At Least It's Sunny

Six months ago, when I finally made my mind up to leave little old London for the heaving metropolis of Perth, things were economically rosy in the Western Australia capital. I had contacted a number of potential employers, all of whom had replied positively about the prospects of a job in early 2009. I quote one such person: “February is ideal; we’re moving into bigger offices and taking on more clients, so definitely contact us when you arrive.” Another replied with: “We’re experiencing somewhat of a boom in Perth and my greatest problem is finding the space for new staff.”

Fast forward to February 2009, and two weeks after arriving in this sun-drenched city I’m wondering where all the positivity has evaporated to. Perth has doubled over in the corner of the economic boxing ring, winded by an unseen left hook from the world-beating heavyweight, D. Pression. What makes it worse is that with an abundance of minerals, and an extraordinary Asian demand for them, Perth surely was the outright favorite in this battle. But who around the world hasn’t been caught napping by the onset of this global dilemma? It was an advertising agency I mentioned above that suggested office space was at a premium six months ago. I learned this very morning that they retrenched ten members of staff, so I’m guessing they have a bit more space now. I think it’s safe to assume hiring me is not at the top of their agenda.

Still, the sun is shining, and like I said over and over in London I’d rather be miserable where it’s sunny than where it’s cold. I didn’t have the best start arriving in Perth. South African Airways, an airline I won’t fly again even if it’s the last plane out of a plague-infested desert island, brought me in from Johannesburg. I spent four hours in Oliver Tambo Airport before my flight to Perth, three quarters of which I wasted remonstrating with the baggage staff about being overweight. For nine kilograms they wanted to charge me US$250. For considerably less than that I bought a large hold all and increased my meagre hand luggage to bring me down to an acceptable weight. I have never had a fondness for that airport, and let me say this now – if they think they have improved it to ‘international standards’ in time for the 2010 World Cup, they need to think again. From certain angles the airport looks the business. But how can you expect ten thousand Brazillian football fans to go through SEVEN security checks before entering the crammed duty-free area? This includes three ticket checks and three luggage scales. It’s an utter shambles. Add to this the fact that the entire airport only boasts one technician tasked with fixing the passenger gangway when it breaks, as it inevitably did at my gate, and you have a recipe for disaster. I promise I am nearly done with the rant. I want to finish by saying that the thieving SAA flight crew stole my most prized clothing possession; a wool overcoat. I had been so eager to get off their aircraft that I left it on board, only to discover within twenty minutes that it had vanished. I must thank the Australian ground services for doing their very best to find it. I am not surprised a bunch of SAA reprobates have been charged with drug smuggling in London. They are incompetent, untrustworthy, unprofessional, and totally devoid of charm. Just ask the passenger in front of me who received a complimentary milk shower halfway through the flight.

It was a pleasure arriving in Perth. It was literally a breath of fresh air after that flight from hell. The passport staff were efficient and friendly, the baggage personnel willing and apologetic. It’s an attitude that carries across Australia. They are a friendly, down-to-earth, straightforward, no nonsense, happy sort of people – with the odd exception. The inferno that engulfed the state of Victoria was a shocking tragedy, but not for the first time it was the result of deliberately lit fires started by arsonists. You get used to people having motives when they commit crimes, no matter how misguided those motives are, but what possible motive can you claim when acting out such an appalling piece of inhumane behaviour?

Bushfires are a real hazard in Australia, usually caused naturally. One of the many perils Australians are faced with in exchange for a life of sun and space. The other, or should I say one of the others, is snake bite. Of the four collective years I have spent in Australia I have never seen one snake, so you can imagine my dismay when the cat belonging to the people putting me up at present died from snake poison. It just goes to show that you can’t be too careful – this happened in a very urban built up area. Another animal too often associated with Australia’s coastal waters is the friendly shark. Until recently I have always imagined my chances of being attacked by one slimmer than my chances of being hit by a car. However attacks are on the up, and I can’t help but wonder how far away the nearest shark is when I’m tumbling through the sunset-tinged breakers on City Beach, as I have been doing every other evening since arriving here. There is nothing like the promise of a cool refreshing ocean to motivate you to jog the four kilometres down to the beach for a dip. And yes, I jog back too.

Perth has not changed much since I was last here. The most amazing addition to the city from my perspective is the insertion of a railway running all the way from the CBD to Mandurah, with a stop at my old university. Oh how that would have changed my commute for those four years! Aside from that only a few new buildings are going up. The streets are still clean, wide, smooth and safe. The buses are precise, and their chilled interiors offer respite from the sweltering verges that line suburb after suburb. When I was living here in the late nineties I heard a startling statistic about takeaways. It was something along the lines of there being more per capita than in any other major city in the world. I’ve never worked out if this is true, but I must say there are hundreds of them. And where there isn’t a cluster of McDonald’s, Hungry Jacks (Burger King), Chicken Treat, KFC, and Red Rooster, you will find a shopping mall equipped with a food hall. Perth to me has always been the city of food halls. I love them. The Carillon Shopping mall in the centre of town boasts Mexican, Indian, Thai, British, Chinese, Japanese, Vegetarian and Italian food, all within a 20 or 30 metre radius of a central communal seating area. It’s really not all that expensive either. Just the sort of sustenance required to fuel a run to the beach and a frolic in the waves. Although it is perhaps not the type of diet to recommend to a swimmer competing in this weekend’s Rottnest Channel Swim. Rottnest Island sits about 20kms off the Perth coast, and each year sees a crazy collection of swimming fanatics racing to its shores from Cottesloe Beach. When I lived in London, I talked a lot about running the marathon there, and I expect to do much of the same here over the years to come – talk a lot about swimming this race. It’s the thought that counts.

Sport plays a big part of life in Perth. Already I have attended a couple of Super XIV rugby matches. Perth team Western Force have lost one and unconvincingly won another. It’s just great to be out there enjoying it live. The Johnnie Walker Classic is also being held at the moment, and I may venture out to the Vines Resort for the final day to see if American Anthony Kim can rustle up some of that Ryder Cup magic.

I am, in truth, struggling to sound energetic and excited, despite all I have said about how wonderful Perth is. The problem with me is that I will only be happy when I find a job. But not just any old job – a career. It’s a testing time in Perth and I am faced with the possibility of having to seek out better options in Sydney, particularly if I am to continue to pursue advertising as my industry of choice. But for the moment I am staying patient and biding my time here. Next week I leave for Bunbury, a small but gorgeous town to the south of Perth, to stay with my cousin and his wife. From there I may end up moving to Carnarvon for a period, and if I was trying to get away from London and all that it has wrong with it, Carnarvon could not be more of an opposite. The sun is shining though, and that’s so important to me. They say Hawaii has a major homeless problem because in a warm healthy climate it’s easier to live that life than in a cold, cramped city. Aloha.

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SOME PICTURES FROM ZIMBABWE - SIGNS OF THE TIMES

Objects in the Rear-View Mirror

When it comes to my favourite areas of Zimbabwe I have always been torn between the rocky rugged mountains of the Eastern Highlands, and the low-lying grassy shores of the massive Lake Kariba. Luckily for me I had the opportunity to visit both areas in quick succession over the past ten or so days. These regions still possess the splendid ancient scenery Africa will always be famous for, but on the surface the troublesome presence of mankind is more obvious than ever before. Some might suggest that Lake Kariba, a man-made dam constructed on the Zambezi River many decades ago, was problematic for the ecosystem at the time, but it cannot be denied that for all the troubles originally caused by its construction it has matured into the most magnificent of ‘natural’ spectacles. It is the more recent effect of humans that blights Kariba and the surrounding Zambezi Valley, as well as the Eastern Highlands. Throughout both areas there are not just reminders of how much good man is capable of – all too frequently the good is starkly contrasted by vivid examples of our ability to destroy.

I have been travelling to Kariba for years with my family and can fondly remember the early starts when we used to drive the four or five hour trip for a Christmas and New Year stay. These days we seem to be slower to depart and this trip was no exception. We had been out late the night before, and as a result got away late the morning of our departure. This might not sound like a problem but after the four hour drive, meaning you arrive at the lake around lunch, you are then faced with a five hour crossing by boat to get to one of the more secluded and beautiful locations. This means sailing in the dark if you don’t time it right, a dangerous activity without radar and with the thousands of submerged tree stumps threatening hulls and propellers. The drive up to Kariba has always been one of my favourites, especially towards the end where the last hour or so is a thrilling, twisting descent of the hills preceding the river valley. The road has deteriorated badly, with potholes large enough to break wheel axles if you are not in the right type of vehicle. Even our diesel automatic Land Rover was taking strain as I failed to avoid one or two of the more cavernous cracks.

I have grown accustomed to seeing all sorts of animals crossing the tarmac on the drive down; lions, impala, snakes, elephant, mongooses, and zebra to name a few. Unfortunately with the rampant poaching that currently takes place it is now only elephants you are likely to encounter. I say ‘only’ like it’s a chore! The common misconception is that in this part of Africa poaching is exclusively targeted at elephant and rhino simply for tusks and horns. Yes, rhino have suffered badly, almost to the point of localised extinction, but elephant are more prolific here than they have ever been. They say there are now more elephant in Zimbabwe than there were a century ago. The animals that are really suffering are those which can provide food for humans. Buffalo, waterbuck, zebra, and kudu are practically non-existent now and it is terribly sad. They are a source of food for lions, which means lions are absent too. You used to hear them roar almost every night a decade ago, but we heard nothing on this trip. Ten or twenty years ago you’d brace yourself around every corner expecting a leaping impala or skittish pack of baboons, but this time we only came across one beast – a huge, magnificent old bull elephant.

He was standing majestically in the middle of a small bridge as we came around a bend. Normally old bull elephants are quite relaxed about humans and cars, their fighting days over and with no more responsibility for a herd. When we approached we took the usual precautions of waiting for him to shuffle slowly off to the verge so we could pass. I was driving, and as he made his way off the bridge onto the side of the road, where he seemed content to graze idly on the lush grass bank, I decided to floor it and sneak past. I failed to factor in the heavy cargo, the sluggish diesel engine, and the relatively steep incline off the bridge exit. As we drew to about ten metres short of him, he backed off the grass and onto the road again. He swung round to face us, ears flapping, tusks swaying with purpose. I veered off onto the opposite verge to steer around and as we came up alongside him the power of the engine at last kicked in. The Land Rover roared up the hill and at the same moment he took a cursory swipe with tusks and trunks, missing our rear by a few feet. Objects in the rear-view mirror may appear closer than they are, apparently. All I know is he consumed the entire mirror, eyes bobbing up and down with anger as he trotted up the hill after us. We laughed at the time but later learned a bus driver in the area wasn’t so lucky having been killed where he sat by an elephant’s tusk through the windscreen. For those of you used to the Asian elephants of Thai and Indian origin, the ones adorned with paint and decorations, let me assure you the difference between them and their African cousins is astonishing, the latter being almost untameable and considerably larger. They are famous in the Kariba region for tormenting villagers, rampaging through fields of crops and compounds. It’s a classic scenario of territories clashing and numbers increasing on both sides.

Many of you reading this will be familiar with the usual habits of British motorway commuters, the endless lure of glowing Tesco Expresses and Wild Bean Cafes distributed every so many miles down each main route out of London. They become a part of the journey. Stopping on the drive to Kariba is also quite a popular pastime. But instead of stocking up on cans of Red Bull, packets of liquorice allsorts, and Styrofoam cups of industrial coffee, there are only two things really worth halting for: biltong and worms - beef jerky and fishing bait for the unfamiliar. Worms are big business along the route to Kariba and the competition is fierce. Years ago there would simply be the odd sign saying "Worms for Sale" adjacent to a shady tree under which you would find an elderly man equipped with buckets of worm-riddled mud. These days the copywriting is worthy of awards; "Anaconda Worms"; "Red Worms of Note"; "Great Survival Worms"; and my personal favourite, "Worms by Appointment to Her Majesty ". So with a boot full of wriggling fish lures and dried beef we finally arrived at our sweltering destination.

Any Kariba experience on land or water is one to remember but if you ever get the chance the only way to really appreciate the expanse and beauty of this stunning location is by houseboat. Some of the vessels on the water are just that - pontoons with houses precariously balanced on top. Other vessels are a little more traditional such as the cruiser I was lucky enough to stay on this time. The "Driftwood" is a superb motor yacht with capacity for six passengers across two fully equipped cabins as well as two staff (a captain and chef). Bruno, the captain, prides himself on being the unofficial number one captain on the lake. There is no denying he has great skill when it comes to manoeuvring the craft into a tight spot. Michael, the chef-cum-deckhand, is a warm and friendly sort, although I am not sure how long that will last. He is due to be married shortly. You'd expect me to be happy for the man but in this part of the world there is the small matter of ‘lobola’. In days gone by in Zimbabwe this would translate to a bit of money, a few goats, and a couple of cattle. In this age of the US Dollar doing all the talking in Zimbabwe Michael's prospective father-in-law wanted nothing along the lines of livestock and Monopoly money. A mere US$350 will cover it!

Still, Michael was not to be discouraged and succeeded in turning out a range of enjoyable meals night after night. Passengers must bring their own supplies but he is more than happy to convert them into palatable creations to be consumed on the rear of the boat listening to the sounds of the African bush. Unfortunately all too often the bush sounds are drained out by an all-encompassing whine as a million midges and bugs take to flight for their evening breeding sessions. It got to a point where we had to eat in the dark so as not to attract them with table lights. Strange to think you would pay a fortune at a particular London Restuarant for this "dans le noir" experience.

On the second night we ate what can only be described as the most humane and perfect of dishes. Mankind has been fishing to feed himself for goodness knows how many years, and to catch a fish, skin it, fry it, and eat it all in the space of a couple of hours is one of the most gorgeous culinary experiences I know of. Bream, or freshwater tilapia, are abundant in Lake Kariba, and between my father and me we managed to catch enough 'keepers' for the table. Cooked lightly in a little butter, lemon juice and garlic, bream is just oh so tender and succulent, with a subtle muddy flavour. It is to die for and is just the medicine to cheer me up having lost to my father in the fishing competition.

The fish are particularly on the bite when the lake is rising. The lifting water level gradually creeps up over the grassy banks enabling fish to feed on shore-dwelling insects. Sitting at approximately 480 metres above sea-level when full Lake Kariba is an impressive site from all angles. In the distance, on the morning we crossed the lake, there was a plume of mist emanating from the gorge in which the actual damn wall sits. This meant the gates of the wall were open to allow some of the water to flow out. Like most things in Zimbabwe the management of this once powerful hydroelectric damn has become disjointed and inefficient. Similarly, the management of the National Parks that form much of the shoreline around Kariba is equally shoddy. We visited Spurwing Island on our last night, a wonderful game lodge being co-managed by an old friend of mine who is also the resident qualified game guide. He regaled us with tales of cheetah, leopard, rhino, buffalo, and lion sightings over the previous couple of weeks. I was pleasantly surprised when he said this was due to the improvements of game management in the area, something he and his team had been helping with. There are always two sides to every story and he went on to dampen the spirit by informing us that despite positive growth in the Parks a herd of twelve elephants were recently slaughtered to feed the national army of Zimbabwe.

At the bar in this game lodge, where we had to consume the rudimentary gin and tonic or three, we met a newlywed couple from Harare. They got onto the subject of moving house for safety reasons because of a nasty burglary they had experienced some weeks prior. This is an all too common occurrence in Harare. Their story highlights exactly what I have been describing in previous posts of the resilience of Zimbabwe's people. After being held up at gunpoint in the middle of the night, and having most of their valuables stolen, the husband's main concern was that the criminals had taken his fully-loaded gun with them and could now be using it to commit similar offences. His wife complained, "And they took my bloody toothpaste."
I am usually sad to leave Lake Kariba, but with the prospect of a short weekend at the stunning Leopard Rock mountain golf resort sitting at the opposite side of the country I left in good spirits. Leopard Rock is named after the huge granite rock that looms out of the forest forming one of the highest peaks in the Vumba mountain region of Zimbabwe. This area, along with Chimanimani and Nyanga, makes up the Eastern Highlands. These highlands are essentially the border between Zimbabwe and Mozambique and they also play an important natural role in Zimbabwe’s climate. The hills are not too far from the coast of Mozambique and as the warm, moist sea air roles in it is forced upwards by the increasing altitude where it cools, condenses, and arrives as heavy rainfall across Zimbabwe.

To get to Leopard Rock, you have to drive through the once glorious city of Mutare. In days gone by this city was a joyful place full of enterprise, trade and tourism. It was a popular stopover for people travelling to and from Mozambique for business or pleasure. These days however it exhibits starling changes for the worse, even more so than Harare. Aside from the nationwide economic collapse, Mutare also has the misfortune of being situated a short distance from the diamond deposits in the Marange region. The value of these deposits only really became apparent in 2006 and since then chaos has reined. Mutare, until recently, would not have looked out of place on the Blood Diamond production set. It seems it’s not as bad as it was a year or two back, but I heard stories of regular night-time gunfights across the city. Drag races between the newly rich black market diamond dealers were not uncommon. Some people are reputed to own up to forty luxury vehicles each. The most astonishing story of all, at a time where Zimbabwe sits at the top of the list of the world’s poorest nations, was the tale of a funeral procession for a deceased diamond dealer that included a pick-up truck loaded with friends and family who continuously threw US$1 bills all over the streets as the procession drifted through Mutare.

I felt almost guilty to be away from all this strife up the mountain at the exquisite and secluded golf course of Leopard Rock. Despite a severe lack of business the course was in superb condition, and after a satisfying round on our first day we retired to the bar to watch a magnificent storm drift in. I was lost in my own thoughts, remembering the little wild tortoise I had helped across the road on the drive up, when a young African man approached us. In an accent that was a cocktail of Zimbabwean, American and Australian he offered us a complimentary shot of tequila. In an effort to distract myself from the appalling aftertaste of my least favourite drink I enquired about his bizarre twang. It turned out that he had spent time in Perth. It turned out he had actually spent time at the same university as me, in the same school, living in the same on-campus accommodation. It dawned on me right then just how close my final destination in Australia now was. A little twist of energy and excitement bubbled up inside me, and I strangely began to look forward to my arrival. I’m not accustomed to being faced with one of the most stunning views you’ll ever see only to be thinking of getting away. But my holiday in Zimbabwe sadly was drawing to a close.

I am finishing this off in Perth, having arrived a few days ago, and already looking in that old rear-view mirror Zimbabwe is miles away, physically and mentally. The usual lack of power and fuel meant I was unable to access the internet over my last few days, something that is so easy to take for granted. Already I can see the way of life in Perth is the exact opposite. Everything works, but more importantly everyone is helpful beyond belief. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll soon start missing the unpredictability of Zimbabwe or the hustle and bustle of London. Well, I’m jobless, and that’s certainly excitement of one kind. It seems my inflated plans of being a big fish in a small pond over here were a shade misplaced. Perth is more like a nice symmetrical swimming pool, with all the lanes roped off in brightly coloured floats. I’m the guy with goggles and budgie smugglers tentatively climbing into the slow lane.