I’m not sure what they have done to deserve it, but it seems almost instinctive. I just cant stand them. They give me the impression of being unhappy, of being mean, of being violent. Spiders in the UK may not be able to envenomate a human, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. I have been bitten by an English spider, and it was a little shocking to actually feel it. I hoped I wouldn’t be bitten by any on my travels. I trace my fear back to my early teens where a nest of the little blighters was on the wall in my room and I awoke to find myself crawling with them. But, if I am honest with myself, it goes back further than that. I vividly recall, at the age of 6, bursting into tears when my mother gave me a wind-up spider as a Christmas present. It is amazing that a childhood memory can trigger a certain response; that of wrath. You see, I am not so much afraid of spiders, than that I have to kill them when they are present. In England this usually amounts to a fencing lunge while wearing shoes, or the services of a cat, but English spiders are generally small; what is to be done when the spider is bigger?

The correct way to conquer a fear is to face it down. This worked with my childhood fear of the dark, which I cured by locking myself in the airing cupboard. It also worked with my fear of heights by my jumping off the highest bungee in New Zealand. Sitting here now, can I say the following tales have cured me of a fear of spiders? I will leave that to the end of the article, after my memory has disgorged these tales.

Warning. If you are scared of spiders, then these stories may make you want to never leave your house. Of course, and especially if you live in the country, your house is teeming with them already.

Just so you know.

All of the following are absolutely true. I know because they happened to me. Honestly, I don’t know why so many of the bastards came after me, it must be in revenge for the thousands I have killed in the UK. I think they put the word out that Basho was coming, with orders to crawl all over him…

…and so they did.

The one where Basho meets the Wolf and White Tailed spiders of Australia.

Cesca and I lay in the hostel. It was hot as hell. That sort of muggy heat not usual to an Englishman, who is more used to cold North Sea climates. It was the heat of Cairns, on the north east coast of Australia, a muggy tiring wet heat. We were exhausted. Not least of all because this was the morning after our three day diving course and we had been working hard, but also because we had been out all night celebrating our having passed the training. No one can drink as hard as a crowd of divers. Even Rugby players would have watched us from across the bar and remarked, “Oh, surely that’s just too much!”

Cesca stirred on her side of the bed and groaned. Obviously the head ache was coming for her. “I think we need to take a few days off.”

I opened an eye, “Sure.” I paused. “Just one point, we don’t have jobs to take a day off from.”

“We have been bussing up this country for the last two weeks! I need to take a rest before we go on.”

“You have something in mind?”

Without bringing her head out of the bed covers, she reached a hung-over arm to her bedside table and without looking picked up a pamphlet and slapped it on my chest.

I considered the pictures and title. The text was nigh on unreadable in my current mental state. “The Sanctuary?” I asked.

“Three days of peace in the jungle.”

“Ok. But, first breakfast.”

So a the next day we arrived at the Sanctuary. Built as a yoga retreat literally in the jungle south of Cairns, the main longhouse dominated the lush trees all around. The brochure spoke of wild cassowaries’ roaming the tracks, it also said that if you didn’t like spiders then perhaps this was not your place. The owner drove us up to the longhouse and I saw that it was of the highest build quality. A sort of open plan restaurant, bar and sitting room. It was wide and tall and peaceful. I loved it immediately.

The owner checked us in, and I whispered to Cesca, “Where are the rooms?”

She simply smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

The owner handed us over to a Woofer to show us our room. Woofers are people swapping work in exchange for free accommodation. It is a way of getting around the need for a working Visa when visiting a country. A month from this day we too went Woofing, which you can read about here. Anyway, he was English, and a nice guy. He led us out of the Longhouse and down the path on the hill, into the jungle that enveloped us immediately. The path cut a neat swath through the trees and light filtered through the leaves to become dappled as it played over our faces. The guy was speaking, and I wasn’t really listening until suddenly my ears pricked up.

“Yeah, we had one in room one the other night.” he was saying, “that’s your room.”

“Oh, really?” said Cesca.

“Yeah, they called me down to get it out,” he motioned a thumb at me, “but, you have him. Don’t worry.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Huntsmen,” said Cesca.

Huntsmen spiders. “I see” I said in that careful English way of voicing extreme discomfort.

The Woofer, being English, picked up on it straight away, “Hey don’t worry about it, you will be fine.”

Then I saw the room and I use the term lightly. Imagine this: You take a frame of a room, just the edges, like a wireframe model, and instead of walls made of wood or bricks you use green netting. So the room was basically a square tent in the jungle, and right amongst it.

“The sun rise is the best bit, “the Woofer explained, “It comes up the path and through the trees. It is wonderful way to wake up.”

Cesca exclaimed in excitement and clutched my arm.

“Wow,” she said.

I must admit, it was special. The room had a large bed in the middle and no power. Not even a light, but it had that rustic charm experienced only by those living on desert islands and perhaps by Tarzan. Of course, the netting was not what you might call airtight; it wrapped around the frame leaving huge gaps open to the outside. Anything that crawled could get in.

We plonked down our stuff and ventured back to the longhouse for lunch. There we met with some very nice people and made some good friends. Friends that I am glad to say, have stayed so. We talked with them and the woofers until the night fell and had an excellent bottle of wine. Then the time came to head to bed. The path was darker than a black-hole and without a torch the steep path could be dangerous. Slowly we made our way down to our room and took it in.

“Go on then,” Cesca said nudging me with her arm.

“Go on then what?”

“Go check the room.”

I sighed and reaching into my go-bag took hold of the nearest blunt object, which turned out to be a plastic lunchbox lid. I hefted it a few times and motioned to Cesca to follow me. We climbed up to the door and played our torch over the green fabric. It very neatly blocked the light from entering the room and I realised we would have to check it from the inside.

I found the bolt and clicked it open. I had that sense one gets when sneaking around the house for fear of waking someone.

“Get on with it,” Cesca said.

I pulled a face, turned on my head torch and flung open the door. Immediately something moved in the room. I heard a scrabbling of something frightened and annoyed at being disturbed. My torch played around the net-walls of the room as I tried to locate the source of the noise when suddenly a cricket ball sized shape flickered into view and flashed towards me. Cesca stepped back and I involuntarily cried out as the white shape, only just caught in the torch light, flashed directly at my face. Instinct kicked in and I batted it away with the plastic lid in my hand. The contact was a heavy thunk and whatever it was fell back into the room, only to flow carefully in an arc and flash for my face again. I batted it away, terror giving my body extra might but, again, it simply came straight for me. Over the next ten seconds I played tennis with it, crying out like a professional, batting it backhand and forehand in desperation to get it to stop coming for me. What was it? My mind screamed. Suddenly I realised that I was standing in the way of the exit. It was probably trying to get away! I jumped to one side and my head torch, loosened by the action, was flung from my head and fell against the doorframe to end up at my feet. Almost immediately the creature made a dash for it and…

…landed on it.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by my heart pounding. Both Cesca and I leaned in and took a close look. It was a, slightly battered, Goliath Moth. It had been attracted to the bright light of my head torch and acted only as come naturally for a moth. We looked at each other and laughed. I put the poor fellow outside the door. Goliath Moths are huge in the extreme and he was not permanently damaged by our 2 sets to 1 encounter.

We checked every inch of the room that night, but nothing was there and after a cuddle, we tried to sleep. In the morning I awoke to find Cesca wide awake, with her camera in her hand, pointing at something. Sitting on the bed post, staring at us, was a large spider. It was moving its feet in time like it was tapping them in impatience. Cesca was taking photos of it. I looked and thought I recognised it as a White Tail spider.

White-tailed spiders are medium-sized spiders native to southern and eastern Australia, and so named because of the whitish tips at the end of their abdomens. Common species are Lampona cylindrata and Lampona murina. Both these species have been introduced to New Zealand.^[1]

White-tailed spiders are vagrant hunters who seek out prey rather than spinning a web to capture it. Their preferred prey is other spiders and they are equipped with venom for hunting. WIKIPEDIA

The White Tail has a fearsome reputation outside Australia, mainly due to exaggerated stories in the papers regarding the effect of its bite. It is said that the venom causes necrotic lesions in the victims flesh and huge chunks of your body rot and never heal. Photos abound the net of the damage these white spiders cause.

So say.

Suffice to say that while a bite from one is not something you want; it would bloody hurt, the flesh eating venom has not been proven by science. It may be that there is a particular variety of White Tail that causes this damage, or it may be something else altogether, Nevertheless, I wanted nothing to do with it. The idea that it may have been crawling all over us was bad enough. We gave it a wide birth and dressed for breakfast. It rotated to follow our movements around the room and then climbed onto the wall where Cesca snapped this photo:

Wandering up to the Longhouse was somewhat of relief by this point. I wanted nothing more to do with spiders, giant moths and jungle for one day. We met up with our new friends and sat down for breakfast.

Here it comes…

As we tucked into the repast and regaled the above two stories to our friends over coffee and eggs, the male of the pair suddenly pointed at my right shoulder.

“You have a bloody big spider on you mate.” He said alarmed.

I remember thinking that he must have been joking, just adding some spice to the story we were telling, and I laughed. It was only when Cesca, sitting next to me, put her fork down very slowly that I realised that he wasn’t joking. For some reason I didn’t panic at all. In fact at this point in the proceedings I was cool as a cucumber. I was so cool you could keep a side of beef in me for a month. My conscious brain took hold of me and controlled my reactions.

I looked.

On my right shoulder, looking straight at me, front legs raised threateningly, was a Wolf Spider the size of my fist. And I have big hands.

“Indeed” I said.

Wolf spiders are members of the family Lycosidae, from the Greek word “?????” meaning “wolf”. They are robust and agile hunters with good eyesight. They live mostly solitary lives and hunt alone. Some are opportunistic wanderer hunters, pouncing upon prey as they find it or chasing it over short distances. Others lie in wait for passing prey, often from or near the mouth of a burrow. WIKIPEDIA

I could see his eyes reflecting mine as the Wolf Spider has very large eyes. I could see his fangs. He was so close that my left eye couldn’t pick him up properly and so I one-eye goggled at him.

With a smooth and definite motion I reached up with my right hand and swept him down and away from my body. Unfortunately the angle I chose was not a good one and the spider battered into the table edge, flicked over in mid air and landed feet-first on my testicles. I remember clearly feeling his eight feet dig in as he landed. He was cupping my love spuds with the manner of one who has been ill used, but then fate has handed him the ultimate chance of payback and he was weighing his options. This time I jolted in terror as my subconscious, clearly upset with the pigs-ear my conscious brain had made of the situation thus far, stepped in with an adrenal dump into my muscles.

For me time slowed as the chemical cocktail entered my blood stream. All sorts of fighting systems powered on. I felt no pain or fear anymore. I felt no discomfort as all pain signals were dampened. My reactions and hand to eye coordination improved two fold and my vision narrowed with my pupils contracting to focus on the coming conflict. It was as if my conscious brain had been relieved of duty and locked in his room. The subconscious had pressed the “whoop ass button”.

With a speed that would have out-foxed Bruce Lee, my right hand moved so fast it tore reality apart at the seams. For under a picosecond there existed a perfect quantum moment as time divided the future into two streams. In one stream the spider still had my balls in its grip and yet in a spate of time that made a microsecond seem like an eon the other reality stream exerted itself and the spider was batted off my family jewels. My great haste caused small localised black holes to burst into existence and suck away the winsome reality where the eight legged freak still had hold of my love spuds!

Time’s flow returned to normal and I breathed a sigh of relief as the large spider picked himself up of the floor and ran out of the room.

“Wow,” noted Cesca, “You ok?”

“Yes. Now, where was I?”

The one where Basho meets the Australian Redback

“What do you think?” Cesca asked.

I looked at the man in question and considered the options. “Hell, why not, he looks OK” Actually, he looked a little crazy.

We had met Franco only about an hour before. He was a passenger on our train from Alice Springs, deep in the outback, to Adelaide on the southern coast. We were going overland onboard the famous Ghan train, one of only four trains in the entire country. By far he was the most vocal man I have ever met, talking ten to the dozen to anyone who would listen. Cesca had been drawn into one of the conversations and they had hit it off. I joined in and we both talked to him, pumping him gently for any information about Adelaide that may help us during our coming stay there. Franco was a goldmine of information on the subject. He was Italian Australian and had lived in Adelaide for most of his life. The difficulty was picking the information out of the high flow stream-of-conscious constant talking he was doing.

“Talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

“He’s just had a near death experience”

Franco had explained, to anyone who would listen, that he had just survived three days in the desert after his car got bogged in sand on the way back from an Aboriginal commune. He had been in the commune to see some aboriginal artist friends who had asked for help dealing with the governments new mischief. The government had closed all the stores in the commune and opened a government store, which only took tickets in exchange for food and supplies. An action known as the Intervention, but to Franco was clearly apartheid. The dishonour of this had been getting the Aborigines down and they had asked for help. Franco had driven across the desert to see what was happening and had got stuck on the way back. For three days. Finally, he had been rescued by some Aborigines and pulled out of the sand.

I looked out of the window at the searing Australian outback passing by. It was exceedingly inhospitable and I wondered if his story was true.

“How did you survive?” I had asked.

“Oh, I went into starvation meditation.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, I was a monk in Italy and learned the technique, it was the only thing that saved me.”

“A monk…”

“Yes, I walked across Europe dressed as Charlie Chaplin, for peace, I got to Rome and demanded to meet the Pope and after he saw me I became a monk.”

“The Pope…”

“Yes, but I am not a monk anymore, I teach at the University.”

“I see…”

“I know, why don’t you guys come and stay with me? I can show you around Adelaide…In exchange for a little gardening. Mow my lawn for example.”

He continued for about twenty minutes, almost gasping his breaths.

Cesca asked me again, “What do you think?”

“You believe him?” I was not sure that I did.

“Yes, why not?”

I looked at Cesca, she was a much better judge of this sort of thing than I. I tend to put everything through the filter of firstly, my martial arts training, then my sceptical filter born in the crucible of my Philosophy degree. Cesca had studied neither of these and so tended to trust her instincts, which are excellent. A lesson in natural Daoism that is not lost on me and one of the things I adore about my wife. The next morning, the train arrived in Adelaide and we departed. Franco rushed to get his car and we saw it coming off the train.

It was covered head to toe in red dust.

So, soon, we stood in his front room and he was still talking. It had become to us like a background track, its constancy driving the sound under our conscious radar. I didn’t mind, near death experiences remind us that life is precious, and I am sure I would feel the same – and be talking to everyone – if I had been in his situation.

If you can talk, then you are still alive.

“I have to go out, a Aborigine in prison has freaked out, and I am his carer.”

“Sure, Franco, no problems.” By now, his constant and outlandish life was not raising my eyebrows. I was not sure I believed half of it, but we was a nice guy to have us to stay.

He went. Leaving two people he has just met alone in his house.

“You know Cesca,” I said to her, “everyone always trusts you. It’s your charming face. We should become criminals, we would make millions.”

She laughed, “Have you seen the back garden?”

“No, not yet.”

“Go take a look. Oh and by the way…” She pointed towards the sideboard. I looked and saw a single framed photograph. I leaned in to see it clearly.

It was a photograph of Franco dressed as Charlie Chaplin, on the steps of the Vatican, talking to the Pope.

I walked out to the rear garden and took a look at it. The grass was four feet long. I would need a chainsaw to cut it down to size. Franco made good on his promise that day and took us around Adelaide to see the sights. We all had a great time and got on very well. The next day, armed with an industrial hedge trimmer I set to work on the lawn. It was slow going, but eventually I had removed enough to revel a path running through the garden as well as the remains of a fallen down barbecue. The four of us, Cesca, Franco, his friend (a local tree expert) and myself, started pulling the bricks from the thicket and throwing them in a wheel barrow.

Franco was still talking constantly. He really hadn’t drawn breath in the last two days, and always about himself. I don’t think he even asked us what our jobs had been until we prompted him. I was not really listening to what he was saying as I reached for the bricks, but something he mentioned made me turn and look, a brick still in my hand.

Then I looked back and the Redback spider looked right at me.

The Redback spider (Latrodectus hasselti) is a potentially dangerous spider native to Australia. It resembles a Black widow spider. It is a member of the genus Latrodectus or the widow family of spiders, which are found throughout the world. The female is easily recognisable by its black body with prominent red stripe on its abdomen. Females have a body length of about a centimetre while the male is smaller, being only 3 to 4 millimetres long. The Redback spider is one of few animals which display sexual cannibalism while mating.

Redbacks are considered one of the most dangerous spiders in Australia.^[1] The Redback spider has a neurotoxic venom which is toxic to humans with bites causing severe pain. There is an antivenom for Redback bites which is commercially available. WIKIPEDIA

Redback spiders are common in the gardens of Australia, but that is not a comforting thought. It had been many years since someone died from a bite from one, but this was mainly due to the availability to the anti-venom, rather than any decreasing species lethality. The results of the bite are almost immediate. Firstly, it hurts like a kick in the teeth. Apparently, you know you have been nipped by one; there is no doubt. The second result is the shakes, followed by all your mucus membranes going into overdrive. After this your entire body starts to hurt. This get increasingly worse for three days until, in agony, you either get better or have a heart attack. Of course, the anti-venom makes the worst of it fade quickly.

I tried to calculate the distance to the hospital in my head, but the spider had me mesmerised. The Redback is well named, it is coal black apart from a very red stripe down its back. It is also quite small. A relative of the black widow, the Redback is a modern web spinning spider like your average house spider. It as thin stick like legs and raises its body high above them. When threatened, it lacks the displays of the other, more ancient, type of spider and instead raises only a few legs to reveal the fangs.

This is what it was doing now. Probably annoyed at being dragged into the light by a jobbing Englishman. After all, given the state of Franco’s garden, it had been given a free run of the place for months. Cesca spotted the spider and came to the rescue. Or at least I thought she did, what she actually did is take a close up photo of the little blighter on her ever present camera:

“Thanks darling, big help.”

She laughed.

“Franco!” I called, “Look what I have found.”

Franco came over to look at the killer spider. He considered it for a few seconds.

“Oh yeah, the garden is full of ‘em”. He then picked it up with one hand and chucked it away. Like it was a woodlouse, not like it was a dangerous spider. Cesca and I were amazed. What is it with Australians and dangerous animals? They have no fear whatsoever. Is it that you simply have to get used to them? Or perhaps Franco’s near death escape from the desert had made him feel invulnerable? I don’t know, but he didn’t hesitate at all, one second the spider was in charge and the next it was flung through the air, probably wondering why it had bothered getting up this morning!

The one where Basho meets the biggest spider in the world, in Laos

In 2002 science discovered the worlds largest spider. It was a great day for science. Deep in the caves of the country of Laos, lived a real monster. A local variety of large and aggressive spider, common in Asia and Australasia, known as the Giant Cave Huntsman.

The giant huntsman spider (Heteropoda maxima, from maximus, meaning “the largest”) is a spider of the Heteropoda genus. It is considered in a December 2008 WWF report as “the world’s largest Huntsman spider. “^{[2] WIKIPEDIA}

This genus of spider is famous for a number of reasons, firstly it is large. Secondly, it is mean. Thirdly, it is fast as hell. The average Huntsman encounter is over in two seconds, as the hapless human comes face to fang with one and screams, by the time the sound has reflected off the corner of the room and made it back to your ears, the spider will have started his jet engines. A horrible scrabbling, scraping sound, a blur of speed and an eight legged bolt for the door. If you are standing in the way of the spiders jump-to-lightspeed then you may well get bitten. I remember the description of the beast in the Australian book of spiders; it simply read, “Ready biter.” Anything that is a ready biter is not my kind of petting animal, no matter how many, or how few, legs it has.

Luckily being bitten by one is not fatal nor particularly dangerous, it just hurts like hell. Well, that’s OK then!

So, in these caves, scientists discovered something new, something huge. Of course, this was science’s discovery of the beast, the locals have been putting up with them for generations stretching back to the stone age, but since they don’t know any Latin they don’t count. The Huntsman is impossible to miss, even when not super-sized. It has longer front legs that curve around in a particular way, hence you cant mistake one for something else. These scientists, exploring the caves, came across the Laos Cave Huntsman and, after a large scream and probably a brandy, announced it to he world in triumph.

I have something to tell them. Drop the “Cave” part of the name.

Cesca passed me a drink, as we were starting early. We all were. Our little group of 7 party animals had arisen at 6am on this special day. We were seated in a makeshift wooden bar on the bank of a Mekong tributary river, about 12 miles north of the Laotian town of Vang Vieng. Vang Vieng is roughly half way down Laos and a famous stopover on the backpacker trail. In fact, it holds a certain amount of awe and dread. Anyone over 28 (myself and Cesca excluded) pretty much hates it, while anyone under 25 considers it heaven. This is because the city exists for pretty much only one reason; hedonistic partying.

The plan was simple. We were going tubing, which I had been assured by my Irish friend Colin was the, “best time I ever had, and I’m not joking”. I had no doubt, since the premise had a lot of opportunity for fun. Tubing is when you hire an inflated lorry inner tube, about 4ft across, and sit upon it as you float down the river back to the town. That’s the idea. The reality is that around 20 shack like bars containing swings, mud pools and buckets of strong drink, had taken up residence on the riverbanks lining the route. So, tubing basically involves drinking all day, floating from bar to bar and dancing with a lot of drunk girls wearing only bikinis.

Maybe, Colin had a point; this was going to be fun.

We were making an early start on the drinking before even getting a foot wet. Bobbits and Lenin had steered the rest of us into the bar next to the start point and bought a round of drinks. I didn’t mind, as the bar was right on the banks of the river and I could see across to the stunning Karst mountains of Laos. The view is amazingly beautiful as the mountains jut out of the flat fields and reach straight up to the sky. The sun was rising behind them and coronas glowed around the tops, high above the plains.

Cesca and I watched and then smiled to each other.

“I read,” I said, “that during the war, the Vietnamese army and the Communist Laotians hid in those mountains.”

“Cool, are there caves?” she asked.

“According to Lenin’s book he lent me, yes, huge deep caves. They are about 2 miles away from here, I’d say. Many are not fully explored. There could be anything in them. Perhaps we can go visit them before we leave Vang Vieng?”

Cesca arched an eyebrow, “Bats?”

I shrugged and supped my drink. It was hella’strong.

Cesca eyed her drink and chuckled, “Yes, I would like that, but let’s see how we feel tomorrow.” She then looked straight at me, “No bats.”

Lenin spoke up, “Best to use the toilets before we get on the tubes.”

“Good idea,” I said finishing my drink. “I bet they’re out back. Baggsy’ first,” and I rushed off ahead.

Sure enough around the back of the bar was the traditional Laos toilet block. Four cubicle shacks made out of uneven planks of wood with a straw roof to keep off the rain. Like a cargo cult of a phonebox. I pushed open the creaking door of the first one. A basic Asian toilet, little more than a hole in the ground awaited me. No light or any toilet roll. Just a bucket. Sighing, I squeezed into the small dark and foul smelling hut, pushed the door closed and squatted over the hole. I was humming to myself tunelessly in the dark gloom when I heard the following conversation outside the toilet:

“F*cking Hell!” came the voice of Lenin. He sounded genuinely shocked.

“Look at that one!” said Mariluz. She sounded revolted.

“Bloody hell,” came Cesca’s worried tones, “I am glad I am not in that cubicle!”

“It must be the biggest spider I have ever seen!” reiterated Lenin.

Spider! The word was like ice down my back. They were standing outside my cubicle. With a creeping terror I looked slowly up. Above my head, so close that it is miracle I didn’t catch it with my hair when I entered, was the biggest spider in the world. What was immediately clear to me was that is was looking directly back at me. the Laos Cave Huntsman, always posed to run or bite, was considering his options.

It was lucky that I was in my current position, because this revelation was like like a jolt of electricity through my body and I involuntarily let out a small mammalian whimper. Surely the same whimper two legged creatures have been making in similar situations since the dawn of time.

“Basho!” came Lenin, “Are you in that one?” He laughed out loud.

“Look up darling,” said Cesca.

I tried to talk and look inedible at the same time, only gibberish came from my lips, “Bwwwwahhhh…”

“Yep, that’s Basho,” said Cesca.

I quickly finished my business and pulled up my trousers. Still squatting I waddled out of the toilet. My friends saw my horrified face and could not stifle a laugh. I stood and turned to see the monster hanging over the hutch.

“What the smeg is that thing? Its huge!” I said trying desperately to look nonchalant.

“Dunno, but I think it wanted to eat you,” laughed Lenin.

The rest of the crew elected to go in the other cubicles and afterwards they forgot the monster and got on with enjoying the day.

Enjoy it we did, but I cannot look at the following video of us sitting in the bar without remembering the spider looking at me as I looked at him.

The one where Basho visits Spiderville, Cambodia

It all came about when our Laos travelling companions decided to fly out of Siem Reap in Cambodia; over 28 hours away.. They left the journey as late as possible so that they could make a final rush for the airport (they were flying to Australia) and sleep on the flight. The last thing they thought we would do is join them. Our sensible option would have been to enter Cambodia at a slower pace and then take a week or so to work our way around to Siem Reap, but we decided that we wanted to be at Angkor Wat for Christmas day and so the mission was on for us all.

The first challenge was the border crossing. The southern Laos border has, until recently, been closed. The latest Lonely Planet edition makes no mention of being able to get through at this point. However, the enterprising Laotians have realised that opening the border here will exponentially increase the tourists coming down to the 4000 Islands region. The effect is to turn this quiet backwater section of the Mekong, seen by only the completist, to a bustling Western haven for those crossing into Cambodia.

Bustling is good for money but what damage will it do to the area?

The private bus companies are all for this change and many deals have sprung up for easy transport to Cambodian cities. We chose to take a bus at $20 a head. It started with a boat ride out of the water locked islands followed by multiple small 12-seater transports to the border. The border guards inspected our Laos Visa’s and entry cards and penalised all who had lost them (the vast majority of the Vang Vieng Crowd), then they pointed out down a simple road to Cambodia. As Cesca and I walked I could not help but imagine snipers watching our every move, and so we danced across the line “Morecambe & Wise style”, just to show them.

On the other side we were ushered into a more transports and then onto a larger bus. The usual frauds were in operation about changing currency, which involves a confidence trick in convincing you that any Laotian currency cannot be changed anywhere else on your trip. This is, of course, rubbish and the rate being offered is very bad. However, the rate all over Cambodia is bad and the best idea is to change all your Kip to US Dollars before entering Cambodia at all. The real journey then began in earnest. The north east of Cambodia is perhaps the most un-touristed area, and for us it was passing by in flashes out the window. Trekking is available here, but like in all of this war ravaged country, stepping off the path can be deadly.

We arrived that night in the darkness of the capital. There are very few times that I allow a tout to select my hotel for me but this was one of them, as we had no idea where about we were. The hotel was actually quite good and obviously had a large crowd of tourists staying. We crashed out and awaited the next day.

The next day came with an unwelcome change of bus. This new bus was stacked with wood. That is to say, the entire inside of the bus, under every chair and in every nook and cranny, were large planks of wood that had been stacked and were taking up all the room. For a tall man this made the journey even more distressing. Now the bus plied its way up the western side of Cambodia towards our final destination.

All busses make stops, but the stop here was one I will not forget.

Spiderville is very well named. The bus stopped and we all piled off to stretch our legs. I was quite sleepy and did not take a clear look at the food items proffered by the lady tout sitting outside. It was only when my mind grabbed my eyes and fixed them onto the thing crawling on the young lady’s arm that I realised she was selling deep-fried Tarantulas.

Tarantulas comprise a group of hairy and often very large spiders belonging mainly to the family Theraphosidae, of which approximately 900 species have been identified. Historically tarantulas were the bigger genera from the family Lycosidae (like Lycosa tarantula) WIKIPEDIA

And that one had obviously escaped:

She saw my eyes widen, “You want spider?” She said while pulling the arachnid back into place as it tried to scamper up her top. She then pulled it off and offered it to me, legs a-wiggling.

“Err, no. No thanks very much, I am fine,” I managed to say backing away slightly.

The girl was sitting down on a bucket, which I thought was only her chair.

It was not.

She took my hesitance to mean that I did not want this particular spider and so she stood up from the bucket and showed me her selection inside. Twenty of the monsters were all tumbling over each other to be my deep fried food choice.

“Bwahhhh,” was an accurate translation of my reply and I quickly moved on.

The next girl was selling deep fried spiders too and had a pile of paprika coloured crawlers on a tray on her head.

After a few further spiders sellers I was able to purchase a Coke and make my way back onto the bus. A few brave souls bought one to eat and a large offering was passed around the bus. Lenin, our travelling companion, tried a leg but I passed it on:

“Sorry, I’m trying to cut down…”

The one where Basho is offered spider for breakfast in Thailand

We were driven to a staging area and then picked up by our guide and a local villager. He arrayed us with water and then we were off into the jungle. Trekking is something Cesca and I love. It gets you out of not only your comfort zone, but out of your mental map of yourself. You are immersed in the sights and sounds of the trek and have plenty of time to think. This was real trekking. The villager spoke almost no English, but our ever-helpful guide translated splendidly. The jungle was all around us and I could not see that we were following any sort of recognisable path through it. After a while, the villager cut us down some bamboo and fashioned us some walking sticks, something that really helped. We crossed swelling rivers, went up and down rocky slopes, through valleys, up hills and everywhere the jungle was all around. No signs of human life. I really felt that we were really in the mix. Of course, we were probably only a thick bush away from Starbucks, but it felt real. What also felt real was at one point we were crossing this giant fallen log, using it as a bridge over a massive drop, when the villager and guide both froze. In front of us was an enormous snake that spotted us and slithered into the undergrowth. It was about 5 feet long and looked to me like some sort of pit Viper with its arrow like head and hissing out a warning to us. It disappeared and our hearts stopped hammering in our chests. Relieved and laughing a little we all continued.

About 7 hours later, we came to a stream. There the villager stopped and made some cups from bamboo (I still have mine). Into these, he poured some local firewater and we drank each other’s health. It was strong stuff and that is putting it mildly. He then led us onwards and out of the jungle into pastures. Through these and onwards to a small purpose built wooden village.

This was arrayed with bamboo huts into which we deposited our gear. To wash we went down to the river and washed standing in the freezing waters. Not the safest thing I have ever done, but I was at least clean.

Then we went and helped with dinner. Other villagers arrived and one man played a strange stringed instrument as we helped prepare the food. Wok cooking is a favourite of mine and we soon got stuck in frying all the various dishes. Dinner was wonderful and as the night drew in, we went to bed in our hut, idly wondering about Spiders and bed bugs.

The next morning, we were up and at them at an ungodly hour. I am not the most morning orientated of people and struggle to wake up. This morning, they had what must be the ultimate way of sobering me up but not in a good way. The guide called me over to a mud bank where the villager was violently digging out a hole in the ground. It looked vaguely familiar.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

There followed a rattling conversation in the local dialect, which is a little bit Thai and a little bit something else.

“The guide turned to me and motioned the hole, “He finding you spider.”

“Spider!” I exclaimed.

“You say last night, you like spider, so he find you one.”

My recollection had been that I had indicated a certain level of reluctance on the part of spiders in my room. Quite how this turned into me wanting to see one was lost to me. However, before I could stop him the violent digging halted and the villager was now poking a slim stick into the hole.

I was fascinated to see how he flicked the stick in a certain way and ground it around the hole, but I could not see into it myself. Suddenly he cried out and jumped back as an enormous and very angry spider came out of the hole.

Spiders are naturally nocturnal and this big fella’ had been woken from his morning slumbers by someone knocking down his home and dragging him out by force. He reared up and waved his legs menacingly.

I instinctively took a step back. He was huge and black and about the size of Cesca’s hand. I would bet that he was some sort of Tarantula, but I don’t know. The villager was not so hampered by fear and he pushed the stick under the beast and flicked it up and out of the hole, onto the bank. The spider made a dash for it, but the villager was ready and it reared again. Fangs the size and shape of clipped toe nails juddered as he tried to scare us off. The Villager was having none of it and with a very deft and practiced movement, he slapped the stick down on the spiders back and pinned it to the floor. He then rushed up the stick and grabbed the spider from the back holding it down. He then gripped it in a certain way, obviously some sort of spider jujutsu hold, and lifted it up in his hand. The spider was totally in his control. Satisfied, he smiled, walked over and thrust the struggling giant arachnid in my face.

“You touch, please” said the guide. Gingerly I reached out. “Not there! He bites you. Leg.” My hand froze and I adjusted my aim. I felt one of the large footpads. It was amazingly soft and not all spiky. Kind of like rough felt or a good shag carpet. “Now you,” he said indicating that Cesca should also stroke the struggling arachnid. Gingerly she put forwards a hand but the waving legs meant that she closed her eyes as she did so.

“That’s his balls you’re holding,” I pointed out.

She yelped and opened her eyes; sure enough, she was groping the poor creature’s spinnerets. “Urrg!” she exclaimed.

The villager smiled, laughed, and put the spider down on the ground. The spider obviously did not quite know what to make of all this and eventually decided to make a run for it, possibly to call a constable and report being molested. The villager rattled off something in his local language, which the guide translated for us.

“He say, you lucky his father not guide today. He eat spider.”

Both Cesca and I made the same face of disgust.

“What, raw?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Can we have something else for breakfast?”

“Yes, come, fruit ready.”

Epilogue

So, there you have them. In one year away, you are always going to get involved with things that are outside your comfort zones, but for me these five encounters have had a big effect on my life. I’m not talking about my fear of spiders, that is still the same and I still kill rather than capture rogue spiders in my house, instead I am talking about some of the wonderful people in these stories. Franco, Lenin, Bobbits, The villager, the lady outside the bus, these are the things that I will remember. These are the things I cherish.

Don’t stay at home just because you may have to face something that terrifies you. As you have read, I came close to some of the most dangerous spiders in the world and didn’t get bitten, they are not creatures to be feared. Rather they should be admired. Up close, the world’s spiders are really quite amazing. They are almost, and I hesitate to suggest this, quite beautiful. The wonder of nature is that this small and intelligent creature has been around the Earth for millions of years. They have been our eight legged companion for a thousand generations, and they will be with us on this journey for a thousand more.

Just, hopefully, not attached to my testicles next time.

Regards,

Basho

Our abode here was luxurious compared to the hostels we had become accustomed to. Susannah and Rowan (family friend) had kindly offered us their spare room for a few days while we explored their home from home. As much a backpacking is the life we chose for now there is nothing like the comforts of home, even if it is not your own. Being surrounded by the warmth of friends, clean dry warm fresh-smelling fluffy towels, soft comfortable bed, efficient washing machine and detergent, homely kitchen, television etc and all complimentary too. For us this was heaven! After a delicious ‘welcome’ supper, I joke with Susannah that their abode would of course be included and scored our rated travel accommodation list on our blog. Obviously  there was nothing to concern her as their score is a clear 5/5 with the ultimate in luxury being able to lie-in passed 8am and not have to pack our bags for check out for a few of days. Bliss! Thank you again

 

Susannah and Rowan’s lovely St Kilda East home

The weather in Melbourne was not in our favour and resembled the gray skies of London. In fact the river here was reminiscent of the River Thames and for us the whole city felt like a mini London. This was both a plus (it felt very familiar) and a minus (it was just all too familiar). We joked on our trip that around every city corner there is an EY building and here we found a Nokia Care store too! Both previous clients.

Still, we had a lovely time here visiting art galleries, design and film museums.

The National Gallery of Victoria was showing a truly sensational exhibition called ‘Moon in Reflection’ by Kim Hoa Tram who is a Melbourne based Vietnamese born Chinese artist. The exhibition of large simple artworks, which marry Chinese calligraphy with Chan (Zen) Buddhism to illustrate the path to enlightenment, are both profound and beautiful. I have subsequently bought ‘The Essential Dalai Lama’ which is the first book of his collected wisdom. Buddhism is a way of life I have always wanted to learn about and which has since expanded my approach to life. This purchase has please J greatly and we now have discussions about the Buddhist teaching together!

Melbourne was a very social spot for us. Kelly (Haywood) and her partner John have emigrated recently and we met over drinks and dinner. Emigration seems good for them and they look well on the, usually great, weather and outdoors lifestyle. I however sense they question how much the 9-5 is inhibiting their discovery of Australia itself. We hooked up for coffee with Frankie & Andy (a fun English couple we met in Adelaide) who are travelling with their delightful 2yr old daughter. It was great to see that travelling with a young children in not as prohibitive and daunting as we had been lead to believe.

Of all the cities in Australia that we could potentially move to, Melbourne would be our choice. We love the outdoors lifestyle coupled with interesting architecture and a vibrant creative and cultural edge. The suburban housing has all the quintessential character that is missed elsewhere in Australia. But if we were to emigrate her I would ask myself if this… “Would it become another London experience on the other side of the world?” Which confirms the idea that it is not particularly another country we are looking for it is another way of life.

Cesca

P.S.

Susannah & Rowan: we would both like to thank you for your kindness at having us to stay. Our welcome was warm and your food delicious. Thank you for allowing us free reign in your home and for couriering for my belongings over. We wish you both well and your silver lining is around the corner.

Kelly & John: It was lovely to catch up after so long. Melbourne seems like a great place and ideally suited to you being full of very sporty/arty people. We wish you well with your new job, just don’t get too sucked in! Enjoy the skiing and remember there is the whole of Australia to see and it is so worthwhile

Frankie & Andy: Lovely to have caught up in Melbourne. Enjoy your trip in Indonesia. NZ has been a ball so far with mainly blue skies and warm temperatures, but navigating passed the many washouts and potholes can be fun! Hope to see you in SE Asia.

Our nippy little automatic

After much discussion and deliberation on the best/cheapest way to see the Great Ocean Road, we hired a car from Adelaide to Melbourne for the 3 day trip with our itinerary loosely based on a conventional tour.

Avis hired us a reasonably priced 5 door, brand new, automatic, Toyota Corolla which was lovely to drive. We (I) were particularly happy in was not white like most Aussie motor vehicles! The automatic gears were easier than we feared so, after a quick and embarrassing initial explanation, we were on the road.

Driving out of town we climbed up into the pretty wine region of the Adelaide Hills and the German settlement of Harndorf. At the cellar door we sampled a few good wines, of which Nepenthe Winery was a highlight for James having enjoyed their mixed grape blend named ‘Tryst’ many times before. In town lunch was classic German fare of sausages and sauerkraut. We pottered around the shops remarking how familiar the European culture and architecture seemed.

We journeyed hard along the straight Australian roads, so much so that I only took 8 photos that entire day. Miracle! Evening fell as we neared Halls Gap in the Grampian Mountains where we were to stay at the renowned Eco-lodge YHA. As light faded into dark the scenic route wound round and round and over the mountainside where signs warned of leaping Kangaroos and falling rocks. Going slightly crazed with the endless extreme cornering needed we amused ourselves using mock Scottish accents describing the dangers of the highland pass.

“Ye’ not going up t’mountain when the ‘roos are out in the dark, are‘ye mad man!?” James began

“Why yes, and those rocks could fall all about ‘ye too” replied Cesca

Finally arriving safely but tired and hungry we headed to local pub for nourishment on a fellow guests recommendation. Sadly their palettes did not match ours, but the mound of pasta filled a certain gap and I gave an extra mark for the innovative cookies n’ cream cheesecake.

DAY TWO

We chilled in the morning taking full advantage of our 24hr Global Gossip access on wireless (Wifi) no less! I can’t believe we can use wireless in the mountains when it’s so hard to get elsewhere, bizarre! Not wanting to strain James’ swollen knee from a substantial knock on the bedpost in Cairns, we drove to the ‘MacKenzie Falls’ via an impressive view of the Grampians. This particular vista was in our view Australia laying down the gauntlet to New Zealand for the most dramatic landscape.

We picnicked back at Halls Gaps to save pennies and headed south towards Warrenambool and the Great Ocean Road. There were plenty of amazing rock-formations to see along the coast, including; ‘London Bridge’, ‘Loch & Gorge’, ‘Blowhole’, ‘Thunder Caves’ and ultimately the ‘Twelve Apostles’.

As the light ebbed away, and clouds covered any evidence of sunset, we abandoned trying to reach the ‘Twelve Apostles’ until tomorrow and headed for our hostel in Princetown. Happily we had ‘The 13th Apostle’ hostel to ourselves. Supper was a reasonable pizza, a couple of rum & cokes and accompanied by the Olympic Games in a restaurant come pub come shop come takeaway come bottle-shop come ice-cream parlour over the road!

DAY THREE

In the morning the ‘Twelve Apostles’ were the agenda. Previously known as the ‘Sow and Piglets’ (which James preferred) there are in fact only six ‘Apostles’ still standing. The ever evolving landscape is constantly moulded by the relentless ocean creating and destroying these amazing pillars of rock. The sea is impressive in itself. The clear Atlantic waves, blue with cold, pounds against the might of the caramel-coloured rock. The Southerly wind is biting, even though temperatures are in the mid-teens.

Snapshot of us at the ‘Twelve Apostles’ taken by a fellow Canon EOS traveller. I politely put my camera on ‘P’ and he put his on ‘green square’ for a reciprocal snapshot. Insulting.

James drove us along winding coast, around cliffs and over creeks in between. We paid a visit to the Otaway Lighthouse, which was the first human settlement seen by early-settlers since leaving European shores. Standing here since 1848 it is still in perfect working order even though no concrete cements the bricks together. Once inside we were treated to a free private tour of its workings by the retired Lighthouse Keeper. Engineering was built to last in those days and amazingly I could still easily manoeuvre the heavy lights on the runners. The surrounding parkland was home to the native koalas but unfortunately we were not to see one there.

Now for those who have heard of the ’100 year storm’ or are closet ‘Point Break’, Keanu or Swayze fans, the next stop would be a must! I guess I must be a closet ‘surf bum’ so for me ‘Bells Beach’ was a childhood dream realised. James was slightly bemused by my renewed excitement at watching yet more surfers attempt to conquer the perfect wave on another Aussie beach. For me though this place was a chance to turn back time and step into movie-land and imagine striding down the beach as a cool surf chick with a sexy surfer dude by your side! I’m looking forward to re-watching ‘Point Break’ soon and smiling.

Just one more mission lay ahead before the day was out. Coasting by surfing centre of Torquay (Victoria) we had to take a photo to blog for Shaun (J’s surfer cousin) who emigrates to Oz in December and lives in Brixham, a short ferry ride from Torquay (Devon).

Photo achieved we jumped on the highway and, like a fine art, navigated through Melbourne into the suburb of St Kilda East without arguing over directions or getting entirely lost in the sea of bright lights. Awaiting us there with warmth and hospitality were Susannah and Rowan, a welcome sight indeed.

Cesca

Our carriage awaits for the 19 hour journey from Alice Springs to Adelaide

Immaculately dressed attendants stood at the doors of each carriage, or so I thought until we reached our attendant and realised the previous carriages were for premier service. Still our red service attendant was very friendly and helpful. Our seats had plenty of leg room which helps J relax and there was a lounge,  dining carriage and bar for the red service passengers to use.

Informative announcements were made about local landmarks we passed along the way. Landmarks including the ‘Finke River’, a statue of the ‘Iron Man’ and the all important boarder crossing. With my nose against the window I stared into the ever decreasing light to see the boarder crossing between the Northern Territory and Southern Australia.

The first human settlement and the first water we saw since leaving Alice was at Port Augusta. Known as ‘The Gateway of Australia’ due to the fact that all transport from East to West and from North to South goes through here. Heading South the landscape makes a dramatic change into lush green fields surrounded by tree-lined hedgerows, crowned with wind farms and scattered with vineyards and livestock. It was reminiscent of my childhood home in the rolling hills of Somerset!

After breakfast we resided in the lounge as I took photos of the new green landscape. Here we met an elderly couple who took an interest in our journey around the world and our creative endeavors. Peter wrote agricultural articles for ABC radio. Shortly after we were suddenly joined by a chatty man who was rather perturbed to have earlier been mistaken for ‘Doctor Death’! This was Franco. Franco had been visiting the Aboriginal communities North of Alice and traveling through the outback in an old Toyota Corolla! This appeared to us as a crazy thing to do, and it was. Franco had been bogged in red sand for 18 hours using meditation and rationing to survive before being rescued by a passerby! Over the coming hours we discussed politics, housing and the stock market with all those in the carriage.

Innocently inquiring about the area where Franco lived, he invited us to stay, in exchange for some help in the garden and some odd jobs around the house. True to his word Franco collected us the following morning from another Annie’s Place (in Adelaide) and took us to his home in Hyde Park (an affluent part of town). We were impressed by his openness and trust as he gave us a key to his home and left us there for the duration of the afternoon whilst he ran errands. We made ourselves at home and in return tidied and cleaned in his absence.

That afternoon we visited to Adelaide Central Market, a tourist highlight in the LP (Lonely Planet). Franco was obsessed with the price of everything here. Though we later discovered he lectures in Accountancy at the University which explained his strange behaviour. There was an amazing array of goods and a buzz in the air from all the sellers shouting their wares. Everything was for sale including garlic sticks, kangaroo steaks, crocodile fillets and Blood-Russian tomatoes. ‘Zuma’ is THE cafe to go to around here. You’re right on the doorstep of the food court in Chinatown, where J bought a book! That evening Franco shared with us a simple supper and his delicious homemade strudel, which he nicknamed ‘Frudel’. By 9pm I was rather concerned about our sleeping arrangement as Franco had not yet found any bedding for us. Relying on the kind nature of his neighbours we were bestowed all the bed-linen and blankets (Manchester) we desired. Our night on the sofa-bed was most comfortable.

Wednesday saw us helping in the garden which made me very happy. I weeding an extremely overgrown vegetable and herb garden as James mowed a jungle of a lawn to discover an unseen path underneath! That evening we visited his parents for supper, though Franco cooked for us (then cleaned out the chicken coop) whilst we tried to converse with his Italian speaking parents whilst they were watching TV, strange! Thursday was tree planting day, this time under the guidance of Franco’s green-fingered friend.  Sadly the wild rocket came a cropper during the weeding, oops! During moving some rocks James uncovered a Redback spider to his horror. We had all been gardening without gloves and this discovery made us all much more cautious.

As promised that afternoon Franco gave us a private viewing of his Aboriginal Art collection at Father Christopher’s house. The artworks were breathtaking and well worth seeing. He certainly has an eye for art and James and I were happy to listen to the story about each artwork. Tea with the vicar was as you would expect, lots of tea and lots of delicious cake.

In town we took a tour along North Terrace, home of the Parliament buildings and the art galleries of South Australia, until the heavens opened.

Adelaide itself is an interesting city built by Colonel William Light who controversially wrote:

“The reason that led me to fix Adelaide where it is I do not expect to be generally understood or calmly judges of at present. My enemies, however, by disputing their validity in every particular, have done me the good service of fixing the whole of the responsibility upon me. I am perfectly willing to bear it; and I leave it to posterity, and not them, to decide whether I am entitled to praise or to blame.”

The centre of this city is based on a grid format of wide street, civic squares and a particularly unique and lovely wide green belt surrounding it that makes up a third of the city area. We liked Adelaide as it is compact enough to walk around in one day, but scratch beneath the surface and you will find gems of creativity and personality that are hard to find elsewhere in Oz. The Aboriginal art exhibitions, recommended to us by Franco, were great examples of the culture and heritage here and well worth the trip.

Staying with Franco was a wonderful and enlightening experience. He is a fascinating and passionate man who has a great understanding of the true values of life. As a youngster Franco made a decent living as an accountant before deciding that life is much more than money and the 9-5. So he took to the road for many years of traveling. He has marched across Europe for peace (dressed as Charlie Chaplin) and ultimately met the Pope on this quest. He has a good and compassionate nature with a love of people and both an artistic eye and mathematical brain. We wish him well in life and in all he tries to achieve. He is a great man to know.

By Friday it was time for us to make tracks out of Adelaide and move on to Kangaroo Island for some WWOOFing.

Note.  Please note that the artworks shown in this blog are the property of Franco.  If you are interested in them in any way please contact us via email – do not link them or post them elsewhere.  Thank you.

Oh! comments about the new intro welcome!

As an eco-lodge in the tropical forest with a tree-top view of the private beach I can just hear you totting up our expense, but you would all be wrong. In-fact we paid hostel prices here, amazingly! The retreat is based around the ‘Long House’ which was a beautifully sleek, modern, wooden building overlooking the Tasman Sea. There are plenty of things to do here; yoga classes, swimming, guided walks, enjoying the beach and water-based activities too. We however chose to do absolutely nothing here. This was our chance to spend some time (not money!) taking it slowly, writing, reading, painting, sketching and chatting together. In fact we spent three entire days in the Long House and it was bliss.

There was a slow hum of activity here with quite a few people around, a mixture of guests and, as we discovered, many WWOOFers. They worked all over the complex in the kitchen, laundry and huts as chefs, maids, cleaners etc. This gave us a chance to find out the inside track and pitfalls of WWOOFing firsthand. Stories were varied in outcome, but nothing that put us off.

Each evening we all came together (guests and WWOOFers) to the sofas to socialise and play games in the Long House which was fun. We met some lovely people including a friendly couple from Christchurch on their holidays for a couple of weeks. They were both very interested in our creative and technical expertise and we will be catch up with them in New Zealand soon. Renee was a lovely WWOOFer from the UK who has been travelling for sometime on an open-ticket and is searching for her place in the world. A young German girl with a keen interest in, and a good eye, for photography had a go with my 40D.

The thronging wildlife was very much a highlight! Firstly, this small area of native forest is one of the last areas where cassowaries live in the wild. Cassowaries are truly huge, amazing, but rather dangerous man-sized birds. ‘Brenda’ the affectionately named aging local cassowary paid us a visit one morning by coming to drink just outside the door-less Long House. She was very cool and slightly intimidating to watch as we were aware that they do charge humans if they feel threatened. Sadly the 40D was downloading at the time so I couldn’t get a snapshot. Wildlife of a perceptively smaller variety prevailed everywhere. A frog lived above the kitchen which came out at night in the space between the wall and the ceiling, above the cooker. Perhaps he was a friend of ‘Ratatouille’! Large crickets clambered up the windows. Geckoes stalked seemingly unsuspecting moths that had the upper hand and flew away with only moments to spare. Ants roamed the outer deck, touching each others antenna to communicate their local news. And the ultimate example of ‘tag’ was a snake who had bitten a cane-toad and the cane-toad had poisoned the snake all preserved in a jar on the library shelf!

But unsurprisingly the hot topic here was spiders. Stories of vast Huntsmen and dangerous Wolf spiders were banded around to scare the guests (our) fragile minds. Apparently a Huntsman had been rescued (not killed) from Room 1 (our room) only the week before. So that night after a port or two J&I ventured slowly into our netted den, torches searching ever inch inside, when SUDDENLY… the largest moth I have ever seen flew frantically around and around the small room searching for an exit. Oh my God, the noises from our tent must have had some guests wondering! We extracted the moth and continued our search, and thankfully nothing was there. We slept.

Morning broke and we had a little lie-in before breakfast when I decided it was time to make a move out of bed. As I got up and turned towards the bed-head I saw a strange spider looking down at both of us from the bed post! It was now time to ‘shake a leg’. Then at breakfast Lee (a Kiwi guest) noticed a spider on J’s T-shirt! James flicked it off, but it landed on his nuts. Oh my god! I’m so glad I was not there. We later confirmed it was a Wolf spider! Look it up on the internet if you dare!

We left here after three happy days having enjoyed meeting new people and feeling much rejuvenated.

I knew I was properly relaxed as when it started raining, at the local bus stop we had been given a lift to, I suddenly reconnected my brain and realised I had left my Rohan jacket behind! Luckily for me the man at the bus stop had seen James at The Sanctuary a few days before and lent us his mobile which had reception for us to call The Sanctuary. Rob kindly raced down to the bus stop with it and he made it just in time, but in all the confusion the bus driver started to drive off thinking we were not waiting for the bus at all! I ran screaming (like our lives depended on it) down the road after it. The driver heard me (thank you Granny for your booming voice!). Warm and dry again on the bus we laughed with the driver as we recanted the tale and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to have neither lost my coat, missed the Greyhound to Cairns or still been stuck at the local bus stop in the rain. Some things never change!

Cesca

Our RTW ticket included a wonderful flight over the outback from Cairns to Alice Springs. The landscape was how you may, and we certainly, imagined Australia to be, red dusty and dry as a bone. Awesome mountain ranges rose out of the endless flat plains of the outback with the occasional line of trees denoting where an underground river flows.

We arrived in Alice on a downer, discovering my continued affliction of loosing/mislaying/theft of my wallet had followed my to the other side of the world. Sadly it had been nicked at Cairns domestic airport lounge, which included ALL my cards; bank, credit, driving, YHA and even the global gossip card too. You name it and it was gone. To make things worse we did not have the telephone number for Sentinel 24hr international cancellation service and so had to wake Arabella in the middle of the night to cancel them all. Thankfully no one has tried to use any of them and I imagine it was dumped, fleeced of the small amount of cash before we left the lounge!

Having missed our free ride to the hostel quite unexpectedly we secured a lift in a private hire taxi to Annie’s Place. Our driver preached of his friend the talented Aboriginal opera singer which made for an entirely bizarre journey. Annie’s Place is a great hostel inclusive of towels, something that has become a priced luxury since living out of a backpack and keeping a towel dry is a constant challenge these days. Alice, as it is affectionately known, was a strangely deserted place on the afternoon we arrived. We saw few people and even less Aborigines. The sandy river basin, where some of the Aborigines live, was dry, wide and littered with large trees. Wandering down the main street the cinema was screening ‘The Dark Knight’ which made James intensely happy, so we caught an early supper (avoiding the Kangaroo, Camel and Emu on the menu) and watched Keith Ledger enthrall us with his final performance. Despite my dislike of ‘dark’ movies and a childhood fear of clowns/jokers, since watching IT at too young an age, this was a masterpiece of acting prowess and very entertaining. I both stayed awake throughout and didn’t close my eyes more than once!

DAY TWO

Up before dawn along with the entirety of the hostel for our three day outback adventure tour with Wayward Bus (now Adventure Tours). Around town we went collecting our comrades and the shoe left behind on the pavement by our Italian contingent. Blowing up my neck pillow and strapping on my eye mask I drifted quickly back to sleep as we journeyed into the outback and towards Kings Canyon.

Our tour bus comprised of a mixture of German, Polish, Italian, English and Japanese and the two Ozzie guides. By mid-morning we were finally compos mentis and by way of an ice-breaker an introduction of ourselves to the rest of the bus was requested by our hosts. We each in turn took too the mike and wrote our names and nationality on our window for familiarities sake. Swiftly the cultural and language barriers were bridged. Ben proved to be a character with no fear of embarrassment and a love of the lime light and who gave us all an education in popularity… Tongues wagged between us about a German girl who appeared a little familiar with our senior guide. Brett, our guide, was a newbie and so we had Spud to supervise the trip. Brett did a great job despite his nerves.

Stop-offs were regular, but sadly just the same as the road side cafes on the east coast with bad food and worse coffee/tea. Some roadside cafes kept wildlife, but personally this was not much fun for us or the animals involved.

Kings Canyon

With walking boots, a wide brimmed hat, 1.5 litres of water and factor 40 on all our exposed pink parts we ventured up the steep face of the red rock. The view from the top was spectacular. A mountain range that just appears out of the endless flat expanse of the outback, making trees look like bushes by its magnificence. Kings Canyon used to be underwater evidenced by the seashells and ripples made by the ebb and flow of water in sand fossilised in the rock. Amongst the undulations of the mountains and canyons was the Garden of Eden. This is a small water filled valley, reflecting like a mirror the rich angular red rock and the deep blue hue of the cloudless sky, which contrasted beautifully.

As evening fell we drove to our campsite deep in the bush. As time-honoured tradition would have it supper was prepared by the girls and the fire stoked by the boys as even on the other side of the planet some things never change. The stew was cooked in cauldrons around the campfire as we sat around on benches in eager anticipation that it would soon be ready. Another girl and I attempted to make smores with only marshmallows and chocolate, but they were still yummy. Our group was mainly single men and the one next door mainly single women, but the cold night prevented any cross pollination! Weirdly  ‘happy birthday’ was being sung repetitively in the distance as Ben entertained us all.

Sleeping options were minimal, swag or hut, take you pick. Brett persuaded us that swags are indeed warmer in the cold outback nights. James needed more convincing to sleep outside with his fear of spiders and wariness of snakes, but as luck would have it these creatures hibernate in winter: happy days! Swags are army green canvas bags that encases your extremely thick sleeping bag and includes a flap to cover your head too. They aren’t the most inviting of sleeping arrangements but I was happy to be able to sleep under the crystal illumination of the beautiful southern constellations and Milky Way. Quickly the dubious head flap found its way closely covering my head to retain even a modicum more of my heat.

DAY THREE

James woke to find a dingo stealing my remaining marshmallows! Braving the cold of the morning the hot showers were extremely welcome and the breakfast even more so.

Kata Tjuta (The Olgas)

Made from the same rock as Kings Canyon and also red through the oxidisation of its iron content Kata Tjuta is a completely different formation. The rocks are much more rounded than at Kings Canyon. This walk was equally beautiful as we learnt more of the history and flora of this place. In dramatic fashion as our walk finish so did my zoom lens. Effectively the automatic zoom stopped working and had to be manipulated manually. This was a moment of intense distress for me as we boarded the bus for sunset at Uluru. Seeing Uluru has been a life ambition for me since my childhood geography classes. Why, why, why had this happen now? Perhaps the Aborigines were protecting the sacred nature of their iconic rock. Whatever the reason it brought tears to my eyes.

Uluru (Ayres Rock)

With Aboriginal music playing we drove towards Uluru as the sun slowly lowered in the desert sky. Impressive is an understatement. Transfixed as we came closer, it is as I had always imagined. I was at once immersed in a deep connection with the cultural significance of this place. Trudging through the deep sand with champagne laden igloo (ice box) we found a spot away from the thronging spectators. Ignoring the plastic vessels which contained our champagne we toasted this personally unique occasion as I tried to remain calm as our tour members jumped the fence to have their precious photo taken. Struggling with my broken lens I found it hard to both capture this wonderful photographic opportunity whilst experiencing this moment romantically with J. It was a little haphazard, but we managed to do both. The changing colour of Uluru is unbelievably rich and mesmerising at dusk. Having done the Aboriginal walk in the Blue Mountains this gave us a greater understanding and respect of this ancient and primitive culture than those in our tour group chose not to respect. Darkness falls quickly here and like a blanket it blinds you. Reflecting on our experience we wish we had driven there independently, but none the less this was amazing. Back at camp we made supper, enjoyed a few beers and some campfire banter before opting for a (hopefully warmer) hut for some privacy. The was indeed the warmer option, Brett!

Before dawn we were up and ready to see the sun rise again on Uluru whilst completing the base walk. You can climb Uluru, but we were urged not to in respect of the Aboriginal culture that surrounds this sacred place. Sadly the German contingent opted for the climb too the distaste of the rest most of the group. We personally hope this will soon be banned.

My experience of capturing Uluru at dawn was not as I had imagined. We arrived only a short time before the sun bathed the rock in light and much of the beginning of the base walk was protected as photography was prohibited. So we ran from vista to vista seeking the optimum spot to record this spectacular moment. Without a tripod and with a zoom lens sounding like an extremely expensive rattle, I was glad of my wide-angled lens and am under the circumstances, pleased with the results. We were of course blessed with a beautiful sunrise and blue sky which set the scene perfectly.

The base walk is amazing giving you a real understanding of the size, shaped, structure and spirituality of this place. Uluru itself is stunning. Made of beautifully shaped molten lava flows and like an iceberg most is hidden underground. In winter Uluru is warm and inviting when bathed in sunlight, but cold in its shadows. Aboriginal stories of the Rainbow serpent, ceremonial traditions, man’s and woman’s business and education are illustrated along the way.

Brett and Spud then enlightened us about some of the history and culture surrounding Uluru. Most Aboriginal stories told to ‘White Folk’ are simplifications of their beliefs and thus come across as childish. In fact many of their stories are like fables invented for children to keep them out of harms way. Aboriginal drawings were used to educate their children. Young men were made to stand alone, without speaking for days as a test of their maturity, before their walkabout begins.

We learnt of man’s business and woman’s business of which I will not write/speak out of respect to the Aborigines.

The Aboriginal culture centre brought all this together in a simple clear exhibition, though the film fell short in its attempt to communicate what an Aboriginal life constitutes.  My understanding is; a woman’s role was to bear and nurture children, protect the men from snakes, collect bush tucker and educate the girls and a man’s role was to protect their skin colour, hunt and make men out of boys. The communities also had various leaders; administrators, medicine men etc. They are a nomadic culture, though this seems to have been all but lost in recent times.

Sadly we had limited time here before our long trip back to Alice in the heat of the winter sun.

Regards,

Cesca

We experienced a wonderful open-air market where the bohemian essence of Byron came alive. Hippies were everywhere with Ozzies selling clothing, dijeridoos and drums etc, Africans selling jewellery and Indians doing henna tattoos. The weather was not in our favour, but it was good to be there and see local Byron at play.

Sleep was calling loudly so we meandered back via the road (not a patch on the beach walk) and collapsed into our room. Belongil Beachouse was not the romantic beach oasis we imagined and our room was simply a let down. Mainly wooden panelled it was part clad with cork behind the bed, very strange. There was an extra single that served as a place for our belongings which was the best comment I can make really. The showers were passable though waiting outside in the cold was not fun. So anyway, our first afternoon we crashed for a while out of necessity rather than anything else. There was live music playing at the restaurant next door that was fine for a while, but the became extremely annoying when trying to sleep. I escaped and went for a walk to the beach and arranged our WWOOFing on KI while J caught another half an hour. We freshened up, changed for dinner and pac-safed as usual. Dinner at the very same restaurant next door, now without live music, was delicious, not too expensive and was washed down with an excellent bottle of cab-merlot enjoyed by us both. We relaxed and chatted, at ease with one another.

DAY TWO

Having at last discovered a wireless cafe with good food, drinks and an atmosphere we were very loyal to them. So brunch was at Mokha where we sorted our liveaboard, Australia Zoo transfers and accommodation for the trip up the coast in to Queensland. We decided a PADI refresher dive was a good plan having not been dive buddies for seven years and so nipped into Byron Bay Dive Centre and booked ourselves in for the next day which extended our stay in Byron by an extra night. In the afternoon we borrowed the hostels boogie boards and headed out unguided into the pacific ocean and braved the winter seas. It was soon evident that neither of us had miraculously discovered any knack for this since our honeymoon. James had however brought his waterproof camera and so recorded the watery bikini clad proceedings. I proudly managed to catch one wave, but sadly J didn’t manage to catch me on it or a wave himself. We enjoyed being in the ocean though the current was strong, and I was somewhat comforted by the surfers bobbing behind the waves further our to sea. Perhaps a lesson next time?

We chilled out in the evening over a delicious home cooked tikka masala, thank you sweetie, and reviewed the boogie boarding footage which I can only describe as like being in a washing machine when suddenly you glimpse a flash of bikini bottoms between the waves! Consequentially I’ve reserved all my rights over the final cut of our Byron Bay movie! We finessed our Sydney harbour movie and added new music to the opera house section.

DAY THREE

After a good breakfast of slow releasing carbs (yes, porridge again!) we did some more web-surfing, not the type of surfing expected in Byron, but needs must. We were both looking forward to diving again, and J was particularly excited that the 40D would not be strapped to my face. A little nervously to be honest we questioned ourselves on the terminology. BCD or BDC? “Just remember, don’t get the o-ring wet” James perked up before we arrived at the dive centre for our refresher. The obligatory video was played which rather focused on promotion and sales of SSI than imparting the information we required. There was one other diver, an Israeli dive master, that Rupert (our instructor) took under his wing. So with wetsuits on we waddled into the small pool for the practical exercises. All our gear was prepared for us and I was personally I was glad we weren’t required to wrestle with Medusa on this occasion. My memory of diving was rusty, or so I thought, but this was easier than expected to be honest.

So on went the weight belt (with buckle in the left hand), the BCD (with regulator and alternate air source on the right side and inflator and console on the left). We checked everything; our air supply was ON (with the console pointing down) and our regulators and BCD was working. We were ready. Our tests included mask clearing, regulator retrieval, buddy breathing, neutral buoyancy, easy. Rupert was happy with us all and so it was time for our dive at Julian Rocks, a small rocky island seen from Belongil beach. Our briefing mainly covered getting into the boat, use of the safety sausage, man over-board procedure and also the rules to be obeyed when diving with sharks! My attention had now been diverted from the complexities of diving to avoiding the natural path of the Grey Nurse shark! Well life is all about experiences so here goes.

We jumped into the 4×4 and onto a rib with some poke and soon we were there. Quickly gearing up we went off backward into the water, like lemmings. Now refocused my full concentration was on having a successful dive, with or without a shark encounter. So down we went. The visibility was poor so no sharks were seen by us, but our dive was successful despite a strong current at the end. No matter how hard you swam your progress was at the discretion of the water. Safely back on the rib to my surprise the German girls had seen a huge pod of Grey Nurse shark only meters away from us! I was filled with a great sense of relief and also disappointment that I didn’t realise this dream whilst diving under an instructors care. Walking back along the beach we were treated to the most spectacular sunset which signified the end to a very happy day, and we shared our excitement about our coming Great Barrier Reef adventure. Dinner was tikka masala take2 and an early night before our next Greyhound trip of 18 hours to Caloundra via Brisbane.

Byron Bay was great, particular for me. I loved the relaxed hippy vibe, unpretentious air and sense that everyone was very comfortable with themselves and contented to be going about there business. The boutique shops were both interesting and eclectic and the service aptly friendly. The ever changing colours of the expansive sky over Belongil beach was romantic and enticing and I would have liked to have stayed longer. I question how I would like it here in summer with the invasion of tourist in every corner? This aside I could happily revisit Byron in years to come. Being by the beach feels like coming home for me.

Cesca

I am working hard on the next one and have something a little special in mind from then on.  I love creating them and hope to show some vastly improved technique over the coming months!  I have some simply amazing footage of Kangaroo Island coming up and a special film about Uluru!

Anyway, with apologetic smiles for some of the camerawork, here is Blue Mountains / Hunter Valley!

The shark circled us slowly.  The dark water of the night dive made the detail of the beast hard to see but there was no doubt of its size.  It was a gray reef shark all right, a big one.  I reached up for the 5 meter bar floating above me and looked down to Cesca.  She had not yet seen the shark. I turned my torch on and its beam highlighted the gloom as well as the millions of floating particles all around us.  It was like seeing through a snow storm.  I swung it towards the sharks shape.

I wanted to know what it was thinking, I knew that it could sense the energy flooding through our bodies and smell the blood in our veins but did wonder about the strange vessel above our heads.  It must have seen those before and they always brought food, in fact I myself had seen the crew chumping fish into the water to attract these sea hunters.  They are one of the main tourist attractions of diving the reef.  An easy fact until one is actually underwater with one.  The light was reflecting back towards me from the sharks eye.  It was therefore looking directly at the torch.  I pulled the torch away and onto my console floating by my left arm.  Cesca joined me at the bar and she checked her console as well.  My dive computer was clear, I had to do a 3 minute stop here, 5 meters bellow the boat, before ascending.  Cesca held up 3 fingers.  She had the same readings on her computer.  That’s 3 minutes with this shark swimming around us.  Its not that Grey sharks as especially dangerous to divers, but they have been known to take a bite out of a limbs waving around.  I couldn’t wait any longer I wanted to get a good look at him.  I panned the torch around until his eyes reflected the light again.  Cesca watched and then looked at me.  I put my right hand against my head like a fin.  The sign for shark.  She looked quickly at he beast and then gabbed my arm and pulled herself protectively closer.

Cesca like myself is new to sharing the water with something that could easily eat us.  We watched it circle and then suddenly with a flick of its tail it changed course.  It was now coming directly towards us, its decision made; that light was worth investigating, there may be food there.  I watched its speed and then turned off the light.  If it was coming for us it would be on top of us in 5 seconds.

1…

2…

3…

4…

Cesca gripped my arm as I waited till that last moment to turn the torch back on…

I had not been big on the idea of night diving.  The previous night we had performed a guided night dive on the reef as part of our Advanced PADI course and that had been fine as all we had to do was follow our guide.  However, when on our own, well I knew how bad Cesca and I were at underwater navigation.  If we could get lost in the day, then a night excursion to 14 meters, too deep to surface to see where the boat was without a stop, could get us into real trouble.  Again, it is all about experience.  In fact that is the way the Advanced PADI course is designed; to give you that experience and enable you to become comfortable with different types of diving.

The course run by Cairns Pro-Dive is one of the most respected on the reef.  11 dives over 3 nights at sea in the specially built SCUBAPRO vessel.  A private birth, all food included and a top instructor.  It sounded too good to be true but the detail was in the price tag, which was high.  There are tons of operators on the reef, but after a couple were left behind by one boat I knew that I wanted one of the best.  I scrounged around the net and found a late booking deal through an agent.  The Pro-Dive team have the quiet relaxed and slightly bored look of men who do this trip with a new group every single week but had bags of professionalism.  They all sported good tans, easy smiles and branded shirts.

The ride out of Cairns had been very rough and had taken few prisoners.  Francesca and I had stocked up on sea sickness pills along with coffee in the morning so while we certainly didn’t enjoy the roughness of the sea, we didn’t feel the need to share our breakfast with it.  Once anchored on the reef the dives started straight away.  Firstly the dive master gave a briefing on the top deck that was designed to orientate us with the reef’s features and point out some things not to miss.  He suggested an easy course around the site that would start at 10 meters and slowly rise, removing the need for a safety stop all together.  He assured us that no one would get lost.

This became a running joke over the next few days.

Excited to be back in the water, Cesca and I made our way back down to the lower deck, the dive deck, to kit up.  Eager and smiling we checked each others dive equipment as buddies are trained to do.

Firstly we check the regulator is working and oxygen is flowing when breathing.  you do this while watching the air gauge on the console as a tank that is not turned can have a few breaths sat in the pipe.  If the O2 needle doesn’t drop as you breath the tank is fine.  We then check the second backup regulator the same way.  This is followed by checking the weight belt, mask and flippers are on and that the BCD inflates and deflates.  Again the BCD is vital to safety and is how you stay afloat.  A broken one will make you sink like a stone until you get your belt off.  Finally we check that the tank is correctly attached and the air is all the way on minus a half a turn.  Only then can one actually get in the water.

If this sounds like hard work, then welcome to diving.  Diving can be one of the most relaxing experiences of your life.  Can be.  For the beginner or occasional diver it can be a adrenalin fuelled, heart pounding, thrill ride that is over far to quickly.  The more experienced you are the more you can relax and therefore the slower you breath.  Slow breathing is calming and relaxing and you go through your O2 much slower.  You will also make less mistakes.  Diving can be a harsh lesson in not screwing up and paying attention.  Any sport where you need to pair up has dangers.

Suffice to say a lot of people got lost on the first dive.

The next dive was the start of the Advanced lessons.  All those on our course sat around the same table and we all started to get to know each other.  With the many nights at the hostel food courts, Cesca and I soon broke the ice and started chatting with the other students.  The Advanced students looked a lot calmer than the table next to us full of first timers, fresh from the swimming pool lessons.  Advanced PADI involves a number of taster dives in various specialisations.  There are 3 core dives of deep dive, night dive and navigation.  Then there are the 2 electives.  They are many electives to choose from but almost everyone picks photography and naturalist.  These two are the easiest and most fun.  No one went for the search and rescue dive as this involved the instructor throwing a spoon off the boat and making you go and find it!

The lessons went quickly and the dives soon started racking up.  The navigation dive was excellent training and taught us how to count our kicks to estimate distance, how to use the compass to ensure direction an baring and how to find our way back using the reefs landmarks as a guide.  The deep dive, down to 25 meters, was very spooky and slightly scary in its depth.  Whilst down there the instructor asked us to count to 20 to demonstrate how nitrogen narcosis takes effect at that depth and it becomes hard to focus the mind.  I counted as carefully as I could and then held up my hand.  Once back on the boat we counted again and compared the time differences.  Cesca’s was 32 underwater and 22 on the boat.  Strangely mine was 24 and 24, which goes to show that I can’t count at any depth!

Plant and animal life on the Milne, Petaj and Flyne reef’s is amazing.  We saw some of the worlds most amazing coral gardens resplendent with all sorts of corals and living organisms.

Cesca was very fond of the Christmas Tree worms that sprout from rocks and corals.  Animal life was similarly amazing.  We swam inches from turtles, around endless multitudes of fish of all types and colours and past many fast moving Barracuda’s.

Not to mention sharks…

5… I turned the torch back on.

The large Gray shark had resumed his orbit back out at 20 meters.  We both breathed a huge sigh of relief.  I glanced at my computer and saw that our 3 minutes was up and we gladly ascended out of the darkness and gloom to the boat.  This night diving wasn’t so hard after all and as for sharks, well leave them alone and they will leave you it seems.  The Advanced PADI Course had succeeded to make us more confident.

However, the most impressive thing I saw during the trip actually was seen outside the water.  While heading to our birth on the top deck of the boat I came across another diver staring out into dark night.  I wondered if he was feeling ok when he turned to me and said, “can you see that rainbow over there?”  I looked in puzzlement and sure enough about a mile off the from the boat sat a rainbow.  At night.  It was very clear and we could make out all the colours even though they were darker than normal.  I stood in wonder for 5 seconds not saying anything.  But what caused it?  I looked behind us and the moon was very bright and full and being winter very low to the horizon.  It was just enough light to cast the rainbow against a light shower.  I must tell Cesca I thought and went to find her.  I told everyone I passed about the moonbow, but most didn’t believe me.  I couldn’t find Cesca anywhere and when she finally emerged we ran back up to the top deck to find it was gone in cloud.

30 years I have inhabited this planet and I have never seen one of those before.  I cant help but wonder if I will ever see one again.

The next day the boat headed back into town and we started the drinking with the friends we had made on the course.  On the way we passed a mother Whale playing with her child and everyone crammed onto the top deck to take photos.

Once back on dry land we visited the Pro-Dive shop and paid the bill (OMG!) and then to our hostel.  After putting the flames out on my wallet we showered and changed.  After all the live-aboard courses there is the obligatory night on the town with the crew and other divers so we headed back out and had a piss up to remember.

Regards,

Basho