At 10am the sun was already blazing high in the cloudless sky of Cabarete. The past nine days spent there had browned my skin pleasantly, freckled my nose prettily and warmed my hair to honey-colour. I was happiest in hot climates. Slipping his hand into mine, my small fingers recognised Jeremy’s weathered palms. It was time to go. Putting on my gritty flip-flops we left the cool air-conditioned room to face the day’s heat.
The door slammed heavily behind us; there was no turning back now. Our friends greeted us with a smile that I mirrored. I could sense their excitement. Pattering through the terracotta reception area the warm sea breeze enticed me. Then I saw our mode of transport. I sensed the driver didn’t share my apprehension, as he sat tall and proud upon his rusty steed. “You expect three of us to fit on that?” I thought. I expect my face showed it too.
Balanced cautiously we set off at speed. Negotiating the dusty tracks that Dominican’s liked to call ‘roads’, the faint smell of fumes and melting sun-cream combined in my nostrils making me pleasantly heady. The sunshine brought a smile to my windswept face. Altogether, the bumpy ride was strangely soothing, and my eagerness to reach our destination mounted with every pedestrian we overtook. Finally the nasal whine of the bike faded like a fleeing mosquito and the hot rubber tyres crunched to a halt under the shade of a palm.
Now, I had never been one to say ‘no’. I had always liked a challenge. After all I had been scuba-diving in Borneo, tried wakeboarding in Dorset, jumped waterfalls in Thailand and white-water-rafted in Malaysia. No, I was no wimp. Hell, I’d even had two tattoos! But today was different. Today I would be surfing in the Caribbean. There was something challenging to me about this prospect. More pressure. Perhaps it was the mental image of the posters adorning Jeremy’s walls depicting ‘tunnels’ and ‘tubes’ and surfer ‘dudes’ that frightened me? “The waves at Encuentro reach six feet most days,” he’d excitedly told me. Or was it the fact that he was a trained kite-surf instructor? Or maybe it was just the memory of the first time I had tried to surf coming back to haunt me. Either way, the prospect was excitingly daunting.
“Everything happens very quickly in surfing, so you have to be prepared,” Jeremy said, out of nowhere. Emerging slowly from the safe of the cool shade, I crept toward the surf shack. The wooden hut roofed with reeds and surrounded by long-boards housed various lycra rash-vests and torn rubber reef-shoes. A young French guy approached me. His eyes were creased at the edges, making tiny white ravines in his weathered skin. “I’ll get you a board,” he said. So we began.
Being a mere 5”2, I was assigned a tiny board compared to the giants my buddies were given. Gripping the oversized board’s waxy surface under one arm, we approached the beach. “Remember it’s a strong reef break, so don’t detach the board from your ankle or it’ll smash,” Jeremy warned. Furrowing my brow in the face of the glaring sunlight, made brighter by the glistening blue ocean, I witnessed waves taller than I crash powerfully like shattering ice, tumbling one after the other. It was at this moment Jeremy decided to mention: “Encuentro beach is not the best place for a beginner really. The wave break is so quick” Brilliant. Now he tells me. Struggling awkwardly through the thick sand in my rubber booties, I could feel my arms warm and redden already. We had reached our surf spot.
No longer fear, this was sheer excitement. Splashing through the small torrents in the clearer waters, the rock beneath my feet surprised me. Golf ball sized purple urchins littered the ocean floor, making for a treacherous clamber– thus the unflattering footwear. At last I was out of my depth. Heaving myself onto the waxy board and lying on my front was easy enough. The struggle came with trying to catch a wave! Surfing involved a lot of waiting, I discovered. Breaking my neck to spot a ‘good wave’ whilst my skin was roasting and eyes stinging was painful. But I ventured on. Wave after wave came and went rhythmically; each time I fell the sea tasted saltier, the sun burnt stronger. But Jeremy urged me on, “It’s something you have to be patient with.”
I was ready to quit. But then, out of nowhere an almighty wave was surging temptingly, just metres behind me. I remember saying to myself “you can catch this one.” With all my strength I began to paddle, and as it neared I could feel the board forcing me up and forward. With a quick twist I positioned my feet one before the other and slowly rose. At that moment I knew I’d done it. The feeling of balancing on this powerful pull of nature, made my face beam with pride.
My run lasted until the wave crashed into nothingness, eradicating the means of my achievement. Trudging back onto the beach, wet hair in face, my friends cheered in celebration of my long awaited victory. Ellie: one, Ocean: nil! The rush of catching that wave was the highlight of my trip and beat white-water-rafting any day!
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Sandbanks
If the thought of dwelling on busy Bournemouth beach on a sunny Saturday fills you with dread, Sandbanks beach in Poole offers a welcome alternative. A fifteen minute drive from Bournemouth town centre, Sandbanks is more ‘undiscovered paradise’ than ‘overcrowded Costa del-Dorset.’ As soon as you arrive, the atmosphere here is noticeably different to that at Bournemouth, and it becomes clear why a wealthier, more mature audience chooses Sandbanks as their weekend playground.
The blue flag-winning beach itself stretches noticeably wider than the sands at Bournemouth, creating a greater sense of space and tranquillity. In the height of summer FC Watersports Academy provides beach and sea entertainment in the form of kayak and pedalo hire, beach volleyball, banana boat rides, rib boat rides and wakeboarding tuition to boot! Yet despite the wide choice of activities in and around the water, those seeking a day of undisturbed sun-basking will not be disappointed either. Head a few metres down the beach and the hustle and bustle seems a million miles away. But a word of warning, on a windier days the beach has been known to kick up a mean sandstorm! Swimming into the flat expanse of sea that stems from the famous beach is very safe and guarded by lifeguards over the summer months.
Numerous beach-front food outlets and shops selling beach essentials such as sunscreen, buckets and spades, and children’s swimwear will relieve the more forgetful beach goer! Modern and stylish beach huts set further back from the beach may catch your eye, but unless you’ve got the odd ten thousand pounds a year to spare, a windshield and towel will have to make do! The cosmopolitan Jazz Café offers patrons indoor or outdoor seating, with evening music entertainment for those wishing to extend their stay.
Had enough of sand? Starting to resemble a blushing lobster? To escape the beach, simply cross the road and you are at Poole harbour, a marina-cum-watersports-haven. Beach babes and surfer dudes will appreciate FC Watersports’ shop, situated on the harbour side of the Quay. Downstairs, hardcore board and wind-riders can lust over the latest Cabrinha, O’Neil, JP, and Switchblade gear, whilst upstairs clothing by Animal, Roxy, Quiksilver and Reef is available for men and women. Next door, both Le Café, a friendly family-run bar and Café Shore, a bigger, stylish bar/restaurant offer tempting seafood and very reasonably priced beverages. Cosmopolitan-types will love the array of exotic cocktails offered in Café Shore.
All that sun, sea, sand, shopping and schmoozing can be exhausting. Take a break from it all and escape, by visiting Compton Acres. The famous gardens are just three quarters of a mile from Poole Harbour and offer fabulous views of the sea and Studland peninsular. Still not satisfied? Loch Fyne restaurant will tempt seafood-lovers whilst Canford Cliffs village provides even more choice of bars and restaurants.
Sandbanks offers an award winning beach, stylish bars, one of the best places for windsports in the country and impressive modern architecture. For a closer peek into the lives and homes of some of Sandbanks’ most exclusive residents, as well as catching a glimpse of the beautiful Brownsea Island, take a boat trip from Bournemouth Pier.
The blue flag-winning beach itself stretches noticeably wider than the sands at Bournemouth, creating a greater sense of space and tranquillity. In the height of summer FC Watersports Academy provides beach and sea entertainment in the form of kayak and pedalo hire, beach volleyball, banana boat rides, rib boat rides and wakeboarding tuition to boot! Yet despite the wide choice of activities in and around the water, those seeking a day of undisturbed sun-basking will not be disappointed either. Head a few metres down the beach and the hustle and bustle seems a million miles away. But a word of warning, on a windier days the beach has been known to kick up a mean sandstorm! Swimming into the flat expanse of sea that stems from the famous beach is very safe and guarded by lifeguards over the summer months.
Numerous beach-front food outlets and shops selling beach essentials such as sunscreen, buckets and spades, and children’s swimwear will relieve the more forgetful beach goer! Modern and stylish beach huts set further back from the beach may catch your eye, but unless you’ve got the odd ten thousand pounds a year to spare, a windshield and towel will have to make do! The cosmopolitan Jazz Café offers patrons indoor or outdoor seating, with evening music entertainment for those wishing to extend their stay.
Had enough of sand? Starting to resemble a blushing lobster? To escape the beach, simply cross the road and you are at Poole harbour, a marina-cum-watersports-haven. Beach babes and surfer dudes will appreciate FC Watersports’ shop, situated on the harbour side of the Quay. Downstairs, hardcore board and wind-riders can lust over the latest Cabrinha, O’Neil, JP, and Switchblade gear, whilst upstairs clothing by Animal, Roxy, Quiksilver and Reef is available for men and women. Next door, both Le Café, a friendly family-run bar and Café Shore, a bigger, stylish bar/restaurant offer tempting seafood and very reasonably priced beverages. Cosmopolitan-types will love the array of exotic cocktails offered in Café Shore.
All that sun, sea, sand, shopping and schmoozing can be exhausting. Take a break from it all and escape, by visiting Compton Acres. The famous gardens are just three quarters of a mile from Poole Harbour and offer fabulous views of the sea and Studland peninsular. Still not satisfied? Loch Fyne restaurant will tempt seafood-lovers whilst Canford Cliffs village provides even more choice of bars and restaurants.
Sandbanks offers an award winning beach, stylish bars, one of the best places for windsports in the country and impressive modern architecture. For a closer peek into the lives and homes of some of Sandbanks’ most exclusive residents, as well as catching a glimpse of the beautiful Brownsea Island, take a boat trip from Bournemouth Pier.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Facebook… we need to talk.
“It’s been a while now. Six months in fact. I don’t know how to say this… but... It’s over.”
That’s right. It’s come to this. I, a grown woman of 21, have, after six long months come to the realisation that I am… well, quite frankly bored. That’s right you heard me! Bored… of Facebook.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to do anything drastic, like say, shut down my account. HELL NO! Where would I post my photo’s, waste hour upon hour ‘browsing’ (ok, let’s face it, stalking) the random people who seem to have appeared on my ‘friends’ list (‘did I ever even speak to you at school?’) or while away the days reading other people’s profiles – “I really love socialising, and going out and getting drunk and getting pissed and yeah…” Yawn. Let’s be honest, who doesn’t like a good night out on the town? Talk about stating the obvious. The next thing you know there’ll be an option specifying your species. “Gender: Female. Religious Views: Christian. Species: Human” It’s like reading the CV’s of generation of retarded, alcoholic, illiterates. And ironically, we (I include myself as a self-confessed culprit of the aforementioned crimes against profile-writing) are the future generation of graduates.
Perhaps it’s the twenty(checks)-a-day habit that has driven me to this point. If only quitting smoking was that easy. I can see the campaign now: “Smoke twenty a day and eventually, you’ll quit through boredom.” Or was it the constant addition of hideous (and I mean truly hideous) images of myself on nights out that would best be forgotten, from my so-called friends. The trouble is, I am in no position of power to remove them. I can simply untag them. BUT THEY STILL EXIST IN CYBERSPACE! I am powerless.
Or is it the MySpace-esque façade my once beloved Facebook has donned? First it was the Gifts. Ok, kinda cute. Then came the graffiti wall. Fair enough, I can cope with that. But it was the pointless-as-a-chocolate-teapot addition of hundreds of time wasting applications that really got me fired up: “John has requested you add the waste of my-bloody-time application… Now with added crappy graphics!” Give me strength.
And so I realise that Facebook is going down the pan. Along with my sanity. And yet I will undoubtedly continue to check my page daily, hourly, minutely in some Sado-Masochistic loathing yet satisfying way…
Better just go check my profile…
That’s right. It’s come to this. I, a grown woman of 21, have, after six long months come to the realisation that I am… well, quite frankly bored. That’s right you heard me! Bored… of Facebook.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to do anything drastic, like say, shut down my account. HELL NO! Where would I post my photo’s, waste hour upon hour ‘browsing’ (ok, let’s face it, stalking) the random people who seem to have appeared on my ‘friends’ list (‘did I ever even speak to you at school?’) or while away the days reading other people’s profiles – “I really love socialising, and going out and getting drunk and getting pissed and yeah…” Yawn. Let’s be honest, who doesn’t like a good night out on the town? Talk about stating the obvious. The next thing you know there’ll be an option specifying your species. “Gender: Female. Religious Views: Christian. Species: Human” It’s like reading the CV’s of generation of retarded, alcoholic, illiterates. And ironically, we (I include myself as a self-confessed culprit of the aforementioned crimes against profile-writing) are the future generation of graduates.
Perhaps it’s the twenty(checks)-a-day habit that has driven me to this point. If only quitting smoking was that easy. I can see the campaign now: “Smoke twenty a day and eventually, you’ll quit through boredom.” Or was it the constant addition of hideous (and I mean truly hideous) images of myself on nights out that would best be forgotten, from my so-called friends. The trouble is, I am in no position of power to remove them. I can simply untag them. BUT THEY STILL EXIST IN CYBERSPACE! I am powerless.
Or is it the MySpace-esque façade my once beloved Facebook has donned? First it was the Gifts. Ok, kinda cute. Then came the graffiti wall. Fair enough, I can cope with that. But it was the pointless-as-a-chocolate-teapot addition of hundreds of time wasting applications that really got me fired up: “John has requested you add the waste of my-bloody-time application… Now with added crappy graphics!” Give me strength.
And so I realise that Facebook is going down the pan. Along with my sanity. And yet I will undoubtedly continue to check my page daily, hourly, minutely in some Sado-Masochistic loathing yet satisfying way…
Better just go check my profile…
The Chines State Circus - A Review
Think you’ve had a hard day? Try forcing your entire body weight, via your neck, against two spearheads, and then have a friend smash a concrete slab against your back with a mallet. Doesn’t sound pleasant does it? But it’s all in a days work for the Wu-Shu Shaolin warriors at the Chinese State Circus.
The spectacular Chinese Circus performance began with the introduction of our MC for the evening. The Monkey King, as he called himself, reminded me of a colourful mime artist, dancing in time with the atmospheric drum beat whilst the excited crowd anticipated the first act. We were not to be disappointed. A flurry of acrobats tumbled, rolled and flipped their way into the ring, setting the standard for the rest of the show. Balancing fifteen foot high wooden poles decorated as Chinese lanterns, the performers moved effortlessly from standing to rolling and balancing positions. They even leapt their way onto one another’s shoulders as casually as a cat leaping to the top of a high wall. As the acrobats continued to effortlessly twirl and toss these giant ornaments like batons, the crowd began to excitedly anticipate the next act. But before we knew it the same acrobats had disappeared backstage, only to reappear in new costumes displaying the equally impressive gravity defying hoop diving act.
As the neon – orange coloured flash of robes appeared onto the stage, a sense of nervousness took over me. Having seen such martial arts acts before on television, I knew that these guys did not do things by half. Leaping and flying across the ring, the Wu-Shu Shaolin warriors displayed amazing sword fighting and body movements of great skill and precision. The level of the physical and mental endurance tolerated by the warriors was displayed by their most extreme acts. And I don’t mean the smashing of bricks over the head. Nor the karate chopping of solid wood by bare hands. But the sandwiching of two warriors between six sword blades and a bed of nails, only to be followed by the smashing of concrete over the bodies of what seemed to resemble a torture demonstration. The philosophy of the highly trained warriors relies on their refusal to accept any physical pain, achieved through deep meditation. They believe that the inner spirit controls the body and level of pain tolerated.
However the show was not just about displays of amazing physical ability, but beautiful visuals too. The golden fingered Bodhisattva dancers were resonant of ancient oriental traditional dancers, whilst beautiful geisha-like women performed mysterious scenes from Peking opera. Even the high wire acrobats gracefully held ornamental Chinese parasols throughout their performance. The bright gold and red Chinese dragons, a symbol of good fortune, danced playfully on and off stage between acts and performed their own delightful piece demonstrating grace and balance whilst rolling along on giant balls, much to the audience’s joy.
As if all of this wasn’t enough, the show’s line up also boasted Jar Juggling, The Happy Cooks – China’s very own talented clowns, a Yin and Yang slack wire balancing act, the double pole climbers, a beautiful contortionist named The Human Candelabra and the spellbinding mystery of A Hundred Faces.
The sheer physical strength of the acrobats, the supreme mental stamina of the Shaolin warriors, the grace and majesty of the more ornate and traditional Chinese acts and the overall attention to detail made the two hour performance fly by in a breathtaking flash.
The spectacular Chinese Circus performance began with the introduction of our MC for the evening. The Monkey King, as he called himself, reminded me of a colourful mime artist, dancing in time with the atmospheric drum beat whilst the excited crowd anticipated the first act. We were not to be disappointed. A flurry of acrobats tumbled, rolled and flipped their way into the ring, setting the standard for the rest of the show. Balancing fifteen foot high wooden poles decorated as Chinese lanterns, the performers moved effortlessly from standing to rolling and balancing positions. They even leapt their way onto one another’s shoulders as casually as a cat leaping to the top of a high wall. As the acrobats continued to effortlessly twirl and toss these giant ornaments like batons, the crowd began to excitedly anticipate the next act. But before we knew it the same acrobats had disappeared backstage, only to reappear in new costumes displaying the equally impressive gravity defying hoop diving act.
As the neon – orange coloured flash of robes appeared onto the stage, a sense of nervousness took over me. Having seen such martial arts acts before on television, I knew that these guys did not do things by half. Leaping and flying across the ring, the Wu-Shu Shaolin warriors displayed amazing sword fighting and body movements of great skill and precision. The level of the physical and mental endurance tolerated by the warriors was displayed by their most extreme acts. And I don’t mean the smashing of bricks over the head. Nor the karate chopping of solid wood by bare hands. But the sandwiching of two warriors between six sword blades and a bed of nails, only to be followed by the smashing of concrete over the bodies of what seemed to resemble a torture demonstration. The philosophy of the highly trained warriors relies on their refusal to accept any physical pain, achieved through deep meditation. They believe that the inner spirit controls the body and level of pain tolerated.
However the show was not just about displays of amazing physical ability, but beautiful visuals too. The golden fingered Bodhisattva dancers were resonant of ancient oriental traditional dancers, whilst beautiful geisha-like women performed mysterious scenes from Peking opera. Even the high wire acrobats gracefully held ornamental Chinese parasols throughout their performance. The bright gold and red Chinese dragons, a symbol of good fortune, danced playfully on and off stage between acts and performed their own delightful piece demonstrating grace and balance whilst rolling along on giant balls, much to the audience’s joy.
As if all of this wasn’t enough, the show’s line up also boasted Jar Juggling, The Happy Cooks – China’s very own talented clowns, a Yin and Yang slack wire balancing act, the double pole climbers, a beautiful contortionist named The Human Candelabra and the spellbinding mystery of A Hundred Faces.
The sheer physical strength of the acrobats, the supreme mental stamina of the Shaolin warriors, the grace and majesty of the more ornate and traditional Chinese acts and the overall attention to detail made the two hour performance fly by in a breathtaking flash.
Memoirs of a Zorbonaut
A Review
Step one: take a giant PVC hamster ball. Step two: suspend said hamster ball by thousands of multicoloured nylon strands within a larger PVC hamster ball. Step three: get in the hamster ball. Step four: find a hill… and you’ve got zorbing.
The peaceful Dorchester countryside seems like an unlikely place to indulge in some extreme adrenaline sports. But beyond the hills, through the fields and down the dirt tracks, smack, bang in the middle of nowhere, lies Zorb South. Originating in New Zealand, Zorbing is still a fairly undiscovered adventure activity in the UK, but slowly but surely it’s beginning to develop an underground fan base. And with numerous different Zorb riding options it’s not hard to see why the bizarre activity is becoming so popular.
My first Zorbing experience, in June 2007, came in the form of a dual-harness Zorb ride. In English, that means my boyfriend and I were strapped into the Zorb by harnesses, facing each other. For the more adventurous ‘Zorbonaut’ came the option of Hydro-Zorbing – yes that means hydro as in water. As in, a giant hamster ball, travelling at speed, down a hill, without a harness, with a bucket of cold water chucked in for good measure!
Hardcore thrill-seekers shouldn’t be put off or mislead by the sound of the dual-harness Zorb ride though. Firstly, getting to share the ride with a friend or loved one really made the experience special, and secondly as the guide warned us (just as we’d been strapped in, might I add,) “The dual-harness ride is actually much bumpier than being free within the sphere.” So there we were, suspended quite awkwardly in the humid bubble, at the top of the 200 meter runway. Luckily for me, or perhaps not, in hindsight, I was not facing forward. As the ball was pushed from the launch pad, and momentum began to mount the ride was like nothing I could have imagined. The guide was right for a start. A gentle roll, it was not! The overriding sensation that took over me was a serious case of the giggles, with the odd squawking sound uncontrolably coming out of my mouth with every bump. The way I would describe Zorbing would be: ‘like falling down a staircase made of clouds, in a balloon, in slow-motion.’
In total the run in the Zorb only lasted about 30-40 seconds, which may seem short considering what you pay. But, on the other hand, Zorbing is not something you are likely to try everyday, (unless you live in New Zealand, or are a hamster) so an experience definitely worth a go, even if it is slightly over-priced.
Step one: take a giant PVC hamster ball. Step two: suspend said hamster ball by thousands of multicoloured nylon strands within a larger PVC hamster ball. Step three: get in the hamster ball. Step four: find a hill… and you’ve got zorbing.
The peaceful Dorchester countryside seems like an unlikely place to indulge in some extreme adrenaline sports. But beyond the hills, through the fields and down the dirt tracks, smack, bang in the middle of nowhere, lies Zorb South. Originating in New Zealand, Zorbing is still a fairly undiscovered adventure activity in the UK, but slowly but surely it’s beginning to develop an underground fan base. And with numerous different Zorb riding options it’s not hard to see why the bizarre activity is becoming so popular.
My first Zorbing experience, in June 2007, came in the form of a dual-harness Zorb ride. In English, that means my boyfriend and I were strapped into the Zorb by harnesses, facing each other. For the more adventurous ‘Zorbonaut’ came the option of Hydro-Zorbing – yes that means hydro as in water. As in, a giant hamster ball, travelling at speed, down a hill, without a harness, with a bucket of cold water chucked in for good measure!
Hardcore thrill-seekers shouldn’t be put off or mislead by the sound of the dual-harness Zorb ride though. Firstly, getting to share the ride with a friend or loved one really made the experience special, and secondly as the guide warned us (just as we’d been strapped in, might I add,) “The dual-harness ride is actually much bumpier than being free within the sphere.” So there we were, suspended quite awkwardly in the humid bubble, at the top of the 200 meter runway. Luckily for me, or perhaps not, in hindsight, I was not facing forward. As the ball was pushed from the launch pad, and momentum began to mount the ride was like nothing I could have imagined. The guide was right for a start. A gentle roll, it was not! The overriding sensation that took over me was a serious case of the giggles, with the odd squawking sound uncontrolably coming out of my mouth with every bump. The way I would describe Zorbing would be: ‘like falling down a staircase made of clouds, in a balloon, in slow-motion.’
In total the run in the Zorb only lasted about 30-40 seconds, which may seem short considering what you pay. But, on the other hand, Zorbing is not something you are likely to try everyday, (unless you live in New Zealand, or are a hamster) so an experience definitely worth a go, even if it is slightly over-priced.
Ode To Blogspot
Good Intentions
I have such good intentions, of writing on this site,
Yet when the time comes to it, it always seems I might
As well just leave them to it,
The ones who get it right.
Why do I always suffer,
From wretched writers block?
And every time I try it
I stick between a rock,
(and a hard place for that matter)
I have such good intentions, of writing on this site,
Yet when the time comes to it, it always seems I might
As well just leave them to it,
The ones who get it right.
Why do I always suffer,
From wretched writers block?
And every time I try it
I stick between a rock,
(and a hard place for that matter)
Saturday, 5 May 2007
Driftwood
So here I am. It's 2.38 in the afternoon and it's a sunny Bournemouth day. Like usual. and as usual I'm trying to do my marketing assignment. I really am trying today. I deliberately got the Facebooking over with early so I could actually do this damned assignment. And yet, here I am writing on my blog. But it's OK. I don't feel guilty.
See, the thing is, whilst I sit here listening to the people who I will never know nor meet nor get to talk to, pass by my window, safe in the knowledge that I will probably get the worst mark I have ever achieved in this assignment due to my complete lack of understanding, I am content.
It was a song. Jack Johnson's driftwood. Like the lyric says, it did exactly that. It drifted softly into my ears through the speakers and just stopped me in my procrastinating tracks. It's not a song a i know well, but I recognised the melody. as with all of his songs I just fall in love with them from the first note.
There are so many reasons why Jack Johnson's music will always have a special place in my heart. The first time I heard one of his record was in April 2005. Me and my very close friend Kerry were in the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. The famous KO San road is renowned for selling pirate CD's. And on this day it was Jack Johnson being blasted (if that's a word that can be used to describe such chilled music)from the stall.
We both commented on how nice it sounded. We wondered who it was. And then we forgot about it.
Later that month we arrived on KO Samui and there it was again. Kerry bought the CD and that night we put it on in our beach hut. Since then I have loved his songs and his lyrics realy strike a chord with my personality and life mottoes.
For months after arriving back in the UK, "In Between Dreams" was the only album I listened to.
The second reason the music is so meaning ful to me is the fact that myself and my best friend at the time went on a narrow boat trip with our families for a week, just before I began at university. With not much else to do on the boat, the music was our entertainment and it still reminds me of that trip now.
Finally, and probably most importantly to me, is the fact that Jack Johnson is also one of the favourite artists of my boyfriend. I remember before we became an item and I was infatuated, he called me from a Jack Johnson gig and held the phone up to the whole of "banana pancakes", just for me. It still makes me smile.
Last summer we spent our weekends together in the warm haze of his room under the sheets, close together just listening to this music. And everywhere we went it came too. Like our camping and surfing trip to Cornwall. Or our holiday to the Dominican Republic. Just so many great memories.
Hearing the song today really moved me. Music is such and amazing and important part of life. It can really speak to you. That's what just happened. All those memories stored deep and safe in my head, laying dormant til the next time I hear a Jack Johnson record.
I am now safely out of my romanticised-bubble-of-love-and-peace rant! It never lasts long with me, so I thought it best to write it down!!!
Back to the assignment it is... or maybe I'll just go find that CD....
See, the thing is, whilst I sit here listening to the people who I will never know nor meet nor get to talk to, pass by my window, safe in the knowledge that I will probably get the worst mark I have ever achieved in this assignment due to my complete lack of understanding, I am content.
It was a song. Jack Johnson's driftwood. Like the lyric says, it did exactly that. It drifted softly into my ears through the speakers and just stopped me in my procrastinating tracks. It's not a song a i know well, but I recognised the melody. as with all of his songs I just fall in love with them from the first note.
There are so many reasons why Jack Johnson's music will always have a special place in my heart. The first time I heard one of his record was in April 2005. Me and my very close friend Kerry were in the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. The famous KO San road is renowned for selling pirate CD's. And on this day it was Jack Johnson being blasted (if that's a word that can be used to describe such chilled music)from the stall.
We both commented on how nice it sounded. We wondered who it was. And then we forgot about it.
Later that month we arrived on KO Samui and there it was again. Kerry bought the CD and that night we put it on in our beach hut. Since then I have loved his songs and his lyrics realy strike a chord with my personality and life mottoes.
For months after arriving back in the UK, "In Between Dreams" was the only album I listened to.
The second reason the music is so meaning ful to me is the fact that myself and my best friend at the time went on a narrow boat trip with our families for a week, just before I began at university. With not much else to do on the boat, the music was our entertainment and it still reminds me of that trip now.
Finally, and probably most importantly to me, is the fact that Jack Johnson is also one of the favourite artists of my boyfriend. I remember before we became an item and I was infatuated, he called me from a Jack Johnson gig and held the phone up to the whole of "banana pancakes", just for me. It still makes me smile.
Last summer we spent our weekends together in the warm haze of his room under the sheets, close together just listening to this music. And everywhere we went it came too. Like our camping and surfing trip to Cornwall. Or our holiday to the Dominican Republic. Just so many great memories.
Hearing the song today really moved me. Music is such and amazing and important part of life. It can really speak to you. That's what just happened. All those memories stored deep and safe in my head, laying dormant til the next time I hear a Jack Johnson record.
I am now safely out of my romanticised-bubble-of-love-and-peace rant! It never lasts long with me, so I thought it best to write it down!!!
Back to the assignment it is... or maybe I'll just go find that CD....
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