Just Eat It

Lets Get Mc Fucked Up

The Federal government just approved the importation of marijuana for medical use into Australia.  It's a bit confusing though, because apparently they gave it the go ahead last year, but had to import it in from overseas.  They couldn't source it locally - which is bloody weird, because I've never had any issues getting my hands on a bag or two.  I guess they would be importing it in tons or something so they can't exactly rock up to your guy on the corner and ask for two tonnes worth of foilies - although that dude on the corner needs to move with the times and seriously expand his operation in that case - business opportunities don't come knocking twice.

That's more like it Buddy

Not yet my friends....not yet

So where from here Australia?  It's still difficult to get permits from your doctor in order to get your hands on the good stuff.  It's not like you can rock up to a dispensary where it's all displayed in a pretty white room behind a glass topped counter and claim glaucoma. Although that could still cut it with the Snorters, so give it a go next time you get busted.  By the way, I was very interested to hear that glaucoma is some sort of eye disease  - I totally thought it was low blood sugar or something, and I coincidentally  got tested for it today.  No it wasn't an attempt to get pot I swear it.   Regardless, there's no debilitating eye disease here though.  Bummer.

Don't mind if I do

When you go to certain states in America its fascinating to see how far it's all come.  California was the first state to legalise marijuana for medical reasons in 1996,  while Colorado and Washington were first to decriminalise it for recreational use in 2012.  Many other states have since followed.  It seemed like a miracle to me.  When I travelled to America 20 years ago, marijuana related offences were heavily criminalised and penalised in many states.  I remember hearing that getting busted for pot carried a heftier sentence than rape. I don't if this was true or not, but naturally I believed it.  This was also of present concern because a Canadian pot grower and his Thalidomide afflicted pot guard were, at that time, convincing me and my travel buddy to do a bud run over the US border for them.  The cash reward was so tempting for a poor person, yet the thought of getting busted in the US filled my undies with poo poo.  Of course I was completely outraged at the harsh nature of the possible punishment and it gave me more of a reason to hate America like any good leftist backpacker should.  These days I am of the opinion that America is fucking awesome.  It is.  Even with a strangely coloured man running it at the mo.  That won't go on forever anyway - lets just hang in there, talk shit about him, and be glad we're really far away. Ahhhhhh I'm such a political activist.  That's what the young are for - they still think that what they do matters.  It doesn't.  Just in case you're wondering...... You're all fucking puppets.....that was harsh - sorry, where was I?

Thank you for your service to humanity Green Leaf

So - where will it go from here?  Drive through bud shops that's where.  I have been there and I have done that muthafuckas, by god I have.  It was thrilling seeing giant lit up billboards that say "WEED" on them in huge red letters, and then spotting a drive-through marijuana shop right next to all the drive-through fast food 'restaurants".  And you don't need no glaucoma certificate to get your hands on some good stuff.  We went inside the first one we spotted in upstate Washington.  I just wanted to see all the goods in all their glory.  It was literally an adults candy store.  Filling all the walls was hundreds and hundreds of different marijuana products.  Of course there were bags of buds all over the joint (pun intended).  Now we're not talking zip locked bags here either.  What is under discussion are professionally packed and labelled bags of chunkers.  All nicely named - a myriad of different choices and sizes.

Sweet Jilly

I want that job

You can also snap up some pre rolled joints in round containers which outline the 'ingredients'.  Now there really is a paid job rolling joints.  Sadly, I'm 20 years too late to live my dream.....But my favourite hands down in the whole shop - the edibles.  And the world has really moved on since the days when you boiled a pot of butter, water, and sweet Mary Jane on the stove when your Mum went out for the arvo and then whipped up a batch of brain flattening Space Anzacs.  God dam it that smell of boiling pot butter was hard to get out of the house.  I can smell it now - sickliest smell on the face of the planet. The edibles in the States are bullshit.  I don't smoke so much these days - but who can say no to a pot-enhanced salted caramel?  I couldn't say no to an apple flavoured bud candy either, or some cookies for that matter.  It's great - you can combine your love of sweeties with a nice..  ahem...relaxing high.

They were delicious.  They were god damn delicious

So innocent looking.  So lethal acting.  Like a teenage ninja girl - that one from Kill Bill

Munchy Way anyone?

Bloody little green-tinged bitches

The trouble with edibles is that it's already too late once you truly realise how fucked up you actually are.  You've ingested that sucker.  No amount of fingers down the throat would help you either so forget that back up plan.  That shit has gone and got into your blood now baby, you are on the ride and there's no getting off.  The apple candy was mild - perfect for road trips and snowboarding.  The salted caramel was pretty potent - social interaction was somewhat challenging except for laugh communication with your husband.  But the quarter marshmallow cookie took me to another dimension.  I was under the covers in bed panicking I was never going come out of it.  Basically under that sheet was my new home for the following 60 minutes.... or was it years.....?.



Some people may accuse me of bad mothering, and yes, you do have a certain point.  No person with a sheet on their head can drive their kid to school.  But I truly feel like on the extremely rare occasion these days that I do get wasted, I'm a so much nicer parent.  No more screaming at them to pick their crap up off the floor.  No bossin' them around all over the place.  No strict on time bedtime.  I am so fun.  I even get down on the ground and make voices for the farmyard animals or whatever game they've got going and let them eat the hotel room mini bar goods.  Now I come to think of it, they must get so confused.  I better just stick with Bitch Mummy.  Well, she is more effective at getting stuff done.  And when I feel bad I just remember that Courtney Love took heroin while she was pregnant and that kid is totally fine.  Doesn't think much of her Mum though, so maybe we better not use Frances Bean as an example.

Ooopsie Daisy

One thing you still DON'T want to do in America is travel over the border with any stuff in your possession.  Federal law is applied on the border and even though you a passing from a country where it is on the verge of being legalised (Canada), into a state where it is 100% legal (Washington State) you absolutely can not have it on you.  Unfortunately we did.  Unintentionally of course.  We weren't dumb enough to smuggle or anything, we just forgot to chuck it away and the American border came on us sooner than we anticipated.  Before we could say "We really should do something with this gear" we were in the line and being asked "Are you carrying any agricultural produce today".  Well, we had a giant bag of apples and bananas and oranges in the car for road trip snacks on the seat in front of his face, so it was a "yes".  He asked for a look, and then politely informed us that we had to go to the quarantine section.  We drove in.  Things got not quite so nice after that.  We were ordered in no uncertain terms to exit the vehicle immediately.  I kept asking questions "Do we all have to get out" "Can we take our bags?".  The response was always the same "Exit The Vehicle NOW".  My husband quickly grabbed the bag of buds from the centre console and stuck it down his pants.  I left the cookies to fend for themselves.

Hi Fellas - what, this lump down my pants? It's nothing, nothing at all

So there we were inside American customs, with our innocent daughters and a quarter of stinking bud in my husbands crotch.  It wasn't good.  What was good was that there were no sniffer dogs.  I was ushered into a line for the interview.  My husband disappeared and so did my kids.  I just had to answer a whole lot of questions and give permission to have the car searched.  I had my fingers crossed for those cripplingly potent marshmallow bickies - and where was my husband and the stinkiest loco weed the world has ever known?.  My interrogator was back before I knew it, and I have to say, my fingers shook when I signed the release form.
"I found something" says she.
I was about to scream "I'VE GOT GLAUCOMA - IT'S A DEBILITATING CONDITION", when she continued.....
"And I've had to confiscate the items.  They will now be destroyed".
Sweating now, really sweating.......
"Ma'am - you cannot not take over the US border under any circumstances.....ANY circumstances....."  What? God damn it - you're stringing this out more than an episode of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire......
"I have taken from your car.......your Granny Smith apples".
I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped.
"You can take the Fujis, the pink ladies, the golden delicious', even the red delicious' - but I've had to confiscate your three Granny Smith apples.
"Take them, take them ALL" I shrieked in a shrill sort of merriment, "I barely like them, they're hideously sour".
To be honest though - they are my faves.  Why couldn't Red Delicious' be the contraband?  It's so hard to get a good one of them these days.

And where was my husband with the marijuana tainted genitals?  He was in the toilet and like all good drug crims, was flushing the evidence down the toilet.  It had great suction actually - it was probably designed for that very purpose.

I can't even look at you right now

A lucky escape.  And yes we felt like total idiots.  Especially when 10 km down the road we passed a giant Marijuana leaf sign and were back in business for every green moment you could dream up.  It's a good thing I never became a drug smuggler.  I don't have the temperament for it - I'm too jumpy and and I flee at the first sign of trouble.  And what happened to the green marshmallow cookies?  Well, after their lucky escape, I thought I better help them live their life's purpose and ate one and a quarter just to get rid of them.

Big Mistake.  A big big mistake.  It's ALWAYS the edibles that fuck you.

Ooopsie Daisy

Thailand - Before And After

Being an Australian there is a tendency to sometimes poo poo Thailand. So many long haul flights go through Bangkok, which turns it into to an annoying pitstop rather than a gourmet option for fun times.  Therefore, when faced with the possibility of hanging out a bit longer in Thailand, my first reaction was ‘Meh’.  What a spoilt cunt.  Millions of people dream of a Thailand escape – I had a hairdresser in Tel Aviv who was literally weeping (all over my fresh hair) one afternoon telling much she longed to visit Thailand (ok, so she was Thai herself and all her family was there, and her shitty wage meant she had Buckley’s of affording an air ticket all the way from Tel Aviv but still…..it’s a beloved place among many).  Luckily I took my head out of my own vagina and came to my senses.  Thailand is awesome.  Of COURSE I would stay there, and of COURSE I would be in absolute heaven and have the time of my life.  It matters not that I’ve been there 20 times - when I told someone this once they gave me a withering look that translated as ‘I want you dead’  and I immediately regretted sharing that information, just as I do now.

Its bloody gorgeous - what was I thinking?

On the way to the airport here

My very first trip to Thailand was in 1997.  I had just turned 22 and it was the first stop on a round the world ticket I had saved up for by waitressing at a disgusting little French café in Hobart called La Cuisine – run by a disgusting little mean French man and his equally disgusting little mean French wife.  I’m not being particularly mean myself – they were the WORST.  You always imagine French people to be cool, and attractive and stylish.  They basically destroyed this extremely positive stereotype for their entire country.  They were so cold of heart you could imagine them torturing baby animals for pleasure in their leisure time.  The only positive thing I took away from this experience (apart from my round the world ticket) was the realization of how much butter actually went into croissants (basically they are 90% butter – keep that in mind when you help yourself to three still warm ones from a hotel breakfast buffet).

Oh dear

Anyway, these were the days when your multi-trip tickets were printed on booklets, and those things were thick.  The internet didn’t exist – so you couldn’t print another one if you fucked up, and mobile phones were the size of bricks and definitely not part of any 20 year old backpacker’s agenda – so no ringing your Mummy to cry about it – that took a 20 buck phone card and a phone box.  I have no idea how I met up with friends, separated from them, and then met up with them months later. I had a credit card – but for emergencies only, as getting yourself a great stack of travellers cheques was the norm.  I still can’t believe I didn’t lose either the ticket book or the cheques in that year – however, I remember being terrified I would and I think I slept with them strapped to my body the entire time.  Looking back, I was so young.  And might I add fairly naïve.  A private school education and a sheltered life in Tasmania doesn’t really prepare you for the big wide world.  It was a shock, and Thailand was a steep learning curve.  Before I knew it, I was sitting in a hammock on Koh Phangan off my tits after ingesting shitloads of LSD.  I remained pretty much in the same position for 6 weeks. 

Me in my hermit crab days

Shit sure is different these days.  The old family travel situation has altered the stakes a little.  I can’t even eat a sneaky chocolate bar without one of them sniffing it out and hassling me, let alone roll in the sand in a bikini top with no bottoms chanting “I’m a hermit crab”.  When I order a cocktail my daughters will get excited by the umbrella and pineapple on the side and then ask accusingly “Is that ALCOHOL?, Are you going to get drunk?  Oh MUM’.  They are relentless, and far far worse than my parents ever were.  It’s strange how you spend the first 20 years of life hiding shit from your parents.  You then have a few years of freedom, and then your kids come along and you have to hide shit from them all over again – only it’s much worse.  You do NOT want your kids to catch you smoking anything of any kind.  They are cruel and harsh masters, and they have us all by the nuts.

7.5 Years A Slave

I was therefore inspired to reflect on the differences between my first trip to Thailand and my most recent one; here they are:

Then	Now
Stayed in a bungalow with no windows	The house came with servants
Wore belly tops	Did everything possible to cover belly
Said things like; “Did you ever think that           maybe the earth is a microscopic atom  floating in the blood plasma of a  intergalactic giant”	Said things like ‘Is that chocolate or poo?’
Hung out with Sanchez, Driftwood and Papillion	Hung out with Princess Kitty, Twilight Sparkle and Miss Moo Moo
Ate Pad Thai and banana fritters	Ate Pad Thai and banana fritters
Tried not to eat Mars Bars	Didn’t give a fuck and ate 20 Mars Bars
Went to Full Moon Parties	Went to bed
Stayed up until sunrise	Woke up at sunrise by being poked in the face
Spent almost no money	Spent a fucking fortune, but compared to life in Israel it felt like no money
Lay in the sun all day and went a delightful golden shade	Lay in the sun one day, got burnt to shit, spent the rest of the time feeling stupid and regretful
Had to fend off sleazy shaman types and horny Japanese bongo players	Made attempt to look attractive for husband, gave up and grew pubes
Felt invincible, like I was going to change          the world, and everything was new	Picked up the flu on the plane felt like I was going to die and hoped I would

                                                                

So that pretty much sums it up – before and after.  A shitload has changed in 20 years, but I guess if it hadn’t I’d be a little concerned - wouldn’t you? I do know one thing though, if I had to go back to living in on a hill in that $3 a night bungalow with snakes in the shower room, see people meditating in the nude with their nutsack hanging out everytime I went for a swim, and listen to everyone calling me ‘Sister’, I would stab someone in the eye with a satay stick.  In fact I should have done it 20 years ago.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned since then, is that you should always be yourself - even if you are a bitch in the mornings with a low tolerance for stupidity (and the hairy testicles of strangers).  Anyway, to cut a long story short - Thailand rules.

The Kingdom of Bhutan - Save up And Splash Out

These teenagers certainly aren't stealing money from their Mum's purses and buying cheap vodka

Bhutan is not for peasants.  Well Bhutanese peasants already living there - sure, keep on toiling those paddies, but foreign peasants?  Well don't even bother to set a toenail in the country.  Nobody wants you, you bloody tight arse paupers.  Piss off and spend your measly coins on chai teas in India.  It doesn't matter how spiritual you are or how much you'd like a gawk at the Tigers Nest monastery you ain't ever gunna get there, so suck it up and weep like a baby over the pretty Internet photos.  I've just come back from there everyone, so suck shit.  Am I a bloody little poor person?  Well considering I haven't had a job for quite some time the answer would be a resounding "I don't have a cent to my name".  I do however have friends in high places, and when I say I have friends, I actually mean my husband has friends, and I tag along like little a hideous little leech.

The Enabler and The Leech

We're blocking The Tigers Nest in this shot 

Personally if I was going to sponsor a gang of freeloaders to come and celebrate a half century of life with me I would get them along to take part in the laziest thing possible (I'm not though, and never will, so starting to be extra nice to me 8 years in advance is a useless endeavour).  That desire to infect others with my own apathy is probably a reflection of the type of layabout I really am - slackness loves other slackers. I'd almost describe myself as a motivation assassin.  However, the man of honour spurring this adventure on had other ideas in mind, aiming (and succeeding, god damn it) to take us all 'out of our comfort zones' and drag us up to 4000 metres above sea level in one of the most isolated, difficult-to-get-to countries in the world.

10 hours of work in this bad boy

I didn't even know where Bhutan was a year ago, and let me tell you I wasn't the only one.  The best I could do was "Himalayas somewhere", which is pretty accurate considering.  Now I can, of course, do better - Bhutan is a landlocked country in the eastern Himalayas and shares a northern border with Tibet (let's not pretend though - it's bloody China isn't it, sorry Dalai Lama, and good luck with getting your country back and everything....), and the rest of the borders with India. It's a bit over half the size of Tassie for spatial enthusiasts.   Bhutan is quite a bit more fond of India than they are of China - on account of China openly wanting to 'bring them under the thumb of communism".  Unlikely now though, China should have just snuck up on them rather than shouted it from the mountain tops in order to have a decent shot at invasion.  

Freakiest Landing Ever - be drunk or drugged

Luckily the Himalayas are a bit of deterrence for hostile take overs.  In fact they are a bit of a deterrent for friendly visits too.  To get here we took a four hour flight from Bangkok, landed in Calcutta and then we took a 55 minute flight through the Himalayas to Paro.  This leg of the journey is so fucking treacherous to fly, and the landing is so complicated to execute, that only 5 pilots in the world fly this leg.  I overheard the trip planner excitedly telling someone that there once used to be 8 capable pilots, and I just didn't dare to ask what happened to the other 3. The pilots are not flying a small plane either - it is a large passenger jet.  They have to bank round the sides of high mountains on the descent, and steer the plane through a winding valley, only to emerge out of it at exactly the right height to pull off a landing on a shorter-than-normal runway.  It was intense.  I popped a Xanax at Bangkok airport in preparation, but it was a bit of a preemptive strike and I subsequently had to be helped onto the plane.  I then passed out in a extremely awkward position and woke up four hours later with a really sore neck for the last 55 minutes of crucial sedation flying.  I did somewhat enjoy it though, so perhaps there was still some residue left from my little purple friends.

City streets

What a place. It seriously looks like somewhere from the reasonably distant past - apart from the cars....and the planes.  Bhutan only got TV in the 90s, thats only 20 years ago - can you believe the poor fucks missed out on Alf? - I feel their pain.    It is a naturally stunning place as well.  A fertile green valley surrounded by mountain peaks.  The river that runs through the valley next to Paro is as clear as bathwater. It's actually weird.  You forget how much we are used to seeing rivers the colour of shit flowing through our towns and cities. But in Bhutan it was so pure - everything was.  Driving through the town was just as amazing.  All the buildings in the country have to be constructed and painted in the traditional way, so every building - no matter if it was a hovel or a souvenir store or the airport - looked like a temple.  All the people were out cruising round in traditional dress looking fucking awesome.  Men in dresses rock.  A friend once told me that the first time he slipped on a ladies skirt it was so incredibly freeing for his nut sack that he didn't know how he'd ever go back to pants.  He should move to Bhutan.  

If in doubt just get around in national dress

Listen - they didn't even get one outside foreign visitor until 1974, and the government  has restricted visitor numbers and tourist infrastructure ever since.  It's hard to believe, but they just don't want us, any of us really, but especially the povo backpacker types.  To the Bhutanese, a set of dreadlocks, a jambe and a pair of fisherman's pants equals 'fuck off loser'.  They don't even want too many of the money splashers either - getting a visa is not cheap, and it's not easy.  This place is just not interested in making the tourist bucks at the expense of their country's natural environment.  That kind of shit has got to be respected, and seeing as they were the world's first negative carbon country, they are actually leading the way worldwide with all things environmental - Bhutan is aiming for zero net greenhouse gas emissions, zero-waste by 2030 and to grow 100 percent organic food by 2020.  Export logging is banned.  It's a pity they are sandwiched next to possibly the world's worst environmental polluter....but far be it from me to point out the negatives in their plan.

Smokin' (not literally, that would be illegal)

Bhutan is actually a kingdom, and the current King and Queen are hot stuff.  He is called King Jigme Wangchuck and she is Queen Jetsun Pema, which you have to admit are awesome names. Not only are they young and good looking with  fabulous names, but they are also officially known as the Dragon King and the Dragon Queen - and they are the real thing, so shove it Khaleesi (no, I still love you, I take that back - you'll always be the Queen and Mother of Dragons).  The King's father (who abdicated early to give his son a crack at ruling), was the man responsible for introducing the measure of the Gross Domestic Happiness (GDH) in the 1970s, after he pledged to build an economy based upon Buddhist spiritual values rather than money; ie. rather than the boring Gross Domestic Product (GDP) that all the other world suckers use.  The GDH is not just hippy shit, it is a real and tangible measurement.  Hats off Former King, hats off.

Rake that gunja my dress wearing friend

That's not to say that it's a perfect paradise in Bhutan - they have their issues.  And they are there despite the fact that marijuana grows wild EVERYWHERE (seriously - it pushes up through the cracks in the city streets).  What a land of plenty - who cares about poverty when the green gear grows wild! Wooo hooo - we're jammin'.....Unfortunately you'd have to smoke a few pounds of the wild Bhutanese strain to get a mild tingle - there wasn't a single bud to be seen.  And I looked, oh god I looked.   Smoking anything isn't really kosher there anyway, and tobacco is definitely illegal (as it really should be) - so pack that bong away.  Killing animals is also against the law - which just makes me feel so good - I can finally look chickens in the eye, although their eyes are still definitely beady and just as evasive.  It's not easy to hold eye contact with a chicken - apparently it's worth it though.  It's how you make inter-species friends according to vegans.  The Bhutanese don't euthanise any of the stray dogs either, and there are tons of them around - all looking totally healthy and relaxed, safe in the knowledge that they don't have the hangman's noose around their filthy matted necks.  However, meat to eat is available, but it's brought over the border from India so that the animals don't actually have to have their throats cut in the country - all the Bhutanese cows can therefore pretend like they aren't future hamburgers.

Penis Framed

Another endearing feature??? Sure, why not - Bhutan is a country of dick pics.  And who doesn't love a dick pic?  Personally I just like saying 'dick pic', as I really feel that the penis is the least photogenic subject for wider distribution.  However, the Bhutanese are not with me on this.  Come to mention it, neither are the Japanese.  Over there you can go to a festival especially to carry a giant dick and wear dick hats, help yourself to a dick lollypop - whatever takes your fancy.  It looks awesome.  I would go 100%.  In fact I might put that on my 'To Do' list; #28 Wear Pink Dick Hat.  I'm not even joking, I think it's an essential life experience.   Historically, in Bhutan anyway, there was some sort of mystic penis-loving fellow that's inspired the countrywide dick pic trend - a Tibetan Buddhist monk named Drukpa Kunley (1455–1529) who used sexual intercourse, alcohol and dirty poetry to spread Buddhist teachings - The world's first Sleazy Shaman....Whatever is the case, penises are everywhere.  Some are actually painted in mid spoof, and most of the ball sacks are painted with hairs.  Enjoy.

Just one from Japan - cheer up love, you're wearing a pink penis on your head

  

My face kind of says it all in this picture

Trekking in the mountains is another experience altogether.  Apart from revelling in my first ever trip to the highest mountain range in the world (you can see Everest from the plane on the journey from North India to Bhutan), I learnt an important thing.  I'm just not built for altitude.  Despite training hard for a month before the trip, doing an acclimatisation walk, drinking 25 litres of ginger tea, having awesome hiking poles, and sucking on oxygen canisters, I was forced to accept that I'm just not a mountain person.  I somehow suspected this after my unfortunate performance in the French Alps a couple of years back when I lost the PLOT at 3800 metres and basically disgraced myself with terror induced paralysis on a rock mounted platform.  I didn't fair much better on the overnight trek to a similar altitude in Bhutan.  I was pretty useless and spent quite sometime cocooned in blankets around the fire sucking on oxygen.  Luckily I managed to narrowly avoid having to walk 3 hours down off the mountain in the pitch black at 2am to sleep at a monastery below to recover. My relief at not having to be evacuated was tenfold when I later found out there were tigers and bears roaming the mountains around us all night....excellent news not to share.     

The greatest camp ever - at almost 4000 metres in the Himalayas.....

If I had had to be evacuated that evening, I wouldn't have seen the Tigers Nest Monastery the following day and that would have sucked big time.  Yep, it was insanely good, and obviously the highlight of any trip to Bhutan.  Though it's a funny thing;  when you actually lay eyes on these beautiful and familiar world sights; sights you have seen in countless photographs, you can't really process that it's the real thing that you're looking at initially.  It still looked like a picture to me - Later on, when I looked back on my snaps, it's as though I expected the feeling of actually being there to come across in my photographs.  No, they just looked like regular photographs - the specialness comes only from the memory. To actually go inside and hear the stories about the legends of Paro Taktsang (Tigers Nest) was fascinating - and we also learnt that despite being nearly 400 years old, it had to be rebuilt in 2005 after disaster struck and the entire place burnt down in 1998 thanks to a rogue candle.  Nice one to whoever REALLY fucked up there - probably a trainee monk sneaking out in the middle of the night to grab a midnight snack from the food offerings bowl.  One thing that the monks really need to sort out though are the boggers.  I have never seen worse toilets than those in a Bhutanese monastery (and I visited 4).  Sort it out fellas - crack open the money donations box and get a cleaner or something.  I'm thinking about the monks even more than myself here; negotiating robes through that kind of filth must be highly awkward.

In all it's glory

It was an incredible trip.  So many good things happened that there's no way I cannot properly explain it all (I tried, but my husband said it was a boring as batshit so I deleted most of it).  The country is stunning, and you honestly feel like you are having an authentic cultural experience - whatever that really is.....We spent hours climbing Himalayan peaks, and were invited into nunneries and monasteries along the way and allowed to observe ancient traditions, and hear the stories behind the temples and places of religious importance. That kind of privilege is so rare these days as the world gets more and more accessible.  Rites and rituals are often played out for gawkers purely for monetary gain - not that is something wrong with this - people have to earn a living, but you can feel when something isn't genuine.  Bhutan actually feels completely 'real', a tiny peek into a world you know you'll never see again, and if you do again, it won't be the same.  I would love to go back and stay longer, see more, try to somehow become a part of this amazing place on a non superficial level.  But that's how I feel about everywhere I go really - I want to know what it's really like to be from there - an impossible  dream I know.  But I guess for now, it's goodbye privileged tranquil spirituality, and back to the land of filth, noise and scumbag peasants.  We were off to the Aussie bogan's second Asian home after Kuta Beach - Fucken Phuket mate.     

Six Scandinavian Satisfying Situations

Lofoten Islands - go there

I didn't quite round up our final days in Norway - shit happened dawgs, and it's a tad on the tricky side to punch a keyboard when your drive sharing your way around 300 bloody fjords.  Don't even talk to me about tunnels, they can get fucked too, as can ferries.  When it wasn't my turn behind the wheel I took up knitting.  As you can imagine my woollen green scarf is really coming in handy in Thailand at present (as if I've finished it though - old khaki green wouldn't even make it round a teddy bear's neck right now).

Home sweet Home

Final Norwegian highlights included;

1. Staying in a Fisherman's cottage in the Lofoten Islands.

They are all the go here.  You have to rent a Fisherman’s house - all the cool kids are doing it.  They have them sticking out over the water, and inside they’re all wooden and cosy.  Vali and Cordi really took a fisherman's life to heart, and became obsessed with fishing.  They basically spent every spare second out on the dock.  Things didn’t go well initially – there were snagged lines, broken rods, seaweed clumps and a starfish.  But at last a little fishy was caught.  And that's when reality crept in.  The poor little bastard bled and flapped, and my daughter screamed and cried.  When we finally got the hook out of it’s mouth and then tossed the poor little flapper back in, it had snuffed it.  It floated on top of the water while we stood in the pools of blood all over the dock.  We all hoped for a resurrection, but it wasn’t to be.   My daughter watched it float for a while and then decided that fishing was cruel and that she was now a vegetarian.  She didn’t last a meal. 

"Is it dead Mum?" "No, I think it's just relaxing"

Come to me, my one true love...

2. Eating my body weight in liquorice daily;

This was the main highlight of the trip hands down.  God damn it the Scandi's have a large array of liquorice, and I just worked my way through it all. Sweet; salty; long sticks filled with white, pink and orange sugar stuff; allsorts; chocolate - covered and stuffed; soft; hard; chewy toffee.....you name it. My favourite variety ended up being some mini liquorice balls dipped in milk chocolate and rolled in some liquorice powder.  This variety was from Iceland.  I am planning a trip purely to go buy a crate of them. Jesus I love lickie.
“Liquorice fucks your brain up”  my husband informed me on about day 10 of non stop feasting.  “What??” I replied with black juice spilling out my mouth.  It was true.  Apparently it really does bad things everyone. Brain swelling, general puffiness, all things bad.  I couldn’t believe it.  Not only does the world take away booze, drugs, ciggies and coffees but now LICKIE?????  I’m basically wounded.  Apparently any over 40's shouldn’t have more than 2 ounces of it a day (that’s only 56 grams - I'd been having about half a kilo a day).  That knowledge was a horrible reality so I basically pretended that I never heard the rumours and continued on with my feast.  Even though I’ve been looking a bit puffy around the eyes and my teeth remain tinged black, I'm sure it's only temporary....I’ll be fine.

It's worth it, it really is

Oh Ragner, I'm lost in those eyes

3. All Most Things Viking  

I'd had a Viking fascination since Miss Clements set the entire grade four class a special Viking project over a couple of weeks, which culminated in a feast day and some special outfits.  My Viking name was Ingrid, and I took it all pretty seriously. I never quite believed they were a bunch of pillaging rapists though (not my flesh and blood, my tribesmen), and low and behold this was the case.  They were farmers god damn it; farmers with a 300 year period of sea faring which basically set the tone for their entire history. Give a fuck about the specifics though - the show Vikings is awesome, and getting an Aussie ex St Kilda player and former underwear model (apparently he was the inspiration for Smith Jerry from SITC - go and immediately google "Travis Fimmel underwear model' - you will not be sorry) to play the main character makes it all the more pleasant.  All the same, across Norway when trying to lure tourists to come and pay 30 bucks to look at their dug up "Viking" hall they emphasise heavily on the 'Viking' part - well, it certainly packs a bit more punch than "Farmers" Hall.   The display I dragged the family to looked good, until you realised that all they found were a couple of beads, and a few rocks.  Yes, they were mounted in giant glass cases in an impressive room with seal skins on the wall and a special fictional movie about the inhabitants - but beads are beads dudes.

Val slaying a sea monster was more convincing than the Viking display

This was not a real throne,  I repeat NOT a real throne

I was so excited abut the giant hall - the last stage of the tour .... until I realised it had been reconstructed - don't you hate that?  It happens all the time - what is real anymore, what is REAL???? There were all these dudes doing special craft work wearing animal skin outfits inside.  I talked to one of them doing some weaving.  He was Scottish, and he didn’t have dreads or beads in his beard, and was far, far too clean.  I was like “Get into character dude, you’re meant to be a warrior, stop prancing around with your loom for fucks sake and axe something”.  He just kept on looming. The highlight of the day was a pig lying on the ground outside.

Yep, this was as good as it got 

4.  Bergen and Trondheim

See where I'm going with the toilet seat thing?

While  a small part of me is tempted to label Bergen a rainy hole, I cannot really be so cruel.  Yes, it rains here a lot, a LOT, and most of the locals I chatted with expressed a kind of despair at living all year round in the soaking wet - in particular 2 very drunk 50 year old women with a penchant for plastic surgery, whom we met at a late night burger place when we got lost and were trying to look for food.  But it is really beautiful - in particular, the old part of the city is quainter than a country grandmother's crocheted toilet seat cover.  What also made us love Bergen (at least at first) was that our Air BnB for the two nights we stayed there was a boat docked at the marina. That was a novelty.  The marina is definitely where I like my boats.  For example, just before we left Israel, I had the idea of celebrating a friends birthday on a sailing boat.  We'd only been battling the waves for about 15 mins when I lost my shit and begged to go back to the port - it's true the large joint we blew before we dropped anchor didn't help my insistence that we were about to sink.  But still, it was undoubtedly a 'roll around' situation and I just can't have it.  If the sea isn't flat, I'm not interested. Two stationary nights on the boat in Bergen was also enough for moi - it was fun and everything but boats just get grimy and grotty.  I think I like the idea of it more than the reality.

Doing it for the kids, yeah

Someone else is boat-suss

Taken with my own lily white hands

Trondheim was a really cool city.  Despite being the capital of Norway during the Viking Age over a thousand years ago, in comparison to Bergen, this city felt young and vibrant.  Although, to be fair on Bergen, it is a university town and we were there during Orientation Week.  Our first sight of Trondheim was basically a human sized chicken, 8 people chained together, drunk teenagers floating in rubber dinghies down the river, and a large group of people taking a swim in the nuddie.  My husband got lost on a jog one evening and ended up in the middle of a toga party.  He said out of a thousand people he was the only one not wearing a toga - to be expected really, he was out jogging.

'There's grown ups in the nuuuudddeeeee aaahhhhhh'

There's my husband in the top left corner

 5. Geiranger Fjord

As good as it looks

As far as fjords go, this is the cream of the fjord crop.  I'm not sure how I rate on fjord expertise to be honest, but I declare this reasonably pronounceable fjord the Shit Hottest Fjord Ever.  Take another fucken a delightful ferry ride with a giant bunch of tourists straight up the guts of 'er and prepare to be marvelled.  The only downer was lack of porpoises.  I'd heard porpoise rumours and I was all set to be porpoised.  There were no porpoises.  Even leading the kids in a chant of 'Porpoise Porpoise Porpoise" failed to materialise anything but death stares from those tourists in close proximity.  Maybe they were also spewing about the porpoise free experience. Once you start a chant though it's hard to quell the beast.  I had to send the girls inside along with promises that I would come running if porpoises were spotted.  Of course I wouldn't have - I would have been too busy looking at the porpoises and taking porpoise photos for Instagram.  Perhaps then it was karma for my pre-meditated porpoise selfishness.

Reality was way better

From above

6. Shopping in Stockholm

Oooooh yeah

I wanted a piece of that Scandinavian style, and by god I was going to get it.  Unfortunately it don't come cheap.  I deliberately blocked out the currency exchange rate when it came time to hand over the card, and it wasn't until the statement rolled in that I had a little dry retch.  I tried to shop in H&M thinking that the flagship store was going to be way better than the shit they try and peddle in H&M in Israel.  Seriously, I don't know what they're playing at there but they are only inches away of having all the stock in the Tel Aviv stores in a big pile in the middle of the floor and having the customers just wade in and hope for the best.  Sadly though the Stockholm flagship store didn't do it for me.  H&M really lost it's appeal after I saw that documentary The True Cost - that was one of the most depressing things I have ever seen.  I'm not going to go into too much detail but the worst bit was the camera cutting between scenes of human misery and despair in Bangladesh and Cambodia and switching to footage of fat American women fighting over bags and knitwear in the Black Friday sales.  H&M looked pretty guilty, but they weren't the only ones.  The solution =  buy nothing ever again, or check the labels and prepare to spend a bundle.  I was heading for  the flagship Acne Studios store.  And not just because Acne is fucking awesome but because the main store is inside an old bank building.  And it's not just any old bank building, it's the bank where the robbery took place that was responsible for the capture-bonding incident forever known as "The Stockholm Syndrome". This syndrome is a psychological disorder, where captives show positive feelings toward their captors. In this first instance, several bank employees were kept hostage in the bank vaults and became emotionally attached to their captors, not wanting to be rescued.  Anyway the bank vaults are still there in the store.....they are now the jeans rack.

Vaults

In conclusion......Scandinavia (especially Norway) was great.  It was really really great.   If I can cover the down points I would have to mention firstly the food.  Motherfuckers are obsessed with burgers and hot dogs.  Every single bloody place in the entire region - whether the fanciest restaurant in town or the shittiest ferry slops shop, all had either a burger or a hotdog up for eats, and most of the time they had both.  Also, enough with the meatballs for fucks sake - branch out a little.  The seafood is good, but to be honest I've had better.   My second criticism, which is also incidentally a tip - I would be saving hard if you intend to spend a chunk of time here.  She ain't cheap.  Apart from that - enjoy, because it's bloody awesome in this part of the world.  We'll be back for the Northern Lights this winter - and they better not pull a Geiranger Fjord porpoise on me.

Looking for a porpoise in life