World Series Ghats and Other Cricket Moments

Had some flashbacks today while indulging that great summer past-time of watching cricket, passed out on the lounge with the fan on full tilt. I remembered some cricket I played on my first trip to India 9 years ago and how it changed my view of the Indian people and the way I interacted with them, as a cricket playing Aussie, and it introduced me to the profound colonising affect of the game in the former British Empire. Mind you there was plenty of fun and laughs and some quite surreal moments where the game raised itself to the status of a universal language where words became obsolete.

Varanasi
"Got a good game of cricket today, mini-test between me and 11 Indians out for blood after being thrashed by the Aussies back home, I have christened it “World Series Cricket Ghats”. I even got the honour of bowling to a local hero who bats in the middle for Varanasi, he carted me but I have been cordially invited to attend a match at main ghat tomorrow where I’m sure my bowling will take some stick and every ball I face will be a throat ball, bring it on, who needs a head anyway."

McCleod Ganj
"Went up the mountain for a walk and ended up hooking up with a bunch of Tibetan kids playing cricket. My most enjoyable cricketing experience so far, they really could play some, another example of the colonising effect of cricket. Possibly the highest game of cricket in the world and then it started to snow, potentially the first time this has happened. Too bizarre and thoroughly invigorating."

Calcutta
"The co-existence of Indian people and cricket is incredible, if the people speak a second language it is not English, it is cricket.
Most asked question, 'Where are you from, sir' … “Australia”
Most common reply, 'Oh, Mark Waugh, Steve Waugh, Shane Warne' blah blah blah”

Ramon - up on the border with Nepal
St Patricks Day high in the Himalaya drinking the local brew of fermented barley, " we settle back to watch the cricket on telly , it is an enthralling game with lots of action, a tight finish, which, as the cliché goes is “a good advertisement for the game”, but as if to make a mockery of this outcome the following program is a typical Indian attempt at encouraging serious life preserving, intellectual, thought-provoking analysis of the game of cricket. Kris Shrikanth and Jimmy Armanath, former greats of the game, front a program called “Straight Drive”, the show should be called “Hooked over the fence and caught out”, for its pitiful attempt to encourage public participation in analysis of the game, a bunch of disinterested and uninteresting , all-male, cricket fans who hardly get a word in edge-wise for the incessant rantings of Srikkanth and Armanath, who constantly switches between English and Hindi, as if this gives credibility to certain comments over others. The comical aspect of this program, apart from all the other farcical elements, is the ruminations and pseudo-incisive of a band of mid-range aficionados of the game, all live via satellite from the major Indian cities , a coach in Mumbai who misses the point of the questions and seems like he is talking in an echo chamber, two figures of anonymity in Madras who take an eternity to answer questions (as if imposing their own time delay) and are loath to look at the lens of the camera and finally an ex-state player in Calcutta who is afflicted by both a bad audio link and his preponderance toward waffling on with his own views which seems to incite contempt from the hosts. This show is not only unnecessary, it is pure and typical Indian nonsense, a show for a shows sake, but strangely it is entertaining for all its ridiculousness, but give it the flick anyway for showing wanton disregard for the civility of cricket."

What do I add to that analysis, I guess I'd still agree that cricket is a good waste of time presided over by ex-players trying to talk up the games importance in the scheme of things.

It's Fierce - Gigs Reports 2002

The Fierce Festival - London, June 2.

Aussie rock ain't dead and buried just yet, how about the platform of the Queens Golden Jubilee to show the Empire what the Commonwealth is good for.

A procession of quality rock and roll to put it all into perspective.

I've had so many misses with so many live gigs in recent times that I thought I was doomed to the CD dust heap forever.

Bring on the Oils, old stagers granted, but with so much pedigree in their back-catalogue, the only rock monarchs to sit on the headliners throne.
A London day goes about its schizophrenic way, the rain clouds duly parted by the declining sun, a sprinkle of rain to rest upon our brows as the current anthem is transplanted to our brains, the hearts on sleeves and the slightest of slight refrains as President Garrett sets a blistering set upon its way, Hirst on skins pounding away, Messer’s Rotsey and Moginie having their say and Gifford back again to have another day.

The sound so precariously bounced off the dial, sinking into our bones, bringing on a collective smile, if you needed to stage a republican revolution you could crush the monarchy with these familiar tones.

There's not a great deal more I can say, this has to be one of the finest moments in the musical lexicon of our blessed continent.
Even if you weren't there to be part of the crowd, rest assured that what they did there in the home of our colonial ancestry more than did us proud.


Milltown Malbay, County Clare, Ireland, 8 -13 July, 2002.

An idyllic setting on the Atlantic West Coast for Irelands premier traditional music festival just down the road from the old Cliffs of Moher and somewhere in the realm of the ancestors of Moy extraction on nannas grandmothers side.

Camped in a front yard no more than a hop from the action and a series of excursions around the rugged but aesthetically forgiving country-side, finally a taste of a charmed country with the heart upon its musical sleeve.

A week of mighty sessions in a string of pubs in the town where some fine musos come together to belt out the standards and improvise their asses off for the amusement of the assembled masses.
A gathering of the legacy and the future of Irish music, some crackin' old players and some kiddies with a bright light in front of them, the future of Irish music is assured as the quality of the craic smacks you in the face with fiddles and squeeze boxes and drums and whistles and flutes and other strings, a sentimental voice here and there to set the scene of musical history stretching back into the pain and the struggles of the dark ages and coming out with an intense but uncomplicated smile on every face and a pint filtering through pursed lips and day after day the streets are awash with the joy of the occasion and here Irishness seems to have no better expression than this.
Where else can Barry Moore (Christy's brother) a.k.a. Luka Bloom walk into the pub in front of you and get denied a seat to play 'cause they reckon he just might take up too much of their time, or John Prine (sure he's done a bit) wandering around looking for another drink, never could track 'em down anywhere, they say some of best gigs often happen in peoples kitchens over breakfast, just gotta be lucky I s'pose.

Crustys and business joes tucked up in town, a truly egalitarian musical road-train.


Iggy Pop: Olympia Theatre, Dublin, 15 july, 2002.

Welcome to a night out with Iggy's Rock ' n ' Roll nostalgia trip.

The Setting: one of Dublin's most beautiful old theatres, proscenium arch and ornate ceilings, a sort of compact Civic theatre.

The Support: a six-piece that sounded like early-Pink Floyd meets Kraftwerk versus Fuzzy distorted Who meets Oasis with the dial cranked up hard, had a few moments.

The Man: anticipation, addrenalin building with only half a cup of coffee in the system, a drawn out change-over and then down with the house and up with the crowds cheers to welcome his punkness, accompanied by a simple three-piece.
Enter MR POP, unshirted, levis rolled on and bursting at the seams, he holds a pose, an almost meditative stance, legs bolted upright to the floor, his torso bent over to perpendicular, head shot up to surmise the crowd, a prehistoric figure of some ravenous beast who barely manages to keep in his energetic rage, long strands of hair hanging down the face, the muscles cut in ripples, the flesh displays the scars of a self-abusive war.
Crank up the band, fuck-me if it's not a go-ahead rock'n'roll band, power riffs and bulging bass runs, the drummer pounds the skins and metal like he's crashing through a wall, and there's your man in the middle of it all, his words are flat and hard, consumed by the hardest, fattest sound the crowd could have heard in ages.
He's belting out a bunch of words, some familiar, some are new, he never seems released from the grip of this voluminous grind.
We came to see the man, half-knowing what we'd get, the energy's intact, the sweat, the performance was all there, but he's into reinvention so it seems, just a player with the band, he doesn't have to work as hard to fill our heads with wonder.
How the Fuck did he survive the years, it looks like Iggy's found some inner peace.

It's over before it began, I'm suitably impressed just to have sweated in the same room, my ears are ringing and my senses are on a high.
This man I've just seen knows how to put on a show wthout the burden that he's got anything to prove.
Put him in the Cambo and he'd really make you feel at home.

The Godfather has stood upon his pulpit and decreed, that he knows best so pick up your game all you pretenders to the crown, with baggy clothes, tats and shit in your face, keep it simple, go back to basics, that's where the truth lies.

MR POP, I salute your time spent digging in your Zen garden.


Take care one and all,

As ever take it easy,

Love,

The Wookiee.

From the High Country to the Craic in the Glass

From the High Country to the Craic in the Glass

Hello one, hello all,

I see in the crystal that everyone is well; the pint glass never lies [especially when it's masquerading as a row of empty soldiers].

Hasn't the world changed recently?
Is it just me or is there irony in the fact that Bushy keeps using God as his witness?

Let me get this one in early, Go you Bloody Knights, kicked the arse of those slimy eels all over the place and perhaps it's time that they dedicated the BHP site to the men of steel, on my return I'd like to be having a beer on top of the number 4 blast furnace with salubrious views of the city and hop on the roller coaster at the adjoining Knight world amusement park where each and every player from the past is dedicated on the walk of fame with their own blackies anvil. End exclamation.

Got myself out of the madness of festival city Edinburgh and up to the highlands of Scotland, a sightly neck of the woods with plenty a mount and a Loch.
Stopped in on some travelling acquaintances and by chance the last Highland games fling of the season was on at the time. Oh to see those big blokes throwing stuff around a paddock, the weather a mix of bright sunshine overcoming rain clouds, a wee dram of whiskey to warm the intestines and the eerie din of the pipes as they kick in as the afternoons soundtrack.
The biggest day of the towns year and long night of celebration leading into the next day when I took on the local Ben at days dawning just see the look on the towns face.
No sign of the Monster at Loch Ness but everyone knows it's there anyway.

Scotland: where the water meets the mountains and the people you meet in the pubs [Perhaps I can sell this on to Tourism Scotland].
When up Ben Nevis they say is the highest point in the UK and the views never lie up high as you look out over the place and realise that now might be a good time to move on to the Irish craic.

Hopped on a bus, crossed on a boat to Belfast and into to Old Dublin town where the realities of work have hit me again as I do a bit of work on the Festival and contemplate the next move.

Yes, the Guinness is the best it's true, although on top of the Guinness brewery where gods’ water comes straight from the source, the taste of the pint was topped by the view of the town as the sun slowly sets in my mind.

Got on the devils hotline with one of these infernal handsets, so I s'pose that means I'll be around this way for a while, who knows where.
Feel free to drop me one of those insidious text things and be assured of a lumbering but appropriate response.

Take it easy as always,

Love The Wookiee, [preparing his winter coat for the onset of the cold, but for today anyway the town is bathed in sunlight.]

Old Blighty, Go Lighty

Old Blighty, Go Lighty

To everyone on the receiving end of this one,

Hope all's well in your various spaces on the planet.

This report comes from summery Edinburgh, which serves up a tantalising serve of sunlight for several minutes each day and then slithers comfortably into drizzle and the distinct impression of an Aussie winter.

Still what can I say; it's good to be up in the world literally, as far north on the planet as I've ever been and seeing a different side of it.

Since landing in London mid-June I skulked onto a building site to cart plasterboard and earn a quid [Yes finally that oft heard expression took on its true perspective].
London ain't the cheapest place around and yet I managed to get out of there with the balance sheet in the Black and a bit of an insight into the centre of the pommy universe.

Not a great deal on the visitation front but I met some good people and had a laugh variously, especially as the Aussies cleaned up the sporting arenas around the place and had the locals reaching for the excuse manual, all in good humour.

Since reaching the Scotch capital I've literally been thrust underground into a subterranean existence that at times has threatened my sanity, but which at this point as I settle down into enjoying the festival feel is looking more like a prize achievement.
I arrived in this place not knowing what to expect and in the last month have been cast into one of those managerial and bureaucratic nightmares as the mob who I am working for set to coaxing a bunch of various individuals to slave in the theatrical salt-mines to get 8 venues up and running in 2 weeks for the festival.

To say it has been complete madness would be to negate the truth of some long hours and some journeys beyond seemingly the edge of the impossible.
But in the scheme of it they threw me into a vault under the city to scratch a theatre space out of thirty-foot stone ceilings [200 year old stalactites included] and tales of ghosts and a seedy history.
This place, to all as the underground, is truly an incredible space, which puts anything else to shame and stands as the redeeming feature of the experience so far. After many hours on circular saws and drills, up ladders, building scaffold, hanging from edges and generally sweating, spilling blood and frying the brain, the place opened and is now wondered at by the visiting public.
Mission accomplished for me, I can now slip into enjoying the shows and the pulse of the festival in this impressive city of the ancients.
Not sure of the next move, will keep in touch as my brain clicks some vague plan into action.

Great to hear from anyone with a word on the day or the moment.

Take it easy,

Love The Wookiee. (Wearing the summer fur)

From The Transit Lounge

From the Transit Lounge

How's everyone going?

Been out of touch for a while, in Laos for a month, a transit stop of sorts before the continent.

Hanging out in the capital with the family who took me under their wing the last time around.

A bizarre occurrence a few days there, drinking the local fire water and chatting with a member of the family one day, the next day she goes to the toilet and dies, no-one sure exactly of the cause, we thought she may have slipped but it is suspected that she had a heart attack and was probably dead before she hit the floor. In all the commotion I saw the body, hardly something you expect on a holiday and in such circumstances, so I was locked into the position of not wanting to desert in this time of mourning for the family and me as an honorary member. The Laos tradition sees the body hosted by the family for a week, the body is cremated and then the home of the death is prayed upon to clean the spirits.

So in 17 days in Vientiane, I went to the funeral twice, playing cards and drinking and eating are the celebratory backdrop, went to the wake, more drinking and eating, and finally it felt right to make a break for a week up North for some R and R [sans death celebrations].

Certainly different for us of the Christian legacy but why not let it be said that death is a send off of sorts so why not celebrate death as much as life.

A challenging month to say the least, but a confirmation of the incredibly open nature of Laos people, always a home away from home, and reinforcing the idea that Lao Lao [The Drink of Choice] is thicker than water but not quite the same colour as blood.

Back in Bangkok, leaving for old Blighty Wed morn and wondering what the road has in store.

London for a month and then Edinburgh for the festival.

More news as it comes to the minds eye.

Take it easy.

Love to everyone [including those beyond this dastardly, yet convenient communication device].

The Wookiee.

"THE WOOKIEES NEW AWAKENING BEGINS IN EARNEST"

South East Asian Odyssey

South East Asian Odyssey

Hello all and welcome to Wookiees travels mark 6.

Today marks 6 months out of Australia, just 6 to go.

Firstly I must apologise for a type-o error that has entered the correspondence up to now, apparently the Wookiee prefers to spell his name with two e's rather than one, I discovered this while reading a star wars novel recently, so for this I apologise.

Well what to say of finally leaving India to get to Singapore. It was with some trepidation that I hopped on the plane at Delhi Airport, having established something of a rapport with the sub-continent I was nonetheless keen to start on another path of travel adventure.
Exit India late one night and enter the comparative westernised materialist bombardment of Singapore.

It certainly is a clean town with all that any self-respecting modern city amongst the Asian tigers would hope to offer, but still after the idiosyncrasies and peculiar charms of Indian towns it is something of a sanitary offering and I was lucky to get out of their without offloading a bucket of cash.

Jump on a train to Kuala Lumpur and 7 hours later jump off to the burnt offerings of another Asian tiger stronghold.
Its a well-planned place but I suppose that doesn't say much of its charms, it has the 4th largest tower in the world which is always a huge achievement for mankind.
I went on a fast food binge with not surprisingly, no particular satisfaction registered.
Met 2 separate couples, masquerading as brother and sister who seemed just a bit too interested in the story of a stranger and his connection to Australia, some scam there I reckon.

I was the participant in a bungled attempted robbery, just walking down the road in KL, 2 guys slowed down on a motorbike and one pulled a gun on me, enter a serious rush of adrenalin as he pointed it in my face demanding money, feebly covering his mouth in case I wished to identify him, I felt no fear just a strange calm and then I suddenly felt like I was in a comedy skit as the guy started to get scared, he clicked the trigger, nothing, I grabbed the gun, a plastic replica and then I literally fell on the ground laughing at the absurdity of the situation and the piss-weak attempt of this guy to be aggressive and imposing, even behind the facade of a plastic gun, his accomplice even started laughing and then they were gone. Just like that, it's a funny old world.

Some serious R&R in a 4 star hotel in the old capital, Malacca, courtesy of my aunty. (Thanks Mucas)

A week spent in the Genting Highlands, home of a casino, not much to report but more R&R, watching videos and eating. (Thanks Lisa)
To my position now. I am into my 4th week in Tanah Rata, Cameron Highlands, I arrived here with no real knowledge of the place other than that there is some good jungle trekking up here, that there certainly is and the funniest thing of all is that I fell through a window of opportunity after just a week here and have since been leading the treks for the lodge I've been staying at in return for B&B.
To date this has been fun but I shall move on soon lest, I get trapped by the relative charm of the Highlands for a long time.
I am following a course up the Malaysian east coast, next stop Penang probably Langkawi Island and then high-tail up to Bangkok and who knows where in the following weeks.
Will leave you with this thought, "The world really is a wonderful place" (Thanks Simon)
Feel free to return communications, all answered with tongue firmly in cheek.

I Love Youse All, The Wookiee

P.S. Look out for the influx into the Olympic wasteland seems many people are heading from here to there in coming months.

The End of This Leg

The End of this Leg

Viva la Email fans.

Alas the time of the Wookiees Travels (the Indian leg) must end but on with the journey, next stop Singapore (and into the temptation zone for rabid conspicuous consumption), if I escape without a burnt pocket it will be a miracle.

Since last we spoke I have ventured into the mountains once more for another speculative search for the Yeti, but what news? no breakthroughs in the case and I fear that to expect to find a snow-dwelling creature with an obvious propensity to hide from the hunters gaze in the temperate zone of SE Asia is to expect a miracle.
"I'll get you next time, next time!"

My attempt at experiencing enlightenment in the land of Buddha, namely Bodhgaya, Bihar (yes, the lawless state, where simply voting out of turn can mean instant death) was thwarted to some extent by a condition of the stomach (something I have christened Calcutta stutter, promise me that next time you are in Calcutta you won't get a rush of bravado and drink the water) and so I was laid low in bed most of the time but this comes with the territory.

To all those contemplating the Sub-continent as there next stopover, do it and do it soon before The Indian government prostitutes everything to the Yanks and/or the line of control in Kashmir sees the South Asian land mass inexplicably cease to exist because of nuclear proliferation that was initiated by an unfavourable result in the cricket for either India or Pakistan.

But seriously (nuclear capabilities are too abstract for me to deal with at this stage), my time in India has provided endless and obviously unexplainable insights into the everyday of a billion people, 3 months has been just the right amount of time for this stint but I will be back no doubt, I still haven't seen the South and I didn't get to the Taj (but after all if I need to see a rock that acts as a tourist attraction I could always head up to Ayres rock for a look).
Till next we meet on the information highway, or at the crossroads of the world.

Keep this thought in mind, time is just a quantity that works in parallel with the course of our lives and as the Indians proudly say "Tomorrow, Tomorrow after, no problems".

Talk to you then.

Love,

The Wookie.

Goin' To Kathmandu

Goin’ To Kathmandu

"Here is all persons broadcast"

Namaste, to anybody who gets this email.

In those immortal words of Bob Seger, (Thanks John) "I'm goin' to Kathmandu and there's nothin' that I’d rather do".

Well I'm here and molai Nepal man parcha. (I like Nepal)
I'm finally out in the world and what a place to begin an adventure.
To tell you what I have seen in only six days would take hours so i'll condense the story.
Saw Everest on the flight into Kathmandu...from 7000m it's big.
Cab ride from the airport past cows wandering down the street through traffic that is like a flooding river with honking horns as the soundtrack.
Staying in Kalimati away from the tourist area. A bonus.
The people I’m staying with are wonderful and the food they give me provides a new taste sensation at every meal.
Ridden on the back of a motorbike, in a cab, tuk tuk, and rickshaw and on pushbike plus plenty of time on "shanks' pony".
I got lost after dark but managed to navigate home along the river.
I have been seeking out places away from the touris areas where people observe me, I observe them and they are incredibly friendly, no hassling to buy anything, no westerners clutching Lonely Planet guides as if this were the one stop bible for seeing the country. There are too many tourists walking around as if it were an imposition to enjoy yourself in Nepal.
I walked for an hour on Sunday without seeing a tourist, very liberating.

Anyway enough of the pompous ranting.

Tuesday I leave for Pokhara and the Annapurna Circuit Trek, 21 days in the mountains. This means I will be out of contact for at least this long, staring at snow-capped mountains and communing with nature when the Wookiee will meet his evolutionary cousin the Yeti. Sounds idyllic to me.

Thankyou to everyone for the great send-off, words of advice/encouragement and for being good friends.
Too anyone who misses this email, someone will pass it on I suppose.

Until next time we talk, it's Love and good-bye.

The Wookiee.