THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 2)

The trains departure is announced by a constant shunting and banging together of carriages. My passengers look at one another doubtfully. Finally with much groaning and screeching the train slowly pulls away from the platform. Indeed, slowly enough for an old woman to keep pace with the train whilst she tries to sell her wares to passengers who hang out of the train's windows.

Eventually the Trans Siberian gathers enough speed to out-distance the old woman who stares forlonly at the departing carriages.

We are on our way!

The passengers start to rearrange their bunk beds whilst keeping up a constant chatter as we pass through the metropolis of Beijing. Shabby abodes line the track, every now and again you are suprised to see a new high rise or an advertisment hoarding for McDonalds or Omega Watches. The train rumbles on and we pass into the dry countryside where both people and houses start to thin. 

The passengers know that somewhere ahead The Great Wall of China runs alongside the train tracks and there is a competition to see who can  spot the Wall first. Someone cries out, "there it is," and everyone looks in the pointed direction. 

The Great Wall of China looms tall above the railway, this section has been rebuilt and is well preserved as it is a major tourist attraction as it is not all that far from Beijing. I tell the group if they want to see the real Great Wall of China they need to travel more than 100 kilometres from Beijing. This is where the Wall is unaltered and it is a place where few tourists travel to. You are able to walk a 13 kilometre stretch of the Great Wall that would be banned in any other part of the world due to safety concerns as in many places the Wall is a crumbling jumble of brickwork and masonary. 

We leave the Great Wall behind us and after several hours of bleak landscapes we enter the Gobi Desert where bleakness takes on a whole new meaning. There is nothing here but stark, bare plains that run off forever into the distance. Every now and again you may see a shack or a camel but nothing more.

There are fences criss-crossing the Gobi. Where they lead or what they are meant to keep out is anyones guess. What these fences are good for is capturing plastic bags and we see thousands caught and torn up on the never ending fenceline. Where do all these bags come from?

Soon people drift off to sleep, read, play cards or talk. The conductor brings tea and Chinese biscuits. At dinner time some sample the dining car which is swathed in cigarette smoke. It's not about the food, it is more about the experience.  

I have told the passengers that they have to be prepared for the border crossing into Mongolia. There we will undergo customs and immigration checks whilst the wheel gauge is changed on the train.

Well after midnight the train slowly stumbles into the border crossing where anyone asleep is awoken by shouting and the banging of carriages as the train slowly shunts toward the gear change. Before this occurrs we are confronted by Mongolian border police and immigration officials who look surly and unwelcoming. They ask for passports and visa and do a rudimentary search of the cabin for contraband. We are told to stay in the cabin and not move.

The worst part of the border crossing is the time it takes and you can't use the toilets for 3-4 hours. I had awoken the passengers who were alseep to inform them that the border was approaching and they should go to the bathroom. Some did and some didn't. Those that didn't suffered and a few coke bottles were put to good use by the men. The women suffered.

There is no reason to keep people ,on the train but they do. You would have to be crazy to want to wander off in this part of the world.

Eventually the train moves into a long covered building where a crane picks up the carriage. While the carriage is in the air the wheels are removed and replaced with the wheels that are the correct gauge for Mongolia. This is all accompanied by banging, shouting and screeching. There is no way in the world anyone could sleep through this racket.

After forever the train slowly pulls away from the border, dawn is knocking on the horizon. The ride is the same, still clunky. We now have a new crew of Mongolian sevice personnel who have a look that dares you to ask for anything. 

The train rattles on as the landscape barely changes. Many passengers long for green hills and trees, anything but the sombre and monotonous desert. We sleep, we talk we play games and read. Some go to the end of the carriage, the designated smoking area and others visit other carriages to make new friends. The Trans Siberian is one long united nation's.

We sleep again with thoughts of waking up in the Mongolian capital of Ulaanbaatar (The Red Hero). Everyone is excited by the prospect and the windows are filled with gawping tourists as we move slowly through the outskirts of the city and into the city heart.

It would not be unkind or inaccurate to call Ulaanbaatar a large, sprawling shanty town. All the buildings appear to be slapped together with bits and pieces of wood and corregated iron. Gurrs, the traditional Mongolian abodes are sprinkled throughout suburbia as it appears many Mongolian's do not want to give up their old nomadic ways just yet.

I tell everyone to gather their belongings as we will leave the Trans Siberian here and spend five days in and around Ulaanbaatar. As the train pulls into the main station a horde of local women rush the train to sell all types of foodstuffs, though the predominant saleable item was fermented mare's milk, a traditional Mongolian alcoholic drink. More on that later. 

Like a mother hen I gather up the chicks and lead them off the train and onto the great unknown.

THE TRANS SIBERIAN EXPRESS (PART 1)

Perhaps a downside of writing a blog is the constant need to come up with content. My plan when I first started this blog was to post every other day and I have just about succeeded in doing that though it can be difficult to come up with something that is interesting every time.

This blog is supposed to be about my book Tommy Tippett, but I have veered well off that track. The truth is I know bugger all about writing so it would be silly to write about it. So I have written about everything else that comes to mind. My stay in Canada, road trips to Disneyland and Australian soldiers on UN Peacekeeping training. The list goes on.

So in the spirit of writing about everything but writing here goes another installment.

I had been leading tours all over China for about six months when the opportunity came along to lead a tour on the famed Trans Siberian Express. I worked for a company called Intrepid Travel and they had recently introduced the Trans Siberian to their stable of 'adventure' trips. I jumped at the opportunity.

I met my group at a hotel in Beijing and it was the usual mix of Australian's, Brit's, American's and Canadian's. Oh, and a Kiwi, I always tend to forget them. The first day of the trip is always meet and greet and a get to know you. As the tour leader you give an information briefing to the tour members, collect some dollars as well as information on passports, next of kin, visa's and medical insurance. You then take everyone out to dinner to break the ice.

We have an early morning start and a mini bus picks the group up at the hotel to take the short trip through bustling, early-morning Beijing traffic. On a good day you only have four or five near-miss traffic accidents.

Beijing Central Station is huge. If you have never been to a busy Chinese railway station it is hard to describe the pandemonium and chaos. There are people, livestock and miscellaneous vehicles everywhere. People lie sleeping on the floor of the station, children run in and out of disorderly ques, intinerant workers play cards and argue and you can almost count on an escaped chicken, goat or some other thing with fur or feathers. 

The Chinese Government insists that all luggage has to be x-rayed before you can enter the railway station proper so huge lines of pushing and shoving humanity form bottlenecks at the few operating entrances. 

After learning some hard lessons about Chinese railway stations and their attendant problems I always advised my tour groups to place their pack in front of them and use it as a battering ram. I also told them that they shouldn't be afraid to use their bulk as the smallest and sweetest looking old Chinese lady will happily trample you underfoot if it means getting in line in front of you.

It was always interesting to watch the reactions of some of my passengers when they were first confronted with a Chinese railway station. Some turned to jelly and wanted to run and hide, others had a look of fear on their face and forged forward. Nice Canadian's usually let everyone, including animals go in front of them so much so that I had to place the Canadian's in front of me so I could keep an eye on them.

Once through the crowded x-ray check, we made our way to the international departure platform which was less congested. We found our train which looked as if had been a part of Mao's Great March. I found our carriage and had to show all the tickets and passports to our conductor, a young Chinese woman. I knew from experience that there was no hurrying to be done here so I just said to the passengers to sit on their packs and smile.

Finally we were given the all clear to enter.

There were 12 sleeper compartments to each carriage and in each compartment were four bunk beds. These bunks could be folded up during the day but were usually left down and used as seats. There was storage space under the bottom bunks and in an alcove over the door. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a table that ran between the two beds and for most of the trip it was conjested with everyones junk. 

The group decided where they wanted to go so it took a little while to sort out and to decide who got the top bunk and who got the bottom. The facilities on the train were spartan. There was a toilet down each end of the carriage. One was a European style toilet and the other was a squat toilet. The conductor provided hot water for tea and coffee which you had to supply yourself. There was a dining car that was still living in the fifties but you couldn't beat the price a few dollars for a reasonable meal.

But all said and done this was the Trans Siberian Express and we were all about to embark on a journey that would take us from Beijing in China to St Peterburg in Russia a distance of 9,500 kilometres.

akmacca08@live.com.au

EDITING TOMMY TIPPETT

I finished the edit of my book Tommy Tippett on Friday and what a slog it was. I certainly preferred writing the book rather than editing it. My next task was going to be to format the book and get it into shape enough to have a beta reader or some other assessment made of the story.

As part of that process I started to re-read the first chapter and realised that it just didn't work. I am happy with parts of it but not the sum total. Having the dog, Ace narrating parts of the chapter doesn't gel so I will have to come up with a new begining which is a real embuggerance as I really want to get the story 'out there' to find out what people think about it.

Hopefully it will take but a few days to tweak the story and get it back on track.

I also have to get a title for the book and . I  Admit that I have been really slack and haven't given much thought to naming the book as nothing has really sprung out at me so it is something else I will have to give some thought to.

So still a little ways to go before I start shopping the query letter around to prospective literary agents.

If anyone reading this would be interested in reading some or perhaps all of Tommy Tippett, drop me a quick note and we can go from there.

akmacca08@live.com.au

OSOYOOS INDIAN BAND

A couple of days ago I was lucky enough to be invited along to a peer group training session that was being jointly conducted by the Osoyoos Indian Band (OIB) and Vincor Canada.

The OIB are one of the most successful Indian Bands in Canada and perhaps the world. Much of this success can be attributed to Chief Clarence Louis.

Chief Louis is much demand all around Canada and beyond to speak primarily about Indian issues and how hard work, planning and perserverence can make First Nation people self-sufficient and proud.

Vincor is Canada's largest wine producer and has vineyards and facilities scattered throughout Canada. Vincor operates a major wine facility in the Okanagan Valley of British Colunbia, near the town of Oliver. Vincor has a very good working relationship with the OIB and this peer group training session was developed to strengthen these ties.

Two well regarded drug and alcohol facilitators flew in from Ontario to conduct the session which around 30 people attended.

Chief Loius, adorned in a colourful Washington Redskins jacket addressed the audience and said to them that eighty percent of people on the OIB Reservation could handle alcohol and of those the ones who worked attended on a regular basis. He said the problem lay with the twenty percent who had drug and alcohol issues, and if members of this group worked their attendance was sketchy at best.

He said he wasn't against alcohol, especially since some of OIB businesses sold or produced alcoholic beverages. He said the problem was that many Indian's couldn't control their drinking and did not know when to stop. He said that he hoped that by training and providing peer mentors on the Reservation and in the workplace many of the issues that OIB members and Vincor employees faced around drug and alcohol issues may be avoided and that the peer counsellors would become the first step towards further treatment or other services.

After hearing from the Chief attendees were asked for their input around current issues on the Reservation and in the workplace.

Lunch was a interesting experience. Instead of the usual sandwiches and salad we had stew and fried bread a specialty of Mona, one of the OIB members.

Buffalo Billabong (cont)

I turned the 4wd toward the billabong and pulled up near the waters edge. Thirty metres away stood a juvenile, male water buffalo. Juvenile he may have been but he was still one big unit. He probably weighed around 300-350 kilos and stood around 180cm tall at his head. A set of fierce looking horns crowned his head. Each horn was around 30cm in length.

Now seeing a water buffalo standing in a billabong isn't that strange at all, actually it is relatively common in the Northern Territory. What set this buffalo apart was the fishing net he had wrapped around his head and horns. Now this wasn't the light fishing net you see weekend fisherman using but a costly, commercial grade fishing net that would have been lost from a fishing trawler.

The buffalo on hearing our vehicle and voices thrashed around in the water and turned toward the noise. Every now and again he would let out a bellow that really didn't have much ooomph to it. There was no telling how long that buff had been in the water struggling to get the net off. Tendrils of the net cascaded down either side of the buffalo and into the murky water. The net in its entirety must have been 10 metres long.

Everyone poured out of the vehicles and stood looking at the struggling beast. What should we do became the topic of conversation. One of the Aboriginal's said he wished he had his rifle as a young buffalo is good tucker. Someone else suggested we just leave the buff and let nature take its course. He said that there is probably a big crocodile lurking and waiting for the buffalo to tire itself out and when that happens it will strike.

But the general consensus was that we had to try and do something.

I suggested that I drive my car around to the opposite side of the billabong and try to herd the animal ashore. What we would do then, who knows?

I took off around the billabong and approached the water buffalo from the opposite direction, the buffalo was close to this bank, probably 10 metres away. As I came to a stop the buffalo turned to face me.

I got out of the vehicle and stood on the bank facing the group on the other side. The buffalo snorted and shook his head violently trying once again to rid himself of the net. His actions had no effect whatsoever.

"See if you can grab the net and pull him towards you," shouted someone from the opposite bank. Great advice, thanks that's exactly what I wanted to do, wade into a murky billabong and haul on a heavy fishing net that had a buffalo on the end of it.

"If you grab one end of the net, I'll wade across and grab the other and see what happens," Barry shout across the water. What a brave soul and a public servant to boot.

"Shit." I said to myself as my companion started to wade across the billabong. If I didn't do my part I would look like a real coward. As often happens in life the chance of shame overcame fear, so I took four or so strides through the water to reach the net. The buffalo must have seen this through a haze of thick fishing line and moved towards me.

"Damn!" Shouldn't I cut and run back to my car, afterall I was a government employee and this wasn't in my job description.

But as often happens in such situations, things just happen. Before I even realized what I was doing I had grabbed the buffalo by the horns. He shook his head and almost threw me off my feet. I was starting to wonder how good the government medical compensation package really was when Barry grabbed onto the opposite horn.

The buffalo hadn't seen this one coming and now he had a human hanging off either horn and a heavy fishing net over his head.  It just wasn't his day it appeared!

Barry and I then went on a merry dance as the buffalo tossed his head and frantically bucked. Thankfully he headed for the bank instead of going back into the billabong as I was still worried about a lurking croc.

Around and around we went, neither the buffalo or human getting an advantage. Once or twice either Barry or I lost our grip or were tossed aside only to quickly regain our feet to rejoin the fray. As fate would have it the buffalo was bought down by a slice of luck. It tripped. Simple as that. Somehow the buffalo's rear legs and my legs got tangled and it fell to the ground. In an instant Barry and I were on top of it.

It was now a matter of who was the most buggered by the wrestle, the buffalo or us.

One of the Aboriginals shouted across the billabong, "grab his tail and pull it towards you." I was the one who was furthest down the buffalo's flank so I reached back grabbed the tail and yanked it toward his head. The buffalo let out a bellow and shook his head a horn grazing Barry's arm.

"Hold onto the tail, don't let it go." Barry shouted. I had no intention of letting the tail go, the alternative was a mad buffalo and the safety of a vehicle that was 30 metres away.

All three of us lay there panting on the edge of the billabong, covered in mud with flies buzzing all around. It appeared that the buffalo was near the end of its tether and was prepared to accept whatever may happen to it.

There was no hope of untangling the net from around the buffalo's head and horns. "Someone grab us a knife and bring it across." There was a flurry of activity on the other side as Peter jumped in the vehicle and sped around the billabong to meet us.

"Nice day," Peter said conversationally. "Yeah, bit hot out in the sun though," I replied.

It seemed to take forever for Peter to get to our side of the billabong. He pulled the vehicle up in a flurry of dust and then realised that he had no idea where the knife was.

"Where's the bloody knife? He called across the water. "In the back, near the esky." Peter pulled open the doors at the back of the Nissan and started tossing items out in search of the knife.

"Who do you reckon will win the footy this year?" I said to Barry tring to take both of our minds off what maybe lurking in the muddied water. "Which do you mean the AFL, NRL, or Super 14?"  I was about to answer when Peter yelled out, "I got it."

Somewhat hesitantly he approached the prone buffalo who sensed his presence and gave a snort and a small toss of his head. I yanked hard on his tail .

"Pete, there is no way we can get this net off him unless we cut it off. Can you do that?" Barry said this in a quiet and measured voice which was admiral in the situation.

Peter bent down in front of the buffalo, his white jeans quickly taking on a muddy hue. The buffalo gave another small toss of his head in protest as Peter started to hack away at the heavy, nylon fishing cord. It was slow work, even with a sharp knife but bit by bit more of the buffalo's head was exposed.

"I reckon that should do it," Pete said. He looked at both Barry and I and we nodded agreement.

"How are we going to do this? I said. This would be the trickiest part of the operation because if we were successful  we would have an unbound and cranky water buffalo on the loose.

"Pete, you head back to the car." Pete didn't need a second invitation he got up and moved back to the safety of the vehicle. "Barry on three, just let go and head back into the billabong, okay?"

"Yeah, no problems."

I started the count, both Barry and I getting into a position to launch ourselves towards the billabong. "One."

And that is a far as I got as the buffalo must have realised that his head was free and he decided to take charge of the situation. The buffalo just got up and tossed Barry and I aside. Rather than worry about us the buffalo saw open plains ahead and bounded off without a look back. Barry and I looked at one another and laughed and then got out of the water real quick.

We cleaned up as best we could and then it took the three of us all of our strength to pull the fishing net out of the water and stash it behind a tree where it should be safe from wandering buffalo.

When we got back on the other side Barry asked the Aboriginal fellows why they hadn't come across to help. Without a hint of embarrassment he replied that he wasn't stupid, them buffalos can kill a man and anyhow you whitefellows had the situation under control. We couldn't argue with that wisdom.

We also asked him if he knew of any crocodiles in this billabong. He thought about that for a while and said he only knew of one and that was an old grandfather crocodile that lived over near that old gum tree. He pointed it out. It was no more than 50 metres away.

"Shit."

"When was the last time you saw him." We were hoping that it was a long time ago.

"Oh, 'bout twenty minutes ago when he slid into the water."

With that news three whitefellows just got a whole lot whiter!

akmacca08@live.com.au

BILLABONGS

My desk is positioned in such a way I can look out a large picture window that allows a vista that includes a sparkling lake and snow-topped mountains. I often sit and ponder what a difference this is from my immediate past life when I lived in a remote Aboriginal community in Arnhemland, Northern Territory, Australia.

Often I think back to that stage of my life and wonder how I ever came to reside there and what a lucky person I am to have had such an opportunity as when I lived in Ngukurr I had an amazing number of adventures and met some really interesting people.

These days when I am stuck for something to write about I can always revisit that time to come up with a good yarn.

The people of Ngukurr and the surrounding area believe that one of the ways to bring jobs and enterprise to the area is via tourism. The Roper River that runs through Ngukurr has some of the best fishing in the world and the local area is full of magical scerery and wonderous places.

Ngukurr is an untapped tourist market as the bumpy, dirt road that winds its way into the small community is a major deterrent to all but the hardiest visitor. If tourist ventures can be started in the region, infrstructure and local jobs will follow. This is the want of the local people.

With that in mind a small goup of government employees and Aboriginal Traditional Owners set out on a two day drive to discover and explore potential tourist attractions in the area.

On our travels we found rivers and billabongs everywhere overflowing with bird and wildlife. Unfortunately, many of the serene looking billabongs provided an ideal refuge for a monster saltwater crocodile or two. In one such billabong, far from saltwater we found a four metre crocodile baasking on the banks in the sun. The billabong was covered in a lush layer of purple lillies and once in the water you would never know where the croc was. You just can't take the risk to swim in any body of water in Arnhemland however still and isolated they may appear.

Jagged, dark ochre-coloured hills rose from the plain. Gum trees grew at impossible angles from the hillsides. The sun beat down. The traditional owners showed us a set of hills that house a collection of rock paintings. These paintings whilst important to them weren't sacred and they were prepared to allow tourists to come and view them.

The paintings were hidden from the elements under rock overhangs, some were faded and barely recognisable. You had to squint at the drawing's to make out the kangaroo, birds and fish. Stick figures ran all around the walls and ochre-blown handprints adorned the rock. The sheltered, shallow caves came alive with the forgotten action the drawings represented.

At different locations the rock drawings were much clearer and we were told that over the years they had been re-touched and repainted by decendants of the original artists.

One felt a sense of awe and wonder at being in such a place.

That night we camped under the star's. It was hard to sleep as the star's threw out so much light and effervesence. It is a well worn cliche but all the same a true one in that it appeared that you could almost reach out and touch the stars in the sky, they were that close. I just lay there for an hour or more just looking towards the heavens taking it all in and committing the sight to memory.

The next morning we visited the local billabong in time to witness the coming and goings of a multitude of birds who made their homes around the waterhole. Fishing lines were thrown into the water and good sized barramundi were caught in quick succession. Everyone kept an eye out for crocodiles.

After a delicious brerakfast we were on the road again heading for the coast. We picked up a local Traditional Owneer who was going to take us to his land on the coast to see if we thought it had any tourist potential.

The road to his coastal lands could be best described as a bumpy, twisting, dusty rut, but perhaps I am being too kind. This was the type of 4wd that affectionados lust after. All the while and Elder in the back seat told us about the country we were travelling through and what it meant to him.

After almost two hours of hard driving we were rewarded by the sight of clear blue ocean. The waters were so clear that from a hilltop vantage point we could see large sharks cruising off shore. From the same vantage point we could see golden beaches heading off in the distance for kilometre after kilometre and there was not one single person in sight. The Elder said that we were probably the only people to have been to this place since he was last here four or so months ago. Amazing.

But he still had more to show us and we mounted the vehicles to continue our journey, this time down the golden beach.

We had gone several kilometres when my passenger said, "isn't that a buffalo in the billabong? What's he got around his horns?"

I slowed the vehicle and had a look. It was a buffalo and he did have something around his horns. I turned the vehicle toward the billabong.

That's it for now folks if you want to know the rest you will have to come back. I know not fair!

akmacca08@live.com.au

VANCOUVER OLYMPICS

The Vancouver Winter Olympic Games are less than 3 weeks away and you can feel a sense of excitement buildng up around British Columbia. You tend to hear more an ore people talking about the Games and whether they will attend, watch them on TV or just ignore them altogether.

The Olympic Torch relay makes its way through the Okanagan Valley on Monday 25th and Tuesday 26th of January. No doubt Highway 97 will be blocked for much of that time causing some traffic chaos. I have been invited to go along but I don't know if I will, as watching someone I don't know carry a symbolic torch doesn't really do a lot for me.

Attending Olympic events is a different story tand we have tickets for the Ladies Half-Pipe qualifications and final on the 18 February and the 2 Man Bobsled on 20 February. What makes the woman's snowboarding event even more attractive to me is that an Australian woman is the favourite.

The snowboarding event cost $150 and the Bobsled $75. I saw on a ticket sales website the other day that a single ticket to the snowboard event is being offered for $650. A bit steep.

What we weren't told when we purchased our tickets was the fact that you would also have to pay for transport to the Olympic venues as no private transport will allowed in the Games precinct. So we have to drive to and park at one of the 2-3 designated pick up points and get on a bus that will take us to the venue. You have to book a time and then pay. But as you go through the payment checkout you can only pay by Visa Card as they are an Olympic sponsor. What if you don't have a Visa Card?

The trip to the bobsled event at Whistler they state will take around 3 hours and costs $45. The trip to the snowboard event at Cypress Mountain will take approximately 45 minutes and that cost $21.50.

The booking website states that at the snowboard event you have to be prepared to walk 1600 metres to the event including stairs. It isn't as long a walk at Whistler but you have to catch shuttles and do some walking.

All up four tickets and transportation cost us $1200. An expensive couple of days.

But that's not all, you also have to have somewhere to stay. Hotels that usually charge say $100 or so are charging $300 - $600 or more. Upper echelon hotels are charging in excess of $800 a night. A couple of cruise ships will be berthed in Vancouver for the duration of the Games and they to are charging ridiculous prices for cabins. 

We booked prior to Christmas but still too late to get a decent price. We will be staying at a spa hotel at Harrison Springs which is aroud 140 odd kilometres from the bus we need to catch to the games. Who knows what the traffic will be like getting to the bus pick up point as I have been told there are already traffic restrictions in place for the Olympics. 

So the costs coupled with the travelling MAY make attending the Winter Olympics more of a chore than a joy.

Watch this space.