Hey hotties

London, if I take all the letters in your name, add some and take some away, it spells 'I Love You'
I started writing this in Dubai airport whilst picnicking on rusks and biltong. You'd confused me for a South African before realising the only lingo I picked up over two months was 'Is je a moofi': 'are you a gay man'. Useful.
Next stop: naughty London. My excitement was tinged with nausea at the thought of the ensuing elegant slumming. A month has passed already, the money is evaporating and I am constantly astounded at the amount of alcohol people consume in this country (but the sun is shining) and I haven't got around to sending this epistle off. I'm staying with Marc and Dom who are my CCF sponsors. Jagshemash! They've been awesome even though I lost their house keys (and wallet) after LJ got me totaled They know I have special needs.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Two months in South Africa speed past and I'm feeling a bit more composed than when I arrived. Christmas is a crappy time to be away from home, so Durban saw some blubbing. In the words of one of my favourite moofis, Cliff Richard, "we should be together for Christmas" *sob*sob*sob*. What a wet blanket. The sea in Durbs is seriously warm but rough as hell and gave me a hiding and a half and something of an exfoliation. I gawped from the beach as the lifeguard announced a shark sighting and all the swimmers ignored it. Gritty. If I'd been in the water I would have been high-jumping for Africa out of there.

And now….the news
Mbeki, bless his cotton socks, shrugged his shoulders in disbelief last month, unsure as to what all the fuss is about South Africa's so called 'crime problem'. Of course he is right - how can you call it a crime problem when a mere 50 murders occur a day in the country and rape stats sit at only 50000 a year (those that are actually reported). He MUST be correct after in-depth discussion with the rest of his esteemed ministers, who have also recently demonstrated their academia in the news. A break through, in fact, for medical science occurred when one minister, accused of having an affair with an HIV positive woman, stated it was OK because he 'had a shower afterwards'. High five! Besides, he said, there is no link between HIV and AIDS so what is the problemo? As you probably know, the Minister of Health (having her own after hours fun with a 16 year old boy....naughty naughty!) has also enlightened the world with more concrete medical knowledge that if you eat plenty of beetroot, garlic and fennel you'll be immune to the African malaise. I'm not sure if this is just because you'll smell so bad that no one will want to gigidy-gigidy-gigidy with you.

The difference between pooh and chocolate pudding.
As much as South Africa is a geographically spectacular, in it remains much of Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'. I can see the struggle so many South Africans have in making decisions for their future because with the romance and intense beauty that is Africa comes a whole truck load of stinking, rotting shit. Yes, I think that sums it up nicely. I understand why my grandfather yearned for his homeland –the smell of dust in the air after the rain, the fury of electrical storms, the drama of the cape and constant expectation of what might emerge from the long grass of the high veld – but I understand with 100% clarity why he and my grandmother ran like the clappers. I think that it is just blinking abysmal that you have to be a prisoner in your own home, sling a gun over the back of the chair while you have a braai (BBQ!), keep pepper spray in the car and sleep with a panic button beside you. Mandela did a bloody good job when he and the ANC set out to make South Africa 'ungovernable'. As I've learnt a bit more I'm unsure as to why the world considers him so saintly because its not as if he didn't have a hell of a lot of blood on his hands to get where he is too. Chew

Apparently, when it's hosing down while the sun is still shining, in Africa you call it a Monkey's Wedding. I probably look like a monkey, incessantly scratching like I've got fleas following an all out mosquitoes bombardment last night - assholes. Yes, I may be nuttier than a squirrels droppings for executing something of a radical U-turn (of 260 degrees Dom informs me) from Banff to Pretoria - Who knows if it was the right decision - but like Keith the sniffy sniffer dog, it was time to follow my nose even if it does lead back to my tail or risk getting swallowed into an existential vacuum and get stuck in a rut full of dung (damn you Jonathan, don't you see the can of worms you opened recommending that book? (Seriously - thank you) If your name isn't Jonathan, go directly to the library, do not pass go, do not collect $200 and read Man's Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl.) Tony, before I left you said, 'keep your eye on the prize', so I'm trying.



Never mind the hows and the whys and the 'don't mind if I dos', 28 November it was sayonara to the banjo strumming, tobacco chewing inbreeds of Calgary (calm down Joe, you're from Winnipeg). The city that doesn't sleep awaited. Escape from Calgary airport required a test of physical and mental endurance not dissimilar from an episode of that 80s classic, The Krypton Factor. After donning an orange terry-toweling jumpsuit and completing the assault course, the rubric's cube awaited. Victory was mine! and I could pass customs.



By comparison to Calgary-tron, sunrise over the Rockies that morning was a sight you should have seen with your own eyes. Funny how a place never looks as beautiful as the day you leave it behind. Champagne sorbet dripped of the mountains, swathed in sunshine. I departed with a handkerchief tied on the end of limbo stick containing my most precious belongings:

4 toothpicks, some cotton wool and a carrot with which I could construct small farm yard animals,
a personally signed Cigar Aficionado Magazine centerfold of Andrew C covering his manhood with a match and its box
and a jar of gypsy tears to protect me from AIDS.


I am still rewiring my jaw after dislocating it in the initial shock of experiencing New York. By the Beard of Zeus! Was I impressed! Kristin's parents Paul and Jean Ann fetched me from extravagantly big JFK and put me up in their lovely Long Island home with true New York hospitality (NY bagels and all) for which I am eternally grateful. December is undoubtedly the ultimate time to see the Big Apple. Macy's was just sooo beautifully decorated for Christmas that, not unlike McCauley Culkin in a touching moment from Home Alone 2 before he became a destitute drunk, my lip began to wobble and I missed my Mummy ..and worse!.. almost cried when I saw the tree at the Rockefeller Centre flanked by angels and the snowflake lights show started playing on Saks Fifth Ave. *Sob*Sob*



Evidently, trying to see NYC in 1 day is like trying to flog an elephant with a drunken caterpillar, but the cool kids were in London, the weekend nigh and I had an appointment with a pinacolada so what choice did I have? Jane and Simon met me at Heathrow and were plying me with homebrew within the hour. A few quiet drinks suggested by Jane that evening winded up with us stumbling home at 2, evidenced by several photos of people I don't remember meeting. Like some sort of tag team relay, Margaret got me sorted for the train and Blair fished me up at Waterloo for a reccy to Regent Street to see the lights – stunning – before heading for dinner and then drinks with the London branch of Hot Club Intl at some swanky Polynesian bar Marc sniffed out. So awesome to see everyone!!! Trace advises is one of Prince William's new haunts too We all got totally sucked in by Mahiki's cunning ploy of serving cocktails out of exotic vessels at 18 pound a pop. OUCH. See more pics at www.blaircollins.co.nz/oe/lizpa

Hey Dudes (everyone's a dude in Canada)

It's fricken freezing in here Mr. Bigglesworth.
Winter is here with vengeance and only the absence of a 4 hour bread queue reminds me that I am in Canada – Land of Bearded men – and not Siberia. I am furiously typing at lightening speed with the two fingers I can still feel. I'm afraid the others might snap off. They are still frozen like oven fries after watching a Rail Jam in the main street in –20 degrees. I might grow a beard too so my face will stop pealing off. Tonight was The Amateur Rail Jam, 'Amateur' being the operative word and the main descriptor missing from the event title being Stupidity. Kind of like watching Jackass but without the midgets and nudity.

Happiness is lying face down in a puddle wearing a pointy hat and singing a song about goblins.
After a vicious battle to seize the accommodation section of the Crag and Canyon first, we found our very own 'Bonnydoon' with Ciara and Connor our aussie buddies. Yeah, there were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident! High five! Any sensible Aucklander would choke on their Orange Mocha Frappucino if they knew what the rent is for this little peace of 'serenity'. I should be living in freakin' Versaille for this price! Halloween goes off in this town and pretty much anyone under the age of 30 dresses up, hits the town only to later have a strange dream about riding home on a furry tractor before waking up next to a Grizzly. Because I am a cheapskate, I spent a massive $1.50 on a witches hat and about the same on drinks. Yes, children, I like to be consistent and I am still the Cadbury glass and a half girl and subsequently strongly and enthusiastically petitioned that we should go into town. Since there's probably only one cab in this Banffvegas we decided to take Shank's pony into town wearing only our invisible beer coats. Chris immediately regretted this decision when he realised he was only wearing stubbies and jandals, but is now crowned Hardest Man in Canada. Apparently we went to some bars and I waved my ass around like a magic wand before taking a nap in the Rose and Crown. See pics attached. Mmmmm... I look good. I mean really good. Hey everyone! Come and see how good I look!

It is sunny out and the bears are fluffy. Just how fluffy remains to be seen.
I have been trying really hard to see a bear but they don't want to play with me. The Banff National park APPARENTLY is full of wildlife. Ive seen pleanty of elk, some big horn sheep and even a baby moose which was awesome but havent spotted bears, Coyotes, wolves etc. Inconvieniently, the bears have largely hibernated by now so even if I wear steak earrings and and lie on the road wearing a suit made of chicken nibbles, Im unlikely to see one now.

I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is.
The long awaited visit from my God parents, Alan and Marijke whipped past. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life to meet these amazing people for the first time in 27 years. When my parents chose my God parents they decided to ensure they kept an important old family friendship alive. They chose Alan, the son of Papa's best friend from Pretoria, and also Papa's God son. Sitting at dinner on the first night Alan told me stories about my grandparents I had never heard before. How Nana was always being spaded cos she was 'super hot' and about a drunken night with Papa in Auckland where they both longed for Africa and Papa talked about the dust of Africa that ran through in his veins. (Make sense now, Jardo?) Ironically, while we were talking, my favourite running song came on, Toto's 'Africa'. Over the next week we travelled the beautiful, spectacular Yoho, Kootenay and Banff National parks. Travelling with these guys was like being on a snowy safari. I learnt to look for animal spore (footprints) and for