After almost emptying the buffet breakfast at 7am I was ready to make my way to Kelibia about 70km further up Cap Bon. I enquired at reception what was the cheapest way to get to the Nabeul bus station in the next town;
"6 Dinar by taxi." Was the response, however when I asked again were they sure there wasn't a cheaper mode of transport like a bus, they raised their eyebrows with surprise at my apparent reluctance to pay 6 Dinar.
"Yes; there is the local bus that leaves from just up the road for 800 millime (0.8TD)."
With a 'Shokran' and a smile I was off.

30 minutes of waiting on the side of the road watching around 15 buses fly past with 'Tunisian Tours' splashed across their sides I was on the verge of giving up and taking the next taxi that slowed down in front of me, Dinar signs in the driver's eyes as they spotted my backpacks. An elderly Tunisian man crossed the road and walked over to me grinning, obviously taking much amusement from the fact I had attempted to wave down every passing vehicle with more than five seats, to no avail. As he approached, the smell of either him, the bin he was carrying, or both, started to flood my senses making me almost cringe as I attempted to smile. He started pointing to a bench about 500m up the road which I guessed was where I had to be for the bus. I thanked him and walked over to the bench and within the next few minutes I was boarding the bus. Once again I was the only Westerner on a packed mode of transport and was met with not smiles but stares as I took up two seats with my backpacks.

The local bus took me to the next town north, Nabeul, only slightly smaller than Hammamet it was still riddled with tourists. I had been told by one of the only women that had talked to me openly in Tunisia that to catch the louages on to Kelibia I would have to walk to the other side of the medina. The medina’s in the tourist towns of Hammamet, Nabeul and Tunis, were nothing like the medina of Bizerte I had been wondering through several days earlier. I wandered into a store selling sandals, keen to get another pair after leaving my Moroccan pair with a mate in Biarritz.
The sales assistant instantly jumped to his feet and ran over to me, hitting me with the sales pitch;
“Hello my friend; all real camel leather; perfect for you my friend; good price my friend; you try these; what size my friend? I say 40; I am right aren’t I my friend?” And then paused for a breath.
I liked the ones he’d grabbed for me but I was going to do all I could to limit the interest I showed in them.
“How much?” I said looking over his huge collection.
“Good price for you my friend; 60 Dinar.”
I laughed straight at him and walked out of the store, knowing perfectly well that this wouldn’t mean an end to the bargaining. He ran out into the street after me, sandals in hand;
“How much you pay my friend?” I had almost forgotten just how many salesmen friends I had made in Morocco.
“No more than 10 Dinar.”
“Ok, I give you 40 Dinar my friend, good price.”
“10 Dinar?”
“20 Dinar, my friend perfect price, you pay twenty Dinar.” His act was going perfectly and right on cue he started to loose his friendliness, putting the sandals into a plastic bag and shoving them in my hand.
“So 10 Dinar is ok?” I said smiling.
“15 Dinar sir; incredible price, so cheap, real camel my friend.” For a second time I walked away.
“Ok! Ok!10 Dinar.” But it still wasn’t over. As I pulled the 10 Dinar from my pocket to pay, his voice became calm and in a whisper he said;
“10 Dinar for the boss my friend, but give me two Dinar to buy a Coke.”
Once again he was met by my laughter;
“It’s Ramadan mate!”
He smiled, the transaction was now complete.

The louage from Nabeul to Kelibia was one of the longest I had caught, and the smell from the vomit like splatter near the side door gave me even more reason to stick my head out the window for most of the trip. Desert landscape to the left, ocean to the right, the scenery was far from ever changing.

Arriving in Kelibia I was only slightly disappointed to find that my awaiting group of taxi drivers had been reduced to two young men, who seemed to have more interest in kicking rocks on the side of the road than getting me to take their taxi. Once again I opted to walk; and two hours later I was covered in sweat and blisters (partly due to my newly aquired camel sandals) standing in front of my nights accommodation.
'Le Maison de Jeunes'; 'House of Youths' is a sort of youth hostel run by the Tunisian government providing accommodation for 5 Dinar a night. (2.8 Euros; the same price as an Espresso in Paris.)
The building resembled a barracks, with the 40 rooms each containing 5 beds. On this particular night I was the only visitor and after paying for my nights accomodation with one coin, I was given the key to my room and was firmly told to;
"Make sure you keep the door locked!" I did as I was told.

Feeling a bit uncertain about the hostels safety I hid my biggest backpack behind my bed under a sheet, taking all my essentials (passport, credit card, vegemite) with me. The hostel/barracks is situated just north of the town's port, between the ocean and Kelibia's main tourist attraction, the Carthaginian fort. Overlooking the town of Kelibia and the beaches to the north it is almost worth the 3TD admission fee, angrily snatched off me as I tried to get a student price.

Since the original fort was built by the Carthaginians it has been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times; destroyed first by the Romans after the second Punic War;

It was then used during the Arabic conquest, by the Byzantines, then was used as a religous centre between the 13th and 16th century and was again rebuilt by the Ottomans. With the latest edition being gun-emplacements installed by the Italian and German forces during the Second World War;

Wandering around the fort taking in every view became an exhausting task as the sun continued to rise, with the only shade being provided by a lone fig tree in the centre of the fort;

The irresistible sandy white beaches to the north of the fort were to be my next destination and whilst walking in the dust along the road side I decide that this was probably the safest place I would find in Tunisia to give hitching a go.
As first car approached, I nervously stuck my hand out;
The 10th car to pass was a 4 door pickup that slowed to a halt 50m in front of me. Running to the passenger window I was telling myself that if the guy looks incredibly suss I'll pretend as though I was merely asking for directions. The guy was young, in his mid twenties, stuffing a chicken sandwich into his mouth, mayo dripping down onto the coke bottle in his lap. I had a little laugh to myself as I was confronted with, yet again, a complete disregard to the fact Ramadan. His French was poor, but I managed to describe 'beach' with numerous hand actions and freestyle strokes and 10 minutes later I had my feet in the sand at the secluded El-Mansourah beach, where my only fellow beach goers were a group of three arabic men practicing their beach volleyball skills.

The water was perfect and a strong onshore wind had created some little wind waves. After going without surf for over a month and a half, the longest without in about 5 years! I lay on the beach with a beaming smile after 20 minutes of bodysurfing the crumbling waves into shore. The heat on the beach had become almost unbearable and running low on water I headed back to the 'Youth Home' for some food and siesta.

Returning to the beach at night I was stunned to see the beach was now covered with hundreds of people swimming, laughing, building sand castles and of course, playing volleyball.

Having played a season of volleyball in Australia a couple of years ago I new the basic rules and what a good game should look like, and honestly, these guys were awesome! Whilst travelling through both Morocco and Tunisia it was on the rarest of occasions that I saw locals playing sport; and even then it was mostly children and youths. But here two teams of middle aged Tunisian men spiked and slammed the ball over the net into the sand with an intensity you would expect from an Olympic team;

As I sat on the beach that evening in Kelibia, I was witnessing so many elements of Tunisian culture that I had either misunderstood or didn't even know existed. Families sat about building sand castles with their children, grown men splashed and tackled eachother in the water, youths ran around chasing a soccer ball, women and girls swam in t-shirts bodyboarding small waves into shore;

Could these be the same men that haggle me at taxi stations? The same youths that try to sell me hash? The same women that hide themselves behind their clothing and will never answer to my hello?
The effort of dragging myself out of the touristic traps of Tunis and Hammamet had finally payed off; I was finally seeing the real Tunisia, the Tunisia that a Two Week Day Spa Package Deal will never let you see;

Then suddenly the crowd started to disperse; the volleyball ended, families packed up and headed to their dual cabs that lined the beach (fitting on average 8 people); because of course;
The sun had set, and it was now time to eat!!

Garrett in Kelibia Tunisia

The Real Tunisia... remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The water was perfect and I instantly regretted not having any snorkeling gear. I shared the beach with one Arabic family and a couple of very obese, very white European couples. Looking south into the distance I could see what I made out to be a couple of shipwrecks and decided to head in that direction. This stretch of coast is dotted with empty bays;

After rounding into the third bay I noticed I shared this stretch of sand with an old Arabic man and his dog. The dog instantly looked up at me as I came into view and slowly started to creep over towards me. One line from the my guide to Tunisia started to turn over in my head;
"Malaria is not a problem, but precautions against Rabies should be taken."
The dog made it's way up to me with it's owner hanging about 50m behind him waving his walking stick in the air shouting in Arabic. The froth mouthed dog started snapping at my feet covered by nothing but a pair of mere thongs; (or 'flip flops' for any international readers).
I just stood there looking at the stick near my feet thinking; if I pick it up and throw the stick it may go away. Then thought, if I bend down, I may never even get the chance to pick the stick up. So I just stood there staring at this frothing mongrel snapping and barking away until it's owner hobbled over and smacked it with his walking stick. Looked at me said something in Arabic and laughed. I pretended to unterstand, laughed, said;
'Shokran' (Thankyou) and headed off towards the wrecks;

Another half an hour of walking in the glaring Tunisian sun, a couple of dives into water and a final bay I was confronted with one of the shipwrecks; well 'half' of one of the shipwrecks, with the other half nowhere to be seen.

I saw a couple of snorkellers swimming round the side of the ship, and again regretted not having any gear with me.
The second wreck was not in a bay, but lay at the edge of a rocky outcrop. I made my way over the rocks regularly glancing towards the barb wire fences that lined the dunes, hoping I was allowed to be near the wrecks.

The largest of the wrecks looked as though it had been there for at least a decade with it's metal shell being all that remained. A small 3 person fishing boat was moored along side, giving an idea of the size of the wreck;

On my way back I ran into a French family lazing on the beach, that had been living in Tunisia for the past three years. They offered me a lift back to Bizerte and with the sun really starting to throw out some UV's I decided not to turn it down. The walk back to the car was a fair hike, giving me the time to talk to them about what they had been doing in Tunisia. They had come over as part of an International Aid Foundation to work in Tunisian schools, and having loved the challenge, decided to stay on and were now the Tunisian representatives for the Foundation. However they were soon to be moving back to France because;
"When we arrived three years ago and you asked a someone in Tunisia if they were Muslim they would often reply yes, but would say that if they weren't it wouldn't really make a difference and they would still be the same person. However with the international situation changing it is no longer like that, 'Passion for the Koran' and 'Islamic Extremism' has become a fashion and has made it a lot more difficult to live in countries like Tunisia."

It was interesting to get this first hand impression of the situation. The same man who tried to convert me to Islam yesterday had asked me;
"What was all that stuff that happened in Australia with the Lebanese, where even the women were hitting them near Sydney." It took me a moment to realise he was talking about the 'Cronulla Riots' that occured in 2005. I tried to explain to him that it was just initiated by a small group of basically 'pissheads', and that it was by no means a reflection of all Australians.
I told him how it was immediatley frowned upon by the entire Australian community and that those who initiated and participated in it were dealt with and/or sent to jail.
"No, we saw it here on T.V. and they said that this was occuring regularly in Australia."
I'd simply laughed at the comment and quickly changed the subject.

Well I'm back in Bizerte and it's after 7:30pm so I can finally eat according to 'Prophet Mohammed'; the spearfisherman down the beach seemed highly active this afternoon so hopefully a nice fish fillet will be on the menu;

Garrett in Bizerte; Tunisia

Fish Fillets in Bizerte; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The best thing about Barcelona is that there is always something happening, wether it be a man dressed in plastic bottles pointing a gun at you;

A street Protest for Catalan Day;

Luminous girafes and elephants powered on gas trotting down The Rambla or the International Breakdance Group putting on a street concert.

Anyone that has been to Barcelona will tell you over the street performers that line The Rambla, dressed up as anything from Incredible Hulk, to the Grudge. When work is over, and shopping needs to be done, whats the point in going home to get changed when the supermarket is just across the road? So don't be surprised to see the Incredible Hulk in the Cold Meats section of the Monoprix supermarket just off The Rambla.

In search of a postcard for 'the sis' I wondered into a small boutique just off The Rambla and overheard these two girls speaking English at the counter. Having no plans for that afternoon and thinking to myself, what's there to loose, I asked them if they knew of a good place for coffee. Lucky enough they were just heading to get some and invited me to come, sweet as. It turned out the girls were from Finland and Sweden, work for European modelling agencies and had just been flown into Barcelona for a month to do some shoots. We spent the entire afternoon in a little restaurant by the port talking about life, travels and Barcelona. Then Steph asked me what I was doing that night, I said nothing and she asked would I like to, go to a restaurant/club called Buddha Bar for a free three course meal, beer, wine, champagne and music.
Would i like like to? I'd love to!
The only catch was I had to say my name was Thomas, I was a model for Sweden and was working for the agency L'Arencia in Barcelona. With the Year 8 Drama award under my belt, I was sure I could pull it off.

At 9:30pm we met near the restaraunt, ran over the details and walked in. We were immediatley greeted by a very happy and very gay Spanish man;
"Ah! 'ere are ze beautiful girlz and boy, welcome to Modelz Night." (Proceeding to kiss both the girls on the cheek and look me up and down and shake my hand.)
"Ze bar is open, ze uther models 'ave not arrived yet, proceed." Walking down the steps towards the bar all I could think about how good this was; the place was amazing. Small couches and tables surrounded the dimly lit bar; with Buddhas filling in the spaces, there was even a heavily cushioned 'lounge swing' that slowly rocked back and forth.
We hit the bar, and it was damn lucky the drinks were free, or I would have been out of cash after the first beer.
Then from behind us came a;
"Oh I am sorry could I get your names to cross off ze list." The girls replied and he turned to me.
With my free $14 Heiniken in hand and a small smile across my face,
"Thomas." I replied, and I was in.

We spent half an hour sitting amongst cushions, our feet on poofs, drinking away, until we were invited to the table. There were 8 of us and it turned out that I had come with the only girls who came that night, from the moment I sat down at the table I felt like I was in 'Zoolander'. There were 5 'other' male models at the table, two from Senegal, living in Paris, one from Belgium, one from Holland and an American. We wined and dined; on easily the best food I have eaten on this trip, and our table's personal waiter was always ready to fill up my wine glass or get another beer.

The highlight however was when the American leaned over Steph to talk to me;
"So how long have you been modelling for?"
"A year now, first time in Barcelona though." I took a deep breath, it felt like it was going well.
"So do you do body shots?" Unsure as to what the hell body shots were, and hoping it didn't mean complete nudity I said,
"Yeh, just body shots."
Then suddenly, the strongly built 21 year old American began to break down in front of me;
"Really? Like how do you stay in shape? Do you eat well? Like your drinking lots of beer, is that going to affect you? Like, I go to the gym a lot, and go running. My agency wants me to do body shots, but I'm still new at all this stuff. See the other guys they have it easy, they just do face shots, I don't know, it's kind of stressing me."
I sat there, staring at this guy, and all I could hear was this voice in my head saying;
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Whilst he looked at me, waiting for my response.
Trying to keep myself from laughing I replied;
"Yeh well it's tough, but you'll get there. Just make sure your eating well, it's a lot harder in a foreign country where your unsure about which foods are good for you. So just keep up the sport, there are lots of gyms and pools around, I usually just head down for a swim each morning."
Nodding, the American leant back into his chair, obviously reflecting on my 'words of wisdom'.
Steph just looked at me shaking her head, and laughed.

The night was spent talking 'modelling' and I just spent my time, sitting back drinking my free wine, listening as they talked about shoots, stars, Paris, Milan, Hong Kong, Vogue and anything else in between and honestly the general conversation was pretty boring, with awkward silences being the theme.

Lucky I had Steph next to me and we just chatted about her life in Sweden, and my planned trip to Tunisia. We even recieved some live entertainement from a couple of breakdancers, that danced around the restaurant.

An amazing night, mainly because it was a world so different to the little surf town I grew up in, in country Western Australia.

I've spent the past 4 days just organising work, packing my bag for Tunisia and wandering the lively streets and palm tree courtyards of Barcelona with Steph,

Garrett in Barcelona;

Barcelona; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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From the moment I stepped off the flight and felt the warm Saharan wind almost send my passport flying from my hand; memories of Morocco came flooding back, but this wasn't Morocco, this was Tunisia.

After almost 5 months of living in touristic Europe I reached Barcelona with an 'I'm completely over this' attitude, the crowded streets, the Irish pubs and the flyers renting scooters saying 'see Barcelona like a local'. I needed to get out, somewhere different, and with 59 euro return flights, Tunisia was the call.

I had planned to bus up to the town of Bizerte on the North East coast, but with Ramadan having started the day before everything was a bit out of schedule and I was informed by one of the 20 machine gun wielding police officers that my only hope was a taxi and with 50 Tunisian Dinar (30 Euro) being the best offer I decided to give it a miss and opt for the 10 Dinar trip to Tunis centre in a taxi that had to be push started by the drivers three mates.

Lonely planet said the airport trip to town should cost 4 - 7 Dinar, so when the unmetered taxi stopped at town and I gave him 10 TD, I knew I was giving a fair tip and waited for a smile and thankyou, but instead recieved;
"10 Dinar, thats good for you."
Shocked, I smiled and replied;
"It's good for both of us."
He looked me in the eye firmly;
"No it's good for you."
Talk about great first impressions of a country.

At this point all I wanted to do was check into my hotel.

I had made brief back up plans for Tunis had a couple of hostels in mind. For 15 Dinar I got my little piece of paradise, two single beds, there were no single rooms, a sink and few friendly looking bed bugs. Lucky I had my trusty Mountain Designs sheet to block out the little black buggers. I opened the blue shutters to check the view to be lucky enough to catch the African sun setting over the Tunis medina.

Saturday morning dawned and I woke to my favourite arab alarm clock, "Allah Prayers" at 5:30am, and with the medina speakers just outside my window there was no way I was sleeping through it.

It was still dark and about 30 degrees; so I decided to make for an early start.

Backpack ready I started walking to the Tunis northern bus hub, Bab Saoun, and whilst it was a good 5km away I thought it best to walkto avoid another taxi rip off. An hour later and with a t-shirt full of sweat, I'd made it.

Louages are often the cheapest and fastesy way to get between cities and towns in Tunisia. Hundreds of the red striped nine seater vans pack into a parking bay, with the drivers wandering around outside yelling their van's destination. I approached Mr 'Bizerte' and with a nod of my head I was being loaded into the van. The driver won't leave until the van is full, so how fast you get there really depends on how many people are heading where you are. They are super cheap, 3.95 TD for the hour trip to Bizerte, instead of the 50 TD I was offered the night before.

It was Ramadan and all muslims are prohibited to eat or drink (even water) between sunrise and sunset, this is a hard task for someone carrying 25kg worth of baggage across a country in 38 degree heat. Unsure if me eating and drinking would cause anyone to take offence, I crouched in the back of the van secretley eqting some biscuits and drinking a bit of water.

On arrival at the Bizerte bus port a group of Arabic middle aged men sitting across the road were pointing and laughing in my direction. Being the only westerner in sight I was sure the were just amusing themselves with the usual 'White Englishman' jokes. Then the oldest of them walked over to me, grabbed both sides of my belt, yanked my pants up and accompanied by the laughter of his mates told me in his best French that;
" I looked like an absolute idiot with them so low. " I laughed, made a 'west-side' sign with my hand and told them;
"It was fashion!" We all laughed and the same old man pointed towards the town centre and helped fend off the seagull like taxi drivers that pounce on you the moment you step out of any mode of transport with bags and a European look on your face.

Beautiful Bizerte is an enchanting place,

Eucalyptus trees brought over by the French line the new port banks and the towns surrounding beaches whilst the still glassy water of the towns old port reflect the Cuban like colours of it's surrounding houses.

Small brightly coloured fishing boats fill the tiny port;

Children play alongside their boats;

Whilst the fortified walls of the towns medina run along it's side.

However it isn't until the sun slowly fades behind the medina's stone walls that the port's true beauty begins to show.

Ramadan can be both a challenging and exciting time to visit Islamic towns like Bizerte. With tourism almost non existant it is impossible to find a cafe or restaurant that opens before 7:30pm, when a small firwork indicates an end to the day's fasting. You almost have to go on the fast yourself unless you stock up on fruit and biscuits from the market, sneaking away to your hotel room throughout the day for a quick snack. (Something I can't deny doing.)

After the sun goes down the streets come alive; cafes fill, stores open, the shishas come out and it usually stays that way until about 3 or 4 am. So in actual fact, with everyone usually sleeping in till at least mid day, Ramadan could be seen as not a fast, but just a month where everyone in the arab world goes nocturnal, sleeping by day and living by night.

Becoming lost in medinas has definitely become a favoured pastime, the narrow stone passages hide the real Tunisian way of life. Children dart in and out from behind large wooden doors, trying to get a look at the scruffy haired western man wandering around their town, whilst cats fill almost every alley;

Scouring through rubbish, staring up curiously at passers by.

Whilst leaving the medina I was approached by a tall Arabic man, who began to guess my nationality. After about 15 guesses he said New Zealand, I thought he was close enough and told him I was Australian. He started passionately talking to me about the Koran, with a free afternoon and being slightly curous about Islam I walked and talked with him for over 4 hours. Never in all of my life have I been more preached to. In an attempt to convert me to Islam he recited me stories from the Koran, told me women have more rights in the Muslim world than in the West, gave me atleast a hundred reasons why everything good about the 'West' originates from Islam, pointed out that Israel was 'created by America to divide Africa from the East' and then invited me round for dinner and offered me his sisters room at his parents house to crash for the night. With the 4 hour conversation having completely satisfied my curiosity and no longer having a free afternoon I told him thanks for the offer and with a small amount of relief caught the next taxi back to my hotel 'Hotel De la Plage' for a few biscuits.

Pool halls are a great way to both meet local teenagers and pass away the Ramadan nights; Arabic teens are great to talk to, religion is rarely a subject as they would much rather spend there time debating over which is the better soccer team Madrid or Barcelona?

I decided that explaining them 'I wasn't a soccer fan and actually followed a team called Collingwood in the Australian Football League' would be just to complicated, and had a stab in the dark and said Madrid. I was instantly greeted with smiles all round; so I'd obviously made the right choice and some sweet games of pool followed to end the night;

Garrett in Bizerte; Tunisia.

Tunisian Coast; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The long white sandy beaches across the harbour from Lisbon are a nice relief from the rock sized sand grains that cover the Biarritz shores.

The water is about 4 degrees colder than that of Biarritz and the moment I dived in I noticed something very different; it felt fresh and clean. I had actually become so used to the water in Biarritz that I had stopped noticing how polluted it was. I swam, and tanned, and swam, and tanned until I fell into the deepest of sleeps, and drooled. After being woken by the searing heat, Carolina, Mafalda and I headed up to the little beach side restaraunt; to be treated to a slab of fresh Melon and a local beer Sagres.

There are two 'real' Portugeuse beers, one being Super Bock and the other Sagres, and I am deffinatley a greater fan of the later. Another Portuguese drink that I loved, that I have to get the recipe of; is a mixture of; cut limes; sugar cane; ice and an alcohol, which I've forgotten.

On Thursday night, we headed to Lisbon's most stylish club, Looks.

The three story port side club, boasts the best views of any club in Lisbon. With it's third story being an open air bar, overlooking the Port. With all drugs being 'decriminalised' in Portugal it wasn't a surprise to see joints being passed around most groups. The club has definatley been built with style in mind, and when you reach the third story and see it's lighting it shows;

Before entering the club I was told that I was not aloud to speak English as the people here didn't like 'tourists', it was 12 euro entry and I was not keen on spending my night outside the club, so as told I kept my mouth shut. As we approached the door this 30 year old good looking women asked me for I.D, as I grabbed out my passport and waited to be rejected for being a 'tourist', she looked me up and down;
'really cute, where are you from?'
'Australia' I mumbled; she handed me back my passport.
She turned to the other bouncer;
'Australian ! Only 18! He's really cute, can we invite him?'
So after all the 'no english' talk; because I was Australian I could in for free and skipped the 12 Euro fee; stoked.

The monuments that line Lisbon's shores and the Bridge linking one side of the port to the other; are both well worth a visit. And on my last night in little Lisbon before flying out to Barcelona; I dragged my little touristy self down to the waterfront to get some shots;

The largest monument is dedicated to the famed Portuguese explorers; who could easily be considered amongst the greatest.

With a large map of the world at the base of the monument; dating the Portuguese colonies that spanned the globe.

This would have to be the best monument I've seen on my trip; a shame it is almost impossible to see the world as those first explorers did.

On Sunday morning; I got up early and headed to the airport; Carolina had become extremely nervous about the trip over the past couple of days and in the last 24 hours decided she would give it a miss. Ohwell; c'est la vie!....
I'm now chilling in Barcelona; learning Spanish and hooking up work in an Australian bar; I'm flying down to Tunisia for a week or two on Friday; which will be a sweet little adventure; and I can finally get back to eating cous cous, drinking mint tea and speaking a bit of Arabic, even if it is Egyptian Arabic;

Garrett in Barcelona, Spain

Last Mintue Changes in Portugal; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My absolute 'nut' of a sister hit up the Biarritz shores for a week with her 'incredibly missed' brother, to get a taste of what her Gap Year 2008 was to be. The Roxy World Longboarding comp was being held at Cote De Basque and when the competition wasn't being held, Chloe Charlotte Lane, 'pulled into tubes' and with pure style managed to avoid the castles that lined the rocky shores;

Within 12 hours of her arrival, she was already smiling from cheek to cheek in her first European club. And summed her experience up in one short sentence;
'I am never going out in Busso ever again!'
By her last night you would think she owned the town; mixing it with the big guns like Newquay's bouncer;

And with a last goodbye, a few tears from both of us and an 'until next time in some other country' she was back off to Australia. It had only been 4 months since I had seen my little sis and mum; but this was longest we have gone, and it was definitely sweet to see them both.

The next big event was my homelessness; Biarritz in the middle of summer would have to be one of the hardest places in the world to find accommodation. 3 Bedroom apartments at 900 euros a week were all we had on the table, and I was almost at the point of quitting my job and heading down to Lisbon a month earlier. Then in a last attempt my mate Julien, who I was looking for an apartment with, told me a month ago he had heard from a mate of a mate, about a small room for rent above a cafe down this back street. I walked in and asked, the woman behind the counter told me of her son who was heading to Australia and how she would do all she could to help me as she hopes people will do the same for her son. I left my number and within half an hour I had a phone call, I went out and checked out the 3 bedroom apartment just next to the town centre in an old french house called 'La Marina'. At 1200 euros a month between 5 it was as cheap as August in Biarritz comes, 240 euros each for the month. Within 2 days; the three girls from Quebec Canada, Audrey, Eline, Corine, Julien and I were sitting round in our little apartment we had all instantly fallen in love with, drinking our first bottle of Bordeaux. Here's a photo of our little place, we had the entire third floor;

Then arrived the three funnest aussies I have met on my trip so far; Courtney, Andy and Jason;

Since I left Australia I have been helped by so many people from all sorts of nationalities, from accommodation, to directions or for even just a random drink. The three of them had arrived in Biarritz at the start of August with no accommodation booked, feeling sorry for them knowing that everything from campsites to hotels was booked out. I said they could crash on the floor at our house. After the first night out we got along so well that the ended up staying for a week, the next five days consisted of beach;

beach;

and rock diving; from the ultimate rock; off the beach;

This rock 500m out to sea from the beach Miramar; is the place to be in Biarritz when the temperature passes 30. There is a passage underneath the rock that allows you to swim under it through a cave like tunnel; once out the other side you can climb up where there is a sweet jump spot. From the other side of the rock you can't see Biarritz, but just the horizon and the mates you swam out there with. Crazy to think that 500m out to sea is such an awesome place and yet everyone prefers to spend there time fighting for a 1x1m space to place their towel amongst the summer crowds;

Courtney and co; are on round the world tickets and headed off that weekend; but not until after one last night running a muck in Biarritz's beloved club, Playboy;

After the boys left; and my routine returned, I ended up meeting Charlotte. A 20 year old, physiotherapy student from Paris who has a totally sarcastic trip sense of humour only an Australian could love. An amazing month followed; where I had both the highest highs and lowest lows of my trip. Two weeks before I was due to leave Biarritz I fell really sick; which left my hip pocket around 1000 euros poorer than originally planned (ouch!). Hopefully insurance will cover a bit of it, because once again French administration prevailed and I will be refunded a beautiful 0 Euros, because of a technicality being I must live in the same French region for 6 months to claim anything back. It rained for four days straight and didn't get above 18 degrees; and then suddenly on the Saturday I woke up feeling amazingly better, the clouds started to dissapear and that night on the beach as part of the Rip Curl Tag Team Surf Competitions; Xavier Rudd was playing a free concert on the beach. We arrived at the beach and I bought the only thing I could eat because of the problems with my wisdom teeth; an Icecream;

The stage had been set up on the beach;

The weather continued to get better and better and whilst waiting for Xavier to start we were treated to an amazing sunset;

That seemed to go on and on and on...

After the sun was gone the stage lights lit up, didgeridoos began to appear, followed by the aboriginal flag, and then finally on the otherside of the world from where I first saw him play as a 16 year old in a Margaret River vineyard a short blonde haired Aussie named Xavier;

came out on stage and led the French crowd packed onto the beach, on an amazing hour and a half set of pure Australian music.

After honestly the worst week of the trip, health wise, including an 18 day prescription of antibiotics, 8 painkillers a day, not eating for two and having to eat soup for 5 days, I couldn't have scored a better three days. The three days following Xavier it was 35 degrees, and Charlotte, Yannick and I spent each and every moment down the beach;

Skimming;

Swimming;

and of course tanning;

After Charlotte left to head back to University; I was left waiting to be paid and sign my end of season contract so I could head down to Portugal to meet up with Carolina. One day passed and no papers, another and again no papers, it took five days for the papers to arrive and the moment they had I grabbed the money said my goodbyes at work and a quick 'until next summer'; banked my money ran home packed my bags, met my roomates at the 'local', Newquay for one last beer before I headed off to Portugal.

I had heard that if I headed to the border town of Irun I could find some 25 euro buses; on arrival I found there were no buses and the next 70 Euro night train was not for 6 hours. I reluctantly bought my my ticket and feel asleep on my surfboard bag in the biggest hole of a train station I have ever been in. The 15 hour train ride was shared with two Portuguese guys, one speaking good English and was thus allocated position of translator between me and his mate. We shared the cabin with Marco, a 20 year old from Serbia, who was travelling round Europe on a visa that only allowed him to travel to Sweden, due to Serbia's 'tensions' with the west over Kosovo. This didn't seem to bother the Portuguese police who woke us at 6am to check our passports at the border; she slowly flicked through hiss passport as if analysing every minute detail and just as an 'I'm done for' expression appeared over Marco's face, she smiled handed back his passport and wished us all a good sleep and a safe trip. A safe trip it was, but a good sleep, far from it, we all managed about four hours and I woke up with back cramps and two Serbian feet about 10cm from my face. We spent the rest of the trip talking about Portugal, Serbia and Australia, and as Marco was the first Serbian I had ever met I hung on his every word. And whilst the majority of the conversation was about Kosovo and Slobodan Milosevic; he did give us a little incite into what growing up in Serbia was like. I had read that Serbians were deeply patriotic and this did come across in his character, and whilst he was an incredibly nice person he did have a hard edge to his personality, that I have encountered in many Eastern Europeans. One thing I will never forget, that I am sure all Serbians must do, is the 10 seconds of tongue clicking Marco made, shaking their head if we told him of an injustice or annoyance that we had seen or experienced.

I arrived safely in Lisbon and its 35 degree heat at 11am; and after a small struggle to find a net cafe with Skype I managed to find Carolina's number and be picked up from the city centre. It was great to see her after such a long time; and finally be able to start our trip together.

Well the blog is done and I can safely say that it is probably the most satisfying I have written; I have bought a new 300Euro camera, because my last decided to randomly brake, and Carolina and I are flying out on Sunday, so hold onto your seats and stay tuned because I've only got six months down on this two year adventure, and even I end up broke by early November I'm sure it will make for an interesting blog;

Garrett in Lisbon; Portugal

A Summer in Biarritz; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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As we jumped off the bus in Pamplona and looked around at the hundreds of thousands of people wearing the wine stained outfits, we made a quick dash to the market and got ourselves decked out for a handsom 15 euro. As you slip into the white cotton pants, pull on the white t-shirt, tie the red pamplona belt round your waist, place the red headband around your head and mix up your first vodka red bull, it hits you that you are now ready.

Ready for 24 hours, or if be it, 7 days, of running round the streets of Old town Pamplona, jumping up and down like crazy singing "Ole!...Ole! Ole! Ole!", filling your mouth with Sangria and spraying it on the nearest white outfit, slurring your best Spanish at passers by, and of course, making your way to the arena at 5am to get a seat for....the bulls!Everywhere you turn people are partying, drummers and instruments of all sorts roam the streets followed by thousands jumping up and down like crazy. Nationalities mean nothing here, and for 7 days everyone becomes best mates, you become a member of the 'red and white people', whose sole purpose is to FIESTA;

And fiesta you do, day and night;

I had been told to never under estimate the Spanish girls ability to party, and whilst this is true, the first Mexican girls I have ever met seemed to go that one step further. Sweet latin dancing in the old town square, running round spraying sangria in all directions and a smile that just says 'I am stoked'; I had found my crew.

We danced the streets with the Spaniards, filling our stomach's with Tapas in an attempt to counteract the effects of the warm 2 euro Sangria, and took the occasional break to catch our breath. The Spanish call this break 'siesta', and at Pamplona, it can occur anytime, anywhere;

There are a lot of things that make the fiesta at Pamplona so incredible. One is its size, the party takes up the whole old town and swarms of people roam through the streets following the drums and cheers, singing Spanish festival songs that I had translated as;
"We have come to party and drink, and drink and party we will." As an Australian with extremely poor Spanish you just sing as loud making sounds that sound similar and dependent on the state of people around you, it usually works;

The second is where the party takes place, there are few police and people climb the surrounding buildings, megaphones in hand hyping up the crowd. The energy that flows through these small Spanish streets is something that has to be experienced;

Usually around 3am your legs begin to tire from the constant jumping, your on the verge of loosing your voice from all the 'Ole' chants and your covered in Sangria from head to toe, a nice warm bed begins to sound appealing;

But just the thought that in 4 hours time, through the same streets that you are currently partying, 15 or so bulls will be charging on a path of destruction through a crowd of red and white; gives you the motivation to keep going for the next 5 hours. It was around that moment that the decision had to be made, to run or not to run? Three days earlier I was certain that I would, but since the Australian got speared in the arse; and my told lack of both sleep and soberness I had started to contemplate giving it a miss this year. We had met a lot of locals and they to advised both for their safety and my own to just get down to the arena and prepare to watch the event chanting with the thousands of Spaniards who fill the arena. Every year someone gets killed and it's usually because tourists who have no idea what they are doing fall over, then everyone ends up tripping over the fallen tourists. It's for this reason the locals are frustrated with the amount of tourists attempting the run.

We had heard that it was best to get to the Arena as early as possible, so at 5am Sophia and I were lead by some random Spaniard through the streets to the ticketing booth. It wasn't opening for another hour but there were already hundreds of people beginning to line up. By this stage we were so tired that we just sat down towards the front of one of the lines, put our head in our hands and fell asleep until an 'Ole' chant not to far away sprung us back into action.

At 6am we were one of the first into the arena. Over the next two hours the arena began to fill until it was just a red and white blur.

Then, after a gunshot and an intense flow of red and white into the arena, came the bulls!..

An amazing 36 hours! All I have left to say is, YOU HAVE TO GO!

Garrett in Pamplona; Spain.

Run those bulls; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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A couple of weeks ago I spent a few days with Queensland girl Michelle and her travelling mates who were making their way down from Paris through Biarritz; across northern Spain and down through Portugal to Morocco. It had been a while since I had spent time with a group of aussies and sure enough the day was spent lazing down the beach accompanied by an Eski filled with cold beers. The highlight of the beach session however was not the stories, the weather or even the beers (10pk for 2 Euro); but an announcement that came over the beach's loudspeakers;
"Your attention please, it appears that there is a thunderstorm with strong winds on its way we advise that you close your umbrellas."
Directly after the announcement all umbrella owners along the beach continued to swim, kick the soccer ball and lay in the sun, paying no attention to the announcement. Except for one overweight man in blue speedos, zinc smudged across his face and a wide brim floppy hat, who had by FAR the smallest umbrella on the beach. He slowly got to his feet made the one metre wobble to his umbrella, closed it and sat down with a satisfied look on his face, as though he had just eliminated all danger posed by the oncoming thunderstorm.

This huge emphasis on beach 'safety' along the Biarritz coast was no more apparent than the day Chloe (sweet californian diving mate) and I went down to the Grand Plage beach where 7 lifeguards surveyed the 13 people swimming. Making sure that the swimmers stayed between the two blue flags, the bodyboarders without fins between the second blue flag and the green and red flag and all bodyboarders and surfers stayed to the right of the green and red flag and to the left of the first blue flag. If you are not complying with these rules a number of things may happen dependent on what you are doing in the water and which flags you are out of;
1: If you are swimming like Chloe and I were, outside of the blue flags, a lifeguard on a surf ski will swim out and stay with you until you do as they say and re-enter the blue flag zone.
2: If you are a surfer that paddles out (stupidly) between the blue flags you will hear 13 or so whistle's blasting at you, arm's waving you out of the 'BFZ' ( local lingo for the Blue Flag Zone ).
3: If you do as I do and paddle out into the correct surfing zone, (right of the green and red flag) and surf a wave that stays in the correct zone you are fine. However if it is a really good wave that ends a little bit into the 'BFZ' the moment you cross the invisible 'BFZ' line, whilst still on the wave, the lifeguards will pull out their most deadliest of weapons, 'The Hooter'. In Australia this is commonly used at Junior football matches to indicate the end of a quarter. Here it's sole purpose is to ruin the only good surf you've had in the past week, by hooting you until you pull of the wave, no matter how good the next section is looking. Causing you to have numerous 'BFZ' nightmares throughout the following week .
Even with all the whistles, hooters and angry speedo wearing lifeguards, it was still a sweet little surf at 'Le Grand', hopefully soon I will be able to get some photos of the surf up.

The Casetas is a week long festival at Cote De Basque on the water's edge; celebrating the coastal lifestyle present in Biarritz, Hossegor and other surrounding towns. It is a free festival with about 12 different tents, each having its own music genre. The vibe is sweet, the music even better and the beer cheap; the perfect combination for a good night. Chloe and I also managed to watch a free documentary being played on a huge projector inside one of Biarritz's many little coves. It looked at the diving oppurtunities and marine life that are off eastern Papua New Guinea on islands such as British New Guinea. This was a strange mix as I am currently reading a book on those exact islands and Chloe is an avid diver, nice little coincidence.

Gryllzy got here last weekend and stayed for a night before heading back up to Paris; we had a few good beers and he told us all about his European Adventure. He had a lot of sweet stories and looks like he is now a travelling addict, if you get a chance ask him about the story about the girl who won the wet t-shirt competition in Barcelona

With a week or so off work before the big summer season starts I've managed to plan the trip Carolina and I will embark on in September, it goes a little something like this;
Biarritz ---> Lisbon, Portugal ---> Barcelona, Spain ---> Pisa, Italy ---> Rome, Italy ---> Dubrovnik, Croatia ---> Croatian Coast ---> Venice, Italy ---> Berlin, Germany ---> Athens, Greece ---> Mount Olympus, Greece ---> Vienna, Austria ---> Paris, France ---> Lisbon
Then I am not quite sure but I think I will be heading to Madrid and flying back down to Marrakech in Morocco to do another month of surfing on a teeny weeny budget.

Well I hope that brings everyone a little bit more up to date; I'll try and get some more photos up soon;

Garrett in Biarritz

Long time no blog; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Whilst we explored the bunkers we realised two things;

1: How much history lined this coast, and just how much change Europe has gone through over the past half a century.
2: That the tide was dropping, the swell was picking up, there was no one in the water and a sweet peak was beginning to break just in front of one of the bunkers.

Finally after my bitching two days ago about French surf, we finally scored some good waves. It was offshore and about 1.5/2m, the swell direction wasn't perfect but we still managed to score some fun sand bottom barrels.

Who knows what sort of people will be lining the beaches of 'Labenne' in another fifty years time, but for some reason I have the feeling the bunkers will remain.

Last night, Christina (American/French girl who models for Reef.) and I thought we'd skip drinks at the Newquay bar for one night and take a couple of fresh Stella to the beach and watch the sunset. There was one guy in the water doing his best to surf the little lefts that rolled into the 'Grand Plage';

We spent a couple of hours in the early evening heat, chatting about America, Australia, France, Morocco and even Mexico. As I tried to seek advice on wether heading to San Diego, California at the end of the year would be a good move. It was one of those chats that occur so often when your travelling;
when you start talking you have not one clue about the other person, and by the end of the conversation you feel like you've been mates all your life.

I've thought a lot about this 'Gap Years' trip over the past few days, and I am just beginning to realise just how big of a life changing experience it has already been and will continue to be. This blog is already allowing me to look back on parts of my trip from places such as Morocco, and read up on things I would have long forgotten. If anyone is currently in a gap year, or is just itching for change, get out there, even if it is for a weekend, just see what getting out of your comfort zone can teach you.

Peace and Aurevoir;
Garrett in Biarritz; France

Surfing in the sights of German bunkers; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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A couple of thousand people jumped around, singing and drinking to the 8 piece group playing before them. The vibe was amazing, the absence of barriers and bouncers, police and ambulances made me realise why something like this is so rarely held in Australia. There would be hundreds of people just going crazy, drinking like crazy, smoking like crazy and probably winding up in a fight 15 minutes after the concert was over. Here it was different, there wasn't one police officer and the crowd of a couple of thousand just stood around drinking their beer brought from home, getting into their music and having a sweet night. It opened my eyes to the huge difference between this part of French and Australian cultures.

And the end of the night me Steph and her mates, stood around for a while drinking a few last beers, whilst for the third time in about as many days I tried to explain to some bermused French mates the rules and scoring system of Australian Rules Footy.

The surf has been on the verge of shit lately, I won't say shit all together due to the possibility of offending my patriotic French surfer mates, but in the month that I have been here I would have totalled around 4 good surfs. It seems that when ever it's big it's onshore, and when ever it's offshore it's about one foot. Im thinking about staying even for a couple of weeks into September just to witness the "perfect month of surf" that comes during this period, where finally swell and offshore winds combine.

Last Friday again the surf was onshore and with it being Nat's last day in Biarritz we decided to hit up San Sebastian yet again for a night on the town, I was pumped.

The surf was small when we got there, but there was still a good 30 Spaniards in the water, I decided to make the most of it and indulge in my first surf in Spain, getting a few small barrely lefts;

As some one who grew up getting changed into their wetsuit in dirt carparks surrounded by forest and the occasional perving Kangaroo; it's quite a funny feeling getting changed for a surf in the middle of a bustling Spanish street with 10 story apartement buildings all around;

Back home every surf is always followed by at least one trip to Taz's Bakery for a good serving of beef, cheese and bacon pies, followed by a Master's Mocha. However to find that sort of luxury in San Sebastian Spain seemed to pose far to many obstacles,we decided to save the hassle and enjoy a traditional Spanish "Paella", the dish can be made with a variety of ingredients but traditionally it is with seafood; which is what I opted for, a sweet warming meal after a chilly Spanish surf.

We hit up our usual Jagabomb bar where we ran into a couple of Aussie guys from Perth we'd met the week before at the Newquay in Biarritz. We all put our Euro's together and with some random American chicks did a nice round of Jaga's;

The night unfolded as per usual in Spain; with lots and lots of partying. Tired and worn out from a night of dancing and drinking we retreated to the comfort of our 'cheap' Spanish hotel to get at least 5 hours sleep before we drove back to Biarritz so I could start work and Nat could start making the 7 hour journey home to start work the next day;

It's been a fun week here; even though I'm working 5 days a week, the proximity to Spain and the late night partying of Biarritz, means I'm never really missing out on anything;
hope the surf gets better!

Adiós;
Garrett in France and Spain;

No Taz's!..But there's Paella! remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We arrived in San Sebastian around 3pm and headed to the beach with two aussies we had met on the train who were just beggining a two week European backpack trip. The sun was out and so to were the sunbathers, whilst we soaked in some of the 'San Seb' sites.

The picturesque main bay of San Sebastian is always worth a visit;

We both decided that we should make the trek up to Castillo de la Santa Cruz de la Mota; the statue seen in this photo;

The trek is one that opened our eyes to something that we didn't know existed so close to the bustling San Sebastian streets, nature.

Jungle like canopies line the path that leads to the 'Castillo' and make you feel as though your in a world of your own, a cross between the jungles of Indonesia and the ruins of South America.

A final stone tunnel,

opens out into the centre of a fallen fort. Cannons line the walls and at the very centre stands the amazing, Castillo de la Santa Cruz de la Mota.

We spent an hour or so touring the top of Mount Urgull and taking in some of the amazing views of the Atlantic ocean to the north and those of the bay of San Sebastian.

These views from the top of Mount Urgull have an amazing presence about them, wether it is the history behind the fallen ruins, the raging Atlantic ocean that extends from its shores or the amazing landscape that makes up the region, it is one of the most amazing places I am yet to visit.

We made our way back down Mount Urgull and cruised around San Sebastian's 'old town' in search of some cheap and tasty tapas. Not a hard task with the number of bars that line it's narrow streets.

The 'old town' is filled with some incredible architecture, and none more so than this church at the base of Mount Urgull;

The 'Tapas system' works in an interesting way;

1. 1. Go into the bar you fancy, based upon to dishes lining the counter.


2. 2. Search through the large variety of dishes, testing your taste buds with everything from crab pureè to camembert and sundried tomatoes.


3. 3. Practice your Spanish with a few of the indulging locals.


4. 4. Tell the barmen how many you ate.


5. 5. Pay. (Usually about 1.50 Euro a piece)


6. 6. Move to the next bar.

After leaving the tapas bars, the weather started to change and we thought it would be better to head back to Biarritz and have an early night so Gryllz had at least a little bit of energy for his plane trip the next day. 'San Seb' is well worth the trip and I'll definitely be heading back over summer.

Garrett in San Sebastian;

Day Time San Seb; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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San Sebastian is undoubtedly one of the Basque Country's most amazing cities. From its incredible beaches and rows of Tapas bars, to the nightlife that makes you wonder if the town ever sleeps. Riddled with tourists from around the globe, your best bet for cheap and good tapas is just outside of the buzzing 'Old Ville', as many of the Tapas bars won't hesitate to overcharge upon hearing an English or French accent. We managed to find a sweet little Tapas joint; calamari, calamari, calamari;

Last night I had the biggest "it's a small world" moment I have ever experienced. As we were walking along the foreshore in search of some tasty Tapa's, a woman walks in front of us stops points her finger at me,
"Oh my Lord!" It was an Australian couple with whom I had been hanging with in Essaouira in Morocco almost two months earlier. We stopped and chatted about what everyone had been doing. They had made there way up through Morocco, Portugal and across Northern Spain and were speding a couple of nights in San Sebastian before heading to Paris. Where as I had flown to Marseille, stayed in Provence for a month, moved to Biarritz 2 weeks earlier and had decided to come to Spain for the night, and now here we stood at the intersection of two small Spanish streets. What a small world.

Yann, Gryllzy (pronounced Gryzzly, by the French) and I decided to hit up the bars after our little Tapas crawl and made our way to the 'old ville' where bars and churches line the streets;

We also found out that despite Red Bull being sold in Spain, noone had ever heard of Jagabombs. We spent the next hour cruising from bar to bar in search of the elusive Jagermeister and decided to give up and just go into the next bar and grab a beer; when this appeared;

The next couple of hours was spent indulging in Jagabombs much to the confusion and delight of the French and Spanish crowds, some of whom joined in with us and had a few bombs themselves.

Our only way of communicating with the hundreds of Spanish girls wearing F.M.Boots was through Yann and his Spanish or to just try to make the most of their limited English or French; however this didn't hold Gryllzy back. Who had swarms of girls around him trying their best to talk to the; "Australian Surfer Boy".

Bits of rain began to fall and we made a quick trip to the San Sebastian beach front; stared out into the picturesque bay,
lit up by some sizey chandeliers;

We said goodbye to our new Spanish mates; and headed back to the car to cross the border and back into France.

It's an amazing town with an amazing vibe, it's crazy to think that just 15 minutes west of Biarritz is a culture so incredibly different. And whilst most of the Spanish girls are just incredibly hot, you do find the occasional odd one;

Here's a little incite into our night;

Garrett in San Sebastian;

Jaga Beats; On the streets of; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Headed back to the apartement, cracked a couple of Fosters,

and headed to the Grand Plage for a quick kick before the sun finally set; 10:30pm.

Spent the past couple of days touring town, taking in the sites

and introducing Gryllz to the "Bretone" speciality of crepes;

We even ran into this bloke;

And Gryllz just loves taking photos;

Yesterday I started work at "The Players" Pub and Pizzeria; a sweet bar on the beach at the Grand Plage. After knocking off around 9:30 we still had enough time for Gryllz and I to get a surf in under the beach lights before it became too dark. But none of that could beat the trip down to the Newquay at 1pm to watch a bit of live music from some sweet local guitarists; busting out a few well known tunes including a few aussie classics.

One of the frustrating things of the dealing in Euro is that they still have 1 and 2 cent pieces; which fill up your wallet with the barely valuable shrapnel. So with the photos sent by Chloe of Benji Stratton evading some heavy tackling we set up the;
Benny Stratton Shrapnel Fund;

Tommorow night we're off to San Sebastian in Spain, to eat some Tapas, drink some cheap local brews, talk to Spanish women and maybe even watch a bull fight. Keep you posted;

Garrett in Biarritz;

Footy, Fosters and French Females; remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Been hard at work the past week, handing out CV's, opening up bank accounts and just making the most of my French citizenship. The surf has been really good, and I'm finally getting used to the two tides a day and being able to surf till around 10pm. Haven't managed to get down to the beach to take some shots of the surf but there's a photographer who takes pics of Anglet and Grand Plage for his website; here's some of the photos from the past few days;

yes this is France;

really is;

lovin it.

Went out Friday and Saturday nights here, beach parties are sweet, but some of the "VIP; We are so Damn Cool" clubs are way overrated. Heading for a surf in Spain and up to Hossegor during the next few days; should be sweet fun if the waves are anything like here in Biarritz. Plus 4m swell on the horizon; Mundaka possibilities!

I'll keep you updated;
Garrett in Biarritz;

Bob L'Eponge; "Bob the Sponge" remains copyright of the author clancy_of_, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This coastline and region is absolutely amazing, from the Pyraneese about 5km to the south to the scenic surf spots that line the coast. After my early morning surf I decided I would grab the bike and see if I could ride to Spain, taking some photos along the way. The Grand Plage, the beachbreak 3 minutes from my house is where I spend most of my days and thanks to the sun setting at 10.00pm, and the flood lights that line the beach to light up the waves after dark, you can surf all day and all night if your keen. This is a photo of the Grand Plage with the dying swell, it has been a lot lot better the past few days, lots of sweet beachbreaks line the coast;

Up the hill and round the corner on one of the many private beaches, two swimmers partake in the ancient french tradition of swimming with swim caps. The stretchy plastic helps to protect the ears from the cold, and also makes an important fashion statement.

When surfing at the Grand Plage, you are right in front of Biarritz, it is one of the most scenic of surf spots with lots of great french architecture lining the coast.

Coming from the town of Busselton I regard a speedhump as a small hill, so when confronted with the Pyraneese I decided to abandon my bike ride to Spain and head back along the coast. The little bays that line the Basque coast, hide some awesome waves going unridden;

A few begginers make the most of the small swell with their mals in yet another scenic bay;

I've spent the past few days handing my CV around the local bars and stores trying to score some work for the summer season. There's plenty of work around, now all thats needed is the million or so European tourists that will set foot on these shores over the coming months. The weather has been great; and the surf even better, I'm staying with Vincent my second cousin and I have my own little hangout with a fold out bed, its a sweet place;

Spent a fair few nights making the most of the Biarritz nightlife, you can tell it's going to be a crazy summer. Cecile, Yann and I have spent a fair bit of time cruising round the town and helping me get a feel for the place. It's an awesome region with some awesome waves, a lot better than I was expecting, keep you updated;

Garrett in Biarritz;

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10:00 am: Got Passport
1:00 pm: Celebratory Lunch now that I am French Citizen (and can finally work legally)
2:00 pm: Head to Train Station
3:00 pm: Get on Train to other side of the Country
1:00 am: Arrive in Bordeaux
2:00 am: Head to the clubs in Bordeaux
6:30 am: Get train to Biarritz
8:00 am: Arrive in Biarritz
9:30 am: Get out the board and wetsuit and head to beach.
= One Crazy Night

Spent the past two days hanging at the backpackers in Anglet just north of Biarritz; there are a fair few Australians around and all are here for the same thing, surfing. Also met up with Vincent my cousin with whom I'm staying with at the moment, sweet little apartement three minutes walk from the beach.

The surf here is pretty good; lots of beachbreaks with a fair bit of power, good size, but some hassling french crowds. Looks like its going to be an awesome summer,

Garrett in Biarritz;
(I'll post photos soon)

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With most of my Mum’s side of the family scattered around Provence, Draguignan has always felt like a second home to me. For this reason the amount of sight-seeing I have done in the area has been fairly limited. The unusually hot weather and access to a car has allowed me to spend a lot of time lazing by the pool or heading to town with Aurelien and wandering around the cafés and bars. My highly active Grandparents usually manage to get us out of bed at around 7:30 for a walk around the hill and up through the forest, and every night ends with a game of ‘escalier’ or ‘stairs’. Just like old times.

Yesterday I caught up with Elizabeth and Hannah, Leah’s mum and sister, who are halfway through their own little ‘Eurotrip’. We caught up for pizza and wine and heard of their stories from Barcelona, London and the unexpected nudist beaches that surrounded their apartment in the south of France. Hannah, Aurelien and I went out last night and caught up with some of Aurelien’s friends, who treated us to a night of listening to The Red Hot Chilli Peppers whilst sitting and talking around the communal ‘shisha’, with almost always makes an appearance gatherings of French teens. We slept until 10 this morning and spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun and Aurelien’s amazing pool and house;

Backflips, frontflips and a lot of skimming helped to relieve my continued craving for the ocean (a little);

Whilst Aurelien’s dogs ran around the pool entranced by our sweet aquatic skills;

The family also got together last Saturday to celebrate my cousin Marjolaine’s 10th birthday, arguably the cutest kid of our family, it wasn’t a surprise to see gift after gift after gift being handed to her.

From pink converses to a pair of roller blades every present was opened with a typical Marjo smile. On the drive home along the freeway we were overtaken at 160km/h by what could be the future of French travel; this weaving, single person car/bike invention,

With the stress of the last two weeks finally behind me, and the next few weeks falling into place I have been able to sit down, relax and enjoy some of the best things this region has to offer. Cheese, bread, wine and the odd conversation in a café with a good looking French girl.

Garrett in Draguignan;

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The next day we made the trip to the tourist mecca that is St Tropez. With it’s €30 million yachts and even more impressive beach side houses, it is a place where money definitely does matter.

We met up with a distant relative of ours, Jean Paul Vasse, with whom we sailed around the bay admiring the beaches and houses with their $50 million price tags. Stories of drug trafficking and mafia connections surround most of the multi million dollar homes; and the list of celebrity holiday getaways just goes on and on and on.

Over lunch we talked about our distant family connections with the 18th century French sailor Timothy Vasse; whom the town of Vasse in Geographe Bay is now named after, and the possibility of me working in St Tropez for the next 5 weeks whilst waiting for my French passport to arrive.

On a positive note; the south of France at my grandparent’s house isn’t the worst place in the world to be stuck.

I have spent the past week indulging in French food, wine and weather, seeing relatives and lazing by their pool that overlooks the town of Draguignan and south towards St Tropez. The only thing that this place lacks, is the surf that is currently hitting Biarritz on the Atlantic coast; however the wake behind the Vasse’s boat did provide some little waves of hope;

Garrett in Draguignan; France

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Taz the Moroccan/Australian from Newcastle with his completely aussie accent showed me round th riad with it's 5 floors and rooftop terrace looking out over Essaouira and the atlantic ocean.

The Riad's musical vibe is in no small part as a result of Taz's dad. Owner of the riad he travelled the world with his band "Dar Afram" during the seventies and eighties and brings his musical talent to the riad with regular outbursts of singing and guitar jams. The Afram feasts are served at around 8 each night; cous cous, tagines, soups, fruits are all served in the communal dining area filled wih traditional Morocan lounges surrounded by slowly burning candles. Providing the perfect atmosphere to chat away the night passing around the odd 'Morrocan delicacy' whilst jamming on the digeridoo and guitars.

Essaouira has had a massive boost in the level of tourism over the past few years and this has resulted in the opening of several clubs, or 'boit de nuit'. On my second night I had been given the directions to the club and began to walk along the medina wall; I walked past a restaurant with a few men standing out the front and asked one of them if they knew where the bar was;
'upstairs' whispered the big moroccan. Five flights of stairs later the floor opened out with a DJ, stretched bar and around a hundred people, mostly westerners, were lounged about drinking a few 'illegal' Beck's and Heineken's. The price of alcohol in Morocco is about twice that of Australia especially after midnight when the prices go up even further; this doesn't seem to affect the Morrocan's however as they tend to be fairly out of it after one or two beers. When I was at the bar talking to a girl from Sweden and just avoiding a fight with a drunk fifty year old Italian; I heard another familiar accent from across the bar and was invited back to the 'Australian' table; the group of three blonde, one brunette Australian girls had a swarm of Morrocan guys around them trying their hardest to impress the 'beautiful foreign goddesses'.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." and
"I am a pro kitesurfer" seemed to be their favourite pick up lines for the night. We sat around in the Morrocan lounges until around 2; chatting, drinking and dancing, to sweet arabic beats.

For the next few days I felt like I was back in Australia with all my time spent with Australian's; drinking, bargaining in the souqs, jamming on guitars and tanning on the riad roof.

After the night before's hassles from the Morrocan guys; we ended up chillin in the riad and drinking classy Morrocan wine into the night. With the music being provided by someones mobile; Young Mc - Bust a Move.

The Aussie girls headed back to their jobs in London; Taz continued to work in Morocco; and I headed off to Marrakesh to catch my flight to France. With a few more glasses of wine to kick off easter and to mark an end to a sweet adventure along the coast of Morocco.

An Australian couple Anouk and Nathan who were travelling round the world with the theme of hiking in mind had just arrived in Morocco from Nepal and were off to the High Atlas to trek some more; they had hours of stories from Nepal to tell and made my trip seem like luxury in comparison to some of the things they had to deal with.That arvo I managed to score a lift on an earlier bus to Marrakesh allowing me to avoid missing my plane.

I then arrived via taxi into the chaos that is Marrakesh airport on the last day of the Easter long weekend. With ticket machines bursting open; "free plane ride anyone?";

Delays, cancelations and more delays; it began to feel as though no one was going to get out of Morocco that night. Each plane tha arrived was accompanied by cheers from the hundreds of people sitting around on the floor of the Morrocan airport doing their best to pass the time.

Three American girls I was talking to had a really good story;
They are studying in Barcelona and had come to Morocco for a week; they had a plane to Barcelona that morning but slept through their alarm and missed their flight. Because it was easter, everything was booked out but there was a flight at 7pm to Madrid from which they could catch the 5 hour train to Barcelona. They waited at the airport from 7am till 7pm to be told their plane would be delayed by an hour. Then an hour later they said it would be a further hour; then an hour later they announced it would be delayed again for an hour. Then finally at aroun 10pm they were told that the flight had been cancelled. The Easyjet representative stood up and told this crowd of a hundred fuming Spaniards and the three American girls, that they promised they would have an alternative flight for them to Madrid within.......
yes....within "14 DAYS!". Welcome to Morocco.

I was lucky and my flight was only delayed by 4 hours leaving at 12pm; I arrived in Marseille at 4am and everything in the airport was closed. By this time I had been awake for 21 hours; I then had a 4 hour wait in the airport which involved constant trips to the espresso machine. It is now 12pm and I am finally settled in; in an hour I will have been awake for 30 hours and after the hassles of the past few days; I am definitely ready to sleep.

Morocco was incredible; a country of many colours with something to appeal to everyone, I will definitely be back. Amazing Adventure.

Garrett in Marseille; France.

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The winding narrow roads didn't help my raging stomach which was already recovering from a few nights of street side barbeques at $1 a burger. And the unexpected culinary adventure that Renaud and I embarked on; when amongst the meat in our sheep tagine we came across a well cooked sheep's testical. With true moroccan spirit and after several minutes deliberation we decided to go halves; and slowly but successfully ate the Moroccan delicacy.

We arrived in Essaouira just after sunset; it was the start of the Easter long weekend and the town was packed with tourists. After the slowness of pace in Ifni and the complete lack of tourism the bustling medina with its souqs and hustlers felt a bit to much. It felt exactly like the scene of The Beach; where after a few weeks in a tropical paradise, returning to the usual tourist route makes you realise just how good that paradise you had was. We searched around for the hotel Riad Dar Afram ran by some Australian Morrocan's; but they were booked for the night. Yoan had lived in Essaouira for a couple of months and new a sweet location just south on the beach where we could crash and sleep in the car; we drove down the 4WD track to the beach where we crashed for the night, and awoke to the sounds of some small waves breaking just over the dunes.

Yoan headed off at 8 the next morning to continue his trek up to Spain; whilst I went back to Dar Afram to crash and begin my few days exploring the souqs, medina and beaches that surround this sweet little coastal community.

Garrett in Essaouira; Morocco.

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The wind has been offshore for two days now and a nice 2m swell has been running along the coast; causing the right handed pointbreak in front of the town creativley named 'la droit', to be working nicely. The tides here are fairly regular and the surf session for 'la droit' is at the moment lasting from about 11:30 till around 4:00 in the arvo. Yesterday at 12 the wave was working the best it had in a long time and every surfer in town was on the water; yes all six of us.

The trick to Ifni is finding what to do when theres no surf; yesterday morning it ended up being a didgeridoo jam in the streets with the local kids with Renaud taking photos and Yoan doing his best to play the stick from oz.

The hallways which lead down to the front doors of the lime walled homes provide a sweet resonating sound for the didg; causing the sound to be much louder and attracting the attention of most of the kids playing soccer in the streets.

They all wanted to try and play and would just take in turns blowing into the didg then run off laughing when the sound they made was nothing like what the expected, or like some kids it made no sound at all.

Along the beach just north of Sidi Ifni is a Spanish fisherman living in a cave overlooking the sea; always very welcoming he'll excitedly talk to you about how the waves and surf has been lately over a glass of mint tea.

The town is filled with some of the most crazy and interesting people I have ever met; like the 60 year old eldery lady who lives on the beach in Ifni and lives here when she is not at Oxford in the UK. The elegantly speaking english lady proceeded to tell me and a friend that she apologises if she is rambling because she's just been down the beach and thinks she might have smoked just a bit too much 'kif'. The arabic word for cannabis. Or like this old dude roaming through the markets;

Last night Renaud and I and these two english girls, Beth and Lindsey who were heading south to Ghana, went to the Hotel Suerta Loca for a mint tea to chill away the night. Around 11 ocklock the hotel restaraunt started to close and these three arabic musicians one on electric guitar and two on bongos started to set up their equipment, a french guy who is in Ifni with his girlfriend ran up to his room and got his guitar aswell; I headed off and grabbed my didg. We spent the next 2 hours jamming into the night to a mixture of Bob Marley, Led Zepplin and anything we could make up. The crowd of around 25 crammed into the little restaraunt kept the beat going with some costant clapping; whilst the rest of us played until the absinth tea wore off and the cous cous sunk in and all I felt like doing was sleeping.

On Wednesday Yoan is making the 20 hour drive up the coast to a town just east of Tangier to catch the ferry over to France; I'm going to head up halfway with him to the coastal fishing city of Essaouria; spend a few days there and then head into Marrakesh for my flight to Marseille in the south of France. It's been a sweet experience in Morocco; from the surf to the people and not to mention the sweet African sunsets.

Garrett in Sidi Ifni; Morocco

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Whilst this law is true; it is only of concern when you are with local women and especially in smaller towns in the south of the country such as Sidi Ifni. In tourist spots such as Agadir, Marrakesh and the north coast the law is almost disregarded.

Im living pretty well in Sidi Ifni at the moment; I'm spending about $8 (AUS) a night on accomodation and I have a shower, dvd player, kitchen the works. Go out to dinner every night for $3.50 and get half a chicken, chips, salad, bread, mint tea, vegies and dips. And then during the day just make avocado, tomato and olive sandwhiches for about 90 cents each; and get a glass bottle of coke for 50 cents.

Ohwell it's lunch time so I'm going to head off and get a cous cous and get ready for an arvo match of poker; sorry about the lack of photos but I'm recharging the batteries.

Garrett; Sidi Ifni; Morocco.

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The town has it's characters, and none more so than the local surfer Ahmed. As passionate for surfing as the pope is for religion he spends every day on the water; this thirty year old Morrocan started surfing at the age of 18 and is at home in the waves.
The two french travellers;
Renaud; the photographer.
and
Yoan; the lost surfer.
Provide hours of entertainment from our intense games of pool to the hours spent surfing, or the casual sharing of a Tangine au Poisson.

This morning Renaud and I hit up the beach; for an early morning session. With the swell picking but the winds slightly onshore it wasn't perfect, but with the whole beach to yourself it makes it all worthwhile. I had some fun waves and Renaud did his best to captre the moment.

The town feels as though everything was built from scratch in the 1950's and nothing has been altered since; with it's decaying Spanish art deco lining the walls of every house it really is a place that must be seen to be believed.

Garrett in Sidi Ifni; Morocco

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The chilled out surf town of Taghazout was an amzing place where we met ravelling surfers from Germany, Austria, South Africa, America, Australia, New Zealand, Morocco, England, Spain and even Sweden.

The Sunset's from our balcony rivalled those at home, and the black shadows of the palm trees at Anchor Point made them just that little bit better.

Last night the 5 of us went our seperate wayswith the Americans heading back to Paris and Catherine and I getting a lift down to Agadir with a Californian guy Cliff; named 'Californiacation' by the local kids. We all exchanged emails and phone numbers and vowed to meet for a reunion in Australia in 5 years time. Our awesome little crew was just one example of the amawing people you meet when your travelling. (The pic was taken by Catherine)

Anyway for the past 4 hours I have been sitting in a cafe at a bus station in Imezgane just south of Agadir; waiting for my 4 oclock bus to Sidi Ifni; where hopefully the surf will be bigger. As the local surfers say if there asked about the possibility of a bigger swell tommorow;
Incha-Hala; God Willing.

Garrett in Sidi Ifni; Morocco.

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Before leaving; we decided to check out the souqs one more time and I managed to score myself some Morrocan sandals; sweet.

On arrival at the bus stop the haggling began; "take my bus 100 Dh; tale my bus 90 Dh; speaking french allows you to avoid being totally ripped off and Catherine and I managed to get two tickets to Agadir central for 80 Dh; $11 each. The 4 hour bus journey through dessert and snow gave us a small taste of the many colours of Morrocco.

On the trip we met three american guys; Mark, Simon and Will; they were studying in Paris and had just spent several days hiking in the high atlas and were heading to Agadir to relax and unwind. We chatted for a while and they decided heading up the coast to the fishing village of Taghazout to chill and surf, sounded like a sweeter option.

Catherine, Mark, Simon, Will, Joseph, Me and the taxi driver crammed ourselves into a taxi and with some sweet arabic tunes blazing we headed the 20 minutes up the coast to Taghazout. The thing in Simon's hand is the one handle that was used to open all windows; named 'the tool'.

On arrival we were met by Adil; a guy who said he would find us a sweet apartment. After the standards of Marrakesh's hotels we weren't optimistic as to what we were to expect, but after walking across town and up some steps, we were taken to one of the most amazing views I had ever seen; from Agadir to Anchor point, with marble floors, a balcony; roof terrace, shower, toilet, 5 beds, kitchen, fridge, T.V. and huge 8 seater couch; it was all ours (after a bit of haggling) for $14 (AUS) each a night.

We quickly unpacked; and whilst the americans headed into Agadir to get some beer and Catherine went into town I ran up to Anchor's and surfed sweet 6ft anchors with just 8 other guys, for the last 2 hours before dark.

We all headed into town afterwards for some tangine's and cous cous at the sweet local restaraunt, "Le Paix".

Garrett in Taghazout; Morocco.

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