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t r a v e l b l o g traveller:
Anthony Seeto |
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January 2003-April 2004 January 2003
Another year has passed, and now my tan has faded enough for me to blend into the snow around me. I’m still living in the north east, in the lovely yet relatively sleepy snow covered town of Durham. Still working in Consett (an ex-steel town awakening from a coma). And still discovering the virtues of life here, where roundabouts infest the roads, roads riddle the castles, and castles plaster the landscape. Where polite highland cattle nod good morning as the sun rises over patchworked rolling hills. And where local Geordie lads don’t own jackets or jumpers, and local Geordie gals parade their summer wardrobe all year ‘round.
I have a theory on this; the locals have inherited a special gene that equates to deadened nerves just under the skin. This allows the ladies the chance to flaunt minimalist apparel in sub zero temperatures. The Scottish gentlemen up the road (past the roundabout) are never outdone. I was in Edinburgh for the New Years party, Hogmonay, where the whole briefs vs boxershorts argument is meaningless; where the only thing between a real man and the elements is a thick tartan kilt. Stylish, practical and cool (in all weather conditions), I can’t help but think how much time I would save at the laundry mat if I was a fashionable Scotsman. No, there are no New York styled street vents with an updraft in Edinburgh.
But even the Scotts in woollen kilts would have been challenged in Finland. I had a fine excuse to attend a meeting for a peace & volunteer organisation just north of Helsinki. I can’t remember the excuse, but I clearly remember the minus 15 degree temperatures which did not slow the productive and encouraging meeting. There was also time to explore the picturesque snow white forest, smooth icing covered frozen lake, and of course time for rest and relaxation Finnish style. Now, I’m no parading skinny dipper, and topless is about as far as I go on Sydney beaches, but when in Rome, and in this case Killjavi, I had to join the locals in the roll in the snow. Thankfully, no appendages stuck to the snow like my feet did on the path on the way back to the sauna. What was truly invigorating, after half an hour in baking heat, was the dip in the frozen lake through a circular cut hole. A Spaniard, Hungarian and myself decided photographic proof of a immersion in the ice hole was needed for would be doubting friends back home, but after reviewing the photo of myself, I’ve decided that the water was a little too clear for my liking, and the cold water didn’t seem to compliment me too well, so that photo no longer exists, and you’ll just have to take my word for it!
It was refreshing as well as inspiring to meet people from around the world (Sri Lanka to Switzerland, Hungary to Japan) who were committed to promoting peace, intercultural understanding and non-violent action. All whilst having a laugh at ourselves (I’m not referring to my shot in the ice hole). It reminded me once again, the potential of people working together, rather than fighting someone else’s war (for someone else’s agenda). I’m drawn to the idea of the European Union – member states working together and helping each other for the benefit of all countries involved. I like the idea of the decline of the nation state – no more borders and boundaries. Though I’ve come to the conclusion that one can never take France out of a Frenchman, nor England out of the English. However, one can take French wine out of France and bring it into England for a fraction of English prices. Viva la EU.
Australia should join the EU. Half of us are here already – mostly in London, taking up key positions in a very indispensable industry – behind the bar. I’ve thought this through quite carefully: if we joined the Euro, New Zealanders will no longer be able to undermine our aussie economy with their similar sized 20c pieces. We also wouldn’t have to pay for holiday visas half the time we stepped on foreign soil (not to mention queuing up in the three mile long non-EU line at immigration). Ah but, if we do join, asylum seekers to Australia may actually receive human rights… this will reverse all that Australia has worked for over the last 15 years (right Mr Howard?). And, we’d also receive further pressure (that we’ve so far shrugged off) to meet Kyoto greenhouse emission targets we never signed (the protocol we didn’t ratify - along with the US) in which some of our close neighbours are affected. Erm… where did that tantrum come from.
But while Australia (or at least our government) is selling itself to the US, I’ve come to make Britain my temporary home. I’m learning to fit in and take what London Underground and British Rail have to offer… with chin up and a stiff upper lip. Where one must learn to receive as well as give (all strains of the flu). I’m learning to greet people whilst looking skyward ready to comment on the weather. Although I am having difficulty assuming real humility when conversing about sport. To be fair, the locals get more practice! I’m just glad I’m not ‘tiger’ Tim (Henman) – who must be a foot shorter with the country on his shoulders. And all in a country where there is national mourning for Manchester United’s David Beckham’s left foot’s pinky toe if slighty bruised.
Where does the nation congregate to mourn an iconic bruised toe? In one of the 60,000 pubs across the UK, one for every street corner. For personal research purposes only, I’ve sampled several Bitters, Milds, IPAs (Indian Pale Ale), Porter & Stouts, Old Ales, Winter Ales, Summer Ales, Seasonal Beers, Largers, and Barley wines. And that’s what I love about this country. Variety. The food, people, and ideas come from near and afar. Accents give away identity. Sometimes I pretend to be cultured, just like friends here, and go to the orchestra, lightly tapping and nodding in time with an air of sophistication. It’s a place where ‘sorry’ is the word of the moment, and has been since time began here. London does have its down sides. I’ve forgotten the colour blue (as in sky) ant it’s a city where it’d be criminal to transport cattle in the Tube in summer, but not people.
Life in the north east is coming to an end. I’ll pack my bags and head south for the winter for a little skin colour. My plans are to head south in mid Feb, to southern Africa for a very short few weeks, then to Perth to increase the size of my freckles for that all over even tan. Remind family that son number two is still alive. Visit friends in Argentina, travel through South America, and head back to London where I’ll resume my homeless and unemployed existence on some London high street, and play my harmonica.
June 2003
Ah Africa. Southern Africa to be specific. I touched down in Johannesburg in Feb with a numb shoulder (from the inoculation - thank goodness I got the jab in my arm). I roamed streets passing houses laced with razor wire and electric fencing. I remember stopping and thinking (can only do one thing at a time)… if it was to stop hardened criminals jumping the fence, I was on the wrong side. I was only there for a few days, but I never saw any crime. Though the safari in Kruger was intriguing (did you know hippos kill more people than any other animal, and giraffes eat hyena’s poo – beats milk for calcium), what was more intriguing was the need for security in a minibus to tour down town. A kind of urban safari tour in downtown Jo’berg. South Africa still has a few hurdles I guess, I’m not talking so much about violent crime, it’s the high proportion of people with aids (more than one in five adults) fills me with a different kind of numbness; one that shocks me about my ignorance of the world we live in. Interestingly, in the neighbouring country (in Swaziland has one in three adults have aids) I was asked by a Swazi man “Is it true that you can be cured of aids if you sleep with a virgin?”. My fellow traveller at the time, and I looked at each other. Ignorance is rife, only this man had more of an excuse.
If Johannesburg is a diamond in the rough, Sydney was still the colourful opal I had remembered. It had not gained in colour. It was more that I had been colour deprived for two years. I had to relearn the colours blue and yellow. It was good to see faces again, and congratulate the new couples who’ve signed their life away (to each other), and finally meet a few new global citizens – who had now grown to the size of my tennis racquet. It made me think, for one brief moment: wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to make the tea at night, and finally be on equal footing with little ones in a game of chess. But then I thought: what about my professional tennis career, and the idea of family passed. |
I was hard pressed to find tennis courts in South America. One thing I did find were llamas. Dozens of them. And the only thing I saw more than llamas trekking through Bolivia were redundant IT professionals. It was here, in South America, Argentina specifically, that I learned to tango. Dancing as if feet (particularly my partners’) meant nothing to me, and again I felt cultured. Argentinians are proud, and so they should be, and the height of there juicy steaks matched this. But South America has more to offer. Bolivia has one of the most striking landscapes I’ve seen. There were endless white hard cold salt flats that covered the horizon like a million tennis courts without fencing and nets, and with white lines such that it covered the whole surface, only more dazzling. It was, as I recall, the perfect Bolivian road; one without potholes. With deep blue sky above, and this open expanse, I was both stunned and half blinded. I continued along this gringo trail that led me to past more llamas into Peru. I ate Guinea Pig there to live like the locals, or so I was told. My fellow travellers at the time, who were English, were rather upset. It may have had something to do with the expression on the face of the rodent. I was also upset. It was too chewy, gamey and a little over done. The food, however, gave me energy. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve passed my prime, I would have trekked into Macchu Pichu rather than take the train. The lost Inca city must have contained some truly lost Incas with a lot of spare time on their hands – take the stonework for example. Each side carved perfectly to fit the next – some pieces with over 20 cut sides, weighing more than a fully laden car, that interlocked such that it has survived earthquakes that have flattened non Inca/ modern buildings. Further into the continent saw me galloping on horseback through the Pantenals (Brazil), supplementing my diet with mouthfuls of mosquitos. Swimming with the caiman (crocs) there helped take our minds of the piranhas. But I was assured it was safe, with these particular caiman, whom the guides had given names like Osama, and Sadam. Further east, I discovered the Rio that I had heard about - where minimalist apparel is a competition, where one aussie bikini can provide enough material to produce four on the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema. The dental floss they were wearing was a little distracting, but admittedly not too disturbing. The men were not completely outdone, material for speedos must cost a premium.
But there was more to South America than toned bodies against stunning backdrops. A silver miner, my age, living on less than a couple of pounds a day would work seven days a week throughout the year, spending 12 hours by kerosene lamps in what is otherwise darkness, dynamiting through rock. While others in the group would haul 30kg+ bags of bauxite and mostly rubble through spaces barely large enough to fit their bodies. In Argentina a new underclass has developed, those who were bordering the poverty line a year earlier had now slipped under the with the devaluation of the peso. People looking through rubbish to recycle cardboard for money. Something my Argentinian friends said was not seen before. Interestingly and sadly, something we also see in our ‘affluent’ society. I’ve finally taken up some studies to help myself understand this inequality, and increase my awareness of our surrounds. Looks like many ideas start off with the best intentions... the new challenge appears to be to admit our system is flawed. People don’t only work out of greed – which appears to be institutionalised in our economic system! Erm… where did that come from. It’s not all sobering without drunken bliss. I watched Bolivians, with their colourful traditional attire, multi purpose swag blankets, Charlie Chapman hats, chat happily with life’s experience drawn on their brows and faces. There was no need for Oil of Olay here. And I have decided that I don’t need it either.
January 2004
Swiss precision,
German efficiency, Italian flare, French style, Belgian diplomacy,
But this little Fiji born Chinese Australian, residing in the UK has a few plans of escape. I’ll be here for a while – and finish my (development) studies some time in 2006 (at the rate I’m going that’s optimistic). But in between then and now, I hope to earn enough pennies to rub together, and whilst I’m still on the right side of forty, take off for another trip (not by train). I plan to head to Sydney in October. And if I can, squeeze in a visit somewhere in eastern Europe. Alas, London is home for now. Finally, London is like a bottle of old English port – palettable, pungent, and expensive. Aging well, though possibly slightly corked. Here’s hoping 2004 will be a vintage year!
April 2004 Still here, and so is this email. Sorry. I’ve just come back from a warm and humbling Easter vigil. There’s something about having your candle lit, and lighting others’, and watching the light move from one to many. Easter Greetings. |
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