I awoke to the sound of birds merrily chirping, the sound of a gentle breeze rustling the spring growth outside my window, and the cries of gulls as they winged their way to greet the returning fishermen, laid heavy with a rich bounty from the sea.
Or,
I awoke to the sound of lorry gears grinding and the piped roar of motorbikes as they inched their way through the dense, rush-hour traffic heading in to London, the cry of a lone bird abruptly choked off as an ambulance, sirens howling, startled the winged bringer of morning song in to silence.
I'm going for the first one. What's your choice?
Friday, 27 February 2009
City v. Country
As I continue my journey around the UK, with the latest stop being Chichester to visit old friends, I find the nature of being English changes dramatically once one leaves the city.
Two nights ago I had the pleasure of camping out to watch Liverpool v. Real Madrid in their efforts to secure a berth in the Champion's League at my friend’s local watering hole, and found the process to be rather surprising by comparison to London, both in terms of the financial impact of drinking locally, £4 a pint and the ambiance of the pub.
Within a few minutes of entering, I struck up a conversation with a local couple to my left and an avid Liverpool fan, or Real hater, on my right which, while football focused at the beginning, ended in an engaging conversation that lasted in to the wee hours. That sort of thing is typically not possible in London since it appears most people move in packs, and remain poe-faced and distant when contact is made in any context other than football.
Another remarkable difference was the quality of the pub grub, which although a vast improvement over my boyhood days in both the city and countryside, found this country local able to put out a magnificent steak and kidney pie, served piping hot, with locally sourced ingredients and a pastry top that couldn't have been any fresher. Furthermore, although London pubs generally offer a wider selection of ales, they lack the more intimate and inviting choices of locally brewed beers, ales and bitters, opting instead, for the most part, to serve mass-produced national brands.
From the huge, overstuffed sofas that littered the TV room, to the warmth of the locals, delicious food served in generous portions, and the merciful blast of central heating, I think it’s fair to say that Central London has a way to go before achieving what city folk used to scoff at.
City 0 - Countryside 1 (and it's worth more since it was away)
Two nights ago I had the pleasure of camping out to watch Liverpool v. Real Madrid in their efforts to secure a berth in the Champion's League at my friend’s local watering hole, and found the process to be rather surprising by comparison to London, both in terms of the financial impact of drinking locally, £4 a pint and the ambiance of the pub.
Within a few minutes of entering, I struck up a conversation with a local couple to my left and an avid Liverpool fan, or Real hater, on my right which, while football focused at the beginning, ended in an engaging conversation that lasted in to the wee hours. That sort of thing is typically not possible in London since it appears most people move in packs, and remain poe-faced and distant when contact is made in any context other than football.
Another remarkable difference was the quality of the pub grub, which although a vast improvement over my boyhood days in both the city and countryside, found this country local able to put out a magnificent steak and kidney pie, served piping hot, with locally sourced ingredients and a pastry top that couldn't have been any fresher. Furthermore, although London pubs generally offer a wider selection of ales, they lack the more intimate and inviting choices of locally brewed beers, ales and bitters, opting instead, for the most part, to serve mass-produced national brands.
From the huge, overstuffed sofas that littered the TV room, to the warmth of the locals, delicious food served in generous portions, and the merciful blast of central heating, I think it’s fair to say that Central London has a way to go before achieving what city folk used to scoff at.
City 0 - Countryside 1 (and it's worth more since it was away)
Saturday, 21 February 2009
Why English food doesn't suck.
Since the "pink foam pudding and custard" days of my youth, English food has undergone a remarkable transformation as I was happy to witness last night.
The trusty English chippie is probably better known than the royal family, and certainly more reliable than London Transport. A shining example of this is Olley's in Herne Hill which offers a broad selection of dishes that show what English chip shop food should be like.
From battered Mahi Mahi to steamed Hake, Coddies to Pickled Eggs, their menu has something for everyone, so if you find yourself in London, especially on a frosty evening in February, I highly recommend popping in, but get there early as seating is limited, and it's a popular place for all ages.
For more information hop over to their site at www.olleys.info
The trusty English chippie is probably better known than the royal family, and certainly more reliable than London Transport. A shining example of this is Olley's in Herne Hill which offers a broad selection of dishes that show what English chip shop food should be like.
From battered Mahi Mahi to steamed Hake, Coddies to Pickled Eggs, their menu has something for everyone, so if you find yourself in London, especially on a frosty evening in February, I highly recommend popping in, but get there early as seating is limited, and it's a popular place for all ages.
For more information hop over to their site at www.olleys.info
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Bali..in the afterglow
Well, dear readers, we're a few weeks on from my ocean frolicking, and I thought I'd revisit the blessed place mentally to add a little more information for anyone thinking about heading over to Indo for a holiday.
Think of the film, South Pacific, and what do you imagine? Warm ocean waters, passionate kisses on the beach, sea food and swimming in the buff? Well, ok maybe that's just me, but let's face it most people, if they know of the area, would probably paint a somewhat similar picture. The real trick is know where not to go, as much as knowing where to go, so let me offer a few tidbits of advice, for what they're worth.
If you love clean reefs and pristine waters, stay away from the cesspool of Kuta and Legian. I know I've said it before, but this is about as close to paradise as Las Vegas is to a healthy dinner menu with reasonable sized portions. Instead of choosing the offal and detritus, opt for somewhere off the beaten path like the Northwest coast, or funds permitting, jump on an eco-tour boat and head off-shore entirely to one of the many islands that dot the surrounding area.
Next on the list has to be the subject of food. Let's face it folks, you can buy Walker's crisps anywhere (pretty much) so why the hell would you want Western food on an Indonesian island? If your choice is a burger and a latte, go on holiday to Florida, or Disneyland, but if you fancy something that will leave your taste buds crying out for more, then go local. Granted, while this might require a tiny bit more effort, and the minimal risk of Bali Belly (Loperamide is your friend), the pay off is the education of your palate, and the warm, happy feeling of a stomach that knows it's being loved. Personal favourites have to include local catch almost anywhere, spicy shell fish with an Indonesia ceviche, all served with heapings of Bintang. Bon appetite!
Passion. Hang on tight ladies and gents, because it's going to be a bumpy ride and you're going to love it. As previously noted, Nusa Lembongan, courtesy of the Bali Hai II, has this one covered for days. Gay, straight, old, young, freshly minted, or jaded, I dare you to take a partner to one of the beach front huts and not have a magnificent romp of a time.
Well, that's it folks. From the deepest recesses of my heart, and uncharted bottom of my stomach, I'd have to say Bali has something for everyone, so get off your duff and get a flight there now!
Think of the film, South Pacific, and what do you imagine? Warm ocean waters, passionate kisses on the beach, sea food and swimming in the buff? Well, ok maybe that's just me, but let's face it most people, if they know of the area, would probably paint a somewhat similar picture. The real trick is know where not to go, as much as knowing where to go, so let me offer a few tidbits of advice, for what they're worth.
If you love clean reefs and pristine waters, stay away from the cesspool of Kuta and Legian. I know I've said it before, but this is about as close to paradise as Las Vegas is to a healthy dinner menu with reasonable sized portions. Instead of choosing the offal and detritus, opt for somewhere off the beaten path like the Northwest coast, or funds permitting, jump on an eco-tour boat and head off-shore entirely to one of the many islands that dot the surrounding area.
Next on the list has to be the subject of food. Let's face it folks, you can buy Walker's crisps anywhere (pretty much) so why the hell would you want Western food on an Indonesian island? If your choice is a burger and a latte, go on holiday to Florida, or Disneyland, but if you fancy something that will leave your taste buds crying out for more, then go local. Granted, while this might require a tiny bit more effort, and the minimal risk of Bali Belly (Loperamide is your friend), the pay off is the education of your palate, and the warm, happy feeling of a stomach that knows it's being loved. Personal favourites have to include local catch almost anywhere, spicy shell fish with an Indonesia ceviche, all served with heapings of Bintang. Bon appetite!
Passion. Hang on tight ladies and gents, because it's going to be a bumpy ride and you're going to love it. As previously noted, Nusa Lembongan, courtesy of the Bali Hai II, has this one covered for days. Gay, straight, old, young, freshly minted, or jaded, I dare you to take a partner to one of the beach front huts and not have a magnificent romp of a time.
Well, that's it folks. From the deepest recesses of my heart, and uncharted bottom of my stomach, I'd have to say Bali has something for everyone, so get off your duff and get a flight there now!
The ghosts of the past...much wilder than the wind
Greetings from what can only be described as a frosty U.K.
It's my first trip back here since 2004 and I'm pleased to say that much has changed in the environs surrounding SE23, but sadly little has changed within SE23 itself, and that goes for the subject line of this wintry entry.
Imagine, if you will, being able to return to a place you knew as a child and teen, only to find that many of the same problems that existed back in those dark, dreary days still wend their way through the corridors of today. How would you feel? How would you react, when so much of your adult life has been spent trying to overcome the horrors of that time. Would you feel progressively more uneasy, perhaps falling back in to some sort of half-remembered tension that left you constantly on the defence. Alas this is the case, and thus it's time, after a paltry four days, to pack the bags and move to sterile impersonality, yet emotionally safe, confines of paid lodging.
I must say that other than this more recent escalation, I had been enjoying my time here, whiling away the hours with friends from primary school and meeting old mates to recount the excesses of our youth, but what passes for harmless nostalgia between friends and classmates from the past, seems only to pick at the family scabs I believed were long since healed.
What was it about those times, as the baby boomers in the U.K. passed from exuberant hippies to family makers, that wore off, and left almost everyone I knew as a child the product of a broken home? My own guess is that as the high of the Summer of Love wore off, and the drudgery of the daily struggle to make ends meet grew more pressing, whatever chemical induced illusion had supported them at the beginning evaporated, leaving the skittish, jagged edges of a miserable low that we call the 70's.
At what point did one or 'toher wake to glance at the alien covered in booze induced sweat lying next to them, and think, "Who the hell is this person?" When did the supposed sanctity of marital vow turn in to the bitter litany of hate that's echoed through the last four decades, corrupting every ear it touched, and fuelling the disdain that cuts so sharp from that spurned tongue?
Sadly, I don't have the answers to these questions, but I did find the answer to my own demons many years ago in a very simple mantra. You can only control yourself.
For if you try to change or control other people, the net result is likely to leave you, the person introducing change, feeling dissatisfied and angry. Ultimately, we are all responsible for the choices we make as adults, but who foots the bill for those choices that SHOULD have been made to protect the children?
It's my first trip back here since 2004 and I'm pleased to say that much has changed in the environs surrounding SE23, but sadly little has changed within SE23 itself, and that goes for the subject line of this wintry entry.
Imagine, if you will, being able to return to a place you knew as a child and teen, only to find that many of the same problems that existed back in those dark, dreary days still wend their way through the corridors of today. How would you feel? How would you react, when so much of your adult life has been spent trying to overcome the horrors of that time. Would you feel progressively more uneasy, perhaps falling back in to some sort of half-remembered tension that left you constantly on the defence. Alas this is the case, and thus it's time, after a paltry four days, to pack the bags and move to sterile impersonality, yet emotionally safe, confines of paid lodging.
I must say that other than this more recent escalation, I had been enjoying my time here, whiling away the hours with friends from primary school and meeting old mates to recount the excesses of our youth, but what passes for harmless nostalgia between friends and classmates from the past, seems only to pick at the family scabs I believed were long since healed.
What was it about those times, as the baby boomers in the U.K. passed from exuberant hippies to family makers, that wore off, and left almost everyone I knew as a child the product of a broken home? My own guess is that as the high of the Summer of Love wore off, and the drudgery of the daily struggle to make ends meet grew more pressing, whatever chemical induced illusion had supported them at the beginning evaporated, leaving the skittish, jagged edges of a miserable low that we call the 70's.
At what point did one or 'toher wake to glance at the alien covered in booze induced sweat lying next to them, and think, "Who the hell is this person?" When did the supposed sanctity of marital vow turn in to the bitter litany of hate that's echoed through the last four decades, corrupting every ear it touched, and fuelling the disdain that cuts so sharp from that spurned tongue?
Sadly, I don't have the answers to these questions, but I did find the answer to my own demons many years ago in a very simple mantra. You can only control yourself.
For if you try to change or control other people, the net result is likely to leave you, the person introducing change, feeling dissatisfied and angry. Ultimately, we are all responsible for the choices we make as adults, but who foots the bill for those choices that SHOULD have been made to protect the children?
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Nusa Lembongan
After hacking away at the underbrush of the Taiwanese business world for the last three years, Bali might just have proved to be the inspiration for my new life off this little island. Azure seas, sun soaked shores, rice huts and frangipani, could this be the secret to eternal youth?
As the sun made its way over the horizon to caress the shores of Legian on my last day there, the early morning found your humble narrator anxious for something more "local" than the aforementioned herds of sun burnt tourists and their paid escorts. A 30 minute drive across town to the harbour, courtesy of my special friend, found us hopping about the Bali Hai II, and thence setting sail for Nusa Lembongan where, after an uneventful, hour long voyage, we arrived at the Bali Hai Resort.
While I'm not overly fond of package tours or resorts, the size of this place and its setting alone were enough to inspire confidence from the outset, primarily as the number of places to bed down for the night is limited to thirteen luxury huts constructed in the style of a traditional Balinese rice building, and the private beach front locale is off-limits to all but paying guests.
Since we arrived on the first morning boat our hut wasn't available right away, but the reception staff took care of storing our gear, and we made our way out to the skiff just in time to be whisked off up the coast for 45 minutes of crystal clear snorkelling in balmy, tropical waters.
Strangely enough, it was about 30 minutes in to free diving and generally acting like a playful otter, that I had a "moment of clarity". It dawned on me that perhaps one of the reasons so many native Balinese smile so much is because they have this wonderful combination of climate and unspoilt ocean to bask in, whereas, in stark contrast, Taiwanese seldom smile despite having a similar climate and being surrounded by ocean. I suspect the reason for this may be that most Taiwanese don't swim, and therefore never get to experience the majesty of the seas, and it may have something to do with the fact they also live in the second most densely populated country in the world, ranking right behind Bangladesh! Also proof, I suspect, that the Taiwanese penchant for the acquisition of money, rather than the enjoyment of life, is entirely misplaced.
After my otter-like snokelling experience, it was time to head back to the main resort area for check-in and lunch, both of which were accomplished with a minimum of fuss, and then we returned to the skiff for another journey out to the snorkelling area. Do you get the idea that I LOVE the ocean?? I do too, but I'd forgotten how much until I got back in to the sea that afternoon.
Hasty re-applications of waterproof SPF 48+, one more trip back in to the main resort and another skiff ride back, saw your humble, salty narrator lost in the warmth that can only be found in the tropics, which induces retrospection, and during this moment I realised I would be quite content to spend the rest of my days engaged in these pursuits.
As the afternoon waned and drew towards the sun's final curtain, it was with a good deal of reluctance that I faced the prospect of being land locked over night, for as any travelling Brit can attest, the winged vapires of the evening do seem to relish the taste of white meat. As luck would have it though, dining al fresco proved to be something of a delight for the food was sumptuous and was served to the sound of waves teasing the sand, yet nowhere were those pesky parasites to be found.
After a quick mid-meal stroll I discovered a table just adjacent to my own, populated with heavy-set Russians who had apparently cornered the market on the "sweet meat" department, much to the delight of myself and the no-see-ums, who had settled in for their own open air dining experience. Who said Russian tourists are annoying? Oh wait, that was me earlier. Duly retracted and all is forgiven!
Blissfully intoxicated from the warm sea breezes that had been wafting over me all evening, the excellent seafood from dinner and the smooth, buttery Australian Chardonnay, the wee hours found me overcome with the heady scent of Frangipani luring me to bed, and after taking care of the pre-bed essentials, I finally drew the day's events to a close by scaling the ladder in to my hut, and drifting off to a careless slumber, the like of which I haven't experienced in many years.
It was, perhaps, during this somnolence I finally found the peace that can only come when all the body's faculties have been adequately exercised; where mind, emotion and muscle come together in a perfect melange, and permit complete escape.
I awoke as the faint glimmer of the sun's first rays made their way over the horizon and warmed the tropical blackness of the hut, comforted by my serenity and wishing for nothing more than a perpetual repeat of the day just past.
If you think paradise doesn't exist, I suggest you follow in my footsteps and find out for yourself.
http://www.balihaicruises.com/html/index.php?id=4
As the sun made its way over the horizon to caress the shores of Legian on my last day there, the early morning found your humble narrator anxious for something more "local" than the aforementioned herds of sun burnt tourists and their paid escorts. A 30 minute drive across town to the harbour, courtesy of my special friend, found us hopping about the Bali Hai II, and thence setting sail for Nusa Lembongan where, after an uneventful, hour long voyage, we arrived at the Bali Hai Resort.
While I'm not overly fond of package tours or resorts, the size of this place and its setting alone were enough to inspire confidence from the outset, primarily as the number of places to bed down for the night is limited to thirteen luxury huts constructed in the style of a traditional Balinese rice building, and the private beach front locale is off-limits to all but paying guests.
Since we arrived on the first morning boat our hut wasn't available right away, but the reception staff took care of storing our gear, and we made our way out to the skiff just in time to be whisked off up the coast for 45 minutes of crystal clear snorkelling in balmy, tropical waters.
Strangely enough, it was about 30 minutes in to free diving and generally acting like a playful otter, that I had a "moment of clarity". It dawned on me that perhaps one of the reasons so many native Balinese smile so much is because they have this wonderful combination of climate and unspoilt ocean to bask in, whereas, in stark contrast, Taiwanese seldom smile despite having a similar climate and being surrounded by ocean. I suspect the reason for this may be that most Taiwanese don't swim, and therefore never get to experience the majesty of the seas, and it may have something to do with the fact they also live in the second most densely populated country in the world, ranking right behind Bangladesh! Also proof, I suspect, that the Taiwanese penchant for the acquisition of money, rather than the enjoyment of life, is entirely misplaced.
After my otter-like snokelling experience, it was time to head back to the main resort area for check-in and lunch, both of which were accomplished with a minimum of fuss, and then we returned to the skiff for another journey out to the snorkelling area. Do you get the idea that I LOVE the ocean?? I do too, but I'd forgotten how much until I got back in to the sea that afternoon.
Hasty re-applications of waterproof SPF 48+, one more trip back in to the main resort and another skiff ride back, saw your humble, salty narrator lost in the warmth that can only be found in the tropics, which induces retrospection, and during this moment I realised I would be quite content to spend the rest of my days engaged in these pursuits.
As the afternoon waned and drew towards the sun's final curtain, it was with a good deal of reluctance that I faced the prospect of being land locked over night, for as any travelling Brit can attest, the winged vapires of the evening do seem to relish the taste of white meat. As luck would have it though, dining al fresco proved to be something of a delight for the food was sumptuous and was served to the sound of waves teasing the sand, yet nowhere were those pesky parasites to be found.
After a quick mid-meal stroll I discovered a table just adjacent to my own, populated with heavy-set Russians who had apparently cornered the market on the "sweet meat" department, much to the delight of myself and the no-see-ums, who had settled in for their own open air dining experience. Who said Russian tourists are annoying? Oh wait, that was me earlier. Duly retracted and all is forgiven!
Blissfully intoxicated from the warm sea breezes that had been wafting over me all evening, the excellent seafood from dinner and the smooth, buttery Australian Chardonnay, the wee hours found me overcome with the heady scent of Frangipani luring me to bed, and after taking care of the pre-bed essentials, I finally drew the day's events to a close by scaling the ladder in to my hut, and drifting off to a careless slumber, the like of which I haven't experienced in many years.
It was, perhaps, during this somnolence I finally found the peace that can only come when all the body's faculties have been adequately exercised; where mind, emotion and muscle come together in a perfect melange, and permit complete escape.
I awoke as the faint glimmer of the sun's first rays made their way over the horizon and warmed the tropical blackness of the hut, comforted by my serenity and wishing for nothing more than a perpetual repeat of the day just past.
If you think paradise doesn't exist, I suggest you follow in my footsteps and find out for yourself.
http://www.balihaicruises.com/html/index.php?id=4
Friday, 23 January 2009
Lo, and behold
What triggers that childhood memory that lay once forgotten in the distant recesses of your not-so-youthful brain? Perhaps the smell of cotton candy at the state fair, for the Americans reading this, and how about the smell of sweet popcorn at the Odeon for those hailing from the UK in the late 70's/early 80s? For me it has to be musical, rather than a particular smell, and so it is with Bali far off the beaten path.
Lo and behold, the myth of Bali can be summed up is two short sentences, main street, and everywhere else.
As previously noted, Legian Street, Bali, is a soulless corridor lined with all that tacky tourist crap that one expects from a third world country, but what truly surprises is the dynamic change that occurs a few KM from the main artery.
If your idea of a holiday is shopping for name brands, at over inflated prices, and haggling for a "discount", then by all means stick to the well travelled, hawker lined, congested corridors that represent "main stream" Bali. However, if you can spare the prostitutional cry of the vendors for a few minutes, turn off the beaten path and spare a thought for the combo couples (Western and Balinese) who line the side streets offering a truly unique insight in to Bali, local style.
What's the difference, you might ask yourself, for surely the big corporations have a handle on all that's best to offer on these semi-democratic islands. Yet, my resounding reply would have to be "NO".
Take a chance, step off the soiled trail of the masses, experience the island of the locals, and stop feeding those annoying buggers who pester everyone, endlessly, with cries of "Massag-ee", "Transport Boss", and "Sexy Message".
Lo and behold, the myth of Bali can be summed up is two short sentences, main street, and everywhere else.
As previously noted, Legian Street, Bali, is a soulless corridor lined with all that tacky tourist crap that one expects from a third world country, but what truly surprises is the dynamic change that occurs a few KM from the main artery.
If your idea of a holiday is shopping for name brands, at over inflated prices, and haggling for a "discount", then by all means stick to the well travelled, hawker lined, congested corridors that represent "main stream" Bali. However, if you can spare the prostitutional cry of the vendors for a few minutes, turn off the beaten path and spare a thought for the combo couples (Western and Balinese) who line the side streets offering a truly unique insight in to Bali, local style.
What's the difference, you might ask yourself, for surely the big corporations have a handle on all that's best to offer on these semi-democratic islands. Yet, my resounding reply would have to be "NO".
Take a chance, step off the soiled trail of the masses, experience the island of the locals, and stop feeding those annoying buggers who pester everyone, endlessly, with cries of "Massag-ee", "Transport Boss", and "Sexy Message".
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