Travels with My Hat - book available soon!

Travels with My Hat, the book about my adventures as a travel writer will be published in October. Beautifully designed, it is lavishly illustrated with photographs and maps. Stay up-to-date for the publication date on my blog: travelswithmyhat.com and at www.twitter.com/mudskipper.

Travels with My Hat has moved

                                                             Hello, thanks for dropping in.

                        My blogs have been transferred to a brand new website: www.travelswithmyhat.com

                                                             Please look me up.

                                                             Christine Osborne

HAIL TO THE HAT !

Since I activated the website about my forthcoming book - TRAVELS WITH MY HAT - several people have enquired about “The Hat”of the title.

The original blue denim hat, noticed by Her Majesty on our tour of Arabia, was wrenched off my head during a monsoon squall and sank beneath waves in the Bay of Bengal.

The present Hat has been my travelling companion for twenty-five years. And I still wear it. Most recently on a visit to the Western Sahara. But now that it has become famous - its picture is on Twitter - I'm naturally nervous that it too, might fly off when least expected.

Hopefully not. For it must be around for any book signing when I shall certainly wear it. I wouldn’t dare not.

Hail to The Hat! Some of the countries it has visited include India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Tahiti, Oman, Egypt, Singapore, Malaysia, Korea, Thailand, Tanzania.

Like the original one, it was bought at “River Island” in Oxford Street, London which now sells hideous headgear. No sign of anything in blue denim ...

Images of The Hat from left to right:

1 In the Luangwa Valley in Zambia

2 Tiger-fishing on the Zambesi

3 With Masai elders in Kenya

4 On safari in Amboseli National Park

5 When the Hat was young--- Federated Tribal Agencies of Pakistan

www.travelswithmyhat.com

Travels with My Hat: from Chapter 3 Member of the Royal Press Corps

...The Concorde bringing the Queen to Saudi Arabia touched down in Riyadh......Suddenly there was pandemonium. Everyone, including the State Guards, was running this way and that and after years of working alone, I forgot our strict orders not to leave the press group. Dashing outside the airport, I hailed a passing taxi.

‘Quick! The Nasirya Palace!’ I told the driver.

The Queen and the Duke were to stay here while the Britannia sailed to Dhahran, in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia. A photo-call at the palace was not on our itinerary, but I hoped to sail in on a bit of bluff. Especially since I was an honorary man!

The Indian taxi-driver entered into the spirit of the moment as though his country was still under the British Raj. Speeding along the sandy highways and byways of Riyadh, he screeched to a halt in front of a mammoth building flying the Union Jack. And above it, fluttering in the desert wind, was Her Majesty’s personal standard.

‘This is the Nasirya Palace memsahib,’ he said, reversing the dented red Datsun in between gleaming black limousines.

Racing up the palace steps, I nodded at the Bedouin guards. Did they think I was an advance on the ladies-in-waiting? Without asking, they waved me inside a vast foyer lit with chandeliers the size of flying saucers.

It took courage to stand there surrounded by many princes of the estimated 7,000 members of the House of Saud: tall, erect men all wearing the bisht edged with gold, the mark of nobility. My eyes roamed over onyx tables and huge vases of flowers, but my flashlight sparked a buzz of conversation and feeling vulnerable, I wound my long black scarf around my face like one of their own women.

When a Rolls Royce drew up at the palace steps, attention shifted from me to the Queen. Trained not to flinch, Her Majesty passed me with only a brief look of surprise. Had I gone completely native? Trailing behind her, the Duchess and Lady Susan looked perturbed. Could Buckingham Palace have erred? Should they too be veiled. Dresses brushing the marble floor, they swept towards the majlis and before anyone could enquire why I didn’t follow them, I scampered back to the taxi.

‘It's the most exciting day of my life!’ said the old Indian. ‘Finally something to write home about from this god-forsaken country.'

Back at the Riyadh Inter-Continental, my luck was in when a helpful MEA pilot offered to take my films to London. My editor, Ita Buttrose, had been insistent we beat rival Woman's Day to press. Leaving Riyadh at midnight, the films were collected next morning from the Kensington Hilton in London and were Sydney-bound that afternoon.

A week later my article - CARRY ON DOWN THE GULF MA'AM - THE SHEIKHS LOVE YOU! captured attention 'Down Under’.

Image: Her Majesty is welcomed by King Khalid at Riyadh International Airport.

FROM MUM IN THE GARDEN TO HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN

People often ask how I started out taking pictures. Well, it was with a Kodak Box Brownie at the age of eight when I took a photo of my mother and the family spaniel - captioned 'Mum and Betsy in the Garden.’

From this inauspicious start, I became keen on photography spending hours developing pictures in the blacked-out kitchen and while ultimately my most enthusiastic supporter, there were occasions when Mum grew cross.

‘You never clean up properly Chris,’ was a frequent comment.

My first picture of Djibouti - sold with a story to the Sydney Morning Herald in 1965 -started my career as a travel writer and photographer specialising in the Muslim world.

The Queen received a copy of my first book - The Gulf States and Oman as background reading on the royal visit to Arabia in 1979.

I was also the only woman photographer on the 3 week tour which was action packed - just as Concorde carrying Her Majesty approached Kuwait, my driver went off with my cameras in his car. Fortunately I retrieved them in time, but ever since I’ve never let them out of my sight, turning down many courteous offers to carry my heavy camera bag.

I’ve always specialised in developing countries - mostly in Africa, South Asia and the Arab Gulf where I hope my record of traditional life may have value for future generations.

Gauging your subject's sensitivity is essential to getting a good picture and to protect your equipment. A slight hand movement, or someone carefully putting down their load of melons often means a quick decision on whether to shoot. Or not.

Fortunately there have been few occasions on my travels when someone has become really angry. But occasionally it was touch and go.

Commissioned to photograph a tribal migration in Baluchistan, I stood my ground as the leader walked over waving his rifle. As he got near I grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously but when he uttered, it was not abuse: he wanted a cigarette (I gave him the packet).

One means of acquiring a subject is to give away small items to earn goodwill, or to distract attention. I always carry coins, sweets and balloons which I blow up for nuisance children. Recently I gave one to a youth in Zanzibar who taking it and looking me straight in the eye, asked in fluent English, was it a condom?

I`ve had many different cameras since the original Brownie. Several ‘old mates’ have bitten the dust - a pair of Pentaxes stolen from my hotel room in Palm Springs, another taken at knife point in The Gambia, a Canon smashed when I fell in Fujairah.

Although I endeavour to work unobtrusively, being tall and fair and feminine has not always helped. Frustrated with a crowd of curious men in Jacobabad in Pakistan, I devised the idea of drawing a line in the dust and telling them to stand behind it which they obediently did!

But one of the strangest encounters occurred on top of the National Museum in Sana’a.

I’d climbed up to take the view when a Yemeni holding a Polaroid asked could he take my picture and I noticed his hands were shaking so he couldn't hold it steady.

‘He is an escaped political prisoner and this is his only way of earning a little money. Would you pose for him?’ said my guide.

And as one who has taken thousands of pictures, I naturally agreed.

The Queen with Sheikh Isa in Bahrain, 1979.

Powindah migration through the Bolan Pass, 1981

A market in Tangiers, 1964

www.copix.co.uk

MY BIRTHDAY FROM HELL

A young travel journalist was recently whining on his blog of how lonely he expected to be on a three week trip to America. In response, I felt like saying you don’t take your best pal to work do you? So if travel writing is your chosen metier, please fasten your safety belt and stop complaining.

In fact there is a huge gulf between travel writing and travel journalism. The former sees you away - often for months at a time - in an alien society with no infrastructure other than your wits. The reverse is a quick press-trip with colleagues to Majorca, or wherever, when you’ve barely closed the door and you’re back again.

Real travel writing by its nature, is a solitary occupation as the authors of great narratives will confirm. Missing home and dining alone are inevitable downsides and while grateful for a capacity to be alone, I find that spending your birthday without a companion exacerbates the sense of social isolation.

In a lifetime of travel writing I`ve awakened on 17th October in Sydney, London, Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Nairobi, Dublin, Tahiti, New York, Marrakesh, Muscat, Provincetown and Algiers. I`ve also seen out three birthdays in Pakistan: my 39th up the Khyber, my 40th in Islamabad and my 41st in Sukkur, an historic town on the river Indus in Sindh.

Knowing I’d be alone in Sukkur, I was determined not to let it get me down. I bought a big bag of sweets for local children that morning and normally skipping lunch, I opted to celebrate with a meal - albeit it in my room as it was Ramadan.

I’d ordered catfish masala, but since my air conditioning wasn’t working and the electric fan had stopped, I called reception to send up an electrician.

In a few moments a sharp knock heralded a short man in navy overalls holding a giant screw-driver. ‘Electric,’ he said and coming in, he switched the fan on, then off, spun the blades (its cage was missing) announced ‘fan heat,’ and picking it up out he marched out again.

A second knock had signalled a waiter with my lunch and taking the tray, I placed it carefully on the bed and pulled up a chair, but before I could take a mouthful, there was another rap on the door. No surprise that it was the electrician.

This time he kicked off his sandals and stepping over the tray, he stood on my pillow and placing a foot against the bed-head, he yanked the air conditioner off the wall, splitting its timber frame and showering my lunch with dust balls.

‘Check,’ he said and taking it into his arms, he had disappeared down the corridor.

Moments later he was back dragging the fan through the door which I had left ajar in anticipation.

‘Wire,’ he declared and kneeling down, he plunged his giant screw-driver into the wall socket.

‘Don't do that!’ I shouted, picturing an incinerated corpse.

‘Problem fix,’ he said and flicking a switch, the fan had started up like a turbo-jet, blowing my birthday curry all over the bedspread.

Images: www.copix.co.uk

My official press pass to visit Zambia in 1994.

Breakfast with Bedouin while researching my first book The Gulf States and Oman (1978).

With houseboat children on the Indus river in Sukkur on 17th October 1981.

17th OCTOBER IS INTERNATIONAL DAY FOR THE ERADICATION OF POVERTY

BORN AGAIN VEGEMITE

Ruddymite, Wow Chow and 2ritemite were some of the 48,000 suggestions for a new version of Australian VEGEMITE before Kraft Foods settled on the less than mouth-watering name iSnack.2.0.

Like most (all) Australians, I went onto Vegemite as soon as I came off the breast.

We ate it on toast for breakfast. Vegemite sandwiches were taken to school. Either neat or with slices of cheese. And `Fairy Fingers`-Vegemite on thinly sliced white bread - were served at children`s birthday parties.

It is understood that the new hybrid VEG is mixed with cream cheese to make it spread more easily, but as far as I`m concerned, it was always easy to spread. And it was one of the first items I threw in when packing for a trip. As important as my toothbrush. Or my typewriter.

Vegemite was impossible to find in London when I arrived in the sixties along with Germaine Greer, Clive James, Richard Neville & Co. We had to depend on friends bringing it over by sea when it was valued no less than the recent Roman hoard found in Shrewsbury.

I would decanter it into something small to ensure I had it for breakfast wherever I happened to be. And if it was to be a long research trip, I took an entire jar with me.

Racing to catch a flight in Kenya on one occasion, I left the precious black spread in a taxi and have wondered since what the driver made of it. (Did he taste it, or grease the axles with it?)

Sainsbury`s , the mega UK supermarket chain now stocks Vegemite so expats no longer feel deprived, although I recently had to take a jar out to a friend in Zanzibar.

I wait patiently to try iSnack 2.0 which is being marketed with such hype you`d think it was a newly discovered species of Australian marsupial.

Dean Robbins, a 27 year old web designer from Perth who chose the new product name is quoted as saying: `To think I will go down in history is overwhelming.`

C.Christine Osborne

Image: www.copix.co.uk

WATER CRISIS EXACERBATED BY TOURISM IN THE DEVELOPING WORLD

Years ago, I met an old Bedouin woman in Abu Dhabi who said her greatest joy was being able to turn on a tap after years of drawing well water in the desert.

Thanks to oil wealth she is one of the lucky ones, but today nearly 9 million people, mainly in developing countries, live without access to safe water and proper sanitation.

Clean drinking water is a right, not a necessity, for every person on the planet and as the world population grows and aquifers shrink, future conflicts will arise over water. And not over oil as in the not so distant past.

The rationale for water usage dates back to a vast dam built to store water for workers quarrying stone for the Pharoahs. In Southern Arabia, the Sabaeans also constructed the mighty Marib Dam. The Sumerians, Akkadians and Babylonians were all skilled canal builders. Ancient falaj like the one pictured, are still in use in Oman.

But when you think that the shadouf (a bucket and pulley contraption for raising water) was invented some 2400 years ago: is it not shameful that spacecraft are sent to the Moon before the Earth`s peoples have a proper water supply?

The situation is especially critical for many poor countries in Africa and Asia which have become dependent on tourism for revenue, when tourism is the biggest water consumer of all.

The FAO estimates that in 55 days, 100 hotel guests use the water equivalent to the needs of 100 urban families over two years. An 18-hole golf course soaks up the requirements of 100 Malay farmers.

Many NGO`s are directing their efforts to supplying villages with drinking water and while travel writers can do their bit, the onus is on travel agents to stress to tourists - particularly anyone visiting East African resorts, currently suffering the most severe drought in decades - to consider water usage.

Shower with your partner (bathe in the sea) and don`t allow the sheets to be changed on a daily basis. You can turn on a tap in your hotel, but local communities may not have access to the infrastructure ensuring your supply.

c.Christine Osborne

Image: Falaj in the interior of Oman.

Source: www.copix.co.uk

DIE EATING WELL

So farewell then Floyd. How we loved your shambolic cookery series. Never without a glass in hand. “Food is life, life is food` you are quoted as saying.

A true bon vivant, Floyd died of a heart attack in Dorset after a final grande bouffe of oysters and partridge washed down with champagne and fine wine.

His death has prompted a flood of `Final Meal` menus from today`s celebrity chefs none of whom can stand in his shadow for entertainment.

Surprisingly many chose simple, evidently memorable childhood meals.

Cookery queen Nigella Lawson and Angela Hartnett, a Michelin star rated talent on the UK restaurant scene, both selected roast chicken. Upping the ante, Michel Roux of the famous French culinary family, chose roast boar.

Starters included beluga caviar (which I ate for breakfast, dinner and tea while researching sturgeon fishing in the Caspian Sea!) and langoustine, a cross between a mini-lobster and a king prawn from the Atlantic, choice of Theo Randall, head chef at the London ICH.

Agree! How could I forget a lunch of Langoustines Royales with a crisp green salad accompanied by a fine Gris de Boulaoune, one sunny day in Casablanca.

Vichyssoise and smoked eel from Enkhuizen in Holland, would also rate a place on my final meal menu along with Thai soft shelled crab and lamb`s brains au beurre noir. But as I couldn`t possibly eat all in one last sitting, I have compressed my favourite foods into a three course menu:

Dozen Dublin Bay oysters

Roast beef & Yorkshire pudding with baked potatoes, pumpkin, fine string beans and Egyptian baby marrow

Buffalo-milk ice-cream with marron glace and blob of Cornish cream

What would be your last menu? Do let us know!

c.Christine Osborne: former critic - Grand Restaurants of the World (Signature Magazine)

Image: Atlantic seafood platter Morocco

Source: www.copix.co.uk

THREE CHEERS FOR THE MUDSKIPPER

I `tweet` under the name of `mudskipper` should you wish to read my comments which cover pretty much everything except sex, lies and videotape. Nothing whatsoever on celebrities. Or body fluids.

Someone did enquire why I called myself `mudskipper`. Well in truth because I thought to be anonymous. Then realising this was pointless, I found my name was taken. Lawyer, dentist, designer - hundreds of Christine Osborne`s are dotted around. Especially in America.

A post on Twitter referred to having a `lower intelligence than a mudskipper` but I chose the name because since childhood in Australia, I have loved these bonny little critters of the tidal mudflats.

As much at home on land as in water, they are always hopping between one and the other. The way I saw myself, until now somewhat restricted following my accident in Egypt.

So`mudskipper` it is. A member of the Gobiidae family using its pectoral fins to walk, hop and skip about on moist land. Vigorously territorial, they can also flip themselves up to 60cm in the air, if defending their burrow. Good on the mudskipper!

c.Christine Osborne

Image: Lubos Mraz www.naturphoto.cz.

Image: Tidal mudflats habitat www.copix.co.uk

www.twitter.com/mudskipper

KEEP THE FLAG FLYING

The Indian government is to prop up ailing national airline, Air India, whose losses are reported at $50 million a month. Conditions have been laid out that Air India must meet, in order to secure the bail-out money. Or else..

Air India was my preference for the `great flight` from London to Sydney. 9½ hours to Mumbai made an excellent break-point. The service was gracious, and the light vegetarian food, ideal for flying. Then their Australia service was suspended. Alas.

I have subsequently flown on just about every other carrier: Singapore Airlines, Qantas, United/Air New Zealand, British Airways, Gulf Air, JAL, Malaysian, Alitalia, Korean Airlines, Cathay Pacific, Thai, Garuda, Pan Am (that was).

Some good, some not so good, others terrifying.

On one flight to Sydney, I made a list of ALL the carriers I had EVER flown with. The entry was accepted by Guinness World Records but I rather feel, during her term as US Secretary of State, that Condoleezza Rice may have flown on many more. (It was not the frequency, note, but the greatest number of different international airlines).

One of my favourite trips was on Korean Air when the stewardess wheeled a library up and down the plane. Problem was the only book in English was Tolstoy`s War and Peace which would have taken several trips to Sydney and back, via Seoul, to finish.

The longest flight was on Grrr- Garuda - 45 hours - due to a hard landing and a 15 hour delay, in Abu Dhabi.

The most frightening was a BOAC - VC10 when our engines caught fire and we went down the slides and ran for our lives: 20th Sept 1971, in Singapore.

And the outright best? Well, a good flight depends on so many factors - plane, crew, food, check-in, in-flight entertainment, but all things considered, I would say the south-east Asian airlines

come out tops.

c.Christine Osborne

SPICY PRAWNS

EASY-PEASY COOKING

Serves 2-3

18-20 medium-size green prawns

3 large cubes garlic

1 tps sambal paste

Black pepper and salt

Coconut milk

Lemon

Thai fish oil

Chopped tinned tomatoes

Butter

2 teacups Basmati rice

Place the crushed garlic, pepper and sambal in a tablespoon of

butter in a skillet and cook for one minute, shaking all the time.

Throw in the prawns and cook quickly until pink on both sides.

Do not overcook them. Remove to cool.

To the skillet, add a cup of coconut milk, a cup of tinned tomatoes, a splash of fish oil, and a squeeze of fresh lemon. Stir and heat, but do not boil. Add the prawns and stir until hot enough to serve.

Serve with boiled rice.

Garnish: finely chopped coriander leaves.

c.Christine Osborne

Image: The Big Prawn, Ballina, New South Wales

Source: www.copix.co.uk

SIMPLY LIVING

24^th July 2009

Dear Self,

I`m going to jump off Lambeth Bridge!

Today I went to FEDEX to send a package to India. They don`t have my account number! Type in my name, I tell them. Are you typing Osborne, with an O? Yes, I know most people spell it with a U. But mine is O. As in John Osborne. No, we are not related. Nothing? No record of me? But I come every week! Please call your credit control.

But you must know me! Yesterday I received your invoice for £46 for a shipment to Delhi. Waddaya mean you have no record of it? How can Credit Control say this to a regular customer? Of course I can`t produce an invoice! I`m not in my office! How can you say I don`t exist? If you`re Credit Control, you have to know me, as you send me invoices! Speak to your superior. You have? Well, they`re crazy too.

Look, I`m not angry with you, but you`re driving me mad. How can you send invoices to someone you`ve never heard of ? It doesn`t make sense. Hello! Are you still there. You`re listening? Look, I`m hanging up. I can`t stand any more. Byyyyyeeeee!

Now driving very fast over Lambeth Bridge for my hair appointment. However Phillip, the manager, says I`m not in the book. But I made the appointment at 9 a.m! I twice repeated `cut and blowdry` to make myself clear. What? If you do me you`ll keep the next client waiting. And she`s in a wheelchair? I don`t believe it! Yesterday you were too busy to cut my hair and today I`m going to keep a wheelchair waiting. I`m not going to sleep after this!

4.10pm: Sainsburys: waddaya mean my debit card isn`t accepted? Are you sure? What? Not valid? How is it possible? I only received it this week when I cut up my old one because it said I could use the new card from the date thereon.

What? Not valid until 11/10. Oh my God, I`m so sorry. It`s my fault. Please tell the cashier I wasn`t trying to cheat her. No, I really wasn`t! Honestly, I do apologise for keeping you all waiting. Yes, really sorry! No, I have no cash at all. That`s my dinner you`re taking back - one Angus sirloin steak and a curly leaf lettuce. Look here`s a Visacard, please take the £5.92 off this. No, I don`t want my reward! I just want to get out of the supermarket.

As you can see, I haven`t jumped. Typing this as a sort of exorcism..

kind regards

LIVING FREE OF CLUTTER

DO YOU REALLY NEED IT?

A news report says that 47% of Americans admit to owning far more possessions than they need, and a new clutter-free philosophy challenges people to get rid of anything superfluous to their lifestyle.

Learning of this `feel good fad` limited to 100 items, I decided to

pare it down to only 12 of the most dearly loved objects I would keep, if moving home.

This is my list, and I wonder about your own?

A turtle skull picked up on a beach in Oman

Chinese carved coffee table

Watercolour of a boat by a Scottish loch

Burmese statue of the Buddha

Two old cane chairs

Lithograph of Dad`s boat `Sea Mist`

Indian drum table

Metal bird from Zimbabwe

Old kitchen wall clock

Handwoven carpet from Iraq

Painting of an Australian rural scene

My personal library of books (counted as a single possession)

c.Christine Osborne

Image: London living room

Source: www.copix.co.uk

WATER NOT MOON WALKS

I remember sitting around a television in Sydney watching man walk on the moon, yet as we acknowledge this achievement, forty years on, 20% of the world`s population still does not have access to a safe water supply.

Since the moon landing in 1969, the population on Earth has nearly doubled with one child estimated to die every 25 seconds, due to unsafe water quality. Yet now a chest-thumping NASA official speaks of new Space endeavours. I am not a luddite, but is this not hugely offensive to the millions of have-nots in the developing world?

Women in Africa, India and Yemen still have to walk, sometimes up to 4 miles a day, or to climb 1000 feet down a mountain, to fetch drinking water. You can visit places such as Manila and Colombo, capital cities no less, where tourists can soak in a hotel spa-bath while outside people are still washing under a stand tap.

Further spending on space trips, either to the Moon or to Mars, cannot be justified until such anomalies are rectified and everyone on Earth has clean water which is a basic need, as well as a right.

c.Christine Osborne

Image: Washing under a stand tap, Colombo

Source: www.copix.co.uk