face.
Dizzy blonde receptionist attempts to hoover the shelves. That is not a typo, yes, she tried to hoover the shelves…another of her great ideas but not quite up there with putting fairy liquid in the dishwasher. She did not think this through and managed to hoover up her beads. A night of emptying the hoover and searching through the dust ensued.
Dizzy blonde receptionist goes to her Christmas party। This isn’t quite a disaster until you are in my position and have a drunken, hyper dizzy blonde receptionist jumping up and down on your bed at four o’clock in the morning! No, again, that is not a typo, it really was four o’clock and no, it wasn’t a weekend. This was a school night. A school night where I had to hear all about the night’s activity, she had found the ‘cool crew’ at her work and had decided she needed to get in with them, which considering on her first day she had told me everyone in the office was boring and she hated it, she had become one hell of a lot more enthusiastic about the place, but they may just be the effect of them giving her free drinks until four o’clock in the morning!
God help us survive the next six months!
We began a new fun game (again the word ‘fun’ here is used very lightly; no pun intended (see next line). It’s called ‘how many lights can dizzy blonde receptionist leave on. The aim of the game is that dizzy blonde receptionist leaves on as many lights as she can and I run around trying to turn them off. Try it at home, it will certainly keep you fit!
Our first week together saw a number of dizzy disasters:
Dizzy blonde receptionist attempts to clean the dishwasher…with fairy liquid. Yes, you guessed it, I walked in after a long day at the office to find suds all over the place and dizzy blonde receptionist standing there in her PJs with a child like ‘I’ve done something and you’re not going to like it’ look on her face.
Dizzy blonde receptionist attempts to hoover the shelves. That is not a typo, yes, she tried to hoover the shelves…another of her great ideas but not quite up there with putting fairy liquid in the dishwasher. She did not think this through and managed to hoover up her beads. A night of emptying the hoover and searching through the dust ensued.
Dizzy blonde receptionist goes to her Christmas party। This isn’t quite a disaster until you are in my position and have a drunken, hyper dizzy blonde receptionist jumping up and down on your bed at four o’clock in the morning! No, again, that is not a typo, it really was four o’clock and no, it wasn’t a weekend. This was a school night. A school night where I had to hear all about the night’s activity, she had found the ‘cool crew’ at her work and had decided she needed to get in with them, which considering on her first day she had told me everyone in the office was boring and she hated it, she had become one hell of a lot more enthusiastic about the place, but they may just be the effect of them giving her free drinks until four o’clock in the morning!
God help us survive the next six months!
The holiday is over…back to real life
The week spent at the hotel went quicker than I, or anyone else could have imagined. The weekend had approached and it was time to move in to the new place. In selecting the area we lived in, we choose very carefully, or as others may say, very naively. We simply selected by very few criteria; no further out than zone 2, no council accommodation and… that was about it. We ended up in Shepherds Bush.
The parents loaded up the car and made the long journey from Wales with all my worldly goods. The dizzy blonde receptionist had arrived before me on the Saturday, when my journey had begun on the Sunday. Her Mum & Dad weren’t allowed to leave her in the flat alone until I had arrived (should I have seen the warning signs from the beginning?) and then had to wait six hours for her to calm down enough before they could actually leave. My parents had left within a couple of hours of arriving. To be fair, I had pretty much pushed them out. The way dizzy blonde receptionist was acting she was being left on the other side of the world, not a two hour train journey away! To be honest, the only thing I can compare it to is watching a first time mother leave their baby for the first time (super nanny, Jo Frost would have a few words to say if she knew the dizzy blonde receptionist’s parents were still dealing with this tantrum). The baby will cry, but if the mother leaves they will soon be forgotten. The longer the mother draws out the goodbye the more unsettled the baby will get. JUST LEAVE! Really, it’s not hard!
Eventually they did and the dizzy blonde receptionist called the cheating boyfriend over to comfort her. We opened a bottle of champagne, supplied by my previous employers (thanks guys) and settled down to celebrate the bravery of our move. Our new life had begun.
The parents loaded up the car and made the long journey from Wales with all my worldly goods. The dizzy blonde receptionist had arrived before me on the Saturday, when my journey had begun on the Sunday. Her Mum & Dad weren’t allowed to leave her in the flat alone until I had arrived (should I have seen the warning signs from the beginning?) and then had to wait six hours for her to calm down enough before they could actually leave. My parents had left within a couple of hours of arriving. To be fair, I had pretty much pushed them out. The way dizzy blonde receptionist was acting she was being left on the other side of the world, not a two hour train journey away! To be honest, the only thing I can compare it to is watching a first time mother leave their baby for the first time (super nanny, Jo Frost would have a few words to say if she knew the dizzy blonde receptionist’s parents were still dealing with this tantrum). The baby will cry, but if the mother leaves they will soon be forgotten. The longer the mother draws out the goodbye the more unsettled the baby will get. JUST LEAVE! Really, it’s not hard!
Eventually they did and the dizzy blonde receptionist called the cheating boyfriend over to comfort her. We opened a bottle of champagne, supplied by my previous employers (thanks guys) and settled down to celebrate the bravery of our move. Our new life had begun.
Thursday, 23 August 2007
The big move
The news was gently broken to friends and family that I would soon be leaving and was met with a very unemotional response. No one I knew believed I would do it until they saw my bags packed and I was at the door.
The plan was to move in to a flat in Shepherd’s Bush with the dizzy blonde. As you may know, nothing ever goes to plan. The dizzy blonde had let her rich friend convince her to let her move in with us. The decision was made and I had little choice but to accept it.
The first week of life in London was hectic. A new job was started where there was no hand over from the previous team. Everything I needed had to be found and finding consisted of looking through every document, every file and every box that had been used in the past two years. The firm I had joined sold itself as young and funky but in reality there were very few young people there and I missed the social interaction that that brought with it.
The flat we were moving in to wasn’t ready so I into a hotel for the short term. My stay would not have been the same without my drunken neighbours coming in at 4.00am on Tuesday and loudly debating about who would win the latest series of ‘I'm going to be a celebrity’!! To end the conversation, I did try shouting at them that they were both wrong and it would surely be Carol Thatcher who would win - well she deserves something after the nation watched her have a pee! But no, they continued to debate the matter until about 5.30am at which point I must have fallen back to sleep. Luckily for me I came into work the next day, big black bags under my eyes, and was happily told that they needed to take my picture to go on an email to the entire company introducing me as the new face of marketing for the firm!! Hopefully, no one will ever recognise me from that picture. I deleted the email as soon as it hit my inbox and have since deleted the picture from all existing files.
The next night there was a fire alarm (oh joy!!) which as you can imagine was another enthralling event in the hotel's itinerary!! Luckily I wasn't in my PJ's nor naked (I was fully clothed, lying on my bed watching TV) and didn’t actually run outside but, waited until it stopped!!!
On Thursday night I had the pleasure of going along to the central services work Christmas parties (no partners to make polite conversation with thankfully!). As I knew no one apart from my director and manager who got quite pissed and proceeded to dance like fools, I decided to people watch! I have judged everyone at work, there is an ex-lap dancer working with us (who nearly gave the maintenance guy a heart attack, I think he thought all his Christmases had come at once!!), a crazy lady who could well be a murderer (she had that mental look in her eyes) and loads of drunks!!! Not much different from any law firm then!!
I was told drunkenly at that party 'The biggest risk lies in never taking one' and although at the time I simply nodded and humoured the drunk who told me, that's the motto that I have since tried to live by.
Monday, 20 August 2007
The escape from the home country
A long, long time ago I decided to do something different, to escape the small town I came from (where everyone knows everyone as well as knowing everyone else's business). The decision to go was made a long time before the opportunity to leave actually arose. Please don't get me wrong, I love home but at few years ago as each day turned into Groundhog day, all my friends began to settle and the only men left on the scene were not worth the effort. I recall hysterically crying to a certain ex who had left to go travelling and returned but with no intention of staying and begging him to take me with him the next time he went. Of course random ex agreed to this only for me to find out a few weeks later from this obnoxious group of mates, that he had left for Thailand without me. I was devastated, not to lose him (trust me, he was not worth any tears and none were shed) but to lose the chance to get away from home.
I got over it pretty quickly and resigned myself to a life in Wales. I began looking at the cost of property and the realisation dawned that I had been priced out of the market. The small town I had been brought up in had had the largest price increase in property in the UK and the chances of me buying a place on my own were slim to nil. I was working over 50 hours a week in a poorly paid, but well respected job and living with my parents. The future looked bleak unless I pulled myself out of this nightmare.
With that I decided to make some changes. I made the utmost effort to go out every Friday with the girls from work, extending my social life beyond the borders of Barry and entering into the slightly bigger scene in Cardiff. My Saturday nights remained the same; drinks at my oldest friend's house with the girls, followed by a short taxi ride to Eze bar and then another short taxi ride to 2Eze. Shots of Sambuca were used to drown out the dullness of the night and we watched as the same people did the same things. In short my home town is not a nice place, fights would start, girls would cry, people would cheat as well as the same girl arguing with the same guy, same old, same old. I didn't realise then just how comforting this unchangeable routine would later become.
In the summer of 2005 on one of my night's in Cardiff, the dizzy blonde receptionist I worked with told me for the millionth time she was going to move to London at Christmas. I had been working with the dizzy blonde for nearly 2 years now, and since we had met she had told me she was moving to London every six months. Her boyfriend lived there and she would take the long journey to see him every weekend. The boyfriend would never make the effort to come to Wales to see her and would not, despite the fact they had been together for six years, entertain the idea that it might be a good idea for them to move in together. I looked at the dizzy blonde with pity, we both knew unless she found someone to go with her she, like me, would remain in Wales.
As time drudged on I began to feel discontent with my job. I loved my job, marketing for a top 100 law firm, was fast paced and busy but I was being paid very little, was getting no direction from my manager and saw no chance of career progression. The dizzy blonde started talking to me about her London dream again and suddenly the bright lights of London started to draw me in. I quickly suggested that if dizzy blonde wanted to move to London then I would go with her and with that a weekend of job and flat hunting was booked. The life outside Wales was about to start.
I got over it pretty quickly and resigned myself to a life in Wales. I began looking at the cost of property and the realisation dawned that I had been priced out of the market. The small town I had been brought up in had had the largest price increase in property in the UK and the chances of me buying a place on my own were slim to nil. I was working over 50 hours a week in a poorly paid, but well respected job and living with my parents. The future looked bleak unless I pulled myself out of this nightmare.
With that I decided to make some changes. I made the utmost effort to go out every Friday with the girls from work, extending my social life beyond the borders of Barry and entering into the slightly bigger scene in Cardiff. My Saturday nights remained the same; drinks at my oldest friend's house with the girls, followed by a short taxi ride to Eze bar and then another short taxi ride to 2Eze. Shots of Sambuca were used to drown out the dullness of the night and we watched as the same people did the same things. In short my home town is not a nice place, fights would start, girls would cry, people would cheat as well as the same girl arguing with the same guy, same old, same old. I didn't realise then just how comforting this unchangeable routine would later become.
In the summer of 2005 on one of my night's in Cardiff, the dizzy blonde receptionist I worked with told me for the millionth time she was going to move to London at Christmas. I had been working with the dizzy blonde for nearly 2 years now, and since we had met she had told me she was moving to London every six months. Her boyfriend lived there and she would take the long journey to see him every weekend. The boyfriend would never make the effort to come to Wales to see her and would not, despite the fact they had been together for six years, entertain the idea that it might be a good idea for them to move in together. I looked at the dizzy blonde with pity, we both knew unless she found someone to go with her she, like me, would remain in Wales.
As time drudged on I began to feel discontent with my job. I loved my job, marketing for a top 100 law firm, was fast paced and busy but I was being paid very little, was getting no direction from my manager and saw no chance of career progression. The dizzy blonde started talking to me about her London dream again and suddenly the bright lights of London started to draw me in. I quickly suggested that if dizzy blonde wanted to move to London then I would go with her and with that a weekend of job and flat hunting was booked. The life outside Wales was about to start.
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