Passing Through

03/08/2013

I didn't expect to be in London again but my escape from the bubble and uninformed decision on getting to America via Bermuda saw me stopping there for a week before heading west. Expected or not, I think it is inevitable that I keep returning, London just has that draw and having spent seven years there, a part of me will always want to return.

Walking along the canal

The week was consumed in good company with both old and new friends. It started in relaxing fashion in the burbs outside the M25 where I spent time wandering along the waterways stopping off at quintessential English pubs for pints and nibbles. Courtney, the friend I was staying with even managed to get me down to a driving range, something I had not done for at least 10 years. She was surprised that I could hit a golf ball and I was surprised that I actually enjoyed it, then the beer did help. Having abused Courtney's hospitality for long enough and in the possession of clean clothes I moved into my old flat in Richmond where I felt like I had never left and I must admit it does kind of feel like I should still be there, I guess 4 years there and I have a bit of an attachment to it.

Think I need some work on my swing?

Richmond Bridge

On Tuesday I was fortunate enough to catch a gig by Martyr Electric, a band I have been following for a number of years from when it was just Jamie Martyr and her keyboard. This was the first time I had seen her with the band and I must say it adds a new dynamic, though it is still her haunting voice and taunting lyrics which hypnotised her audience as they enjoyed an evening under her spell.

The guy who lead me into the crypt

Throughout London was at her summery best and I found myself wandering the streets with little cause between lunch dates and sun-downers with my Greek barefoot ways creeping in and somehow becoming a photography project which I now seem to be continuing around the world. The wandering lead me down into a crypt in saint martins fields where I discovered an art project determined to make art affordable to the public by having the public participate. The Lake Sisters sketched me my very own piece to take around the world with me, they wanted to add a pin to a map as to where it would travel too, I told them that would be impossible so they settled for a Bermuda pin then I stole a picture to add to my own project.

Barefoot London photo project. 

Can't beat a summer pint

The highlight of my stay was an evening on the Tamesis Dock, one of my favourite spots in London which introduced to me in love and has created and captured countless memories of all varieties. The evening faded too quickly along with the heat of the sun so we went to find heat of a different kind at Hot Stuff, which used to be a London gem. A tiny one room Indian restaurant with more tables outside than inside and no menu to speak of, hidden in the back streets of Vauxhall. Unfortunately it seems as if its popularity will be its demise as it has now grown into a fully fledged restaurant with plush seating in a new space more than double the size of the original all that remains from the old is the bring your own booze policy. The night was completed by a core contingent at an old pub with some fine Scotch. I must thank all those who made it a fabulous evening.

View from The Tamesis Dock

Andy Lewis

 The week culminated in typical London fashion with a gig by Andy Lewis, who I had met out in Vassiliki, at the Hippodrome Casino in Leicester Square. Andy was on at 8pm and gave us a soulful set of his own work and interpretations of more familiar songs. After Andy left the stage Craig and I decided to stay seated and enjoy our whiskey, to our surprise we were presented with the Boom Bang Circus Extravaganza, which illuminated the reason for us not paying for our front row table when the compère started systematically taking the mick out of each unsuspecting audience member. To avoid the embarrassment of a bearded man in a blue dress rubbing a feather boa around our necks we made haste and started our own tour of the hidden bars around Covent Garden only to find ourselves back at the casino at some ungodly hour which more than likely contributed to the first of my Bermuda experiences.

Leaving London this time felt more final than the last times, the goodbyes were longer and the destinations more distant. I am uncertain as to when I will be back and with the friends that remain there all getting on with their lives, some moving afar as well, I wonder what and who will be there if I decide to return?

The morning after the night before

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Back to Baja

15/09/2013

Derek and Clark patching the sign

Somehow I always knew I would end up back here during this time off but I had hoped it would be under different circumstances. I would have liked to be working here to pay for my stay though when I contacted Kevin from Solosports and he told me all positions were full but he could give me a great deal on a month's stay, I couldn't resist. So after a month in America I met up with Clark and Derek in San Diego for the long drive down to Punta San Carlos where I have already been for what seems like an incredibly short week.

By the time I got to our meeting point at Brownfield airport I had already been travelling for 4hrs by bus and train from LA so for the best part of the journey down here I was asleep on the back seat of the van. By the time I had cleared the sleep from my eyes and got my bearings I realised we were already a good few hours into our trip and would soon be hitting the dirt road that would lead us to the Solosports camp, it was around this point that I found I still had a present in my pocket from my stay in LA. For a country that started the "war on drugs" it is refreshing to see how many states are legalising "medical" marijuana or as I like to say; admitting defeat and conceding that the whole idea of making a naturally occurring plant illegal is a daft one anyway; California is one of those states and my present took the form of a watermelon flavoured lozenge. About an hour later we were standing in the evening light touching up the Punta San Carlos sign and cracking open our first beers readying ourselves for a bumpy ride.

The next couple hours were as surreal as they come. The road had all but been washed away and torn up by the rains a few days earlier, though having driven it countless times before Clark was enjoying bouncing us from rut to rut with his eclectic selection of tunes filing the van. I sat in the back at just the right level of stoned, staring out the front wind-shield watching as dusk turned to dark and thinking to myself as classical music filled my ears, "this is what makes life such a fun ride." It felt as if I was in some surfer movie.

My home for the month

I crawled out of my tent the following morning to join the rest of the guests already there for breakfast. I recognised some faces from my previous stay while others required introduction; regardless everyone came here for the same reason, some of the best down the line surf in the world. The discussion that morning was on how there had been a severe lack of said surf, though as the day wore on a few little bumps appeared and it turned out to be perfect conditions for my first day back on the water. I survived the session to enjoy the soothing properties of a Baja Fog (Beer, Tequila and lime) with only a cut foot and a bruised cheek bone after missing a top turn and connecting with the boom.

Enjoying a fog after a good session

Joey making the ankle slappers look fun.

The rest of the week has seen conditions get better and better and with them my confidence on the water. Yesterday being the best yet with some logo high sets coming in and despite a good rinsing out back at the bombora, I feel my sailing has improved significantly in the first week and plan on attempting the chilli bowl this afternoon.

Derek making the most of the small swell

Windsurfing is not the only thing on offer here, with the wind only kicking in around lunch time the mornings are being filled up with surfing, stand up paddle boarding and mountain biking. My focus will be on the surfing as I have always regretted not learning to surf properly when growing up near one of the best breaks in South Africa. Ye sure I can catch a wave on a long-board, but having Sunny Garcia stay a couple of nights during the week and seeing Derek surfing the point makes me want to use the opportunity I have now to get comfortable on a short board. The time off the water has also allowed me to write a few more blog updates and go through some of my photos from the past few months, though at some point I am going to have to use it to figure out what my next move will be as right now I have no idea where I shall be once my month here comes to an end.

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Windsurfing Vassiliki

13/07/2013

Vassiliki Bay

When I decided to take my career break one of the key activities I wanted to spend my time on was windsurfing and it was such that I booked myself on a month long instructor course in Vassiliki with flyingfish. I decided to do the course because I would like to get into the windsurfing industry and somehow make my passion my work thus I figured training as an instructor would be a good start, but the course also afforded me maximum time on the water with some coaching thrown in for good measure.

The freestyle rack

I arrived in Vassiliki a week before the course was due to start as I had not surfed since last September and wanted to get wet before starting the course. For this I had a stay and play package as I am yet to buy my own equipment (admittedly it is about time I did), which meant I could use the full range of equipment on offer at Club Vass. Vass are one of the only centres around that sell off all their equipment each year and replace it with the latest for the season. This season they had a wide range of Starboard and Fanatic boards coupled with Severne sails. While not bad kit, I was a little apprehensive as I had become rather fond of the RRD/Ezzy setup used at my old club at West Wittering.

Light wind mornings

Riding the tandem

Everyone I had spoken to about Vass had told me of a consistent wind that blows religiously, so on the first day when I got to the centre and the was a light onshore breeze, my shoulders dropped.  Then I heard Jem Hall's words in my head, "Having good light wind technique means having good high wind technique" and picked up a big board and medium sail for some light wind freestyle practice. It was good to get back on a board despite it feeling like a dingy, though it didn't quench the desire to be hurtling along at planing speeds fully committed to the harness. Fortunately after lunch Eric (the name they give the thermal wind there) made a half hearted attempt to show his face. By half hearted I mean 6.0 and gusty, though I had found a 111 RRD Firestorm hiding in a corner and with 6.0 it was enough to get a gleeful smile to appear on my face as I shot past others who had opted for smaller boards. The first week followed a similar pattern with the wind not really filling in to the legendary standards of the tales I had heard, despite this I soon found the Vassiliki ritual of light wind mornings and blasting afternoons. The highlight of the week had to of been trying out a tandem board for the first time, apparently it was a highlight for the spectators on the beach as well and inspired a number of guests to attempt the same feat over the coming weeks.

Blasting in the afternoon

40knts and survival sailing

Week two was something special as about halfway through we had afternoon winds of up to 40knts sometimes gusting more and it was the water sports week in Vass which included putting on a slalom race for all who dared to compete in. I was feeling pretty confident in the higher winds by now so decided to enter the slalom, okay there was a fair share of peer pressure from the flying fish crew. I selected a Fanatic Hawk as my board of choice and a 4.7 sail, I would have gone for the RRD, but in 40knt winds 111l board and my 70kg body would not have played well together. Heading out on to the water all I could think was this is mental, 40knts and a 4.7 normally I would be on a 3.9 or smaller. Despite missing the start flag and starting behind the entire fleet, I had chosen kit well and flew past many of the more experienced sailors, my heart pounding as I struggled to keep the board in the water. Then I hit the first gybe mark and it all went tits up, the wind dropped and I missed my gybe landing in the water. It then took me what seemed like forever to waterstart in the light breeze and I spent the remainder of the race wobbling back to shore while the rest of the fleet had already crossed the finish line. I missed the start of the second race so by the time the 3rd came round I had no energy left, but I needed to prove to myself that I could do this so made it out with the now depleted fleet for one last attempt. The wind had picked up again and I was stacked on my 4.7 so coming round the inside gybe I catapulted myself over the sail and skidded across the water like a dolphin surfing a wave, though despite this I managed to make it around the course and cross the finish line to collapse in a pile on the shore. I had never cared much about slalom before, but after this experience I can certainly see the appeal and the madness... take the biggest sail you can hold on to in the gusts and then add some more, find a board that has footstraps so far outboard that you feel like you are on a trapeze and hang on for dear life, this is what they call survival sailing.



As the weeks moved on and I got more time on the water I moved on to freestyle kit with the 100l Fanatic Skate becoming my board of choice with S1 sails providing a nice balance of power and lightness. With Scott from flyingfish egging me on I found my routine, forward loops on the way out and Vulcans on the way in, well attempting them at least. I found myself struggling to read the chop for my forward loops and my technique needs some work as they look more like cheese-rolls but still I made it further than I have ever before and managed to waterstart out of a couple, which some say means I can claim it, I'm not convinced. When I decided to do the course I never expected to be attempting Vulcans but am so glad I did as the first time I managed to slide I fell in love with windsurfing all over again. I still have a way to go before I land one but hearing that the guys who have stayed out there a few more weeks are now getting them, Í am dying to get back on the water and sliding again.

My Vulcan attempt

Instructor Vulcan

On the whole it was a month and a half of some of the best windsurfing I have experienced and I feel I have improved albeit not as much as I would like. The Flying Fish instructors course, although fairly costly, was a valuable experience and has really made me take serious consideration about living the instructor lifestyle, which if I do, having the Flying Fish name behind my certification will surely be a help. Would I go back? Most likely, the wind was pretty much guaranteed although more gusty than expected and there are plenty of inspirational sailors around to keep you fired up, though I don't think it would be my choice of place to stay, I need waves.

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Backpacking Bermuda

08/08/2013

Bermuda is not a place on your average budget backpacker's list, there are no hostels and the cheapest accommodation comes in at $100 a night before tourist tax while breakfast of coffee and a cheese omelette will set you back $15. So when I found myself contemplating my situation after a rough first night I couldn't help but think what a fool I had been for not only landing there in the first place but then opting for a flight later in the week instead of the first flight out when they made me book my onwards travel.

Feeling a fool turned to feeling sorry for myself when the moment the café in which I was scouring the internet for affordable accommodation closed was the moment it started to rain, not London drizzle but tropical downpour and I was yet come any closer to a place to stay for the night. I sheltered under the café's awning long enough for the rain to let up and made for the campsite one of the lifeguards on Horseshoe beach had pointed me toward, all the while keeping an eye out for a place to curl up and stay dry for what was surely to be a long, wet night. That is when I came across Mr Davies or rather he came across me, I think it was the odd sight of a lonely traveller laden with bags trudging along beach paths unknown to tourists that sparked his curiosity. We stood on the path and discussed my plight for a few moments before another local walker joined us and they invited my to join them on their walk. I obliged, figuring that one of them might know of somewhere I might stay the night. Weighed down by 35kg of luggage I just hoped it would be a short walk. 

The walk took us past the campsite I was in search of, here Mr Davies recognised a group of campers enjoying evening drinks now that the sun had broken through the clouds. One of the campers, Jay, worked with Mr Davies at the National Trust and introduced us to the rest of the campers including Nita who had been setting up camp in the same spot for the past 28 years. They listened in amusement as I explained my situation and without hesitation Nita said there was a spare tent, albeit a leaky one, that I could have for the night. Accepting the offer I joined the rest of them for some swizzle (Bermuda punch) and a game of cricket before dinner.

Nita and Mike

I am not sure whether it was the drumming sound of the rain on my tent or the drops dripping on my head but by the time I managed to pry my eyes open my feet were floating in a puddle at the foot of the tent and evasive action was required to save my luggage from getting soaked. I grabbed my camera bag and made for Jay's tent, it was only once I had stored my bags in the dry safety of his tent that I noticed Nita and Mike sitting sipping coffee whilst watching the downpour waving me over to join them for the morning coffee hit and breakfast. They informed me that the rest of the camp had already gone off to do their daily duties and invited me to spend the rest of my stay in Bermuda with them, in the dry comfort of Jay's tent to boot.





The next couple of days were spent watching the world pass by slowly as it dealt with the relentless rain. During the brief moments when the rain let up we would head up the hill to take our guesses at how long it would be until the heavens opened again, Nita inevitably being spot on. Occasionally someone would stop by with provisions of beer and snacks or just to join the rain predictions but for the most it was Nita, Mike and myself discussing life in Bermuda and exchanging tales of travel and adventure.

The relentless rain.

At least I got to take a shower.

Another storm brewing.

Finally the gods stopped weeping and I was able to explore the island. I hopped on the excellent bus service which is about the only affordable thing on the island and made for Southampton parish and the dock yards. There I found myself surrounded by tourists rushing through the sites while clock watching in order to ensure they were not left behind by the cruise ships. I couldn't help but want to be back at the camp enjoying a slower pace with friendly conversation, so after a $20 pasty and my own speed tour around the sights I made my way back to join my Bermuda family and watch the world disappear into darkness with another beer under the stars.

Nita and Mike enjoying some sunshine. 

Walking the line. 

On my final day I decided to head off on foot to explore the other side of the island, this took me through tropical forests and along harbour road where I unintentionally had to strip naked and take a dip to retrieve my sunglasses which fell off whilst peering over a jetty. Refreshed and a bit salty I continued, walking gingerly on the barrier wall as there was no side-walk, all the way into Hamilton which is when I finally caved to hunger and thirst and joined two homeless guys in a park for lunch of buns and plastic American cheese. I spent as much time as appropriate scouring Hamilton for some sort of trinket to remember Bermuda by and still came up empty handed. I concluded that the best memory would be the conversations and with that I stocked up on beers and jumped on the first bus in the direction of camp.

The first bus turned out to be the wrong bus and took me to the opposite side of the island, right by the church yard I had spent my first night in. By the time I had walked up the hill, this time weighed down by beers instead of backpacks, the beers were warm and I was soaked in my own sweat. Looking like a monastery taking in weary travellers on their perilous journey over the Pyrenees a liquor store presented itself at the top of the hill, this afforded me the opportunity to exchange the beers for cold ones and purchase a couple bags of ice for camp. Little did I know that ice collection would raise me to godly status in the near future. 

Bermuda sunrise.

 That evening I bumped into Mr Davies again on his daily walk and was invited to dinner and to meet his wife. Over dinner he educated me on the Boer war prisoners who had been held captive on a small island off the coast of Bermuda and showed me his collection of artefacts which they had carved. Knowing that I had to get on a plane the next day, I took the opportunity to save my fellow passengers from my stench and had my first warm shower of the week.

Our dinner view. 

In the morning Nita and Eldene drove me to the airport and hugged me goodbye, ending a week that started off looking like a disaster yet turned out to be a heart warming interaction. I got not only to see parts of a country many overlook but also to feel and interact with a version of it that those in $150 hotel rooms must find difficult conceive. For this I feel truly privileged and thank all those who made it such an incredible stay.

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