Some visitors came searching, mostly for ian curtis, lurch, david bowie naked, phi phi island tsunami – 2010 in review
So this is my year. Wrapped up in handy statistics. I am confused as why one of my top referring sites was obama-scandal-exposed.co.cc.
I’ve been neglecting this blog for the last few months namely because my life has completely changed and I am NO LONGER TRAVELLING (Caps ARE necessary for this statement because I am shouting this sentence in my head. It pains me).
I HAVE A JOB.
Starting a career throws my brain in turmoil and at least three times a week I am thinking the following: Why is one of the measures of a successful life based on your job, when jobs largely involve your spirit being beaten down by THE MAN ?! Why can’t I manage to pay off any of my debt and save any money? Well, there’s generally a lot of WHY questions happening and a lot of alcohol.
However I am lucky. Working as a journalist makes me feel like I can have some impact on people’s lives and every day I feel privileged that people trust me enough to open up their lives in sometimes terrible circumstances. That people trust me with their story. Everyone has a story and I have plans.
Certain bureaucratic organisations amuse me daily and makes me feel like the world is turning into it’s own version of 1984 - people are scared to talk out of line, every carefully polished comment comes from the top and trying to get past the organisation and to the people can be like trying to break through a steel wall.
Thanks for reading.
The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:
The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Fresher than ever.
Crunchy numbers
A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 5,700 times in 2010. That’s about 14 full 747s.
In 2010, there were 14 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 45 posts. There were 48 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 85mb. That’s about 4 pictures per month.
The busiest day of the year was May 6th with 70 views. The most popular post that day was Stuff Europe, I’m going backpacking in Iraq.
Where did they come from?
The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, lonelyplanet.com, en.wordpress.com, obama-scandal-exposed.co.cc, and forex-expose.co.cc.
Some visitors came searching, mostly for ian curtis, lurch, david bowie naked, phi phi island tsunami, and phi phi tsunami.
Attractions in 2010
These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.
Stuff Europe, I’m going backpacking in Iraq May 2010
5 comments
Australia’s Next Top Model, public nudity, Tammy, Barcelona. October 2009
Colombo: Third world democracy…more records than the KGB January 2010
10 comments
Elephants, private islands, another Shining-esque hotel: A wedding in Sri Lanka February 2010
Killing pigs, eating rats, playing with tigers and riding elephants: The trek December 2009
Warlords, teenage prostitution, ex-child soldiers, kids addicted to heroin and cannibalism.
The Vice Guide to Libera explores the dark side of a country that has been devastated by 14 years of civil war.
While I’d love to see a longer, more explorative piece on the obviously huge issues that are happening here, this video is grippingly horrific.
Think children addicted to drugs, ex-child soldiers, cannibalism and warlords.
Source: http://assets.vbs.tv/blog_articles/images/000/000/528/img_1555-1024x768_blog.jpg
Ian Curtis
Today is the 30th anniversary of Ian Curtis’ death.
I have a lot of love for this man.
“Existence— well, what does it matter?
I’ve existed for the best use I can
The past is now part of my future
The present is well out of hand.”
Stuff Europe, I’m going backpacking in Iraq
Stuart before his wallet was stolen at the rally for President Ahmadinejad in Esfahan, Iran. Photo by Stu Moore
So you’ve been to South America? Lame. You’ve travelled India? Real original. Don’t even bother mentioning Europe.
Why don’t you go somewhere a little bit more challenging? Somewhere that’s still fresh from war. Or is still at war even.
Stuart Lachlan Moore is 23-years-old and has just returned from a trip to Iran and Iraq.
Stuart, a former Goulburn Valley Grammar student, was one of those very few travellers that said “stuff the typical backpacker destinations I’m going to the Middle East”.
So here we have it: you’re backpacking by yourself in countries where the only foreigners going there are the U.S Army. It’s a melting pot for incredible stories.
Stuart’s interest to travel these regions began brewing when he did Middle Eastern studies at Melbourne University as part of his Arts/Law degree.
But it was because it was so far out of the backpacking norm that really pushed him.
“I certainly didn’t travel there because I expected it to be easy, I wanted to challenge myself a bit,” he said.
“I get sick of hearing people talking about going to the same places. I wanted something more than just a hangover.”
Stuart got his fair share of hangovers on the seven month exploit but it was the fun, unusual and often uncomfortable experiences that set this adventure apart.
Stuart was sitting in an Iranian police station making a report after his wallet was stolen during a rally for the President.
He was only the second foreigner ever to make a police report in the town of Esfahan.
Amin, the police officer, was dutifully scribbling down the report when sounds of the slap of a fist on flesh and pitiful wailing came wafting in.
“We have our ways of finding these men, we will get them,” said the Chief Inspector to an utterly bewildered Stuart.
“The law is ten times harsher on people who offend against foreigners. He will pay.”
“I was just like `Oh my God’, what’s going on?! I tried to hide the fact I could hear it,” Stuart said.
“Then I started to feel guilty. I wonder how many people they’re going to go out and beat up to find my wallet?”
Iran had more than a few tricks up its sleeve for Stuart, he was also sexually accosted by gentleman in a bathhouse and was nearly beaten up by a girl’s father after she made “bed eyes” at Stuart in a restaurant.
“The sexual pressure in Iran is ridiculous. They aren’t allowed to talk to each other. Iran was way off the Richter,” he said.
Despite the dodgy stories, Stuart said the scenery, the people and the vibrant day-to-day life were spectacular.
But it was the country’s famous hospitality that really impressed the traveller.
“They just don’t claim hospitality like some scandalous Formule 1 Hotel, they live and breathe it,” he said.
And then there is Iraq. As in, you know, the Iraq that’s at war.
“The worst thing that ever happened to me in Iraq was having a tub of vinaigrette soak on my pack in the hold of the bus,” Stuart said.
Stuart travelled into Iraqi Kurdistan, an autonomous region of Iraq where its people have some power but he had to be careful which areas he travelled to as many still had active land mines.
Stuart became the modern day Pied Piper of Hamelin when he hitch-hiked into the small village of Amadiya.
A crowd of children, who had never seen a Westerner in the flesh before, keenly followed him everywhere clutching pretend guns made from sticks.
“Kids jaws just dropped and then engaged furiously, `hello mister, hello mister’, I swear every kid in the Middle East knows these words,” Stuart said.
And then the big kids with the real guns showed up.
“The police stopped me and dragged me into the police station just to have tea,” he said.
“They were really friendly and keen and excited to see people interested in their country.”
Now, after returning home in March, how does Stuart cope with normal things like working and university assignments and schedules after this adventure?
“It took me one week before I booked my next trip,” he said.
The West Bank border checkpoint. Photo: Stu Moore
Stu at the Baalbek Ruins in Bekaa Valley (Hezbollah controlled), Lebanon. Photo: Stu Moore
At the Wadi Musra, Jordan. Photo: Stu Moore
Cappadoccia, Turkey. Photo: Stu Moore
- This story appeared in The Shepparton News
Ye ‘ol grey nomads
“I’m not being racist BUT…”
The warning bells always go off when someone opens with a line like that.
My brother, sister and I were sitting around Amarasinghe Guest House in Haputale, face-to-face by the equally loved/feared creature: The grey nomad.
This English grey nomad had fully embraced his grey nomad status with long, yet sparse silver hair complete with short fringe, a “I’m a traveller” scarf-tie around his neck and the cracking leather skin.
But this man was hiding under his grey nomad exterior.
Because really, he couldn’t escape his Surrey roots and the fact he didn’t eat anything that strayed from traditional English fodder (I.e. “I like sausages and mash NOT exotic foods”). Said grey nomad is a complete wannabe hippy anarchist that masks a huge vein of prejudice and racism under the “I am well travelled thus not racist” veil.
Making generalised and racist statements about India cannot be excused by the fact you have been to “India 18 times”.
Turning to the German couple next to you and saying that most young Eastern Europeans are Nazi skinheads, while has a certain amount of hilarious factor, is not acceptable.
Telling us you aren’t interested in going to New Zealand because you think there aren’t mammals there is not amusing.
Why some people think they’re qualified to make racist/prejudicial statements or express strong opinions based on nothing just because they have travelled the world is beyond me.
The only amusing thing you said faux grey nomad was that many people mistake your girlfriend as your daughter.
Oh the grey nomad. Love them or hate them.
This was the only blight on our otherwise extremely pleasant stay in Haputale.
We took the half-hour train ride, which turned into an hour due to Sri Lankan train propensity to stop for no reason, from the cute train station at Ella through the hill country.
Scenic rail from Badulla to Colombo
Ella train station
The views are incredible on this line, which stretches from Colombo to Dambulla.
The largely Tamil town of Haputale is perched along a mountain ridge and the town itself is a mess of shops and tuk-tuks.
The major reason we dragged ourselves away from Ella was the promise of the ethereal world of Horton’s Plain National Park and the hike to World’s End, a sheer drop off a plateau where the world opens up before you.
The owner of our guest house organised a driver to take us up to the park entrance at 5am. Early, I know but it’s really the only way to go because the mist rolls in by 9.30-10am.
You feel like you’re in a completely different world in the park. It’s dead silent, apart from the calls of monkeys and birds and the rugged, thick forests and windy plains are a world away from the tea plant laden hillsides around Haputale.
The views from World’s End are breathtaking and we sat there, on the edge, in complete silence.
We were warned: The election.
We were warned.
The travel advice by the Australian Government had jumped just before we left to “reconsider your need to travel”. The northern and eastern areas were at “do not travel”.
The whole country remains in a state of emergency.
Upon our arrival the upcoming election between the current President Mahinda Rajapaksa and the former Government military leader General Sarath Fonseka was gearing up.
There were rallies, posters everywhere, campaigns and a lot of talk on the radio, T.V and in the streets.
What you’d think a normal election would be anywhere in the western world.
Except it wasn’t, by our standards, a “normal” election.
The streets in Colombo were filled with military and police touting automatic weapons, there were checkpoints, there were sniper towers and reports of violence were pouring in from foreign news stations. Because, of course, in a country where the media is controlled by the Government, the only way I was hearing these things were through the locals and on the internet.
Rallies in Galle
The President controls the state media and intimidates privately-owned journalists. According to Reporters Without Borders, 96.7% of news airtime was to the President and less than 3.3% to the opposition.
Four people died and many were wounded in election violence. While this number pales in comparison to the amount of people who have died in this country because of the civil unrest, seriously think about it. People died and were injured in an election. An election.
I come from a country where a lot of us take our right to vote for granted. To think we would be killed or injured because of the way we voted or for protesting is…well…unthinkable. A lot of us can’t even be freaking bothered trying to learn about our elections, what our candidates stand for. I know people who vote a certain way because their parents do, or they simply scribble any goddamn order on their voting cards and we complain, we complain about having to get off our arses to get down to a polling station to have a say in the future of our country. The majority of our country simply does not give a shit. And why? Because our safe situation dictates that we don’t have to.
It seemed that nearly every local we spoke to were warning us to stay out of the cities, stay off the roads and basically stay inside on the day and the day after the election.
To be realistic, the chances of us getting into strife were slim but they were still there. On those days we were still deep in the hill country, getting a half-hour train from Ella to the equally small town of Haputale, standing at the foot of Horton’s Plain National Park.
The situation was stable there. We walked into town on election day, past the polling stations. The stations were heavily manned by the military and men and women voted in seperate rooms.
Haputale voting station
Later on that evening, we could hear the sharp bangs of firecrackers snip through the night air. The guesthouse we were staying was dead quiet and the owner was tensely sitting in a chair by the front door. We had no idea what was going on and it was that fact which made a slight worry creep into our heads.
And my brother, sister and I are very good at freaking each other out.
Jumping on the internet, polling station violence were being reported on the BBC. Opposition leader General Fonseka was effectively imprisoned in one of the hugely popular hotels in Colombo, surrounded by the President’s military…a force he once controlled in the Government’s forceful and violent fight to disperse the Tamil Tigers less than a year ago.
But, tucked into the seemingly safe confines of a guesthouse tucked away in Haputale you wouldn’t know there was an election on…except for the firecrackers.
A shitstorm
Stuff I Like: My little sister, the crazy 21-year-old wench
Classic example of how my sister and I correspond via Facebook whilst I’m away. Keep an open mind………..
Bridie Mills: that’s seems like an excellent idea,but i think tallest man on earth is much better at stuff than whitest boy alive.so it would be unfair.hey tam,this one time i was just like sitting around having the best coffee ever at this really cool warehouse coffee place and an image flashed in my head,like just for a brief second,of us in 5yrs.do you know what we were doing?
DRINKING REALLY NICE COFFEE IN THIS REALLY COOL PLACE AND YOU WERE WEARING A REALLY NICE SUIT THING AND I WAS WEARING THIS PLASTIC BOWL THING AROUND MY HEAD AND TRIED TO DRINK COFFEE WITH IT ON AND IT WENT ALL OVER MY DAVID BOWIE T-SHIRT AND YOU TOOK A NAPKIN AND WIPED MY BOWL SO I COULD SEE AGAIN BECAUSE ALL THE COFFEE HAD GONE OVER IT,THEN YOU TOOK NOTES ABOUT IT IN YOUR JOURNALIST NOTEBOOK.
tammy,please don’t ever use me as a story.
love you.
20 August 2009 at 21:55 · Comment · Like
Then I will use you for a story, a story that will get me a job at a paper like the Warranambool Standard. The story will be “The head that was too good for this world”. David Bowie will like it and you will become best of friends and make simple music together. BFF for life.
Love you.
I told you to keep an open mind.
Bridie. I love you.
Our family band: BAT Attack
Ella is a friend of mine, but it’s also a town in Sri Lanka
We’re paying this guy 10 000 Sri Lanka Rupees to drive us for the six hour journey up to the tiny hill country town of Ella after a “I cannot be bothered with public transport” moment. He’s getting his money’s worth too with my kid of a brother being so hungover we had to stop so he could chuck into a ditch on the side of a road.
Oh the days of underage drinking when you only drank to get drunk, preferably on UDL’s or some other alcopop equivalent so you could have an excuse to have fumbling, awkward encounters with the opposite sex and then throw up all over them or on you and it’d be o.k because you’re 16 right? And that’s what it’s all ABOUT! Or you can be someone like me, who hasn’t quite moved on.
You know what’s a tosser kind of word? Alcopop. I hate it and it reminds me of government. F*** the man!!!
On that very unrelated if not confusing lead, we drove up, up, UP into Ella. A tiny as town plopped into Sri Lanka’s hill country, around about six hours north of Weligama and more liberally endowed with views than David Bowie was in The Labyrinth.
Ella’s main street consists of a handful of guesthouses, an internet cafe, a food store and makeshift restaurants. It’s also surrounded by tea bushes and plantations and only acquired electricity in 1984. And here we find the typical images when it comes to Sri Lanka:
Picking tea leaves
So we spent two nights here, walking through the plantations, looking at poverty wage locals work in the tea factories, having THE best garlic curry at the Rawana Holiday Resort and making ridiculous promises about being generally good people to the restaurant owner because she made us feel like she was our grandmother and we couldn’t say no AND drinking whiskey with the owner of the guesthouse we stayed in.
Yummo garlic curry
Owned by a huge Bayern Munich fan and serial whiskey drinker and weed plant T-shirt wearer, the Viewpoint Villa made my soul settle. Five cabins dotted on a mountain with views of other high-up things like other mountains, tea plantations and the deep green of Ella Gap. The path that winds its way through this tiny villa is hugged by gardens of “freaking I don’t know that but it looks good” type plants and palm trees. The only sounds you hear are voices of some of the staff and the occasional tuk-tuk.
It was peace.
On one of our walks into town, we passed a smiling and waving family lugging bales of branches and leaves. We got a 100 metres in front of them before turning around to see the youngest kid, who must of been all of seven, running after us with a big huge bale. All we could see was his little legs. It looked like a big bale of branches and leaves with little legs. It was amusing.
Presidential election posters
Coming…how election day ACTUALLY went.
Elephants, private islands, another Shining-esque hotel: A wedding in Sri Lanka
Anyway, we made our way down to Weligama, around forty-five minutes from Galle, by tuk-tuk after we were convinced by the driver to skip the ridiculously cheap train (like 50 cents) and get him to drive us there. And so ensued a good old fashion tourist trap where we stopped at various “sites” along the way- like a turtle hatchery and herbal garden. Still, before I got all principled and pissed off, you had to remind yourself this is costing you less than five bucks and you are giving money to people are need it a helluva lot more than you do.
preferred mode of transport
Do you guys remember I wrote about staying in a Shining-esque hostel run by a five-year-old in Bolivia? I thought that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing. That is, until I arrived at the hotel in Weligama.
It was one of those hotels that had its hey-day in about 1983. Now its deserted, cob-webbed, the pool is green, the food you get served is generally from a can and there’s an 80-year-old Lurch-type butler in a white tuxedo creeping around the hotel. Seriously. It was so desolate the three of us even got upgraded to the enthous suite.
Think moth balls. Think cockroaches. Think a big room with as much furniture squeezed into it as possible. Think Jack Torrance breaking down the door with an ax.
So spending time on a private island, drinking a lot of booze, staying in the enthous suite all in tropical paradise sounds pretty darn great right? One of the highlights though was definitely the beach cricket match the next day. It was Australia and England vs. Sri Lanka with about thirty locals crowded around watching the action. In what was truly the greatest sporting achievement of my life, I caught one of the locals out. As one of like four girls actually playing, I don’t know what was better; the actual catch or the amount of laughter that ensued from the crowd.
