Protected: The final chapter



Some leave their heart in San Francisco. In The Philippines, I abandoned my bike in San Francisco. It’s about as far away from cack hole Manilla, as you can fly, ferry, and ride, in a few days visit.pa160325.JPG

I had no preconceived ideas about the Philippines beyond the usual stereotypes. The reality of some of the stereotypes hit me barrage of guns, blood and sex.pa160328.JPG

It’s not a pretty sight, Manilla, even for the most hardened of travellers, like myself after 350 days on the road. But kind like the kids swimming in sea water and shit that stinks from 400m back, I could find some entertainment in Manilla. Remind me to make any yachting stay over at Manila yacht club as brief as possible,pa190333.JPG for fear of death from (04) 1832-4874aromatic fecal poisoning. Sure to form, the US has left its imperialist calling card in Manilla, with rampant prostitution, gun mad mentality, and a rich, corrupt and permanent rulership, that serves its self lavishly, whilst impoverishing its populace. The Economic Hitmen like Perkins sure did a masterful job in fucking the poor Philippines. I have a social theory, now well developed after months in impoverished countries, that goes like this>> The more evil, greedy and corrupt the governance, the more tolerant, shiny and lovely the people. The Philippines is a classic example.

Sure, especially after Thailand, the Filipinos can’t cook, but hey, they can sing…in fact they are the most musical mob I’ve met. If you can’t sing, or play a musical instrument in the Philippines, you are a foreigner.pa190334.JPG

And you ain’t experienced the Philippines, as Lonely Planet suggests, unless you have drunk the cheap local suds, and slaughtered a tune or two at the local karaoke bar. I complied. But I went one further. I did the Sound of Music in helmets. What the?…you may ask.pa190335.JPG

Well, a cute singing and dance instructor called Ella Marie decided to hijack my life for a few days, and off we sailed, by scooter, to a few hundred beachside miles, of Gloria Gaynor hits, like, ‘You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off’ a you…”.

I, on the other hand, could take my eyes off the road, even though I was theoretically driving. You don’t have a back seat on bike as far away from the handlebars as you may pa190336.JPGthink. And as Ella could ride as well as sing, and, well, ah, she just took over the driving (and singing ) bit, from the back seat.pa190341.JPG Technical types might note…. the scooter had no foot pedals, it was automatic. So down the coconut lined villages of southern Cebu and Negros we rode, half the time me driving, half the time the back seat in control, hands under my arms, and much of the time, singing along like right idiots, in helmets. Or one helmet, at least.

I might add, Ella certainly did not slaughter a song. Infact, at any of the several karaoke bars we dropped in at, Ella slaughtered only competing singers. She was a pro. And, added to that, as a dance instructor,was given to 3 second pole dancing hints, that showed who was in charge.

Karaoke is new to me, and I gotta say, those corny organ background tracks, are just as atrocious as my attempt at banging out a song, especially when I had the stupidity to go with song like, ‘Wild Thing’, which sure could not make, ya heart sing, when the backing group was a deaf mute organ arrangement, and I was the singer.

That said, I am not discouraged from singing along on my occasional stints as a morning DJ. pa190343.JPGBesides, the real tune in the background generally saves the day, my song just adds much needed morning stupidity. ‘You feel like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much’, is in for a good thrashing next session that I’m on the Port FM mike to all those local listeners. Poor fucas.

I used to have a cute little sawn off Mossberg shotgun myself. I handed in to the cops, like a good law abiding citizen, after the Port Arthur pig shooting comp took to tourists. The cops dutifully hand-balled the gun to the crims, who robbed a bank or two, got caught, returning my gun back to other cops, who then dobbed, and it became a headline parliamentary outcry. pa190344.JPGSo it was quite interesting, seeing the weapon of choice, for 2 out of 3 guards in Manilla was my Mossberg, pistol grip shoti. The fucka used to give me tennis elbow of the wrist, after a single shot. But hey, it used to sink those empty beer bottles (oops).pa190348.JPGIn Manilla, they have the sexy stainless versions, and being that it rains on the guards, who comprise about 20% of the street population, it’s nice keeping ya gun hot and shiny, as in Manilla, thanks to the US rulership, guns, crime and blood are the order of the day. I ought t’ know… pa190355.JPGI was both robbed, and muddled up in murder on my front door step. As you do. In the Philippines.

I was leaving the Philippines on the back of a miracle of timing and location, second only to winning the lifestyle lottery in a one in 1.3 billion chance.pa190364.JPG That’s how many dudes there are in China. And the one odd email I shot off to China, happened to be the one in 1.3billion, I needed to meet. Not only was it, a one in 1.3B win, but it was a once in 5000 year dynasty chance.

Let me explain.

I have this fun idea. It’s to build the world’s first fuel cell boat, to circumnavigate the planet. Not your every day idea, sure, but hey, I like it. To that end, I took all my money, and most of my time for a few years, and paid to have the worlds sexiest tech boat designed. I then tromped around the planet, idea in hand, trying to meet guys who could provide the shit, to make my idea work. And I made my idea work.pa190368.JPG Both in gas to hydrogen kit, photovoltaic’s, electric propulsion, and wild arse, extreme tri, naval architecture. I’ve talked about it before… . Taking Hybrid one step further. One small step for man, one huge swim from Rodkind, if it blows up.

Funding for a multimillion dollar game like this does not fall outs of trees. Unlike me.pa190369.JPG




So it was as big a surprise for me, as it was for Billy, the one in 1.3billion guy in China, when my TRYBRID email popped up on Billy’s screen, complete with URL to the TRYBRID plan.

It turns out, Chinese heavyweights, had passed a message to Billy, the vice president of the ShenZen yacht building industry. The message, as I understand it, was to find a marine project of high profile,that could be joint ventured with Australia. pa200406.JPG


You gotta be kidding me. 5000 years of dynasty, 1,300,000,000 people, and by coincidence, I walk into the scene, to the right guy, on the right day. Try tell me the cosmos does not write my scripts, and I’l laugh. Mind you, after the Philippines, they sure like a laugh at my expense. I swear I could feel a gang of ghosty beings, cacking themselves behind me, as I ran after that fucking bus.pa200431.JPG



So off I went on the train, headed to China, from HK, and once outta HK, in no man’s land, I paid my $30 and had a visa into ShenZen.pa210449.JPG

ShenZen was a bit like Dubai, except with people. Zillions of them, shopping like a crazed obsession, bugga the old communist stuff. It was bling buying madness. pa210457.JPGSo I got in on the gig, with some useless shit, which I dutifully possessed. I even pretended to be my old business man self, and not just a wondering yachty, and hired a regular business hotel room, the one where you can stagger in half dead, blindfold ya’self, and still not miss when taking a piss. $50 did the trick. pa210465.JPGThe next day I took a confused taxi driver to Nanshan, two infact, the first one gave up and dumped me in a Confucius confusion. Eventually I ended up at the base of the hot new Penninsular waterfront towers, ready to meet the affable and man of the moment, Billy. The day was fun, how could it not be with Billy, and after a full day of conceptual briefing and DYI instant power points, pa220484.JPGit was time to debrief, over a million drinks, where the de-briefing did not involve dancing on the tables with undies on our heads, albeit Billy did receive some sexy invitations after the event, apparently from girls who had acquired our cards. Go Billy. The next day flying to Manilla was one where I would have preferred to have had a liver and gut replacement, but I recovered. pa230493.JPGTwo days later. Billy has a way with words, like the girl, who he described as being so ugly, her dad had to tie a pork chop around her neck, just to make the dog play with her. Or the one with an arse that looked like a 100 pounds of chewed gum.

It’s noisy in Manilla’s tourist strip of bar girls, barred girls, and girls behind bars> its no sleeper’s heaven. So to keep the hangover at bay, I got a room, alongside an all night construction zone, atop live music, with no aircon, and slept like a log with the windows wide open. One night in Manilla is too much, and so by lunch time the next day, I had bought a ticket outta there, that afternoon infact.

Landing in Cebu city from Manilla, is like the passing through the anus to the sphincter. Splash down wasn’t too bad, as I took a discount offer on a worn out resort at Maktan beach, where even Koreans think twice about holidaying. But by mid morning, I was on bike headed outta there. Stopping for a fried fish head, I noticed you could buy a sim card with hours of internet for about $4, and before I knew what had happened it was late afternoon, skies were grey, and I pa230497.JPGwas miles from my Moalboal destination. But at least I had done my Trybrid online duties. You don’t win the lottery, and not follow up the collect.

Making ya way outta the greasy never-never of and Filipino city slum, on scooter with the handling characteristics of a roller skate on qualudes, as the light is fading, is not a real good idea. pa240517.JPGI rode all over Europe for 5 months, and never failed to make destination before dark, for simple survival reasons. But here in Cebu, where the only traffic rule, is run when ya hit someone: its madness to ride late. But hey… I was not gunna cop anymore Filipino city shit, still recovering from my lack of whiskey drinking practise. So deep south I rode, and the more I got outta the city, the cuter it looked, through the windows of the dimly lit, bamboo farm houses, at least. Then it was over the island mountain range, to the west coast, and on deeper south.pa240524.JPG

Moalboal was quiet a pleasant surprise. It’s a tiny dive tourism village, with quite an impressive coral drop off, 15 from the beach. I hired a $12 room, over the beach, and ordered a beer and was fed barbecued chicken legs, by the barmaid whose sister was the BBQ vendor, and in so doing, made the BBQ chic legless. Or chicken legless, at least. Wandering home fulfilled, I stopped for a beer, and there met a crew, with Ella sitting pa240547.JPGelegantly in million dollar Channel like, black opera dress gig, that was the real thing, not a Filipino copy. She had already got an audience on the hop, as though she was Imelda’s Marcos’s personal shoe manager.

The next day, her and a crew all met for a ride, then a swim in the sensational limestone waterfalls 20 miles south, wearing very skimpy beach attire, which them became very out of place clothing coverage, when we had to ride another 60k,pa240552.JPG back to the nearest urban ATM, in her, bikinis,where suits where needed. Fuck it, I reckon. It was the Philippines. Besides, even the cops were impressed.

It’s a odd place Moalboal. I arrived at night, as I had mentioned. It’s a tiny dirt street, flanked by cute little hotels and restaurants. The restaurant at the end of the 200m strip, is called the little restaurant at corner, as that’s what it is. Locals and divers chill out after bubble blowing, beer and boating. It’s delightfully peaceful, pa240561.JPGor so I thought, when walking home. The street was dimly lit, and just near my old boatshed type room, a crowd was quietly just milling about, as though there was a town meet about to start, or had just finished. I was chewing on chocolate, just wandering past, when I saw a guy lying on the ground peacefully, in the dim light. In the first pass, I just figured he was pissed, and had gone down. But just as I passed, I caught glint of dark red on the ground. That was blood. Congealed blood. I stopped, took a better look, and it was more than just blood on the concrete, as he lay there, arms relaxed, face calm, eyes closed. He was not unconscious. He was dead. Stone dead, with bullet hole clean through the neck. No one said or did anything, they just stood there quietly.

He’d been drinking with his mate, something went down, god knows what, and with everyone owning a gun, bang. End of conversation, enter a new dimension.pa240576.JPG

It was a couple of hours before a cop came, shinning his torch on the wound, and sat at a chair as the corpse’s foot for an hour, doing nothing. Still no one threw a sheet over the poor guy.

They are catholic in the Philippines, poor people…the bullshit about heaven and hell shit. Prey for the dead, it’s a transitional time, thoughts can help. Intents too. Such is the quantum world, consciousness is misunderstood, but not entirely by some of us. Someone has to send a message to the confusion of death, albeit 300,000 research results from NDE , the near death experience stuff, all say similar things…a peaceful, white light entry, soaked in loving calm, and greeted by friendly familiar beings…read the incredible research papers, it’s amazing.pa240581.JPG

But this was no NDE. This was just, D.

When the mother arrived, she went hysterical, collapsed fighting in the arms of swarm of locals, who all took limb, and commenced caressing massage. Beautiful but heartbreaking. Everyone has a mum, a sister, or a child. Murder in the small village of Moalboal is not a regular thing. But shootings in the Philippines are a daily massacre. Elections are soon, and the cops want all arms taken away for the expected blood bath. I’d say they have a fat chance. All you need to do, to get a gun in the Philippines, is prove you are doing business. pa240584.JPGPistols on special, on page 3 are regular ad. Take ya pick.

With a government powerless through its own internal rot, nepotism and crime. With former presidents walking free having stolen billions. With poverty so cruel, it’s brutal. What hope is there, after the economic hit men, working for the UN, the US and the World bank, all the same filthy animal, have made their loans, built the 1% local elite their power stations, crippled the country in debt, and starved the masses of hospitals, schools and infrastructure, what remains is the third world, where billions don’t have all they need to eat, today. Food commodity prices are down, yet food prices for the suffering masses have tripled in 2 years. Go figure that.pa240590.JPG

When Thailand and even Indo has moved ahead, when even Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos have dignity, the US’s former Philippines is destitute.

When will the world wake up to the scams that the west play on the third world, to maintain and enhance their poverty. When will people wake up to the evil that is the reality of the World Bank and the IMF, and international, ‘aid’. We are blind in the west, just soaking up the bullshit of press releases, that conceal the designer theft in giving one dollar in aid, whilst extracting 20 dollars in interest, and when there is no interest can be paid, the, ‘concessions’. The ones that keep the poverty alive.

You get robbed in the Philippines. pa270654-1.JPGI had had a bad afternoon. The bike had been abandoned in San Francisco. Ella didn’t looks so happy, sitting roadside here high heels, as her mobile phone belted out, ‘Almost paradise’. The locals gathered around, we negotiated a manger for the gearbox-less scooter, and hitched a ride on a bus, back to the only big city in Negros. Not happy. No sunset ending in Lonely Planet’s special spot. We were a day or so out from Cebu, and we had no wheels. So when the bus dropped us of in town, it was already late, and most rooms, bar one, were all booked for the fireworks fiesta. We found that one room, and things started to look up, as we wandered into the 20,000 head crowd, packed along the waterfront esplanade. The drag queen MC, announced this and that, and one of the announcements said be careful with cameras and wallets. My, on checking was already gone. pa290660.JPGNo wheels. No cards. No cash. Not good. Miles from nowhere. So that night was spent on Skype, battling with call centre insultants, cancelling cards, and happily, getting emergency Western Union cash, ready the next day. It was long night. It had been a long day. Ella was stella, and had backed me up with her own meagre resources, like a true digger. Pay in the Philippines, ain’t flash.

That had never happened to me, in years of travel. So it was no joy, when just a 2 days later, when we finally pulled into the chaos of Cebu city’s bus terminal, a teary Ella in hand, to jump a taxi for the hotel, pre flight to China, the next day. Thank Christ the taxi driver asked me a question that needed me to go to my bum bag, less cards, with some cash, and a passport intact. Because that bag, had been left on the bus, and the bus had disappeared, along with 100 matching types, into the Cebu city traffic chaos.pa300663.JPG This one was worse. No cards, no cash, no passport, no way to pay the taxi, no phone, no camera, zippo… and no way outta the Philippines, for an important meeting in China the next day.

Panic would have been an option. Talk about a Year of Living Dangerously, so it was time to give chase, so belt through bus depots we did, guided by fast translating Ella, only to find where ever we went, the bus had been and gone, or so we hoped, not being sure where that bus was. Frozen in 6 lanes of jammed traffic, wall to wall in grey damp slums, it was like a bad nightmare unfolding.

Then there was a glimmer.

Ahead, maybe 400m ahead, was a bus, with maybe, just maybe, similar markings. The traffic was slow, but moving, so it was choose, either sit and sweat it out we would not be caught at lights as the bus pulled away, or make a run for it on foot.

Never chase a bus in Crocs, in the wet, without first slipping the heel strap down. As each step slid backwards in the Crocs, the bus pulled away. Running down packed lanes of Filipino traffic, and patron saints become an issue. pa300666.JPGAs the chase extended from block to block, just as I would get within 100m of the bus, it would pull away. Kinda like those nightmares being chased by the gorilla, in golden syrup.

The whole gruesome scene played on my mind. Was that our bus? Could I catch it? What would unfold now, with seriously no money and ID? How would the China stuff up play out if I missed the VIP’s?

Mid stride, it occurred to me, that my cosmic script writer, whilst perverse and sick in sense of humour, generally allows a happy ending after a tough lesson, and I just, kinda, said, OK boys, fun trick, but get me my bag back, pleeeeaaase. At that moment the bus got jammed, I caught up gasping, and banged on the door, to see a grinning driver, holding my bum bag like a fresh caught rabbit, held wiggling by the ears. That driver got his best tip of the year.pa310667.JPGThat was more luck than is fairly bestowed on regular humans, so many thankyous were bestowed upon the gods, as we celebrated, in the back seat of the cab, along with a cab driver, who could now get paid, after we whipped his arse, into doing driving stunts, only Hollywood would demand, with not a cent to pay him. He too was well paid.

That night, I over did it with the gratitude for Ella’s chase management skill, with a slap up, 5 star, personal butler, 5 course, poolside , moonlit dinner. It was still cheaper than a two mains at Salsa. Ella was not happy to see me get out of the dawn, hung-over cab ride, and fly in to the never-never, the cruelty of third world povo’ entrapment, burning me up, at the unfairness, of us in the west, being free to travel, whilst anyone in the Philippines has no choice, no option, when it comes to things like buying jet tickets.

The drama didn’t stop, and as I went to board the Cebu airlines connector to Manilla, the fucas did the usual local airline thing, and just cancelled the flight. At the departure gate.pa310668.JPG

Making China again slipped into oblivion, so a few stern, gun-behind-the-grin words with the flight desk, saw me scrape the last seat on the next flight, which if lucky, might just get me onto the flight to HK, by seconds. But it was not so lucky, when I got out at the domestic terminal, to be told, the international terminal is 20 minutes away by cab. Through Manilla traffic. By this time, chronic cab rides, were, were getting on my nerves, but again, the fat tip, the mounted kerbs, the running the red lights, and the diversions throughs petrol stations at blocked intersections, greased me to the terminal with seconds to spare. Throwing bags through security checks at the same time as jumping cues, making apologies, and swearing curses, was rewarded by Cathay Pacific delaying the flight, so I made the seat. What a seat sit that was, pure marsh mellow melt down. And get me outta the Philippine they did. A teary girl behind. pb010674.JPGTwo mad taxi chases in two days, a robbery, a recovery, a bag chase, and a party. In a word, fuck.

Round 2 in ShenZen was a successful as the first trip, as the TRYBRID idea has legs capable of competing with any other idea, whether in technology, political logic, and environmental common sense. This time I had the ear of the best and brightest in Chinese yacht building Ben, who despite my protracted technical rave, got the thrust of what TRYBRID was all about, with positive response. Ahead, was a shot at the invitation, for China and Australia to talk, the subject being the joint development and demonstration of TRYBRID.pb010678.JPG

The gap of a week or so between round 2 and 3, gave R&R opportunity in Bali, the last of 52 amazing weeks on the road. Bali ‘s sheer size and power as the world’s most mega tourist destination only just recently sunk in, with the experience gained by comparing Bali to every other holiday destination in the world. Show me somewhere with more tourist infrastructure, and I will be impressed. Show me a more creative community, anywhere on earth.

The Eat, Prey Love best seller, that was the decider on one of my best friends divorce decision, as the story goes, has the world travelling spiritual seeking writer, get well and truly laid and loved in Bali. I took some inspiration from this idea, as did Julia Roberts, who just happened to be in Bali, filming the film of the book of the same name, which added even more appeal to my libidos imagination. Mind you, Julia isn’t my vision of the humble, self aware, self amused type, that I had pictured as the autobiographical writer of the book. pb010685.JPGAs the story goes, the writer lobs into one of the local Balinese shaman’s pads, having once before met the guy, seeking guidance. Seeking reassurance that the Ubud shaman could remember her, she was disappointed to find that the said shaman, who had predicted that the girl would change his life, could not remember her for quids. Some shaman. Anyway, he was right about the life changing bit. After the book was published, his work healing the local destitute for free, came to grinding halt, as he jacked his prices to Deepak (throat) Chakra rates, with a 3 month waiting list of listless whiteys. When the film comes out, he’ll probably be doing a world tour of 5 star hotels, ministering to guru desperate wana-bees.

The appeal of the arguably over developed Bali, had for me been waning, on the back of a half dozen tours of duty there, primarily on business trips, where I was shopping and shipping dozens of 40 foot containers back to Oz for resort and hotel projects I had been managing. So it was nice to be in Bali, simply to have fun, and catch up on 3 of my best friends. Fraaaaaaaanc, Sarah, and AdO’. But my waning allure to Bali, a place most Australians have been to many times, took a new shift of focus for me on this visit, when the sheer fun of the social life, of the world’s hippest expat crew, started to sink in. My libido loved it, my liver hated it, my livingness loved it.pb010687.JPG

You can’t go much better than the combination of Franc and Sarah, when it comes to social buoyancy and enthusiasm for enthusiasm. Talk about beer group pressure. Yes, the bill at Ku De Ta did get the better of us, but so too did the ambience, vodka and sunset style. The beers at the beach esky, the Ryoki club and everything in the middle took its toll, but not before the music, the debate and the view made the night a smiling memory. Even if cop a roasting for my extreme views on the world. Hey, it’s an extreme story.

The outcome at the Changu Country Club was indeed shocking after the gala lunch for the Melbourne Cup, as both Sarah and I had Shocking as our sweep stake winning horse, the few million rupiah in winnings made Shocking’s win a fine omen with which to prepare for round 3 in ShenZen.


It’s a long haul of clearance in, clearance out, weird backroom cues to get a $30, 5 day visa into China, through endless passport cues. Add to this, hotels in HK and ShenZen that are barely big enough for a bed, with a window not being an option on the list at my end of thr road broke budget, and the whole process gets somewhat tiring, especially lugging the last weeks of Asian cost saving purchases in clothes, ready to shift from bikie/yachty, to crooner of Parliaments. Add black shoes, a helmet needed to ride to Canberra on the F650 BMW, before the arrival of the beast of burden BMwee, containing my other helmets, currently all at sea headed to Sydney.

This takes the toll to about 40kg, in 3 bags, hardly ideal for lugging on buses, trains and streets of China, but hey, after a year of this hardcore travel shit, I can cope.pb020703.JPG

The round 3 in China ended up being a meet and greet session of some fun loving, heavy hitting types: ‘millies’ and ‘billies’, as Brian Ray used to call his billionaire mates. Then there was the cool TV, diplomat celeb Shaun, China’s first circumnavigator, and possible face of Trybrid for Chinese TV. The coolest of all, was an unassuming Steve, in jeans an T shirt, who seemed to have no issue just calling up the heads of the navy, or the heads of energy , or whoever, to get balls rolling, as if it just was a party invite, to some Uni mates. Go Steve, U da Man.

The process of briefing these guys, and secretary general types, was all rather casual over tea at Hi Te, ShenZen’s cool luncheon spot, and with sexy photos of Trybrid on the laptop, and a story that even convinced me, the TRYBRID idea took flight in the minds of China’s elite. Let’s face it, a few weeks before the Copenhagen Climate Change conference, as Rudd lectures climate sceptics, at the same time as Australia exports more carbon than the Arabs, it seems kinda useful, that I could create a joint Sino Australian world tour, that shows off clean, green, use of energy, halving fuel consumption, and putting a very hip face on the LNG and CNG stuff that when turned into hydrogen and piped into fuel cell, saves the planet. What doesn’t go through the fuel cell, gets feed to gas and H2 fired diesels, where the emissions are good enough to feed the kids. And if all else fails, with a tennis court of solar cells, whilst the sun is shining TRYBRID is making waves. Neat, little ones.

The implications of the idea are really only just starting to sink in, to both me, and others who ponder it. China can take a fuc-off boat, with Australian diggers on team, smack into NYC’s down town, Wall Street dock, and unveil what is arguably one of the world’s coolest looking floating things, with most definitely the world’s most hi tech solar, hydrogen and LNG process kit on anything afloat, and shove it right up the west’s arse. pb020709.JPG Atop all this, consular officials from China and Oz, can jointly woo and Hu the world leaders on the back deck, in barrage of chicken sangas and dry whites, claiming the high ground in solving the climate change and peak oil paranoias, whilst back home, shipping out carbon like there is no tomorrow. How politically perfect can an idea be? And all through this, I get to see all those ports and harbours, river and canals, that I ain’t yet seen. What a great idea.

So back to Oz I fly, needing to meet the guys, who meet Hu’s guys as their daily bread. I’ve been priming my State and Federal MP’s in readiness, and I carry letters proposing talks, by way of kick start. God knows if I can pull this one off, but I am over worrying about it, and with year’s sacred training under my belt, assuring me to hand controls to the universe, so like Luke Skywalker, I just trust the in the force.

I tell myself, when shit happens, just recognise it’s the universe with a message, or a redirection. pb020711.JPGI could never pull of a gig like this one is shaping up, by being Mr Big Dick…so I take the 3 Eckhart Tolle tips: accept whatever happens on the day, whatever will be will be, then add enjoyment, kay sera, sera…or put another way, add fun, and finally > get enthusiastic to rope in others… all quite simple , really. Whatever happens under these rules is always cool.

At the end of a 365 day mega adventure, I am really impressed, not so much but what I have seen, but more, by what the universe has taught me. I am now well versed on all matters esoteric, quantum, political, DNA meets twin serpents, and more simply, I know pretty much where the hearts and minds of human consciousness are at. This, is much more valuable knowledge that any PhD. My summary? Humanity has never before in history, been at such a fast changing, and critical time in consciousness evolution. And the game ain’t idle. Humanity is surfing its biggest wave ever, and I got my toes upon the nose, and I’m riding high. Or so it feels.

So. Where were my favourite spots? Answer: San Blas Islands, Panamanian Caribbean. The Andes. The Slovenian Alps. Laos.pb020719.JPG

Someone asked me, what was my favourite experience? They say death is extreme life. At the time, some of my more hair raising experiences were not fun, but in retrospect, it’s where my most colourful memories reside. Like being surrounded by 500 Shining Path revolutionaries in the Altiplano riots of the high Andes. Then there was the bit, as we stuffed passports in the water proof bags, getting ready to abandon ship on a Farc infested coast of Columbia, in the middle of the night, not knowing if our fate was a rocky headland, or a surf beach. Head-on’s with looming Lamas built awareness. Low flying zee BMwee through the spring time lane ways of Cornwall, or along the roadside race tracks of the Croatian coast and the Slovenia Alps, was bike touring in the world’s best thrill zone. Eating real Italian food with famers, west of Perugia every day, in between restoring old farm houses was my idea of siesta lunch. Crikey, where do I stop…I have retina impressions more vast than I can possibly restore. When St Peter and I do the life video re-wind , inside the pearly gates, there will be a 30 minute delay, whilst we run through my tapes.

Meandering down the Mekong’s slow boat to Laos was old style travel fun. Bikes in the Andes, Laos, every country in Europe, add Thailand, Indo, and the Philippines, and I am a bike touring convert till I die, may it not be soon. Bikes and boats are the only real deal way to travel, other ways are lame.

365 days on the road, starting with Obama’s election, with a briefing in LA, from sage and shaman , the late great Rose, ending up in China, proposing an outrageous hi tec, Marco Polo tour. Rose was right in her prophetic suggestions, and I can only recommend everyone start any voyage of discovery, with a chat to ya local sage. Life is what happens to you whilst you are making plans for other things. So if life is indeed a journey, when life is a journey happening within a journey, it stands to reckon, ya on the right track.pb020723.JPG

Yesterday some Hasan psychiatrist guy, coffin nailed a dozen US forces in his own Texas barracks, and filled another 30 with lead. The day or so before, some Mufti, trainee, Afganee squadster, did the same thing to a half a dozen, now dead English colleagues. US soldiers are going all out to beat last year’s record of 128 military suicides. Bull shitter Gordon Brown, after propping up Armani smack dealer Karzai, and his warlord mates, is being forced to fess up to the banality of doing in Afghanistan, what Alexander the Great too, failed to do. Afghanistan, like the Golden Triangle before it, exists simply to employ the smack traders, their CIA accomplices, and the military industrial complex who paid for Obama’s win, and who as always, pull the real strings. Democracy? Are you kidding me? We have the best democracy money can buy! And has bought time and time over.

But the cool thing is, many more in the world than I thought, regardless of arch establishment illusionists BBC and CNN, are awake up to what is going down. And real soon, what is crumbling now, could well be a 911 dustbowl of lying politics, criminally negligent medicine, quantum denial science, and fear mongering religion. pb050742.JPGTheir number is up. When the world wakes up to find Gaia throwing in some changes bigger than a CO2 scare, as the tectonic plates grind ready to slam, and as the weather goes more weird than the figures explain, the process of change is arguably about to be accelerated at a pace, second only to my week in the Philippines. Everyone knows in their castra-phobic bones, as Hollywood releases its latest fear mongering 2102 block buster, that something is afoot. Truth is to me at least, the world ahead, if we make the leap, is apparently all about Golden Age. And believe it or not, I suspect we are already making the leap. You don’t ferment change, unless shit goes down. But for now, the wave is thundering to a 20m, tow in monster, and from my point of view, it’s time to grab the jets ski tow rope, and get inside that tube. It only comes along once every 12500 years, and I’m up for the ride.pb020740.JPG

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