Day 42 – Tulum

Back when I was a kid, we used to take Geography classes. Radical new wave teaching, I know, but bear with me. Occasionally, the teacher used to touch briefly on something called “The Greenhouse Effect”. This was cutting edge stuff. He talked about “renewable energy”, “acid rain” and polystyrene cups that didn't contain CFCs. Outside of school though, you only only heard this kind of stuff from dirty, white men with dreads and bra-less women with piercings.

Nowadays, green issues are not just big news, they are also big business. And leisure is no exception to that rule.

We made the decision to leave Playa on Sunday night. It'd been fun, but I'd had my fill of 60 peso Margharitas, cruise ships and souvenir stand owners trying to sell me weed. So we jumped on a bus and headed for Tulum.

Tulum holds the distinction of being the only place in Mexico where you can visit Mayan ruins on the beach. Type 'Tulum' into Google Images. You'll find images of a pale, grey limestone pyramid, framed by palm trees and the turquiose waters of the Carribean Sea. It's picturesque.

Tulum is also famous for cenotes. Cenotes are deep, freshwater holes in the ground. You see, the Yucatan peninsula is basically swiss cheese. When the limestone rose from the sea million years ago, vast networks of underground rivers were created by the retreating waters. As a result, the entire region is dotted with over 5,000 freshwater pools, themselves gateways to sunken caverns that flow for miles and miles. Which you can go diving in. Which we did.

I cannot speak highly enough about it. In all honesty, the prospect of cave diving was something I wasn't sure how to feel about. I'm always one for big fish, and you don't get much life in a cave system. The Pocket Rocket wasn't too sure about it all either, Even less so when we arrived at the dive site in a vehicle best described as the outline of a truck. You see, the entrance to our dive site was basically a hole in the ground only slightly wider than ourselves.

However, as soon as we climbed down the ladder, all doubts evaporated. It became clear why the Mayas considered these 'magical' cenotes to be the lifeblood of their empire. To step into a cenote cave is to drop into a world a good 4-5 degrees cooler than the stifling humidity of the surface. Clear, clear water casts ever shifting light patterns on the stalacmites that drop down from the ceiling. It's a serene place.

We did two dives that day, descending down into a network of sunken caverns and passageways piled on top of each other and filled with all kinds of weird and wonderful shapes and structures. Sometimes we would shine out torches into the gloom, watching the way the shadows would play out against the rock walls. Occasionally, we shut out the lights and hung motionless in the gloom, watching weak shards of distant daylight filter in from above.

Occasionally, we shone our torches into the darkness of bottomless tunnels. One particularly ominous one began with a warning sign embossed with the figure of the Grim Reaper. This particular tunnel had claimed the life of 300 divers. Even pottering around well-explored cenotes like Dos Ojos, it was easy to lose track of where you were, where you'd come from. It's a enticingly deadly world, and a fragile one that I hope will last the test of time and tourism.

Which brings me back nicely to my first point. Where Cancun and Playa are shrines to excess and consumption, Tulum advertises itself as the cutting edge of eco-tourism. However, this is where I tend to get a little cynical.

Which comes first? Deciding to be an eco-resort and making wholesale changes to the way you run your operation; or realising you have a hotel with no electricity or fresh running water, so calling yourself and eco-resort and charging top dollar for the “rustic experience”.

There is something undeniably romantic about the idea of being in a wooden cabana by the shore of the Carribean Sea. All you have is the bright night sky and candlelight for company.

The reality is it's romantic for about ten minutes. After that, spending twenty minutes trying to find your toothbrush in the half-light, trying to sleep in the oppressive humidity and getting eaten alive by mozzies make it hard to see this expensive primitivism as nothing more than a bit of a crock. Oh yeah, and there was an old, naked guy on the clothing-optional beach who insisted on walking around every ten minutes so we could all see his wrinkly, brown bits. Why are 90% of nudists fat, old guys?

Tulum is a lovely place. Gorgeous beach, great ruins and superb diving. In reality though, it's just as touristy as Playa. Luxury backpacking for grown-ups, minus the luxury and the backpackers.

Day 43 - Playa del Carmen

Chuck, the large fat man from Tennessee, is in the middle of telling his equally fat daughter all about the proud history of WWE wrestling – from across the other side of the beach. Chucks' equally fat, tooth-lacking wife is letting everyone within a nautical mile know that 'a couple more o' dem Margaretas' and 'she gonna git nekkid'. The Mexican reggae band in the back of the bar is launching into yet another version of Bob Marley's 'Don Juarry'. The guy in the souvenir stand (monkey heads carved from coconuts, sombreros, fake Cuban cigars etc) has just tried to sell me weed. In a few hours, I'll witness a woman who truly believes that you can make yourself understood in any language simply by speaking as loudly as possible. Today, clearly, is the day the cruise liners visit.

Playa del Carmen seems to be to Americans what Mallorca is to the English, or Bali is to the Australians. Like it's bolder, brasher cousin one hour north, Cancun, it's serves the purpose of liberating American dollars from American pockets.

Our first glimpse upon arriving late Monday night was the road known as La Quinta, or Fifth Street. It's an indeterminate length of road, lined with the aforementioned souvenir shops (surely a front?), quasi-designer clothing & accessory boutiques, pharmacies, novelty theme restaurants & fast food joints, and tour companies. It's all about as Mexican as sour cream on your nachos.

But then you carry on walking a little further, away from the sunburnt tourists ambling aimlessly up and down the strip, and you find the beach.

And what a beach is it!

For five days, we've simply marvelled at the way the water changes colour during the day. From a calm aquamarine blue in the morning, to a cloudy crystalline azul before dusk. It's always like stepping into the perfect backyard pool. Cool enough to steal you away from the maddening heat of the town, but warm enough to leave your breath in your chest.

Did I mention the bars and clubs? Big, sprawling, multi-level temples of music, spilling out onto the white sand and filled with fire twirlers, sand floors, bar-swings rather than bar-stools and more thatch than 1980s Britain. Beach as bro. Here, see for yourself.

Add to the mix sand so soft you could sift it through gauze, and you've got a recipe for lazin'. Which is pretty much what we've done. The first day we headed to the supermarket for a couple of fat steaks and a nice bottle of Tanqueray. After we'd polished that off, we made the short twenty metre trip to dive into the water.

On Day 3, we decided twenty metres was a little too far. So we moved into the place across the road, which was only ten metres and had a better view.

Yep, a good beach will forgive a lot.

All the Playa photos are here

Day 36 - Oaxaca

In 1519, a ruthless Spanish military leader named Hernan Cortes landed on the North East coast of modern Mexico with a big, hairy, audacious goal. He sought conquest of the 'New World' and to claim her gold for Spain. This latter-day Goldmember brought with him 550 men (well, Spaniards), horses, attack dogs and 1 cannon. His first act was to burn all the expeditions' ships. Clearly this pale, bearded Spaniard was no Len Shackleton.

At the time of his arrival, the population of Europe was 6 million. The total population of the lands he sought to conquer was over 25 million.

Despite the enormity of the task facing him, Cortes had three distinct advantages. The first was guns. The native tribes lived in a land plentiful in gold, but lacking steel. Their warriors fought only with spears and slings.

The second advantage was germs. The Spanish brought with them, flowing through their veins, all manner of virulent strains of European disease. These were diseases unknown to the New World, and they would wipe out an estimated 80% of the native population in the years to come.

The third, and perhaps most telling of all advantages, was Cortes himself. Moctezuma - the Emperor of the most powerful of the New World empires, the Aztecs – was a superstitious man. 1519 also happened to be the predicted date for the return of the god Quetzalcoatl, who scripture described as a pale, bearded figure (the Incas themselves were mostly hairless).

And so unfolded historys' greatest 'Sliding Doors' moment. Right place, right time (or wrong place, wrong time if you happened to be a native).

When Moctezuma was told that a pale, bearded figure, supported by legions of unknown creatures, had landed that fateful day, he chose not to send a legion to destroy them as they put feet on dry land. He did not ambush them whilst they slept their first, new night in the deep jungle. Instead, he sent an envoy to invite them to join him in his palace.

It was to be the mistake that defined the future of a continent. Cortes, as ruthless as ever, took the emperor hostage. Over the years that followed, he subjugated an entire continent, by sword, alliance and sheer will. He converted most to Catholicism. He enslaved those who failed to support him. He rewrote the history books, building Spanish churches atop existing native temples and ziggurats. All the gold the New World possessed became his. His role in history today is defined by his actions; the Conquistador.

The overriding flavor of Oaxaca (Wa-ha-ka) is history. History and food. We arrived here in the early morning, following a long, smelly, six-hour,overnight bus trip down from Mexico City. In the dawn light, the town looked like something from a spaghetti western. Lots of whitewashed, plastered walls fallen into disrepair and crumbling all around. The only thing which spoilt the image were the lush green mountains encircling the town.

A walk exposed the 'town' for what it really is, a city. Oaxaca the city is, fittingly, the capital of Oaxaca the region. It's a picture postcard place, a thin veneer of history covering what is a fairly modern city. It's very low-rise too. There are few buildings, if any, greater than two stories.

It's known throughout Mexico for it's culinary standing. Dishes such a dark, chocolaty mole, a light string cheese called quesillo, tequila-esque firewater mezcal and salted, lime crickets called chapulines are all celeberated as Oaxacan staples. In fact, you can't walk around a corner without spotting some small restaurant nestled in an inner courtyard, or up atop of a roof. It's a foodies dream and, for the record, the crickets simply taste salty.

After the 24/7 spin cycle of Mexico City, Oaxaca has been an opportunity to take it down a notch. We've wandered down her streets, marvelled at grand old stand-stone buildings and sauntered through the markets for which the city is also known. We took a particularly memorable, long, dusty trip into the mountains to an amazing place called Hierve el Agua. It's basically the site of hot (read, tepid) springs, where you can sit in a mineral-rich pool on the edge of a cliff and survey the valleys below. What makes it especially amazing is seeing where the calcium-rich waters have flowed down the rock, leaving an eerie, white ghost of a waterfall suspended motionless for eternity.

However, at the risk of continuing the history lesson and boring everyone, it's hard not to be in Oaxaca and soak up the past. It's everywhere. It's in the faces of the people, the food that comes across your table, the museums all around town and, most of all, the buildings.

In ancient times, the land around Oaxaca gave rise to one of the most potent empires of the time. The Zapotecas rose to prominence in 500AD. Later, they built their impressive capital, Monte Alban. This city, which ruled over the surrounding villages for over 1300 years before mysteriously being abandoned, is an amazing place. High on a hilltop, it truly shudders the mind to conceive of the effort that went into building the city, especially when you realise they sheered the top off a mountain to do it.

It makes your realise that for all our technology, our modern day smarts, maybe we're not as clever as we think (especially given recent economic events). After all, when was the last time you heard of a group of people clearing an entire mountaintop using only basic tools, before building a city that would endure for over 1300 years? It puts those of us who struggle to assemble Ikea furniture to shame.

You'll be happy to know the Spanish is coming on nicely, with only three glaring oversights. Rachel managed to wander around for most of our night out in Mexico City telling the many Mexican men she was chatting with I was her hermano (brother) rather than esposo (husband). It made for some odd faces when I gave her a kiss a bit later in the evening. Walking down the road in Oaxaca she rather abruptly told an old man selling native artwork no me gusta (I don't like it), rather than the more polite no quiero (I don't want it). However, the guff of the month probably goes to me for telling a chambermaid this pillow is my wife, rather than this pillow is my wife's.

Still, would have made for an interesting wedding.

All the Oaxaca snaps son aqui

Day 30 - Mexico City

The scene: A small movie producers' office in Hollywood. The decor is old and worn, and wallpaper is peeling from the walls. A window is open and a hot wind occasionally blows the thin curtain inside the room. A man is sat at a desk. His name is Stan and he is a movie producer. Soon, a second man joins him, sitting opposite him. His name is Laurie. He is a writer. They begin to talk.

Laurie:I have an idea for a movie!
Stan (looking up from his desk): Great! It's been a while Laurie. I was beginning to worry. You wanna coffee?
Laurie: No, I had one at Starbucks on the way.
Stan (pressing the intercom): Candy, get me a coffee, will ya. Now Laurie, tell me all about it.
Laurie: Well, it's set in Mexico City....
Stan (interrupting): Mexico City! Mexico City? Seriously, who sets a movie in Mexico City?
Laurie: Have you ever been?
Stan: Well, no. It's far too dangerous. Aren't there drug wars there? And what about that pig flu?
Laurie: No, no, you've got it all wrong. Mexico City is massively underrated. It's an amazing place.
Stan: Sure, but for a movie?
Laurie: Yeh! Sure! It's got more history than it knows what to do with. The place is an amazing historical city. It's completely unique, like no other city. And the people are some of the most friendly you'll ever meet in a city of 20 million plus. As far as dangerous goes, sure if you go walking into the wrong area of town at 3am you're in trouble. Other than that, it's no more dangerous than any other big city, I tells ya! As for swine flu, I've never heard such a bunch of hot air...
Stan: Really? But the newspapers...

Laurie: Forget the papers. Swine flu has been blown out of all proportion, and Mexico City is the right place to shoot this film. If you can handle a little pollution, it's got everything a film crew will need. Great food, superb locations and the best bit Laurie? It's cheap!

Laurie: That I like, Stan! So what's the film about?
Stan: Well, it's about people, really. It's about a moment in life when the chemistry between a group of strangers is simply perfect, and something unique comes along for one brilliant minute. It burns brightly and then, just as quickly as it came, it's gone.
Laurie: Break it down for me Stan.
Stan: It's about a group of travellers who come together at a hostel in...
Laurie: ...Mexico City...
Stan: ...right, and for four brilliant days, everything just clicks.
Laurie: Clicks?
Stan: Yeh, you know. The mix of people is right. The setting is right. Everything just works and what results is...
Laurie: A Hollywood blockbuster!
Stan: Maybe, Laurie. This film is not just about wandering around one of the biggest cities in the world, taking in the sites. It's not just about seeing the Zocalo, or learning the history of a city that is over 500 years old. It's not just about partying into the wee hours of the morning, or enjoying a beer on a rooftop overlooking the Cathedral. It's also about great conversation, and living for the moment with a group of people that have never met before – and may never again - but in the here and now, manage to strike up a vibe between themselves.
Laurie: Who are we talking about here?
Stan: I'm glad you asked. Let me tell you about the characters.
Laurie: Great! Good characters sell!
Stan: And these are real people, Laurie! First we have Gerry.
Laurie: Gerry?
Stan: Well, Gerraldo actually. He's a pivotal character in the whole story. He's a bartender by day and runs the entertainment at the hostel. Gerraldo is the single most connected man you'll ever meet in your life. He's always got a smile on his face and has more energy than a supernova. He's a little Mexican energizer bunny. Seriously Laurie, the audience won't be able to help themselves but love him!
Laurie: I like him already! Hey! Why not give him a partner in crime?
Stan: I'm already ahead of you, Laurie. I've given him a partner in crime alright. One of the most unexpected ones you can imagine!
Laurie: Stan, you're turning me on.

Stan: Steady Laurie. Meet Viktor! He's a baby faced Swede...

Laurie: Not a Dane?
Stan: No, Swede. He's a baby-faced, 23 year old Swede with a quirky sense of humour and dead pan delivery that the audience will never see coming. He's a one-man show wrapped in a Legend and pumped full of funny-juice. Put him with Gerraldo and watch the sparks fly!
Laurie: Whoops, Stan. I nearly just fell of my chair.
Stan: Next, we've got a loud, opinionated, brash American...
Laurie: Hmmm. I'm not sure on that, Stan. L.O.B Americans haven't tested well since Tom Arnold divorced Rosanne.
Stan: I hear ya, Laurie, but there's a twist.
Laurie: A twist?
Stan: It's all a put on! Matt is one of the most intelligent, well travelled and goddamn funny men you'll ever meet. He's like an Oracle wrapped in a bearded American tourist costume. But, if you take the time to look past the contradictory exterior, you'll find one of life's great conversationalists. The audience will love the banter between him and Sam!
Laurie: Who's Sam?
Stan: Sam's...how do the limies say it...Sam's a geezer! He's the most honest man in the world. Wanna know how it is, ask Sam. Unfortunately we'll have to write him out early...
Laurie: That's a shame.
Stan: Yeh, we'll do a big, teary scene where the whole 'crew' watches him disappear into the sunset one evening...
Laurie: I hate schmaltz.
Stan:...or not, whatever you prefer.

Laurie. Good. Who else we got?

Stan: Well, there's Neil and JP; two Doncaster boys on a mission to shennanigan their way around the world.
Laurie: Ah, people love a rogue.
Stan: They sure do, Laurie. There's even a comedy story about two Mexican girls who befriend the pair and drag them – and everyone else - back to their apartment. Later, they find out that they are not only sisters, but one of them unknowingly had a two-month relationship with her own father!*
Laurie: It'll sell well in Texas then...
Stan: Add to the mix a pair of spunk-filled young bucks called Rob and Alex...
Laurie: Two for the young girls, eh?
Stan: And Darcy, one of the sassiest Irish lasses your every likely to set your eyes on...
Laurie: To keep the boys interested!
Stan: ...and I do believe we have...
Laurie: ...a classic road movie! It's got the lot! Fun, sex, danger, great dialogue, super characters! I love it! What are we gonna call it?
Stan: I was thinking From Dusk Til Dawn?
Laurie: How about The Taking of Mexico City?
Stan: Errr, how about we worry about names later?
Laurie: Good call, let's celebrate with a drink.
Stan: What happened to your coffee anyway?
Laurie: Pfft. I don't even have a secretary. Tequila?
Stan: It's a bit early in the day...
Laurie: Don't be that guy, Stan.
Stan: Oh, alright.
Laurie: Good job, Stan. Any chance of a sequel?
Stan (smiling): I doubt it, but one can only hope, Laurie. One can only hope....

Click here for all the Mexico City photos

* Yep, you heard right. Now, this is either a horrible act of bad luck, or a great piece of fiction from the Mexican lady in question. Regardless, the story goes that our heroine – we'll call her Lolita – decided to try her hand at internet dating. Eventually, she met a English guy online. After a period of exchanging emails, they decided to meet up. Despite a decent age gap, all went well and they decided to give the relationship a go. After living together for two months, Lolita decided the time was right to introduce her new beau to her mother. It was at this point that the awful truth came out; the doting Englishman with whom Lolita was so deeply in love with was in fact her biological father. A terrible case of bad luck, or a great exercise in storytelling? It makes no difference. The cherry on top of this excellent tale (delivered during a particularly memorable Saturday night) is as part of the whole odd mess, Lolita found out about her aforementioned and previously undiscovered sister. And you thought you had an odd family situation...

Photos now up!

What would Gosciny be without Uderzo? Terry Pratchett without Paul Kidby? Da Vinci without...er...da Vinci?

Yes, well, they say a picture paints a thousand words. So, with the help of a squiffy new ickle wickle netbook courtesy of my very generous Dad, Rach has now made good headway in getting up-to-date with the photos from the trip.

From now on, we´re aiming to make sure we can have photos embedded in the text of the blogs, as well as a link at the end of each entry.

Well see how long that lasts....

San Francisco
Los Angeles
Las Vegas
New York
Miami

Day 26 - South Beach, Miami (bang bang)

We seem to be stuck in an endless cycle of rain and shine.

In the morning the sun comes along, allowing Rachel and I to jog up the beach and back. It's the first regular exercise we've had for three weeks. It hurts, but it feels good.

It's soon followed by the humidity. It increases slowly until you can almost the droplets materialise in the air. Fish start to have problems working out where the sea ends.

Then comes the storm. Furious and tropical, it spews forth torrents of water that gush down roofs and windows. Tourists shelter in shop doors and under awnings, stranded. Eventually, the gutters overflow and water covers the pavements. It's like the weather equivalent of a close quarters chat with Jonathan Ross at a loud party.

Then, thirty minutes later, it all stops and the cycle starts again.

Miami is the first place we've stayed in a hostel. The Deco Walk Hostel is literally a drunken stumble from South Beach, right in the thick of the action. It has it's own bar, rooftop jacuzzi, cable TV and everything else you could possibly need.

The day we arrived - Sunday - there was a fug hanging over everyone though. Turned out it was the detrious from a big Saturday night. Alas, it failed to lift. I'm told hostels are all about who you meet, and hence very hit and miss. This one looked great, but had all excitement of Mark Farina at 4am.

So, what have we actually done? Not much. We'd considered visiting the Everglades, but they're five hours away. Same goes for the Kennedy Space Center. That's three hours north. Key West is a good six hours south. So, instead we've taken the time to relax and soak it all up. After the 24/7 of New York, we both needed it. We've just hung around listening to everyone speaking Spanish more often than English, marvelling at the 50s art deco decor and doing the usual people/ peacock watching thing

The good news is the weather came good. We've spent time getting acquainted with the beach, which is a magnificent stretch of sand that stretches as far as the eye can see. We hired a scooter and went exploring. I'm happy to report that Rachel's Gourmet Tour has begun in earnest.

As a generalisation, America is not a place known for its' food (Samuel's home cooking aside). The Urth Cafe in LA was very tasty indeed, and we had some good scran in NY. However, generally the standard fare has been poor.

Miami has redressed that. On Monday, we had a set lunch at an Argentinian restaurant. Two fat, juicy steaks packed with more flavour than the Public Enemy back catalogue. There's nothing like eating your first steak in a while to kick start the digestive system.

Last night, we took a recommendation and headed to a Cuban Diner called Puerto Sagua. It was the first time I've had Cuban food, but it won't be the last. Lots of slow cooked meats and strangely cooked fruit that look kinda familiar, but not really.

In between the endless downtime, we've had a chance to think about our next stop. The USA has been amazing, but we both know it's not indicative of how we'll be travelling over the next 11 months. Hotels in the middle of town and eating out more often that not is not backpacking. Mexico City marks the beginning of 'proper' travelling.

It's a little bit scary. A big, big city with a reputation for rawness. A language we don't really speak well. A unknown road ahead - all we know is we need to be in Guatemala City in 12 months, the rest is up to us.

But then again, that's the whole point of the exercise, right?

Click here for all the Miami photos

Day 17 - Big Apple-tastic

It's 3am. The bar we are in is a little less expensive looking than the last one, which was apparently used for the engagement party scene in Sex and the City: The Movie. This one is called The Maritime. Apparently it used to be a sailors' bar. It's in the Meat Packing district.

I know all this because of Daniel. Daniel, as well as being the friendliest Aussie in New York and landscape gardener to the stars, is a font of knowledge. Daniel has been kind enough to take us under his wing for tonight.

This is our third night in New York. From the moment the subway spat us out into the marble splendour of Grand Central station, our jaws have been permanently resting on the ends of our shoes. We've seen the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island ferry. We've eaten in Chinatown and Little Italy. We've drank in Greenwich Village and Soho (at a bar called Ear, where they have two of the most friendly/ raucus Irish waitresses on Manhattan Island. Universal Truth #1: The friendliest person in a bar is usually Irish). We've taken pics at Time Square, wolfed down a hot dog on Broadway and gone jogging in the amazing Central Park.

However, tonight is different. Tonight Daniel is showing and telling us the things about New York that those who don't live here normally don't get to see.

Daniel says it's easy to spot a tourist in New York. They're usually the ones looking up and going 'wow'. That's because New York is amazing. It's without doubt the definitive template for any global city. You walk around a quiet, unsuspecting corner and, oh yeah, there's the Chrysler building. Or stroll down the street and, well, wouldn't you know it, there's Wall Street (which, by the way, nothing more than a wide lane at best). You get the picture. Walking around New York is like being in a permanent state of deja vu.

But that's not what we're talking about tonight. Currently, we are talking about the myths people have about New York.

Myth #1: New Yorkers are rude
New Yorkers are, on the whole, pretty friendly and polite. Approach someone asking for directions, and you'll get very clear and considered advice. Talk to someone in a bar and you'll end up in a conversation. Sure, New Yorkers might not give you ten minutes, but you'll get a very informative two.

Myth #2: New York is a concrete jungle
New York is filled with some of the most amazing buildings I've ever seen. Gothic, baroque, art deco, big and brown with curly bits on the top. Countless buildings you just know you'd love to call home, but most likely never will. In the middle of it all is Central Park, which is the biggest and finest oasis of calm I have ever seen inside a city.

Myth #3: New York is hard to find your way around
It's the most logical road system I've ever seen. It's easier than getting Greta Scacchi to do a nude scene. It makes all other city planning look like the work of an 11-year old with Parkinsons.

Myth #4: New York is dangerous
I just didn't see it. New York has its' share of crazies, but there are police everywhere. Even travelling the subway in the early morning didn't feel anything but safe.

Myth #5: New York is expensive
If you choose to live there, Daniel tells me you're going to be paying $2,000 - $3,000/ month+ for a studio apartment in Manhattan. However, unless you are deliberately seeking out the latest ultra minimalist bar owned by Madonnas' Kaballah stylist, I'd suggest that dollar-for-dollar it's not that much pricier than Sydney.

However, pretty much everything else you've heard about New York is true. The shopping is amazing. You can get pretty much anything you need at any time of day or night. The people have got a certain style and class about them you don't get elsewhere. Everyone knows exactly what they are about (but maybe that's because they never get the time to think about it too much). You really will never have enough time to see everything.

In a few days, lying on the beach in Miami, I'll realise how much New York took out of me. Being in New York is exhausting. Living there even more so. It's not until you leave you realise how much. New York needs to be shown respect. It's a 'chew you up and spit you out' kinda city. It should come with a sticker that says 'Handle with Extreme Care'.

All that doesn't matter now though. I'm in The Maritime. I've discovered my new favourite gin (Hendricks). The three guys on the pool table have been joined by a leggy brunette, creating an entertaining little competitive situation to my left. It's my round. It's also only 3am. And 3am in New York is the equivalent of 11pm anywhere else.

What a city.

Click here for New York photos

Day 14 - Sin City

What do you give someone who has everything? Las Vegas.

Have you ever had one of those moments of sublime people-watching that keeps you entertained better than any Hollywood movie could? You know, one of those times when you are sat in a cafe, or pub, or wherever. You spot some minor drama happening nearby and for the duration, you are enthralled. Well, that's what Las Vegas is like 24/7.

From the moment you drive out of the empty, featureless Nevada desert up onto The Strip, you are under sensory attack. Flashing neon stretches into the distance. Giant monolithic hotels line the road, each broadcasting its' own over-the-top theme. You want the Statue of Liberty? It's there on the left. The Eiffel Tower? To the right. Arc de Triomphe? Straight ahead. It's a one-country shrine to excess.

But the first night we stepped out, it wasn't the neon that defined Vegas. It's the people. Maybe it's the heat that does it, dry and in stark contrast to the air conditioned casino interiors. It makes people loco.

The streets of The Strip are like the bastard son of MTV Spring Break and Patpong, Thailand. Pneumatic-breasted barbie dolls of indeterminate age jostle on the sidewalks with packs of college jocks, whooping and high-fiving as they go. Flocksof Mexicans hand out cards offering cheap sex to whoever wants it. Old and young pour forth from convenience stores, fast food joints and roadside bars, novelty oversize cocktails glasses in hand.

Occasionally, it all gets too much. You have to dash back into a casino to gain respite. But then, even in the early hours of the morning, you are assailed by endless halls of tables and slot machines, never-endind shopping malls and the most weird and wonderful things you could ever imagine seeing under the roof of a hotel (lions? roller coasters? the Trevi Fountain? Yep).

I am really struggling to get it all into a post that doesn't read like an chapter of War and Peace. Vegas is nuts. Brian, a fellow poker at my table in Planet Hollywood last night, told me the average loss per person in Las Vegas is $6,000. It seems unbelievable, but look around and the evidence is everywhere.

I'm glad we're only here for three days. Any more and I think it would begin to eat at the soul. If Roman Emperors could be brought forward in time to Vegas, they would see it for what it is. It's an orgy. Pure and simple.

Photos to follow, as soon as we can get access to a reasonably-priced internet cafe.

Click here for the Las Vegas photos

Day 10 - The City of Angels

Ten days between blogs? Shocking oversight. Shame on me.

How do you compare two cities like San Francisco and Los Angeles? Well, let me give it a whirl.

First things first; context. The missus and I arrived in San Fran greener than a leprechauns' underpants. To the hardened traveller we probably looked as out of place as Mormons in a strip club. We knew no-one. We did the tourist things, like Alcatraz (cool, but one dimensional), biking the Golden Gate (brill but lots of hills) and getting fleeced by a Napolitean restaurant in North Beach.

San Fran is a seriously cool city. Its all impossibly steep streets, buildings with more character than Alec Guiness' resume and dingy little bars that positively order you to write poetry about showgirls and absinthe. It's also chockers with homeless people. Some are friendly, others crazy. We chatted to Jason one night about why he was writing Bruce Springsteen lyrics on the road. Still not entirely sure why.

I've heard it compared to Sydney. I don't see it. It's more like Melbourne with a huge bay. Like Melbourne, it's also a city that feels like the best bits are just out of reach. It's a city for living in, not visiting.

So, we drove down to LA. Along the way, we saw many faces of California. Huge sweeping cliffs. Low slung and windswept beaches, inhabited by elephant seals the size of your car. Redwood forests hiding Bigfoot, maybe. Then, two days and the best meal of the trip so far, we entered the Worlds' Entertainment Center. The city of freeways. LA.

LA is big. Seriously big. It sprawls across the land like a roman orgy. It not pretty or organized. Don't even consider not owning a car here. It's like someone took the idea for a city, plonked it in the middle of the desert and then flattened it out with a giant spatula.

And the contradictions! Fast food joints line the road in every less fortunate neighbourhood (no wonder obesity is a problem when the only viable economic option for so many is processed junk), whilst the opulence of Beverly Hills and Bel Air is astouding for both the scale and frequency. There is some serious cash in this town. Make it here and you've made it everywhere.

By any measure LA should be a vile pimple on the bum of humanity. But it's not.

Standing in the Hollywood Hills, staring into the haze below, I realized there's "something" about LA. The weather is always perfect. Amongst the landfill of broken dreams there are plenty that came true. It's full of some very cool, kind and damned talentedcreativecleversmart people. Sure, it's showy and everyone is a little too self aware. However, for all the new age hocus pocus, I think I get it.

Sat in the park, joining in the free yoga class, I came to the conclusion that LA is about "being". Be whatever you want. Be all you can be. You might not get there, but at least you aimed for the stars. I like that attitude. It sure beats tall poppy.

Then again, it may something to do with the company. As well as my esteemed travel companion, we've stayed at the (amazing) home of two of the most generous people you'll find. Ian and Samuel have been kinder than we have any right to expect. It's always more enjoyable to experience a city in the company of people who know it well. Even moreso when they are a pair of solid gold Rockstars.

Maybe one city really is better than the other. Who cares? Like the Melbourne vs Sydney debate, it's pointless. Let me instead just summarize it this way; we're off to a flier :)

Click here for LA photos

Day 1 - San Francisco

American customs are supposed to be hard. That's what they say. They're supposed to interrogate you to within an inch of your life, make you feel like you have the GDP of Columbia up your bottom and a machine gun in your backpack. What they're not supposed to do is wave you through with a cheery smile and a "have a nice day". But they did.

Did I mention we got upgraded to business class? It's been quite an amazing few days.

From the experience of finishing work for a whole year to finally realizing you're not coming back this way for some time. Saying goodbye and trying to get your head around it all. It's been like trying to follow what the 'ell Russell Brand is 'awn abowt.

During the train ride into San Francisco, I couldn't quite grasp the surrealness of the situation. Like Peter Kay and garlic bread: San? Francisco? San Francisco?

So, we went for a walk. We stumbled upon a Taiwanese Barber shop quintet in Union Square and munched on Taiwanese tamales (aren't tamales Mexican?). We got accosted into buying almond chocolate brittle at the Port of SF (not really that hard a sell, if I'm honest). We followed the maddening tourist crowd to Fishermans Wharf to get our accents mimicked by a pneumatic breasted grandma in a jewellery shop with more energy than the national grid. We watched 300kg seals bark at each other from pontoons. We chatted to a yoga teaching space cadet called Amanda in a small bar on the water. She thought Australia was "totally cool", and to show it told us "Nicole Kidman".

On the way back we did some grocery shopping. Why would anyone ever need to buy a small bucket of butter?

By 7pm, it was all too much. Back at the Hotel Frank, it was all I could do to eat dinner before jetlag claimed me. Alas, there was to be no Saturday night fever for Stu. At least, that's what I thought.

Bless my bungled body clock. It's just decided that midnight looks enough like morning to justify a wake up call. The question now has become; is it time to hit the town? Hmmm.

Click here for all the SF photos