Mongolian Permaculture: Day 29 – C'est ne pas un mushroom...

THAT COWBOY IS OUR DRIVER!

I hate good-byes.

An unexpected departure at 6am this morning meant late farewells in the dark last night.

Still, Natesegdorg and Batsukh were up early to help load Kat & my bags, and give us a final hug to send us on our way.

They even gave me a warm A Hui Hou [Until We Meet Again] as we embraced, in their best Mongolian grunt.

The guttural Mongol language sounds a lot different than the melodic Hawaiian language I shared a little about during Act Night: the meaning of Aloha [when thanking them for sharing so much of their Aloha with us], and the meaning of A Hui Hou [did I mention that I hate good-byes?].

Rick is staying on to complete Day II of Teach-the-Teacher training and will fly back to UB in a couple days; students will present their own lessons to the class using the techniques and methodologies shared yesterday.

Meanwhile, word reached the hasha last night that a car was leaving in the morning for Ulaanbaatar at $30AUS/ seat.

While I would like to stay and participate in the lessons today, the thought of nursing my healing but still sprained ankle back to UB over two days on public transport does not sound at all appealing when a private vehicle awaits.

Our travelling companions are a mixed bunch - The Driver, who proudly sports his round belly from his unbuttoned shirt and looks like a character from the Tomb-Raider style movie I watched on the flight over, round dark glasses peering from under a broad-brimmed straw hat; The Engineer, also our co-pilot, dressed in lime green sweat-wicking sports top; China [Beijing], our surly and carsick-looking backseat companion, whom I find out later has been in Tosontsengel prospeting for gold; and Gaia, one of the students who has graciously offered to be our personal escort back to UB.

To say that Mongolian roads are bumpy would be like calling the Autobahn fast. It’s a grossly understated overstatement, if that makes any sense at all.

If you are a 4WD enthusiast and would like to experience some extreme off-roading, may I suggest you hire a driver to take you through the back roads of Outer Mongolia… I doubt that any 4WD owner in the west would drive their rigs as hard as they do out here.

We pass many broken-down rigs along the way [one with its entire engine layed out across the lane on a rare paved stretch of road], a truck fully laden with sheepskins and another truck on top of that [still figuring out how it got there, stays there, and will come down], and stop every couple of hours or so for a toilet break and a stretch.

The Driver goes through two packets of slim clover-smelling cigarettes, two beers, and a dubious liason with a bright-red lipstick wearing lady in Arrhagg. The Engineer keeps the music cranking, China snoozes the whole way and inspects rocks laying around at every stop, while Gaia points out various ovods and other interesting tidbits along the way.

The most curious stop along the way?

C'EST NE PAS UN MUSHROOM...
LOOK CLOSELY!
[FOR BEST EFFECT, CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE]

Totally random tourist stop off the main road outside the town where we visited Chinggis’ old home… The afternoon sun glinted off what I thought was the biggest mushroom we had seen so far in Mongolia, a rip-roarer of a specimen 3 meters high on the side of the hill, shining starkly white against the grey clouds building behind.

My next thought: C’est ne pas un mushroom…

And I was right. Looking at each other bemusedly, we turn off the road to investigate further, and find a busy roadside tourist stop with tables of souvenirs laid out on the tables below the giant phallus on this hill above.

There is a smaller one at the bottom of the hill that is less erect, far older and made of granite. A small fence has been put up around it, but this does not stop the local ladies from climbing over, mounting it and saying a prayer… to the spirits of fertility, we are told. People come here to touch the phallus and give offerings in the hopes of conceiving.

I like this story far better than the one made up in my head: Well, they wouldn’t let us have a souvenir shop at Chinggis’ place, so we decided to make our own out here…

The lady behind the souvenir table points to the small carved wooden phalluses for sale and says proudly ‘I made these!’ We wander around for a good 15 minutes and then pile back into the car, our curiosity satisfied… […please excuse all the terrible puns!]

…19 hours, 2 meals, 0 cramps later we arrive back at the Happyness Hotel in UB, home sweet home for the next few days.

Shower. Fresh bed sheets. Clean clothes. It’s the simple things in life that make me happiest…

Mongolian Permaculture: Day 28 – Tosontsengel PDC, Day XIV – Graduation and Act Night

DORGA SINGS A TRADITIONAL MONGOLIAN FOLK SONG AND THE CROWD JOINS IN;
THEY DID THIS FOR ALL OF THE SONGS

It is a tradition on Rick’s PDC Courses to have an ‘Act Night’ and celebration at the conclusion of Final Design Presentation day. Rick typically underwhelms anyone who has been to one of these events with his repitoire of infamous acts that he draws from: The Snowman Joke, Juggling Without Balls, and of course Monty Pythons’ Cheese Shop Skit to name a few.

Last night he took his acting repitoire to a whole new level.

The night had been progressing well, with my 10-year old fishing buddy Tetch [aka ‘ChoJo’ to the rest of the group] proudly performing MC duties and calling up embaressed classmates at random. Each student would then launch consistently into a haunting, melodic rendition of a Mongolian folk song that the entire class would soon harmonize into… goosebumps during each song.

Then, Bek silently disappears to prepare for his part in Rick’s skit and I am at least able to prepare myself for the shenenigans that are about to ensue.

An announcement is made from the back of the tent, WWF style but in Mongolian, the rough translation: “Ladies and Gentleman, Welcome… to the maaaaaaaaiiiiiin event! …tonight’s championship wrestling bout features the Thunder from Down Under: RICK COOOOOOLEMAAAAAAAAANNNNNN…!!!”

Enter Rick, shirt pulled over his head so that belly and chest are exposed, jocks on snugly and of course blundstone wrestling boots, flying around the room like a madman in his best impersonation of a champion Mongolian Wrestler – albeit a short, round, white one…

Bek continues his announcing: “…and the challenger this evening Ladies and Gentleman, all the way from Aus-tra-li-aaaaaaaa… RICK COOOOOOLEMAAAAAAAAANNNNNN…!!!”
And so begins an odd 3-minute battle between Rick vs.... well, ummm… Rick! ...circling himself and wrangling for position against his imaginary opponent [himself], before he finally vanquishes, well, ummm… himself. Epic.

The Mongolians are enjoying the show, laughing heartily at the crazy man at the front of the room, while Bek announces the next challenger: “…the Mongoooooooolian Marmot…!!!”

In flies ChoJo, racing around the room flapping his arms like a sparrow-hawk, flexing his skinny arms and playing to the crowd, who roar in delight. This match lasts another 3 minutes, with ChoJo chasing a terrified Coleman round and round the tent before pinning him heroically.

Then, Bek announces the grande [and un-scripted] finale: “…Ladies and Gentleman, this evening’s final challenger, also all the way from Aus-tra-li-aaaaaaaa… MICHELLE AAAAAAABELLLLLLLLLLL…!!!” Nobody escapes Act Night – everyone must perform – especially The Boss…

NO YOUR EYES ARE NOT DECEIVING YOU.
YUP, THAT'S RICK...

We are rolling with laughter by this stage, and when Rick finally goes down ungraciously to Michelle’s special long fingernal attack, tears of mirth are being wiped from the audience’s cheeks.

Classic. Epic. Epicly Classic. Classicly Epic.

More epic words to describe the occasion absolutely fail me at this point.

But in true premie-fashion, even this event has a multi-function purpose…

Students have just spent an intense 9-hours presenting and watching other students present, not to mention the long hours put into their teams’ design over the last few days.

It becomes vitally important to everyone that each person does well in the final design task, not only as a review mechanism for instructors, but because students really take on the challenge personally and own the results. As a result, the criticism given during feedback is always constructively framed.

The course - which takes a group of like-minded individuals searching for answers, and in two weeks creates a synergistic collection of permaculturists equipped with a framework to gather information, and fit that into sustainable designs for their farms, businesses, and communities.

Party night is a small but significant reward at the end of the intense conclusion to the PDC. It is often the last time that the group will be together under one roof, and is also an opportunity to share cultures, gifts, and fellowship with new friends and colleagues before we head back out to continue our journeys…

…and I haven’t even started telling you about how the day went!

‘Teach-the-Teacher’ is a bonus section that Rick has built onto the Mongolian PDC in conjunction with ADRA, because it is one thing for students to go back to thir projects and communities with new skills and knowledge, but it is an entirely different thing for students to go back equipped to actually teach and transfer their new skills and knowledge.

This is a challenge for most people working in Overseas Development and Aid.

To illustrate this point, perhaps it is best to quote from an article by Rick entitled ‘The Role of Permaculture in Sustianable Aid’:

“…permaculture is information and imagination intensive, thus lending itself to be followed up even from a distance, by email or internet.

If we design well enough we create spare time and energy. When communities have those, they then have the ability to move quickly. I believe in any permaculture aid project, training participants in the PDC (Permaculture Design Course) is integral.

Permaculture is not about clay ovens or water management systems [or composting toilets and greenhouse gers –ML-]. These are techniques applied to solve specific problems.

Permaculture is about design systems thinking. If we can introduce this methodology we leave behind an empowered group able to design their own solutions. Successful projects can then host new permaculture volunteers in a mutually beneficial way leading to further training and implementation.

An integrated approach tends to lead to higher uptake and therefore better success rates. …[therefore] permaculture has a major role to play on the world stage. As a design system, permaculture has so much potential to positively impact on aid and development projects around the world. Not only does it address issues of depleting soil, water and energy, but it creates empowered communities who can become more self reliant and less dependant on aid and more able to direct the aid they receive into positive capacity building projects.

In establishing successful permaculture projects around the world, we are also creating skilled designers who prove that permaculture systems work. As change is forced upon the world at an unwelcome rate, it will be crucial to have successful models on the ground.

Through implementing permaculture, aided communities of today have the potential to become the models for sustainable practices for tomorrow.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

CLASS PHOTO! CONGRATULATIONS!!

We were treated with yet another special surprise this afternoon during the Certificate Presentations.

After all the certificates had been awarded, the co-operative members who had been sitting silently and elegantly in their colourful traditional diels at the back of th tent, filed to the front, then presented and dressed each of us in our own custom, hand-made traditional silk garment:

• An ornate, brown-and-gold diel with a bright orange sash for Rick.
• An intricate, red-and-gold top for Kat.
• An elegant, white-and-black top for me.

I love this work!

Mongolian Permaculture: Day 25 – Rest Day Tournament

*PHOTO CREDITS: MICHELLE ABEL

THE ROAD TO THE TOURNAMENT GROUNDS

Rest Day today. At least, that’s what the class schedule said.

Apparently, ‘Rest Day’ translates to ‘Let’s have a sports tournament day with soccer and a relay race and jumping rope and especially wrestling!!’. Did I mention that Mongolians are very competitive?

We all sleep in until around 9am or so and wander in and out of the dining room all morning, sipping bowls of tea and instant coffee. Bek holds a few meetings with his staff in his ger, and the co-operative busies themselves making preparations for The Program Director's arrival this afternoon.

The cook has been asking me to teach her how to make omlettes [still asking for cakes!], and has been commandeering the eggs for her stash almost as soon as they are laid. The kitchen has also begun making salads especially for Kat, who has been managing our daily meat-fests admirably. She lights up at the prospect of an omlette made with freshly laid eggs and freshly picked chives, beetroot leaves, and spinach from the vegge plot.

After The Program Director rolls in and everyone has had lunch [around 4pm], we all pack up and walk over to the river, about 1.5km away.

PICKING TEAMS

We split into teams and donate 3,000MNT to enter; the winning team takes the pool. The soccer matches [played with a rubber basketball] are played like bemused bloodsports, with men, women, young and old taking the field in equal capacity. My fishing buddy Tetch is on Bek’s team and darts around like a squirrel between everyone’s legs.

The men compete hard, roaring with delight each time someone takes a tumble, and the women compete even harder, aiming their kicks at unprotected shins and laughing all the way.

RICK RECOVERS FROM HIS FIRST SOCCER MATCH

Rick has never played soccer before, though you wouldn’t know it the way he nonchalantly stops the ball under his foot and boots it the length of the field, and Kat runs around the field like a madwoman looking to steamroll her nearest Mongolian.

After shooting a very cheeky goal from the halfway line [subsequently disallowed in waves of controversy], I go down in the 2nd half of my match with no-one else even close to me. As I limp of the field shaking my head in embarrasment, The Program Director asks, ”What happened?! …I looked over at you and you just fell down!?!” Um, err ….yup. Dunno exactly what happened, slipped on a cowpat maybe?

Anyway it is my pride that is hurt more than anything, it will probably take a couple days for the swelling to go down and the ankle to heal enough to walk without limping. It does mean, however, that I will be sidelined for the Wrestling.

ERDENSTDEGER VS. DORGA

Mongolian Wrestling is a gentlemanly brutal sport, used by Chinggis Khan to keep his armies in top fighting shape at all times. The aim of the game is simple: first one whose elbow, knee, back or bum hits the ground loses. No kicking, punching, or submission holds, just two men circling each other like lions, grappling for position and maybe an arm lock or leg sweep, until one exploits a small advantage to take the other down.

The spirit of competition is fierce, but good-natured. There is no crass, obnoxious trash-talking or testosterone-drenched carrying on, and the contest is held with a mutual respect for all competitors.

Dashi takes down Natsegdorg in his first round, despite being half his size, and then pins The Cowboy in round two. Bek and Gumbaa have an entertaining match, then Bek moves on to face the old man Dorlig, who put me on my back the night before during my impromptu Mongolian Wrestling lesson.

Dorlig stalks his opponent like the grizzly lion that he is, Bek reluctant to let him get a grip on him. They circle each other for ages, and finally Dorlig gets a grip on the younger man. There is more grappling and subtle jockeying for position for ages, then suddenly Bek’s legs are taken out from under him and he finds himself looking at the sky wondering what happened.

The old man smiles his toothless smile and does the falcon victory dance, spreading his arms like the birds of prey circling overhead.

Meanwhile, Gumbataar has been battling with Erdenstdeger, the other elder the other elder stateыman of the group who stands a good couple inches taller than everyone else and has just disposed of Dorga, the youngest & strongest of the students. Erdenstdeger moves like the gorillas we watched during Nadaam, and disposes of Gumbataar pretty quickly despite the younger man's speed and strength.

Final round: Dorlig vs Erdenstdeger, with hardly a chance for Dorlig to catch his breath after the epic match vs. Bek… Erdenstdeger catches Dorlig with a leg sweep that ends the wrestling portion of today’s games.

KAT GETS SOME AIR TIME

The grande finale is a skipping competition, with everyone weaving a figure-of-8 around the rope-twirlers until someone messes it up and is disqualified. Kat makes the final two with Gumbaa, and is beaten when the rules of the final round are lost in translation to English – home court advantage…

Back at the hasha that evening, the smiles are broad and tales are being swapped of the day’s highlights. People limp through the camp and walk around rubbing sore muscles and bruised joints.

I soak my throbbing ankle in icy-cold water drawn from the well, and am treated to a traditional Mongolian remedy, a salty-tea compress to wrap the swollen joint.

Tired, battered, and bruised, but happy… I really enjoy this peoples’ spirit.

SURE HOPE IT'S NOT BROKEN...

Less than 48 hours to go...

...and I'm very grateful for everyone who has supported me - THANK YOU!!

The competition closes at 12noon on this Tuesday Sept 8th, when the 3 blogs with the most followers will proceed to the round of final interviews, and possibly another challenge!

I've moved up to 5th place, and am knocking on the door of 4th place... spent yesterday hanging out with the competition - Craig & Linda - and had a great time. Everyone I've met in New Zealand is so warm and generous ...even if they are competing with me for an amazing 3-month blogging trip around the country!! Here's the vid we shot together yesterday:

Co-Opetition, what a concept!? Oh yeah, and spot the guy from Hawaii wearing 3 layers and a huge jacket while the Kiwi guy is crusing in his t-shirt!! Seriously though, if I could pick the top 3 candidates then it would surely be Craig, his lovely wife Linda, and of course me! Great people! ;-) Check out their site and consider doing the same for them.

Be sure to check out this very quick and fun little video touring Auckland City - what an amazing town. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the harbour is full of sailboats. Ate a delicious home-cooked meal last night: fresh green-lipped mussels steamed in coconut milk and red thai curry sauce last night, yum! Life is great.

Don't forget to keep spreading the word through Facebook, Twitter, or any other [legal] means - if you've got an iPhone on you then don't be ashamed to sign up the person sitting next to you ;-) ...and click FOLLOW at the right side of this blog to help me win this dream job and share the wonderful people, places, and culture of AOTEAROA with you!!

# # #

CHOICEST JOB IN THE WORLD!!

SWEET AS BRO!

I am so excited to be nominated to the final shortlist of candidates for the role of New Zealand Expert on Everything New Zealand.

If you've not yet seen my video application, check it out here:

In April 2009 I left my beautiful island home of Hawaii, and all the material comforts of my modern western world existence behind to wander the planet seeking ADVENTURE and opportunities to be of SERVICE. I arrived in AOTEAROA a couple weeks ago to begin my Kiwi Adventures and start training for the job:

The road here included a stop at the World Championship Thong-Throwing Competition in the Noosa Hinterlands of sunny Queensland:

And I even discovered a rare Apeman in the Aussie bush, an encounter which I narrowly survived:

Global recession? There's never been a better time to re-evaluate how we want to live our lives, and never been a better time to travel.

I've done more rockclimbing, hiking, camping,sailing, motorcycling, volunteering, adventuring, and just hanging out with loved ones in the last 2 months than I have in the last 12 years of living in Honolulu.

My adventures so far have brought me back to the bar in Melbourne where I saw my first naked woman with my Grandpa [at age 8!], to an epic 11-hour motorcycle ride on a couple of Harleys down to the famous Twelve Apostles, to the little tea house owned by Violent Femmes founder Brian Ritchie, and to an organic 'Luxury Campground' living 'off the grid' in the mountains of Tasmania....to name a few.

I'm looking forward to exploring more of the places, people and culture that make up this beautiful country, and I humbly ask for your vote. Please click on the 'Follow' link at the side of this blog, log in using your Google, Yahoo, openID, or other service, and tell your friends to vote Matty Lynch!!

Stay tuned for more exciting adventures...and thank you for your support!

# # #

Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance II: LYNCHMOB

Fall down seven times, get up eight.  

Enough said.

Me and my cousins on Coronet Peak, Queenstown:

QUEENSTOWN ROCKS!!

#          #           #

Couchwarming Party!

Theme Song for the Day:

1. "Wonky Donkey", by Craig Smith

THE ARTS CENTER ARTS & CRAFTS MARKET

The mist in the streets of Christchurch today was a superfine drizzle that you could barely see swirling gently down from the grey skies above.  It sits on my hair and clothes like dew drops in the morning. 

We tour the Arts Center Market early in the afternoon and wander through stalls of hand-made merino wool clothing, carved greenstone jewellery, and beautiful photography of wild Kiwi landscapes.  Lunch is a spicy Lebanese Lamb Wrap from a street vendor, while my hosts and tourguides munch on a Czech Potato Pancake with Beef and Sauerkraut [I’ve never seen a Czech Food street vendor before!].

NOTICE THE DR SEUSS TUFTS GROWING ALONG THE RIVER BANKS

Hagley Park is 400+ acres of lush greenery that we walk through to go home.  A crowd is cheering on a rugby match as joggers bounce past us along the river, which is lined with willow trees and other Seussian water plants.  Ducks paddle and dive and waddle their way along the fast-flowing water, which is crystal clear and looks no more than thigh-deep.

It's a laid-back Saturday afternoon in misty Christchurch, and we spend it preparing for the party tonight; Marina is making chocolate truffles! Turns out last night that we missed the CouchSurfMeet by a day - it was on Thursday, not Friday - so Matt and I commiserated by sampling a couple rounds of the bubbly drink specials before Marina joined up with us an hour later after her work event.  When life gives you lemons, make ...sparkling wine!

After-drinking food is good here: the souvlaki joint was unexpectedly closed so we found a good Chinese take-out place right across the City Square.  This one even sold fish & chips ...apparently, not uncommon in these parts!

The festivities tonight are over at award-winning local musician Craig Smith's new diggs.  His new song, Wonky Donkey, won the 2009 APRA NZ Children's Song of the Year Award, and I am lucky enough to sneak a peek at the children's book version which is released in October.  

Craig is an easy conversationalist with a warm smile and a welcoming aura.  We swap stories about our respective journeys and find that we have walked similar paths: a few years ago, he closed up shop - after running his own business in sales and marketing for ten years or so - to feed his soul and pursue his music, and hasn't been happier ever since.

Craig also happens to be the Couchsurfing Ambassador for Christchurch which means that tonight I meet more locals, as well as fellow Couchsurfers from France, Germany, Canada, and LA... and, believe it or not, met someone whose Mum may have worked with my Mum in the Dole Pineapple Cannery in Hawaii... !  

I *HEART* Couchsurfing.

The world lies in the hands of those who have the courage to dream and to take the risk of living out their dreams - each according to his or her own talent."

-Paulo Coellho-

#          #          #

In Search of the Great Aussie/Russian Monkeyman...

There is a local myth of an Apeman roaming the Noosa hinterlands.

I went in search of this mythical creature, and narrowly escaped with my life...

World Thong Throwing Championships!

Theme Song of the Day:

1. "King of the Mountain", by Midnight Oil

STAY TUNED FOR THE COMPLETE EPISODE...

On Sunday I was lucky enough to be included in the field of international competitors for the 30th Annual World Thong Throwing Championships as part of the King of the Mountain Race at Pomona in the Noosa Hinterlands.

The competition was fierce, with the former Junior Champion making an impressive return after a twenty-year absence.  The American Champ even flew 22 hours non-stop to be Pomona in time for the event, and late in the day controversy erupted as rumors of performance-ehancement usage led to random drug-testing...

My training and technique was clearly lacking, leading to an early elimination at the hands of an intimidating curly-haired-eight-year-old [you can catch a glimpse of him in the  trailer].  Luckily, my uncle was on hand to put on a good showing for the Lynches, beating out the eight-year-old's throw by a few inches.

Stay tuned for the complete webisode to be posted soon!

#          #         #

Tasmania: Day 2 - The Tasman Penninsula

Theme Songs for the Day:

1. Oompa Loopma Remix, by G-Penguin
2. O Fortuna, composed by Carl Orff

THE TASMAN PENNINSULA
1 1/2 - 2 HOURS' DRIVE EAST FROM HOBART

I love the smell of coffee and chocolate in the morning.

It is the Breakfast of Champions, and for my money, certainly beats that other breakfast of champions and artistic types all over the world: coffee and a cigarette.

Ahhhh chocolate.... food for the soul...

O, chocolate, how do I love thee, let me count the ways...


THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY:

As we drove around the neighborhood last night looking for someplace to park the campervan, I kept spotting purple roadsigns reading "CADBURY" in that delicious cursive font that graces their chocolate bars. It was only because of the better judgement of my navigator that we did not camp out in the parking lot of the Cadbury Chocolate Factory, just 4km up the road from the caravan park.

THE MORNING VIEW FROM

"TREASURE ISLAND" CARAVAN PARK

I walk along the dark waters in the cold morning to stretch sleep-twisted muscles, backlit clouds roll in overhead, while a wispy white cloudbank sweeps over a craggy rock face looming in the distance behind me.

This morning's mission is simple: get to the Chocolate Factory for a chocolatey morning meal with the fabled Oompa-Loompas, excuse me, "Little People" as they preferred to be called in this part of the world. There are no Little People to be seen anywhere on the premises and I use my Sherlock Holmes skills to deduce that they must be nocturnal, like so many other species of unique Aussie fauna.

The "tour" turns out to be a 30-minute audio/video presentation about the history and processes of the factory [who knew that chocolate is not fattening when consumed on a Thursday!?], Willy Wonka was not there [in fact I was nearly thrown out at the mention of his name; he owns the other chocolate company that begins with "N" and ends in "E"], and apparently rivers of chocolate dow not run through fields of candy at this chocolate factory. I thought it best not to ask if we could see the Great Glass Elevator.

Insiders' tip: the coffee in the cafe is forgettable, but the hot chocolate is amazing!! Check out the vintage posterboard advertisement that reads CHOCOLATE SAVES LIVES ...and stop by the gift shop to buy $50 worth of non-fattening-on-thursdays chocolate for like twenty bucks...


THE ROAD TO PORT ARTHUR:

Next stop: Port Arthur. Once the most feared penal colony in Australia, in high school I read a novel titled "Come Danger, Come Darkness" about a teen who is sent there from England for stealing a loaf of bread and escapes. The novel captured the harsh conditions endured by the convicts, and the stark contrast of this brutal human place set in the swirling mists of the Tasman Wilderness. I've been curious to visit ever since.

LOOK CLOSELY: YOU CAN SEE
GHOSTS OF TALL-MASTED PIRATE SHIPS
MOORED IN THE SHELTER OF THE BAY

It takes about an hour to get to the first distraction - a turnoff to Pirate Bay, Devil's Kitchen, and the Blowhole. The photo on the roadsign sells me in 3 seconds to take the next turnoff, and shortly thereafter we crest a turn and hear angel choirs singing as the view reveals itself. Unlike fast food menu pics, roadsign photos and postcards never capture the majesty of being enveloped by a sweeping vista in nature.

The road winds down to the water's edge, and we are greeted with a different roadsign: "WELCOME TO DOO-TOWN". Twenty or so endearingly quaint cottages in various stages of ramshackle are clustered around the small harbor at the end of the Bay, with names like "MUCH ADOO ABOUT NOTHING", "DOO ANYTHING", and "DOO F#&K ALL" [sic]. Sheer awesomeness. There are absolutely no people in and around the town.

The Blowhole is suitably impressive, a tunnel about 80 feet long, with an almost perfectly flat roof carved out of the sandstone leading from the ocean to a small pool which surges with the waves rolling through the tunnel. From the right angle, it looks like a very miniature ocean that has simply appeared in a rocky outcrop in the bushlands behind the beach, complete with tidal wave action and all. The oceans are calm today, so now and then the Blowhole half-heartedly spits up a lazy tendril of oceanspray.

Five minutes up the road from Doo-Town is the Devil's Kitchen, which is what I am excited aboot [sorry, The Canadian's accent is rubbing off on me...]. Lucifer is out today, or sleeping deep in the narrow cave we can see far below, while the ocean feature he has sculpted through his kitchen sends a wave or two at a time rolling through the massive canyon sounding like a giant sheet of paper slowly tearing.

The tallest trees you see at the top of the photo at right are 2-3 stories high...a natural sink and kitchen bench can be made out from our vantage point, and there is a rock shelf that makes up the floor which extends out 60-80 feet past the base of the cliffs, where Peter later tells us that they drop straight down as deep as they are high.

We hit the road and cross the narrow isthmus [seriously, how often do you get to use the word "isthmus" in a sentence??] of Eaglehawk Nest, where a pack of monster bulldogs on shackles just long enough to touch each other once guarded the crossing so that escaped convicts could not get through. That's what the statue of a massively rabid bulldog said, and that's the story I am sticking with. It is said to be true.

As I coax the campervan through the twisting roads towards Port Arthur, I can't help but think that were I an escaped convict, I would like nothing more than to carve out a patch of bushland here and live off the land... The waterways touch both sides of the road in places, the eucalyptus grows thickly to the water's edge, and the afternoon sunlight streams through the gathering mists.

When the roadsigns finally announce Port Arthur, we drive past 3 empty parking lots before pulling up in front of the vistor center entrance. The tours range from half-day walks to 3-day experiences, complete with breakfast & dinner packages. It costs $2 for a brochure and there are pricetags on everything else in the place. This is not the experience I came to Tassie for, so I quickly decide to leave before they charge us for breathing in the historic air.

Besides which, there was a Tasmanian Devil Reserve that we passed on the way in that looked like a whole lot of fun.


TASMANIAN DEVILS:

Three words to capture the essence of the infamous Tassie Devils.

Ferocious. Precocious. Capricocious. ...nope. Let's try again...

Lost. Dazed. Confused. ...yeah, that's it:

I am told that they are indeed quite feral and ferocious when feeding, but the Tassie Devils we meet this afternoon may have gotten into the Koalas' stash of the good green stuff that makes them so rasta-mellow... These guys lope around their enclosure amicably with silly gaping grins and vapid eyes, pausing often to remember what they were doing again, then doing little circles before loping away, thrilled to be coming around the corner to meet us again. Hours of entertainment for the whole family!

We meet three Locals at the Dunnaly Pub that evening, which I again cleverly deduce to be the original watering hole for convicts who managed to escape and avoid the rabid hounds of Eaglehawk Nest.

"Have a beer mate, you deserve it..." and again I imagine myself as that escaped convict, this time sitting at the bar top relishing my newfound freedom and wondering, Tasmanian-Devil-like, what my next move is going to be.

Anyways, I ask these three guys where we can go to get a good feed around here before 6 o'clock, and I don't miss the glint in their eyes as they glance at each other before answering: "Awwww yearh, nuh ...the foodssh roooly good he-yahh....youse should staaay it'd be well worth itt.... we come he-yah ev'ry Thursdeee noight!!". They are pissed as farts [American translation = "quite drunk"], enamored with The Canadian's blonde hair and blue eyes, and very entertaining, so we decide to stay and have a couple beers with them.

The Locals promptly decide to celebrate by stoking the fire to keep us warm, and proceed to fall over each other stuffing the fireplace so full of oversized logs that it may qualify for a bushfire instead of a glowing hearth of embers. In Tasmania, they don't use a fire poker to move the logs, they simply kick the fire around with their boots. And plumbers' crack is never attractive, but quite hilarious in the right context.

Oh, and they make a really great drop of port in this part of the world:

A RATHER NICE GLASS OF PORT

# # #

Chloe

YOUNG & JACKSON'S PUB,
HOME OF GRANDPA'S FAMOUS GIRLFRIEND:
CHLOE

The first time I ever saw a naked woman was at a bar with my Grandpa.

My Grandpa, Keith Lynch, owned the McKinnon pub [about 1/2 mile away from where Mum & Dad live today], and brought up Dad and his 3 brothers here; as a result the Lynch men are a very colorful bunch...our family get-togethers are always fascinating affairs!

The misadventures of the Lynch boys growing up in and around the pub would make for a great novel: pet snakes escaping into the neighborhood, unexpected overnight stays in the walk-in fridge, fast cars, and the girls next-door to name a few...but these are other stories that will be told another time...

This is a Grandpa Keith story [of which there are also a great many tales of misadventure], and I digress.

In 1985, the year before we moved to Oz, Dad took me on a scouting trip to Melbourne to prepare for the family's move the following year.

Grandpa was, of course, tickled to see his eldest son's eldest son come to Melbourne for the first time and took it upon himself to show me around. He booked us an all-day bus tour [highly recommended!] which included, among other things, a visit to Healsville Sanctuary to see a real live kangaroo, and a stop at Ferguson's Winery for lunch and a tour. breakfast that day was my first Aussie four'n'twenty meatpie [no the ketchup did not look like that on my pie]...

Long story short, after the tour was over and Grandpa had charmed all the ladies on the tour bus over lunch at the winery, he says, "I want to introduce you to my girlfriend", and takes me to the famous Young & Jackson's Hotel, across from Flinders Street station at the entrance to Melbourne central business district.

Grandpa sits me down at the bar, my 8-year old legs dangling off the barstool as I peer over the countertop, and orders himself a pint of beer, and me a shirley temple.

We sip our drinks and then raise our glasses to toast his girlfriend, "To Chloe!".... who is the 12 foot high nude oil painting hanging on the wall next to the bar!

"Sweet things do not go well
with a bitter Aussie lager -
Chloe is an exception"
-Rafal Zakrzewski, Beer Historian (2001)-

Today, the bar is different that I remember. My feet no longer dangle from the barstools, and I can lean over the countertop to order my own beer. Chloe now lives upstairs, overlooking the busy intersection that is home to Federation Square, St Paul's Cathedral, and Flinders Street Station.

I take a moment to myself today and climb the upstairs to visit her; she hasn't aged a day. As I hoist my glass to toast her, an old digger and his wife wink at me and comment about the gleam in my eye.

Here's to Chloe!

TO CHLOE!
AND TO YOU, GRANDPA...



# # #

how to sail on H-1 freeway

TRAFFIC IN THE BOATYARD

Q: How do you sail a ship from Ko'Olina deep water harbor to Honolulu Yacht Club on the H-1 Freeway?

A: Very Carefully, with very large machinery, and with great care...

HUGE WHEELS!



APPROACHING THE SPEED LIMIT

OK OK OK , just kidding... it was too wet and too windy to capture any footage or images on the 4-hour sail home from Ko'Olina... and the boatyard operations were so interesting I couldn't resist!

VERY LARGE MACHINERY

Anyways, Country Boy is back in the water after much-needed repairs...we sailed back in time to join the fleet coming in from the Friday Night Beer Races...

THE INFAMOUS "COUNTRY BOY"

FISH OUT OF WATER

JIM & HUGO SURVEY THE BOATYARD LANDSCAPE
AS WE ARE TAKEN TO THE SLIP



SKIPPER & FIRST MATE

The winds on this day are 20-25 knots, with gusts up to 34 knots recorded... we are sailing with a limited crew, and the seas are choppy; the boat bucks and pitches through the whitecaps as our Skipper slices deftly though the waves.

We round Campbell Industrial park, and a big US Military plane thunders overhead - a Submarine-Catcher, according to our First Mate. The big four-engined turbo prop will continue its maneuvers for the next 4 hours, repeating the same loop which takes it directly over and over and over and over us again and again for this leg of our journey: landing gear down on final approach to runway, black exhaust fumes trailing, extended tail radar gear ominously watching us. 3 out of 5 of us hold foreign passports, and we joke that they are keeping tabs on us.

There is a massive yellow buoy that looks more like a miniature oil rig off the coast here, that most Oahu residents are unaware of. 90% of Hawaii's energy needs depend upon imported petroleum. A massive tanker is tethered to the buoy, a web of gossamer ropes of each side is anchored to a small armada of tugboats whose job is to keep the tanker steady in the choppy seas so that the pipe does not break and cause an oil spill.

Being out in the ocean on a day like today, with the gusty wind and seas breaking over our bow and marinating us in briny seawater, only highlights how precarious the energy situation in Hawaii is.

Possible solutions? Click here:

"The State's combination of abundant renewable resources, high fossil fuel prices, limited geographic area and recognized expertise in hydrogen research and development makes Hawaii an ideal leader for hydrogen production. "
-from the book "Winning the Oil Endgame", Rocky Mountain Institute-

Download the two reports entitled "Energy for Tomorrow" for more information.

We pass Pearl Harbor approximately 3 nautical miles offshore, and the massive Evil White Dot glares at us from its perch in the middle of the harbor. I've heard that the equipment it houses can detect a mosquito farting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

I didn't know mosquitoes could make it that far out into the ocean; and I didn't know mosquitoes farted, for that matter... That being said, if the equipment housed in that thing really is that powerful, how come it couldn't help keep that silly battleship off the reef outside of Pearl Harbor one month back??

Anyways...on with our sail...the Travel Poet graces us with a beautiful acapella song over the roar of wind and waves, and a flock of seabirds appear, frolicking and wheeling playfully on the wind swirling just above the waves. We are all wet by now; no amount of skill can keep the boat dry in seas like this. First Mate Hugo tells us that on the open ocean, they would be riding over 20-foot swells that roll like the hills of New Zealand, graceful and flowing; not like the washing machine-like conditions that often arise in the seas around the islands.

A pair of whales' spouts, followed by a pair of whales' tails arch out of the water 500 feet or so ahead of us, straight off our bow, and we watch in awe as they continue their journey towards deeper, colder water as their calving season draws closer to its end for this year.

I lick my lips and taste sea salt as I prepare to bite into a poppy seed muffin that is being passed around the crew. The wind is whipping our hair, the boat crashes loudly through the waves breaking around us, and we are all calmly munching on a snack as nature pounds us all around. There is a rythm to sailing that sets in once the initial flight-or-fight response kicks in soon after you clear the harbor and hit sloppy seas, an adrenal high that gradually fades ince you step off the boat and back onto bring, stable, quiet [relatively speaking] dry land.

The sun, which has been muted by the pastel blue ocean and grey clouds all day, bursts through on its final sprint towards the other half of the world, casting a sunset-orange spotlight on all the buildings of downtown Honolulu and Waikiki as we near our destination and nonchalantly join the tail end of the fleet that is out racing this evening. You can almost hear the Honolulu jazz music wafting from the romantically lit buildings gleaming back at us...

We sail the boat all the way into its slip [the engine is still broken], and head back to the clubhouse with satisfied grins on all of our faces to enjoy a cold beer with each other.

Country Boy is an old friend to many sailors in and around Honolulu Yacht Club, has sailed in Hawaii's waters for the last 30 years... and she's baaaaaaaaaaack......

# # #

barber shop chair wars!

Defending Champ: Matthew Lynch, World Famous Adventurer and Travel Writer
Challenger: Lucie Voelcker, Germany's Travelling Poet
Score: Champ - 2, Challenger - 0

Round 1

Challenger gets off to a [very] slow start...


Round 2

In which the Champ demonstrates that he has spent way too much time honing this skill...

The Equipment: vintage cast iron / red leather barber shop chairs circa 1940s...reclaimed from barber shop on Maunakea Streeet in Chinatown Honolulu...

....I'm gonna miss these chairs!!!

# # #