Travels with Skis

Goodbye New Zealand

2004-09-30T21:57:00.000+12:00

So, as was inevitable, my travels with skis have come to an end. Right now my skis are heading home in the baggage hold of some old aeroplane. As you might have guessed, I have decided not to join them. They are doing this trip solo.

I haven't written as frequently as I would have liked about my time in NZ, but instead of trying to back date a few posts on this blog, I have decided to keep a few stories in the bag. I can't come home and only have tales that you all have heard already.... there are some good ones, ones that would probably be better told down the pub, accompanied by wild hand gestures.

So now I am sitting in Bangkok awaiting the (very) early start of the next leg of my trip. I am catching the 6.50am bus to Cambodia. From there I will head to Laos, and finally Vietnam. I will try to keep you posted on my new travels without skis.

Black Peak

2004-09-21T17:14:00.000+12:00

I have been getting rather behind on this blogging thing, so I shall attempt to get back up to speed with a whopper of a post.

Mid August was the scheduled start of our trip to Black Peak. The pervious few days there had been an unusually large amount of fresh snow which had been dropped by a seemingly endless cycle of warm and cold fronts. The whole of the South Island had been put on a backcountry avalanche alert - all heliskiing operations shut down, and people were advised to avoid the backcountry like the plague. There was a week facet layer in the snow pack at a depth of about 2 meters, and with the additional weight of the new snow, things were looking decidedly dicey. The morning that the snow stopped falling, and while everyone else heeded the advice to stay clear of back country, P and I, with our guide and a German girl called Nina, loaded our gear into a helicopter and headed for Black Peak.

Black Peak's summit is at a little over 2200m, and is about 7km as the crow flies from Treble Cone. There are two ways to get there - either take a quick heli ride, or walk. The 'walk' is basically what is known as ski touring. You have synthetic skins which you attach to the bottom of your skis, and special bindings that allow you to release your heel. In a nutshell this allows you to walk up snow faces (otherwise know as 'skinning up'). The walk to/from Black Peak takes about 6 hours, and consists of a number of faces to skin up, a few ridge traverses, and some downhill sections. The plan was to heli in, and then four days later walk out.

The reason for the trip to Black Peak was primarily to learn about avalanches - how to assess snow stability, pick safe routes, and to learn what to do when the worst happens. Our guide, Nick, was apparently the best in the business. A little background... this guy spends the northern hemisphere winter taking *very* rich people skiing. The idea is that these rich people like to be the first people to ski down mountains, so the trips normally take place in Alaska/Greenland/the Himalayas etc. and involve lots of helicopters, and other big boys toys. Nick is also the only person I know who has had a helicopter land on top of them. It is quite a story so I think it is probably worth a few lines. He was taking clients to Greenland, and after being snowed in for a few days, Nick and a second guide went out to check out some potential descents. After being dropped by helicopter, the second guide fell and broke his femur, so the helicopter was called back. On landing (by all accounts it was a pretty steep slope), the main rotor of the helicopter caught the snow. In trying to correct, the pilot tilted the main rotor backwards - probably a bit too far given that he chopped the tail clean off the helicopter. The long and the short off the story is that the helicopter lost its engine, gearbox, and a lot of other bits and pieces in addition to the tail, before ending up on top of Nick. If this guy could get out of a situation like that, then I figured if I was heading into the backcountry at avalanche o'clock, then it was probably best that I was with someone like Nick. Did I mention that Nick is also the only person who I have ever met who has been fully buried in an avalanche? If there was ever motivation for not being caught in one again, then I suppose spending several minutes not knowing if you were going to make it out would be it.

I don't know if you have ever been in a helicopter, but it is quite a ride, especially in the mountains. The pilots like to stay as close to the ground as possible - I guess so that they don't get caught up in the strong localised winds that seem pop up from nowhere in the mountains. The helicopter never seemed to be level - we dropped over ridges like a stone, and swooped up valleys. For someone who is scared of flying it was a truly nail biting experience. We were dropped at the hut where we where to stay for the next 3 nights. The hut was about 3m by 6m, and purely functional - four bunks, and a couple of gas burners to heat food. My first job was to dig out the toilet from the snow drift that had engulfed it. Nice. After a spot of lunch we practiced transceiver searches. The idea is that if an avalanche happens, you need to be able to find the buried victims very quickly to give them a chance of survival. The stats say that if you can't find them within 15 minutes then the chances of finding them alive are somewhat slim. A transceiver works by broadcasting a signal which a second transceiver can then pick up - with a bit of practice, and a good understanding of search patters you can get pretty good at finding people. Of course, throw a few buried transceivers into the mix at the same time, and things get a lot trickier. The rest of the afternoon was spent ski touring - skinning up faces and then skiing down. There is nothing to make you appreciate a powder run more than having to walk to get to the top. I would guess, on average, a 45 minute walk would give you ten turns! Throughout the afternoon Nick would constantly point out avalanches that had released in the surrounding area - pretty soon we could see why people were being strongly advised against being out here - more faces that not had had slides. The key to spotting avalanche prone slopes is to check out the three A's - angle, aspect, and altitude. If you can see a face that has already avalanched and it has the same angle, aspect, and altitude as the face you want to ski, then it is probably a good idea to pack up and go home. The more avalanches that I noticed all around us, the more I realised that this trip really did have the potential to be a little interesting! The evening was spent drinking wine, eating food, and a small lecture on the snow metamorphosis process, and how that impacted snow pack stability.

Day two consisted of more of the same - lots of ski touring, and more transceiver searches. In addition we got our first taste of digging snow pits. Avalanches usually happen when there is a weak layer in the snow pack which is then covered by stronger layers. The weak layer, given the right conditions (a skiers weight?), can shear away, triggering an avalanche. Digging a snow pit allows you a good look at all the layers that make up the snow pack. In addition to looking at the snow, there are several tests which you can perform which give a good indication of the snow stability (compression test, rutchblock test, burp test - insert links).

By day four we were all feeling much more confident about our understanding of the snow, and its stability. As so often happens, when you are ignorant of the facts, things don't seem so intimidating. When I first arrived at Black Peak, I approached snow stability with a kind of 'it looks okay to me, so lets ski it' attitude. I was now constantly looking around for safe exits, terrain traps, and other tell tail signs of avalanches - perhaps a little paranoid? Probably, but I guess if you really do want to ski in the back arse of nowhere, then I don't suppose a little paranoia can hurt. We started our walk back to Treble Cone early in the morning, hoping to get back for early afternoon. Our route would take us over the summit of TC, down over the ski area, and to the car park at the bottom. Thoughts of hot latte, and potato wedges at the TC cafe provided much inspiration for me on the hike home. The closer to TC we got, the more ropey the terrain seemed to get. I think it was the point where the guide had us cowering under a rock overhang to avoid a potential avalanche from above that I realised that the return journey probably wasn't going to plan...

Five hours into the return trip, we were within maybe 100 yards of the summit of TC. The end was within touching distance. Only a steep gully was between us the easy ride home on a groomed piste. Only 100 yards horizontally, but in reality we needed to drop down about 400 vertical meters to the valley floor, and then skin up the other side of the gully in order to get home. Home seemed painfully close, but significantly more painfully far away. Nick seemed somewhat jittery. Remember the 3 A's? Well, put it this way, every other slope for the last 7km with the same characteristics as this one had already avalanched, but this one hadn't. Primed and ready to go was another way to describe it. Option number 2 was suddenly tossed into the arena. Ropes. The look on Pierra's face when she realised that Nick was suggesting that we scale down the gully using ropes was priceless. Climbing down one side and then out the other is one thing, but to do it in ski boots and carrying heavy packs and skis is quite another. Ever hitched a ride with a helicopter? No, neither had I. That turned out to be option number 3. Apparently it pays to know people who know people. Especially when they own a helicopter (A side note - if you ever meet someone who goes by the name of Hannibal, and wears a U.S. military style baseball cap with huge aviator sunglasses, and should he offer you a lift in his helicopter, TAKE IT. I can assure you it will be the craziest ride of your life).

It is difficult to sum up the Black Peak trip. I learnt so much about practical snow safety, something that I really should have done a long time ago, in one of the most beautiful and isolated environments in which I have ever found myself. I also skied some amazing snow. There is nothing like having a whole mountain to yourself (a fresh line every time - perhaps that is every skiers dream?). Spending time isolated in the mountains brings out a new beauty in them, something which you don't see when you are looking up at them from the comfort of bar with a pint in your hand. The snow and the mountain become more than just an expensive playground - spending time at Black Peak is one hell of a way to discover a healthy respect for the mountain environment, one that you will never get from riding up a warm cable car in Val D'Isere. Very quickly it becomes apparent that you are just a spectator, and ultimately any time the mountain wants to have its say it will do exactly that. I guess the trick is to find the safest seats from which to be a spectator.

Powder days

2004-08-24T10:18:00.000+12:00

The last week or so has been quite eventful. On Tuesday of last week it started snowing. It was the start of a series of warm/cold front cycles which were to hit the south island for about 5 days straight. The warm fronts bring wet heavy snow, and the cold fronts bring very cold dry snow. When the temperature drops as the cold front arrives, it can also dry out the wet snow which was droped by the preceeding warm front, but to what extent is governed by the temperature. In short, there was a lot of very dry powdery snow knocking around. On a powder day it seems that the whole of the surrounding area shuts down as everyone heads for the mountain. The number of people up there seems to double. Most businesses have a 'powder day' clause in their employment contracts. If the snow is this good then it is just given that NONE of the employees will show up for work. I don't suppose it matters too much because all of their customers will be up the mountain too.
Wednesday morning on the mountain was glorious. We started early with a car load of people from the camp site (everyone is up early on a powder day), and were at the bottom of the lift waiting expectantly for it to open. I don't know how they manage to time these things, but the lift broke just as they were about to open. These kiwis are far too relaxed to worry about trivial stuff like maintenance - they definitely work on the principal of 'if it aint broke, don't fix it, and if it is broke, just patch it up so it will last until tomorrow when it will be someone elses problem'. Anyway, by 10am they had it running again - the crowd goes wild. For 2 hours every run was fresh tracks. There is nothing like cruising down in a foot of powder, and then being able to look back at your lines. My teeth started to hurt - I was smiling so much that all the cold air was rushing in the wide open mouth. By lunchtime the whole mountain is skiied out, and only the runs where you have to hike to get to them remained with untracked snow. P and I met up with another few guys from 'The Do' (Glendhu Bay Motor Camp, the home of the splendid caravan) at the top of the chairlift and decided to hike along a ridgeline to get the last of the snow. A 20 minute trudge commences - the wind had picked up and was trying its hardest to blow us from the ridge - the next weather front was on its way in... I didn't have the heart to tell P that the her right hand cheek was covered in a thin layer of ice, after all it couldn't have been bothering her too much given the size of the grin. We finally made it to the selected drop off point from the ridge. With the heavy snow and the strong winds from a constant direction, over the last couple of days a big cornice had formed (for those of you who aren't familiar with what a cornice is, imagine a wave just before it is about to break - replace the water with snow. The cornice is the bit that curls over, and has nothing but air beneath it). It looked, from the top at least, to be about 2-3 meters in width with snow piled up on the lee slope. Trying to be sensible I thought it best to try to get it to colapse - I reasoned that if it was going to break that it would be best for only one of us to be on it. It didn't seem all that big, and I guessed that if it did go there would only be a small tumble resulting in me looking less than cool. Nothing gave even when I jumped up and down. P slid forward along side me - everything felt solid - we were picking our route down when one of the snowboards jumped onto the run. Snowboarders as a general rule don't do too many things by halves. This perticular one thought it best to pick a spot on the rigde where there was about a 3m drop off before he hit the slope. As he landed I heard a huge crack - a fracture line appeared right under my boots, and along the cornice for a good 15 meters, and another one about 5 meters down the slope. This one of the few times I have ever felt like I was destined for leading role in an avalanche story, but the slope just stopped. There was about an inch of shear plane exposed, but it just stopped in its tracks. Admittedly, if it had gone, P and I were in a perfect position - right on top of it, and it would be seriously unlikely for either of us to be in any trouble. The run down was a little tentative, but *jeeze* the snow was good.
As a result of the incomming front, Thursday was a bit of a white out, but Friday was a whole different ball game. The sky cleared again, and with a fresh snow covering, the mountain was primed. Same story as Tuesday. I will spare you the details, other than to say we did not have the same experience with the cornice. After the ridge hike, the run down, and the hitch back to the bottom of the lift (the ridge hike run leaves you half way down the access road to the mountain), a fair bit of time had passed. We got a lift, and made it back to the base of the mountain. It was only then when we heard the news. There had been a big avalanche. Not off piste where one would expect, but right down over the main route down from the top of the chair lift. The mountain instantly closed. Everyone who was carrying a travsceiver/probe/shouvel was requested to go up the mountain and search for casualties. A fun day on the mountain suddenly changed to a somber affair. The sky instanly filled with helicopters, and the parking lot with ambulances. There is quite a big community from The Do on the mountain, and instantly people grouped together trying to account for everyone. Thankfully no one was caught - many close calls - but given that it swept over one of the most busy points of the mountain it was a miracle that no one was seriously hurt. I think there were 3 partial berials, but given its size, I cannot believe that it was not more serious. The cause? Snow Patrol triggered it with a bomb, and assumed it would not be so big, or slide so far. They have been bombing the same slope for 10 years but this had never happened before. It just goes to show just how little control you have over the snow.

Kiwis

2004-08-07T15:05:00.000+12:00

Kiwis are weird. Really weird. They can't drive. For some reason, overtaking on a blind corner on a mountain road (unpaved), seems like a really good idea to them. Kids in the car don't seem to change their driving habits. Perhaps they are used to controlling spinning cars, and they like the challange, but I have to say, it freaks the hell out of me.

Kiwi delacacies: chocolate fish (marshmallow covered in dark chocolate), hokey pokey icecream (icecream with honeycomb bits designed to remove fillings), whitebate (okay, so the last one is pretty damn tastey)

Kiwi sayings: "it's all good". In itself this saying is fine, but what the Kiwis don't realise, is that they have unleashed it onto the travelling English population. For some reason the Brits seem to go to great pains to assimilate the local language. The Americans, or anyone else for that matter, don't seem to have the need to pick up the local vernacular. The Brits on the other hand seem to have the huge urge to fit in. The result is English people throwing around Kiwi expressions like they are going out of fashion. If only they could hear themselves:
Dave: I broke my arm today!
Rebecca: It's all good!
If you ever hear me say "it's all good" on my return, please shoot me. We should leave these things to the pros - if a Kiwi says "it's all good", then it's time to kick back and chill out, as after all, the chances are, things are probably...

Number two on the list, and probably the most uttered words in NZ: "Sweet as!". I am still trying to find out what 'sweetness' vertually everything in NZ is compared to. Sugar? Honey? Dessert wine? Given the frequency with which this particular saying is uttered, I am guessing 'cheese'.

Treble Cone: If you ski at Treble Cone you're known as a 'conehead'. I will let you draw your own conclusions, but I can assure you, it is 'sweet as'!

Single point of failure

2004-08-04T18:16:00.000+12:00

Most of the people reading this will be more than familiar with the concept of a single point of failure. We don't like single points of failure. We really don't like them. In a nut a shell a single point of failure describes a situation where there is something that should it break, it will ruin everything else. If the one vital element fails then everything else is pointless - you might as well pack up and go home. Treble Cone has a single point of failure. And a massive one at that. There is one chairlift that takes you from the base station up the mountain, and to all the other lifts (granted - there are only 2 of them), but should it break down, then the mountain is essentially closed for business. In the computer world we go to great pains to ensure that there are never any single points of failure - if something breaks it will be seamlessly replaced by something else - the user will never know the difference. Treble Cone doesn't seem to employ the same strategy. Today the chairlift died. I am not entirely sure that it was infact dead, or just pining for the fiords, but today it was definitely sleeping. So what to do? Well, if the similies with computers are to continue, then the answer would be, to simpily do nothing - go home, hang out, and wait for a fix. Oh no, not here. If you are not skiing, what better to do than to go and have a little wander around the local area? Just near our camp site is the start of a walk (!) to the top of Mt. Roye. So, a nice little miander to the top of a local mountain? I am not sure what circuit in my brain was shorting today, but whichever one it was, it neglecteted to notice that the mountain summit was at 1500m or there abouts. Not too high I hear you say. I didn't think so either. The walk starts at a lowly 300m, so there are 1200 vertical meters to go. Slightly less than 1/8 the size of Everest from sea level. Ignoring the fact that we actually have oxygen down here, it was quite a tall order. So P and I set off with jovial frame of mind, a rucksac each with our skiing lunch (cheese, ham, and branston sandwiches), and decidedly unsuitable atire. For some reason we thought that jeans and trainers were just the ticket. I will save you the pain of a blow by blow account, but suffice to say we might have got this one a bit wrong. After several hours, and about 1000ft below the summit, grass gives way to snow, and soon we are up to our knees in the white stuff. On reflection climbing big hills is probably not something that stubborn people should do. Especially in jeans. When you are equiped with the frame of mind that will just not let you turn around no matter what, then my advise would be to, at the very least, wear a jacket. Perhaps even long johns.
So, after about 3 hours, and with jeans that resemble cardboard tubes, we reach the summit. I think that there were pretty spectacular views. Given that everywhere you look in N.Z. the view is spectacular, it is a good bet. I am betting on this one because we really did not hang around to have much of a look. Starting late in the day, being ill prepared, being freezing and hungry, and being stubborn lead to only one conclusion - get to the top (pride intact), and then get the hell down before it gets dark, and you have to make the foolish phone call to someone with a helicopter.

Photos

2004-07-18T19:14:00.000+12:00

I have been snapping away like crazy since I got here, so it is about time that I shared a couple of my photos with you. I have scaled them way down, but I get the feeling that this page is going to start to get pretty heavy.... maybe some thumbnails next time.

The view from the top of Treble Cone:

If you want to get the good powder, and make your own tracks, then you need to do some walking. This one is of P 'hiking the summit' (as the locals call it). Obviously the further you walk, the better it gets. The top is at a lowly 2100m or there abouts, and it takes about 30 minutes to get to the top. If you want to get some *really* good powder, and are bit unbalanced in your quest for good snow, then you can always hire a guide. Last week P and I hiked for 6 hours for 2 runs (and they weren't even all that long!).

And this is what it looks like from the top:

Just in case you were wondering, it does get a bit parky here - especially if you happen to be living in a 22' caravan. Evidence - check out these crazy ice crystals. Each one is about 2cm long. They look like Eike's hair from about 2 years ago (especially when you catch them in the light and they look blue):

And finally... it wouldn't be New Zealand without a silver fern. Before any Kiwis out there start leaving nasty comments correcting my ignorance - I know it isn't THE silver fern, it is just a regular, bog standard one that just happens to be covered in ice ;-)

First fall.

2004-07-12T11:40:00.000+12:00

It was inevitable - the first big fall on the mountain. Not at all how I imagined though. P and I hiked up the ridge from the bottom of the Saddle T-bar. It was about a half hour walk with our skis on our backs. The scenery was amazing - you can see for miles, over the mountains and down to the lake.
We dropped off the ridge and skied for about 15 minutes. It hasn't snowed for about 3 days, and the powder is starting to get a bit crusty, so the skiing was hard on the legs. About half way down we collapsed in a heap, and chilled for a while, finished our lunchtime sandwiches, and took in the view. Time to move on....

The snow on the lower reaches of the mountain is getting pretty thin. Even though it snowed about a foot on Monday, it is pretty early in the season so the base hasn't built up just yet. We skied down to a point where we realised that we were on the top of a 30m cliff. On a bit further and we found a little gully where we could drop down and make our way back to the piste. It was pretty steep - we could see the top 20m but not all the way to the bottom - the slope curved away from us, the gradient increasing towards the bottom. There were tracks leading down, and we could see more tracks just beyond the foot of the gully, so we were pretty sure that we could just drop down and make it back to the piste. About two thirds of the way down the snow gave way to grass and rocks. The first option was to hike back up to the top of the gully and find another way down, but being the lazy bastard that I am, that thought was only entertained for a split second. The other option was to climb down. As I unclipped my skis I commented to P that the first rule of off piste skiing is to NEVER take off your skis. P did point out that given there wasn't any snow, it probably didn't count. One step and half a second later I am on my arse heading rapidly towards the bottom. No drama - it might hurt a bit but no serious damage was going to be done. At this point a rather large clump of grass intervened - it caught my boot and flipped me 180 degrees. I was now accelerating head first down a 70 degree slope. I was not sure what was going to hurt more - reaching the bottom, or the skis that were following closely behind. As you have already realised, I lived to tell the tale. A moment of concern from P followed as I staggered to my feet, and immediately as if by way of sympathy she slipped and performed her own stylish decent. One strained shoulder, and a slightly twisted thumb were left as reminders of the event. Moral of the story... DON'T TAKE OFF YOUR SKIS!

First day skiing

2004-07-08T17:28:00.000+12:00

First day out on the mountain today. Skiing in New Zealand is just a wee bit different from anything I have ever done before. Yes they have snow, yes it is on a mountain, and yes they have a chair-lift (just the one!), which all sounds just like skiing anywhere else. Getting to the start of the lift is where it all starts to take an unusual turn. You drive to the bottom of the mountain, and then you drive up the mountain to the chair lift. When I say up the mountain, I really mean up the mountain. Imagine a the steepest road you have ever seen, then make it a bit steeper, remove the tarmac and replace it with a deadly mixture of mud, snow, and ice. Now you might be starting to get the picture. This is what Treble Cone is like.

So everyone has been telling me the mountain is busy - it is school holidays. Kids everywhere, families.... 2 weeks of busy slopes. Apparently. There are 3 people in the queue for the chair-lift. Did I mention there is only one chair lift? Half the mountain is closed. This is the only one lift open. It is school holidays. THERE ARE 3 PEOPLE IN THE QUEUE?! What is a quiet day going to be like? I can't wait to find out, especially after a fresh snowfall. BTW - it is snowing up there now :-) but raining down here at the van :-(

Near Wanaka there are 2 main resorts - Treble Cone and Cardrona. They both come with reputations. Cardrona is for the beginners and intermediate skiers, and is family friendly. Treble Cone is very challenging - or so the reputation goes, and people here really seem to buy into this. I am not going to poo poo these reputations because as a result, there is not a bad skier to be seen on Treble Cone. I don't think I have ever seen a mountain before where 9 out of 10 people ski with there skis less that 2 inches apart! Even the 8 year olds.

Moeraki Boulders

2004-07-07T17:28:00.000+12:00

There is this place on the south island of New Zealand, just north of Shag Point (yes, that is really what it is called), where they have these rocks which the locals call "The Moeraki Bolders". Now, I have no idea what Moeraki means (if I meet a Maori I will be sure to ask), but these things are seriously cool. Imagine that someone been playing boules using some seriously big rocks (about 2m in diameter), and then then just abandonded them on the beach mid-game - that is what the Moeraki Bolders look like. They are huge, almost perfectly spherical, and are just lying randomly on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

To satisfy the curious folk among you:

"The spherical boulders on the beach did not originate from bedrock in the way boulders normally do; they are concretions. The process by which the concretions are formed is not well understood, but it is similar to the way a perl forms around a particle in an oyster. The particle around which these boulders formed might have been a small fossil shell, a bone fragment, or even a scrap of wood.

The boulders are built up from a mineral called calcite. When they are exposed to the weathering effect of the sea, they lose their outer layers, and this leaves hard veins of crystallised calcite standing out in relief. As the weathering progresses the veins control the break-up of the boulder into small polygonal pieces.

A large concretion probably took about 4 million years to form."

So now you know.

No, I am not dead...

2004-07-03T16:35:00.000+12:00

Finally made it to New Zealand. Australia was really fun - spent a couple of days in Sydney, and then up the coast to Byron Bay, with a night in South West Rocks along the way, and then all the way back to Sydney inland via Nimbin (hippies), Dorrigo (drunk teenage hicks), Arimidale (dust), and Gloucester (farmers). All very pleasant and uneventful apart from a half hour period where Pierra thought it would be a good idea to strand me in the back arse of nowhere! I got the last laugh though - I hid myself good and proper in the bushes by the time she got back, and boy, did she ever freak out when she started thinking that I had been kidnapped by some outback psycho :-) I am sure that she will have a different side to the story though!

I have lots and lots of cool photos of the trip but am having a little difficulty uploading them. They are on P's computer, but all the internet cafes seem to block everything apart from http :-(. As soon as I get settled in the caravan (I should finally get there tomorrow), I will endeavor to get lots of them up on the site, and write a bit more on what I have been up to.

Take it easy dudes,
S

Note from a small island

2004-06-18T21:29:00.000+12:00

Arrived in Singapore the day before yesterday. After all the 'death to drug traffickers' blurb on the plane, I was somewhat surprised to find that customs consisted of just one dude who looked to be half asleep.

Ziggy met me at the airport - we jumped into a cab and headed to The Bayshore (the tower block complex where Ziggy lives [N 01°18.777 E103°56.397]). I have never been to fond of the idea of living in a block (maybe university halls have something to do with that!), but I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised. The apartment is not the characterless space that I had assumed, but actually very charming. And the facilities..... a pool that seems to go on for miles, tennis courts, putting green, golf driving nets, gym...... There is probably a bowling alley somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. Everywhere is of course impeccably clean. The view from Ziggy's apartment looks like this:

After scouring my guide book for something interesting to do on my first day in Singapore I plummed for the botanical gardens. I spent a day in Kew Gardens a couple of weeks ago for Simon P's birthday - the botanical gardens here are the complete inverse of Kew. Everything that it inside at Kew is outside here, and everything (well, not *everything*) that is outside at Kew is inside here - yup, they have a COLD house here! There is also a pretty impressive Orchid garden which boasts this little beauty among its numbers.... ladies and gents I give you "The Golden Shower" ;-):

A Terrapin!:

Gasp - not graffiti in Singapore:

Ziggy:

Ziggy in a street:

click here for the Japanese version.

Panic over...

2004-06-16T03:14:00.000+12:00

.... it was where all credit cards should be - in the bin.

Ummmm....

2004-06-15T22:44:00.000+12:00

All packed, but I'm just wondering if anyone has seen my credit card recently?

Leaving soon...

2004-06-14T21:35:00.000+12:00

Almost time to leave - only a few final things to do now.... like *all* my packing, 101 things that involve very very boring paper work, check I haven't lost my passport (I have a history of this), and of course have my friends over for a drink or two.

Obviously I prioritised these items, and decided to get pissed:

First post

2004-06-09T08:49:00.000+12:00

Welcome to my blog. It isn't very interesting just yet, but then I haven't been anywhere or done anything yet either. However, my flight to Singagore leaves in 7 days so I might just have something to say soon!

Highlight of the day: Argument with manager of Quicksilver in Covent Garden. It was a corker!