My new book in ebook form!

I have an upcoming exhibition based on my book Metiers d'Ailleurs.
Despite the French-only title, the book is totally bilingual. I even have a long intro by my Anglo BFF!
So don't hesitate to buy it! It's available in book form & Ebook. The link is bellow.
Thanks.

http://www.blurb.com/ebooks/542425-les-m-tiers-d-ailleurs-par-h-l-ne-barrette

My new website!

My new website is finally in! Although still work in progress!
Check it out: eleniphotos.ca

Not a usual travel story post.

This is to mention that the photo above has been picked to participate at the A Smith Gallery's Hipstamatic exhibition in Texas, USA! A Blurb catalog will be made of all the photos. I'm over-joyed!

 The receptions will be on Feb 22nd & March 29th from 4pm to 7pm. The exhibition will be on from Feb 14th to March 30th 2014.
Too bad I can't be there but for those who will be in the area during that time, it's not to be missed.

My best Christmas ever!

After a hiatus of 16 months, I'm back with some more travel stories. 

In this post I'm going to narrate my favourite Christmas. It all started on December 23rd 1989, in Ireland. We (my BFF, Sara E. Baxter & I), started hitchhiking from Dublin to Doolin, a quiet (back then) fishing village on the West Coast of county Clare. It was in Lahinch (I think) that we stopped in a pub, for God-knows-what (maybe just a quick break), that a group of twenty-somethings lads asked us to have a pint in celebration of someone's  bachelor party. We had a couple of pints, before we knew it, it was almost dark. 

It turned out to be impossible to have a lift in the dark on backroads. Thankfully, a woman gave us a short lift, we walked the rest. In the dark, on back roads, no lights, not sure if we were going the right way, trying to avoid puddles (no snow in Ireland but it rains a lot.).

We arrived at our chosen youth hostel in Doolin, hours later, completely exhausted, hungry & wet.  There, there was 3 British men who immediately told us to take our boots off & warm up by the turf fire. Bliss. 

It turns out that the 3 British men were into "caving". ( exploring caves) and we here to explore Pol An Ionáin !(Now totally touristy! Check it out! http://www.doolincave.ie/) They invited us to join them for a visit. As there was 3 of us (also a German guy who wanted to come.), we went in 2 groups of 3. (They had only 3 wetsuits.)  It was surreal!  There we were, on the side of the road, changing into our wetsuits in front of cows. We had to crawl on our belly in a few inches of freezing water, sometimes doing things Indiana Jones-esque) and inch our way to a big cave , where we saw the biggest stalactite in the Northern Hemisphere! There was a huge mud pool were we spent a while having a mud fight. So much fun, throwing handful of  mud in the other two's face! Before we inched our back back, (the same way we came in), we had to have a freezing cold "shower" to remove some of the mud in our hair, in a small fall inside.

When we finally came back, all 9 of us backpackers (Brits, Canadians, Northern Irish, & German) shared a communal huge Christmas dinner and the friendly owner (Carmel) even brought us some food! 

We then sat by the turf fire, sharing some warm mulled wine (from the German), Guinness & whiskey, sang some songs and played music.

The next morning, Sara & I were totally aching but happy! 

The hostel was The Rainbow Hostel , I'm happy to report that it's still going to this day, is totally worth it! Here's the link  http://rainbowhostel.net/. Over the years, I've been to 3 different Doolin hostel is this by far, THE best & friendliest! 

My BFF, Sara E. Baxter,  is a great writer & editor. Check out her website.  http://www.saraebaxter.com/

The photo above is of the Doolin coast, taken on a frigid January 2000. 

Sydney, Australia

Mannie and I, Champion's Bar, Sydney, Jan 1992.

Many memories of my 1 year in Sydney. Where to begin? At the beginning one might say! 

Let me first tell you how I ended up in Australia in the first place. I never had any desire to go there. I never mentioned that I wanted to go there. I happened so fast. I was all set to go visit a friend in San Francisco, USA. Sara called me saying that she was going there and "what about us traveling together?" It was all it took.

So, by the time we (Sara and I) arrived in Australia (via the USA, Hawai'i, Fiji and New-Zealand), we didn't have enough money to leave the airport! We called Sara's sister's friend's boyfriend. He picked us up and showed us around before leaving us at his girlfriend's flat (apartment). 

It took longer than we thought finding a job,  so we had many filler jobs in the mean time like selling roses (1 night), being "squeegees" (washing car window at light stops) (3 days).

In the end, I never had a full time job but a lot of very part time jobs like teaching French to University (Uni in OZ lingo) students. The coolest job I had was working as a B&W technician for a professional darkroom 1 day a week.

I did attend to a lot of concerts. I saw Midnight Oil, INXS (with Michael Hutchence!), Yothu Yindi (an aboriginal group, totally awesome!), Hoodoo Gurus, a few reggae and African bands, to name a few.

We did visit a campground where wild kangaroos came to us for food. The little Canadian girl  was impressed. I can say, without a doubt, that the kangaroos ("roos") don't communicate with "click" sounds like Skippy did in my childhood program.

My most cherished memory is meeting Mannie Torishiba, the man on the photo.  He was a gentle soul from Papua/New Guinea who came here (so he told us.) as a footballer. We met him one evening at Champion's bar in Sydney's suburb of Bondi. Sara and I were playing darts when he came over and said something to the fact that he could teach us how to play with a blow stick. (His sense of humor was awesome!). Over the next few months, we all became good friends and regulars at Champion's bar, a rough bar full of Maoris. (they look mean but are sweethearts really.)
He loved bottled Guinness.

I heard from Mannie was a few years later when I was in London, maybe in 1994.

Bob

Bob is the across the street neighbor.

He loooooves to be pet! He's always at the front door meowing for some love and attention.
He's the same built & his face his the same as my beloved Sam. He also enjoys a good belly rub. He's sweet and gentle.
He's like Sam dropped in a flour bag!
Not hard to love!

Arachnophobia

This is not my usual "travel story" kind of post. A recent experience with Tibetan monks made me ponder about Buddhism.  About how Buddhists do not kill any animal or insects, as small as an ant.

This made me think of spiders and how I dislike them. They make me shiver in disgust. 

However, over the years and with the help of my encounters with many different spiders, I have managed to "control" my insane fear about them.

Here some of "famous" encounters:

- In my travels in Fiji, once we (my travel buddy, Sara & I) went horseback riding (with no saddles! A painful story), each sitting behind an experienced Fijian rider, whipping through a tropical rain forest when, I scream with fear in my voice: "SPIDER, SPIDER, SPIDER!" Straight ahead was a giant lime-green spider's web with a spider, waiting for us. (so I thought!) We narrowly avoided it. 

- I encountered many huge black spiders on the island of Tobago in the Caribbean. I just let them be and walked away (or run!), returning hours later in the hope they had moved on. 

- While stopped on a small tropical forest road in Mozambique, there was a tiny white spider that, I was told, was one of the most poisonous kind. It was on the outside front windshield and I, sitting inside the bakkie (truck).  I managed to keep my cool as long as it stayed put on the other side. I did not want to pass for a typical white Western female and panic. ...besides, I could not flee as there was the  dense tropical forest as I open the bakkie door. I had no where to run. 


- A friend in London, England, had a pet tarantula (yuk!). The beast was not in its cage but its sheddings were. (Apparently they shed their skin like snakes do.) I could not even bring myself to come close to them , let alone touch them. 


- This last story does not involve me. It is to mention how much some people have a phobia of spiders. I will not name him. (although Sara will know who I'm talking about.) A guy in England slept on his sofa because there was a spider on the stairs!  Now every body knows that there is no dangerous spiders in England!

Despite my notable improvement since then, (I do not run, panic or scream if I see one in Canada. I know that no spider in Canada is poisonous.) I still think that if ever, some unfortunate day, a tarantula cross my path, I would most likely faint!

To end this post, a quote from the Buddha:

“There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”

Rustler's Valley, Free State, South Africa

I've always been very lucky in my travels. I like to think that it's the aura I project or my Guardian Angel.

This story is no different.  How I got there is a long story, a compilation of events.  For months now, I had been told by different people that I would enjoy this particular music festival, the Rustler's Valley Easter  Festival.  I was thinking : "Yeah, yeah!, It's too far and too expensive for me."

I had been lucky to be living in Eshowe, Kwa/Zulu-Natal for a few weeks now when I bumped into a British girl who I had met in Zimbabwe a few months prior.  She told me that I could work there, at the festival, in exchange for a free entry to the 4-day festival. She knew the British guy who owned one of the four bar/stages, the Comet Stage,  around the venue.  I got hold of him and secured myself a job at his bar and a free entree to the music festival.  Next I spent a few days at a friend of a friend's house in Durban. He lent me his sleeping bag. (I had none!) His roommate drove me to the first town, starting me on the long bus (buses) journey that took me eventually to the festival site. 

I arrived there, found and met the British guy I was to work for. I still had no place to stay. I walked around and found myself at the only part of the 4-day festival, that was almost set-up. There I ran into a musician friend (I was working in a music venue in Capetown) who invited me to stay in his tipi, along with 2 of his friends. The best part was that the Tipi Village (it's official name), was a commune and the food was free. One only had to cook a meal for the group (9 people, I think) once.  It was the hippy-est part of the venue and home to the Drum Circle. 

Along with the Comet Stage, a place for musician to jam, there was the World Stage, where , you've guessed it, international bands and more "serious" South African bands would perform, the  Future's Field, a trance tent with live DJ and the Drum Circle, where all kinds of djembe drummers would jam, sometimes all night. There was also live performances of all sorts in the main building, and home to the official "Backpacker's". (another name is the Youth Hostel)

For more pictures and info, please check out my Rustler's Valley set on Flickr.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/eleniphotos/sets/72157606657436588/

This picture above is an unintended double exposure. It's a picture taken at the Drum Circle and a pancake stand, on the main "road".  I was major pissed off when I processed the film back in 1998, but now, I find it perfectly reflects the confusion of the festival.

To read more on how I got there, please read this previous entry:
http://elenisworld.blogspot.com/2008/10/im-pool-shark.html

Morocco

Morocco in 1990 & the Morocco now are worlds apart! Still every bit as exotic & mystical though but much less daunting for the Westerner.

On my first visit, with my travel buddy Sara, we arrived for the beginning of Ramadan, the month-long fast, a bit weary, but excited, about our new adventure destination. Since we came from mainland Spain, we took a ferry from Algeciras to Ceuta. (Ceuta being the portion that still belonged to Spain.)
On the bus that transported us from the pier to the town, our troubles already started. Unknown to us, the fight for our "business" had already started between the Moroccans  going back home for the Ramadan.

The next day, we made it, on our own, across the "border" into Morocco.  We took a shared taxi, along with 4 others plus the driver! Yes, that's right, 6 passengers! We were squashed in the back with 2 others, with loud music blasting. We were in a very unfamiliar setting, looking at each other thinking: "OMG,  what did we get ourselves into this time?" We were so naive!
So many details in our week-long adventure in Morocco. (It's all we could afford.) I'm writing it all in details in my book but here's what stood out:
-  Hamed's American name, given to him by an American. The name? He told us proudly: Jack Daniels!
-  On the bus, hearing the language, we thought that everybody was upset at one another.
-  Having my first Moroccan "whiskey"! It's an overly sweet mint tea.
-  Being followed up & down the streets of Tetouan.
-  The first time I had a "toke". It gave me nightmares! I was fully awake, sitting on my bed & I could still see a humongous tarantula on the ceiling!
-  Giving all of our money to the bus' conductor for him to exchange  and watch him disappear into the village's souk.  In the end, he came back with all our money sorry that he couldn't find the exchange man! (my Guardian Angel is GOOD!)

I returned, on my own this time, 15 years later & my experience was totally different. On my visit in 2005, I quickly made some new friends. They took me to many different parts of their country. Places with lush green vegetation & vervet monkeys (Ouzoude's falls, breathtaking!), a magical kashba (Ait-Ben-Haddou), the famous city of Ouarzazate (where a lot of film were made) & a few villages on the edge of the Sahara desert! I even took a short trek on a camel's back in the Sahara! Total silence.....until my friend's cell phone rang! Umf!
I learned that any local can get fined & go to jail for being with a foreigner, even if that foreigner is a friend! One needs to get a permit from the police. I experienced that in Fez, staying with a family & being taken around. On subsequent visits, I spent much time in Essaouira, going to Marrakesh, trekking in Essaouira's surrounding mountains, learning Moroccan arabic  and tried to blend in as much as I could into this magical country.
Morocco remains one of my favorite country.

Here, on the picture, Lahtifa is making melouis. It's a corn crepe, delicious with butter and honey. I'm drooling just thinking about it!

I'm still protected!

Very recently (last month) I went to back to Trinidad, my "home" country. Lots of great new adventures but this is not why I'm writing.
From Canada, going to Trinidad is a long trip which includes arriving in Port-of-Spain at odd hours. Therefore I chose to spend a night in Miami to arrive in Trinidad's capital at a decent hour.

So, after landing in Miami, I was looking for the hotel information desk. The airport is HUGE and to my experience, not with clear indications. I had been walking all over, been sent from 1 floor to the next, for about 1 hour when my running shoe's (sneaker) sole came  undone. "Shit!" I said. "A good start to the trip!"  I found a leather-coated bench to sit on to "repair" my flopping sole. I took my bag off my back and placed next to me. I took a chewing gum, chewed it and "fixed" my sole. I got up, found the information desk. Chatted with the information man and phoned my chosen hotel to get their free shuttle to come and pick me up. I, then, waited outside for the shuttle to arrive impatient  and starving. 15-20 minutes passes by, still no shuttle. "Shit!" I said again.
I got up to go phone again inside. It is then that I realized that I didn't have my red bag on my back anymore. I thought: "Man! They are good! I can't believe someone stole my bag already! No one was even near me. How come did it happen? ...Where was my Guardian Angel?"
I decided to go back to see the info guy and ask him if he remembered seeing me with my red bag on my back. It was walking through  the revolving doors that I remembered that when I sat down on the bench, I took my bag off and put it on the bench. I headed straight to the bench. My bag was STILL there! It happened to be in front of a concierge (the airport is so big that it has a fancy hotel!) and there was a security guard next to my bag. I walked to it, breathing better suddenly, not believing that I was so stupid, me a seasoned traveller,  to forget my bag on a bench! The security guard asked me:" Is that your bag?" "yes" "Can you tell me what's in it before opening it?" "You are lucky." he said. "I have called the canines to check it out."  I had nothing of value in it, apart from my newish Ipod, but had all my cameras (those who know me know they are plastic and/or lensless, therefore inexpensive.) and all my films.
I thought: "I'm glad that we are in the 21st century so everybody is scared of a bag left unattended at an airport."
I left with my bag, thanking my Guardian Angel and relieved to know that I'm still protected.

Hwange National Park

One of my wishes when I was a kid was to see African animals in their natural environment. I was in a hostel in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, when I met someone who made my wish come true. He had the bakkie (truck, 4x4), the tent, all the camping equipment & was looking for someone to share the costs with.  I quickly said: "Yes, please!". 

We spent 7-8 days in Hwange National Park & 1 day visiting the Victoria Falls. (Mosi-oa-Tunya, in the local language.)

Every morning, we made a "safari" on the trails of the park and spend a couple of nights deep inside the park. 

One time, our bakkie staled in the middle of lion territory. Scary My friend took a knife & bravely walked to last night's camping ground, were he was sure we would get help. I remained in the 4x4, the door open (it was SO hot!), eyes & ears on the look out for potential danger. I though: "Well, if there's a lion, I just close the door & I'll be ok.....but what if it's an elephant? I'm screwed! It can easily smash the truck up if it fancied, with me in it. Oh, God, I hope he returns soon with help." Eventually, all went well as I'm here writing about it all.  On that occasion, like many others, we came back to main camp a bit late & were told off by the guard. 

There's nothing scarier than when you find yourself alone in the ablution block (next to the said fence!) and hear a lion roar close by (it sounded like it was just next to me!) when you know that a flimsy wire fence separates us from the wild. "What do I do if it comes close? I close the door. Shit! It's just a screen door and it's ripped. OMG!" 

Or coming face to face with a hyena in the dark.  It's wicked laugh is bone chilling.

Or being fake-charged by a huge one-tusk elephant bull. "Wait! Wait! I want a closer picture!" I said."Forget it!" my friend quickly replied with fear in his eyes.

Or, on the tamer side, seeing a chameleon on a branch nearby, doing it's signature walk. "Do I go forward? Or I go backwards."

Still there is nothing more exhilarating either. 

Finally, I was in the Africa of my dreams!

Tree house in the Mozambican jungle.

Mac & his dog in front of part of his tree house. Moz 1997.

Me staying at an out-of-town hotel on the border town of Zimbabwe, called Mutare, led me to spend 7 days in a tree house in the middle of the Mozambican jungle. Stuff one only dream of but, on that day, it really happened to me.
This man called Mac, was giving me a lift into town when he asked if I wanted to spend 7 days in Mozambique. What anyone in their right mind would say? "Yes!", I said excitedly. What else would I say?
I stayed in one of his spare bedrooms, up the main tree. (The house was built on 2-3 trees & a big wooden fence to keep the wild animals out.) I remember vividly my first night, up in the bar, sipping a glass of Amarula with the bushbabies (monkey-like animal that makes a sound like a crying baby.) and a distant drumming & chanting of a village nearby, a multitude of stars glowing in the night sky.
I couldn't feel more in Africa than this!

With day visits to nearby towns of Chimoio & Gondola or visit to local tobacco farmers, I was kept busy. All this traveling was always done before the sunset. It was that dangerous that Mac kept a loaded gun under his bakkie (truck) seat!

We had one adventure that I'll remember for a long time to come! We were ridding on a bush trail to get to a good fishing spot when we encountered tree trunks blocking the road. We were a bit apprehensious because the rebels are are known for using this tecnique to ambush cars & trucks. Nothing happened except for the most venomous spider in Mozambique. A tiny spider with a white body. Brrr! It stayed on the outside windshield, on the driver's side, Thank God! I was staring at it the whole time we were stopped. I was thinking of a plan in case it moved.
Here's what went through my mind at the time:
Screaming was out of the question (I'm too proud!)
Opening my door to go where? I open the door straight into the jungle! The jungle up-close look scary!
Nor was closing the windows, it was way too hot & humid.
Besides, it is not recommended to stray from the well trodden paths as the country is still full of land mines.
In the end, we got to the fishing spot. He gave me a line & told me to catch a fish. He was going to a bigger river. I caught a fish minutes after he told me to!

I'll never forget that week!

Strawberry picking in Norway

Sara & I decided to go fruit picking in Norway, mainly on a whim.  We had heard from a friend that it was not only possible but also could be good money.
Having  no money, we decided to hitchhike there. The easiest way was to hitch to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne and take a ferry across to Bergen.  When we got there, after many  adventures, (like sleeping on someone's  living room floor in Newcastle.), we found out that it was too expensive.  We hung out at the  docks 1-2 days in the hope of someone offering us a passage. No luck.

We hitch back down to London, spent one night in someone else's living room floor, we made our way to Norway via  Belgium, Holland, Germany, Denmark, Sweden to finally arrive in Oslo early evening.
We met other hitch-hikers who were on their way to celebrate the Berlin Wall coming down, with Pink Floyd performing. However tempted we were, we quickly had to rid ourselves of that idea as we were broke and continue with our original plan of finding work in Norway.
Thinking of sleeping on the floor of the train station,  we found out that the station was closing for the night. Too cold to sleep outside & too broke to sleep in a youth hostel. We were trying to find plan B when a young Somalian/Ethiopian student, called Aabi, overheard us & offered us to stay in his apartment.

The next day, we hopped on a train to the rural areas where we could find fruit picking work.
After a full day of fruitless (no pun intended) search for a job, we were just looking for a place to sleep as it was dark already. The strawberry season had started 2 weeks earlier and all the jobs were taken by Polish workers.
We knocked on a door and eventually the family offered us their living room floor for the night. The next morning, we were told that the grand-father wanted to meet us. He was also living on the land. Despite the fact that he didn't speak much English & us no Norwegian, we had a fun breakfast all 3 of us.  He even gave us a backgammon travel board for the road. To this day, the backgammon game is in Sara's kitchen.
Soon after we were on our way to Bergen.
Photo of Tony, the grand-father.  Egge farm in Lier, Norway. July 1990.

Hawaii

How I ended up in Hawaii is quite a story.

Sara had convinced me to go to Australia with her (I was easily convinced!). Since we were flying from Los Angeles, USA, we took a 4days & 4nights  bus trip from Montreal to LA. Many adventures along the way. We stopped to sleep in Chicago, Las Vegas (but we didn't get much sleep there!) and Denver. Our flight included a 2 days stop-over in Hawaii.

On the plane to Hawaii, we met 2 other Canadian girls. We hooked up. We arrived at the Honolulu's airport quite late and found all the youth hostels and B&B full or not answering their phone.

Our plan of action, was to spend the night at the airport. Meanwhile, all the other tourists were being escorted to an hotel by a hotels rep with a limousine. Pretty soon, all that was left at the airport was us 4.

The rep was adamant in not leaving us at the airport. He gave us such a good deal that could not be refused. He brought us in his limo to an expensive-looking hotel to our own suite with a balcony with a view to a beautiful beach in Waikiki!

The next day, we separated in 2s and hitch-hiked to stunning Waimanolo beach. There we met (thanks to Sara's bad cigarette habit!) 2 local lads who took us to Hanauma Bay beach to snorkle (with their gear) with all those tropical fish  and a promise to take all 4 of us to a local restaurant for brunch the next morning! All free of charge and no strings attached! That evening, we all went to a local discotheque. Partied all night .The next day, I slept like a baby during the entire 6h flight to Fiji! I had never managed to sleep on a plane before that.

Talk about starting a trip well!

This drawing is made by me. More details in my up-coming book.

Hitch-hiking in Europe

Growing up,  I was taught to be scared of hitch-hiking by society in general and, of course, those horror movies like "The Hitch-Hiker".
Therefore the very first time I tried it, I was very scared. It was in Germany, on the outskirts of Cologne, with a "seasonned" friend. She did all the "work".  Gabriele & I also hitched our way to Amsterdam to meet a sweet Swedish friend of mine.

Call me crazy or adventurous but I grew to love it. Yes, I loved it. It was the best way to meet locals and experience the country from the inside.  
I've hitched mainly as a pair. From London ( where I lived at the time.) to Dover &amp back, just for something to do. I was with Carol, my American friend, shown on this photo. We did get to Dover and back to London in just one lift!  The same guy, a TV repairman, he bought us ice-cream in Dover and drove us back all the way uo to our local pub!
Carol & I made a longer trip, hitching to Amsterdam & Germany (visiting friends) & back for a couple of weeks.

With my travel buddy, Sara, we went from London to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, in search of a cheap ferry across to Norway. Not possible, so we hitched back to London. The next day, we made our way to Dover, took the ferry across to Oostende (Belgium) and hitch-hiked all the way to Oslo via Hamburg (Germany), the ferry crossing in Denmark, somewhere on the west coast of Sweden (spent a couple of days with 2 guys that were selling hot-dogs on a Swedish island to drunk pub goers, at closing time.). We finally arrived in Oslo 4-5 days later, exhausted but happy. We hitch-hiked all the way to Bergen. Despite what my Norwegian friends says, we found the Norwegians to be very hospitable.

Along with hitching extensively in Europe, we also did  it  all over the world: in New-Zealand, Gran Canaria (the biggest island of the Canaries),Jamaica, Canada (Ottawa-Montreal) & Hawaii.
By myself, I hitched in Ireland (all over from Clare to Donegal  and into Northern Ireland back to Dublin), South Africa (mainly in Kwa/Zulu-Natal) and Zimbabwe (alone & with a friend).

Sure it's a risky business, but most rewarding. Along the way, we refused a few lifts with dodgy drivers but mostly people are a generous & hospitable lot. Many times, we were offered a roof for the night, food, gifts, a day by a magnificiant Norwegan lake, even a trip! (see my entry called Amal Kabli). I always followed my intuition, no matter how silly it may seems.  Thankfully, nothing bad ever happened along the way.

I must also point out the difference in terminology between North America and English-speaking Europe. A "ride" in Canada is when someone picks you up when hitch-hiking. In the UK, Scotland or Ireland it has a sexual connotation and to mention the same thing one says "lift". I found out the difference the hard way!
I remember a young red-haired Scotish lad on his bike saying to Sara: "I'll give you a ride Baby!"  It was rolling-on-the-ground funny!

I could ramble on for hours, just about my hitch-hiking experiences and if you're curious you can read more details in the book I'm writing.

This photo is of Carol holding up an Europeen phrase book near Aachen, Germany, 1989.

Las Vegas, 1991

Sara and I were going to Australia for 1 year. (minimum!)

Since we were flying from Los Angeles, we took buses from Montreal, Canada, to LA. It was a 5-day trip, full of adventures. We made 3 stop-overs to sleep in a real bed: Chicago, Las Vegas and Denver.

What I want to talk about today is about our stay in Las Vegas. It was day-time when the bus rolled-in town.

Day-time Las Vegas is quite disappointing. No bright lights. The Strip looks quite regular. Nothing like what we see in movies or on TV.

At the Youth Hostel, we met, Klaus, a German who called himself "The Master of the Slot machines". Yes, really. He owned a black old Cadillac, limousine-style.

We spent a wild night, visiting a few casinos, playing with the free money one gets and having a free brunch at 4 AM.

Needless to say, we did not sleep very much that night....

The strangest thing is upon our return to LA, 1 and half years later, we met Klaus again. He was now living in La and had married a Phillipino woman.

New-Zealand

Sorry it's been a while. Lots of excuses but my best excuse is: it's been a crazy last couple of months with all the Birthdays!


New-Zealand:
The first thing that strucked me when I got in the airport is how British it is! The police wear the same ridiculous hats as English bobbies!

But this is not the story I want to relate. You can find out more in the book I'm writing about my 19 years of travel/living abroad.


The South Island is the hippyiest place I've ever been to! Here's a prime exemple.

Sara & I were hitch-hiking , when this old-looking car (see above picture.) stopped. Steven, his friend & Joplin, the dog were offering us a lift. Starting the car was not done with a key, but a kitchen knife!

It turns out they were living on this commune & offered us a bed & to stay as long as we wanted! Sweet!

Our bed was in an old abandonned VW van in the field. Steven's was a tree-house! A whole community of young Kiwis lived on this self-sufficiant farm/commune. They had cows & with that they made milk, yogurt & butter. They grew everything, from garlic, all sorts of fruits, veggies, wheat (which they grind to make bread!), everything I say! You name it, they were growing it.

There was a kitchen and everyone made dinner, each had their turn. to cook for everyone else.

It was like that all week, til Friday, when they'd go into town. Get their dole money, get pissed all weekend. On Sunday, they would return and do the same thing again.
After 3-4 days, we moved on.

Our budget was extremely restricted, so we had to hitch-hike everywhere, from North to South Island. We found the general Kiwi population very friendly and welcoming. Turns out, the Canadian flag on our backpacks was helping us a great deal.

On the photo is: me, Steven, Sara & Joplin, the dog. 1991

Sons of the Desert

I was looking for a pic of them but have none, so I found this unrelated pic of a Rye bottleshop in England.

This is a band that I discovered (actually someone brought me to see them!) back in March or April 1989.

It's the kind of band that if you feel blue, you go see them and you feel great! They were playing every Sunday at Elephant & Castle pub in London.

There were 5 members and many instruments. Most played more than one instruments. There was the fiddle, saxophone, guitar, bass, bohdran (Irish drum), trompette and the electric mandoline. I'm probably forgetting an instrument or 2. The members were: Steven, the Yorkside lad (with the thickest accent I've ever heard back then!) who played the bass; Jim the guitarist; Joseph, from Belfast who played the fiddle & the saxophone; Tracy, played the bohdran, the trompette & had a magnificient voice and, finally, Ewan, the ever-so-excentric leader of the band, played the electric mandoline like Jimmy Hendrix played the guitar and also lead singer.

At first 3 of us went religiously to see them every Sunday, then soon, almost the whole of The Pembridge came along. The word spread out quickly!

After a few months, I was going to Ireland and went with 2 Irish (also fans of the band.) who were visiting family. They were going to see SOTD playing in Salthill, close to Galway. I came along only to find out that they were opening for The Pogues! (A major Irish band, quite popular in Europe) I went to the after party. The next morning, I was asked if I had any set plans. I said "no" and was promptly invited to tour with them! I quickly learned that the life of a touring musician is not glamorous: driving to next town, sound check, guig, after-party (maybe), driving to next town and so on! It was just a 5-day tour, Thank God! Their manager was telling everyone that I was his assistant! I was very lucky to see the "insides" of a band.

I found out about 1 year ago, that Ewan & Tracy got married and moved to France. The SOTD is still alive. You can find out more about them (and hear them!) at : Sons of the Desert

Ruby In The Dust

The restaurant started life in the basement of The Pembridge Hotel in 1989. It was runned by 2 young South Africans: Anton and Jonatan.

I was part of the cleaning-before-opening process and started as a waitress. I made a poor waitress. After a tiff, I was quickly put Head of salad bar kitchen. That was a lot of work but also a lot of fun. I was in charge of making the cold starters, the desserts and the drinks. The ever-changing dishwasher was also with me.

Nine years later, I found myself in South Africa. I was in desperate need of work (read: money) and I heard that Anton had opened a Ruby-in-the-Dust in Capetown. By now it was a music venue and a bar with pool tables. I found myself serving drinks to young Capetownians while listenning to local bands. Some great, some good and some very bad.

Soon it was decided to open a small pizza place on the top floor, in the back. We sold home-made individual pizzas, all made from scratch, including the dough. My pizzas soon became popular and known as the "Helen Special". Toppings: pineapple (fresh), garlic, hot peppers and mushrooms.

A very basic bar/music venue but the local place to hip young Capetownians of all walk of life. I made some great friends and heard some brilliant music. It closed whenever there wasn't enough people left: 2AM, 3AM, 4 AM.

It was in Capetown that I turned the big 3-0.

This photo is of the bar with Nohoko, after hours. (early morning)

The Pembridge Hotel

What can I say about the Pembridge hotel, or where do I start?
The location: Bayswater, London, UK.
It was where I started my real life. It was a Backpacker's than a "proper" hotel, full of young travellers like me, broke and eager to explore the world.

How I got there? A long story (of which I will explain more in the book I'm writing) but here's the jist. I was living in Germany and after 1 1/2 months I had enough of Koln and left to London, on a whim. Someone scooped me from Victoria train station and brought me there. I arrived broke and in desperate need of working.
I was immediately put on breakfast duty for more fortunate backpackers. I was not earning much but I got free board and I was making it on my own in London!
I also took another job outside the hotel as a waitress in a cafeteria-style new restaurant. During my time there, I had plenty of different jobs, none of which ever lasted a long time - meaning more than a few weeks.
I was a "runner", waking people up and "running" all over the hotel. A job that was given to me by a friend when I was jobless and homeless, playing hide-n-seek with the managers.
I also became an hotel "taunt", scooping people off Victoria train station and bringing them to the hotel. That was a fun job. I was put in a big room nicknamed "The Tree House" and is where I met Sara, the one that became my best friend. At Victoria station is was with the "bobbies" (local policemen) that I was playing hide-n-seek with. Technically, our job was illegal as we were taking customers from paying hotel booths on site.

The main attraction to this hotel was all the young travellers I met, in the same situation as me. There was Spaniards, Mexicans, Aussies, Kiwis, Americans, Brazilians, French, Canadians, Chileans, East Europeans, you name it. We bonded and helped each other. I made lasting friendships, some to this day, 20 years later.

It was an off and on stay as I often took off hitch-hiking through Europe or just for a day to Dover, because I was bored.
I also worked at this new restaurant in the basement of The Pembridge called Ruby In The Dust (that's another story). I started out as a waitress, then went on to be head of the salad bar kitchen. I was in charge of the cold starters, the drinks and the desserts. Also it was there that the dishes were cleaned. I had many wild nights there with different "dishwashers".
So many fond memories of my time in Bayswater, London. I think that everyone should have a "Pembridge" in their life.
The photo above is of the "Tree House", with my bed being with the yellow blanket on the top right.