Oyo, oy, manana wwoofing

“We’ll plant some trees, make some friends and learn to speak Spanish in the sun” said Dan over coffee one drizzly Edinburgh afternoon. ”!!!!!!!!!” I spluttered rapturously, envisioning a deeply tanned version of myself drinking sangria, eating tapas and chattering away in Spanish. So one starry starry night we arrived in the tiny Andalucian village of Gador where we were met by a one armed man with twinkling eyes and cascades of curls flowing down his back. 

The following morning we woke at 6am, broke up rock-hard shelves of manure with pick axes, shovelled the manure into large sacks, wheeled the heavy sacks down a large hill and emptied them into a large pile!

Six hours of 35 degree heat later we were covered in manure and sweat, strained, sprained, dehydrated and horrified to discover that bathing was out of the question as the water supply was currently out of action. We were not even tanned because a thick layer of manure on your skin acts as a highly effective sunscreen (who knew?). We washed ourselves off in an icy stream then stumbled upon our naked hosts wandering the orchard covered in skin purifying mud.

How could we possibly survive six more days of this? We were doomed! Dooooooomed!

Thankfully it got better. Over the next six days we caught fish, frogs and snakes(!) with nets, dug holes, distributed manure, removed fungi and even planted a tree or two. We picked up a smattering of Spanish, a few local recipes, the names of the best Andalucian guitarists and celebrated la fiesta de San Juan at a beach rave on a dance floor made of giant fossil.

It was el chulo. But thank God I’m a city girl.

After a teary departure from Soph's guitar (thanks Ryan-air) we arrived at the magical Malaga. A few days of the good life and we were ready to hit the farm.

Oranges oranges everywhere! Thanks to some clever irrigation started by the Romans and improved by the Moors.

Our new home base... and our friendly hosts in the main casa,

Some of the cuter residents: the duck followed that chicken everywhere, hilarious. Wolfy followed Donna everywhere too but I think he had different motives...

Amenities... liquids, solids & shower.

The epic manure pile from our first day, and the first of many irrigation channels...

The work eventually got a little easier... possibly even fun

J’adore Paris!

Due to popular demand... (and a desire to see this blog complete) we are picking up where we left off. So no, we are not globetrotting again. This all happened many months ago in the distant past... cue time-travel machine...

[dooo doo do... dooo doo do... bzwwwwuuu........]

Over the past year and a bit we have heard Paris denounced in hostels worldwide - according to travellers of all ages, cultures and financial status it is too expensive, dirty, shabby, too touristic, the people are unconscionably rude and there are pickpockets and thieves everywhere.

Hence I was very surprised to find myself completely enchanted by the city of lights (in between the daily muggings and verbal abuse). There was beauty all around and so much to see, do, eat, drink and walk and, contrary to extremely popular belief, the people were kind. Plus who could dislike a city where for 7 euro you can obtain an extremely drinkable bottle of wine, a cheese which has only recently left the barnyard animal of your choice and a fresh from the oven baguette?

The only real negative I found was that public urination is legal there and you occasionally find yourself downwind of a popular spot. Sacre bleu!

Our newly acquired travel buddies were keen to see the famous Paris Catacombs... enqueue the longest queue we've encountered so far, a total of four hours before we could begin the long descent down...

Yes, huge piles of bones. Eerie but not quite as cool as the Sedlec Ossuary in Prague...

Snail report... not bad

Fearing the retribution of my art school lecturers, we decided to hit the Louvre and absorb some culture

Turns out it's quite a popular spot...

Especially this one painting, as close to a mosh pit as I found in gay Paris. After fleeing the madness we found so many cool works...

The ridiculously lavish Napoleon suites, complete with fornicating table-top deer

We couldn't resist the call of the gargoyles of Notre Dame... so we grabbed coffee and joined the queues again. This time it was worth the wait.

The Nether regions

We managed to tear ourselves away from Amsterdam for a few days here and there to see some more of that flat, windy and windmilly country.

In Den Haague we played excessive amounts of Pacman Jr and saw some head-spinningly great art.

In Noordwijk we visited a beautiful beach, ate many deep fried delicacies and watched Germany trounce the Netherlands in the football. When the Nazi’s were hastily clearing out of the Netherlands near the end of WWII they stole many a Dutch bicycle to use as transportation, and so it is now customary for the Dutch to taunt the Germans during football matches by chanting ‘Give us back our bicycles!’

And in pretty and studenty Groningen we saw the Brian Jonestown Massacre massacring the art of music (sorry Kate, but they were in pretty bad form).


Alongside our current partners in travelling, we set out to terrorise miniature Holland...

And visit one of my old favourites, M.C. Escher


Our stay in Njoordwick was short but sweet, maybe a little windy...

Next stop was Groningen to see Kate's favourite band, the Brian Jonestown Massacre

But it was also a very cute town...
With the usual assortment of churches and 'coffee-shops' we had come to expect.

Sex, drugs and cheese

Before visiting I did not know the difference between Holland and the Netherlands. You probably all know this already, but in case some of you don’t, here it is:

The Netherlands is a country comprised of twelve provinces. One of these is called North Holland, another is called South Holland and the other ten are pretty much “spare Belgium’s” to quote our cycle tour guide. Amsterdam, the alpha city renown worldwide for its liberal attitudes is in North Holland and Den Haag is in South Holland. So the name ‘Holland’ dominates terminology relating to this area of the world because the Holland’s are by far the most newsworthy and the most popular tourist destinations.

That’s interesting huh?

Unsurprisingly Dutch people from the spare Belgium’s are not entirely pleased with this state of affairs. So if you would like to make friends with your local Dutch person it would be wise to refer to their homeland as ‘The Netherlands’.

We spent a couple of weeks in The Netherlands, predominantly in the Holland’s, and predominantly in Amsterdam (I know, way to stay on the beaten path). It is a truly fantastic city – not only for its sex, drugs and cheese but also for its architecture, history and culture. And Kate and Michael were there, which was brulyant! (that’s brilliant in Scottish).


Like many other European cities we've visited, we started out with a city tour to get our bearings... this time on bikes! And we thought it was hard walking in Amsterdam...




After we gave up on the bikes and the beautiful canals, we hit the coffee shops to kick back.

They sold this funny green herb which when smoked made the mostly average coffee taste as good as New Zeland coffee. Amazing.


One day Soph & Kate had a hankering for cheese, clogs,windmills and quaint villages...


Forever suspicious of tour groups, me and Mike grabbed some bikes and took the ferry to the non-touristy north shore where we found some projects, drank a beer in a park, and found another IAMSTERDAM sign.


And no trip to Amsterdam would be complete without a visit to the red light district... 

12 highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion

At last we were off to Scotland! Ben Nevis! The Highlands! Loch Ness! The Isle of Skye! Scotland is stunning. Picture a cartoon character falling in love, you know - jumping in the air, eyes popping out of sockets, heart leaping from their chest, tongue dangling from the mouth. Driving around Scotland is like that. It is an incredibly slow process because you have to stop every ten minutes for photos. If I could start my time in Scotland again I would find work in a hostel in some small corner of the Highlands and not even care about the money or the disgusting things that people left in their dorm rooms because I would be too busy revelling in the beauty of my surrounds.

Although the midgies might drive me out after a month or two.

Check it out!




When in Scotland, climb a highland.  So we did.






The first artwork I ever sold was to my friend Paul who bought it for $100 and a bottle of Glenmorangie.  Since then I've been a huge fan and couldn't resist a visit.


The distillers are the largest in Scotland, mainly because they are gin distillers.  The original owner preferred the taste... and so do I!

We stopped off in Inverness and had a great time at a pub/Thai restaurant with a traditional band playing and some interpretive Scottish jigs.  Unfortunately we only took a video so this photo of a piper will have to do.

We had planned a cruisy ride back to Edinburgh, but a head on collision between two trucks closed the main highway, forcing us on a frantic but scenic route through the eastern national parks.