Bros, Babes & Bondi

Seven months in Sydney and we finally hauled ourselves out to Bondi and the eastern beaches. Bondi is the city's most famous ocean-side beach and even in late winter it is a crowded crescent of sand where the bold and the beautiful come out to play.

This is where Australia's famous laid-back beach culture becomes a self-caricature. Bondi is the kind of place where bronzed bros strut around with gym towels draped casually around their necks as if a towel is a legitimate fashion accessory. Feel me, bro?

Smaller and quieter Bronte Beach

The setting is stunning; there is no denying that (although you might be distracted from the curvy coast by curves of another kind). The 10km coastal path that starts at Bondi and carries south to Coogee is a windy track that hugs the coast line; descending to small beaches and ascending to the tops of coastal cliffs along the way.

It's a well-trodden route, popular with tourists and locals alike. There's parents negotiating SUV-sized prams up and down the many sets of stairs; tourists stopping abruptly every three feet or so for yet another selfie; the doggy day-care folks wrangling packs of yappy dogs; the bewildered (us); and of course the fitness buffs.

Ocean swimming pool on Bondi-Coogee Coastal Path

Given the chaos on the path it strikes me as odd that this where anyone would choose to go for a run. The navigation required eliminates any chance of taking in the scenery and the stop-and-go nature of traffic on the path is enough to test the patience of a London bus driver.  It would also appear that lipstick, eye-liner and push-up bras are (rather impractically) all part of the workout uniform in this part of town. Maybe it's not really about the exercise after all; if you are young and fit, this is the place to see and be seen.

That said, it's all bit absurd, but harmless and the crowds start to thin once you hit Clovelly; a lovely spot with snorkeling and stunning views. For my part, I'm going to stick with Manly and the northern beaches where being over 30 isn't a crime and you can eat your fish and chips in peace without harsh looks of judgement.

History lesson

In 2014, the (relative) isolation of Western Australia's nearly 8000 miles (nearly 13,000km) of coastline is a wonderful and welcome thing. Even today there are hardly more than a few handfuls of coastal communities along this vast stretch, and most of them clustered in southwest corner of the state. But I wonder what it would have been like to be the first and only two Europeans left on this desolate stretch of land in the year 1629.

The stretch of beach where the two young Dutch sailors are thought to have been deserted

Western Australia gives a whole new meaning to the term 'big sky' (sorry Montana). Vast open skies that are so alluring during the daylight hours and positively mesmerising at sunset become oppressive and all-encompassing after nightfall. This is a rare corner of the world where night is still truly pitch black. I would think that the first night  for these first settlers must have been awfully scary, the relentless roar of the surf, the complete darkness and maybe even a visit from some curious local wildlife.

But I get ahead of myself, the story of how two young Dutchmen ended up stranded on a lonely stretch of beach near present day Kalbarri is exactly the kind of bonkers tale that Australia seems to produce at remarkably frequent intervals.

The Western Australia coast is dotted with reefs, rocks and outlying islands which to this day are a hazard for maritime vessels. The coast is literally littered with shipwrecks. In 1629 a Dutch ship, the Batavia, ran aground on some offshore islands and although over half of the passengers were drowned or swept out to sea, there were roughly 200 survivors which included an unsuspecting captain and several crew who had already been planning a mutiny for some weeks.

Captain Francisco Pelsaert along with a handful of loyal crew members hopped in a longboat and set off for Jakarta. Unbelievably, they made it to Jakarta and back again in about five months. That in itself is extraordinary, but what happened in their absence is even more bizarre - and grim. The would-be mutineers led by a religious zealot and all-round nutcase, Jeronimus Cornelisz swiftly began picking off survivors who were not a part of their merry-band, seeing them as a drain on very limited resources. In total they viciously murdered about 125 of the 200 survivors.

Wittecarra Creek

In another seemingly impossible twist of fate, some of the survivors managed to escape to a nearby sandbar and very narrowly managed to hail the captain first upon his return and explain the situation. Cornelisz and his top henchmen were hanged on the spot and others were shackled and transported back to Jakarta for trial and ultimately, hanging.

 For reasons unknown, Pelsaert took pity on two of the younger offenders and delivered them to the mainland, on a stunning but desolate stretch of beach just outside of present day Kalbarri.

Today a small out-of-the-way stone monument commemorates the occasion. It is just a hundred meters or so down a dirt track marked only as Wittecarra Creek. There is a single parking space and the track gives way to sand before it peters out on the beach. You'd be lucky to stumble upon it if you didn't know to look for it.

As most people know, Australia later became a British penal colony (the Dutch lost interest in Australia after a few too many expensive and deadly encounters with the aforementioned coastal hazards) but the irony that the first two permanent white settlers in Australia were of criminal stock did not escape me.

No one knows what happened to our two young sailors. Whether they lived out their days fishing and enjoying the glorious sunsets of Western Australia, died of starvation or thirst or fell in with some friendly or unfriendly Aborigines is unknown.

Australia is full of this kind of stuff. In the words of Roman Mars, Always Read the Plaque.

On the Road Again

Badly needing a break from the city and taking advantage of a holiday weekend (the Queen's birthday, although not actually the Queen's birthday . . .) Anyway, we left Catface in the capable hands of the teenager upstairs (who was only too happy to binge on Netflix and try to woo Catface all weekend) and hopped a flight up to Brisbane.

Fully embracing his wannabe inner-Aussie, Ian has been dying to hit the road in campervan. Second only to surfing and consuming alcoholic beverages outdoors, road-tripping in a beat up VW Microbus or campervan is about the most quintessentially Australian activity in which one can participate.

Unfortunately for us, we don't own a VW Microbus and renting campervans is not as cheap as it should be.  By time you factor in the extra fuel consumption, campsite fees and rental costs you break even with cheap flights and basic motels. However, given the long distances that people frequently cover in Oz, there are a lot of one-way rentals which means they need to get back to their place of origin.

Hello campervan relocation schemes! If you've got a bit of flexibility and can plan at the last minute, you can get a one-way relocation deal which usually means you get the campervan for $1 a day so long as you get it back to the home city by the required date - the best deals even include a fuel allowance.

Anyway, Ian managed to get a Brisbane to Sydney relocation on the Tuesday morning and by Friday morning we were headed for the airport. We had a fab night out in Brisbane where everyone is super fit and falls into one of two categories - hipster or homeless chic.

Early the next morning we collected our wobbly wheels and knocking barely 2 hours and 200 kilometres off the 11 hour/1000km journey home we nipped out of Queensland just back over the border into New South Wales and parked ourselves at the Brokenhead Holiday Park at Byron Bay for the next two nights. (*No one availed themselves of the Chemical Dump Point during out stay. Phew.)

In this fairly populous corner of Oz, beach camping and sleeping in laybys etc. is strictly prohibited and even more strictly enforced. So we joined dozens of other holidaymakers who also had the brilliant idea to live outdoors less conveniently and practically on top of each other in what some countries would probably be considered a well-organised refugee camp. This desire to camp in such close quarters with complete strangers has always slightly baffled me, but Australians are so good-natured that within about 10 minutes you're best friends with your new neighbour as you stand outside with a beer admiring each others wheels and swapping traffic notes.

Byron Bay is a big destination in Australia - and rightfully so. The scenery isn't as dramatic as some spots along the West Coast, nor does it feel particularly remote (because it isn't), but it is still undeniably beautiful.

Given Byron Bay's huge popularity two things struck me immediately:

1. There are virtually no permanent structures on any of the beaches in the area. A few have tasteful holiday cottages owned by the Park Service, but even they are set back into the treeline enough that they are barely visible. No concrete monstrosities here. Amazing.
2. We did not see (and I do not exaggerate) a single piece of garbage or litter the entire time. If Switzerland had a coast, this is what it would be like.

To be honest those two factors alone were more than enough to win me over, but the hikes and beaches are pretty stunning too.
After two surprisingly comfortable nights in our van and far too much red wine and red meat we began our journey back south. Our plan was to do the rest of the journey in a single blitz, but we did want to make a quick detour just south of Coff's Harbor to check out the fabled Waterfall Way.

Considered a top scenic drive in NSW, this route is more Ferngully than Baywatch and makes for a pleasant if abrupt change of scenery. Turning away from the coast you head into the hills of Australia's Great Dividing Range (it's not as dramatic as it sounds, more Appalachian than Rocky) but the route shoots you into the Gondwana Rainforest - a World Heritage Site and the most extensive subtropical rainforest in the world. Unfortunately our exploration time was pretty limited, but we did head into Dorrigo National Park to check out the Rainforest Centre and even squeezed in a quick 3km hike to one of the Park's prize waterfalls (we'll be back for more in the future).

All too soon we were back on the road and headed south as clouds gathered over the distant Pacific and the sun set behind the hills of the Great Dividing Range.

Thai travels

Southern Thailand is everything that it says in the travel guides - long white sand beaches, stunning limestone karts, cheap beer, good food (think fresh crab & papaya salad, roast duck noodle soup, pad thai) and teeming with tourists. Teeming. If you are looking for a quiet idyllic retreat you need to be prepared to shell out the big bucks for a fancy resort or head down the road less travelled to some off-beat nook in Indonesia. Southern Thailand has been so thoroughly 'discovered' that even the backpackers have mostly moved on.

There is very little that is uniquely, culturally 'Thai' about Southern Thailand, unless you consider Thailand's exemplary ability relatively efficiently cater to first-world tourists in a third-world infrastructure. The South is not the more genteel cultural (but still touristy) destination of the North, it is unabashedly 100% for tourists, period.

There are probably more white people on any given beach in Thailand than on just about any given city street in London. It was utterly bizarre to so suddenly rejoin the ethnic majority.

The majority of tourists are German, French and British and as an American it's always refreshing to be reminded that not all Europeans are as refined and sophisticated as they would have you believe.  I saw more tramp-stamped, obese bikini-clad women, and coconut-oiled, flabby speedo-strutting men since my summers manning the snack bar at the local public pool.  This is the Ibiza of Asia - where Euro-trash comes to roost in the Mediterranean off-season.

Okay, this has gotten more negative than I intended. Like I said, it's stunningly beautiful (really) and a with a bit of know-how you can put some decent distance between yourself and the hordes.  The beaches are crowded - there is no getting around that - but rent a kayak, go for a hike or hire a private boat (which doesn't cost much more than going on one of the jam-packed, all-day snorkeling tours anyway) and before long you've left the circus behind.

Krabi is a mere 1 hour and 15 minute flight from KL, so as an escape from the big city, endless oil palm plantations and Malaysia's grimy West Coast beaches (Langkawi excepted) on the oil-slick shipping lanes of the Straits of Malacca - it's a pretty excellent retreat. If it was my one shot at a big trip to Asia though, I'd probably be a bit disappointed. 

Would I go back? You bet.

Sinking ships?

Monsoon season is nearly upon us - as evidenced by the massive thunderstorms that have begun rolling through most afternoons.  Here on the west coast things don't get so bad, but the east coast gets the full brunt of it and as such slowly closes down between October and November.  The east coast is home to Malaysia's best beaches and islands so it seemed sensible for us to make a quick trip before the end of the season.

We're off to Pulau Tioman - where one has the option of either flying or going by ferry.  It's a short flight and thus a very small plane (I don't do light aircraft) so I convinced Ian that going by ferry was surely the best option.  Then yesterday I got a vague email from the proprietor of our hotel that there was about to be 'severe disruption' to the ferry service.  At first I assumed he just meant that the monsoons were early and that was causing delays, oh no - according to Bernama (the Malaysian equivalent of Reuters of the AP) this is the problem:

PULAU TIOMAN, Sept 10 (Bernama) -- Four of the eight ferries serving Tioman Island were grounded since they did not comply to safety requirements and equipment required under the Marine Department rules.

East Coast Region Marine Department director, Wan Endok Wan Salleh said the ferries, which were en route to the island via Tanjung Gemok-Tioman-Mersing, would resume service after the ferry operators had fulfilled the safety requirements.

He said their non compliance of safety requirements was found after the department held a four-day awareness campaign, that commenced last Friday, in collaboration with the marine police, Marine Park Department and the Maritime Enforcement Agencies.

"About 44 summons were issued to ferry and passenger boat operators during the campaign," he told reporters after a safety campaign for jetty, ferry and passenger boats here.

He said the summons were issued for operating without license, employing incompetent captains, overloading and insufficient safety equipment.

Splendid.  This is what my fear of flying gets me - and this is particularly worrying because:

A. I (alongside two cousins and a friend) have already been on this ferry service twice this year (on the bright side I'm alive to tell the tale).
B. As you may have guessed, Malaysia isn't exactly at the top of the public health and safety charts - so my fear is things must have been quite bad for this to happen.

Oh well, we're off . . . .  hopefully for a weekend of snorkeling and relaxing in the sun - not floating in the middle of the South China Sea as shark bait. 

Island time: Langkawi

Shortly after our return from Laos, we were blessed with another four day weekend so it seemed appropriate to get ourselves to Malaysia's most famous island destination: Langkawi.

30 km off the west coast of Malaysia and right at the border with Thailand, Langkawi was formerly an outpost for pirates and smugglers; today it is a full-fledged vacation destination. It's one of those places so disconnected from the real world that it's difficult to imagine that anyone is actually from there.

Beach bunnies

Langkawi is positively saturated with tourist amenities - five star resorts to hostels, upscale restaurants to messy food courts. And even though there is continuous development along the main beaches, it mercifully lacks those imposing concrete tower-block monstrosities that have ruined so many fine beaches around the world. The biggest eyesore is the fleets of jet skis that are dragged out in the morning and left to bake in the sun all day for tourists willing to pay $50 for 20 minutes of noisy fun.

Actually, the jet skis are the second biggest eyesore. The first is, without question, the hordes of Europeans (mostly Germans, French and Italians - in that order) who think Speedos look good and that there isn't an expiration date (or weight limit) on when one can wear a bikini.

On the upside, this did trigger a tiny spark of national pride. Americans are frequently classed as slobby, heathens - a stereotype I don't strictly deny - but I bet I saw more Speedos in those 4 days than are owned in the entire male population of the United States of America. America 1 - Europe 0.

Fortunately, most people don't find their way off the main beaches and there are a few wonderfully deserted beaches a short drive away where you can virtually have the place to yourself.

Hidden in that clump of trees is the exclusive Four Seasons Resort and if you get too close a tiny Malay man appears to chase you away. Keeping a safe distance, we nearly had the place to ourselves and set up camp right on the line of demarcation and enjoyed the view.
A jellyfish got me on my thigh and I had a lovely stinging welt for a few days, but it seemed a fair price to pay.

Vertigo

As Langkawi is one of those self-styled holiday destinations it has all sorts of bizarre one-off attractions (crocodile farm, rice museum) - the crown jewel of these establishments is the cable car and skybridge.

The cable car is the steepest in the world - it's not like the ones in the Alps that gently follow the incline of the mountain so you never feel quite as high up as you actually are - this thing is more or less vertical, fast and nearly a kilometer long. I don't have any photos that accurately reflect how terrifying it is - this is because my eyes were closed and I forbade Ian from making any sudden movements. This is the best we could do:

The only thing that got me on board was that the girl at ticket counter promised me it was only ten minutes to the top (which is true) and I discovered that the cable car was actually Austrian-made, that made me feel better until I realized it probably didn't come with several Austrian engineers to run and maintain it. Too late.

We made it, but I was so jittery I could hardly enjoy the spectacular views and I had to save my rapidly dwindling reserves of courage for the skybridge (and the trip back down). The skybridge is 700 meters above sea level, a bit rusty, the planks are made of wobbly concrete and it does gently sway and bounce.

Ian strode out like it was no big deal (show-off). I stayed on what I had illogically and arbitrarily deemed the 'safe bit' and distracted myself playing with the camera. In the end, this is as far as I made it, fake smile and gripping the rail for dear life (as if it would make a difference!)

The return ride was as traumatic as going up, safely back on land we sought out cocktails and headed home the next day. Our bumpy descent through the clouds as we were preparing to land in KL gave me flashbacks.

First anniversary

We've officially been in Malaysia for 1 year and 4 days - although I spent a whopping 14 weeks travelling this year, so I suppose I've really only logged about 9 months here.

Realizing how much time we've spent outside of Malaysia - and taking advantage of a three-day weekend, we went to Penang. It was a harrowing 5 hour drive with high-speed tailgating at about 110km an hour the whole way - at one point we ended up immediately behind a six car pile up - no doubt due to the aforementioned high-speed tailgating.

Arriving safely and in one piece we opted for a night in Batu Ferringhi - an unimpressive so-called resort town just outside of George Town which backs onto the busy and polluted waters of the Straits of Malacca. It was nice to be by the sea (worth it just to see a woman in full burqua on a jet ski) - and our real goal wasn't a nice beach holiday but to score some first-rate Chinese seafood.

We cruised around town and as expected found a run-down, slightly dirty, packed little restaurant just meters from the sea serving all manner of crab, prawns and fish. We opted for one of our favourites - sweet & sour chilli crab and we were not disappointed. Stuffed and messy with sauce smeared all over our chops (and in my case, my clothes) we called it a night and primed ourselves for an exploration of George Town the following day.

Compared with it's sister-city Melaka, George Town is both bigger and dirtier (I saw 4 rats in 24 hours). On the plus side, it's considerably less touristy and certainly lives up to it's reputation as a culinary destination.

Rain kept us from wandering and exploring as much as we would have liked - so we hunkered down at some food stalls, stocked ourselves with beer and began several hours of taste-testing some of Penang's most famous fare - from loh bak (deep-fried minced pork wrapped in tofu skin) to Penang laksa and the local (spicier) version of the ubiquitous kway teow (essentially Malaysian pad thai).

After our feast we headed back to the streets and stumbled upon a delightful little bar that is (for those of you who are lucky enough to have been there) almost exactly like Duffy's - same size, layout, decor, and general atmosphere (just Chinese and no Chicago Cubs paraphernalia). We met an Aussie engineer in the oil business, a Dutchman who found himself in Malaysia after his holiday to Thailand was cancelled due to the floods, and a wandering 38 year old American with a penchant for Asian women half his age, an obsession with self-defence and the right to bear arms. We had a grand time.

We did of course squeeze in a couple of cultural attractions as well. We made a brief stop at the Snake Temple - which although not exactly as I envisioned (you know, Raiders of the Lost Ark) but there are a few pit vipers slithering (actually snoozing) at the altars.

We also made an attempt at a tour of the Blue Mansion - a restored home that once belonged to a wealthy Chinese merchant in George Town. While the mansion is certainly impressive, I would not recommend the tour.

For no discernible reason (other than there is probably a gift shop at the end) you aren't allowed to take photos (strictly enforced) and the entire tour is said to take an hour, but after 25 minutes we hadn't gotten out of the foyer and it was too crowded and too hot to hear anything the tour guide had to say anyway. So we bailed and played with the camera out front for a bit instead. The Blue Mansion also operates as a guest house, so clearly the best thing to do would be to plan ahead and just stay there.

Borneo: Part 5

I awoke refreshed, stiff and sore and then remembering my massage managed to drag myself out of bed. After a quick breakfast I marched over the little hut by the beach collapsed onto the massage table and let the masseuse work her magic. It was potentially the best 45 minutes of my life. She massaged nearly every square inch of my body from my pinky toes to eyebrows; when she was done I nearly said just do it again.

Reluctantly I departed and went to tell Ian all about it. After my ravings he decided that perhaps he would have a go after all, but upon finding out that he could only have a male masseuse he chickened out, saying that was too weird. I said he was ridiculous and missing out and spent a great deal of the rest of the day reminding him how amazing my massage was.

We logged a few more hours on the beach and had fun splashing in the waves. We sadly made our final trip to Buntal and enjoyed an absolutely divine meal of salt & pepper prawns, butter crab and steamed rice. We went back to the first restaurant we had tried in Buntal as it was quite easily the best.

We noticed that the girl who seated us spoke remarkably good English, we asked her if she had spent anytime in the UK and she told us that she had been living there for the past 11 years and just returned home two days ago.

We found this pretty remarkable; here was this young girl from a tiny fishing village in North Borneo whose parents own a tiny local restaurant and don’t speak so much as ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in English and managed to send their daughter off to the UK to study of all things, ballet.

It was pretty clear that her parents were beyond delighted to have her home and as we were backing out of the parking lot she was doling out gifts from the UK to what I assume were her younger cousins, nieces and nephews.

Borneo: Part 4

I bet you all thought I was done with Borneo, alas there are still more adventures, just been slow in getting them posted!

After a night of positively torrential rain, I was certain that we were in for another day of rain. But miraculously it cleared after breakfast and we enjoyed a lazy morning on the beach, it even got sunny enough for Ian to sustain a mild sunburn.

Unable to sit still for too long we packed up and decided to test out a hike we had spotted not far from our hotel. We parked the car and signed the sheet at the start of the trail marking our start time and leaving our mobile number (that probably should have been our first clue). The information board at the start said the total trail was 3.1 km and took about 5 hours – with it already being nearly 2:00 when we set off we had no intention of climbing Mount Santubong to the top (it did look pretty daunting). We settled for about halfway where there was a waterfall marked on the map. I will also note here that we were appropriately attired; hiking boots, trousers, bug spray etc.

We started and after a couple hundred meters the trail went more or less vertical. The trail was fairly well maintained but largely just followed streams running down the side of the mountain. It was hot, wet, muddy and steep. In fact, I have never been so hot in my entire life, it must have been well over 90 with the humidity at about the same. My shirt was soaked (in fact 36 hours later, it’s still wet) my hair dripping, I was miserable. Then I slipped and landed my foot in water just deep enough to come over the top of my boot; ten minutes later I swear to god I was suffering from trench foot.

The path was largely composed to twisted roots which provided an absolute abundance of excellent hiding places for any of the 115 species of snakes found in Borneo (don’t even get me started on the six types of flying tree snakes). The vegetation was dense and the mosquitoes the size of houseflies.

After an hour and a quarter of tough going we had barely completed a kilometre and there was no waterfall in sight. We came to yet another particularly steep bit and I put my foot down. I told Ian he could continue but he was just going to have to leave me here to die. With uncharacteristic energy he sprinted up the side of the mountain and 10 minutes later called my mobile (I was thrilled to discover we had reception) to inform me that he indeed had found the waterfall. I mustered the energy up the steep bit and then discovered that you had to virtually rappel down to the waterfall. Brave soul that I am, I managed.

We spent 10 minutes or so relaxing by the falls and then started back for the return journey. The return was far easier, but that didn’t stop me from complaining. I fell in again and could feel jungle water squelching between my toes, trying not to think of leeches I bravely carried on. An hour and a bit later when we emerged from the jungle the woman who runs that café at the base actually laughed at us. Laughed and pointed to the nearby stream, apparently suggesting that we were dirty, bedraggled and that we could do with a bit of a wash.

I had the best shower of my life, had a gin & tonic – purely medicinal as an extra layer of protection to fight off the malaria I had probably just contracted, booked myself in for a full body massage at 10 am the following morning and bade Ian take me to dinner and fill me with seafood until bursting point. After a delicious meal of kway teow, midin, red snapper and butter prawns I crawled back to the car, rolled into bed and slept soundly until I was awoken by another bout of torrential rain.

Borneo: Part 3

We awoke to more rain but unable to do anything about it, packed our bags for our next destination, Damai Beach. We took a wrong turn on the way driving past a woman with a several large tubes of bamboo roasting a fire.

Ian’s curiosity got the better of him so we pulled over to check it out. The tubes were filled with rice that had been soaked in some sort of green liquid and then roasted over the fire. We purchased one which the woman removed from the fire and then she peeled away the bamboo with pliers leaving the rice intact and held together by a very thin almost paper like layer of bamboo and then sliced the tube of rice into segments, just like sushi. The rice was tasty and I cannot begin to describe it or think of anything with which to compare it. Ian greatly enjoyed the novelty of the whole experience.

We made our way to our resort which is lovely, but the rain makes even the most impressive resort seem downright depressing. So we dropped our bags and went to explore the area. We drove through a couple of local villages ‘kampungs’ and found our way to the little gem that is Buntal. Locally quite famous, Buntal is a tiny village full of nothing but homes, fruit and veg stands and seafood restaurants.

We picked a restaurant at random for our lunch and were richly rewarded. The crab was clearly a local speciality so we asked the woman at the restaurant which was best, she didn’t speak much English but knew what we meant so she pointed to crab with egg. We also ordered some salt & pepper prawns and sat back and waited for our food to arrive. Shortly thereafter we received a huge pile of prawns fried and served on a heap of sea salt and the famed local Sarawak pepper.

Our crab came next, a mountain of cracked crab stir-fried in some sort of sauce which definitely contained egg and 5-spice, but after that I’m lost. It was delicious and messy. Fat and happy we returned to the hotel to digest and have a quick siesta. When we awoke it wasn’t exactly sunny, but there was at least a large patch of blue sky over the beach so we took a stroll and spotted some sea otters and decided that we should most definitely return to Buntal in search of our dinner.