Wadi Biyh

Wadi Biyh is a canyon system that heads into the mountains from right behind my house. After about 25 km it road goes right over the top in a series of hairpin bends, reaching almost 2,000 metres above sea level. It's at least 10 degrees cooler at the top. For me the most amazing thing is to find the terraced fields at the top. I gather they still plant a wheat-like grass there in the rainy season. Most of them are still inaccessible by road, and they would have to walk at least a day to get to them. And there's no water there.

Dubai at night

My son and I sneaked up to the 47th floor of this apartment complex, then ducked into a service door that lead another 3 levels up. This is one of the pics I took. Next time I'll take a picnic...

Communists

A long long time ago I was in the army. Besides fighting with everyone who didn't believe in our ideology, we also fought the Russians, because they were (i) evil, (ii) not Christians and (iii) we had to prevent them from attaining world domination. Or something like that anyway. I don't think the government was too sure of it all either. Except for one thing. Communists were very very bad people, and they were hiding everywhere. Even under your bed.

Friday mornings was Battalion Parade. Every able bodied soldier had to be there to march in parade ground order, be inspected, be shat on by the RSM. The RSM for those who haven't been in the army, is the guy who knows he is god.

The night before I had been to a restaurant in town with a few guys from the regiment. The restaurant's decor consisted of flags from all over the world. So we borrowed one, after a fair amount of red wine. And hung it on the parade ground flagpole at 3 in the morning.

The next morning their were enough officers around to take part in the parade, so all I needed to do was stand on the edge of the parade ground just behind the commandant. We were halfway through the parade when the RSM (he controls the parade ground) saw the red flag with the hammer and sickle. I honestly thought he was going to die. No sense of humour the poor man. The whole parade shuddered to a halt. He would personally rip the head off the responsible individual and shit on his lungs. And then fuck his sister. And then rip his balls of and eat them for breakfast. Knowing the RSM, I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable - because he was quite capable of doing just that.

The flag was ripped of the flagpole, and after another 15 minutes of ranting the parade dissolved and the RSM witch hunt started. He never found the culprits. But that evening in the mess, the commandant bought me a beer. Didn't say a word though. Except call me a communist.

Photography

My father always took photographs. Its one of my earliest memories I have of him. We also had an 8mm movie camera that you had to wind up to use, but it was always an add on. Photographs are what I remember. When he could, my Dad took slides, and if we nagged him enough on a Sunday evening, we’d get to haul out the projector screen and watch pictures from our last holiday in Etosha, or my Dad’s trip to London or Paris. If we got lucky we’d even have popcorn with it.

I remember my Dad leaving on his overseas trips. He’d go for a month (flying was an event in those day), lugging a suitcase of photographic eqipment with him. I kid you not. He had a Hasselblad at the time (those who know cameras also know they only come in sizes similar to bricks). It had the advantage that you could swap between colour and black and white film without changing spools. Very neat. Then there was the tripod, and the wide ange lens, and 3 telephoto lenses. And the light meter. And the cleaning kit. And a separate box for the flash unit.

I was given the Hasselblad when I was thirteen. It crapped itself shortly after that, but it instilled in me a passion for taking photographs that is still with me. These days cameras are smaller, and easier to use. I don’t travel with a whole suitcase of equipment. But I always have a camera with me.

He took this pic years ago, when I was about 8. It’s a scanned copy of a damaged slide. We were fighting veld fires in the Eastern Free State, late at night. My Dad doesn’t take photos anymore. But I still send him my pics. And we still talk about travelling. That’s something else I got from him.

Careful what you wish for...

Ever heard of Ulaanbaatar? Genghis Khan comes from there. These are the steppes, small barbarians on horseback, steak tartare and all that..

A while ago the spousoid came up with a suggestion. Lets move to Mongolia she said. My cousin lived there for years and he loved it, she said. I want to experience seasons again, not just hot, she said. And it even snows, she said. Life would be simpler, she said.

So of course a posting becomes available in Mongolia, and I apply. Less than 48 hours later, an email and a 15 minute conversation later, the guy says, ok, I like you. How much do you want? Now I'm getting cold feet already (and I'm not even in the snow yet), so I ask for an outrageous amount of money. Ok, he says – I'll send you an offer. Fuuuuuuuck.

I've had a look at some pics. The architectural style of the buildings is best described as Soviet grunge. It's not winter yet. This morning's temp was -16 degrees....

Will I go? I have absolutely no idea.. especially since I've just had another (tentative) offer to go and work in Moscow. Which one would you choose? Which one would you be sorry you didn't go to when one day you're 80 years old?

Careful what you wish for – you may just get it.

Expat Life

A friend recently asked me about expat life, and why I do it. She made me think. For me it happened by accident – I was transferred to another country way way back and long ago. And never looked back. It wasn't a conscious choice at first. It just happened. Now its probably too late. A bit like pilots doing crop dusting. Once you do that, they won't hire you for anything else. Although it sounds glamorous, expat life is not for everyone. The theory is simple. You go live in another country for a while, gain some experiences, make some money, spend some money, go back home.

There are dangers involved. In the flashy places like Dubai, you get caught in a golden cage very easily. You don't pay taxes, prices are cheap – so with your disposable income you buy a Landcruiser or a Merc, a boat, stop cooking at home and eating out..and one day you suddenly find that you cannot afford to leave. Your standard of living is so high that you spend the rest of your life trying to maintain it. The more adventurous souls that venture into the the developing countries, face other dangers. In Tanzania I knew a few people who had definitely been there for far too long. They start refusing to go on leave, swear at head office people, come to work barefoot, start drinking more than a bottle of whisky a day....and end up living in a hut or somewhere next to a lake. Actually, come to think of it, that sounds like a perfectly sane idea.

Then you get career expat. A much rarer, tougher breed. I'm not talking about people that move to another country, and then settle there. They decided to do this for a living, moving from country to country as the demand for their particular skill set moves. They tend to be oil people, engineers, miners, soldiers, and as countries become more settled, finance people. There is a high demand for people who have international experience. And the rewards are there. But you have to manage the rewards (international travel, good holidays, buckets of money) with the downside (3rd culture kids, diseases, extreme climates, lack of friends, language problems, getting thrown in jail for having a “kiss my ass” bumper sticker). The divorce rate is sky high – for exploration geologists for instance its around 83%. The trick is to find a hugely understanding wife. One that likes moving too. Like me. It's becoming more common now – people even write books about it – Raising Global Nomads, A Moveable Marriage, and the classic Third Culture Kids are just a few.

The moment the cons outweigh the pros, you need to get thew hell out of Dodge. If you don't – better not bitch too loud. Its all your own fault anyway..

Rocks

We had one of our scheduled blasts today. In the foreground is 40,000 tonnes of rocks that will be loaded onto trucks over the next two days. And then dumpred in the sea to make islands. The truck in the backgroun has just been loaded. Every rock on the trailer weighs more than 6 tonnes. I went and checked at the weighbridge after the truck left. It had 63 tonnes on board. In Europe the maximum is about 25 tonnes. Here? If it can move, its allowed.

11 November

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Problem solving

I'm back. Spent most of the time babysitting the boss. Not a wasted trip though. We went to South Africa thinking we had a solution to a problem, but ended up with more questions - and other solutions. We need to move 1.5 million tonnes of sand. Every day.For three years. With the cirrent worldwide mining boom there is not enough free equipment available to move a quarter of that. To build a new dragline (a bucket excavator that can lift 200 tonnes at a shot) takes three years. And they want to start moving earth by December..

Anyway, the pic is about something else. This is a square in Sandton filled with hotels and restaurants. The pretty people hang out here. The steak was good. And the Shiraz was even better.