Hola hombres!
Well its time- time to do my washing. I haven't done it in about a week and my room smells, very vaguely, of indian spice mix (its possibly the open packet of buhja mix on my desk).
In other news, it's also time to dust off my travelling pants, not the Sisterhood kind, the holey, old, sweatpants from 5th form kind. Next Friday, myself and the Lads (Jase, Paulie, Brad and Sudeep) plus one lovely lady (Siobahn- pronounced shiv-orn or syo-barn, if you're a dick and like to annoy people by making fun of their name. I do.), are off to FIJI BABY!
"Don't you have a job Ainsley?" I can hear yourself asking. Well, yes. But also, why have a job if you aren't going to spend everything you earn and go into debt while having a nice holiday? If you take anything away from this post, I hope you mull over this point for a while.
Anyway, Fiji. I have allocated myself itinerary director, a poor decision on my part, as I am both incredibly unorganised, and have very bad eyesight, which is proving to make looking for deals on the Internet quite taxing. I have however put together a lovely plan- drinking, eating, swimming, beaching, sailing, snorkeling, possibly diving with a cage full of sharks (or maybe I'm the one in the cage?) being a few of the activities.
I hope there will be some humorous tales to come from this adventure, I will also be venturing back to Auz in approx 6 weeks time for one week, so stay tuned for tales of beaches and babes!
Besos!
Ainsley xox
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Living the dream in Braaaaazil
Well I will tell you this, right now I am confined to my room, as the cleaning ladies are here and I feel too awkward to go outside and socialise with them while they clean up our substantial mess. Especially because yesterday they found my "hidden" stash of stolen teabags from the hotel buffet. And my mini bread rolls. Saddo.
So I find myself having a wee bit of spare time on my hands, and figure it would be a good time to write down some of the Brazil trip experiences.
It started off with a lovely walk down the giant hill to the bus stop with my 1000kg bag on my back. I legged it into town and got into a cab with a fantastic cab driver, we had a wee chat about the merits of Brazil, its hot, it’s not Chile, that sort of thing. We even shared a sort of joke, although im not really sure what we were laughing about, on account of a fact that I didn’t actually understand what he said. However, I managed to bluff my way through and we got to the airport. After a total joke of a flight to Santiago (less than a hour), I chose the taxi driver who looked least like he wanted to kill me and steal my things (oh the dangers of the big city), and headed off to meet Paul. We reached the hotel, a little place located down rapist alley, and I made my way inside. After some over excited hellos, we me delighted to hear not only a New Zealand accent, but a Waikato one at that, Paul and I decided to head off in search of some beer and food. The first three bars we went past were packed to the gills with men. We found one that looked like a possible hit and went in. Less than a second after our arrival, some bloke with a few too many piscos in him jumped up and enthusiastically kicked over a couple of chairs swearing and shouting in Espanol. Although we weren’t sure that we were the reason for this crazed outburst, we decided it was safer to leave the wee man to it and search for our goods else where.
After about 2 hours of sleep, we got up at 3.30am and headed off to the airport. After check in, we decided to get a feed for our troubles, and made tracks to the steak house. I’ve always been under the impression that theres never too early a time for a hamburger, but apparently 4am in the morning is going too far, even for this seasoned junk food eater.
After touchdown in Sao Paulo we had 3 hours to kill, so we loitered around the Mcflurry section of McDonalds a good while. We then went to find our boarding room, where we spent another good few hours. The highlight of this time was 3 old SAm men, one of which being slightly more than rotund, sporting a cowboy hat and a boy scouts scarf. It was he who bust out at the eleventh hour a wee harmonica, and proceeded to play a jaunty tune that had Paulie and I in hysterics, and also lifted our waning spirits. After this event came “the great exodus”, as it seems that our entire plane had been seated in the the wrong boarding lounge. A right debacle took place not long after, as the whole plane load of passengers lifted their weary bums and descended to the correct boarding room. We were then crammed onto a bus, packed in like battery hens, cheek to cheek with the person next to you (in my case it was some woman’s face cheek next to my arse cheek), and once we were off loaded onto the plane we were on our way to Florianopolis. I burst an eardrum on the decent into Flopa, which wasn’t ideal, and also made me feel like an old person “What? You’ve got to speak into my good ear”. Hopefully the damage is not permanent, I guess only time and the number of people who have to repeat what they say to me will be able to tell me that.
So I find myself having a wee bit of spare time on my hands, and figure it would be a good time to write down some of the Brazil trip experiences.
It started off with a lovely walk down the giant hill to the bus stop with my 1000kg bag on my back. I legged it into town and got into a cab with a fantastic cab driver, we had a wee chat about the merits of Brazil, its hot, it’s not Chile, that sort of thing. We even shared a sort of joke, although im not really sure what we were laughing about, on account of a fact that I didn’t actually understand what he said. However, I managed to bluff my way through and we got to the airport. After a total joke of a flight to Santiago (less than a hour), I chose the taxi driver who looked least like he wanted to kill me and steal my things (oh the dangers of the big city), and headed off to meet Paul. We reached the hotel, a little place located down rapist alley, and I made my way inside. After some over excited hellos, we me delighted to hear not only a New Zealand accent, but a Waikato one at that, Paul and I decided to head off in search of some beer and food. The first three bars we went past were packed to the gills with men. We found one that looked like a possible hit and went in. Less than a second after our arrival, some bloke with a few too many piscos in him jumped up and enthusiastically kicked over a couple of chairs swearing and shouting in Espanol. Although we weren’t sure that we were the reason for this crazed outburst, we decided it was safer to leave the wee man to it and search for our goods else where.
After about 2 hours of sleep, we got up at 3.30am and headed off to the airport. After check in, we decided to get a feed for our troubles, and made tracks to the steak house. I’ve always been under the impression that theres never too early a time for a hamburger, but apparently 4am in the morning is going too far, even for this seasoned junk food eater.
After touchdown in Sao Paulo we had 3 hours to kill, so we loitered around the Mcflurry section of McDonalds a good while. We then went to find our boarding room, where we spent another good few hours. The highlight of this time was 3 old SAm men, one of which being slightly more than rotund, sporting a cowboy hat and a boy scouts scarf. It was he who bust out at the eleventh hour a wee harmonica, and proceeded to play a jaunty tune that had Paulie and I in hysterics, and also lifted our waning spirits. After this event came “the great exodus”, as it seems that our entire plane had been seated in the the wrong boarding lounge. A right debacle took place not long after, as the whole plane load of passengers lifted their weary bums and descended to the correct boarding room. We were then crammed onto a bus, packed in like battery hens, cheek to cheek with the person next to you (in my case it was some woman’s face cheek next to my arse cheek), and once we were off loaded onto the plane we were on our way to Florianopolis. I burst an eardrum on the decent into Flopa, which wasn’t ideal, and also made me feel like an old person “What? You’ve got to speak into my good ear”. Hopefully the damage is not permanent, I guess only time and the number of people who have to repeat what they say to me will be able to tell me that.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Slow walkers, where do you get off? (Often nowhere because you are to slow to reach your destination).
Evening blog followers...
My rapid demise from a taxpaying, university educated, seasoned traveller to a dole bludging, unemployed teacher who is forced to lead a life of socialising, eating and watching copious amounts of dvds, has all and all made for a rather uninteresting lifestyle and certainly not one worth honouring with a blog. However, i'm doing it anyway baaaaby!
Although I thought my trials and tribulations would be solved upon return to the land of the free/English speaking, it seems that Chile was a mere prelude to the pains to come, and this week I feel the focus needs to lie upon the S.W's- Slow Walkers as they are more commonly known.
So there you are, in Westfield Chartwell, and all you want to do is make a purchase- (Insert purchase here), and then potentially head down to the foodcourt for a tantalising meal of some variety.
You head off in search of your destination, when suddenly BAM! You are stopped dead in your tracks by any number of people (and you only need about two for this to be put into effect), who are unwittingly hogging the entire walkway. The number of times that I have nearly done a "fall on top of and crush" combo because I have misjudged the speed (or "slow" as I like to call it) of these walkers is getting to the point of insanity. One of these days I'm going to wake up with a medical bill for some granny who I bodyslammed while simply trying to make my way down to Glassons for a 2 for $15 deal on the singlets rack.
Case and point in this here example- The other day at Chartys, I was involved in an escalator pile up. An escalator pile up you ask? Whats that? I'll tell you what. A simple escalator ride gone wrong is what it is, and all due to the slow paced mover at the drop off who is NOT keeping up their end of the good citizen bargain and is taking the escalator and life in general at 500metres per hour. Anyhow, the situation got messy, with myself and a number of other good citizens having to do the glide and spring- basically performed by firmly placing one foot on the solid floor at the end of the escalator and using this foot to propel yourself into a spring to either the left or right, to avoid a lethal pile up with the Honourable Good Sir Slow Walker who is still meandering off dead ahead. I'm glad to say in this Escalator Pile Up, or EPU as I call them, was only a narrow miss- I managed to perform the glide and spring with only centimetres to spare- God forbid if the Slow Walker had been wearing a woolly jumper.
This blog rant or brant, as it here forth shall be known by, is almost over, only before I go, know this. Before you go judging me and thinking that I am only targeting old or physically disabled people here with the slow walking conundrum, its necessary you know that I have seen people of every social class, ethnicity, religion, age, sex and physical ability commit this offence.
Remember, its not where you walk, its HOW you walk.
Hope you enjoy the first of the new-age posts, feedback would be a joy, even if its only to tell me you don't like it (haters, back off).
LOVE AINS xox
My rapid demise from a taxpaying, university educated, seasoned traveller to a dole bludging, unemployed teacher who is forced to lead a life of socialising, eating and watching copious amounts of dvds, has all and all made for a rather uninteresting lifestyle and certainly not one worth honouring with a blog. However, i'm doing it anyway baaaaby!
Although I thought my trials and tribulations would be solved upon return to the land of the free/English speaking, it seems that Chile was a mere prelude to the pains to come, and this week I feel the focus needs to lie upon the S.W's- Slow Walkers as they are more commonly known.
So there you are, in Westfield Chartwell, and all you want to do is make a purchase- (Insert purchase here), and then potentially head down to the foodcourt for a tantalising meal of some variety.
You head off in search of your destination, when suddenly BAM! You are stopped dead in your tracks by any number of people (and you only need about two for this to be put into effect), who are unwittingly hogging the entire walkway. The number of times that I have nearly done a "fall on top of and crush" combo because I have misjudged the speed (or "slow" as I like to call it) of these walkers is getting to the point of insanity. One of these days I'm going to wake up with a medical bill for some granny who I bodyslammed while simply trying to make my way down to Glassons for a 2 for $15 deal on the singlets rack.
Case and point in this here example- The other day at Chartys, I was involved in an escalator pile up. An escalator pile up you ask? Whats that? I'll tell you what. A simple escalator ride gone wrong is what it is, and all due to the slow paced mover at the drop off who is NOT keeping up their end of the good citizen bargain and is taking the escalator and life in general at 500metres per hour. Anyhow, the situation got messy, with myself and a number of other good citizens having to do the glide and spring- basically performed by firmly placing one foot on the solid floor at the end of the escalator and using this foot to propel yourself into a spring to either the left or right, to avoid a lethal pile up with the Honourable Good Sir Slow Walker who is still meandering off dead ahead. I'm glad to say in this Escalator Pile Up, or EPU as I call them, was only a narrow miss- I managed to perform the glide and spring with only centimetres to spare- God forbid if the Slow Walker had been wearing a woolly jumper.
This blog rant or brant, as it here forth shall be known by, is almost over, only before I go, know this. Before you go judging me and thinking that I am only targeting old or physically disabled people here with the slow walking conundrum, its necessary you know that I have seen people of every social class, ethnicity, religion, age, sex and physical ability commit this offence.
Remember, its not where you walk, its HOW you walk.
Hope you enjoy the first of the new-age posts, feedback would be a joy, even if its only to tell me you don't like it (haters, back off).
LOVE AINS xox
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