Rush Hour on the Mekong Delta

In stark contrast to the chaotic streets of Saigon, the Mekong Delta provided plenty of opportunity for cycling through rice paddies and little villages.  Oh, and meeting new friends, too...

Crossing the street in Ho Chi Minh City

Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Perth anymore...

Gone are the wide open spaces - beaches without another soul and roads without another vehicle.  The laid back attitude of Western Australia is long behind me.

In its place - the semi-chaotic world that is Ho Chi Minh City (still Saigon to pretty well everyone who lives here).  There are over 10 million people in HCMC, and as far as I can tell over 20 million scooters and motorbikes.  It has taken a while to become comfortable with some of even the most basic tasks that I normally take for granted, like crossing the street, for instance.  More thoughts later, but for now, a short video clip just to give you a taste of the sights and sounds involved with getting to the other side of the street...

Who The Hell Did Australia Piss-off?

Australia is indeed a magnificent country, not only because of its sheer magnitude but its incredible variety as well.  I’ve managed to see a lot of it over the last 7 weeks, traveling many miles, meeting lots of people and taking heaps of photos. 

My schedule has been pretty wide open, which is just how I like it, but for this journey it simply couldn’t have been any other way.  No matter where I’ve visited, I’ve ended up fleeing floods or evacuating before cyclones or running from bush fires.  It would appear that Australia is under siege, beset by plagues of biblical proportions, leading an ex-workmate of mine to quite aptly ask “Who the hell did Australia piss off, ‘cause they’re sure getting their ass kicked?!?”

Melbourne was a great way to get the trip started; visiting good friends, watching the tennis and keeping a relatively slow pace accented by many “flat white” coffees and a few beers.  I also threw in a long weekend in Sydney to visit some of the sights and compare the two cities.  The weather was “unseasonably unstable” as my friend liked to say, leading to our cancelling a drive along the

Great Ocean Road

where sections were washed out due to heavy rain.

I lingered longer than planned in the south because next on my agenda was Queensland, which as far as I could tell from the news was completely under water.  The floods weren’t directly affecting the Great Barrier Reef, which was my destination, however the cyclones that were bringing all the water most certainly were.  So I watched the weather forecast carefully and when about a week long window of sunshine finally appeared between deluges, I flew straight to Airlie Beach.

About a week was all mother nature granted.  My signal to fly had been when Cyclone Anthony weakened and headed out to sea.  Unfortunately, it sat about 700 kms offshore, brooded for a while, then decided to grow and turn back on Australia.  So, while I was on a delightful 3 day / 3 night sailing trip to the outer reef, the captain was carefully monitoring the radar.  Not only was Anthony on its way, but just behind was Yasi, promising to be much, much larger.

Even so, the sailing trip was superb, offering awesome snorkeling and breathtaking views of the Whitsunday Islands.  One of the highlights was a visit to pristine Whitehaven Beach, an uninhabited coastline with miles of white sand and meandering estuaries.  The ripple patterns in the sand were the stuff of impressionist paintings, with schools of rays hanging about to make the whole thing that much more magical.  Luckily our group arrived first, because in no time boatloads of backpackers arrived, shattering the picture postcard and turning it into Coney Island.  Some Aussie boys even started a game of Australian Rules Football, a rough and tumble bastardization of rugby sure to ruin any good stroll along a deserted beach.

Snorkeling along the Great Barrier Reef wasn’t bad either, as I swam with turtles, marvelled at brightly coloured corals and fish, and came face to face with a white tipped shark.  Yet, as soon as our sailing vessel returned to Airlie Beach I had to make plans to flee.  Anthony was less than 36 hours away.

It was earlier than I had planned to leave the reef.  Next up on my agenda was the coastline of Western Australia, starting with a visit with friends in Perth, but I had a few days before they were expecting me.  So I looked at a map and drew a line between Airlie Beach and Perth to see what was in between.  It turned out to be about 4000 km of absolutely nothing.  Nothing, that is, except for one rather famous large rock sticking out of the desert in what can only be described as literally the middle of nowhere.  I booked a flight to Ayers Rock. 

(Like in many parts of the world, the name for a location given by European explorers has been changed to the name used by the indigenous people of the area.  We see this in my hometown of Vancouver as the signs from the city to the Whistler ski resort are now full of unpronounceable native Indian words, often including the number 7.  Today, Ayers Rock is known by its Aboriginal name Uluru.  I’m not sure how to pronounce the underlined letter, but when I call it Ayers Rock, travellers look at me like I’m swearing and Australians look at me like family.  Strangely, the local airport is still called Ayers Rock, so when someone accuses me of being insensitive to Aboriginals by not saying Uluru, I simply claim to be referring to where my plane landed.)

Uluru is everything you’ve heard and expected, but so much more.  It’s an icon that we’ve all seen in pictures, but they just don’t do it justice.  It’s magical in its dimensions, colors, and more importantly, its presence. 

At the same time, you don’t get labelled as one of the wonders of the world without attracting the odd tourist, and attract them Uluru does – in droves.  Sunset and sunrise “viewings” are standing room only, with every language imaginable chattering away in the background.  Yet somehow Uluru manages to hold your focus, even when annoying tourists from England are trying to convince the Germans they’ve just met that Wimbledon is so much better than the Australian Open because, “well, it’s just more British, isn’t it?”. 

(Sometimes I’m glad I only speak one language.  I’m not sure I could handle overhearing any additional inane chatter.  Even conversations about Lady Gaga’s nail polish sound exotic in a foreign tongue.)

The desert around Uluru had been receiving much more rain than usual, so the landscape was considerably greener than normal for the season, leading to some stunning photo ops.  The rain had also brought an unseasonal explosion of insects and bugs.  My ridiculously overpriced room was a bit of an entomologist’s wet dream, especially when turning on the light to head for a late night pee.  I eventually decided it was better to just wander about in the dark and not think about the crunching noises under foot.

My wallet couldn’t handle another night at the Ayers Rock resort, so I carried on to Perth.  My timing couldn’t have been better.  According to the news in Perth, Alice Springs (the closest town to Uluru at a mere 5 hours to the north) and environs had been hit with massive rains.  Alice Springs itself had become a swimming pool, complete with unhappy, newly homeless, poisonous snakes.

Perth brought a welcome reprise from the traveling life, as I stayed with friends in the city’s northern suburbs.  Mind you, suburbia in Perth isn’t what you might expect.  Our days were spent riding bikes to the local beach and having a dip before the surf came up.  We’d watch the surfers in the calm of the morning and kite surfers in the afternoon winds.  In the evenings we’d barbeque and listen to the various exotic birds sing song overhead.  Yup, it was pretty good and not a cyclone in sight.

On the weekend we did what any city folk would, we drove out into wine country and watched polo.  Now isn’t that the life - sitting on blankets sipping Sauvignon Blanc and cheering on the ponies? 

There was just one small complication.  As we looked back over the horse prep area, we couldn’t help but notice large billows of smoke.  In fact, we could occasionally smell the smoke over all the horse sweat and shit.  We inquired and the landowner informed us that large sections of the Swan Valley were beset by out of control bush fires!  Some were quite close, he mentioned in a typically understated Australian fashion, but we were protected by “The River”.  Further prying resulted in us realizing that said river was a creek at best, and was located about 100 meters away.  We decided that it didn’t look like a very good bush fire barrier to us, and high tailed it out of there.

All told, more than 90 homes were lost to the Perth bush fires, and with polo playing types living in the area, you can imagine the scale of the homes.  The premier had declared the area a state of emergency, a concept that seemed lost on our polo pals at the time.

I could tell an omen when I saw one, and decided that was my indication to leave the comforts of the ‘burbs and head out on a road trip.  This time my destination was north up the Western Australia coastline, a region resplendent with white sand beaches and turquoise water.  I had a rental car, credit card and about 11 days to kill.

I’ll spare you the details as I don’t have the time to write them all down and I know you don’t have the patience to slog through them.  However, there were certainly some highlights worth mention:

-          the Pinnacles: curious limestone features poking out of sand dunes, absolutely stunning at sunset

-          Kalbarri: home to the Murchison River gorge where I joined a canoe trip deep into the canyon to observe the brilliant red cliffs

-          Monkey Mia/Shark Bay: a world heritage site boasting some of the only stromatolites remaining on earth (exciting to geologists and no one else) and dolphins that swim into the bay every morning to show off and to be fed (exciting to everyone else)

-          Coral Bay/Ningaloo Reef: the world’s largest fringing reef, meaning some of the most spectacular snorkeling and diving in the world is only 30 to 40 meters off shore

Coral Bay actually deserves some elaboration.  The town is so small as to not even be incorporated, consisting of some accommodation and minimal services, but it serves as a great access point to the reef.  I snorkeled with manta rays, watched sharks get their teeth cleaned by small fish that I dubbed “dental hygienists”, and marvelled at some of the brightest coral I have ever seen. 

I planned to spend my last days in Australia at Coral Bay, snorkeling every morning and relaxing in the afternoons when the winds came up.  There was just one small problem.  On the drive up from Monkey Mia there had been major flooding, with water flowing over the highway in many locations.  Each evening I was in Coral Bay, thunderstorms provided brilliant light shows, but also dumped huge amounts of water on the region.  Rumours began to circulate that the road, the only connection back to Perth, would soon be closed.

So, rather than be stuck in the North when my non-refundable flight to Vietnam left Perth, I again changed my plans and left Coral Bay a day early.  There weren’t as many river crossings on the return trip, but there was one pretty hairy spot.  The flood indicator on the side of the road showed a water depth of 0.4 meters and the current was strong.  At one point while crossing I could feel the car begin to lose grip and shimmy sideways with the flow.  I envisioned my little compact being washed away into the Outback (and me with it), but it managed to find traction and I was on my way.

That’s the benefit of being flexible with travel plans. I had an extra day on my hands, so did a quick flip through the Lonely Planet and decided to drive past Perth to Rockingham, home to about 180 wild dolphins.  The attraction to this location is that the dolphins love to play with humans, providing an opportunity to swim with them.  It was a glorious way to spend my last day in Australia.  The dolphins whirled around us as we swam, squealing all the while (us and the dolphins).  As our boat sped back to the dock, they swam along with us, performing acrobatics in our wake.  Afterwards, I made a quick stop to visit an island with rare little penguins and then headed for the airport, confident that I had squeezed everything I possibly could out of my last hours in Australia.

While driving to the airport, I heard a weather warning on the radio.  Coral Bay was bracing for a cyclone.  The community, and many others in the region, were on alert and expected to be evacuated within days.  “It figures” I thought to myself.  “This country is surely cursed!  Everywhere I go there’s been storms, flooding, fires…”  And then it hit me – I wasn’t happy to be leaving Australia, but then again, perhaps Australia wasn’t too sorry to be seeing the last of my ass?

You Turn, I Turn, We All Turn!

Driving in Australia ain’t easy.  Trust me.  I had to make five u-turns today while driving through Perth.  And it isn’t just because they drive on the left side of the road here.  That’s actually the least of your worries.  Let me explain by means of a few “lessons learned” from my last 11 days on the road in WA.

They hide the road signs.  It’s not that they hide all the road signs, only the ones you need.  You’ll be driving along the freeway, merrily counting off the kms until the town you want to visit, when suddenly you realize your destination is no longer listed on any of the recent road signs.  It turns out that to get to your destination you wanted to exit on Thomas Road.  The only problem is, there is no sign to tell you that you need to exit on Thomas Road!  It’s only when you’ve already exited and are at the top of the offramp that, if you’re lucky, there’s an arrow pointing you in the right direction.  That’s gotta be worth at least a couple u-turns a day.

The road signs are pretty well useless.  Even if you are lucky enough to see a road sign, chances are it’s of no use to you.  This is because Australian road signs don’t use helpful notations like direction (i.e. North, or South).  Instead, they just list off random town names that happen to be in that general direction, and point.  The road you’re about to take may not even go to any of those towns! 

Even worse, they seem to choose which towns to post in a frustratingly haphazard manner.  Your destination may have been good enough to make the previous sign, but what to do at a roundabout where lots of towns you’ve never heard of and can’t see on a map are listed, yet yours isn’t?  You eventually make a u-turn.  That’s what.

Road numbers don’t matter.  You would think that once you are on a road major enough to warrant a road number that you’re pretty safe.  However, you would be wrong.  Australia assigns lots of numbers to lots of roads.  But Australia also reserves the right to remove that number at any time and without warning.  It’s not that you missed a turn or anything, the number just ceases to exist.  Even more exasperating, half way across the city the number simply reappears!  No explanations are given, no excuses made.  You simply curse the numbers and make yet another u-turn.

How about street names?  See road numbers, but assume even more randomness.  Turn around.

You can’t turn left on a red light.  Who knew?  The officer won’t be very sympathetic either when you tell him that at home in your country you are free to do the equivalent, a right turn, on a red light.  This doesn’t necessarily result in a u-turn, but it certainly adds to the frustration.

So there you have it, the main reasons for me having to complete six u-turns today.  I know I said five earlier, but I missed my turn driving home from dinner and had to make another one.

Sydney vs. Melbourne

Sydney and Melbourne: it’s hard to imagine how two cities in the same country, located reasonably close together and in similar geographic settings, can be so different.  But alas, how different they are!  The causes are numerous, and include history and politics.  Yet these are well documented and a little dull, so rather than analyze the why, what follows are my observations as to how.

If Sydney was a high school kid, she’d be the good looking one who excels at everything, from scholastic pursuits to varsity sports. She’s brash, confident and bound to succeed.  As if in direct response to Sydney’s clean-cut image, Melbourne has decided to be one of the cool kids hanging out by the smoking doors.  With her edgy personality and self-assured funkiness she turns out just fine too, thank you very much.



Opera House



Sydney has the harbour, and oh what a harbour it is!  As the saying goes it’s all about location, location, location.  Sydney has more waterfront than I’ve ever seen.  A tour guide alleged that there’s 56 km of it within the city.  Whether true or not (this particular operator regaled us with Whitney Houston, Britney Spears, and Billy Ocean as we toured the harbour, which to me discredits anything they had to say),  there’s enough to provide ample opportunity for stunning vistas and seaside activities.  And as if the harbour isn’t enough on its own, Sydney has thrown in The Bridge and The Opera House just so there’s absolutely no debate as to who is the fairest of them all.





Melbourne Skyline over the Yarra River



Melbourne has waterfront, too, with much of it quite beautiful.  But the city isn’t centered on the ocean; rather the CBD (central business district) has built up around the winding Yarra River.  The Eureka Tower is the obvious landmark.  Standing 297 m above the banks of the Yarra, it is visible from many miles away and is easily the tallest "inhabitable" building in the southern hemisphere?  (A tower in Queensland is taller by means of a radio antenna on the roof.  Hardly comparable.)  It is the centerpiece of a very pleasant, modern central core where skyscrapers meet bike paths and café culture.  Still, no matter what Melbourne’s best efforts could be, as far as location and natural beauty are concerned, Sydney gets the nod.



Central Quay is the hub of Sydney harbour, teaming with charming yellow and green ferries connecting many of the outlying neighbourhoods to Sydney’s CBD.  The harbour is a constant coming and going of ferries of all sizes, with the odd cruise ship added to the mix for good measure.  The quay is alive every day of the week, with tourists and business types alike, creating the perfect location for street performers and mini-marts that charge exorbitant amounts of money for a 0.5 l bottle of water.

Harbour Bridge from Central Quay

Melbourne’s alternative to the ferries is trams.  The entire city is connected by a network of trams that run on tracks down the center of most major roads in Melbourne.  Some of the trams are modern, while others date back to the days of wooden slat seats.  It’s a comprehensive, if not painfully slow, means of getting about town.  The trams have a certain aesthetic appeal, yet my vote would likely be for the ferries - save for one peculiarity resulting from the trams that is completely unique to Melbourne:  Hook Turns.

Now remember that Australians drive on the left side of the road, so a right hand turn crosses the path of oncoming traffic.  Anywhere else in the world, a right hand turn would be done by pulling into the right lane, or right turn lane, and yielding until it’s safe to turn.  But in Melbourne the trams take up the middle of the main roads and they have the right of way.  Thus on these roads (and to complicate matters, only on these roads) an alternative had to be devised. 

Enter the Hook Turn.  Instead of occupying the right lane when they want to turn right, Melbourne drivers pull over to the curb lane and wait until the light turns yellow.  At this point, once they determine it’s safe to do so, they crank the wheel to the right and dart through the intersection across all the lanes of traffic.  I don’t think I’ve got the nerve to do this as it seems to me there would never be a safe time to dart across 4 to 6 lanes of traffic, not to mention two tram lines, in the middle of an intersection.  I would probably either keep driving straight and go somewhere else, or opt for the “three lefts make a right” strategy. 

Regardless, because of the funky Melbourne Hook Turn, I call ferries vs. trams a tie.

Eating and drinking in Sydney is done on a large scale.  Restaurants tend to be of a very expansive open area style.  They’re modern, busy, loud and expensive.  It’s that brash confidence coming out.  Drinking establishments tend to be the same way.  Everything’s a big beer garden.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing because when it’s on, it’s on!

Melbourne is all about cool.  Restaurants trend towards small bistros, as opposed to Sydney’s sprawling brasseries.  Likewise, the pubs and bars in Melbourne are just that, pubs and bars.  Large beer gardens are present, but not the norm.  Thus, Melbourne’s numerous eating and drinking establishments are generally small and free to try whatever they please.  In fact, they need to be unique and creative to attract patrons.  This breeds creativity and style, something those kids at the smoking doors seemed to possess in abundance.  The result is something that, in my opinion, Sydney lacks; variety.  And after all, variety is the spice of dining and boozing.  Melbourne is my choice for a meal or libation.

So far we’ve established that both Sydney and Melbourne have their own distinct personalities and inclinations.   So who wins, and why? 

For me, the winner needs to possess something completely unique that sets them apart, from not only the competitor in this little tilt, but other cities around the world.  And for me that thing is Melbourne’s laneways.  I don’t know what substance they were smoking at the smoking doors, but it inspired Melbourne to reclaim most of its CBD alleyways and convert them into a maze of pedestrian walkways, lined with shops, cafes, restaurants and bars.  Some are posh, others are covered in graffiti, but it all seems to work in a way that brings vitality and energy to the city’s core.

Laneway Art

I’m not saying that Sydney doesn’t have an energy and vitality of its own.  It possesses ample individuality amongst its myriad neighbourhoods.  Still, so do many other great cities.  What none of them have is the laneways.  Sydney vs. Melbourne?  I say Melbourne. 

(Oh, and I almost forgot.  Another area that sets Melbourne apart is the live music scene.  It’s no secret that I love live music, and Melbourne is full of live music venues.  It’s got heaps of small clubs and bigger venues.  What do you think the kids at the smoking doors were doing while the other kids played sports?  They were in a dark basement somewhere learning how to play guitar.  So it only makes sense that Melbourne would have dingy places down grimy alleyways for the bands to play.  Melbourne has had a vibrant music scene for years, something that has been strangely absent from Sydney.  Nick Cave over the Opera House?  In my books, absolutely!)

Full disclosure: Before you think this was a completely unbiased comparison, I must admit to having a number of good friends who live in Melbourne (with whom I’ve stayed with on more than one occasion) while I don’t know a soul in Sydney.  If I had chosen Sydney, I’d have never heard the end of it, and would probably have been banned from ever setting foot in Melbourne again!  My hands are tied…

Have You Ever Been To Sea, Davie?

“Have you done much sailing?” asked the agent, “because she’ll be a wee windy out there.”  I was in the process of booking a day long sailing trip from Airlie Beach to an uninhabited little island about 45 km offshore.  “The sailboat’s a bit small, but the skipper’s really good.”

Now, the extent of my sailing experience has been on small vessels in and around Vancouver, usually on days when there wasn’t enough wind to fly a kite, let alone sail a boat.  It was merely an excuse to knock back a few cold ones and putter about.  But sailing is what you do in Airlie Beach.  It’s the gateway to one of the most famous sailing destinations in the world, the Whitsundays.  I booked the trip.

The following morning I met our skipper and his boat.  Both had been around for a while.  Reg (the skipper) was 65, originally from Holland, and apparently got his initial sailing cred with the Ancient Mariners.  His pride and joy is the S. V. Domino, a 36 ft cruiser that he had purchased in Auckland many years prior.  Reg had sailed her across the notoriously dangerous Tasman Sea from NZ to Sydney harbour, so he assured us we would easily make the sail out to ominously named Black Island, even in rough seas.  Besides, he reminded us more than once, his excursions were now rated number two on Trip Advisor.  He wasn’t about to risk that.

The BOM (Australian Bureau of Meteorology) website had forecast windy conditions in the morning, calming off in the afternoon.  I’ve been using BOM since I arrived in Australia.  So far, the closest it had been to being correct was a day at the Australian Open when they predicted sunny and 30.  It turned out to be 19 and rained all day.  I was optimistically hopeful that BOM had it right this time, but wasn’t prepared bet on it.

Despite the assurances of both Reg and BOM, I couldn’t help humming the Gilligan’s Island theme to myself, over and over.

After a quick safety discussion, which basically amounted to instructions on how to not fall out of the boat, we were off.  Windy it was.  No sooner had we departed the protection of the harbour than the winds picked up to 20 knots, regularly gusting to over 30 (that’s ~55 km/hr to us landlubbers).  Despite being partially protected from open seas by the Whitsunday Islands, the water was very rough.  The wind was blowing against an unseasonably high tide, creating frighteningly large and uneven swells.  The two other passengers and I looked back and forth at each other trying to appear calm, which is difficult to do when you’re white knuckling the railings.

Regardless, Reg proved to be a very confident captain.  He skipped about the boat trimming sails and performing lots of other sailing-type tasks as if we were on land, all the while regaling us with stories from his life at sea.  We were pushing the Domino hard, he informed us, and he wouldn’t have taken us out if the winds were any stronger, but as long as we kept heading forward to the island we’d be fine.  That explains why when my brand new, ridiculously expensive, Australian Open hat blew off my head and into the water, it became a sacrifice to the sea gods.  There was no turning back.

The same could not be said for when the rope pulling the dinghy snapped.  A sailboat without a dinghy is like an airplane without landing gear, and our landing gear was disappearing out of sight behind us.  Reg swore and leaped into action.  We had to go back for it.  We “came about” (essentially meaning we turned around – I’m a sailing jargon expert after my one day at sea) in a less than elegant manner that threatened to toss at least one passenger overboard, and made off in the direction of the dinghy.  Reg chose to ignore my request to fetch my hat while we were at it, even after I threatened to leave nasty comments on Trip Advisor.

It was a remarkable display of skill, with Reg managing to steer, grab the raft, tie it up and turn us back around completely on his own.  In fact he had ordered us to “sit still and not touch anything”, which was probably to the benefit of everyone involved.

We eventually reached Black Island (the tourist books have started calling it Bali Hai Reef in an attempt to stop frightening travellers) in one piece.  We decided Black Island was quite appropriate, all things considered. 

Despite the BOM forecast, the wind continued to howl.  We had a short go at snorkeling, but couldn’t see much through the choppy murky water.  We had our “relaxing picnic lunch on the beach” huddled together in an attempt to block the wind, and still ate as much sand as anything else.  We abandoned our “leisurely 2 ½ hours to relax and explore” early and got back on the boat.

The sail back to Airlie Beach was more of the same, but with an exclamation point!  Storms had blown into the area, and our route was dotted with dark clouds and rain squalls.  When one particularly bad one hit, I thought we were done for.  Reg went silent and thrust his jaw into the wind and rain.  The others appeared to be praying.  I kept repeating “a three hour tour, a three hour tour…”

Shakily sipping beers with the other two passengers at the Marina Pub back in Airlie Beach later that afternoon, we were surprisingly non-challant. 

“Great day for sailing, wasn’t it?”

“Awesome time, eh?  Would do it again in a second!” 

And so on.  Still, I can guarantee you that not one of us was having those thoughts when the winds reached 40 knots in the driving rain during our return sail (thanks for the warning, BOM).  If not for the efforts of the fearless Reg, the Domino would surely have been lost. 

Thanks to Reg for an exciting day at sea.  The experience was certainly exhilarating but perhaps not quite as bad as I described, as you will undoubtedly see in the following video clip taken on Black Island.

Random notes from Australia…

Mullets – Mullets are everywhere. Guys wear them seriously, not for some Movember-like gag. It isn’t just back country hicks, either, but footballers and surfers. I’d do a photo essay, but fear for my life of ever being caught.


El Caminos – Remember the old half car/half truck called the El Camino? Ever wonder where they all went? Here.


Heels – As in the ones on women’s shoes. Impossibly high ones. It’s a phenom I’ve only observed in Sydney (save for a couple of Vietnamese hookers in Melbourne) and is often accompanied by an impossibly short skirt. All the girls are wearing them, for work and leisure. Note to self: there will be extremely high demand for podiatrists in Sydney in about 10 years time.


Classic Rock – At present I’m in a hip little café on the strip in Airlie Beach, surrounded by young backpackers, listening to “Sweet Home Alabama”. This, unfortunately, is not a rare occurrence in Australia. It’s the norm. WTF?


Inane Chatter – Not something restricted to Australia, but prevalent amongst twenty something backpackers from all over the world. Like, I’m not, like, totally against the word “like”, but when it’s used repeatedly while discussing whether or not Kanye West is an asshole even though his music is soooo good, I just have to get up and leave the room (which can be hard if you’re, like, on a 3 day sailing trip). And when did guys start like-ing more than girls? I’m beginning to understand how people like me become old curmudgeons.


$13 pints – Really? $13? For a beer? And you say that with a straight face? (Also applies to $6 small lattes.) Sydney is indeed expensive.


Spiders – Yowza! I knew Oz was famous for the buggers, but you gotta see ‘em in real life to appreciate just how big they are.

2010 - The Year in Music

My past year in music was all about live shows.  Three festivals and a slew of gigs led to a very memorable 2010.  As a result, what follows is a bit of a departure from my usual format for the annual year in music review.  Instead of a top ten list counting down my favourite albums or singles, this is a brief run-through of my hi-lights from a very busy year in concert going.  Along the way I’ll mention some of my favourite releases from the past year. 

2010 started “down under”, as in January my buddy Gary and I headed to Melbourne for some Australian Open Tennis, some sunshine, and the odd beer.  An extra bonus turned out to be the 5^th annual Laneway Festival.  What had started as a few bands playing in the alleyways of Melbourne’s CBD (central business district) has now become a full fledged festival playing all the major cities in Australia. 

I was disappointed to learn that 2010’s headliners Echo and the Bunnymen had cancelled due to “sudden illness” (c’mon Ian, you drink a bunch of booze and you get a splitting headache – you should know that by now), but the rest of the line-up was still strong. 

It was my first chance to see The XX (whose single “Crystallized” made my list last year), and despite a pronounced lack of stage presence they played an enjoyable set. 

I had also been looking forward to seeing buzz band Mumford and Sons, but apparently so had everyone else.  The festival grounds were arranged so that each stage had a relatively small viewing area, so it wasn’t set up for every last person in attendance to try and jam into the band’s set.  I got close enough to see what I thought might have been the actual stage and heard some muffled Mumford coming through the crowd noise before I gave up and headed elsewhere.  Not to worry though, I’d see them later in the year.

It seemed that the Laneway Festival was not prepared for such a large crowd period.  They ran out of food by mid day, and with “no ins our outs” we left early.  We still managed to see some good performances by Frightened Rabbit, Hockey and Dappled Cities, but missed The Dirty Three and Daniel Johnson.

Back in Vancouver, the concert season got going in earnest when Black Rebel Motorcycle Club hit the Commodore in March.  These guys are often dismissed as nothing but Jesus and Mary Chain clones, but I love that band and they hung ‘em up long ago so if someone else is going to step in and carry the torch, more power to them!  Their 2010 release “Beat The Devil’s Tattoo” was on heavy rotation in my various music players all year long.  A very strong release and an equally satisfying show.  I even gave myself a bit of whiplash with all the head thrashing.

The May long weekend has been home to the Sasquatch Festival for a decade now, and 2010’s line-up wasn’t only the best in the festival’s history, it was one of the better line-ups I have ever seen anywhere!  I won’t bother listing the bands, but suffice to say I wanted to see almost every one, which led to many scheduling conflicts.  If you’re interested, below is a poster from the festival listing all of the acts.  Click on it to enlarge and start cursing that you weren’t there.

Sasquatch is held at The Gorge, a natural amphitheatre in a stunning setting along the Columbia River in Washington State.  There’s a main stage, two smaller side stages and a DJ tent.  This year’s headliners were My Morning Jacket, Massive Attack and Ween.  You couldn’t find three more dissimilar bands, yet all put on great shows that kept capacity crowds entertained right to the finish of each night.  My Morning Jacket played an extended set of their energy filled anthems, while Massive Attack offered precision renderings of old and new material.  (Their new album Heligoland was one of my favourite releases of 2010.)  And Ween?  Ween was just Ween.  Sloppy.  Stoned.  Awesome!

There were too many great performances to mention, including sets from Laura Marling, Mumford and Sons, New Pornographers, The Hold Steady, Band of Horses and on and on.  Two of the crowd favorites from a “get yer dance on” standpoint were Miike Snow and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes.  The bands are a contrast in styles, with Miike Snow leaning towards pop-synth while Edward Sharpe belts out hippie tinged rock, but both had massive crowds bopping from start to finish.

Many people’s choice for best performance (including mine) came from LCD Soundsystem.  Their latest release This Is Happening is undoubtedly one of my favourites from 2010.  Their live shows have become legendary, combining James Murphy’s personality and sharp lyrics with unparalleled beats.  They had the entire amphitheatre at Sasquatch dancing and screaming along as the sun set behind the stage.  Utterly brilliant.

And a shout out to Deadmou5.  I’m not an electronica dance guy (hell, I don’t even know what the current terms are for categorizing dance music), but his midnight show was a visual extravaganza.  I planned to watch for a song or two, but stayed for the whole set, mesmerized by the visuals and light show while the young kids danced their faces off.

One considerable drawback to the Sasquatch Festival is the accommodations.  Your choices are camping, camping or camping.  Even though we were in the “VIP” area, it was still over crowded, with line-ups for showers starting at 5 AM and the inevitable disgusting toilets.  I’m not sure I’d do it again without a luxury motor home.  Still, many thanks to Shannon for bringing along all of the camping gear.  Without her I may not have survived!

A striking juxtaposition to Sasquatch is the Austin City Limits festival, held annually in September in Zilker Park, Austin, Texas.  Whereas prospects for food and comfort are abysmal when the music ends at Sasquatch, ACL is in the heart of one of the great towns in the US, so the end of a day at the festival is only the beginning. 

The 2010 ACL headliners were anything but inspiring.  I suppose Muse is bearable, but the jam-band guitar wank of Phish is anything but.  And The Eagles?  Are they still alive?  Those bands couldn’t get me out of bed, let alone thousands of miles away to a festival.  Yet that’s the beauty of ACL.  The festival is full of other interesting bands to keep you occupied during the day, and when you leave the park, the city of Austin awaits with its great restaurants and bars.  Even better, many of the bands do aftershows, providing the opportunity to see them doing a longer set in a small club.

A couple of standouts from this year were Beach House and Broken Bells. I mention Beach House primarily on the strength of their 2010 release Teen Dream, a beautiful collection of atmospheric, dreamy pop.  It may very well have been my most listened to release this year.  (Either it or the new BRMC – toss up.)  Unfortunately, their live performance didn’t quite live up to the album, but hey, the lead singer is a stunning French woman, so how bad can it be?  Broken Bells, on the other hand, played a set that was at least as interesting as their strong self titled 2010 release.  The album is by the Shins' James Mercer with producer and Gnarls Barkley member Danger Mouse, and it’s a fun if not slightly melancholy pop record.  They perform live as a full band, providing for lots of opportunities to stray from the album and mix it up, which they did wonderfully at ACL.

There were a number of repeats from the Sasquatch festival at ACL, plus many other good performances from the likes of The Flaming Lips, The Soft Pack, The Black Keys, Nortec Collective, Richard Thompson, Spoon and many more.  Sonic Youth played a loud late night set at a small club, just to round out the weekend with a bold exclamation point.

The fall concert line-up in Vancouver was truly great (including a Black Angels/Black Mountain double bill), but the two shows I’ll finish with happened south of the border in Seattle.  The first was Gary Numan (yes, THAT Gary Numan) playing the entire Pleasure Principle at a small club called Neumo’s.  Now, most people only associate Gary Numan with “Cars” his electronic hit from 1980, but seeing him live shows that many of today’s artists, from Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson to Moby, owe a lot to Mr. Numan.  The man has been prolific over his 30 year career, and many artists claim to have been influenced by his heavy, synth driven style.

His Seattle show was rather appropriately on Halloween night, so an audience that would have already been a bit freaky was downright out there.  The concert was full of energy, extremely loud, and had probably the brightest light show I’ve ever seen in a club.  And because of that, I must give full kudos to Renee, who only four days earlier had undergone major invasive eye surgery, yet made the trip to see Gary all the same.  She is a huge fan and knew this was an opportunity not to be missed.  Her Halloween costume was perfect.  She dressed as a patient who had recently undergone major invasive eye surgery, complete with hospital blues and eye patch.  Probably not the most appropriate interpretation of medically ordered convalescence, but well worth it!  Right Renee?

And lastly, a New Years Eve show to remember – X at The Moore Theatre.  I am normally Scrooge on NYE, preferring the comfort of an intimate dinner party over drinking bad champagne with hordes of people who otherwise never go out.  But it took the coaxing of my buddy Dave to remind me that this was in fact X, with the original line-up, doing their 1980 album “Los Angeles” from start to finish.  So, despite the fact that I was leaving the country for six months in 4 days and hadn’t packed or cleaned, and was hosting a party in 2 days, I did what any sane person in my position would do; I hopped in Dave’s car and went to Seattle.

And so the year ended, with me in bliss singing along with John Doe and Exene Cervenka to every word of each song they played.  They may be getting older, but those guys will rock into their hundreds.  (Mind you, Exene was diagnosed this year with MS, so the days of X shows may be numbered.)  They played as hard and fast as they ever have, blistering through “Los Angeles” in about a half hour, followed by an extended set of their greatest hits.  A suitable end to an amazing year of live music…

For true X fans only, attached are two videos I took at the show.  Apologies for the poor sound and video quality, but you get a sense of just how stoked the crowd was, as was the band for that matter.  And if you listen carefully, you just may hear yours truly, as well, in utter ecstasy.

Modern Gadgetry

Traveling sure has changed since the last time I hit the road for an extended period.  Mind you, back then I was a horny teenager jumping from youth hostel to pub across Europe in search of, well, let’s just say Cathedrals weren’t at the top of my list.  Today, I’d prefer to experience a better rounded sort of trip, and take the time to remember more of what I see and do along the way.  I also want to share my travels with friends and family, so modern travel gadgets for communication are a must.

Still, my selection of travel gadgets as I hitch hiked around back in 1983 was pretty cutting edge.  I had a cassette tape Walkman with 5 tapes to choose from (and I can assure you I will never listen to any of those albums ever again), a Canon Sureshot automatic camera with 25 (that’s right, 25!) rolls of slide film, and a six month supply of AA batteries.  I was as connected as it gets, which wasn’t much at all, really.

For an example of just how rudimentary communications were back in those “dark ages”, consider what it took for a traveller to call home from Europe.  It would start with a trip to the central post office, where the only international phones outside of the major hotels could be found.  (You had better have been in a larger center as many of the small towns only provided public access to local phones.)  Once inside, the would-be caller was undoubtedly confronted by a long, painfully slow moving line.  Getting to the front wasn’t guaranteed, but it also wasn’t the end of the ordeal.  The receptionist had to take down the number and transfer it to an operator who would place the call, but only when one of a limited number of phone booths came available.  It was often an all day affair!

In my case, being connected when I called home didn’t necessarily assure that I would have the opportunity to speak to my parents.  I always called collect, and apparently calls were expensive.

How the world of communications has transformed!  I don’t consider myself an overly tech savvy individual, but check out the list of gadgets accompanying me on the 2011 version of Dave’s adventures (along with why I need each item):

·         SLR digital camera with 32 GB memory card

o       because I can’t carry 5,000 rolls of film and “point and shoot” cameras are for amateurs)

·         “point and shoot” camera

o       because I’m an amateur

·         Flip HD video camera

o       because standard video doesn’t cut it any more

·         16 GB iPod Nano

o       because I need 7000 songs to choose from

·         capsule loudspeaker

o       because the people in the next room need to hear “good” music

·         quad band Blackberry mobile phone

o       because I haven’t been to Thailand yet to buy an iPhone

·         500 GB portable hard drive

o       because I need the capacity to store an additional 50,000 songs, 2000 movies, and 100,000 photos

·         Netbook computer

o       to pull it all together and take up all of my time

For a more detailed description check out this video (shot in HD, or course):

Remarkably, all that gear takes up less space than my humble load of gadgets from back in 1983.  However, I’ve noticed it does weigh a tad more.  Or is it perhaps that I’m a tad older?