Mbeya Cafe

I'm sitting at a table in a cafe. It's mid afternoon on a cloudy day. There is a nice green lawn in front of me and over a small fence to my left there are views across the Southern Tanzanian highlands. I can see some rainclouds forming around Mt Loleza.

Yesterday we farewelled Malawi. At the border we didn't have any US currency for the Tanzanian Visa ($50USD). Despite our best efforts in Karonga (the last bank town in northern Malawi) we couldn't get hold of any and we told this to the immigration officer. He was sympathetic to our plight and quickly onto his phone to his dealer. Ten minutes later we were in his back office changing Kwacha for Greenbacks. I couldn't help musing at the official sign above the guys desk - Black market money changing strictly illegal. Overall it was a much smoother border crossing than our last.

The staff are mulling around chatting. I'm the only customer and I've only troubled them with a bottle of coke. I can hear the faint whistle blast from a distant train. We'll be on one tomorrow heading for Dar Es Salam on route to Kilimanjaro. We attempt the mountain in a week or so. I'm a little anxious. Travellers we've met have said that it's the last day that is the tough part. It starts at about 11PM and finished about 4PM the next day. Climbing through the night is what gets you, it's freezing cold they say. A successful ascent should see you summit between 6AM and 8:30AM no later. My uncertainty is mostly around altitude sickness. The mountain peaks at 5900mtrs. None of us have ever been that high, I have no idea how we'll react.

The rainclouds around the mountain are clearing now, some blue sky is peaking through. I'll take it as a good sign.

Nkhata Bay - Lake Malawi

It's just after 8, I'm sitting in a local restaurant waiting for my banana pancake. Restaurants give you time over here, or should that read 'be patient'. Generally the wait is around an hour after ordering. I don't mind so much as it's not like I'm in rush to do things. Today I have made the time allowance deliberately as I'm diving in the lake at 9:30. Not sure what to expect as it's my first fresh water dive since Wraysbury (Heathrow, UK) a muddy dam of about 12 degrees.

I went for a run yesterday. It gave the locals a bit of a shock, voluntary exercise isn't really grasped over here, they thought I was late for something. We're staying at a place called 'Big Blue Star' right on the cliff shore, the views are impressive. When we arrived off the ferry there was a local guy in reception holding a tortoise. He was there for a job interview. One of the guests was quite horrified and negotiated it off him for a dollar, promptly releasing it into the wild. We all watched it waddle back up the hill, no doubt it will be back again soon for another sale.

There is thunder rumbling across the lake and the clouds are rolling in. Hopefully it doesn't mess too much with the visibility on the dive. At least the water is warm, 28 degrees we were told yesterday, very generous. My pancake just arrived, smells delicious. By the way tortoise man got the job.

Views across Lake Malawi

Farewell Mozambique

It was our last day in Mozambique, it started in the granite hills of Cuamba in the same way many others had, a 4AM chapa, mind you this one didn't even leave town until 7AM. The road was particularly bad, dirt, mud and potholes for the duration of the 200 clicks. At around midday we hit the border town of Mandimba.

The doors of the van opened and we were free game, about 20 people on us instantly. Money changers, refresco sellers, food vendors, taxi riders all shouting at us louder than the guy next to them so that we could hear about their superior product or service. After 8 hours in the cramped minivan apparently a minute to stretch your legs isn't part of the package and Jess and I just had to make do.

As the tax riders fought over our packs we tried to get our head around changing Meticash into Kwacha. I had a vague knowledge from an outdated Lonely Planet that a USD is worth around 140K and I knew it was also worth about 30Mets but with the locals yapping at us bugger me if I could work out the X factor of Met to Kwacha. They insisted it was 195 so we went with it and despite some attempts from them to confuse us with bad English we only got slighted a couple of dollars. We then looked around and saw our packs were being guarded by two guys sitting on their bicycles gesturing us to get on. I glanced at Jess, we both shrugged - when in Rome.

It was the first time in 3 days we could take in some scenery without the murmur of engine noise and we we're lapping it up. Balanced precariously on the pack rack of some old Amsterdam style bikes we were making the 7km final push for the Malawi border with the lush undulating hills of Mandimba as a backdrop. As our riders sweated the pedals Jess and I happily greeted the smiling locals as we passed. Almost at the border and Jess passed the comment 'Have you got your hiking boots?' The question blasted me back to reality. Shit! No I didn't. Just as we hit the border post we worked out they were still in the min van. In all the commotion I'd forgotten rule no.1 - Get your stuff! It had been 30mins and the rider reckoned 'maybe' the van would still be in town, as for my boots? Well with Mt Kilimanjaro only 25days away I had to try.

I left Jess with our packs borrowed the guys bike and sped back into town. I soon had more praise for my driver as I discovered the pedals were loose and the brakes didn't work. After replacing the chain twice in a sweaty, greasy mess I arrived back at town and again I was descended upon, but this time with curious looks. I looked around but our van was no where in sight. With broken Spanish/Portuguese and hand gestures I was able to explain my dilemma. In minutes the whole street was in discussion. Then a bloke with a motor bike appeared out of no where and another bloke jumped on the back. Seconds later they were speeding off into the dust shouting 'Boots, boots!' as they went. I only assumed they planned to chase down the van.

I hunched down on the curb, holding out little hope for their success. Not long had the dust settled had the vendors gone back to their routines, reshuffling soft drinks in their warm coolers, rotating corn cobs on the open fires. At other times I have considered these lives of basic activity and how seeing a white guy ride in on a bicycle would be something of an event, but now I was just lamenting my own stupidity of being the main act. Suddenly I heard a bike down the road. In a plume of dust and exhaust smoke it zoomed around the bend. As it came into focus I saw the guy on the back holding something. It came closer and I saw a pair of black sandals held in his hand. The idiot has taken someone else's shoes! As the bike pulled up I notice the huge grin on their faces and I look down. The driver is wearing my boots! To raucous applause he took off my boots and held them aloft. He then handed them to me and I gave him 1000k's for the trouble. I think it was about $8AUD but it may as well been $8Mil as the crowd went wild. Amongst the applause I put on my boots and rode back to the border to met Jess. Exhausted but richer for the experience.

Jess and our taxi rider

Heading back to the Border

No one goes hungry

'Hey give me a break, I haven't sold a single toothbursh!' I couldn't hear the exact conversion but body language speaks volumes over here.

We're sitting at a train stop in the village of Ribaue and the market is alive. It actually arrived with our train and will probably depart with it too. The guy selling the pens did very well, even though none of the blue ones actually worked, not a problem the green and red work fine - for those who actually chose those colours. The kid selling the donut looking things did great too. I think thats why toothbursh kid was a little unhappy when donut boy got cheeky with him. Sales had been great, his whole bucket was empty saving some scraps at the bottom and Donuts was counting his tidy wad of Meticash when toothbrush boy picked up some of the last morsels out of his bucket for a feed. Donuts knew Macleans was having a tough day but still gave him the look and asked the question of payment. When none was offered (well Macleans hadn't made a single sale) Donuts then started perusing Macleans merchandise, finely imported chinese 'Cool Jet' toothburshes offered at 5Mets a piece (20cents). Thats when Macleans snapped, for there was no way he'd give up one of his toothbrushes for the few crumbs he'd just eated. Thankfully Donuts was only joking and it went no further. The market has just disbanded, hopefully our train will do likewise.....

Train ride from Nampula to Cuamba

Pop up - rail side market at 'Ribaue'

Try and spot Donuts & Macleans... there in there!

Ilha de Moçambique

The fan is making a flickering strobe effect on the light, the room needs a sign 'Epileptics be warned'. I switch off the light. I'm feeling stronger now, at least enough to eat. A bread roll with peanut butter smeared on it. I bought the rolls from a local market this morning. The vendor had stood there looking at me as though I should know what to do. Thankfully my prolonged blank response was enough to kick him into gear. How was I to know you select the rolls yourself, it would have felt rude. Anyway they taste good, still soft on the inside.

Last night was rough, I lost count after my tenth trip to the loo. I factored a few bouts of diarrhea into the itinerary but even so it's not fun. I thought I had a fever too so Malaria was on my mind, thankfully it was just from sun exposure - our stocks of sunscreen are very depleted and they don´t sell it here, our current supplies are borrowed from our last hostel owners.

Uve just switched on some tunes, soft Caribbean reggae beats. It suits. The passerbys by like it too, humming along as they pass the window. Ruby's has only been open two months yet most of the islanders can assist you with directions, it will prove a good business. Ihla de Mozambique itself is a very special place, easy to see why it´s World Heritage listed. The street scape has changed little over the last 100 years, apart from a little wear and tear, which only adds to it´s charm. Would be good though if ´M-Cel´ hadn´t gotten it´s hands on this place, they´re doing the 'Coca-Cola' thing with mobile phones here in Mozambique. It´s good to see some investment, but when see their bright yellow and green logo is painted all over every hut in a remote village in the middle of nowhere, well it can get a bit much. This island has an impressive fort, I think tomorrow I will have the strength to visit.

Potholes and Sweat

Today for the first time I have braved the front seat. I was apprehensive at first but it ain´t so bad up here, much more leg room. I´ve got a little african kid sitting next to me. He likes my biscuits, but not my bananas, some things are the same everywhere.

Last night was another typical Mozambique evening, humidity levels off the chart. The sweat dripped down my back as I picked off my prey from under my mozquito net. I´ve got my bedtime mozzie technique down now. First I set up the net, stretch it out, tuck it under the mattress at each corner. Then I put my supplies in, head lamp, silk sheet (sleeping bag a waste of time so far), bottle of water and maybe a book. When all is ready I quickly duck under the net and reseal it. Then I put on the headlamp turn it on full and hone in on my targets. You´d think when you first get under the net there wouldn´t be any mozzies... but they are always there... I think they camp out there during the day. The other night I woke up and killed 10 of the barstards. I had left the smallest of gaps.... I won´t make that mistake again.

Our driver just drove through a roadblock rope by accident, it was a withering old piece of twine setup before a bridge, it snapped like a twig. He wasn´t paying attention. The police on patrol are lightening his wallet right now, a few hundred Mets should do it, about $10AUD. On a whole the driver has done well today, it ain´t easy driving in Mozambique. The roads are potholed like Swiss cheese, even those not long laid are crumbling along the edges, as if wild animals come out of the bush at night and nibble on them. We´re on our way to Chomio, I think we´ll get there by lunch.

No Mans Land

Yesterday we were in no man’s land for about 15mins. Distance wise I would estimate it to be around 300mtrs between the border of South Africa and Mozambique. In this place businesses of every nature go on. Hawkers flogging goods at ‘special just for you…. Zulu prices’, money changers offering crazy exchange rates that would send the world back into a GFC, I even saw a bloke get handcuffed by an army dude because he was holding onto his bag too tightly.

I asked Jess if we could get a slice of the incredible exchange rate action going on, she declined. I asked again, she declined. Instead we went into one of the more esteemed establishments set up along ‘No Mans land’. It said “Insurance” out the front, but our bus conductor gave us good instruction… ‘Yes, money, change’ pointing at the hut. It had more resemblance to a temporary tuck shop back at Hampton Primary School, than a place of currency exchange, but we decided to try our luck.

We stepped inside to four Africans sitting around a table laidened with notes stacked inches high… all we needed was a black briefcase with ‘the goods’ and it had Hollywood drug deal scene take 1 written all over it. I decided against asking the question whether they change money figuring that would put us on the back foot for the negotiation, instead I just took out all our money and started counting. At this stage one of the money exchange street hawkers started banging on the window ‘4.2… 4.2’ I heard through the glass. It was a good rate so I repeated it to drug lord sitting behind the desk. His reply was a deep laugh that only a Nigerian could pull off.....‘4’ he replied. I looked at Jess and briefly considered arguing the point. I placed the Rand on the counter and we watched as he counted out his notes, all the while his three cronies stood there not letting their eyes off us.

‘4400’ he said through his cigar as he placed the last note in front of me. I knew it was a little short, but it was clear the negotiation phase had passed. We took the money and stepped out of the shop and back into the peaceful mayhem of ‘No Man’s Land’, feeling somewhat inducted into it’s chaotic realm.

Sun City

‘Let go…. come on, you can do it’ I shouted from below.
‘I don’t want too…… aarrgggggh’
In the end it took a little bit of an assisting shove from the lifeguard, but that’s how they roll in SA. Having screamed all the way Jess stood up and pulled her wedgie out, she was grinning from ear to ear…. and why not, she had just conquered the city of Sin’s most daunting….. ‘Slide of Courage’.

None of my mates are quite sure when Sun City was built, they just say sometime in the 80’s.... and it makes sense to leave it that way. As that decade seems like a fitting birth time for a city that is destined to always stand out in the crowd. Wedged between the spectacular rolling hills of the Pilanesberg National Park and the flat industrialised platinum planes of the Northern Province, Sun City is simply a place one must see.

And yes it has a monorail!

The Slide of Courage

Darryl Jane & Paige

Jess and me

The Valley of Waves

Inside the Casino

A scenic shot

Target Practice

'Choooooof’ as the bullet thudded into the wooden retainer wall.

‘You see, with this silencer it doesn’t even make a noise.’ We’d been in South Africa about 45mins and Eddie (our host) was already giving us a lesson in armed self defence. Suffice to say a week later Jess and I were out in the veld (paddock to us) getting our first lesson in clay pigeon shooting. Having never even held a gun, at first I was a bit apprehensive but being a sucker for the ‘Marty McFly - Chicken’ syndrome I was not going to shirk my turn.

It took me four shots to hit my first clay, then I got my eye in. In the last round I hit 5 of 6 and reckon I can challenge for Russell Marks’ spot in the next Olympics. Warning to other first timers though, expect some muscle soreness afterwards…. my cheek copped a battering, felt like I’d taken a hit from Cassius Clay himself.

Getting my eye in

A shoot off

Jess shooting and Darryl on the sling

Africa

In 9 days Jess and I will be embarking on a 6 month adventure in Africa. The itinerary is still a little vague, but there are a couple of carrots to keep us going:

• 2 friends weddings
• Scuba diving
  
• Taking in a breath of air from the highest point on the continent
• Watching Australia play in the World Cup!

Below is a rough map of our planned route.

I'll keep updating this site throughout the journey so pop by sometime to see how it's going.

Cone of Silence

After a long absence on all creative internety things today I logged back into the mother board. Yes it was a case of... now what are those passwords again?

After trawling through some of my old content I discovered one of my old you tube clips had no sound? I was pretty sure this wasn't my own doing so I hunted around on the net and discovered that I should be more in tune with the happenings in multi-conglomerate cyber land.

Back in January, Google got into some dispute with WMG and other music labels about copyright which resulted in You Tube muting the sound on all uploaded content that featured any of their music artists. I joined the dots to work out Google must own You Tube, what don't they own these days! Now I'm a bit peeved about this whole thing. Whenever I edit a video I spend a good deal of time searching through my back catalogue of tunes to find the perfect fit to capture the story I'm trying to tell and WMG or whoever is to blame have now gone and turned it into a Charlie Chaplin film! No, even he has music.

I know that I didn't write the music so I don't own it, but I don't use it to make money, only to tell my story... and now the story is dead.

I'm glad people have taken up the fight with this one.... stick it to em!

A climate of Change

It was almost 6pm and the sun hadn't let up all day.... I was burnt and exhausted, my sandwiches still lay in my backpack, unwrapped. I shuffled over to the curbside, I must have looked like some kind of retarded suburban cowboy the way I was walking, but I had no choice, the chaffing on my inner thighs was now at 'Wasabi' levels and I'd do anything to alleviate the pain. I'd just pulled out our sign from the nature strip when our Booth Captain made the call.

"We start the count in 2 minutes and the doors will lock. So if you want in... get in now!"

It was election day 2007.

It had all begun about 5 weeks earlier, the election campaign was into it's second week and John Howard had just lost the last chance of my vote with his pathetic pledge to finally recognise 'the stolen generation'.... like seriously Johnny, 11 years in power and you wait until the eve of your fourth term to make the announcement... wheres your integrity man! Anyway that sent my vote sailing.... but where would it land, Rudd hadn't offered enough alternative from Howard to win my tick, and I still hadn't got around to obtaining my gun license so the "Australian Shooters Party" didn't seem the logical choice.

I spent the next few days analysing my life on the basis of - politically speaking, what really matters to me? It felt kind of strange as I've never seen myself as political, yeah I've always had views, but I've never tried to box them into which political party those views most agree with. Anyway box them in I had too and after a week of researching the various party's policies 'The Greens' got me with their cool triangle logo.... and got me good too. As after doing all that thinking I felt I owed it to my new party of choice to help them out..... this started innocently enough - handing out "Green Times" newspapers (recycled of course) to strangers in the city, that then became convincing my girlfriend Jess to join me in a 'Refugee rally' down Swanston St... which then became mail dropping the local neighbourhood (recycled again of course), the whole thing culminating into my 14hr 'Greens' dedication (of course not that I realised I would spend 99% of that on my feet) to the booth of 'Camden' in the electorate of 'Melbourne Ports' on the 24th of November 2007 - the day Australia decided.

The whole thing was quite an empowering experience, I even scrutinised the count which was pretty cool.... but in the end it didn't really matter.... cause we lost! Damn those two major parties!

Well until next time..... think Green.

The Night of Nights.....

On an evening in early March, while wearing suits and sitting at a sports bar at Melbourne’s Crown Casino. Pauly and I found ourselves discussing a recent lack of player enthusiasm towards the PCG. Both in full agreement on our problem, we brainstormed some ideas that could rejuvenate it’s spirit. It took no more than a few more drinks and some very ambitious, not to mention successful bets on the roulette table to make our idle bar chat PCG gospel.

Our concept was simple, the PCG needed something to rekindle it’s spirit, so we’d put the PCG’s spirit itself up for grabs, by holding a full-house season long PCG event.

The next night we ran our ideas past the committee, and after some debate a basic structure was nutted out:
Upon conclusion of every 4 way Quadrangular series held whereby the 4 full voting PCG members all participated in. Each member would sit down post series, and by private scripture record their 3, 2 & 1 votes with written justification. Votes are to be awarded on how each member performed in that series based against the ‘unwritten’ PCG code of ethics. All the votes would then be folded and sealed not to be seen again until the night of the vote.

After precise wording this concept was then put to vote, the PCG’s first ever full member vote (Pauly’s ‘Hall of Fame’ induction was never voted upon). The result was 4 to 0 in favour and thus the PCG “Night of Nights” was born!

As the season ending night approached, series were played with increasing intensity, no man wanting to drop a potential vote. Speculation began spreading too, vote tampering, ballot stacking, general integrity…. everything and one was being brought into question.

When the night finally arrived, 8 fully voted series had been held making up a total of 192 votes. Simon Beasly was paying me and Cashman as equal favourites for the title at odds of 2/1, and by the midway mark of the voting we were 2 and 1 respectively. But as the rounds wore on, our form faded and by the last round we were both out of the running. In the end it came down to the last vote of the evening with Pauly getting the 3 and taking it over Coyley 51 to 48.

With no speech prepared Pauly was in shock, compounded further when celebrity guest Russell Gilbert showed up for the presentation. But none the less he was a fitting winner, grasping the PCG Ashes with pride as he posed for post ceremony fan photos.

Upon review all committee members proclaimed the Dalton Bar “Night of Nights” a huge success, with Russ’ entertaining finale the cherry on top. If by chance the PCG lasts another year consideration has already raised to invite him back.


Regards,

Tim B.
PCG Committee Member

Presentation
(It is a bit out of sync, due to Pauly's instantanya running low on juice)

Night of Night's Tally Sheet

Cashman's votes.....

For every vote cast the player had to justify the vote with a comment, and early on one trend became clear, Cashman nearly always managed to squeeze himself into his own votes.

Round 1
P. Cashman - 3 votes
Won the final what more can you say.

Round 2
P. Cashman - 2 votes
Unlucky, bowled the best spell of bowling ever

Round 3
P. Cashman - 1 vote
There abouts but not good enough.

Round 4
P. Cashman - 2 votes
What lost it for me was the 2 chicken pies at 5AM

Round 7
P. Cashman - 2 votes
Unlucky not to score one of the best hundreds ever seen at the PCG

I would have put up some of the comments from Pauly and Coyley, except they didn't vote for themselves as much, plus they can't spell or punctuate. Though things of note were that Pauly loved to sign off everything as "The PCG Hall of famer", an accreditation he just decided to assume one night. And Coyley loved stating bookie Simon Beasly's odds whenever an outsider got up for the win.

It was also great to see Boonie getting some votes, all in attendance toasting with skol whenever he got one.

Offical PCG Statistics (9/05/07)

Batting

Bowling

Performance

Series Winners

World's Greatest Shave

Here is the video of the head shaving event which took place at a friends house on the 17th of March.

Thanks again for all your donations.

Official PCG Statistics (24/3/07)

Batting

Bowling

Performance

New statistic feature:

Ducks now split between normal and Golden

The Great World Shave-off!

There comes a time in a man's life when he decides he has too much hair.

Winston Churchill decided it

Sinead O'Connor decided it

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This Handsome guy decided it

Even Britney has jumped on the bandwagon

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And yes for the purposes of this post Sinead and Britney are considered male, even though by their photos they look more alien than male.

Anyway my point is, yes for a change I actually have a point. On the 17th of March I will be joining the ranks of these questionably handsome men and say......... "No to hair".

I will be doing so in the name of raising money for kids with Luekaemia.

You can sponser me online at this site:

Worlds Greatest Shave

If you help me reach my target of $500 I'll record the shaving on camera and post a video to this site.

So go on............

The PCG Ashes

On the 29th of December 2006, Cashman and Coyley headed over to the PCG to join Pauly for an afternoon triangular; the new year was just around the corner and the mood was upbeat.

Coyley set the early running with a 50 against Cashy in the first game. He then knocked him over for 16 taking the easy win. In the next game Coyley was pitted against Pauly, again he had the measure of his opponent, notching up his first ever PCG ton (103*) and then conceding only a miserly 4 runs before claiming the wicket. With that win he assured his place in the final, it was now just a matter of who would join him.

It turned out to be Pauly, who managed to defend his total of 4 by tempting Cashy into an errant drive with one of his floating offies, Pauly took the catch and set himself to take revenge against Coyley in the final.

In the final after making 18 runs, Pauly got Coyley with one that jagged off the pitch and squeezed through his defences, taking out his middle stump in the process. Well Pauly was pumped and very confident he could turn his batting slump around to nut out a 19 and take the series win. But Coyley was in form with bat and ball and with his second delivery he ricod one in off the off-side wall that went straight through the gate, the death rattle following instantly. Pauly was fuming, not only had Coyley taken him for a 100, but to rub the salt in he’d just bowled him for a 2nd ball duck. With his anger at critical mass he exploded, thrusting the “Killcunda Super Palmer scoop” towards the PCG pitch with all his power. As it connected with the ground an earth shattering “CRAAAAAACK” sounded out that I almost heard over in Guatemala. The aftermath was a 6 inch split down the splice of the bat, and although the Killy lasted another 20days, (Simmo finished it off via a wayward cut shot) Pauly’s act of petulance marked the beginning of the end for our beloved Scoop.

On the 3rd of the February 2007 prior to “The test of new Beginnings”, Pauly cut up the remaining pieces of the Kilcunda Super Palmer scoop and with seven PCG members watching on we burned it in the PCG backyard. Afterwards I carefully collected up the ashes, and placed them into a specially designed container.

There will never be another bat like the original Killy scoop (The Palmer II twin scoop broke after 2 days!), thus all PCG Ashes tournaments will be conducted in a manner that mirrors the esteem in which that bat held with all of us.