Creative Accounting and Lightweight Travel.

Part One

TRAVELLING LIGHTER , TIGHTER AND BEING A WRITER   (with a bit of photography chucked in for good measure)

Learning to become a tight arse traveller, meandering slowly and smelling the roses, is akin to starting your own offshore tax haven. Don’t let that fool you. The fact is you may never earn enough money to pay tax. But so what? Eat your heart out, here’s my office.

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This is my second home, a bonus of creative accounting. It’s rent free so I have nothing to hide from the taxman. This a drone shot, not mine, I pinched it from a friend.

These days I’m learning a perverse logic:  You may as well not earn money at doing something you enjoy than not earn money doing something you don’t enjoy. Think about it!

I’ve never been mean, especially when it comes to spending Other People’s Money. Now, in the world of media’s changing economics and OPM vapourising, I’m learning to become lean and mean; a tight arse traveller. It takes practice but sooner or later  unique creative accounting falls into place. Not only that but it’s possible to earn a comfortable living. For example I don’t measure my economy in dollars and cents, rial, roubles, rupiah, kip or kyat, even though my best friend is a free currency converting App on the iPad.

THE NEW ECONOMY

My economy is measured in units of air fares and the cost of beer. There is no App for that yet.  One Air Fare Unit (AFU) is $250. A Unit of Beer (BU) is one dollar.

The process started in late 2008 when a global recession scattered freelance journalists and photojournalists in all directions. I was at a career point where I wanted to slow down a little. It was time for a change.

I found myself disliking driving. I’d been down the road of exotic cars, luxury appartments and had a trophy wife. I ‘let her go’ and she quickly married a Gucci. That has become the basis for a bigger story. I’m working on that.

Driving had been a passion but with crowded roads and traffic lights it had become frustrating. I was calculating how much I could sell my car for when somebody kindly drove theirs into the side of mine. The other driver should have become my new best friend. I would have bought him a few beers and traded girl friends because my car was deemed a write off and the insurers paid me twice what my asking price was going to be had I sold it. Suddenly I fell in love with an insurance company, that was a first, they can be very unlovable.

NEW FREEDOM, NEW LIFESTYLE

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New supermarket. Fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, fresh fish. A weeks shopping costs about $15

Within a week the money was in a new account marked ‘Travel’. I woke to a new freedom, a new style of living. I had an old bike and a worn out travel bag which, at a squeeze, could accommodate a few T-shirts, shorts, jocks, toothbrush, shaving gear and pain killers. This kit was the framework for lightweight travel and a reasonable income.

The economic benefit was instant. No fuel bills, no massive service fees, no new tyres, no broken screens, no break-ins, no parking tickets, no speeding fines, no road tax, no depreciation, no insurance and no drink driving problems. That doesn’t mean no drinking. Collectively they save me a minimum of about $6000 a year.

I axed two daily newspapers, weekend papers and a few magazines saving another $2000 a year. My travel budget was now sitting on $8000 a year. Not a lot in the overall scheme of things but sufficient.

I had been travelling on OPM, staying in decent hotels, sometimes in exotic locations. I had every so often flown first class (nice); more often business class (nearly as nice) and sometimes cattle class;  not nice at all but I liked the passengers a great deal more.

I had spent years in Fleet Street, a nerve centre of journalism in those days, and was on the staff of a French magazine. After several years I went freelance, working on assignments, earning well, saving little but enjoying the freedom only a freelance journalist can enjoy. I then started working on a totally speculative basis, writing and illustrating self assigned stories.  My publication rate was high and I enjoyed more independence.

I’m an avid reader of Graham Green, Somerset Maugham and others who travelled and wrote about the region. Prompted by their influences I have let myself loose in SE Asia, an old territory of colonial France, Indochina. I saw a refreshed career as what the French fondly refer to as a flâneur; simply wandering streets and observing life, making a few notes, taking a few photographs.  I disciplined myself to write most evenings for an hour or so, usually in the company of  ice cold beer and a local meal.

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A sea level view of the office. My spot is on the extreme right, in that dark space.

As it happens Bali is only about three and a half hours by air from my Australian base so I made the island a second home. I can travel door to door, home to home, in about seven hours for  one AFU. Once there I stay in a delightful, clean and comfortable hotel. It has eight rooms and costs me ten bucks, about 10BUs, a night including breakfast and, importantly, a fast internet connection. Adding to the romance of the place is the rumour that it was formerly  a brothel.  I find that hard to believe as it has cold showers which could be counterproductive in some situations. I can live for about $200 a week on the island, including the hotel. That’s less than one AFU. People don’t believe me when I say I’m heading off to Bali to work. “Enjoy your holiday” they say. My office is a beach where I  write in a  warung, eat fresh fish daily with salads, rice and fruit and have a beer or two at about a dollar a bottle. That’s only 2BUs v 18BUs minimum in Australia.

I go to the morning market, buy fruit and chat to the locals who’ve named me ‘Poppa’, which I rather like. I buy fish to feed the hotel’s scrawny cats and frequently a kilo of rambutan when in season but the market is always full of fresh fruits. The fruit costs me about dollar, the fish about 20cents. In my local store, in Australia, rambutan is nearly $50 a kilo! Five kilos is an air fare! The more I eat the more I save.

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Erna and Made in their beachfront warung which doubles as my office. A decent lunch sets me back about  4BU of my creative travel currency. I do  a bit of writing, walk about twelve lengths of the beach, swim. There’s a secret trail though the trees along cliff top to the beach . It takes me about ten minutes to walk to the ‘office’.  

I’m digressing. This blog is aimed at people looking for an uncomplicated life, smelling the roses and earning a quid doing something they enjoy doing. So back to the travel light and write theme. Having spent several decades covering news and other events I was ready for a change. I have always written, always taken pictures. It was a useful combination and I see no reason to change that. This change in direction is to look at laid back stories, probably around travel, people I meet, food I eat. Like any good flâneur I have no sense of direction. I do have a list of ideas which tend to revolve around rivers, lakes, oceans, boats, beaches and palm trees. And a Happy Hour in a bar somewhere. So please feel free to watch this space.

WORKING KIT for WORDS

This is my basic working kit. I sometimes take a Macbook Air but generally find the basic iPad is sufficient. I carry a notebook and prefer the French Clairfontaine products as the paper is extraordinarily good for writing on. I used to use Moleskine but the paper is not in the same league and they cost nearly three times as much – about 33BUs against 12BUs. I like to write with a fountain pen and Clarefontaine paper doesn’t suffer from ‘show through’. Ink is often not practical in climates of high humidity either as the paper can get a little damp from sweaty hands. In that instance I use a highly treasured ball point pen. A few pencils and a sharpener are handy backups.

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Basic writing kit: I use the notebook as a scrap book too. On the left hand page I paste useful things like maps, menus, beer labels. Anything which may jog a memory. On the facing page I make notes. Each page is dated.
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The iPad and notebook are stored in lightweight nylon bag. Not totally waterproof but it could help. Pens, pencils, sharpeners are in a waterproof roll-up pouch. 

I’ll write about a photography kit in the next blog.  Cheers for now.

Roger Garwood. <rjgarwood@gmail.com>

YOU CAN’T TURN YOUR BACK FOR A SECOND

 

WHOOPS! HERE WE GO AGAIN. 2018 IS HERE.

Christmas snuck up rather quietly this year which I don’t think was terribly fair.

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Thus I was left with the familiar last minute problem.  Ultimately nature has a way of solving problems, it balances things out. In my case I’m fortunate in having a small family and a small, close, group of friends. And I have a small budget so the balance was taken care of. A form of natural attrition.

WINE AND A LETHAL WEAPON

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My grandson was 21 on Christmas Day. Josh is a content sort of bloke and doesn’t seem to want for much in life. However I thought he was old enough to be given a decent lethal weapon so I bought him a Leatherman. You know the things, they have enough tools hidden in them to perform major surgery. Screwdrivers, scissors, spanners, a very sharp knife and pointy thing which I concluded was a marlin spike. I believe they are used to fashion the frayed ends of rope into flashy knots. I find that small truth disappointing as many years ago I was told they were for getting Boy Scouts out of Girl Guides. But let’s not go there.

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That was an important problem solved.  The present, not the Boy Scout, Girl Guide, bit. I then had a quick mental survey of family and friends. What to buy for whom? The simple fact is that without exception they all have everything a person could possibly want. They’re hard to impress.

Years ago I had a friend, an English nobleman. He was a dinkum connoisseur of wines and travelled the world to judge various competitions, all expenses paid. Not bad work if you can get. Anyway when at home in his rather grand country house he had regular dinners for friends and colleagues.  The only real rule was they were black tie affairs – dinner jacket, bow tie, the full nine yards. I think that’s a very civilised practice. If you didn’t wish to dress for dinner you could go to the local pub and have a pie, chips and beer. I have to say most of my other friends, the hoi polloi of this world, are very happy in budgie smugglers and T-shirt and, like me, know little about wine.

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My noble friend had a wonderful and very expensive trick. There would be a number of wines during the course of an evening but there was always a surprise lurking on the table. Most guests did know a decent wine but this one was decanted – a blind tasting, no label. The trick was to identify the wine. All agreed that it was truly delightful. They would swirl the wine around , immerse their noble noses into the glass, inhale deeply, hold the glass to the light, slurp the content and gasp breathless phrases. I’d simply hoped for another glass. Those were in the days when Australian wine hadn’t gained the world wide attention it has now. The wine in question was from a collection of Penfolds Grange.

It never failed to impress. Try one if you have spare thousand bucks. And at that price it has no medals.  Imagine how good it would be with a few golds.

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So my problem was solved. I simply wrote a list of names of family and friends and beside it scrawled ‘Wine’.

But I’m no judge. Well I am actually. I judge by label and price and I can distinguish a red, a white or bubbles from a considerable distance.

I’m also inclined to assume those  medals seen on wine bottles are hard earned and well deserved. So I rode my old bike down the hill to my local wine store. It’s an independent outlet with a wide selection of labels, prices and colours. Some bottles were wearing little Christmas hats and there was a large plastic blow-up reindeer, complete with a red nose, lurking in the corner. The breeze blowing through the door rendered him a little wobbly on his feet. It did cross my mind that wine, red noses and an unsteady gait go hand in hand.

WHERE ARE YOU ON MY LIST?

For my son and his wife I chose a bottle decorated with enough medals to put a smile on a Russian General’s face. Then the list descended through silver, bronze and ‘Sorry, you didn’t quite make the grade’. So anybody who received a bottle of wine from me this Christmas has a clear indication of where you fall in my hierarchy of friends. All I can say is look upon your medal count, or lack of medal, as an incentive to be nicer to me in 2018. You have a couple of days to add that thought to your resolutions.

Having made the selection I loaded the wines onto my treadly and pushed it home, uphill all the way. Pushing stuff uphill seems to be a habit these days!

With that I’d like to wish you all a happy and healthy New Year.  

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Back to Back in Fremantle

I think most photographers have the work of the old master shooters firmly imprinted in their minds. Lisette Model was a photographer who’s simplicity of style appealed to me and some of her images of the backs of subjects have become icons.

I was wandering around Fremantle today and came across these two exuding inimitable style in the West End.

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Anzac Day

Each year Australia and New Zealand commemorate what is possibly the most venerated period of their history. At dawn on the 25th April, 1915, off the coast of Gallipoli, tens of thousands of troops landed on the beaches in an attempt to push through to Constantinople. In prolonged fighting over 8000 Australian troops were killed and the campaign, though a significant defeat, ensured that Australian and Kiwi troops gained a reputation as being among the toughest fighters in the world.

A dawn services marks the beginning of a day when families, many of whom lost relatives, assemble at memorials throughout the two countries. The day starts in a solemn manner but later, following what is known as a Shotgun Breakfast in many halls and clubs,  lashings of bacon, eggs, hot tea and rum are served to anybody who cares to join in. Following this a parade of old diggers and sailors as well as younger military people march through towns. The day becomes a celebration.

I’ve been taking pictures of Anzac Day for about 36 years now, the first in 1977 in Perth but mostly in Fremantle which has a very homely and slightly  disorganised feel about it. The military precision is not quite as precise as the bigger events.

I have generally used the occasion to wander around and shoot a few street pictures, mainly to record the event but also to keep myself tuned up. Until recently I used a Leica M6 with a 35 or 50mm lens though the earlier pictures were made with an M2. Invariably I used film, initially Tri X, more recently T Max 400  but for the last couple of years I have used  a little Leica D Lux 5. I’ve found the 24-90mm (equivalent lens) and the B&W  jpg processing in the camera to be excellent.

Here’s a selection of pictures from this years event with a couple from previous years.


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This shot was taken as the old fellow was being wheeled onto the parade ground. Just before he joined the parade he whipped out a hip flask and knocked back a sly swig or two. Can’t blame him really.

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This is one of my favourite shot. Taken in 1977 at the Perth parade. This old digger had walked over to what I assume were his regimental flags, removed his hat and stood contemplating them for several minutes …..

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