Photo updates

Righto - I finally got the opportunity to upload the photos from the mountain village trip, though the astronomy photos themselves turned out pants. No surprises there. Anyway, have a sift through... and I'll add the further photos from Muttrah and various snaps around the place when I can...

Astronomy Sessions & Mountain Village

Familiar Antipodes?

Well, I'm back in the Antipodes. Brisbane, Australia to be exact.

Since I arrived on Sunday, I've been going back and forth on deciding whether I like this city or not (read: below post). It's very similar to Auckland, trying incredibly hard to be metropolitan - knocking down the weird grey pebbled and brown sloped architecture and replacing it with tall, glass sterile buildings. It's population is similar in size to that of Auckland, but has a much more concentrated city centre - Adalaide Street bustles and streams with a continual flow of kids, teens, workers, mums and foreigners (lots of those from out of State). That flow is relentless in the outer lying streets where small cafes offer time-out from the hideous humidity and often ignore you as you realise you have to sell your right kidney for a small latte or espresso - the service here is appalling. And the coffee is average. I miss my highly trained baristas and friendly smiles.

Each day I'm in the city I tend to wander around, mingling in the crowd, being one of the kabillions of people swarming in and out of shopping centres, peering over the shreiking teenagers and wiping the sweat away from my forehead from the blistering heat. I forget how much higher up the Eastern coast of Australia Brisbane is than in relation to Auckland. Though I'm an avid fan of the Botanical Gardens on the edge of the river and always make a point of wandering down that way if I've ventured into town, spending some time under the trees in the shade, writing and observing the interesting beings wandering in and out of the sunshine.

The river is disturbing - snaking through the city centre and outlying suburbs in all of it's muddy brown glory. I'm not entirely sure how it manages to stay so filthy and gross, as Australians have massive fines for littering and the 'unlawful dropping of rubbish'... so it's not polution. Just... mud. And all other kinds of filth. Mmmm.

And the animals. Or, wildlife, as I should probably call it. Ants the size of cockroaches, cockroaches the size of rats, rats the size of turkeys, turkeys (yes, there is a turkey that roams the streets where I'm staying in Corinda), bats, toads (which are killing the native wildlife and are almost impossible to erradicate), all kinds of disturbing insects and creepy crawlies.... Euurckk, it's making my skin crawl just thinking about it.

The weather is, well, sub-tropical. Matt, his daughter Caitlin and I went down to the Gold Coast yesterday and experienced pretty much four-seasons in one day - from scorching 36'C to high winds to rain to hail. It was a fantastic day down south, though, Gold Coast really is like the auckland waterfront, just at the beach. The beach itself is great, safe and vast, spanning many kilometres down the coast, but once your off the beach back on the street, the situation becomes dire, dodging drunken kids and hawkers trying to sell you tickets to 'party tours - where a hook-up is guarunteed!' Hamilton, anyone? On the way back we had 'extreme weather warnings' blaring on the radio, echoing familiar sounds of the previous two weeks where huge storms battered Brisbane and damaged homes - lifting tops off and blowing out windows, dumping over 250mm of rain and lighting up the sky with over 400 lightning strikes in 20 minute spells.
The weather system itself is pretty cyclical though and a lot more reliant than Aucklands haphazard guess-work that takes place - it seems that the days are generally hot, clear and extremely humid, with that humidity rousing storm fronts that encroach on the city on dusk and usually having a slight downpour in the evening and clearing for the following day.

Maybe it's because of the large volume of Kiwis here, that it makes me feel like I'm in Auckland. People call Brisbane the capital of New Zealand. And that's no surprise, with average incomes higher here (just your standard street labourer is paid an average wage of AUS$60,000) however compulsory super is usually built in to the packages.
Hah. Compulsory Super. What's that? National lowering the mandatory company contribution by half? Here's to the future, NZ.
There appear to be more jobs here in Brisbane than any of the other Eastern cities in Australia (Melbourne, Sydney, Adalaide) though Queenslands unemployment rose from 2.2% to 4.6% in November, and will continue to rise with the recent RIO TINTO lay-off announcement. I'm no longer sure the Australian economy will be able to continue to be propped up by its natural resources... It's been riding the storm for some time now and the real effects are still to come...

Crime here is similar to Auckland, if not slightly increased. There is a large pacific island community in Logan, that is experiencing the exact same problems as South Auckland - youth gangs and gang murders. Just last week an Aboriginal was killed in an unprovoked attack when walking through a park by group of islanders.
Queensland cops seem tough, taking a hard line on anyone - foriegners and locals alike. There are heavy penalties for a range of things and they appear to all be enforced.
There are cops on the beat everywhere, but many think this seems a bit redunant with the increasing gang and organised crime that Australia is being hit with.

The public transport system here is fantastic though - efficient train and bus systems that are clean, tidy and always on time. Peak times are a bit cosy, rubbing up to the lad or lass next to you due to absolutely no space, but people are generally tolerant and understand the situation. And it's surely no Tokyo railway system, having guards literally push and squeeze you in so they can close the doors. But with the growing population, this could be a sign of things to come...
There is success with that idea though, if you're in to that kind of thing - I was on the train back from the city a couple of days ago and unfortunately had been messing around and had to take the 5.10pm train, which was -packed- with commuters. As I got on, I plugged in my earphones and lowered my shades so I could watch and observe people, without, well, without making others (and myself) feel awkward, I guess. Anyway, a young lad and young lass were crammed up against each other. The young lad looked quite awkward and was trying to look the other way, while the lass looked as though her heart had just fallen out of her mouth and was trying to subtly attract the lads attention. They played games of awkwardness for a couple of stops before their eyes finally met and they both laughed nervously. By this stage the train was beginning to clear out a little and some space was available, but they were still locked up close. Before long they were chatting away and finally before the ladd got off they exchanged numbers.
Hah. A random piece of train romance for you.

OK, so maybe Brisbane isn't like Auckland, but i'm still not sure if I'm sold on this place - despite it being busier (which I guess I am looking for), easy to get around and a semi-tolerable climate, it still has this lingering sense of familiarity. It's potentially a good place to bring up a family, with residential sales and rental being the most affordable in Australia, but as you know, I don't have the wife and 2.3 kids, so this isn't a major factor for me.

Back to the drawing board though? Not sure, as I think I stated below, I have to go where the jobs are. I don't think I can continue to progress as a person, by staying in New Zealand. Auckland, for sure, but New Zealand as well. It's time to move, it's time to go and time to see the world some more... But I'm certainly realising that Australia isn't the solution to all my problems, and has very similar problems to New Zealand. Thanks to the New Zealanders? Also not sure...

Mass ramblings from the bunker

Well, I made it back to Singapore last Friday night, after a rather uneventful day. Though, I did start it off with massive anxiety and deep concern that I was going to miss another flight, though through no fault of my own this time...

Taxi's in Oman are somewhat of a problem at the best of times. Actually, no that's not entirely true.. It just seems that everything in Oman runs at a snails pace. I think I mentioned this before, but it's like a sleepy version of Dubai.
Anyway, I had booked a cab with one of the 'reputable' cab companies, especially seeing that my flight was at 5.40am. Which would mean I would need to be up at 3am, to catch the cab at 3.30am.
I would later learn that that was pushing it a bit tight. Hah. In true 'Andrew' style, eh?
So I was outside, waiting for a the taxi patiently. The seconds turned to minutes, which turned into a quarter hour then half an hour... and by this stage it was about 4am. I had a confirmation call from the company and in my sleepy state, called the company and asked what the status of the cab was.
'Mr Andrew?...No, no Mr Andrew, we don't have a pick up for you'
'But, I spoke to you before...is this Mohummed?'
'......Yes.....How did you know my name?'
'OKokokok... Can you please send a taxi to my address in Qurum?'
'Yes Mr Andrew. Right away.'
'Thank you.... and, uh, I kinda have to catch a plane, it is rather urgent...'
Strangely enough there was the odd car that would come down the quiet, 'suburban' street, that houses many of the Royal family - the Sultans Uncle and Cousin, all within a few minutes walk from Gill's apartment. One particular car - a large 4WD with Arabic hip-hop booming from the vehicle, drove down the road, slowed at the speed bump, then raced to the end and turned around. As it came back towards me it slowed, as I looked on, wondering if this was the Taxi. Rather strange Taxi if you ask me, but, stranger things have happened while in Oman.
The truck passed me slowly, then stopped. The back window came down with the electronic buzz piercing the evening night and a curious face popped out.
'Are.... You OK?'
'Oh, hah, uhm, I'm just waiting for a cab I've ordered'
'Oh.... If you want a cab, you'll probably need to get to the Hotel down the road, they don't drive up around here...'
'Oh, yeah, hah, thanks, I've pre-ordered one... Well, I thought I had... But thanks!'
'No worries... Hope you get to ... I guess the Airport?'
'Yeah, thanks.... Hope so too!!!'
Wow. Friendly. Or crazy. I mean, what else do you do when you're a teenager in Oman? Drive around at 3am? Well, I guess it's not far from the youth of NZ....although there were no bottles being thrown from the car.... Still, it was nice of them to check!
That's pretty much how things are in Oman - the people are friendly, they are generally courteous and certainly always smiling. I felt safe, even standing out on the road (despite it not being a main thoroughfare) at 3am. Safe, ranging from when I was up in Sohar, to my friends at the Shell and the Al Fair carpark.
It was, in my experience, a far cry from Malaysia, where people appeared to have a massive chip on their shoulder, or a blatant disregard for foreigners. There was also this sense of anger, though I couldn't really establish who it was aimed it, or why it was there. Quite a few times I tried reaching out but it was just looked at with a confused and almost disgusted look.
Anyway, at this stage of the night I was really beginning to get paranoid. The night was getting hotter (or my body was trying to deal with the stress, one or the other...) and time was ticking on.
So I decided to shed my two bags and run to the Crowne Plaza, which was down the road. I sprinted there, remembering how much I've missed running (man, didn't think you'd ever see me say/write/think that, did you!) and that the training I did before I left really helped me get around. While running down the hill I noticed a minibus turning into the hotel. Was that going to the airport? Should I go and check? Or should I wait for the cab? I stood there, literally putting one foot forward, then pulling it back after each thought went through my head and I battled what to do. Damn brain! Must of been the lack of sleep. Yeah. The lack of sleep. That's it.
Seriously though, looking back that moment in time, those few seconds of a million thoughts and endless possibilities racing through my head, getting insight into potential avenues and analysing what is behind each door that could potentially be opened....that situation has been the curse of my existence for the last year or so. My complete indecisiveness... and... probably my OVER thinking of things.
I have been somewhat lost and lacking direction for quite a long period in my life (since things started tumbling down around March), and the global panic has been powering the f.e.a.r. and anxiety. But taking it back a step that anxiety in decision making also had an effect on day-to-day situations.
How am I moving that problem forward? (Yay, corporate catch-phrases!) I'm not entirely sure, I figure I just need to do something and stop over thinking things.
I remember going to see my GP for stomach related issues, probably four years ago. He started asking peripheral questions about my mind-state and what's going on generally. I said I was getting a bit scratchy with life and that I was bored and not sure what to do. I had endless options, as I often do, but I wanted to ensure I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to mess up, or miss out, or worse yet, fail.
He looked down at me, with a wise gaze and asked me a question:
'OK, Andrew... So, a rocket is leaving earth and heading towards the Moon. How long, as a percentage, is it actually on course, or, pointing towards its target?'
'.......................75% of the time?' I stammered out.
'Lower....'
'.......................50% of the time?'
'Lower....'
'.................okokok, 35% of the time?'
'That rocket is only pointing towards it's target 25% of the time. The rest of the time it's travelling a course which needs to be corrected, as a goal, or target, is hard to point towards from a distance. So this rocket is constantly correcting itself on its journey to the moon.'
I sat back in my chair and thought about this. 25 percent! That... isn't a hell of a lot at all.
Thinking about this now is helping me process my confusion. Firstly, I wasn't entirely sure what my 'goal' or 'target' was. After much thought and, probably over-analysis, I have some ideas to work towards. But the key factor to helping me resolve the anxiety, is what I do end up doing, doesn't have to be for the rest of my life. I've been so caught up in 'this is what I have to do', and looking at the long term, that I lost sight of short term and all of it's pleasures and enjoyments. So I can do 'something' and not feel so bad about it.
So at this stage, I've decided to go back to the stuff that I used to enjoy - process/analysis and improvement. There is some study that I can do for accreditation in a methodology called Six Sigma, which is all about the application of a set of statistical methods to business processes which improve operational efficiency. (For all the stats geeks out there - Six Sigma is a statistical term that equates to 3.4 defects per one million opportunities). So, basically a sum of what my last few years were, amongst other things, at IAG. And the more I think about it, the more it kind of fits in. This is because I've decided the greater goal, as I realised when I arrived in Melbourne, is to eventually get out of the business world, and go and learn how to grow grapes. I know that sounds funny, but I couldn't think of anything better than being a wine maker. And the idea of process improvement (which is a core part of my working skill) would be ideal for the manufacturing industry - hell, Six Sigma was designed with the manufacturing industry in mind.
So, this is the plan for now. Start with getting certified, get some money behind me again (travelling on the $NZ is useless - I don't recommend it to ANYONE), make use of this whole UK visa thing later in the year, travel, continue to see the world... all the while studying, somehow, somewhere, probably extramurally, viticulture. Inching my way towards the moon, by each and every experience that I have.
The final thing about all of this is that I've accepted that it's OK for plans to change, as well. This particular travelling experience has reinforced that. I don't think that's a cop-out, but one of the things that I wanted to learn from travelling was to be a bit more resilient. Things change, and I what I need to continue to learn is how to adapt to them, and roll with the punches.
Anyway - the taxi - I ended up deciding against going down to the hotel, as deep down, I think I felt that the Taxi would arrive. I listened to my gut and my gut was right. I sprinted back and as I was running down the road, the cab passed me and stopped. I got in, went and grabbed my bags, and as we hurtled down the empty streets, dimly lit with orange lights and a blazing moon, I took in the last of Oman and quietly laughed to myself. Everything is going to be OK.

25 is the new 24

The 'tubes are incredibly slow today. Unfortunately I've had to come back to the ole regular 'net cafe, already it's scared me of eating the data on my USB - the only copy of my photos... I was hesitant about using it, but unfortunately my CV is on it. Pesky technology. Or, actually, from what I can see - pesky lack of equipment maintenance.

Blah. But enough complaining.

I've had my flights to Brisbane confirmed, as you know, this Friday. I have also had my return flight to NZ confirmed, which is on Sunday 14 December. I fly in around 10.20pm I think.

That is, all pending how things go in Brisbane. I'm going to try and spend some time looking at jobs, etc. The thought of picking grapes down in Barossa Valley sounds kind of appealing...

Yesterday was, well, another day really. Great to talk to you mum and Amanda, and Dad for calling the previous day!

I decided to head up to Sohar, which is about a 2.5 hour drive North from Muscat. I went and visited the two people that I can talk to in Muscat - the petrol pump attendant at the Shell out in al Sarooj, and the guy who cleans cars while you shop at the al Fair supermarket.
Except, when I say 'talk', I don't mean it in the traditional sense. Neither of these two guys speak English, so it's always a mish-mash of gestures and smiles and waves... But to be honest, the smile is enough. And I'm sure they love the tips. Hopefully that's not the only reason they wave and run to my car when I arrive.....

I've been craving personal contact and the lack of human interaction is driving me a bit balmy. I have however been perusing through the books in Gills apartment and found one written by Jeremy Clarkson, which is a bit of a laugh. As soon as I pick up the book and start reading, I hear his voice run through my head as he spiels on about the machines that he considers 'have soul' as they are flawed, and therefore have an element of human characteristic. Unfortunately that particular human characteristic is 'failure', but it's human, nonetheless.

Anyway - the drive up to Sohar was pretty epic - cars passing me that must have been reaching speeds of 200km/h. I saw a herd of goats nearly get wiped out in one single motion... luckily the car skidded to a stop as the goats just looked on as the driver must have just about had a heart attack. That'll learn ya, won't it. Well, probably not, but, it's a nice thought...

I got up to Sohar at about 4pm. I thought this was the best time as things shut down in Oman in between 1 and around 5, give or take an hour depending on where you are, or if the camel racing is on. Which I actually got to see, not in person unfortunately, but on the telly. I know, I know, but I didn't realise they didn't have riders. They just round'em'up behind some gates, then let them loose around the track. Half of them ran the other way, the other half scatter and scuttle out on to the track. It was hilarious! A few stood there and had the 'what, you want me to RUN that?' look on their, well, camel faces. Spitting or chewing idly while their friends all ran amok.
The trucks on the side of the track drove next to the herd and had large speakers mounted to the roof of their vehicles. Which is fascinating in itself, because if it actually works how I think it does, the camels must identify their owner/trainers voice, amongst the other ranting and screaming owners/trainers and respond to those voices via commands - when to start speeding up, no - don't stop, no - the other way, no - don't chew your harness, etc etc... So there goes my theory of Camels being stupid.
The other interesting thing was there were no numbers used as identifiers on the camels - and I can now read/recognise Arabic numbers, so would have picked up if they were present... But the only way you could identify them apart is by the colourful little harness that is strapped to the hump. Which a few of them thought looked quite tasty and turned their long necks and started devouring them..
If only I could understand the Arabic commentary over the top...
I'd certainly like to see an actual race, that's for sure. Hopefully it wouldn't be offensive if I sat their in hysterics...

Ooops - slight little segway (haha, segway) there. So the drive up, yeah.

I made it to Sohar and soon realised that driving to Sohar from Muscat is like driving from Auckland to Hamilton. You get to Hamilton and wonder why you did this to yourself? It was dull, full of shopping malls and unfortunately because of the long stretch of beach, stunk of the foul smell of the red-tide.
I did manage to man-up and put the smell aside and wonder down the beach which was quite peaceful. Every now and then someone would stop, say hello and shake my hand, which was really nice! They must have known it was my birthday... I did manage to get the memo out in time but must have missed Muscat....
The city coastline stretches about 10km probably... and I was at one end looking down in the dusky haze and every 50m was a pack of young lads who had squared out a football (not soccer, thanks) field and were kicking and fooling around with a football. Some games more serious than others, but this was the case as far as the eye could see. It was quite a sight.
Again unfortunately I avoided getting out the old camera, as cameras at beaches are a big no no. Especially with the large amount of women perusing the local talent. What? They were out of the kitchen? I know, I was as surprised as you.
Soon, the call to prayer began and I wandered back to where I parked the car and made my way to the Fort, which is apparently the only reason to come to Sohar. Needless to say I was pretty miffed when I got to the fort to find a sign on the large doors:

'closed for renovations - 01/01/2008 - 01/01/2009'

Sigh.

So I got some real brief (and not terribly good) snaps of the sunset and the exterior of the fort, before rounding up my stuff and heading back to Muscat.

The drive back. Man. The open road, with crazy-fast (and, mostly incompetent) drivers, with their full beams on. Fun times.
I guess I should actually explain the driving here in a bit more detail. Drivers here have about the patience and skill of a 16 year old with a Porsche. They are impatient (will sit on your tail-pipe, whatever speed you're doing) and flash their lights or honk their horn to tell you to move outta the way. The women are probably the worst. And that's not a gender knock, either. They are actually completely oblivious of anything else on the road. And that's a dangerous thing, especially as everyone here drives brand new SUV type vehicles. SUV vs my car? SUV win.
You have to drive extremely defensively, and it helps to have eyes in the back of your head. Oh, and have developed advanced mind-reading and ESP would be handy, too.
Whenever I get in the car, I take a moment to prepare myself. Clear my head and thank the universe that I've made it this far... and just a few more K's would be nice too, thanks.

So, given that little background summary (which doesn't include what ELSE on the road you have to deal with - people wandering across 6 lane highways with their families, goats, etc) you can somewhat understand my anxiety of driving back in the dark. I sat in the slow lane (doing 120km/h mind you) and played dodge'ems with cars in my rear-vision mirror. Now you don't see it, now you do... and it's flashing it's lights madly on your backside. Which I found hard to comprehend... what lane do you move into if you're ALREADY in the slow lane? The dirt? Actually, I should have just gone off-road. I would have liked my odds with the goats better...

I had some great music to keep my company there and back. I've been crankin' some really crap pop music, but actually been quite enjoying it. Busting out some Natalie Imbruglia (hot), Eminem (not funny), Right said fred (actually not sexy after all), and some Linkin Park, for that little angry streak. Well, their remix album, which isn't as angry sounding. But specifically 'my december' (or how the cool kids spell it 'my dcmbr'). Also been churning through some quality tunes from Gomez, Regurgitator, Depeche Mode, JunkieXL, Rolling Stones, Bush, Voom and Pink Floyd.

But I made it back in one piece and I cracked open a beer to celebrate, not only the fact that I was still alive and managed to make it through the day, but I made it through to my 25th Birthday.
I chucked some steak on the pan, hoed down some stir-fry vegetables and proceeded out to the point, a little place above the rocky foreshore where the lights of Muscat twinkle in the distance and proceeded to get quite drunk. By myself. Is that bad? I am thinking about the next time I can drink.... 12 steps here I come...
I managed to find some more beer in the cupboard so I suitably raided that.
Man. I felt like I was 17 again, having found someone to buy me beer (or, in this case, finding beer) when I am not allowed to drink it (well, you know what I mean...)
I then proceeded to email people and rant and rave via the tiny keypad on my phone. Danger, danger. Alcohol and technology don't mix. For those who I have offended, I apologise.

Hehe.

So two more days. I'll probably come back and rant about the Mountain village I went to with Randall & Co after star-gazing (or trying to) the night before at Ghubra Bowl. I thought of you, Kate, as we were getting a guided tour of the skies and peering through the telescope looking at Venus and Jupiter. Also because the particular place where we went to - the bowl, is surrounded by mountains that are kabillions of years old (yes, remember, it is a word) - I can't remember how old, but they predate the Dinosaurs. And having a guided tour by a (quite eccentric) palynologist is extremely fascinating!
I just 'wikied' 'palynologist' and it says:

'One who studies palynology.'

I'm stumped. Thanks. Amanda, did you write that? (It's 'Stating the obvious girrrrrl!!!')

But for those who are interested, a palynologist is one who studies plant pollen and spores. Since pollen may be preserved thousands of years it can be used to reconstruct the plant ecology of the past. (Thanks, Google, I know I can trust in you....)

Right, kids, time to go grab some food...from....somewhere.... I might have some Lebanese tonight. There's this fantastic place called 'Automatic' that is down the road and they do the best shish-kebab and kofta...stuff. Yum. Making me hungry just thinking about it.

So yeah. Keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you all... write me some mail if you feel inspired... even if it's just telling me that you're doing the washing or cleaning the car...
Hah, reminds me, I must be lonely, I went to google maps to have a look at the 'street view' and I was greeted by Argyle St - Awesome! If you haven't already looked at the new street view on google maps, make sure you do! Actually, Amanda, let me know the address of Mums new place and I'll view it from the road! How cool is that!

See - it's genius like that that makes me want to be apart of the IT industry. Sigh. Anyway, a rant for another day, no doubt. Hopefully I'll have some proper time in Brisbane. Or, the 24 hours I have to spend in Singapores Changi airport. Where you book the hotels 'by the hour!' Mmmm... Interesting....

Right, this is goodbye, fo' real. Till next time.