This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

The TC got it into her head to drive an open-top Mustang down Highway 1, the coastal route from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Actually, it was the TC-once-removed who put this idea into the TC’s head. Reluctantly I have to report that the TC got a bit carried away with the whole experience and left me cooped up in her bag much of the time. I didn’t even have the chance to get cozy with the pony (that’s what we aficionados call a Mustang) although I had been eagerly anticipating that photo opportunity.

Still, the TC did give me an airing every now and then, so I can report some highlights of the trip.

My impressions? The drive to Los Angeles is just beautiful. LA is a dump. Drive on by.

Travel tip

If you can, spend a few days on the drive. There’s much to do and see.

Here’s another tip from a wise worm: Invest in a GPS. Don’t rely on your TC. If she’s anything like mine, you’ll get lost and end up seeing the, ahem, interesting parts of town. En route from Santa Barbara to Santa Monica, we encountered Oxnard, Port Hueneme and Sod Farm.

Recommended restaurant

Lucia Lodge Restaurant, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean at the southern edge of Big Sur.

Recommended accommodation

Monterey Plaza Hotel & Spa, 400 Cannery Row, Monterey. Even the TC, bless her cotton socks, deserves a touch of luxury every now and then. But be warned, it’s pricey.

The book I’m in

Moonlit Cage, by Linda Holeman. Highly recommended. This worm felt homesick when the TC finished reading The Linnet Bird, by the same author, so I’m glad to be ensconced in another of Linda’s works.

The photos

Me cozying up to an urn in the Santa Barbara courthouse. Yeah, Keats dude: Leaf-fringed legends, deities and mortals abound. In truth, beauty and all that, I feel that I have a certain unfading charm myself:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Here’s the Mustang backed by a fittingly scenic view:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

The TC keeps remarking with glee how the car took her up and over 100 miles per hour before she had time to glance at the speedometer. Hmm. This worm is sceptical of the “before she had time” part of that tale:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

It’s a 4 litre, 6 cylinder mean machine:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

We started in San Francisco. Here’s that serene city, as seen from the Sausalito ferry a few days before we left:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

We spent our first night in Monterey. The Monterey Bay Aquarium is well worth a visit. It’s housed in a converted sardine canning factory situated at the end of Cannery Row, of John Steinbeck fame:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Me with a seahorse in the aquarium:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

The jellyfish displays are awe-inspiring, dwarfing even the TC’s height:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Here are the jellyfish in motion:

Another sort of jellyfish:

And perhaps the most ethereal yet:

These beasties are seadragons, related to seahorses. These dudes have the art of synchronised swimming down to a T:

Wherever I go, Jonathan is there too. Here he is masquerading as a porpoise, but I spotted him. Is he the most inept spy ever? Double-oh-seagull:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

We stayed at the Monterey Plaza Hotel in the middle of Cannery Row. It’s luxury squared. Here’s the view of the sea at dusk, from our room:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Just a few steps down the Row, two homeless people set up for the night. John Steinbeck would probably recognise their experience of the Row more than ours:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

The scenery from Highway 1 is sometimes breathtaking. This video gives some idea of its beauty. The noise you can hear is the barking of group of elephant seals on the beach at the bottom of the cliff:

Further along the road, you can get up close and personal with more elephant seals.

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Santa Barbara is gorgeous. So impressed was this worm, that I plan to write a blog post dedicated to that city. Here’s a snap to whet your appetite:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Malibu is luxury with a road running through it. Can’t visit your neighbours, for fear of getting run over when you cross the road. Can’t get anywhere without a car. As we approached from the north the TC chirped, “I could live here!” Then Malibu went on and on and on and this worm is pretty sure she changed her mind. Not that the TC would admit such a thing, of course.

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Santa Monica was blowing up a storm when we arrived. Extreme weather. The TC had to duck the kamikaze palmtree fronds. At one stage she was walloped in the middle by a low-flying cardboard box, but seemed to take that in her stride. Even so, Santa Monica greeted us with glitz, glamour and fairy lights:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

Early next morning all was calm and clean again, the palm fronds magically back in their rightful places:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

After a bit of research to find “you know, that beach where you always see people in films rollerblading among the palm trees”, the TC decided on Venice Beach, LA:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

We found this skate hire shop:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

And the TC fulfilled her heart’s desire:

Driving a Mustang from San Francisco to LA

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

In which Wordsworm explores the importance of horror, gore and pumpkins in the American psyche and discovers that there’s a lot to blame the Irish for.

Me and the TC have just got back from California, USA. We drove from San Francisco to LA, through a countryside in the throes of pre-Halloween pumpkinitis. We hit Hollywood just in time to catch the Halloween Horror Night at Universal Studios.

My impressions? To paraphrase Obelix, “These Californians are crazy”. To pacify the TC I’ll add, “But in a good way”.

Travel tip

Don’t turn around. The zombie behind you just may be Irish.

Recommended restaurant

The Hard Rock Café on Universal Citywalk, Hollywood. Good food, bluesy atmosphere, dangling car and wall-hung rock memorabilia. No obvious Irishmen.

The book I’m in

Still Life with Woodpecker, by Tom Robbins. This worm finds the content contrived but passably amusing. From the cover blurb: “[This book] reveals the purpose of the moon… examines the conflict between social activism and romantic individualism… It also deals with the problem of redheads.”

The photos

Me, Peg and the Great Pumpkin. Hey Linus, I found it:

Halloween, horror and pumpkins in California

It was the week before Halloween when we drove down the Californian coast. Pumpkin patches littered the countryside. What is it with pumpkins, ghosts and the American psyche? This worm has done a bit of research. It’s said that the Irish brought the tradition of Halloween and jack o’lanterns with them to the States. Originally, jack o’lanterns were made from the humble turnip. There’s a confused story of a drunken Irish farmer called Jack who couldn’t get in to heaven or hell, so he had to stagger around purgatory for ever after. To light his way, he hacked a hole in a turnip and put a burning coal into it to form a lantern. For some reason best known to themselves, the other villagers decided that if they made their own turnip lanterns, this would scare away Jack and similar undesirables. Well, they were Irish of course.

When the settlers came to the States and discovered the magnificent pumpkins in their new land, they started using pumpkins instead of turnips to make their jack o’lanterns.

This is the picturesque Webb Ranch Pumpkin Patch near Palo Alto:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Not all pumpkins are the same, you know. Only the very best will become worthy jack o’lanterns, fit to ward off the Halloween witches and spirits. When you see one you like, hang on to it with all your might:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Night falls. Mist rises. The Hollywood streets undergo a frightening metamorphosis. Chainsaws thrum. Screams chill the bones. Bones clatter over the screams. It’s Universal Studios Halloween Horror Night:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Oh, for the comforting glow of a pumpkin now:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

If you scream, you’re fair game:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

There’s no escape:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

They’re everywhere:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Some poor souls didn’t make it:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

This guy should have tried a pumpkin as a coach:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Dude, you’re just tall:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

The only one who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

But day dawns, justice overcomes and pumpkins prevail. Me and a panel from the door of the Santa Barbara Courthouse:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Actually, pumpkins don’t have it all their own way. Me with a soon-to-be-extinct slice of pumpkin pie:

Halloween horror and pumpkins in California

Oh-Oh, spaghetti-o. Linus, I fear the TC ate the Great Pumpkin.

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

The other day I dozed off inside a good book and woke up to find myself at the Atlassian office in Sydney. What on earth is Atlassian? The TC rabbits on about them all the time. Evidently they’re the guys who make Confluence wiki, JIRA bug tracker and some other equally odd-sounding things.

A little bird tweeted that Atlassian are making some big announcements next week. This worm was there during the busy run-up to the big day.

My impressions? Beer fridges, everywhere.

Word of the day: Standup.

Travel tip

When you visit Atlassian in Sydney, remember there’s an upstairs too. That’s where the TC hangs out. Take her some chocolate and your welcome is assured.

Recommended restaurant

Peace Harmony, corner of Erskine and Sussex streets, about 5 minutes’ walk from the Atlassian office. It’s a vegetarian Thai restaurant. The TC raves about the tasty food, the peaceful atmosphere and the outstanding service.

The book I’m in

The Linnet Bird, by Linda Holeman.

The photos

Me inside Atlassian, getting pally with Charlie. He’s the weird looking blue dude with his arms in the air, holding up a saucer (or whatever):

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

The Atlassian offices are in the old Corn Exchange building, near Darling Harbour in Sydney:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Here’s a closer view. The JIRA team is right behind this window:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Back inside now, this window lights the FishEye/Crucible team:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Charlie is a bit of a clothes horse. He gets dressed up in various outfits and then hangs around the meeting rooms or Atlassian events, all primped and proper. Here’s me chatting him up. He’s dressed for the board room, where the occasional game of poker happens too:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Me and Charlie outside the Fishbowl meeting room:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Me and Charlie in the area of the engineering and product management chiefs. Their desks look out on a gym, so Charlie feels comfortable in less formal attire:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

I doff my mortarboard to Jason of the design team for his endless inventiveness in Charlie’s wardrobe.

Guess what? Hand was there too. You remember Hand, the annoying creature who attached himself to the TC when we were in Surfers Paradise last year. He’s an intrusive fellow with a finger in every pie. So it was no surprise when he insisted on attending a standup at Atlassian. A standup is a weird ritual practised by ‘agile’ programmers. This worm doesn’t think they look particularly agile, loitering around in a circle and uttering the odd technical phrase every now and then.

Here’s Hand getting underfoot at a standup. The feet are attached to the technical writing team:

Travelling Worm goes to Atlassian

Can you guess which foot belongs to the TC?

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC flitted back to Surfers Paradise on the Australian Gold Coast last weekend.  We’ve been there before. This time was just a quick hop, to join the TC-once-removed at the end of a week-long conference.

Me, I’m no adrenaline junky, so I stayed comfortably lodged in a good book while the TCs went cavorting around Movie World. They came back gibbering and quivering, having mistakenly got on the Scooby-Doo coaster with the expectations of a gentle ride interrupted by a few spooks popping out of corners. Hah, I could have told them what to expect. They were also sizzling with excitement after the Hollywood Stunt Driver show, where they claim they had to duck flying cars and douse burning eyebrows after the explosive finale.

Later, the TC dragged me and the TC-once-removed out to see the dawn on the beach. Some people just can’t be persuaded that the sun rises every day, even without their being there.

My impressions? Here comes the grudging admission: It was worthwhile. The low-angled rays from the sun yielded interesting effects of light and shade.

Word of the day: Toes

Another blog about bookmarks and related oddities

My friend the Sandgroper recently tweeted me a link to the Forgotten Bookmarks site. What a cool idea! The blogger works in a bookshop that specialises in rare books. She blogs about the weird, interesting or touching things that she finds in the books. If you’re in a mood for macabre juxtapositions, take a look at the entry called From The Library of Paul Bunyan.

Of course, this worm was once a forgotten bookmark. I stayed buried in a book for many years, neglected and forgotten until the TC found me again about two years ago. That’s how I’ve managed to retain my youthful appearance and zest all these 25 long years!

Travel tip

Things happen. All the time. Whether you’re there or not.

Recommended restaurant

Montmartre by the Sea, corner of Elkhorn Ave and The Esplanade, just across the road from the beach. It’s one of the few places in Surfers Paradise that serves good coffee. Get there in the early morning for freshly-baked raspberry muffins.

The book I’m in

The Street Philosopher, by Matthew Plampin. A taut, realistic view of a newspaper correspondent’s experiences in and after the Crimean War.

The photos

Take a walk with me through the evening and early morning in Surfers Paradise. It’s a little surreal there. Things will happen. That’s guaranteed. Join me in contemplating your toes, if you’re lucky enough to have any.

Me getting bluesy:

Dawn in Surfers Paradise

The TC took this snap when about to set off in all innocence on the Scooby-Doo ride at Movie World:

Dawn in Surfers Paradise

Here comes the sun, it’s all right:

Dawn in Surfers Paradise

A lone surfer in paradise:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

Early sunlight glancing off a footprint in the sand:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

Sunlight forming a halo around your toes:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

Now it looks like the foot is bulging up at you, as if someone is walking upside down under the sand:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

Jonathan was there too:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

Shell shadows:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

This dude is finding the early morning pickings slim, just a cigarette but or two. He does have impressive toes:

Dawn in Surfer's Paradise

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Let’s go fly a kite, up where the air is bright… It’s mid winter in Sydney, and the TC took it into her head to hop into a Tiger Moth and fly over Sydney.

“You picked the coldest day of the year,” the pilot announced when we arrived. And cold it was. One degree Celsius on the ground, but bright and clear and beautiful too.

My impressions? Soft, floating, breath taking, beautiful.

Word of the day: Butterfly

Will this worm ever become a butterfly? I do hope not. They’re ephemeral, fickle beings. “Word of the day” is right. But now I’ve had a go at flitting around the skies on papery wings and it has a certain something.

Travel tip

Don’t touch the pedals and levers in your cockpit. They work.

Recommended restaurant

Bring your own, hot, coffee.

Recommended aviation company

Airborne Aviation, at Camden airport near Sydney. They’re friendly, professional, no nonsense. The experience was just awesome. (Those are the TC’s words. She tends to enthuse.)

The book I’m in

Third Strike, by Zoë Sharp.

The TC rather likes the Charlie Fox thrillers.

The photos

Me getting up close and personal with a Tiger Moth’s propeller:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Me and the TC went up in a 1940s vintage Tiger Moth:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

The TC-once-removed was in a Boeing Stearman, built in 1943. Both planes are roughly the same age. The Boeing has a bigger engine, but pushes out about the same horse power, according to our pilot. This discrepancy is easy to understand, our instructor went on with gleeful scorn, once you know that Tiger Moths are British while the Boeings were designed in the US!

Me cosying up to the Boeing Stearman:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Due to the Boeing’s ungainly design the pilots had to run the engine for 20 minutes to warm it up before takeoff. When we arrived, it was still stuttering and sputtering in the cold morning air.

The little Tiger Moth was altogether more obliging. Open the hatch:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Plug in the electric heater — that’s the black box with the electric cable at top left — and leave it to warm up:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Push the plane out into the open, and you’re ready to rock and roll. Here’s a view of the Moth’s two cockpits:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Here’s a Biggles snap of the TC, as requested by my friend the Sandgroper:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Up, up and away in the Tiger Moth:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

We took off on grass, both planes together, and were in the air before we knew it. The TC-once-removed took some snaps from the Stearman too:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

The Boeing Stearman is so comfy, it’s “like a big old lounge chair with a plane built around it”, said the pilot:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

We flew for about 15 minutes, from Camden airport to Warragamba Dam, then headed back to Camden. Here’s Warragamba Dam seen from the Moth:

Flying in a Tiger Moth over Sydney

Here’s a short video of the Tiger Moth zooming up to the Boeing. Me and the TC are in the front cockpit of the Moth:

Sometimes we seemed close enough to touch. Here’s the Boeing Stearman, filmed by the TC from the Moth:

The Tiger Moth looks frail and, well, ephemeral. Like those butterfly dudes. But it holds its own against the good old Boeing. This video starts in the Boeing’s cockpit then swings round to find the Moth:

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC are back in Sydney after a few days in Melbourne. This worm is feeling good. A bit flat around the edges, mark you (uh, no, Mark is me not you) but mostly good.

My impressions? In Melbourne, it all happens in the alleyways.

Black is still, or again, in in Melbourne. Goth is too. And dark magic. Dark chocolate. Just the TC’s sort of town.

While in Melbourne, I was lucky enough to bump into Albert Stone. The TC waved me right under his nose. Albert does not move fast, but he does it with plenty of style. The inevitable pictures are below.

I met Chloe too.

Travel tip

Live in the moment. Or in the book about it.

That thought came to my mind while I was browsing through Albert’s web site. He’s one awesome dude.

Recommended restaurant

Any self-respecting chocolate lover must drop in at Koko Black, for Belgian chocolate indulgence.

Recommended accommodation

The Vibe Savoy hotel. Lots of mirrors, Art Deco plus a bit on the side, friendly service, excellent quality. The food is very tasty. But this worm has to warn that I spent some time in the TC’s bag next to her purse and noticed said purse grow considerably leaner. The Vibe Savoy is not cheap.

The book I’m in

Saturn’s Children, by Charles Stross.

The book tells the adventures of Freya Nakamachi-47. Like me and Albert, she is a remarkable creature. She is a humanoid (alas poor thing) robot, one of a series designed to be the perfect companion (er, concubine) for real humans. Unfortunately for Freya, humankind died out just a few years before she came into being. So she’s never met a real man. Not yet…

This worm recommends the book without reservation. It’s clever and funny (like me), fast (unlike Albert) and interesting (like me and Albert both). Luckily for this worm, the TC loves a good SF.

The photos

Me and Chloe:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Chloe resides behind a pane of glass (hence the reflections on the photograph) in the Young & Jackson Hotel, just next to Melbourne’s Flinders Street Station. Here’s another picture of her, sans reflections and regrettably sans moi too:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Young Chloe was painted in 1875 by a Frenchman called Jules Lefebvre. She is well loved by Melburnians, especially by beer lovers, and has pride of place in the bar on the first floor of Y&J’s. This is Chloe’s bar:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Here’s the Flinders Street Station as seen from Chloe’s window:

The alleyways of Melbourne

There are tales galore about the girl who modelled for the Chloe painting. Sadly, they have her committing suicide at the tender age of 21. But Chloe lives on. This worm heard that a painting of Chloe’s sister hangs in a Melbourne museum somewhere too, but that the National Trust and Heritage of Victoria has declared that Chloe herself will stay at Y&J’s.

The alleyways of Melbourne

Albert Stone, now there’s a man who knows how to live in the moment, how to make the moment last, and how to do it with style. To walk past him is impossible. To linger is essential. Here’s a picture of Albert, taken just as he notices yours truly thrust inelegantly into his space

Me and Albert:

The alleyways of Melbourne

He has an inexhaustible set of props that somehow just appear in his hand, even though he’s moving at the speed of a sluggish slug. Albert gave this worm a red carnation. I was most touched. Thank you dude:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Me and Albert, caught in the moment:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Alleyways rule in Melbourne:

The alleyways of Melbourne

This worm recommends a visit to one of the cafes in the Central Places alleyway, if only for the grimy Dickensian atmosphere:

The alleyways of Melbourne

The trams are tremendous. Here’s one in front of the GPO in Elizabeth Street:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Here’s another tram with a city backdrop:

The alleyways of Melbourne

If you prefer wide open spaces rather than alleyways, there’s plenty for you in Melbourne too. We came across a Tamil demonstration at Federation Square:

The alleyways of Melbourne

More of Federation Square:

The alleyways of Melbourne

The Yarra River runs through the city, with eating places and recreation spots on its banks:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Autumn colours:

The alleyways of Melbourne

For more colours, here’s a sunset view from the Vibe Savoy hotel, looking out over the Southern Cross Station roof towards the Melbourne Docklands:

The alleyways of Melbourne

Did anyone miss Peg?

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC have been in Cape Town, South Africa, for the last week. While we were there, we went up Table Mountain.

My impressions? “The purpose of evolution, believe it or not, is beauty.” (Joseph Brodsky.)

The TC is feeling philosophical at the moment. This is affecting me and all who travel with her. The top of Table Mountain is a good place for quiet reflection.

Travel tip

To boldly go where no man has gone before — that’s “marvellous”, as the TC’s father would say. This worm adds: Do split those infinitives and question other rules that may prevent you going where you need to go.

The book I’m in

World without End, by Ken Follett.

Dedication

For Peter and Kay, the TC’s parents, two travellers dauntless and generous.

The photos

Me and Peg on top of Table Mountain, near the cable car station and looking out over a fog-covered Atlantic seaboard:

On top of Table Mountain

We went up the mountain on a day when the city and coast were shrouded in fog. At first we thought the cable car would not be running. But as we drove up Kloof Nek Road we rose up over the fog bank into the bright sunlight.

Here’s a view from inside the cable car going up, seeing the other cable car coming down to meet us:

On top of Table Mountain

Below is a closer view of the top cable station as we approach it. Those last few metres are very steep. The cables creak and grind and the ground falls away on both sides to reveal a breathtaking view of Camps Bay as well as the city. When they’re not covered in mist, that is:

On top of Table Mountain

The top cable station is at an altitude of 1067 metres. Take a look at the cables that anchor the station. The man sitting on the wall next to the cables gives you some idea of scale:

On top of Table Mountain

Here’s another view of the cables with the back of the top cable station behind them:

On top of Table Mountain

The cable car going down, with the top cable station on the left and Lion’s Head (the round mountain top) on the right:

On top of Table Mountain

The cables leading downwards, with Lion’s Head (669 metres) on the left and Signal Hill (350 metres) on the right:

On top of Table Mountain

Dassies on a rock overlooking the Atlantic seaboard beyond Camps Bay:

On top of Table Mountain

What is a “dassie”, you may well ask? It’s a cute fat furry creature, about the size of a cat. And it’s the elephant’s closest living relative! You’ll see many of them sunning themselves on the rocks on top of the mountain, especially on the side that overlooks Camps Bay. They’re not too bothered by humans but if you get too close they disappear into a crevice. Here’s one that we saw on the city side of the mountain top, taking advantage of an empty bit of path at a viewing site:

On top of Table Mountain

Starting from the top cable station, we walked along the top of the front table with the Atlantic seaboard on our right. The vegetation up there is lovely:

On top of Table Mountain

The Cape Floral Kingdom is famous for its diversity, and Table Mountain in particular is home to many unique and lovely species.  There are only 6 floral kingdoms in the world, and the Cape Floral Kingdom is the smallest but richest. The vegetation is called the “fynbos”, which means “fine bush”.

On top of Table Mountain

It really is flat on top of the mountain. Most of the plants are short, because the soil is shallow and the mountain-top climate is harsh. Still, even up there, you see some beauties like this protea overlooking an empty dam:

On top of Table Mountain

A closer view of the protea:

On top of Table Mountain

Another bit of fynbos that caught the TC’s eye:

On top of Table Mountain

Still overlooking the Atlantic side, here’s a view of Hout Bay:

On top of Table Mountain

Now you’re looking over the eastern side towards Fishhoek and Simon’s Town, except that they’re covered in fog today:

On top of Table Mountain

If you’re more energetic than the TC, you can walk up the mountain via Platteklip Gorge or one of the other gorges. You do need to be careful, especially if it’s misty. Every year a few tourists simply walk off the edge and fall to their deaths. The mountain seems friendly because it’s right in the middle of the city. But it’s a mountain after all. One of the gorges is named “Skeleton Gorge”, appropriately enough. Here’s a view of Platteklip Gorge, at the point where you would emerge if you walked up it:

On top of Table Mountain

Below is another view over the top of Platteklip Gorge. The TC’s sister Tracy crept to the edge and attached me and Peg to a meagre bush overhanging the precipice. It seems that that ruthless desire for adventure-by-proxy, with this worm as the proxy, runs in families!

On top of Table Mountain

Back to the mountain-top restaurant safe and sound, and a rock pigeon joined us for tea:

On top of Table Mountain

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC are in Cape Town, South Africa. Cape Town, the place where “gravel” rhymes with “level”.

Now that the TC is back in the city of her birth, this worm has noticed her accent regressing. She has been sitting with her father, reminiscing about her teenage years when people used to say things like:

“Ja no, man, it’s level with the gravel.”

Translation: “It’s cool.” Note that you must pronounce “gravel” as “grevel”, otherwise you just don’t belong in Cape Town.

Or: “Lekker like a cracker.”

Basically, that means it’s good. “Lekker” means tasty, and the same rule applies to the pronunciation.

Travel tip

Tread lightly on this Earth. Crawling or slithering is good too.

The book I’m in

World without End, by Ken Follett.

The photos

Me at Bloubergstrand, a beach on the shores of Table Bay where most of the chocolate-box pictures of Table Mountain are taken:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

Behind me in the above picture are Devil’s Peak on the left, Table Mountain in the centre and Lion’s Head on the right.

Do you remember Jonathan Livingstone S, whom this worm first encountered in Surfer’s Paradise? Here he is again, attempting to look picturesque in Bloubergstrand with Table Mountain and Devil’s Peak as his backdrop:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

Me and Peg got up close and personal with a puffer fish on Bloubergstrand. You can see one of the fish’s gray eyes and its yellow beak at the bottom:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

Here’s a worm’s eye view of some pebbles in a pool of crystal sea water:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

And a collection of shells:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

The TC is feeling unaccountably sentimental about this VW Chico. It used to be her car. Now her parents have it and so she gets to drive it around while we’re in Cape Town:

Bloubergstrand in Cape Town

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC are in Cape Town, South Africa. This worm is feeling a tad jaded today.  As a result, you may find yourself exposed to some purple prose. Here it comes.

Table Mountain looms with imposing and impervious beauty. Birds soar with ancient elegance across a huge sky over a pounding sea. Under the mountain and the sky, next to the sea, lies a city that is at times impressive too.

At other times, it’s not.

Nothing bad has happened to this worm, I hasten to assure you. But coming back to the land of my printing, I am struck again by how careful everyone is at every step they take, how many layers of steel and locks they put between themselves and the outside world before they can relax, and the edge of excitement this puts on every day life. By the way, the TC is fine too.

Armed response outside the window

Cape Town, 2am. The burglar alarm blares next door. The TC has already been awake for an hour, because in Sydney it’s now 10am. She’s a bit sad because coffee is a long time away. She perks up at the prospect of some excitement.

Armed response arrives fast. Two big men with guns. From the way the TC was reading, or rather not reading, her book, this worm could feel her excitement levels rise.

Big-man-with-gun number 1 phones the absent owner of the blaring house. We hear the entire conversation on his walkie-talkie. Including the part where the absent owner asks him for the secret code to confirm his identity and he tells it to her. Now the TC knows it, I know it, and any would-be assassin lurking in a nearby bush knows it too.

Absent owner wants big-man-with-gun to leap over her wall and check her house for intruders. Armed response control centre asks big-man to comply with the request. “Negative, control, negative. Wall is too high and is covered in spikes. Negative. I can’t get over it.”

So, would-be rescuers cannot get in. That’s bright huh.

At this point, the TC and her mum meander outside to offer assistance. That’s probably not too bright either. This worm stays snugly inside a book on the window sill.

TC’s mum shows the armed response guys how to get onto the vlei so that they can check the back of the neighbour’s property for any baddies.

TC’s mum to big-man-with-gun: “Be careful hey, they hunt in packs.”

Big-man-with-gun number 2: “Ja, but we shoot in packs.”

Wrapping it up: They did a thorough check. An hour later, the SA Police drove round too. And at 4am the absent owner arrived, escorted once more by armed response. A false alarm, yet another big man with gun announced, but there were two robberies in the area yesterday. At this point, the TC gave up on any prospect of sleep and brewed that first cup of the day.

Travel tip

Double lock everything. Look around you always. Don’t trust anyone who approaches you. Ever.

The book I’m in

World without End, by Ken Follett.

This is the sequel to The Pillars of the Earth. Both are marvellous. Even if you’re not a Ken Follett fan, this worm highly recommends that you give these books a try. Especially when travelling through a part of the world where much seems chaotic and the course of events arbitrary, it’s good to dive into a book where people make do and live their lives despite having little control over them.

The photos

Me not quite under lock and key in Table View near Cape Town:

Armed response in Cape Town

Table Mountain lurking behind a veil of rushes at Flamingo Vlei, Table View:

Armed response in Cape Town

Table Mountain lurking behind a sign post in Table View:

Armed response in Cape Town

“Beware. This may be a high risk area.” And so on.

Ag man, what a shame hey.

That’s all for today dudes.

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC) .

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC have been back home for a couple of weeks now, after our trip to San Francisco and Seattle. Jet lag is a thing of the past. The trip is already receding into the mists of memory.

Did we ever go at all? Sometimes this worm thinks a good book is more real than life itself.

Speaking of real life, there just has to be a better form of long-distance travel than the aircraft. The TC is not a good traveller. After about six hours on a plane, she becomes miserable, mussy and messy. Very messy.

Me, I’d suggest teleportation. Just drop into a fax machine and materialise on the other side of the world. Make sure it’s a high-definition, high-colour fax machine, or you may lose some vital bits.

Travel tip

Don’t double-knot your shoe laces until you’ve been through airport security.

Recommended restaurant

Home sweet home.

The book I’m in

The Villa, by Nora Roberts.

A good old-fashioned intrigue set in San Francisco and Italy, seasoned with romance and noble wines.

The photos

Me back in the bosom of my family:

Sunrise in Sydney

Hand was a bit emotional on my return. I was touched. Peg took centre stage as usual. In an uncharacteristic bout of soppiness, Drool allowed The Rival and Naught to drape themselves all over him. Naught is stuck in his waterproof suit. I don’t think we’ll ever get it off him. I did tell him of the perils of lamination, but he just would not listen. At least I escaped his fate. That’s the beauty of having a stunt worm.

Sydney is heading into winter. The sunrises are begrudgingly gorgeous at this time of year:

Sunrise in Sydney

With the longer nights and the swap to daylight saving time, there’s a chance you’ll be awake to enjoy a sunrise over the sea:

Sunrise in Sydney

That’s all for today dudes.