It's so good to be home

What a long two weeks it’s been.

I spent the first week in Oxford (that’d be England for those without any geographical yee-haw), catching up with long lost friends and no doubt making a tit of myself at my mate’s wedding (I mean, c’mon, who’d ever pick me as a Best Man??). Awesome fun though, met some awesome folks, and learned without doubt that I really absolutely have to buy a PS3 (thanks Chris!). Nazi Zombies rule!!

It’s always great hooking up with Rosscoe, and it was doubly great meeting the new Mrs McBride, hanging out with Mikey again after an absence of what? Something like twelve years?—and getting to know the crowd that puts up with Ross. I did spend most of my time there fighting jetlag; the days leading up to the wedding were pretty non-stop, so I didn’t really get a chance to catch my breath after landing, and this wasn’t ideal when trying to talk to strangers.

Oh, and boys, those stag night photos...... altogether way too much nudity in them—especially seeing as how there was no female stripper in sight... Naked men doing the haka. Probably shouldn't say anything more.

(photo by Chris Knight)

Anyway. Then it was off to Krefeld, Germany, for work. So I’m slowly recovering from jetlag and the craziness of a wedding, and now I find myself in the land of pork knuckles and beer. This, I tell myself, is not too bad, but I soon find the language barrier tiring after an already tiring week (no, no stinking rotten cabbage for me please, no, you don’t understand, I only want the pork - turns out though that I quite like stinking cabbage). 

I hit the shores around the time of the e-bola outbreak and was instantly told not to eat salad, which to me, meant I had to stick to pork and beer, which I was kind of happy about (boy, I’ll be hitting the gym when I get home!). Tried several local dishes, most of which were damn good, but the herringsstip was a little too special for me (slimy cold fish soaked for months in salted water, that's what it tasted like....). Still, you do have to try these things.

Found a great restaurant and discovered you're pretty much given a beer the moment you sit down, and keep being given a refill unless you put a beer coaster over your glass. Excellent. You even get kicked out if you ask for anything other than beer. And if you'd asked for beer from another region..? Well, best not to do that, either. These wacky Germans. 

So what do you do in Germany (other than eat pork and drink beer)? Well, for a geo-geek like me, you race down freeways that have no speed limits (never knew you could be made to feel like you’re standing still when going 150km/h...) and visit a huge coal mine (5km long), then play with 12 million year old wood that would burn fine on a fire today. Basically, you do lots of other work-related rock stuff. Yes, I did mention that word 'geek,' so what did you expect? I was there for work, after all. 

I was incredibly well looked after by my hosts but was looking forward to getting home again by the end of it all. I really do need to learn some more languages, especially with all the travel I do. Maybe Latin, that’s a good base language. It's really quite a challenge when you don't speak the local language. 

Never made it to Amsterdam, which was a shame as I liked the idea of getting ‘lost’ there for a night. Oh well, gives me something to aim for next time—and it’s probably safer if I do that under adult supervision... 

Despite all the wedding madness, the work madness, the pork and the beer, I did manage to finish Stephen King's The Dark Tower series. Awesome series, with Wolves of the Calla being my favourite. The final book was so terribly sad; I don't think I've hated and loved a book as much. A real heart-wrencher. And the ending..... Ah man. Shit. 

So now it's onto a collection of science fiction short stories - while I wait for my Kindle to turn up! 

The State of Spec-Fic Magazines

The death of the magazine! It’s all doom and gloom... Well, not necessarily. While print circulations for most magazines are down on previous years, readership for digital and online issues continue to increase (as too do pay rates for online magazines). Digital subscriptions for Analog in 2010 totaled 2,500; for Asimov’s it was 4,700; both figures are up from last year. What does this mean? It’s obvious; print magazines really do need to offer digital editions to survive, and maybe even flourish. Most already do.

But it’s still great to see that some spec-fic magazines have print circulations in the tens of thousands! Their figures become even more impressive when online sales are included. Hell, these are the mags to get into, although I imagine doing that will require a feat of some brilliance. Best I go put my brilliant shoes on then and get brilliant-ing.

Here are some facts for 2010 (from Locus magazine, February 2011):

• Analog – 22,791 subscribers (20,291 print) and a circulation of 29,050
• Asimov’s Science Fiction – 17,866 subscribers (13,166 print). Circulation is 24,747
• Clarkesworld (online magazine)  – readership is about 21,000 per issue (conservative figure)
• Lightspeed (online magazine) - average 20,000 readers per month
• Fantasy & Science Fiction – 10,907 subscribers. Circulation is 15,172
• Fantasy Magazine (online magazine) – average 15,000 readers per month
• Apex (online magazine)  – 95 subscribers, and ~12,000 unique visitors per month
• Realms of Fantasy – 9,000 subscribers and a total circulation of 10,600
• Cemetery Dance - ~5,000 subscribers and a print run of ~10,000
• Albedo One – 125 subscribers and a circulation of ~900
• Aurealis – 320 subscribers and a print run of 650
• Strange Horizons (online magazine) – no website figures but traffic is up from 2009
• Subterranean (online magazine) – no website figures but traffic is up from 2009
• HorrorWorld (online magazine) – (approx. 648 unique visitors per day according to MuStat.com: I added this one as I had a story published there in April 2011)

Science fiction and fantasy have the bigger audiences, which is no real surprise. But it’s good to see a number of horror outlets drawing large numbers of readers.

It’s also interesting to see how poorly Australia fares here (I’ve only included Aurealis in the above list as it has the biggest circulation of the Oz mags); are we not embracing the digital evolution strongly enough, or is there some other problem afoot in the magazine industry down under? Maybe I’m missing data that would refute what I’m saying (Eclecticism E-zine)? The quality of Aussie fiction isn’t in question. Does it come down to marketing? Maybe we’re not promoting ourselves well enough on the world stage. Is it that we don’t pay enough to attract bigger names that would, in turn, attract a wider audience? (There are no Australian magazines paying professional rates.) Or perhaps consistency, both in publishing schedules and quality per issue, has something to do with it?  

With the online world going from strength to strength, I really can’t see any reason why an Aussie online publication couldn’t get into the 10s of thousands of online readers per month. Sure, it would be a hell of a big job, but is it really impossible? I don’t think so.

I had a horrible thought the other day, one no demented look from my ever suffering shifty sideshow of a freak of a muse could tear apart, and that was I’d love to get involved in running a magazine again... I told my wife and she just walked off, shaking her head.

Fortunately though, I drowned that idea in Maker’s Mark, and that seems to have ended the nonsense...

So then, what's next..?

South Korea needs to learn how to cook their food. What's with all the raw stuff?? The fish was good - even ate something people thought might've been whale (it probably wasn't, and I hope it wasn't cos it really did taste good). But the raw crab was a bit much. You had to suck the flesh out of the shell like drinking through a straw. And the still live shell fish...... urgh. Oh, and the fermented cabbage - phew.

Glad we had rice wine to force it all down with.

All up though, it was a good adventure; saw a bit of the island, experienced the culture, and discovered the people to be rather friendly (even if I had no idea what they were going on about).

So now then, seeing as how I've forgotten this is a horror blog and have been blabbering on about my somewhat chaotic travelling of late, I might as well harp on about what's next...

Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur to be exact. On Monday. And this one is only for 4 days. That'll make my 3rd big trip is about 6 weeks... (which is silly, really). But the good thing about this trip (apart from the 5 star hotel I get put up in - jeez I'm becoming a hotel slut), is that last time I was there I discovered a cool secondhand bookstore that had a monster spec fic section, and sold their books for the equivalent of AU$1.

Awesome. So I'm packing light this time in order to fill up my suitcase.

And even better? This is my last overseas trip til August next year, and that rocks cos frankly, I'm all a bit sick of cattle class...

The Adventures of a horror writer pretending to be a scientist

It’s always an adventure when I head for the planes...

This time I find myself in South Korea for the IODP STP meeting, via a 4 hour stopover in Hong Kong, then to Seoul, and finally to Jeju, the island down the bottom of Koea where the 3-day meeting is being held (my trip to Malaysia has been postponed til Aug 31). The airport wait wasn’t too bad; I found a luxurious sofa/bed thingie shaped like giant lips and fell asleep for about an hour.

But my flight from Seoul to Jeju was cancelled. And because they couldn’t get a hold of me, I didn't find out til I was standing at the check-in counter. So I had to take a 40 minute bus ride across Seoul to Gimpo Airport to try get onto a flight there. Not good when you’re still wearing the same undies you were two days ago.....

And Seoul is a mad place; I thought it was just sky-scrapers as far as I eye could see til I realised they were high-rise apartment buildings. We were still 18km from the city. But the pollution!! At one stage, you see this massive bridge spanning a huge bay, but it fades out into smog halfway across (damnit again! I really do need to learn to take my camera everywhere). It’s 33 degrees, pretty humid, and as smoggy as hell. And again I’m so very tired...

These high-rise apartment buildings were all the same too; 15+ stories with a giant number on one side, each one like a great big letterbox number.

It’s a pity I didn’t get to see the city of Seoul itself cos it must be something - if you like that sort of thing (millions of people, traffic jams, pollution, noise...). Personally, I'm looking forward to the field trip on Sunday afternoon up the 1,950m Mt. Hallasan to see the lava tubes, but then I'm just a geek...

Still, all the aches and tiredness faded to insignificance when I reached my hotel in Jeju. I'm staying at the Hyatt Regency, and wouldn't you just know it? My room has a pretty cool ocean view. Completely unobstructed (the view below is looking away to the left).

Plus the toilet in my room has a wild looking control panel on the side of the bowl! Some of the options are: Air Drier; Front Cleansing; Rear Cleansing; Nozzle Position; Water Temperature.

I had to give these a go, no matter how tired I was.

I pressed the Rear Cleansing button... A small nozzle, about 10mm in diameter, slowly came out from the back of the toilet bowl. When it protruded about 15cm, it stopped, then sprayed a jet of water up into my face.

After drying myself off, I did what any sensible person would do and sat on the loo. I really had to give this a go.

Boy it tickled!

I'm going to try the Front Cleansing button tonight :)

Italian pizzas rule the world!

Italy was hot. I never realised how hot the crazy pasta munching place could get. The whole week I was there--except for one day--was in excess of 33 degrees C. But that aint all together bad...

So what did I think of the place?

I think I liked it. History smacks you in the face with all that you see; the food is wonderful (the pizza, damn and heck! Homer would drool for a week); the towns are chaotic and the streets madly narrow (too narrow for cars, in all seriousness, but do you think that stops them?); the wine flows like water, and the folks are direct and to the point, but forever saying prego (you're welcome).

See? That road just aint a road...

It's hard not speaking the language though. Makes ordering dinner quite a challenge and a real adventure. The number of times I sat there looking at the food, wondering what the hell I'm now supposed to eat... But you get that in foreign places.

I learned some Italian before I left home (hi, thank you, you're welcome, I'm sorry but I don't understand, I don't speak Italian, honestly I have no idea what you're talking about even if you talk slower), but everytime I tried explaining I don't understand, the strange rolling words would get tangled on my tongue, leaving me looking like a toad. My expression of complete ignorance said more than any attempted Italian ever could.

On the last night of the course, the class all went out to dinner, then to a pub hidden down one of those crazily small backroads of Urbino, the mad, labrynth walled city:

The bar was called 'The Bosom Bar' and nope, not one of 'those' places. It was just a pub, albeit one with brick alcoves and arched brick ceilings. And it was filled with people. The streets of Urbino were nearly empty but this pub was full. Obviously where everyone in town went to at night. It closed about 2am, when everyone spilled out into the tiny street, taking their drinks with them (it was then I understood why they were serving us in plastic cups). About half an hour after that, someone yelled "To the next bar!" and this motley collection of Italians and Germans, Begiums, Dutch, Columbians, Egyptians, Kiwis, Canadians, Poms, all friends and strangers alike, went as one big bunch of suddenly close people. It was mad. A drunken United Nations out on the town.

God knows how we managed to even talk to one another. So much beer and wine had flowed by then that we were all probably speaking our native tongues in perfect understanding!

I escaped at close to 3am, still having to shave, shower, and pack before my 7am taxi. Then began the homeward spiral; a taxi, a bus, two trains, another bus, a plane from Paris to Florence (and damnit if the Alps weren't covered by clouds), and one further train ride for good measure before I reached my destination in downtown Paris at around 11pm. Piece of cake eh? As my Belgium colleague was saying by the end of the course, Sweet As, Bro.

The Alps from the plane... ah, if only I'd taken my camera on the way over...

My hotel in Paris was 200m from Notre Dame, so that's where I arranged to meet Rosscoe, me ol' kiwi mate - only it turned out that the hotel was 200m from this Notre Dame:

Not this one:

Which was actually about a 10 minute taxi ride away...

Hmm... good start. But pretty much what was expected, to tell the truth :) We've been lost in NZ in the past.

Paris was a blast; that's one way cool city. Ross and I only had a day there, but from snails at midnight to gargoyles at noon, the place rocked. Oh, and the taxi ride around the Arc de Triomphe!! Fuck me. That is the most insane roundabout in the world! We'd spent the morning watching the traffic navigate the thing and worked out that traffic on the roundabout has to give way to traffic coming onto the roundabout!! Think about that for a while; it's just not going to work. The roundabout just gets busier and busier.

The taxi driver was great, although I'm sure his eyes flickered nervously when Ross asked him to take us round the Arc. But he did it, God bless him. And there were cars everywhere. Every-fucking-where. At all angles! Any space you see, you go for it, but if someone beats you, you slam on your brakes so you don't hit them. And the first chance you get to get off, oh boy do you take it!

Simple. If you're stark raving bonkers.

But now I'm home, and as cool as the trip was, and as great as it was to catch up with Ross, I'm glad to be home, although my jetlag is making me wake at odd times and fall asleep when I should really be awake. I'm supposed to be heading to Kuala Lumpur in two weeks time, then South Korea two weeks after that. And that's a problem, cos I really don't like long distance travel..... It's so nice of the airlines to give you a tour of First Class and then Business Class, before leading you into the cattle pens.

Such a long, long trip...

Well, that was a hell of a trip!

Thirty-nine hours spent on a plane, train, bus, or waiting to get onto a blasted plane, train or bus! Urgh. Hell, Australia is a long way away from here... The last leg was the worst; the 1 hour, 25 min bus ride from Pesaro to Urbino, at 6pm, 34 degrees C. Even I could smell myself by then. It was only because the bus was packed with people that anyone sat next to me, I’m sure of it (I did notice it was the last seat filled).

But I made it, and oh how I slept (so much for not packing sleep!). Same again last night; another 10 hours straight; I had 2 beers with the class after the course had finished for the day but declined the offer to head into the old Urbino town for dinner. Tonight, we’ve got dinner at the Summer School, where the course is being held (with panoramic views of the rolling hills – what an awesome place to go to uni), but otherwise we’ll be heading into the old walled township every night so there is ample time to check out this medieval place. And I’m looking forward to it.

But it wasn’t going to happen last night. Jet-lag and the beers had conspired against me by then. The idea of a 20 minute hilly walk—“it’s about 20 minutes,” they say—was so beyond me I doubt I’d gone even if they’d promised I’d see Kate Beckinsale clad in leather fighting werewolves up behind that mysterious giant stone wall.

Actually, that might’ve gotten me moving...

There was one cool thing about all the travel (besides me now being in Italy!), and that was the flight between Paris and Florence. We passed over the Alps, a truly spectacular mountain range; massive craggy peaks, some crested in snow, with great rivers scything their way through the ranges and glaciers rolling their ominous way down towards the towns cradled within the valleys. The peaks faded into the distance, first losing their details to a fine blue mist, then becoming indistinguishable from the surrounding clouds. I really have to take my camera in my onboard luggage on the way back, cos this is a sight that needs to be taken. It was breathtaking. I’m flying to Paris in the afternoon on my way back though, so the lighting may be completely different and the magic might not be visible, but we’ll see.

Italy, here I come!

All right then. It's off to Italy tomorrow, via 3 planes (24 hours travel time), 2 trains (3 hours) and one bus (1 hour)... Boy, it'll be an aventure just to get there!

I'm heading to Urbino, halfway up the calf of the big boot that is Italy. There's a week long Advanced Workshop on Dinoflagellate Cysts (work stuff) being held there, and I'm still wondering how I managed to talk my bosses into agreeing for me to go.

On the way home I'm spending 24 hours in Paris and get to catch up with me ol' kiwi buddy Rosscoe, who is now living in Oxford. Two lads from Hawkes Bay having a wine under the Eiffel Tower... how cool :)

Ross and I once got lost in NZ on our month long tour of the North Island; we couldn't find the ocean at one stage. So I'm a little concerned over our up-coming efforts in Paris. I can see us wandering the backstreets looking for this pointy thing that pokes up into the sky.... Our hotel is 200m from St Michel/Notre Dame, so at the very least, I should manage a cliche picture of me looking longingly at the gargoyes: 'Why was I not made of stone... like thee?'

Such a powerful and heartfelt line, that. Damn good movie, too.

So many sights to see over the next 9 days. I've decided not to pack sleep and will catch up on that when I get back. It's just a pity I don't have time to fit in a ghost tour, as I like doing when I go overseas (I'm heading to South Korea next month for more work, so I'll have to do so then). Still, I do plan on visiting the Catacombs of Paris (Catacombes de Paris - I'm practicing my French), and that should satisfy my macabre needs... maybe I'll stop in on Jimmy Morrison too, say G'day.

Oh, and some great news to head off on; my short story Black Peter has been accepted for publication in Tasmaniac Publications's Festive Fear anthology! Woohoo! A lot of secret thanks to make here (whisper-whisper, you know who you are...), plus some cudos to the boys and girls of the AHWA Crit group. Bring on December the 1st!

I've only subbed two short stories this year because I've been working hard on my novel. Thus far, I've had one acceptance, and my other story is still warming the slush pile. So at the worst, it'll be a 50-50 year.

I'll see if I can dust off the, er, dust, from this here blog and post something from the land of Pizza and Mafia...

Hawaiian Ghosts

So I'm off to Hawaii in March for a 4 day meeting. Kind of a cool place to hold a meeting, I reckon. It's for a new role I've taken on at work, meaning I have to attend 2 international meetings a year.

That aint so bad either.

So Hawaii. Aloha. Pipeline. Lava. Scantly clad women. Baywatch beaches. Dave Hasselhoff in speedos.

I'm looking forward to it. My first night there I'm off on a ghost tour of the island of O'ahu. Cool bananas! Get to hear some local tales of the supernatural, visit haunted locations, old graveyards. Should be a hoot.

Then on my last day, I've got a flight to the Big Island (Hawai'i) where I'll spend the day on a volcanic tour. Hopefully I get to poke flowing lava. Cool--perhaps slightly toasted--bananas!!

This year is shaping up to be an interesting one. It seems my passport will be getting an excessive workout with several O/S trips coming up for work. Still, the old dark fellow is pretty excited by it all. Old Darkling Muse, he's been a bit starved of late, but now the novel is done and off to editors and publishers, it's time to flex his wrists and bring him back to some semblance of life.

More Malaysian encounters...

So they trundled me off to the airport again, sat me on a plane and told me to be ready for another adventure...

This time to Kuala Lumpur, where I was to spend a week working in the Ulu Langat core warehouse, just on the outskirts of KL itself. Another dodgy taxi ride each day to and from work, up over the mountains. That was actually pretty cool; I was expecting--and hoping--to see monkeys scampering amongst the trees and swinging on vines, with the city as an interesting backdrop, but no, that didn't happen. I did see an awful lot of rain though. Sheer, unrelenting rain.

Put your head in the kitchen sink and turn the tap on full. That's what it was like. Make sure the water is warm, too. How these mad taxi drivers manage to see where they're going, I've got no idea. All the motorcyclists congregate under bridges or wherever they can find shelter during these downpours and hope for the rain to stop (good luck to them). Meanwhile, my taxi zipped by, the driver chattering away and me, confused and trying not to look out the window, forcing myself not to clench the seat or fret over the fact that the seat belt didn't work....

And humidity... urgh. I'm hoping I can set up a project to do research in Antarctica next time. I've had enough of the tropics.

I came home a few inches shorter, which is a problem because I really can't afford to spare any inches. But it was so, so humid that every time I stepped outside I just started melting. Me dribbled off me in torrents. I just didn't have enough undies to cope.

And the hotel? Oh boy, what a luxury resort that was..... Next time (if there has to be a next time) I think I'll take my tent and pitch it in the jungle. I'd certainly prefer that over a 3-star hotel that is just pretending and is really only a half star - perhaps a black hole is more accurate, judging by the number of room service meals that went missing.

(to tell the truth, I enjoyed the jungles of PNG much more than the human wilds of KL)

One good thing on this adventure was the discovery of a second hand bookshop directly across the road from my hotel. Joy! And the best thing? There was a huge sci-fi/horror/fantasy section!!!! Happy-happy-joy-joy. Books for 5 ringits, roughly $1.70 Australian.

Yes, I did fill up my suitcase at the expense of clothes. Who needs clothes anyway? Tarzan seemed to get by pretty well without them. Okay, sure, I'm a bit more rounded than he is, and a little whiter, but that's just more reason why I should strip down and go live in a tent in the tropical jungles.

I could take my suitcase full of books...

Lost in Translation

Well, I'm in Miri, in a hotel room listening the the near-monsoonal rain...

More fieldwork, more travel, more time away from my family (and house!), which I'm not too fond about, but hey, at least I'm getting paid to see another country.

This place is wild; the taxi drivers become your best friend--especially when they find out you will be needing a taxi to and from work every day for 10 days!--but I'm pretty sure they were all formula one drivers in their previous lives. Hell, we've topped 140km/h so many times that it's no longer exhilerating. And those road markings? Those lines indicating the lanes? Nah, that's just grafitti; you don't have to pay attention to those... And how much space do you really need when you're overtaking? So long as you don't hit another car, a few centimeters will do it, right? A miss is a miss; it's like winning by 20 points or winning by 1. Either way, you still win.

And it's muggy, so humid that I'm rapidly running out of undies.

Was sitting in the hotel bar just after dinner (now there was a feed!! Aint gonna need to eat for a good 3 or 4 days now), reading one of the local papers, and I came across a couple of things that caught my attention....

The Malaysian government was 'deeply troubled by the growth of "irresponsible" alternative media.' For examples, blogs :) The govt will be taking legal action against bloggers who flagrantly belittle Islam or the Yang de-Pertuan Agong. They want to see blogs used as a means of obtaining accurate information, a reference point for honest opinions. Crap, that's me out.

There are no laws to restrict the number of passengers in private vehicles here in Malaysia. Apparently, it's not easy to limit the number of passengers, although one new proposal is for those sitting in the back to have to wear seatbelts......... Go figure.

For a mere RM17 (about $7 or $8 Aussie dollars), you can buy a 'bona fide' medical chit (a doctor's certificate), complete with a stamp from a government hospital. The undated stamps carry all different doctors' names. The chits comes from an unknown syndicate that has been running for about 6 months, but you have to be in the know to get one.

Machines (eg, the washing machine) were causing women to become obese, especially once they passed 40 (the women, that is, not the machines)...

And on the topic of women, apparently more of them are becoming involved in dadah trafficking. Nope, dadah nothing like doodoo; it's actually a heck of a lot more serious. Had to look it up after reading that article.

In Rantau Panjang, the State Anti-Smuggling Unit foiled an attempt to smuggle 90 sacks of cockle spat into Thailand. The monetary value of these sacks was RM72,000 (about $24,000 Aussie dollars). What the heck's 'cockle spat?' I know what a cockle is, and it's pretty tasty, but a cockle spat sure doesn't sound appealing...

About this stage through the paper, I was feeling kinda ignorant, so I went and got me another beer. That always helps to understand things a little better, I've found. Hopefully, the Tiger beer would go well with the Long Island Ice Tea I'd had at dinner.

So thus freshly whetted, I continued...

Next article: Immigration in a spot over two 'princesses.' Seems two young ladies, claiming to be princesses from the ancient Sunda empire, were detained at the 'buffer zone' between Malaysia and Brunei. They were carrying passports issued by the Sunda Democratic Empire, but unfortunately for them, Sunda isn't recognised by Malaysia. Immigration has no idea of the young ladies' status, and were even confused over how to go about deporting them, as they were found in this buffer zone. The poor lasses; last heard, they were still being detained, 14 days later...

The last article I read was by journalist Rehman Rashid, who said he was given some transformative advice when he started out in the business 25 years ago, advice that could be summed up 'in a single earthly colloquialism: Lu siapa?'

Rashid goes on to say; "Get out of the office, out of the house, out of the comfort zone and out to where real people lived real lives in the real world. Get them talking and listen to them, taking notes."

Seems like pretty good advice.

From the deep dark jungles...

I'm 3 belt holes slimmer after my 2 weeks in the jungles of PNG. I'm covered in cuts and bruises, stings and bites, but it was one heck of a rollicking adventure!!

And sheer bloody exhausting, too...

Breakfast was at 5am, then we finalised the plans for that day. For me, this meant confirming the region I'd be looking at, working out where to get dropped off by helicopter and where to be picked up and when (the latter done in case the signal from the walkies wouldn't make it to Dispatch back at camp).

Once the sun came up, we were off - we included myself and my two PNG locals, whose job it was to prevent me from falling down a ravine or off a cliff, stop me from getting lost or from stepping on Death Adders or bumbling into ants nest, warn me away from salaut (a nasty stinging tree that hurts like hell) - basically, try to keep me alive until the chopper came to take us back to camp.

Camp itself was situated about 50m above the Hegigio River, deep in the Southern Highlands Province of PNG.

Our camp in the Southern Highlands Province (taken from the chopper).

One of the spectacular views from the camp.

There were 101km of jungle to cover geologically, but we were only making on average about 3km a day because the landscape was so tough. If we weren't trudging through ankle deep mud that seemed intent on sucking you down, we were climbing up limestone cliffs or tumbling down steep descents.

My camera kept fogging up with the humidity, my clothes were soaking wet, I was covered in mud and hurting from all the things that had bitten or stung me, my muscles were aching and my head pounding, but for some inane reason, I was loving every second of it, even as much as I hated it!

It was a real adventure.

Our path through the jungle was barely a path; the company I was conducting the work for uses minimal bridging, that is, they do as little as possible to impact upon the environment. So there might've been a hand rail leading down a 60 degree slope, a mad looking ladder going up a cliff, or a tree slung over a river for you to balance your way across.

Some fairly decent bridging, actually...

Sometimes, there was no path at all, and we had to use machetes to cut our way through the jungle. My two guides were brilliant at preventing us from getting lost and for repeating all day long for two weeks, 'you don't touch this or tomorrow you won't work,' 'you don't touch that or tonight you won't sleep,' 'You must come this way,' 'don't go that way...'

This ladder continued up the face of a cliff for close to 100m.

At one stage, we rounded a corner and came across a huge python(?) lying on the path! We had to walk past it, which we did so slowly. Fortunately, it had no interest in us other than to keep an eye on what we were up to. We also encountered two Death Adders (one of which we nearly stood on) plus a small ground snake of some kind. There were tree kangaroos up in the canopy (which itself was about 50m high), cassowary, wild pigs (which tasted pretty darn good), and butterflies (or moths? Hercules moth, I think) about the size of backpacks!!!!! I kid you not... That's a ridiculous size for a moth to grow.

There were also hornbills flying from tree to tree, making an odd wooshing sound with their wings as they flew overhead, a cave filled with thousands of bats that came roaring out (just like you see in the movies!) when we disturbed them. Rivers disappeared into the ground, raging waterfalls came out of cliff faces - the limestone terrain was pitted and ravaged; caves and ravines were as numerous as the trees.

The snake in our path...

The cave of bats...

And then, after reaching our destination each day, we (or me, really; my two helpers were of an entirely differenlt level of fitness to me) collapsed on the helipad and tried to call up base to organise a lift home. The chopper was Bravo-Charlie. We were Geo-crew. Helipads were labelled with a number followed by a letter, and call signs went accordingly; alpha, bravo, charlie, delta, echo, foxtrox etc...

But of course, I kept forgetting, so my call signs went more like; apple, bat, carrot, dinosaur...

And then we waited for the chopper. What a joyous sound that beast was when your ears finally picked up the rotors. The heavy clouds would begin to roll in after lunch, so if visibility grew too bad, we'd have to camp out in the jungle overnight and then get a lift out the next day. I was hoping this would happen so I could experience a night in the wild, but honestly, after hiking across the terrain we'd been hiking across for the past 6 or 7 hours, all I really wanted to do was get back to base camp, take off my shoes and socks and clothes, stumble into a cold shower and then fall into bed...

One of the helipads, perched atop a rise in a small clearing...

And thus did I spend the next 11 days, reaching levels of exhaustion that I never knew possible...

Another of those wild views you get from the jungle...

But just when the end was in sight, all hell broke loose... A man, loaded up on drugs, went crazy with his machete and started destroying some of the company's property at another base about 15km away due east. He seriously wounded a couple of people when they tried to stop him, too. The police finally managed to get him under control and threw him in the slammer (there was a small police station at the second camp).

But the man then hung himself.

His clan believed the police had beat him to death, so they went on the rampage. Subsequently, all activities at that camp and at our camp were shut down, especially after the clan started firing automatic weapons at the cop shop, then disappearing into the jungle!!

The army was called in, and we had 17 heavily armed special forces men move into our camp, bringing a whole hoard of weapons with them. The clan were making threats to kidnap an expat, had blocked the only road into/out from the second camp.

I was due to fly home on Thursday 5th April; there was a meeting between the company I was working with, the police and the clan on the Wednesday before to try to sort out the issue (the clan were seeking compensation from the company I was working for, believing that the police were only there because the company was there, ergo it was all the company's fault).

At one stage, the clan sent away all their women and children (an ominous sign).

The plane from Cairns to the second camp was due in that afternoon, but if the problem got any worse, or if the pilot wasn't comfortable landing there, then that was it; I wouldn't be flying out on Thursday and would have to spend Easter over there under seige... But that never happened.

The plane landed, I got a helicopter ride down to the second camp on Wednesday afternoon, and flew out of the country on Thursday.

One of the last things the camp boss at the camp I had been staying at told me was that he had been asked if he had enough provisions should they be locked down for weeks... I hope the situation never grew any worse - there were a number of people hoping to get home within the next day or so.....

Anyway, that was my PNG adventure - rough, harsh, exhausting, exhilerating, mind-blowing and frightening.

Would I ever want to go back?

Hell yeah.

...going jungle for 2 weeks seems to make you quite hairy, for some reason...