Peurto Escondido, Mexican West Coast. The sun rises every day and shines ferociously down on the beach and the little palm-leaf clad hostels lining the shore. The waves roll in endlessly, building slowly, slowly, to about 6-8 foot then jacking up, lipping, and pounding into the sand bank. There are never any clouds and by 8am it´s 33C and climbing. The humidity is high and you have no choice but to get out of bed because at your ´modestly´ appointed hostel (about $6/night) the heat in your dorm is oppresive and stifling.
And the septic tank under the floor is venting again, spreading sulfur fumes throughout the room, it´s very atmospheric.
The first night I got there a Canadian guy threw a bottle of Mezcal down my throat and at five in the morning I had to jump off my bunk to rush to the toilet and projectile spray the pasta I'd eaten for dinner in the general vicinity of the bowl. I wasn't the only victim either, the gecko's living in the cubicle seemed as distressed as I was.
PE can take a while to get used to because you have to let go of any pretensions or goals of being a productive human being in any capacity while you´re here. It´s just too hot to do anything in the day except sit around or surf. It´s too hot even to sleep. I adjusted pretty fast and it was a shame to leave.
It truly is a beautiful place where people meander slowly through the days, drinking beer and sleeping in hammocks, and you dont leave the shade unless you're going to the shops for another drink. In the low season along the Zicatela (main beach) it's sleepy, slow and quiet. Street dogs lie around on the road and on the footpath, panting in the heat and workmen sleep under awnings for a 3 hour siesta in the middle of the day.
There are guys who walk along the beach asking you if you want to go fishing or learn to surf. A conversation goes like this:
Dodgy fisherman: Hey man, you want to go fishing tomorrow? Big fucking fish man, I swear to God.
Me: Maybe later thanks
DF: You from Estados Unidos?
Me: No, Australia
DF: Ah...Kangooroo huh?
Me: Yea kangaroo
DF: OK man so you want to learn to surf?
Me: No, all good thanks
DF: OK man you want to buy a hammock? Just 850 pesos
Me: Um, the Mexican guy who runs my hostel bought one like that yesterday for 150 pesos
DF: OK man I know that guy. No problem. You want to buy some cocaine?
Me: Huh? Mate, it´s 10 in the morning
DF: It´s OK man you buy it now I get a good price for you
Me: Errr...
There were these Chilean guys at the hostel, Jose and Christian, who were there celebrating Christians birthday. Christian was fairly standard looking, a bit like Cliff Lyons actually, and Jose was a contemporary artist, so he was Kate Moss thin, had two foot of dreadlocks, whispy facial hair and some cool tattoo´s.
I have been having real conerns about my diet as things in my guts still haven´t redistributed. In fact I've lost about 6 kilos since I got here. But these guys put it into perspective.
Breakfast: A beer, a joint and a taco
Lunch: Pasta with some cubed Spam thrown in, 4 beers
Afternoon snack: 4 beers
Dinner: More pasta with cubed Spam and half a litre of Mezcal (a variation of tequila) and a few joints.
These guys could really drink. It´s understandable though-you have the choice of buying a 375ml beer for 15 pesos, or a 1.25L choad-neck for 20 pesos. That´s about $1.70 Aussie dollars at present. That´s no choice at all really!
Anyway, these Chilean guys weren´t in fact very physically intimidating. There was a party next door to the hostel and all the tourists congregated in this little bar where they played Britney Spears and Beyonce, the American girls got slaughtered and staggered around sexually harrassing Mexican guys, and the Australian guys stood around like good natured sharks hoping something would sexually harrass them. The local guys all seemed to have lost their shirts and seemed pretty territorial:
Girl: Hey how you going?
Chilean artist (sobering up fast): I´m good, is good night, you like the fiesta?
Girl: Yea, I´m from Bawwston USA and we love it here! We totally like arrived this morning-tee hee!
Girl 2: Yea we just arrived today as well from Ostraya, it´s bonza as here mate
CA: I´m sorry I don´t uunderstand you
Short, stocky, shirtless Macho Mexican: Hey man what the fuck man
CA: What´s the problem man
SSSMM: That´s my fucking girl man
CA: What´s your fucking girl man?
SSSMM: That´s my fucking girl man get out of here man
CA: Pendecho one is from Australia and the other from Estados Unidos, how can they be your girl man?
SSSMM: You don´t talk to my bitches man
The girls stumble away through the crowd, harrasing men as they go.
CA: You´re one crazy fucking cocksucker, I´m outta here, man!
I was at the store buying another 1.25L of Indio cerveza and there was a tall guy with long blonde hair in there with a girl, who had enough of Meghan Fox about her to make her easy on the eye. The guy took a look at me and said "Mate, that moustache looks fantastic!" and I knew straight away that he was a top guy and a flagrant liar!
Julian and Natalie were from Adelaide and had been in London for years and were returning home the long way, through South America and Africa, to appease the parents and have some kids. We had a couple of good nights out together, including one at a salsa club which a stumpy, bubbly, intense brown local girl told us about. She had a bit of the PR/dodgy salesman about her and seemed inexplicably happy to meet us. However, the club was great, the live band was cool and they played local salsa music. Our chaperone took her dancing very seriously and as she was half as wide as she was tall she really dominated the dance floor, throwing her partners around like footballs and eye-fucking the libido out of every bloke at the bar. It was intense! I stumped around on the dance floor for a bit then left it the the experts (the women, and naturally one local shark who was a salsa guru and clearly specialised in scooping touristas with his gentle-yet-strong touch and liquid hip movements). Jokes aside, I would love to be able to dance salsa properly. The male salsa dancers are very, very impressive but I think it's something that only women, or people who have been surrounded by that sort of movement since birth, can hope to do justice to.
My guts went downhill as the days went by and it was nice to have Julian and Nat to talk to about it, as they had both had serious issues while in Africa. At any rate we had a good time and I wish them both the best when they get back to Australia, and thanks for the Immodium guys!
Canoeing through mangroves sounds pretty boring, like something you do on year 8 camp but this was fantastic. The mangroves grow out of the water and are mostly impenetrable, apart from a network of canals that form cavernous natural cathedrals through which you drift slowly, peering through the growth. It is a very tranquil place; cool, dark and eerily silent. There is no sound except the water gurgling through the mangroves and the spoonbills rustling in the branches above.
Most of the mangroves are quite flimsy but the odd tree is hundreds of years old and has thick branches spreading over a wide area that you can climb on, with the wood supporting you above the water. It was great fun climbing along the branches (yes like a monkey) and using our feet and toes to grip the branches.
As it is illegal I don't partake myself of course but I've been told that the mangroves are a great place to have a quiet doobie and enjoy the serenity.
Well it was fantastic way to spend the morning and relaxing as it was, I needed a (large) packet of Doritos and a four hour siesta to recharge when I got back to the hostel.
Unrelated to my trip (so far anyway) but interesting nonetheless:
http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/wellbeing/oral-sex-link-to-head-cancer-20100326-r15f.html
I velieve this to be be baseless fearmongering really.
TUESDAY, MARCH 23, 2010 On the way to Peurto Escondido
Sometimes the standard family car just doesn´t measure up and what you really need is a prime mover to cart the shopping around in. Problem being you can´t justify the $200k you needed to front for one-correct?
I´ve got two words for you:
Dodge. Ram.
Fuck Yea.
What a name for a car. I don´t know about you but it makes me want to run a blockade somewhere in one! These guys look like pocket battleship versions of Optimus Prime. Sweet!
Anyway they are everywhere in Mexico. The locals have 15-30 year old versions which seem to run forever, carting food, passengers and bulls around the country, on the bumpiest, most gravelly, sandiest, most pothole ridden roads I´ve ever seen, over long, long distances. We write off giant yank tanks in Australia as stupid excess but here in Mexico they make good, good sense*. They are big, tough, versatile and simple to fix when they break. The only alternative I´ve seen is the Toyota Hilux which is also a cool car. These trucks are fantastic. The army uses them to cart sections of troops around in the tray. I don´t have much experience in the matter but I´m sure Mexico is one of the only places where a truck full of guys with M16´s can stop in the middle of the road and take positions...only for the cars behind them to bang on their horns hoping they´ll get out of the way.
To envisage leaving Mexico City: Think of a vineyard, with rows and rows of organised, beautiful green vines, flowering far into the distance into the hills beyond. There is a haze over the vineyard because of the pollen produced by the flowers. Now, replace the vines with small, grey brick, tin roofed slums, stretching to the horizon, to the hills (and often, halfway up them) in the distance. Change the pollen haze to a dust cloud, brown/grey in colour and dry as a Richie Benauds sense of humour. That is the vista for 40 minutes as you leave Mexico City to the South. The majority of these people do it very tough. It made me realise how they can pack over 20m people into one city.
As I made my way from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido I got on a camionetta (minivan) which took me through the mountains and some of the most fantastic natural scenery I´ve ever seen. The driver was a short, fat, moustachio´d man who stopped the van every 60 minutes so he could buy a lollipop, or taco, or chocolate, or red bull or something of that nature. He wasn´t that concerned about his health. So I knew, when I offered him a chocolate Oreo in the mountains between Oaxaca and Puerto Escondido, that he wasn´t going to say no! He drove six hours through curving mountain passes dodging other vehicles, potholes and fallen rocks, with one hand in a packet of chips and the other swapping between the steering wheel and his two way radio.
Prior to coming to Puerto Escondido I went hiking in the mountains around Oaxaca city. I ended up at a tiny pueblo (mountain village) called Calpulalpam. Getting there took about 5 hours even though it was only about 12km from Ixtlan because I was walking with a German I´d met in Mexico City. She was pretty cool, called Carina. Since I got here I´ve met 4 Germans. 2 were studying physics, one geophysics and one specialised in...mathematics. Das Deutsch are different, but I like them, they seem very open minded and happy to try new things. And they don´t muck around with Arts degrees either by the look of it.
We hiked to the top of this tiny peublo and found a small guest house, right at the top of the mountain.
It was a tough getting to the top but the view down the valley once we got there was very special. It was easily one of the most beautiful things I´ve ever seen. The clouds which gathered towards dusk parted slowly and let the rays of the dying sun shine through, like ghostly spotlights on the steep forested valley below...and for a moment I understood why the people around here believe in God so strongly. I began to think of all the girls I´ve ever loved...
A (very) short time later I recalled I´d been walking all day so bought a six pack, found a resturaunt and enjoyed the view while downing some frijoles (black beans) hammered carne (meat) and pan (rolled bread) with a few extra tomato´s on the side. Delicious. Jokes aside, it´s easy to become reflective when faced with the real beauty of nature.
*Apologies to AC/DC
TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2010 Oaxaca
A close friend of mine had some serious gut problems for a quite a while. He had to go to an ass specialist to get a faeces transplant (that's right) to sort it out. We shared a bathroom for a few years, hence my knowledge of this fact.
It´s also how I know that there's between 300 and 1000 different types of bacteria in your intestines, and one of the reasons they change ratios is affected by your diet.
The bacteria in my gut need to redeploy fast. I've been existing on a diet of street tacos and burritos (choose your type of meat-beef or churazo-they'll chop it up in front of you and then grab it by the handful to put onto a burrito or taco. There might be some onions and is always lime and chilli sauce to flavour it with. All served by a fat sweaty man cooking in his roadside burrito cart) which are delicious. I really like the street food here, it's fantastic. However, until yesterday I hadn't seen a vegetable for 10 days.
Anyway I can put down about 12 of these tacos, they really are great. My gut has no idea what to do with it all so it mushes it up and turns it all into a milkshake which it can then (and does) get rid of really fast.
This guy didn't need to eat vegetables
So after I arrived in Oaxaca I went on a mission to find some fruit and veges. Since then I've eaten (among other things) three tomato's, three bananas, 2 avocados (small), a fruit salad, a large orange juice and a large peach nectar and things feel back on track, although the chilli grasshoppers (chapulines) I ate this afternoon might change that.
Glad this didn't happen while I was there!
Of no relevance but...mo really starting to look good
Got out of Mexico City a few days ago. It felt great to be back on a bus in Latin America-reminded me of going up to Rio from Montevideo 9 years ago. The scenery on the way down (it's about 400km south east of MC) is seriously impressive-lot's of gorges, valleys, crags and cactus. The cactus line the slopes and look like those inflatable stick figures that wave around in front of used car yards. It's a beautiful place-the landscapes are huge. The plains roll on forever until they are broken sharply by huge, steep mountains rising out of the dust haze. Sometimes they have snow on top, even though it's 35C down in the valley.
This is the sort of place I would love to ride through on a motorcycle. You could never get sick of the scenery and the views. At one popint the mountain sides were flecked with a yellow sandstone that looked like gold shining through the cactus in the mid afternoon sunlight-righteous!
Before leaving MC I saw some of the sights. I took a brief tour of the Palacio Nacional (National Palace) which was an explantion of the mural that was painted there (by Diego Rivera) detailing Mexican history. This place has 500 years of history-the Spanish came and wiped out about 22m local Indians, through fighting but mostly from disease, leaving about a million.
Beautiful fountain
Then they built hundreds of beautiful, awe-inpiring cathedrals, some of which took hundreds of years to finish. They really are spectacular achievements. The Historical Centre in MC is dotted with beautiful monuments to God and that they are still standing today is a testament to their construction, especially given that the land they are standing on is sinking. (It is a dried lakebed). Some of the building are 10m below street level.
The inside of the cathedrals are stunning examples of artistic invention, application and expenditure. If you want to worship in MC, you can really do it in style! Most of the historical centre in MC is a couple of hundred years old and the buildings are solid. They could really build back then-it´s hard to see most of the stuff we have around today seeing the 25th century! (Blues Point Tower anyone??)
Fine Art Gallery
Outside the churches are a lot of pitiful beggars, old men with no arms and legs perched on trolleys, women with twisted legs clutching babies, disfigured people in dirty rags, hoping tourists will give them an offering as they leave. It is very sad and frustrating because there is nothing we can do. I wondered if they are located in this fashion so they can easily go somewhere after they clock off to pray to God and ask why He has forsaken them. Well, I'd want some answers at any rate. A few less churches and a few more universities might have been a better way to go.
I actually went to two art galleries while here, and enjoyed them. I won't be making a habit of it but they are good ways to get a sense of the history of a place. The National Gallery was really interesting and cost $3 to get in. The other place was Frida Kahlo´s house. She was a famous artist in Mexico, with a monobrow. She lived with her husband, also a famous artist, the abovementioned Diego Rivera. Anyway a few weird facts took my notice while there:
-Frida had an accident and couldn´t walk for the last few years of her life
-Trotsky the communist lived around the corner
-Apparently Frida and Trotsky tooted a few times
-Trotsky was hacked to death by a guy with an ice pick (in Mexico City where it´s never less than 30C)
Anyway the killer was never found but it seems obvious to me. Frida´s husband was naturally upset that the commie bastard was putting one through his paraplegic wife and took matters into his own hands! Of course I could be wrong, but I guess we´ll never know.
Diego Rivera was a staunch communist. He also did this mural in the Palacio Nacional. If you look closely you can see the Reds represented in the bottonm right of the quadrant. In fact, I think that's his mate Trotski in there!
To me, an art gallery is like a giant picture book, which makes them a great place to learn Spanish. If there's a painting of a young chap sitting on a wharf with a fishing rod dangled into the water, and it says "El Pescadore" I now know how to say ´the fisherman´ in Spanish-you beauty! Either that or ´dole bludger´, but I doubt it!
Proof I went to an art gallery-these are the lights on the courtyard to the National Gallery, which I thought were particularly cool
Funny thing I´ve noticed about being in a less developed country. Westerners spend all day ignoring the hell out of each other when they pass buy on the street, or give each other meaningful glares.
Then they all congregate in the same places at night and get plastered together, becoming best mates. Not sure what´s going on there but it´s fun to break down barriers...
THURSDAY, MARCH 11, 2010 Mexico City
Flying into Mexico City at night was beautiful. The city has 23m people in it and flying in the orange grid of glowing lights stretched to the horizon in every direction (every direction I could out of the side of the plane anyway). There are small mountains speckling the city scape which have no buildings on them so at night they contrast with the surrounding glow as jagged black shapes in the vista.
I landed and went through customs at about 2am. There was only one cab and he took me to Mexico City Hostel near El Zocalo (a giant square in the middle of the city). I was pretty excited to be using Spanish again after so many years, and I have to say my grasp at the moment is pretty utilitarian, but after a big night on the piss (last night) it's much better.
Getting to know people
A bunch of guys from the hostel went out last night and ate taco's. Around here they are pretty small, but if you eat 15 of them you will be full, trust me. Then we got on the sauce. There's a few photos of us all at a club on Tuesday night.
Me and some German guys from the hostel
It's the fashion!
One of them was a Canadian guy who had completed a degree in Literature (haha) and has been driving around in a Combi surfing for the last 6 months. He was a top bloke-anyway he and I left the club we were at and walked down the street to find something more interesting. We walked past 3 drunk guys outside this bar, who sledged us. We had a word to them back and the next thing we knew we were downstairs in this empty bar drinking shots with them.
They were a bit older-mid thirties I'd say. One had slicked back hair, a deep tan and was dressed in a white-beige suit with a pink shirt and sky blue tie on-done up fully despite the fact it was 3am. His name was Roberto. Like most of the locals he was shortish.
What a great way to learn Spanish and spread English. The conversation went something like this:
Me (in spanish): I want a drink, do you have something STRONG?
Roberto(in English): What do you drink, you Aussie bitch
Me (Spanish): I don't care, stop fucking around
Roberta (English): You liking the Tequila?
Rick (Canadian guy-in Spanish): Of course not, it is fucking horrible!
Roberto (English): Cheers-bitch!
Me: Salud!
Rick: Salud!
Roberto proceeds to not drink his shot (they are huge here by the way-about 60ml)
Me (Spanish): We are waiting for you-shit of a poofter!
Roberto (English): Hey Fuck you man! (drinks his shot)
Rick (Spanish): Suck my balls!
Roberto (English): Hey Fuck you man!
This went on in various forms for a few hours. We were drinking this red stuff out of a jug-pouring it into glasses and shotting it/ It was one third cranberry, one third vodka and one third something rancid. Anyway it's great to make friends with the locals.
This guy claimed he was in the Italian Mafia and I believe him because I want to-even though his friend thought the claim to be pretty funny. We spoke a lot about Italy because I can sometimes pretend to be from the North and he believed me and thought that was excellent.
He told me how he'd had a girlfriend from New Zealand who was "fucking crazy bitch man." What did you expect mate?? Just kidding.
The great thing about having a conversation with only 200 words at your disposal is that you never run out of things to talk about. Communicating the most basic thing can take 10 minutes. It really is a lot of fun.
I found a gym in Zona Rosa. The name sort of gives the game away-the Pink Zone but I trundled along for something to do. I met Salvador who was keen to strike up a conversation, and suggested I come for drink tomorrow night with his mates, if I didn't have anything else to do. Sweet I thought, hang out with the locals. But when he said bye he touched-no-caressed my elbow and squeezed it gently, and I swear he pouted slightly. Ever seen a short, hairy bearded fat man pout? The word is incongruous!
TUESDAY, MARCH 9, 2010 Los Angeles
LA is a large place. In fact it's fucking huge and if you don't have a car you can forget about seeing most of it easily.
On Friday night at the hostel there was a keg party-with a cross dressing theme. Some travellers from other local hostels came and things got a bit loose. I don't know what to make of this bit of the 7 people in total (out of about 60) who bothered to cross dress
-they were all guys
-5 of them were Australian
-I was one of them
Anyway the Aussie guys were from southwest Sydney and they were top blokes. That doesn't mean I can remember any of their names though. Also at the party were some young girls from western Sydney paying for the trip by stripping their way around the US. I admire their resourcefulness. The guys put their noses to the ground and dug up some gear. Crikey bloody Jones-I thought the whole situation was more than vaguely similair to my life in Sydney. Ah welllll..!
Anyway I've never done a handstand on a keg with the hose in my mouth before but next thing you know, there I was with my skirt bunched around my armpits, upside down on top of this keg, sculling beer from the hose. I was caning it too, I swear I drank half the barrel before I ran out of breath. Some great photo's, I'm sure. The best was the tiny little Korean guy with no English who we got up there. He drank more than all of us and wouldn't have weighed in more than 60kg. And such manners-even with froth dribbling down his chin!
The club we went to afterwards was spectacular. I won't bother trying to explain it because it was just a club but suffice to say it was very large and impressive, and expensive. I blew my $40 budget in 10 minutes, on four tequilas.
Leaving LA was a nightmare. I left for the airport 4 hours before I ws due to fly, and I'm glad I did because I got sent to 3 wrong terminals (there are 7) and then the auto check in machine didn't work. With only 2 people working to assist people with problems the lines were huge. There was one Transport Security Administration person working checking passports, with another 10 or so standing around chatting to people in the lines.
Suffice to say the whole process was a ball crushing experience. It's entirely possible 9/11 was done by people who were just so pissed of with their treatment at LAX they took matters into their own hands. Ok probably not but it was unpleasant. Strange thing is that Phoenix and San Fransisco airports were great.
I think it's unfortunate that the only real judgement I have of the US is a few days in LA and three airports so I should really point out that everyone I met was very friendly and helpful and next trip to LA will entail renting a car to get the most out of it. LA isn't a backpacker friendly city but I've heard great things about other parts so will have to explore those options one day soon.
Thought it would be worthwhile seeing some of LA so I went for a walk with a Danish guy called Peter who I was dorming with. Nice guy-he was computer game developer ooh yea. We thought we'd walk form West Hollywood to Venice Beach. We got halfway there, stopping en route to see the lobby of the building at Nakatomi Plaza (it's where Die Hard was set) because Peter is a huge Bruce Willis fan. Of course it's a pretty standard skyscraper so we kept going and eventually submitted and got on the Metro which took us to the beach. It was massive-the sand is over a two hundred meters long to the water. It reminded of Scarborough in Perth but bigger-more sand and longer.
A couple of the guys staying at the hostel were struggling-for-work-actors. I thought that was a bit of a cliche, till the one I was dorming with told me he couldn't even afford to eat-what a legend! I hope he cracks it big time but I get the impression its tough out there. Secretly I'm a bit disappointed I wasn't discovered while cruising the strip in my cargo's hightops and wifebeater.
THURSDAY, MARCH 4, 2010 The Strip
I landed at LAX on 3/3/10-Wednesday morning local time. Confirming every report I've heard, LAX is a shithole. It's also eerily quiet considering it's the main airport around here. Where's all the people? They weren't at the customs desk that's for sure, because only one guy was on duty and it took over an hour to pass through. That said, there were free cookies at the internet booth I used so LAX did partly redeem itself in the end.
I got a bus from the airport to Union station and got off at West Hollywood, on Sunset Strip, and walked from there to my youth hostel on Melrose and Fairfax. It took me about two hours and 4 longnecks to get there. Drinking at 11am on Wednesday morning isn't the done thing here judging by some looks I got but I didn't care much, just wanted to unwind after the flight. I saw some really bright shiny fire trucks. They are really cool around here, shiny and red with plenty of chrome, and the cabs have enough room in them for the firies to play cards on a central deck.
Credit to the the Americans. How they've managed to glamourise Sunset Strip into the international icon it's become is beyond me. It's just a dusty potholed stretch of road with some specialty shops mixed in with pharmacies, (small) shopping malls, doctors offices and clinics offering free HIV testing.
If you live in Sydney, the Strip is a cross between Oxford Street and Parramatta Road, leaning more towards Parramatta road, but without the kebab shops. So, it's definately better than Parramatta road but not as good as Falcon Street, for example. They could probably use the HIV clinics on Oxford street but for any given stretch of road Oxford St, or Darlinghurst/Victoria Road in the Cross has this place covered. Sunset is a bit longer though. It's got a better name too.
At any rate, I know why Americans love their pickups and 4wd's-all the BMW's I saw kept bottoming on the potholes and seams in the road. There's only two types of cars in Hollywood-Prius Hybrids and V8 pickup trucks...and BMW's.
You really need a car to get around. The public transport is pretty average and it's huge. There are far less train lines than in Sydney and they are shorter, so you either bus it or don't bother.
When I arrived at the youth hostel I got showed my dorm. The first thing I noticed was the V8 supercar mag on the floor next to my bed. Christ, 20,000km later and the first person I meet is another Australian. We're like the Irish, and cockroaches-everywhere!
West Hollywood is pretty spread out. I've spent hours walking around looking for different types of shops. I found a vintage shop which was like all the Vinnies I ever went to in one spot. I wanted to buy all sorts of junk but knew it couldn't fit in my backpack so had to restrain myself but there were some sexy beige ski jackets from circa 1987 that I can't stop thinking about. My little brother, who is a very fashionable young chap (err) would love them. It was really exciting. At any rate, I've bought some hiking boots, travel guides and some cold weather gear and will now limit myself to $10 a day spend (ex accomodation). Things are cheap here-I found a pair of Nike high tops for $80-I paid $200 for my pair back home.
I have to say the people around here seem to be quite friendly. Everyone you walk past says hello, and one guy said I had a "totally fresh getup dude". I assumed he was talking about the mustache I'm cultivating-it does lend me quite a sophisticated and considered demeanour. It also helps me to appeal to the Mexicans who are everywhere around here. And they are short, even shorter than me so I really like having them around because I like people who make me look tall(er).
At some point in my ancestry a rancid ginger has infiltrated my genetic heritage and it's showing up in the growth on my upper lip-crikey! Im loosing patience with the red stain but I'll give it another month, it might turn blonde which would be quite distinguished.
I must look dopey or loaded because I kept getting hit up by guys on the strip with rap CD's who wanted to sell me copies of their recording for a few dollars. One guy claimed to be the next 50cent, and he was pretty persistant so I told him my favourite arist was Michael Bolton and he left me alone.
Anyway it's Friday night and there's a free piss up at the hostel-all the beer we can drink, and wine. The notice says it's drink till you drop-I think I just might!
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 2010 Resigned the other day
Well the ball is in play now. I showed up to work at 8am on the dot on Friday. Was a bit later than I wanted to be because I drove Marshall's car in and had to drop it at St Leonards and train the rest of the way in...but at any rate was there right on the mark of 8.
The boss was furious. With the LW in town from London he wanted to show how hard we all worked and had instructed us to essentially be at work no later than 7.45 and leave no earlier than 6.15. Anyway I figured if he made a scene I'd just give him my notice to save myself the hassle of getting a dressing down. He took me outside the office and had a go and I started telling him I thought it was slightly ridiculous getting worked up about a minute here or there, then thought bugger it and told him i was pulling the pin.
To his credit he took it very well. He said he understood and thought it was great that I was going to Haiti etc (I should point out that I've volunteered to work with a group called Hands On Disaster Response http://hodr.org/ for three months-found out they'd accepted my offer on Wednesday last week). He also said he'd pay me to the end of the month and I said I'd be happy to work if required, or at least hand over all my clients and pipeline etc. So in essence it was pretty amicable.
Then Angus McStaunchie, the company 2IC in Singapore stepped in and said I could get lost, take my notice period and shove it and no we aren't paying you any more mate. Basically, nothing I shouldn't have expected from a rancid firepouch based out of Singapore. So I thought about this for an hour and made a few phone calls and chatted about it with Scotty who also thought it was pretty rubbish. I also emailed myself all my work files, then deleted them all off my work computer.
I had a quick chat to Alex and basically explained that I was now unable to cooperate in any way with the handover. He seemed a bit put out that my attitude had changed since the morning, but was more put out when he found out I had nothing to hand over because I'd removed all my work files from the hard drive. Oh, and my blackberry is at home, sorry mate, forgot to bring it in today.
I also explained that as soon as I left the room, I was going to tell the other sales guys what the company policy was regarding notice periods and that it would therefore be in their best interests, if they were to quit, to not give any notice and just not show up, as they are in fact entitled to do. This all comes about by the way, because we don't have contracts, so we are relying on national awards.
So basically I got marched that afternoon and went to the pub with Babs, who told me he broke up with Jesse again the night before. Seems Babs and I have our drama schedule synchronised...it's good to have a mate like that because he always knows what your going through, because he's either had the same issue, is having it, or will have it very soon.
Long story short I was at the gym after four or five beers (bizarrely it actually seemed to help with my training) and Alex called saying he'd had a chat to Angus and they were going to pay me to the end of the month, which is a great outcome. They still owe me expenses but only $600-700 or so.
Next week I'll put together a list of things I need to sort out before I go. Top of the pile will be buying a new G-Shock, like the original dad bought me 20 years ago. There's some great looking watches out there and it'll be handy to have on in Haiti.
http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?VISuperSize&item=140382036769
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 2010 Quit my job in 4 days
This blog is going to be more than just a travel dairy. Of course, I want to catalogue my experiences as I travel through Central America, because I have goldfish memory. I can't even remember what this post is about-oh yea-travel writing.
The main reason people travel is not to see the things, but to meet the people. The idea is to get a feel for the culture, language, history, the vibe, the mabo of the place. So I'd like to record not only my impressions of the people I meet, but also their impressions of where they live. Let's see what they think about their country, government, their place in the world and so on. Let's find out what they think of developed country debt, climate change and emerging China, because apart from the one day cricket against the Windies, these are the big issues in Australia at the moment.
At any rate I don't really know anything about the places I'm headed to so it'll be steep learning curve when I arrive.
I'm going to fly to Los Angeles on the 3rd of March, and from there trek down to Mexico. I haven't decided if I should fly straight to Mexico or get a bus and see a bit of the US West Coast. It sounds pretty easy-yea I'll just bus it down to Mexico City from LA-but on the map it's pretty big, more like going to Brisbane from Cairns. We'll see, some planning may be in order after I quit work.
From Mexico it'll be Nicaragua, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Honduras, Panama, Guatemala, then through Colombia to Venezuela. From there-Eastern Europe via Warsaw...I'm going wife hunting.
So it's Monday, February 8 2010, 4 days before I quit my job, or at least hand in my notice. The boss who is a testicle smasher is in Melbourne today and tomorrow so it's feet up till Wednesday. They never gave me a contract so I hope that they don't stiff me my two weeks notice period. They also owe me about $5,500 in expenses so to play it safe I'll wait till I've banked that cheque before I do anything inflammatory.
Starting to feel quite good about the whole venture. Working this job was slowly killing me. For a start, the boss is a tool. He isn't deliberately vindictive. He's just an impulsive, balding, hairy, skinny, retro, cafe latte, electronic music scene ethnic cool, Honda S2000 sorta guy who can cross his legs in economy on the plane (indicative of a testosterone deficit) but actually kind of a dick, rude and dismissive to the little people and a slimy, tongue on anus chummy groveller to people he can derive status/money from.
The office is small with just four of us and since we aren't supposed to joke with each other (because we could be cold calling instead) there isn't much of an atmosphere at work. And obviously cold calling to set up business meetings is just as cruddy as it sounds, and since I'm nearly 27 it's time to give that game away.
The two other people I work with are alright. Scotty was a couple of years above me at school and is a laid back character. He hasn't sold anything for about a year, and has been told that he's got till end of March to sell something or he gets the punt. Judging by the general lack of activity at his desk, and the strategic way he's tilted his computer screen so nobody can see what's on it, I don't think he's too stressed by his precarious tenure.
Mary Clare is a crackerjack. Never have I met someone with such a good heart and such a timid soul. She is a completely ineffective sales person though, and has been here a year without selling a SINGLE FUCKING THING! She works very hard, doing the same wrong things day in day out and I don't see her ever selling anything except by accident. She is lovely though, and it's impossible to get her to say anything bad about anyone. And she's marrying an Italian guy with a Skyline GTR, among other cars so we have a good time rubbishing her for marrying such a rampant wog, and she takes it all very well.
Today I can't go to the toilet. Somebody vomited on the floor in there over the weekend and the puke smell has solidified to an offensive wall of reek. That's right, somebody has puked on the floor in my work toilet. You can't walk in without gagging, and it hasn't been cleaned up yet. If I'm being completely honest, it's possible I know who left that stinky pile of chunder on the floor, but discretion dictates I will keep his identity under wraps.
It was the Super Bowl today, and even though I've just started following it I'm glad that New Orleans got up. I snuck out of the office to watch a bit of it but missed most of the game.
And finally, it seems as if my marriage of convenience to Mike's British friend, who lives in Abu Dhabi and needs to marry an Aussie to get an Australian visa, has fallen through. Turns out the lady in question would rather marry someone she actually loves, or at least has met before. Reneging on an agreement like this is disgraceful and hurtful and I am contemplating suing her for breach of contract, because I was really counting on the $10k she was going to pay me to help fund this holiday.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 7, 2010 Corporate Workspace Analysis-Job Opportunity
THURSDAY, JANUARY 7, 2010
Corporate Workspace Analysis-Job Opportunity
I count myself lucky to be employed at the moment. In Europe, the USA, South America and Asia (hmmm, everywhere) people have lost their jobs and incomes thanks to the GFC. However most people kept their jobs, in particular those of us clever enough to be in resource rich countries selling things to China, or American bankers deemed too important and useful to let go by the US government.
As I'm not a US investment banker I had to get and keep my job on my own merits, and for the sake of posterity and for a lack of anything else to do I've put together a description of my workplace.
My building was built in the 1960's or 1970's. It imitates the Brutalist architectural style of the time. Rectangular blocks of pre-fab pebblecrete form the facade, but the designers ran out of either money or imagination and erected what looks like a giant house brick stood on it's end. This building couldn't be more mediocre if it didn't try much-which is hasn't. Even our secretaries are in a different building. This is bad because their building is awesome, and they are hot.
The lifts are slow but it doesn't matter because there's only 7 levels and they definitely get your there. The toilet is down a flight of fire escape stairs, so if there's a fire and I'm squeezing one out it's not far to safety. The aircon works...but the thermostat has a gap between 21 and 27 degrees and alternates between extremes of cold or heat. But this is offset by the fact it leaks from the roof onto the carpet sometimes. On Monday after a hot weekend there's plenty of atmosphere in the place.
A great thing about my building is the City Convenience store on the bottom level. The guy who runs it (and is there 24/7 and never sleeps) keeps it well stocked and swept and offers discounts when he runs out of change.
Despite all this, my boss is a good bloke, and a conscientious worker. So much so that while overseas, on holiday with his girlfriend, on Christmas day, he was sending work emails to us. He really cares, and one day I might too.
One of the perks of the job is that we get to use our own credit cards for all business expenses. As BDM's (sound better than salesman) for Australia this involves lots of flying and hotel stays. The great thing about this is when your boss goes away on holiday without paying your last months expenses, so that you are permanently at your credit card limit. We don't expense interest charged because it's not a business expense.
However we do use laptops with wireless internet which is progressive. But, the internet drops out a couple of times a day which interrupts my facebooking, where I'm trying to add as many hot girls, without being proactive, as possible. So if you're a hot girl and reading this (if you're actually reading this and think you're hot, you probably aren't) add away.
Anyway we use laptops and haven't been given a mouse to plug in. I get a sore forefinger on my right hand from using the scrollpad all day. I mitigate this by using other fingers and my left hand but they lack the dexterity of my right hand so it's frustrating as well as painful. The first knuckle get sore and tender and I find it tough to ball my fist. Who else gets this, and what can I do to fix it?
To conclude, I hope you now have an appreciation of my work environment. I can appreciate that anybody who has arrived at this page has obviously done so by mistake, and if by chance you started reading and inconceivably weren't so bored you navigated away before reaching this point you should know that i) You're gay and ii) I'll be quitting in 5 weeks to go to Central America (flights booked on points accrued through work expenses) and Eastern Europe (when hopefully I'll have something worth writing about) which means that there will be a once in a lifetime chance for you to work in my paradise.
So stay tuned for further details!