Turning into my Mother

We all do it. We hear our mothers whining that they're turning into their mothers, and the fact is we're destined for exactly the same fate.

Every single morning...

This morning I decided that cleaning a backpackers' hostel is no longer good for the soul. For almost a month I've been without a companion to help me - instead of a fun and practical way to start the day it's been a solitary slog from kitchen to bathroom to kitchen to bathroom (in total there are 6 kitchens and 10 bathrooms), picking up strangers' pubes from toilet seats and hefting industrial vacuum cleaners up and down the stairs.

Yesterday I came to the very last kitchen only to be confronted with a pile of breakfast dishes that some lazy sods had decided to just dump on the draining board, right next to the clearly written and laminated sign instructing them to avoid doing exactly that.

"Please take other guests into consideration and wash, dry and put away all the items you use in the kitchen."

I finished my morning chores suppressing a curse and returning to the tranquil, unaffected state that I've learned to live in through meditation.

...every single morning...

When, however, I this morning went to back to the kitchen and found the same pile of used dishes, I exploded. "WHOSE ARE THESE?" I belowed across the hallway to the nearby dormitories. One poor girl was caught in the stream of my wrath: "Um, I think everybody's just been leaving them".
"WELL I'VE HAD IT! EVERY BLOODY MORNING, I'M NOT DOING IT ANY MORE - YOU CAN DAMN WELL CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES!". I stormed down the stairs with a sweep and a stomp.

I spent much of the rest of the morning muttering to myself, things like "look at the state of this bath tub, this was spotless yesterday, how on earth have they got it like this?", and "Oh for goodness sake, surely they could have put their own curry boxes in the bin, not left them on the floor".

And that was when I heard it: 'when will you children learn to clear up after yourselves? I'm fed up of tidying up after you all the time. And you're just as bad - what's this? Why are these here? Put it away!'. It had happened. Without even procreating, I had become my poor mother exasperated with her inconsiderate family.

Can you enter 'big kids'?

Run away!

Once the cleaning was finished I took my laptop to the library and booked a flight to Sydney. I will carry on working here but only until Saturday - then I'm packing my bags and heading back to the big city. I've made appointments to view some lovely apartments near the harbour (and, more importantly, near ALDI), and will resume my job hunting in person there. I'm sorry to break my contract with the hostel but I think they've had the benefit of me!

Appropriate or Not?

Today I have compiled a list of appropriate and inappropriate things from my tiny world in Australia.

Inappropriate

Fire Exit

Since moving into this hostel, I've been plagued by the emergency exit sign in my bedroom. Harmless by day, this wired-in non-switch-off-able menace emits a bright green glow that fills every corner of the room with its erie luminations in an effort to prevent any kind of meaninful sleep. My requests to disable it fell on deaf ears: "we legally have to keep it switched on for health and safety".

The best part? It points at a wooden door that's bolted on both sides. A great bet for escaping in the event of fire. Much better than the double patio doors that lead directly outside, just on the other side of the room.


Targeted Advertising

I've been using a popular calorie-counting website to keep track of what I've been eating during my weight loss plan. Of course the website relies on selling advertising space. So what would be an appropriate targeted advert to see on this site, frequented by people trying to lose weight by only eating strictly healthy foods? Perhaps some health-related companies, body-building sites or links to exercise DVDs?

No, this is what I saw when I logged in:

Quality Street and Coca Cola. Just what I want to see.

Appropriate

Remember the Thyme

Yesterday I decided to make a potato, brie and thyme pizza according to this recipe: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/260616/potato-brie-and-thyme-pizza
I went to the local supermarket to pick up the ingredients and, after having walked up and down each aisle, thought to myself, 'I'm sure there's something I've forgotten'.

I went to queue at the tills. As I stood waiting I noticed the music being played over the the supermarket's sound system: Michael Jackson's 'Remember the Time'. I dashed back to the herb section...

That concludes today's list of appropriate and inappropriate things.

What exactly is 'Balancing Shampoo'?

I've been told off for not posting. So I'm posting. Enjoy!

Where the hell have I been?

I've been in Australia for 8 weeks now, most of it fairly uneventful. I went on a bush walk around Mount Sabine, swam in the ocean and spent a lot of time on the beach. I joined a local yoga group, started a new weightloss plan and did a lot of experimental cooking. I made new friends too - mostly backpackers and students passing through, some staying for a while and some staying in touch after they left. And I've done lots and LOTS of cleaning. Some might say a little too much.

A hearty meal with my fellow hostel cleaners Jen, Birte and Marie

What's next?

Although I'm not spending much money here, I really should be looking to earn some. I considered working on a farm, taking on the 'seasonal work' traditional to backpackers across the world. Tales of sharing a caravan with seven other workers and having to strap your valuables to your body at night to avoid theft really made the idea sound tempting. Even more so the idea of doing eight hours a day back-breaking work for fairly pitiful wages, and only having access to whatever food the employers provide. And if that weren't enough, how about the job openings for 'open-minded females' in the outback?

Despite that gloriously tempting offer, I thought I'd investigate whether Australia would actually like me to stay on under my own terms. It turns out, it would! I can apply for my old 'normal' job here and, all going well, can be sponsored for a permanent workers' visa. Hooray for careers.

So that's where I am now: two interviews done, both for jobs in Sydney, just waiting for their feedback. I've shortlisted five rooms-to-rent on Gumtree and am waiting for that positive contract offer before I start calling the advertisers!

What has any of that got to do with shampoo?

Not a lot. But this gives me the giggles:

Stepping into the shower of a morning...

...and picking up the bottle of Balancing Shampoo.

Life as a Buddhist Monk

OK, I'm not technically Buddhist. Or a monk. In fact I probably wouldn't get the job if I applied for it. But I have this week moved to another part of Australia and found myself in quite a different situation.

A few steps outside the door...

For one thing, I'm staying here. And I mean staying for about three months. Which sounds unbelievable - I've been known to get bored with a place before arriving at it - but actually there's something very calming about taking a break from travelling and settling into some sort of routine for a while. So here it is:

AM

06:00 - wake up, get up and pull on some trousers

06:15 - march down to the beach for a spot of jogging and stretches (okay so I haven't done this yet but there's clear intention!)

07:30 - breakfast at home, check emails

09:30 - start work (as a cleaner)

11:30 - finish work, have a shower and change into clean clothes

12:15 - cook a proper (vegetarian) lunch, wash up

Today's baking effort: egg custard tart

PM

13:00 - get the paints out OR
          - head to the beach for some swimming / surfing OR
          - take a hike around one of the natural beauty spots in the area OR
          - sneak off somewhere quiet and meditate

18:30 - prepare some (vegetarian) supper

19:30 - contemplate, jot in my diary or write a little update on here

21:00 - watch a film in bed, fall asleep (not necessarily chronologically)

It's certainly a departure from life in the campervan... and is it very different from the lifestyle of a Buddhist monk? I live in a hostel and share a room with a fellow backpacker. The accommodation is provided in return for cleaning work - the proprieter doesn't pay me and I don't pay him. The majority of the day is set aside for peaceful persuits in a beautiful setting, and do you know what? I really enjoy the meditation as a way to calm the world down - if you haven't already, try it and see!

Is the secret in the diet?

There's a long-standing theory in my family that one's mood is directly related to the food one consumes. In other words, a healthy well-balanced diet will lead to a happy, intelligent and reasonable person in a jolly old mood.

So is that were the Belgians went wrong?

It's not long since I got back from Japan, where I felt that I was surrounded by the most polite, curious, hard-working and considerate people at all times. And of course the Japanese diet is widely considered to be the most healthy in the world with its fish, tofu, rice and often nine portions of fruit and vegetables per day.

So how can the poor Belgians possibly be expected to keep up on their waffles, chocolate, chips and beer? The poor devils have no choice but to be ignorant, selfish, beaurocratic and unhelpful. They just have to scowl and bear it.

A Belgian diet?

Hints at Groezrock


Some of this culture had managed to leak into the weekend's festival, although of course it was impossible to realise it at the time - my natural assumption was that these things were symptomatic of a less-than-perfect festival organiser:

1. Signposting. On arrival, we approached the gate only to be told that we would first need to exchange our tickets for wristbands at a different location. Where was this location? Back where we had come from, at a small unmarked kiosk. Everybody at the entire festival must have followed our same exact steps. And at the unmarked kiosk, oh no, no, you're too early for the festival wristband. You'll have to take a camping wristband but retain your secondary ticket and come back in the morning.

2. Queuing - you had to queue for the cash machine, then queue to purchase drinks vouchers, then queue separately for food vouchers. Only then could you join the queue for food or drink.

3. Just 'avin' a larf - on the first day, I approached a food counter, waved my vouchers and stared at the staff on the other side for a full 8 minutes before they confessed they weren't open. And later I approached a food counter with no queue, under a sign with a picture of felafels and asked for, uh, felafels. The woman told me I had to join the half-hour queue next door and buy them from her colleague. While she stood there failing to sell any paninis.

In Brussels


Brussels seemed like a nice city, with an Art Mountain a pretty square lined with traditional buildings. We had a beer in a cafe that employed a freakishly talented waiter, able to mentally record and relay 20+ food and drink orders with perfect accuracy.

After I said goodbye to my companions, I marched off in search of a youth hostel. My plans were 1. Stumble across one (there were plenty of hotels so why not?), 2. Find a tourist information spot or similar and ask for directions, 3. Charge my phone somewhere and look them up.

Well plan 1 wasn't going so well - I marched up and down a number of streets with my rucksack and started to tire of it. Equally there had been no luck finding tourist info so I moved quickly onto Plan 3.

Walking through the gay hub, an exuberant young man tried to call me into a dingy corner bar. I stopped and peered insight for electrical sockets. The man asked if I'd like a drink and I replied "I'd love one, if I can plug my mobile phone in!". The man, named Kim, passed my request on to the surly landlady who simply shook her head without looking up from the beer glass she was polishing. I sighed and explained my quest. Kim immediately lit up and told me he knew of a great Auberge round the corner and that he would walk me there.

We chatted as we walked and Kim was immediately apologetic about "his people". He had a strong belief that his countrymen were cold and without humour, and confided that he was desperate to escape to Barcelona. I was incredibly grateful for his kindness in taking me to the hostel and tried to buy him a drink but he was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

That evening I walked into the city centre and took some photographs. I seemed to be surrounded by grumpy faces and stubborn elbows, and had to push my way through a crowd of people who took no notice of me "excuse-moi"-ing my way through. I found a supermarket with the longest queues I've ever seen - in fact before long I'd learned that the technique was to enter the store and join the queue immediately. This way you could pick up items for your basket as you followed the line up and down aisles. Certainly no-one would allow you to browse the items alongside their bit of the queue. I witnessed several people, mostly mothers with buggies, smuggling items out rather than queuing to pay... and many, many more just leaving with nothing, choosing their freedom over nutrition.

In Bruges


I resolved to move on the next day. Capital cities are often unrepresentative and anyway, Colin Farrel had filmed an amusing film in this medieval city near the coast. So I packed my rucksack and caught a train.
On arrival in Bruges I was once again baffled by the system. The train station is out of town so buses run to the centre. But there were queues, ticket machines, bus stops and LCD screens, none of which seemed to relate to one another. Eventually I just pushed my way onto a bus, a technique employed by the locals. It worked.

A pretty van selling waffles in Bruges

At the hostel I was cut off halfway through saying "I have a reservation -" by the emotionless request "passport". This turned out to be fairly typical customer service. When I asked for a launderette I was told "over the bridge", a direction so vague in a city with at least 9 bridges that it took me an hour to travel the 1.5 miles to it. On arrival, I discovered a machine that exchanged €1 coins for tokens. I abandoned my laundry and bustled into a nearby bar who explained curtly that I would have to buy something to get change, so I swallowed an overpriced orange juice. I poured my money into the machine and got the tokens but guess what? No laundry detergent. None in the machines, none for sale, none without walking 2 miles to the supermarket and buying a whole box. My clothes had to rely on whatever suds had stuck in the machine's tray.

The final straw


Two days later I packed up again to move to the Netherlands. I queued up to buy a ticket at the train station but the man in front of me was clearly having some sort of trouble, so I approached the counter next door when it became available. "Oh no, no, that's an international ticket - you have to see my colleague next door". While he sat back in his swing chair, his fingers interlaced across his ample chocolate-and-beer-filled belly, watching the clock tick.

Perhaps it really is the perfect base for the EU.

Tokyo Encapsulated

There's one facility unique to Japan that I've wanted to experience ever since seeing a television news item as a teenager: Capsule Hotels.

The capsule hotel concept was created as a solution for businessmen who were working late in the office or, ahem, 'working late' in the city bars, and had missed their last train home. The theory was that they could check in to a facility whereby they had a safe and warm place to sleep, the ability to clean their clothes and wash themselves, and could head back out to work bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the next morning.

As a result, many are only available to men. I had to go out of my way to find one with a women's floor in Asakusa.

My Experience

This was a lesson in efficiency. Rather than the small, separate bathrooms provided in a conventional hotel, one female bathroom on the 4th floor (accessed by a door code) housed 8 showering stations and one huge hot bath, all available for use as late as 3am. Nudity was compulsary in the bath, as is standard in Japanese 'onsen'.

My sleeping capsule was on the 6th floor and was one of many along the bottom row - I lost count of just how many were in this 'room' but mine was number 32. There were short wall ladders to enable customers to reach the higher row.

Each of the hatches is another sleeping capsule

On opening the hatch, I found that my capsule was roughly the length and width of a standard single bed, with enough height to sit up headache-free. Neatly piled at one end were two towels, a dressing gown, a pillow and a thin duvet. A bed roll was already laid out for sleeping on. There was also a small coin-operated TV, an electric socket and a narrow locker for which I wore a key on my wrist (there is no lock on the capsule's hatch).

My private space

Outside in the corridor were coin-operated laundry machines and vending machines for drinks/snacks and toiletries. Even the rooms themselves were paid for my vending machine - press 'male' or 'female', pay the ¥2,200 (about £19) and receive a ticket for checking in.

There were no windows visible from any part of the hotel that I visited. Despite rows of vents on the walls, the sleeping area was painfully hot so I spent much of the night kicking off the covers and rolling around looking for a non-existant cool spot.

So really there was nothing lacking except soul. It's roughly the same price as a youth hostel but with none of the opportunities for meeting people or making yourself at home. In short, use these as they were intended: as an emergency place to sleep.