Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau

After Egypt I returned to Wales, Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. The Land Of My Fathers, so goes the title to the Welsh national anthem. I'm no nationalist but its always good to return home. I still call it home, even though I have now spent more of my life living outside of Wales. I call it home for several reasons but the principle one is quite morbid.

Mainly being, I am most comfortable with my own mortality when I'm on Welsh soil. Particularly, on a limestone cliff or pebble beach looking out into the Bristol Channel or Irish Sea. I know I am home, when I'm simply OK with dropping dead where I stand, to have the sea birds peck away at my remains.

Here are some of my old stomping grounds:

Aberystywth's war monument, reaching far out into Cardigan Bay, like a scene from 'Wings of Desire.'

Aberystwyth, Mon Amour. Aberystywth has its own series of detective Noire novels which feature it as the setting. I'd also reccomend Niall Griffiths' 'Grits' if you want to read about some of the drifters and degenerates who end up in this secluded Welsh town. The beach beyond the pier is the setting for the chapter from my novel that I posted awhile back, based on a true event.

Arthur's Stone, Cefn Bryn, Gower. This standing stone lies on top of several smaller stones where you can see all three sides of the Gower Peninsula. Oftentimes, you can find torn porn magazines and empty cider cans underneath it. Ah, Wales, a land of symbiotic legend and lewdness.

Worm's Head, Rhosilli, Gower. Dylan Thomas spent much of the summers of his youth camping around here. See Portrait of an Artist as a Young Dog. Good surf can be found, if you are lucky... I got a few sloppy slashable days but autumn and winter are the best times to be here for waves.

Wild horse, Cefn Bryn, Gower

The olds, on Britain's longest cliff railway, Aberystwyth. Years ago they dropped me off in Aberystwyth to attend uni. They hadn't been back since. I took great delight in showing them some of the hovels in which I lived, including the condemned filth pit of a house I lived in right next to this railway and the dorms I used to have to sneak into in order to shower because my scumbag flat-mates were too busy experimenting with drugs to clean the hair, vomit dirt and sand out of the toilet and bath. We never had hot water or electricity anyway, because no one wanted to waste fifty pence just in case someone else in the house benefited from them feeding the electricity meter. My now American wife, visited me here once and remarked, 'ahhh, are you guys still living in the Victorian Age?' No, we just don't like each other and can't be arsed to clean.

Egypt Part II: Enlightenment... my arse...

St Catherine's Monastery at the base of My Sinai. All sort of spooky relics were in this place including thousands upon thousands of skulls of dead monks, the burning bush and the shrunken hand of St Catherine. By the time we entered this place we had been up and down Mt Sinai without any sleep and so I was unable to really take it all in.

Sharm El Sheikh is pretty much numerous hotel compounds that trace the coast, confined and secure cut-off from the reality of Egyptian life. Playgrounds for the rich to drink, fuck and laze in the sun while every need is catered to. One day I got in trouble for taking a little stroll out of the confines of the hotel and leaping a wall into the boundaries of another. After a heated exchange I was kicked out of the neighbouring hotel complex and told never to come back.

We were some of the first people up the top of the mountain that night. At first it was pretty irie and mystical. But people arrived by the dozen. It wasn't long before, I wanted to run off into the desert alone. One young Bedouin lad was relentlessly trying to rent us blankets and mattresses to sleep on. Dan and Julian gave in but I remained stubborn. 'But Sir, it gets very cold up here.' 'Yeah, but I live in Oregon...'

Joe and Hilde who organized the whole thing. Joe's a keen diver but burst his ear drum a few days into the trip. That would be like me going surfing in the Maldives and breaking my arm.

It was a pretty sketchy path up and down the mountain. My mum nearly got ran off the side of it by a demented camel. Luckily, she smashed into me instead of falling into the desert's void.

Moses was out guide. Yeah, his name was Moses. He walked up in flip flops and chain smoked the whole way up and down. His English was slightly better than my Arabic and we had a very surreal discussion about creatures of the Antarctic on the way down the mountain in the blazing heat. From what i could gather he wanted to know the English word for Penguin. After half hour of making gestures to describe, rivers, ice, water, ocean, wings etc. I was prepared to move onto another topic but Moses insisted he get his point across and stopped our trek to draw a penguin in the sand. After twenty fours without sleep I began to think I was on a trip of a different kind. Then I remembered a guide book that had an illustration of a native bird that looks just like a Penguin.

Moses was expecting twins, so he got a serious tip from us. We soon realized that lots of guides, taxi drivers etc. in Egypt are currently expecting twins, must be something in the water.

Lots of Russian Orthodox Christians made the trek up Mt Sinai. I was quite impressed by how some of them were able to get up there in high heels and platform shoes. Most of them took camels down which looked twice as dangerous. While I was interested in the site from a historical and cultural perspective, I am not religious in anyway. If I'm going to worship anything it would probably be the following scenes:

By 9am we were back down again. We had breakfast in the monastery and I was pleasantly surprised to find an Egyptian version of Stella in the fridge. It was one of the most refreshing beers I've ever had. Nothing quite like an ice cold beer for breakfast in a monastery.

A Historical Perspective of Stumptown Skate

Poster by Bettina McEntyre

So City of Portland Commissioner Sam Adams is throwing together a Skate related art exhibit at City Hall. I've been asked to display some zines. So stop by between 5pm and 8pm for free food, drink, art and to see a half-pipe outside City Hall...

Egypt Part I: Desert Life

I believe all these images were taken by Orjon De Roo, a small Dutchman with a big camera. He took some stunning shots and I hope they give a little taste of the images we came across on the Sinai.

Spices.

Young camel guide.

Sheep Skull.

Bedouin Youths.

Mod Cons in a Bedouin village.

Desert tree.

Foulweather contributor Saeed and myself, settling into a night under a ridiculous amount of stars.

The Red Sea, site of early morning snorkeling and afternoon distance swimming. Hard to describe the underwater sites that greeted me on the reef. The water went from two foot deep to at least twenty foot at the edge of the reef.

This hotel was outrageous, complete with male Russian prostitutes and topless Euro women (not cool in a Muslim country as you can imagine) and the site of my little brother's wedding. I had no choice but to stay there... all in the name of research of course.... ahem...

Sharm El Sheikh on Egypt's Sinai Peninsula is where my upcoming memoir 'Confessions of a Guilty Expat' is to culminate.

New Day Rising

I just returned to Portland to wash off the dust from the Sinai Peninsula, the Welsh mud and London smog from my ale-bloated belly. Lots of photos to get developed and stories to tell but for now here is the sun rise from the top of Mt Sinai. We set off at about one in the morning. Hiked about three hours in the dark up rugged desert terrain, and then slept on the ancient stone steps while listening to the Islamic call to prayer and Russian Orthodox nuns singing praise. It was all quite spiritual until my brother started to release copious volumes of methane from his arse... and an all out fart war commenced at one of the holiest locations on the planet.

Moments before sunrise the batteries to my camera ran out. Ha ha... what a pisstake. Luckily I grabbed Hilde, my new sister-in-law's digi and snapped rapidly at the fiery red ball that is the morning Egyptian sun.

We momentarily forgot our blasphemous behaviour and stood in awe.