Grant in London

North West Wales

2010-06-09T11:57:00.000-07:00

Friday 28th May 2010
1710
Virgin Trains services to Holyhead departs London Euston

2027
Train arrives Bangor, North Wales. I stumble off the train to find myself the only person in within 100 miles wearing a suit.

2040
Check into the Garden Hotel Bangor. First impression not good. Entire ground floor is a Chinese restaurant. Faint odour of sweet and sour chicken in the air. Very friendly staff. Shown to my first floor room. Clean and neat. Decide to change clothes and go for a walk.

2050
Leave hotel for an evening stroll around Bangor. The sun is still up. Head for the seaside. Long walk. First impression of Bangor... not good. This town holds the honour of the longest High Street in the UK. Quantity does not mean quality. Bangor is a University town and I have arrived on the last night of term. Parties of drunken teenagers everywhere.

2110
Find the seaside. Nothing to write home about ...and definitely not worth writing a song about! Which, in fact, Fiddler's Dram didn't. They actually went on a day-trip to Rhyl about 35 miles away. Unfortunately Day Trip to Rhyl wasn't as catchy - they needed a 2 syllable word apparently - so they changed the lyrics to Bangor. When the tide goes out in Bangor it goes out! Reminded me of home.

2145
Retire for the evening and watch TV until I fall asleep.

Saturday 29th May 2010
0730
Alarm goes off. Raining - it is north Wales after all.

0745
Go downstairs for breakfast.

0815
Decide waiting in the rain for a bus to Llandudno (pronounced something like: Clandidno) is not a wise move. Walk across the road to the train station.

0822
Board train to Llandudno

0834
Change trains in Llandudno Junction for train to Llandudno

0850
Arrive Llandudno. I am a little early. Nothing is open. Had initially intended to take the bus which is a more scenic option and takes about an hour. Would have arrived at a more reasonable time. Immediately like Llandudno despite the drizzle. Walk along the beach-side promenade and admire the Victorian elegance of the hotels lining the street. The town looks completely untouched. If you took away the cars it could still be 1875. The town is also beautifully maintained and prosperous looking. I walk back to the high street and the shops are opening. Buy a pair of shoes to replace my 'travel trainers' which are falling apart. Follow the town's heritage trail for half an hour. Find myself at the Great Orme Tramway.

1000
Board tram for trip to the summit of the Great Orme.

1020
Arrive at summit of the Great Orme. Cold, drizzly, windy, grey. Superb view. On a sunny day it must be a lovely place for a walk. Take required photographs and hurry back to the tram.

1040
Descend the Great Orme.

1100
Wander along Llandudno pier. Play the 2 penny games in the amusement parlour until I lose 50p. Takes 10 minutes. All visits to a pier must be accompanied by the playing of the 2 penny games in an amusement parlour. It is part of the charm of Victorian piers. There is also a slightly addictive quality to them. It's all about putting in 50p and getting 10p back, and being happy with your winnings, and then putting that 10p back in as well, and walking away with a smile.

1145
Visit the Mostyn Gallery. A pretty decent modern art gallery. Didn't like or understand the art... pretty much like most modern art - but the building is a gem. Have lunch in the cafe on the 1st floor with a nice view to the beach. Browse the shop on the ground floor. Buy a small glazed ceramic jug.

1310
Walk to Llandudno Station to buy a ticket to Blaenau Ffestiniog (I have no idea how to pronounce that) where I intend to join the Welsh Highland Railway and travel on to Porthmadog. Very helpful (and rather talkative) ticket man sells me a ticket for the whole journey including the heritage railway which is most convenient. Back away from ticket man who seems to have no intention of discontinuing his conversation with me.

1320
Board train for Blaenau Ffestiniog. 27 miles of stunning scenery slips past the windows as we rise high up the Conwy Valley. Just before the final destination we enter a tunnel. It's 2 and a half miles long and with the train pulling uphill at a fast jog it takes a long time to pass through. Just like being on the London underground.

1433
Train pulls into Blaenau Ffestiniog. Have 30 minutes to kill. Consider walking up the deserted main street. Think better of it and wander into the Queen's Hotel for a pint. The pub is packed. Clearly the only place in town to go on a rainy Saturday afternoon. The slate quarries loom dark and ominously all around the town and I stare a their almost shear walls of tumbled slate as I drink my beer at a window overlooking that station.

1445

I near the bottom of my pint. I see a puff of smoke and my next connection steams into the station. On the tiny 2 foot gauge line a handsome train hauled by a gleaming burgundy locomotive pulls up. I throw down the rest of my pint and wander down for a closer look.

1455
As I walk down the side of the train I decide to be lavish and spring for a 1st class upgrade. £5 and 5 minutes later I am settling into my plush armchair in the observation car right behind the locomotive. Surrounded by glass and with a drinks menu in front of me I am enjoying the trip already.

1515
Train departs for Porthmadog. The waiter arrives. I order a Snowdon Ale and salted peanuts. The train rattles and shakes and wanders down the line. I watch the scenery slip by again. Emerald green fields, with grey stone walls and white fluffy sheep slide down to crystal lakes on one side and buff hills rise on the other pock-marked with old mines and quarries. The beer is tasty and suitably local.

1630
Arrive Porthmadog. Not a bad looking town. Not good looking enough to linger though. Walk to bus stop.

1645
Take No.1 bus to Bangor.

2000
Settle in to watch the final of Eurovision song contest. UK come last (or near enough to) again.

Sunday 30th May 2010

0730
Alarm goes off. Not raining. Sunshine visible from bathroom window.

0800
Breakfast

0830
Walk to bus stop near hotel.

0842
Bus to Llanberis (pronounced: Clanberis) does not stop. Annoyed. Walk to centre of Bangor to assess options at central bus station.

0905
Get on bus to Caernarfon. Take chance that I can connect there with a bus to Llanberis.

0925
Arrive Caernarfon.

0935
Chance pays off. Board bus to Llanberis.

1000
Arrive Llanberis. Walk to other side of village to book ticket on Snowdon Mountain Railway

1015
All tickets on Snowdon Mountain Railway sold out. Annoyed at self for not pre-booking.

1020
Walk to Welsh National Slate Museum while considering options for reaching the summit of Mt Snowdon.

1030
Slate Museum. Free entry. Day looking up! The Slate Museum is a well presented 'frozen in time' look at slate production. The workshops, quarrymen's houses and equipment make for an interesting half an hour. There are many demonstrations and tours indicated on various boards around the museum but they all seem to be scheduled for the afternoon. I can't wait around. I have considered my options and decided to walk to the summit.

1100
Buy small slate coaster with imprint of welsh dragon, as I leave the museum, to add to me ever growing collection of small, tacky souvenirs.

1110
Walk to Spar Supermarket and buy 2 bottles of Gatorade and 5 pack of Snickers.

1115

Depart Llanberis. Walk to Summit of Mt Snowdon.

1330
Arrive at summit. The walk up was 2 and a quarter hours of incredible scenery, pretty much along the route of the Snowdon Mountain Railway. I was one of hundreds (actually more like thousands) who decided that the fine weather was a good opportunity to make the climb. I was also quite surprise by the number of people who took their dogs. I suppose they could use them to pull them up the steep bits ...and steep bits there were! The walk starts with a nice quarter mile of near vertical hill. It then evens out to a nice steady upward slog. I stopped several times to admire the panoramic views (and catch my breath) and was much envied by the other walkers for my snickers bars. Just when you think the summit is in sight and its all over with, the steepest section arrives. After 5 miles of walking up you are faced with a final mile of lung busting, leg aching, slope. At the top, as the little Snowdon mountain train chugged contentedly past full of people without sore legs, I was just about blown off the mountain. The wind was brisk and cold. I pulled on my windbreaker jacket and looked up at the summit. 20 yards further up the tiny rocky summit of Snowdon was crammed with people and looked remarkably like a human pin-cushion. Decide against joining the queue for the summit. Where I am is high enough.
1335
Enter mountain top pavilion. Crammed with people waiting for the train down. Queues for toilets, snack bar and vending machines all immense.

1337
Leave mountain top pavilion. Sit on steps and eat another Snickers. Draw more envious glances. Wonder why people come up here without food. Realise they planned on buying from the snack bar and don't have the energy to face to queue.

1345
Had enough of the crowds. Start walk down path to Rhyd Ddu (pronounced something like Rith The, I believe) Path follows razor back ridge for next mile and a half. Views marvellous. Track very rough in places. Rather disconcerting to look down at times. Can see Rhyd Ddu at the bottom of the mountain. Doesn't look that far (wrong).

1400(ish)
Pain starts in back of right knee. I am clearly out of practice - or not as young as I once was - or both. Try to ignore sore muscle and continue down. Views still marvellous.

1430(ish)
Realise I spent so little time at the top I can make an earlier train connection in Rhyd Ddu. Step it out a little. Scenery just gets better and better.

1530
Collapse onto platform at Rhyd Ddu Station 10 minutes ahead of my train. Buy ticket. Settle for standard class as I am sure I stink pretty bad and don't want to offend the posh people in 1st.

1540
Train arrives on time. Climb aboard my second Welsh Highland Railway train in 2 days and settle in for trip down to Caernarfon.

1550
Madog Ale and salted peanuts before me. Lovely scenery outside. Sitting down. Most content.

1650
Arrive Caernarfon in the shadow of its immense 13th century castle. Legs very stiff and sore after sitting for more than an hour. Take slow, staggering walk around the old walled town.

1710
Decide enough walking has been done today. Order pint at the Anglesey Pub and sit outside admiring the view over the Menai Straight to the Isle of Anglesey.

1750
Board bus for Bangor

1900
Dinner at Chinese restaurant at the Hotel. Surprisingly good.

Monday 31st May 2010

0900
Check out of hotel and walk to Bangor Pier. Clearly the nicest part of town (albeit a very small part of town). The pier is charming and and has lovely views up the Menai Straight to the suspension bridge. Sun is shining. Warm day.

1005
Board bus for Conwy

1050

Arrive Conwy. Walk into the walled town. Feels genuinely ancient. Wander around the castle. Superb views of the town and Conwy Bay from the towers. Castle is remarkable well preserved considering it was built in the 13th century. Edward II knew how to build castles.

1120

Visit Plas Mawr a 16th century house in the centre of town. Fine plasterwork. More plasterwork breasts on display than I would have thought appropriate in the 1500s. Clearly the more norks on display the richer you were.

1222

Bus back to Bangor

1422

Virgin Trains services to Euston departs. Get the last unreserved first class seat and buy £15 weekend upgrade. Attendant brings me a cup of tea. Settle in with book.

1744

Arrive London Euston

Malaga

2010-06-07T11:54:00.000-07:00

Easter is a fair while ago now... which goes to show how far behind I am in writing about my travels!
I spent Easter in Malaga. Malaga has a lot of gum trees. In fact Malaga has so many gum trees you would have to go a long way to find a city in Australia with as many. The streets are lined with them, they are in every garden and on every hill side. When the wind blows you hear the sharp hiss of wind in a eucalypt forest so familiar in Australia. It was a little disconcerting really. I wasn't expecting gum trees en masse. I had seen them in parks in Barcelona and new they grew well in Spain, but Malaga has taken to them with gusto.
Malaga also has a lot of marble. So much in fact that they have paved just about every street in the city with it. It makes for a very pretty town. As well as having marble underfoot the streets in the centre of the city are given over to people rather than cars. You can wander through most of the centre of Malaga without seeing a vehicle. It makes for a vibrant city with shops, cafes, bars and restaurant spilling out into the streets.
Easter in a catholic country is worth experiencing. Last year I was in Sorrento and was caught unawares by the processions, fireworks and celebrations. This year I was ready for it. Huge crowds gathered to line the processional routes and watch the enormous Tronos carried along. The Tronos were large platforms upon which sat images of Christ and the Virgin Mary surrounded by silver and gold canopies and lit by hundreds of candles.The largest to pass me required about 130 solemn men to carry it, dressed in black, hooded, some walking blindfolded, others in bare feet or bound with ropes, all apparent indicators of their devotion.
I was travelling with established travel-buddy Claudia and we rented an apartment just out of the city. The apartment lived up to its advertisement with a large terrace offering a grand view out to sea and a great place for breakfast to start the day.
Day 1 Our first day was spent wandering around Malaga, finding the tourist information office, the railway station, the bus station and the local bus service to the flat (all of which were to be invaluable). We wandered past the deserted looking bull-ring as people stuck posters on the walls finding the bullfighting museum closed too.
Day 2 we had a plan! Lunch in Nerja - the Balcony of Europe. We climbed about a bus in Malaga and an hour or so later we were walking down the pristine white-rendered streets of Nerja. Despite the multitudes of tourists Nerja is a beautiful town set on a cliff above the Mediterranean.Right in the centre of the town the cliff pushed out into the Med about hundred yards or so an forms 'The Balcony of Europe'. It gives a rather nice view of the sea, the cliffs stretching away to the east and the west and back to the town. We fell into a nice little cafe right next to the Balcony, drank beer, ate food and admired the view in the sunshine.
Day 3 Cordoba. We took a train an hour north of Malaga to Cordoba. In the guide books there looked to be plenty to do to fill in a full day. We visited the Mesquita, a remarkable structure which started life as a church, was converted to a mosque, and then back to a church. We wandered across the city's Roman Bridge; strolled around the narrow streets of the old town; had lunch in a pleasant little bistro in the enclosed courtyard of an old villa; visited to royal palace and gardens. I wanted to visit the bull fighting museum (note a theme here) but it was closed for refurbishment and we then found ourselves with a couple of hours to spare before our train back to Malaga. A bar by the (river which sounds a lot more classy than it was) and a jug of Sangria saw most of the time wiled away and then a slow walk back to the train station via the town's tiny museum of archaeology filled in the rest.
Day 4 on the beach. Sunday dawned sunny and hot. We had no really plans for Easter Sunday other than to have a relaxing day, and as we had a nice beach at the bottom of our street we wandered down. We spent a few hours on the sand and then had a nice late lunch in one of the restaurants lining the beach front. In hindsight we could have gone to a bull-fight. Alas neither of us knew enough Spanish to figure this out from the posters we had seen a few days ago.
Day 5 Not Granada. We had originally planned to spend this day in Granada, but the prospect of a very early start, a 2 hour bus ride each way, and the fact that we had seen little of the sights of Malaga changed our minds. We wanted to visit the bull fighting museum at the bull ring and headed there first. The bull-ring was open and there was a large cleaning crew clearing away the debris of the previous day's fights... oh, and the museum was still closed. We our agendas then diverged and while I visited the Cathedral, Claudia took in the Picasso museum. We then met up again for a nice-cream and a random stroll around the city. and a hike up the hill to the castle and a fine view over the town and the bull-ring.
Day 6 Home.

all about Brunel

2010-04-29T12:36:00.000-07:00

Isambard Kingdom Brunel (despite having a most singular name) was very versatile engineer. He designed a railway, its rolling stock and its major stations, several ships a couple of tunnels and a plethora of bridges. I pondered the extent of his prowess as I travelled westward from London at about 120 miles an hour on the very railway he built in the 1830s. My destination was Bristol, the end of his railway and the start of for his ships.

Of course he made errors in hindsight. His 7 foot gauge railway was abandoned in favour of the now standard 4 foot 8 inches. His ships were so far ahead of their time and so huge, they bankrupted the Great Western Railway and their builders. His bridges were so audacious that in the case of the Clifton Suspension Bridge it took 33 years to get it finished. But of course there was nothing wrong with the ideas it was generally the execution, by others, that let things down.

Bristol was the end of the Great Western Railway and it was from here that Brunel and the Board of Governors of the Railway decided that they would extend the railway all the way to America …and so they built ships. The SS Great Britain, launched in 1843, is still in Bristol. Rescued from the mud in the Falklands in the 1970s she has been carefully preserved and restored. The Great Britain has the distinction of being the world’s first large, iron, ocean going steam and propeller driven ship. Before this it was mostly sail and paddle wheels.

She was a bit of a commercial failure for the Great Western Railway and after running aground and staying stuck for over a year, she was sold on and eventually found success shipping immigrants to Australia. A role she performed for almost 30 years.

The Great Britain now sits in the dry dock in which she was built alongside Bristol’s floating dock. A tour of her is fascinating. Beneath the glass ‘sea’ that seals her lower half from the corrosive elements you wander around her keel. She was the largest iron ship in the world when built. In fact she was the largest ship full stop. By a long way. The fact that she is still in one piece (mostly) is a testament to the quality of her construction.

Above the ‘sea’ she sits majestically with a multitude of coloured flags flying from her masts looking much as she must have the day she was launched. I am sure she was a vast step forward in passenger comfort compared to the days of sail, but I am not sure that I would have wanted to have been cooped up in the pokey first class accommodation, living on top of your neighbours for the 62 day voyage to Australia, let alone the steerage accommodation. I’ll take cattle class with Qantas thanks.

So, it’s been trains and ships… next stop a bridge. The Avon River as it passes downstream from Bristol cuts its way through a very deep gorge, and across the top of the gorge flies the Clifton Suspension Bridge. I took a ferry across the river from the Great Britain and then walked a couple of miles around a loop in the river. It was a warm (well relatively for early Spring in England) and sunny day, just perfect for a stroll. I was quite familiar with the Clifton Suspension Bridge having seen documentaries about it and its designer, but I was not prepared for just how high it is above the river. It looks miles up. A slender spider’s web of structure stretched across the gorge between two monumental towers on either side.

I stood staring at it for quite some time. – the river on one side, nothing but a thin stream between steep banks of mud waiting for the tide to come in and the dull roar of a highway on the other.

My ogling over I started up the zig-zag path that lead up from the river to the bridge. I can’t say I wasn’t gasping for breath at the top. Thankfully there was a handy bench with a quite delightful view of the bridge upon which I could recover.

I wasn’t intending to walk out onto the bridge, but curiosity got the better of me and I ventured halfway across before walking back. There is a rather a bit of movement from the cars rumbling past, but not enough to be genuinely disconcerting. Oh, and it looked just as far down as it did up. Stringing the cables must have required a certain amount of… well… courage, 150 years ago.

The really nice thing about having walked all the way up to the bridge at Clifton was that my walk back to the train station was all down hill.

The South

2010-03-05T11:29:00.000-08:00

Snow threatened my arrival in the US of A - my first time back in 'the land of the free' for 13 years.

Thankfully my flight was routed through Houston and I missed the worst of the weather that was closing airports further north.

I landed in New Orleans to a cold overcast day which had earlier seen some snow. It was also to be the last of the snow and grey skies for the next week.

This return visit to New Orleans was somewhat overdue. I had first been there in 1997 to visit friends Sam and Jose, loved the place and had been trying to find an excuse to get back for a long time.

New Orleans is a town of freeways, potholes, very large cars, pollution, murder, hurricanes and swamps. It's also a town of, elegance, faded charm,fun, colour, vibrance, booze, friendliness, and vestiges of grandeur. All in all there is something for everyone. I was staying with good friends about an hours drive out of town on the north shore of Lake Ponchatrain. To get there requires driving across a 23 mile causeway, one of the longest in the world. It's rather a strange experience to be on a concrete freeway in the middle of a huge lake unable to see land. The north shore is higher ground than New Orleans itself and is home to an ever growing population of commuters who prefer to live in a less flood prone area. They take some pride in referring to themselves as Katrina Refugees but there is nothing refugee-ish about the neat new housing estates and refurbished cottages and rural properties scattered along the north shore. One of the reasons the population of New Orleans City has not returned to its previous numbers is areas like this. These people still work in the City but choose to drive there rather than live there. The traffic in New Orleans is therefore horrendous. The city's answer to this, like many cities (including my own dear Brisbane) is to widen and extend the roads. Cars are cheap, fuel is cheap and roads are easy...

I spent a couple of crisp, sunny days on the north shore before heading into New Orleans for Mardi Gras. We were booked into a hotel in the French Quarter for 3 night - the easier to enjoy the parades, festivities, food and drink. The French Quarter has to be one of the worlds great neighbourhoods. It's been around for almost 300 years and has been the home to pirates, buccaneers, adventurers, the French (obviously), the Spanish, antebellum gentry, slaves, musicians and, more recently, movie-stars and rock-stars. To walk its narrow streets is to stroll under wrought iron balconies, and past faded stucco facades with timber shuttered windows. It's a place of ferns in hang baskets, private walled gardens and buildings leaning at almost crazy angles because of the soft swampy ground beneath. During Mardi Gras its also a place of boisterousness, drunkenness, random parades of people in weird costume, dark bars with a calamity of jazz music leaking out into the brightness of the day, painted body parts, drinks in huge tacky plastic cups and a vivid shimmer of shiny coloured beads around the neck of everyone. The ornate verandas are decked with the flags and bunting in the colours of Mardi Gras, green, gold and purple and with people yelling to the crowds below and tossing beads. In short the French Quarter is a riot of colour and movement.

On Mardi Gras day I found myself wearing a pirate costume (don't ask) and my friends dressed as a bee and bee-keeper. We were not alone in our costumery and the streets were filled with people in a vast array of random attire. We started the day with breakfast in the French Market washed down with daiquiris (it all starts early) and followed up with a steady supply of drinks over the next 8 hours or so. We had intended to be part of a parade, but when we failed to actually find it we collapsed into Pat O'Brien's bar for a Hurricane and to listen to its famous Duelling Pianos(or dooling pianos as the locals call it). The music was great, but unfortunately one Hurricane led to another, and eventually a 3rd. For those who have never tried this abomination of a drink it is made with white and dark rum, passionfruit syrup and lime juice all poured over ice. The first one you drink is horrible - it's excruciatingly sweet. From there on they get better and better until you fall down. Thankfully by the time I fell down I was back in the hotel and had a nice comfy bed to break the fall.

A full American breakfast complete with crispy bacon, several cups of coffee and a reasonable amount of water and I was up and at-em the next day. Sam and I were off on a riverboat trip. This was one of the few things I had not done last time I was in town and was adamant I would achieve it this time round. Sam, having lived in New Orleans about 17 years knows her way around, and so suggested the Creole Queen which would take us downriver to the site of the Battle of New Orleans between the British and the Americans in 1815. It was a resounding (though pointless) victory for the Americans as the war was pretty much over already. The battle site was an open expanse of swampy grass with a large old house, obelisk type monument and a few cannon. The visitor centre was being rebuilt so we spent only 15 minutes wandering about before returning to the upper deck of our paddle-steamer for the return trip up the Mississippi.

The river was the most fascinating part of the tour. The waters swirl and churn and appear to flow in several directions at once with immense power and speed. It is infamous for its ability to drown those who venture or fall in. It also carries a huge amount of traffic which is dominated by the huge tankers and freighters which come up from the Gulf of Mexico to the port of New Orleans and the giant cruise ships which visit the city. As you approach the city you see just how low-lying it is. The levees rise high at the rivers edge, higher than the roofs of the houses behind and not a hill in sight.

I returned to the peace and quiet of the north shore for my final few days.

I bought some cheap t-shirts and levis at the local mall.

I took a tour of the local Abita Brewery. - it's a great deal! A free tour,with a good 30 minutes of free 'beer tasting' beforehand. They even encourage you to top-up before you head off on your 10 minute walk around a bunch a very large stainless steel vats. Thankfully Sam was driving.

I went back to Oak Alley Plantation. I have visited Oak Alley last time I was in town. It hadn't changed at all. The avenue of 300 year old Oak trees leading from the Mississippi to the house is a delight. Life for those in the big house must have been a charmed existence. Life for those not in the big house was a different matter entirely.

I think life for those in the big houses of New Orleans is still a charmed existence. There is an elegant culture of socialising, parties and entertainments that I can't match in any city I have seen... it's a very alluring charm of the city and I guess it's primarily what attracts so many tourists. Life in the South may be a little tarnished, but underneath there is still some quality. Life for those not in the big houses remains a different matter. In parts of its society New Orleans is a city violence and murder. Barely a day goes by without reports of violent crime. It was interesting to hear that during the recent Superbowl win by the New Orleans Saints that violent crime was drastically reduced. Maybe it was a distraction, something to look forward to, something to be proud of in a city that has had little to look forward to since Katrina. It was a mood palpable on the street during Mardi Gras. People were happy, excited, proud that they had won. The Saints were a team so accustomed to loss that their fans wore paper bags over their heads when they went to watch a game. Jokes were flying around that the weather was so cold because the Saints had won and hell was freezing over. The Saint's colours of black and gold were everywhere. Cries of 'Who Dat!' could be heard everywhere from anyone ('Who Dat' being part of a team chant being 'Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints').

So things might be on the up. A Superbowl, the biggest Mardi Gras crowds in 10 year, a new Mayor will hopefully give a boost to the city and its gradual recovery from Katrina 4 years ago.

Berlin

2010-02-27T08:56:00.000-08:00

The first couple weeks of 2010 were very cold ones for London. There were below 0 temperatures and snow. Not satisfied with the coldness of London I ventured to even colder climes and had a weekend in Berlin.
I have been to Berlin before, but only for a day trip out of Hamburg, and it was almost 2 years ago now. An old friend from Australia was to be studying there for a few weeks and it was a good excuse to catch up and get back to Berlin. We had grand plans to explore the city.
About 8 inches of snow inconveniently lying on the ground and temperatures about -6C put paid to most of our outdoor exploring. So we headed indoors. Our first stop was the Museum of Berlin. The museum starts off with a rather messily laid out medieval history of the city (or it could have been that the info was just lost in translation) and rapidly drags you into the early 20th century. The real interest of the museum begins with Berlin in the 1920s. The grand hotels of Potsdamer Platz, the vibrant and lascivious lives of the city’s wealthy elite and the struggle of the poor caused by reparations following the First World War all set the scene for the events to follow in the 1930s and 40s.
As part of your entry into the museum you get a guided tour of a nuclear bunker beneath the museum. Built in 1974 as a civil defence facility in the old West Berlin, the bunker was capable of housing 3,500 people on a first come first served basis. When opened it was fully stocked with beds and supplies but was quickly converted into an underground car park. It was estimated that it would take 2 weeks to remove the cars and prepare the bunker for use in an ‘emergency’. You wouldn’t be staking your life on the bunker I should think.
It has now been re-fitted with bunks and equipment for tourist purposes. There were very few toilet and shower facilities and with recirculated air it would have been a very hot, humid and unhealthy place with 3,500 people at home.
Having built an appetite climbing in an out of the bunker, and generally trudging through ice and snow we picked our way along the icy pavements to a café recommended in my guidebook. Called the Wintergarden at the Literature House (the name seems to lose something in translation), we dined on German sausage and potato salad and local white while looking out over a snow covered garden. It was all very warm and civilised.
In deference to the cold we retired to Friedrichstrasser and admired the fancy shops along a few blocks closest to my hotel and one particularly large and warm looking department store lured us in with the prospect of hot chocolate and cake.
One of the big problems with winter is Europe is the shortness of the days. In January it’s not light much before 8am and dark by 4:30pm or earlier if it’s a cloudy day. The approaching darkness and further dropping temperature chased us home. We had intended to try and get tickets to the Opera (my friend Georgia being an opera singer and all), but we were for some reason tired from what was in reality not a very big day and decided to get some dinner locally. There was a pub on the corner – a Lowenbrau Brauhaus to be precise – and we fell in there with the intention of having a pint while we figured out where to eat.
It was a large open and pretty well charmless establishment with too much space and too few staff and it was pretty much full! We squeezed into one of the few tables that was free and found ourselves beside a large – very large – group of people dressed in what we guessed was traditional local dress.
We ordered a couple of pints and a menu was put in front of us. We were told that food would take almost an hour to be served due to the large crowd. We drank our first pint, failed to think of anywhere better we might go for dinner and so, despite a long wait for food, slow service and a large crowd of Germans in braces rapidly becoming inebriated beside us, we stayed, ordered food and another pint.
The night wore on. We drank more beer, our food came – it was very good, we drank more beer, the Germans drank more beer and began to sing, the Germans drank more beer and started unpacking their musical instruments, the Germans struck up a brass band in the middle of the restaurant, the Germans started to dance to the brass band in the middle of the restaurant, we all drank more beer. All in all it turned out to be a very good evening. The Germans turned out to be Bavarian – so not quite local to Berlin, but the played, danced and sang very well and entertained Georgia and I no end.
The next morning dawned cloudy, cold and threatening to snow. We had decided to head to Potsdamer Platz. We travelled on the metro and emerging from the station we were hit by a chill breeze blowing across the open expanse of the plaza and swirling about the shiny new office towers and hotels build in what was until 1989, the no-mans-land of the Berlin Wall. It is now a steel, glass, concrete and granite tribute to the economic state of Germany at the turn of the 21st century. I rather wish I have seen it at the turn of the last century when it was a bustling intersections lined with grand hotels, luxurious department stores and plush theatres. A tiny portion of the Hotel Esplanade has been incorporated into the new Sony Centre. Behind a curtain of 21st century glass stands the decrepit grandeur of the Kaisersaal where Wilhelm II once held ‘gentlemen’s evenings’ with his friends, and women who were not their wives...
Potsdamer Platz is no place to be standing about in the middle of winter so we started the short walk to the Brandenburg Gate. It took half an hour on the icy and slippery pavements. We had enough warmth left in our hands to take a couple of photos of the Jewish Memorial on the way past and the Gate itself before collapsing into a Starbucks for a hot chocolate. We were lucky enough to score seats at a bench with a superb view of the Brandenburg Gate and figured it was a damn site better sitting in a warm café looking at it that out in the street with cold feet.
And then it started to snow.
My intention had been to walk back to the hotel from here via Unter den Linden the main boulevard leading from the Brandenburg Gate into the centre of Berlin and then down Friedrichstrasser finding a nice café for lunch on the way. The snow changed those plans. I again consulted my guide book and found a nice restaurant for lunch called Café Einstein. We hailed a cab and headed into the suburbs. Café Einstein proved to be just a delightful as the previous day’s lunch. Another grand old house converted to a restaurant and serving good German food. Although, I think I have eaten quite enough potato for awhile…
The snow got heavier as the afternoon progressed and as I got closer to the airport and my flight back to London. It was with some relief that my flight was on time … and was even more of a relief to arrive back in London and find the temperature 10 degrees warmer!

Wien

2009-11-23T01:26:00.000-08:00

Choosing not to buy my usual Classic Cars magazine for in-flight reading this trip (the articles about ‘80s super-cars for £15,000 looking rather tedious), I instead picked up Bill Bryson’s travel book Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe. Written in 1991 it is a tad out of date, but I figured it would make for interesting comparison with the contemporary.

I flicked straight to the chapter on Austria: Hmmm, unfriendly people, an ex-Nazi President, souvenir shops on every corner – not an auspicious introduction. I hoped politics and hospitality had change in the intervening years.

Bryson describes Vienna as an unimaginably grand city – the place aliens would consider the capital of the world if they didn’t know better, as he puts it.

As you travel around the tree-lined Ringstrasse (the line of the old city walls), on a small part Vienna’s fantastic tram system, you pass the impressive bulk of the city’s biggest and best baroque and classical structures: The Hofburg (former Imperial residence), The Rathaus (townhall), the Museums, State Opera, the University and Parliament, interspersed with leafy green parks. It an impressive and surprisingly timeless sight, one we would be hard pressed to recreate today with our architecture of steel, glass and concrete.

It rained as I arrived in Vienna. I had to walk from the bus station at Westbahnhof to my hotel, and thanks to my desire to travel with carry-on luggage only, I had no umbrella. I got a tad wet. But my hotel was new, sparkling white and warm, and as it turned out, very well located.
I awoke next morning to a cloudy but dry day, and a delightful view over the rooftops to Vienna from my room. Over breakfast I decided on a ‘start at the centre’ policy and took the Metro to St Stephen’s Platz. Exiting the Metro I immediately liked Vienna – the centre of the old city is vehicle free! The Cathedral is surrounded by a large pedestrian square and the major shopping streets are for people only. It is pleasure the walk around the city and should be a lesson to London.

I had booked a tour of the Staatsoper, Vienna’s dual personality opera house. Built in the mid 19th century it was damaged by bombing in WWII. Rather than rebuild the damaged portions to replicate the original they were decorated in a chic 1950s style. The contrast as you move from space to space is quite intriguing. The highlight of the tour though, is the visit backstage. The Opera House presents a different opera every day and so the stage has to be reset accordingly, and the flurry of activity as the sets are stripped and reset is fascinating.

Getting to see the River Danube in Vienna is quite a task. I had always thought that the river would be reasonable well celebrated and accessible in a city with the signature tune The Blue Danube. I was mistaken. I took a tram to Prater the large park between the city of Vienna and the River. From here I thought it would be an easy walk. Again… mistaken. The walk across the park was easy enough, but once across I encountered a new commercial office park and treaded my way around its deserted street, past the most isolated looking Marriott Hotel I have ever seen (situated next to a delightfully picturesque deserted race course and multi story car park) and then faced my next hurdle - a post WWII partition era housing complex. The almost endless wall of grey concrete loomed over me and stretched away to the left and right. I squeezed my way between the blocks, under a railway overpass and continued my quest. I could see the river now – well the levee bank anyway. At the foot of the levee was a 4 lane highway and beside that a railway. A half mile walk along the highway took me a to a bridge servicing a Hilton Hotel, as equally isolated as the aforementioned Marriott, but at least the Hilton was on the River!

So, the big question. Is it Blue? Well, a lot bluer than I expected, and a lot more peaceful. The opposite bank (which isn’t actually a bank but an island separating the River and a canal) was undeveloped and covered with trees. There were a few hearty souls walking their dogs (there are a lot of dogs in Vienna!) or maybe they just knew of easier access to the river bank.

The Prater park is home to one of the world’s oldest Ferris Wheels, the Vienna Riesenrad. Built in 1897 and made famous by the movie The Third Man, it is tucked away in the corner of a large amusement park. I would suppose the amusement park would be crammed with families on a summer Sunday afternoon, but in early November it was pretty much deserted, there were only a few locals walking their dogs, and offered a rather surreal setting for a stroll along the leaf strewn laneways. It would have been the perfect setting for an American teen horror film.

The Schonbrunn Palace makes a delightful summer retreat. Not quite the scale and grandeur of Versailles (nowhere near it really), it is still a lovely place to wander about on a sunny morning. The palace itself is a delightful collection of baroque interiors. The Great Gallery is just the place for a lavish summer ball of Mozart, powdered wigs voluminous gowns and candle-light reflecting in the gilt edged mirrors.

But it was too nice a day to spend inside, so I repaired to the gardens. The main focal point from the principal rooms of the house, is the Gloriette, a colonnaded folly built atop a nearby hill. It is reached via a series of zig-zagging paths up the hill. The view back down to the Palace is impressive, unfortunately the bland western suburbs of Vienna behind the Palace are rather less impressive.

I strolled about the gardens for an hour or so, admiring the lengthy tree line boulevards, the palm house and the slightly less that welcoming zoo (closed for the season) and the stunning autumn leaves. There were not many tourist about and only a few locals walking their dogs (did I mention there are a lot of dogs in Vienna?) and at times I felt as if I had the whole place to myself.

As I was leaving the Palace I noticed an advertisement for the Schonbrunn Palace Orchestra which performs a daily concert of Mozart and Strauss. Mozart and Strauss seemed like a thing one should do in Vienna so I forked out 29 euro (the cheapest seat I could get) and returned promptly at 8pm.

The concert was performed in the Palace Orangerie, a rather elegant, white vaulted hall with large south facing windows and hung with glittering chandeliers. I was rather disappointed that there was not a citrus plant in sight. I was also disappointed that the quality of the architecture and its illustrious past (Mozart himself had performed here) far overshadowed the quality of the performance.

Being off season I was treated to a sextet rather than the full orchestra (no reduction in ticket price mind you) who played the repertoire with what I can only describe as mechanics. I am not the world's biggest fan of Mozart to begin with, but when he is played without enthusiasm the complexity becomes tedium. At the end of the first half (with Mozart safely out of the way) I was hoping the flowing and somewhat more lively nature of Strauss might wake things up. Unfortunately not. I haven't mentioned that the 'orchestra' was accompanied by a soprano of adequate voice, a baritone who missed the mark by quite a way and a pair of dancers who danced on the world's noisiest stage. At times the footfalls drowned out the musicians. Maybe I am being harsh... the 3 American women in front of me loved it... to the point of giving a standing ovation... they were the only ones. There are other places you can here Mozart and Strauss in Vienna, choose one of them.

Well, my travel for the year has pretty much come to an end. Besides a quick day trip to Birmingham for the biggest German Christmas markets outside of Germany and Austria (why they are in Birmingham, I have no idea) my only other trip is back to Brisbane for a couple of weeks at Christmas. Hopefully I will have a few days in the sun to work out where to go next year!

A weekend in Tuscany

2009-10-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

I like trees you can see through. They make me feel at home. England has trees that are green and lush, and thick with leaves. They give lovely deep green shade in summer but they block out the sky and the rest of the landscape in a way that a eucalypt never would. The charm of Australian trees is that they are part of the landscape, you see them, and through them to the wider world beyond.

Italy has see-through trees. Even travelling at night from Pisa Airport to Florence you can see through the roadside trees to the passing hills and villas. Admittedly the night probably made this somewhat industrial part of Tuscany nicer than is might otherwise appear. The road was lined with outlet malls, warehouses and large car parks.

Florence on the other hand is a stunning place. It is neck-hurtingly beautiful. Everywhere you look there is a fine palace, church, museum, statue or bridge. Florence has an elegant beauty. It is a human scale city. It does not possess the monumental grandeur of Rome, or the elegant boulevards of Paris; its streets are narrow and twisting. You come upon its architectural gems often with surprise. The Duomo is enclosed in a piazza and only comes into sight as you turn the last corner and even then it is difficult to take in the whole structure in one view (see cramped photograph!).

You can almost walk onto the Ponte Vecchio without really knowing you are on a bridge until, of course, you get to the centre and catch the views up and down the river (although the wall to wall goldsmiths on either side rather give the game away).

Travelling with 2 girls has its moments. Florence is famous for its leather, and rightly so. The streets are lined with stores – there must be thousands of them - and I think I have been into most of them! It cost me too… they persuaded me to buy a new black jacket and a satchel for work.

It’s also famous for its art, without a doubt the most magnificent being Michelangelo’s David. Like the Mona Lisa the David seemed a bit of a cliché to me. The image adorns aprons, ironing board covers, fridge magnets, boxer shorts and a myriad of other cheap and tacky items. But nothing prepares you for being in the presence of the sculpture. It is enormous – much taller than I had imagined - and it towers over the milling throng all craning there necks to take it in. The David stands in a large apse; the space is grandly proportioned and yet the sculpture still dominates the room, magnetically drawing you gaze and not letting you turn away.

The ironing board cover cannot show the blood pulsing in the veins in the arms, and hands ready for battle; the slight wrinkle of the brow showing consternation? fear? determination? …and the age and weathering of the stone after 300 years in the elements which, if anything, contributes to the life the Michelangelo created out of a cold block of stone.

When is too artwork really too much? The Uffizi is home to a sensational collection of art spanning the renaissance. Home to Botticelli’s ‘The Birth of Venus’, works by Michelangelo, Di Vinci, Raphael and Rembrandt and housed in a 16th century building overlooking the Arno, the gallery is overwhelming to say the least. The 3 hours we strolled around left us desperate for lunch and a nice crisp white.

Friends had told me that Pisa isn’t up to much …and to be honest I would not want to be wandering the streets alone after dark. But, despite the slightly seedy feel, I liked it. Pisa is a pretty town – or it could be if they actually gave it a wash. Walking from the train station to its one major tourist draw card, it’s is easy to see why people don’t hang around. Florence is less than an hour away and has the shopping, the museums and the restaurants.

Pisa only has its somewhat askew tower. Quite and 'only' though...

We timed our visit for the afternoon before our flight back to London (Pisa and Florence share an airport – in Pisa) and had a few hours only, so we dumped our bags at the train station, and walked straight to the Duomo.

Ok. No matter what you have seen of the Leaning Tower of Pisa in pictures or on television, it leans a damn sight more in real life (and more than my photos can show). The three of us were rather stunned, in fact, by the extent of the lean. We didn’t get to climb the tower as the only tour available was a bit too late to connect with our flight, so we had to be satisfied with wandering around the monumental cemetery and the baptistery – both worthy sites to visit in their own right, but wholly overshadowed by the tower.

We strolled along the row tacky souvenir vendors (and bought the obligatory 3 inch high leaning tower for 2 euro) enjoying the evening sunshine and continuing to be surprised by the lean.

In the end time won out and we headed for the airport (the worst one I have been in, in Europe so far – and Naples takes some beating!). Although, we did managed to get pizza and wine to fortify us for the flight – it was Italy after all.

BCN

2009-09-10T11:06:00.000-07:00

Montjuic is home to:

a 17th and 18th century fortress (Castell de Montjuic)

a funicular railway

a gondola lift

the site of the 1929 World’s Fair

the site of the 1992 Summer Olympic Games

the former circuit of the Spanish Formula One Grand Prix

Botanical Gardens

numerous art galleries and museums

and, much closer to my heart, La Caseta de Migdia …a bar.

Sunday evening I was sitting in this shady outdoor establishment, relaxing in a deck chair in the midst of a grove of pines and looking out over the cliff-top to the Mediterranean. Evening joggers and mountain-bikers trundled by, my beer was cold and my company was delightful.

It’s a bit of a walk to the bar it is set at the top of the high cliffs looking south from Montjuic - but it just makes the beer taste better when you get there. If you look down you can see the vast sprawl of Barcelona’s container port, but from our table this was invisible, and we looked across the grasses, the prickly pear and our fellow customers (and their dogs) to the blue horizon and watched the cruise ships glide in and out of Barcelona’s busy Port Vella. (http://www.lacaseta.org/ if you fancy going)

As the light faded we strolled away from the bar and toward Placa Espanya. It was alittle further than we thought as we wound our way along the paths and roads of Montjuic. Almost an hour (and some sore feet) later we wandered onto the terrace of Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya and gazed down the Avenue lined with fountains toward the plaza. In the middle of it all is the Font Magica (the Magic Fountain of Montjuic).

Having been to Barcelona a couple of times before, I had never made time for the Font Magica. From 9pm each night – every half hour - it spurts water in time to various musical medleys a concept I had always though, somewhat tacky but my friend Claudia was keen for a look. We arrived after 9pm and caught the end of the first performance. My initial fears seemed confirmed, as the stains of Celine Dion boomed in the distance and lights flashed red and green and blue. By the time we had made our way down from the Museu to the fountain itself all was quiet and we had to await the 9:30pm show.

We found a place to site on a wall overlooking the fountain. It is a large fountain. A very large fountain in fact. Basically circle shaped with only a couple of tiers, when not in use it is rather unassuming and appears oversized.

Promptly at 9:30pm the fountain bust forth. This time (most thankfully) to a classical theme. As Mozart and Beethoven rang from a hidden sound system, the water did some quite amazing things all in genuine sympathy to the music. I was enthralled. The engineering, artistry and sheer force of water is a thing of marvel.

All in all Font Magica remains a tacky thing (anything called the Magic Fountain must be!) - it would be perfectly at home in Las Vegas, but the crowds of tourists loved it, and so did I.

Every visit to Barcelona must be punctuated with some Gaudi. I returned to La Sagrada Familia to check on construction progress – there is a south wall now. I wandered around the paths of Parc Guell and admired the views over the city to the sea and the mastery with which Gaudi draw out of the scrubby hillside the remarkable landscape design that looks as much a part of the natural landscape as the plants and rocks themselves. I still fail to understand how a mind can imagine, grasp and transform its thought into reality in the way Antoni Gaudi’s did. He created monumental architecture of a type entirely unique and equally harmonious with both the natural and man-made world and in a way that presents shear enjoyment.

This time around the queues were short so, while on a Gaudi theme, I visited Casa Mila, an apartment building in the Eixample (‘eh-sham-pla’) district. It is built on the corner of a busy boulevard and offers a typically organic Gaudi façade to the street this time finished in relatively austere and rough cut, pale brown stone. The apartments were built for the wealth in the early 20th century and are large, airy and sinuous. They curve and twist around internal courtyards and the articulated external faced. Despite the wildness of the architectural appearance, the apartments appear as if they would be remarkably easy to live in. The internal colours are muted and constant. Ceiling and walls and doors all painted in a monochrome, pale green. There is little ornamentation. Even the walls and ceiling meet with a simple curve instead of a cornice, blurring the distinction between vertical and horizontal and giving the interiors a slight cave-like feel.

The gem is the roof space above, giving a lesson in the potential for elegance in structural engineering and slapping the face of any architect or structural engineer who fails to grasp the principals and the potential of the other discipline. The brick vaulted arches are amazingly beautiful and remarkably well finished for an area not meant to be seen by anyone bar the maintenance man. The roof-top offers a great view over the Eixample and a close-up of the building’s chimneys and vents of improbably design, while walking around a constantly undulating path. Odd, completely odd – fun though.

So, another weekend in Barcelona. That’s 3 now. The beach, the sun, the food, and the city… might be time to learn Spanish I think.

Englishness

2009-08-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

It was a thoroughly English day. The weather was great by English standards – 23 degrees and light cloud, but the sun was peeping though every so often. Some friends and I were booked onto the 11:30 tour of the Houses of Parliament. This was one London landmark I had never managed to get inside. I pass it pretty much every day on my way to work and after almost 2 years the sight of the overly fussy neo-gothic monstrosity with the unnecessary Victoria Tower at one end and oddly proportioned Clock Tower (Big Ben is the bell dammit!) at the other, still makes me smile.

Like all great democracies the British Parliament takes a summer holiday - an 82 day recess according to the tabloids, aghast (as they are every year) at the fact the MPs should be able to take time off (it does give them time to clean their moats I guess).

It also means Parliament is open to visitors. For the princely sum of £11.70 you can book yourself a place with the hoards and take a tour.

Lets get the details out of the way first. It is just as fussy inside as out and the whole time I was there I was expecting to see Penelope Keith sitting on a green bench in a corridor debating 90s post Thatcher, Labour ambitions with the party Whip …and the building is small. It was much more intimate than I expected! But I am skipping ahead…

We joined the queue (there is always a queue) at the Visitor’s Entrance at Cromwell Green and waited patiently to proceed through the security checkpoint under the stern gaze or Oliver himself. Standing on his plinth with a solitary Lion, he cuts a bit of a strange figure considering the way things turned out, but I guess if there is to be a statue of the man it should be outside Parliament.

Past security and we were into New Palace Yard and looking up at the Clock Tower sparkling in the momentary sunshine above a framework of bright steel scaffolding covering the Common façade facing the Yard. An English historic monument isn’t complete unless it has a bit of scaffold on it somewhere – generally a nice prominent place that gets in the way of a good photograph.

From the bright Yard we were ushered into the dark, gloomy depths of Westminster Hall. The 11th Century Hall is vast and has been at the heart of Parliament since it was first called in the 13th Century.

We queued again to await our tour guide and were eventually joined by a bubbly and remarkably loud woman who declared that she had the honour of showing us around and to stay close so we didn’t get lost in the building which has 1000 odd rooms.

The tour proper commenced in the Norman porch adjacent to the Sovereign’s entrance under Victoria Tower and for the first part followed the route taken by the Queen when Parliament is opened.

We stopped for a while in the Robing Room, strolled through the Royal Gallery with its enormous paintings of Waterloo and Trafalgar, into the Prince’s Chamber (the anteroom to the House of Lords) and then into the House of Lords. The House of Lords is not a big space and could never seat the more than 700 peer who are entitled to be present there and has no chance with the MPs from the Commons who try to cram in for the Queen’s Speech. It is a quirky space too, with its 3 sacks of wool from all over the Commonwealth representing the wealth of the Empire sitting directly below the gilt splendour of the Sovereign’s Throne.

The tour continued out of the House of Lords, into the Peer’s Lobby, the Central Lobby - overlooked by the patron Saints of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland – the member’s Lobby and into the House of Commons.
Destroyed by a bomb during the second world war the Commons was rebuilt as a gift of the Commonwealth nations, the back of the Speaker’s Chair showing it was a gift of the people of Australia. The Commons, like the Lords is a narrow and relatively intimate space. Churchill, tasked with rebuilding the room after the war had the chance to enlarge it, but chose not to, so as to keep the atmosphere exciting and at close quarters. He also chose to leave the arched stone portal at the entrance ragged and broken from the damage cause by bombing, as a reminder to future MPs who entered.

Had we not stopped often the walk from Lords to Commons would have taken about 30 second. Not a great distance. The corridors of power in Britain are not overly grand. The building, despite its ornate finish – especially on the Lords side – has a human scale. It does not have huge impressive spaces like the US Capitol or the vast entrance of Australia’s Parliament House. It is a place for people to meet and to work. It has a comfortable, well worn feel - nothing too fancy – rather British really.

The tour finished back in Westminster Hall where it had begun and we clambered out of the medieval darkness into the English summer.

We were all a tad hungry, so on a recommendation from my parents some weeks before, headed to a restaurant in St James Park – Inn the Park. The food has a distinct organic tendency (as do the drinks) and is quite excellent. The view over the lake and park was lovely as we ate drank and chatted. After lunch we plonked ourselves down in front of a brass band, had a ice-cream and decided this was what the English summer should be like all the time.

342 Miles

2009-08-03T11:51:00.001-07:00

The day started early and typically Scottish - overcast grey skies and a light, but cool breeze blowing. Just before 7:30am we drove out of the drive of the quaint little cottage we are staying at near the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town of Saline somewhere across the Forth, and slightly North-west of Edinburgh.

We knew the day we had planned was an ambitious one but being a family which has enjoyed more than a few driving holidays we didn’t think it beyond us.

The first leg of the journey was the cross country haul to Alexandria. We slipped through Stirling and set out across the lowland plains toward Loch Lomond. The closer we got to the Loch Lomond the prettier things became (in fact we seemed to be driving in the right direction all day as the scenery just got better and better and so did the weather).

Our first stop for the day was in a park in the tiny town of Tarbet on the edge of the Loch commanding what would have been a fine view of Ben Lomond had it not been shrouded in cloud. Tarbet boasts a fine view of the mountain (apparently), a charming green park falling away down to the water’s edge and a rather grand, stone turreted Victorian Hotel. If there was anything else we didn’t see it. So, a cup of tea and a biscuit later we were back on the road. Next Stop, Fort William.

Well, not quite the next stop. We pulled off the road at one stage to admire a truly spectacular view (along with several coach-loads of Spanish tourists). The outlook was supplemented with the serenading of a lone Piper. The open hillside offering a cooling breeze for any man daring to wear a kilt… but then, that’s what the Scots do isn’t it?

Having pretty much crossed Scotland we turned north and started our long drive up the Great Glen heading for our next stop. Fort William is perched on the edge of Loch Eil (or was it Loch Linnhe? It can be a tad hard to figure out where one starts and another finishes!). Apparently the town offers a nice view of Ben Nevis. But alas we were again beaten by the clouds. We spent 15 minutes wandering along the High Street and, having seen pretty much everything the town had to offer, climbed back in the car and headed for our next stop… and lunch!

So, we drove ever northward, along the edge of Loch Lochy and Loch Oich and on to the southern most point of Loch Ness…not a monster in sight. Lunch was on a terrace overlooking Urquart Castle. That makes it sound rather more grand than it actually was. The terrace was somewhat sparse and lunch consisted of a roast beef roll. But the view over the ruined castle to the dark waters of Loch Ness was worth savouring for few minutes. We spent a little while after lunch clambering over the castle (me being particularly pleased with Grant Tower) before settling back into our venerable Ford Focus and making a break for Inverness.

If you are travelling in Scotland and happen to be in the area of Inverness and have the opportunity of visiting the town… don’t. With the possible exception of Limerick, Inverness is the most charmless place I have been in Western Europe. We tried to find a high street to stop for a few minutes, but the streets of Inverness funnelled us into the underground car park of a shopping mall. We stood for 5 minutes in the soulless expanse of chain stores before paying our £1.60 to escape from the car park and return to more scenic places. Maybe we missed the nicer parts of town, but we didn’t stay to explore further.

Thankfully more scenic places are not hard to find in the Scottish Highlands. 15 minutes out of Inverness we stopped at the Culloden Battle fields. The site of the demise of Jacobean army at the hands of the Government in 1746. The battle field has been preserved with flags and markers showing the lines of the approaching forces and an excellent interpretive centre to guide you through the events of the day and the politics that caused it all to happen. We could have spent a lot more time wandering about but we had a few more miles to cover and couple more sites to see.

A friend, and self proclaimed Scotland fanatic, had told us that Pitlochry was a delightful little town and should be visited. Margaret’s advice is generally pretty spot on when it comes to travel in the UK, so rolling down the A9 through some truly spectacular scenery we headed that way. We took a brief detour on the way to see Blair Castle (apparently the most visited historic house in Scotland). Unfortunately the Castle was closed by the time we arrived, but we had the pleasure of a short walk in the grounds to take some photos and of watching a wedding party arrive the evenings reception.

Pitlochry really is a charming little town. Thankfully the A9 now diverts around the town leaving the town centre for people. We strolled along the high street, bought some post cards and stocked up on provisions (mostly beer and wine) at the little supermarket.

The day was running out at this stage and with an hours drive still ahead of us we decided it was time for home. All in all we were almost 12 hours on the road and, as you might have guessed, covered 342 miles and a fair portion of Scotland. We slept well.

In Brugge

2009-07-26T03:18:00.000-07:00

It has been far to long I know since I updated... and I have to admit the memory has grown a tad faint already when I think back to my weekend in Belgium.

Life in the mean time has been rather busy and conspired to keep me from updating sooner.

I had no real agenda with Belgium. I have an old mate in Brussels and thought it was time I popped over and acquainted myself with the bars of Belgium under the guidance of PJ... a drinker of some repute whom I have known from the days when I was but a teenager. So, on Monday morning I decided to book and go. 15 minutes later I was booked onto the Eurostar for a Friday evening departure and into what turned out to be a rather nice hotel on Avenue Louise. It was at this point that I decided it might be wise to actually have something to do in Brussels than drink.

Lunchtime saw me at Stanford's (the bestest little travel bookshop in London, and conveniently located about 100 yards from my office) buying a travel guide for Brussels. Surprisingly it was not easy to find and when I did find it my selection included Berlitz or Berlitz. I chose Berlitz. If you have the opportunity to choose a Berlitz travel guide, don't. It gave me interesting, but vague, tidbits about the various sights of Brussels, but absolutely no guidance on how to get there, how much they might be, or what hours they were open. From here on I will stick to Lonely Planet or Time-out.

Thankfully Brussels is an easy city to navigate. But, I didn't start there. Well, my train delivered me there, and my hotel was there, but I arrive late in the evening, went straight to my hotel and first thing next morning I went straight back to the train station and climbed aboard a train to Brugge. Brugge hadn't even been on my horizon when I booked, 6 days prior, but having mentioned my weekend plans to all and sundry I was inundated with testimonials as to its charm and beauty, including "it's the Venice of Western Europe" (which perhaps elevates it a tad above its station) and general insistence that I must go if I had the time. So, I did. 50 minutes from Brussels I was outside the monolithic, post-war Brugge Station and wandering across the park toward the town centre. Thanks to a long spell of no-one noticing it was there, from about 1650 until about 1850, Brugge has managed to retain a remarkable collection of buildings, and a canal system, pretty much unchanged for 400 years. There are no tacky '60s or '70s office buildings to blight the views along the narrow cobbled streets or in the squares and plazas. The canals are fringed with overhanging trees and criss-crossed with ancient stone bridges.

I took the required tour of the town by canal boat (it's either that or a tour by horse and buggy) along the waterways that snake their way through the brick and timber houses and stores, followed it up with a very pleasant lunch at a cafe overlooking the water and then climbed the steps of the town hall bell tower. The view was splendid, and the carillon is expansive, but the thing that impressed me most was that the carillon is actually played by a organ type keyboard (and was being played while I was up there). No ropes to be pulled in Brugge! I am not really sure what else happens in Brugge other than tourism... the town did not seem to have any other visible means of support, but it probably doesn't need it.

Brussels, on the other hand, has a lot more happening, and it is still a charming town. The Grand Place, in the heart of the city, is something of an architectural gem and of course the Atomium (a Relic of a 1950s world exposition) is worth a visit for its kitsch value alone. Avenue Louise is lined with good shopping, unless you are wandering along its length on a Sunday as I was, when everything is closed.

I may or may not have had a slight hang-over, and the day is ever so slightly fuzzy. (I had spent the evening previous sampling a new, local beer that the brewer had deigned to give away in a number of pubs as a promotion. Free beer anywhere is a very dangerous thing.) I know I had a Belgian Waffle with cream and fresh strawberries at some point, wandered past Manneken Piss - small, isn't it? PJ joined me about midday nursing a similar ailment to my own, and we had lunch at an Irish Pub (you can't escape them anywhere). I marvelled at the Australian Ice-cream shop selling world famous Australian Ice-cream (please correct me if I am wrong, but I have never thought of Australia as being famous for its ice-cream...apparently only in Belgium), and trundled into the suburbs of Brussels to experience the delights of the aforementioned Atomium.

Basically a giant atom of iron constructed out of polished stainless steel and propped up in the middle of a park. It is a testament to the adage that bright shiny things appeal. It really has no useful purpose beyond giving the visitor (after handing over 8 Euro) a nice view of the park in which it stands and a distant glimpse of the city of Brussels. I thought it was pretty cool. And so, with a shiny little model of the Atomium in hand, I climbed aboard the Eurostar back to London, and sipping a very pleasant champagne, departed Belgium.

When in Rome... Part II

2009-05-27T13:12:00.001-07:00

How will the MGC look in 1,920 years? Probably not as good as the Coliseum. Admittedly the MGC seats about 20,000 more people, but it took 20th Century technology to do it.

I have had the pleasure of walking to the MCG on the last Saturday in September when the air is thick with excitement and anticipation. When the colours of the combatants are fluttering in the breeze… the murmur of the crowd slowly builds to a roar… to see my team win... to see my team lose. But the atmosphere in Melbourne is created by the people, the spectacle, the noise, the sport, the teams. We venerate the stadium, but it’s the game that creates the emotion.

The Coliseum should be nothing more than a stadium, there are no games here anymore. It’s an enormous assortment of stones and bricks, arches and columns, piled one atop the other to almost ridiculous height, and yet the minute you step from the Metro station and stare at it, in the twinkling brightness of a sunny Roman day, there is and atmosphere, a feeling of expectation. It is genuinely awe inspiring, it’s wonderful and like so much in Rome, so much bigger than you imagine. Its presence looms over you in a way the MGC or any other modern stadium could never do. It’s not a light weight structure. No soaring beams, canopied roofs or steel cables here, just straight up stone arch on stone arch. It doesn’t seem built on the ground; it looks more like the ground has weathered away around it leaving its crumbling form as a testament to wind and rain.

Entering is like walking into a cave, the stone is dirty black and the vaulted corridors are dark and littered with fallen stones and columns, pushed out of the way to let the tourists pass. It’s almost a pity that you have to face up to the realities the bag check and ticket booth, but thankfully we were through quickly and it took little away from the mood. In typical Italian style there is little in the way of directional signage and so you grope your way through the dim arcades until you find the right stairs to the upper level and the start of the audio guide tour. You climb a flight of stairs that would meet no current regulations and just as dimly lit, but when you reach the top there are views through the outer arches to the Forum and Palatine across the piazza. And then you turn and walk out, into the stadium. Alas there was not roar of the crowd upon my emergence from the arched tunnel… but the spectacle is grand. It must have been an incredible place to enter and find your seat all those years ago – and overwhelmingly frightening if you were unlucky enough to not have a seat, but be part of the events.

We spend an hour or so wandering slowly around the terraces, looking up at the crumbling upper tiers, down into the labyrinth of passages below what would have been the arena floor and all with the most verbose audio guide any of us had ever encountered lecturing away at our ears. We were cast back out into the piazza and ready for our next adventure into antiquity.

The Forum site is handily located right next to the Coliseum – all the old stuff within arms length. Somehow we missed the audio guides, which was somewhat annoying as sites in Rome are not flushed with information. In fact across the entire Forum and Palatine we encountered only about 4 sign boards and these were not particularly enlightening. We did manage to figure out where the Forum actually was and deciphered the negligible signage on a small hut, encompassing a small pile of stone covered in flowers, as the location of Caesar’s famous last moments at the hands of Brutus.

I was surprised though, a tourist attraction in the heart of Rome, visited by millions, and the area was sadly lacking in organisation, care and attention - especially when compared to somewhere as brilliantly presented as Pompei. It appears more a big park, with some picturesque ruin, perfect for a Sunday stroll, than one of the world’s most significant historic locations. The entire Mediterranean and half of Europe was conquered from here. It marks the beginning of the rise of western civilisation, and they don’t even cut the grass.

By this stage feet all round were rather sore so we decided on lunch. We trundled across the river to a neat little café in a back street and sat down to one of the most delightful lunches I have had in a long time. The food was sensational – pizzas all round, mine was blue cheese and speck - the white wine was cold and crisp and we sat under an awning in a tiny square enjoying the Italian, spring, sunshine and I can’t even remember its name.

Having been disappointed at the Pantheon being closed the day before, we headed back that way - hopeful of getting inside this time. Open it was, and in we charged, again headlong into a milling throng. The pantheon is a bit of a tardis building. It certainly doesn’t look small from the outside, but its interior looks much to grand and imposing to be contained by the brown stone and brick surrounding it. It also seems far to magnificent to be 2000 years old. The building of ancient Rome are supposed to be ruins like the Coliseum and the Forum, not fully functioning beautifully maintained structures like the Pantheon (well, the interior anyway – the outside is showing its age just a tad) especially when it has a hole in the middle of its roof to let the light in ...and let the light in it does. The Pantheon has no windows, just the huge oculus at the centre of it splendid dome and its great entry doors. The sunshine spills into the space through the roof, creating a bright white disk of light on the internal wall which slowly moves with the sun, sparkling on the mosaics, marble, gilt and polished brass. The mathematics of the building are quite remarkable. The top of the dome is as high as the distance between the walls, the dome is a perfect hemisphere, so it will perfectly contain a giant ball – if you wanted it too. Gotta love the Romans – they built their buildings to perfection, and without a computer, or even a calculator.

Two days in Rome is clearly not enough. I managed to get to the biggest and most famous of the sites but there is so much more to see. You could spend days just wandering the streets, exploring. Something for next Summer.

When in Rome... Part I

2009-05-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Midnight was not the best time to arrive at the Royal Santina Hotel, although, to be completely honest, I would not really recommend arriving there at all. To say it is a hotel with faded glory would mean indicating it had glory to begin with. It needs a major refurbishment, but I would have settled for a wipe over with a damp cloth. Claudia and I were greeted by surly-man-at-desk on arrival – his one and only pleasantry being to offer us a wake-up call the next morning which was never made and thus we overslept by an hour.

Our room was at least less dusty than the lobby and stairwells and had what could almost be described as a nice view over the Basilica di Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri (say that 3 times fast!) toward the dome of St Peters in the distance – well, if you leaned out of the window a bit…

First thing Saturday morning (although, an hour late thanks to a lack of a wake-up call) we put our lodgings behind us a made for the Vatican. Having been warned of horrendous queues and madding crowds we started with the Vatican Museums in an attempt to head off the worst of it. We must have chosen a quiet weekend. 5 minutes after arriving we were buying our tickets and on our way into the museum for two and a half hours of frescoed walls and ceilings, marble sculpture, mosaics and tapestries, oh, and stairs… lots of stairs!

The culmination of the museum tour is the Sistine Chapel. Once inside the walls and ceiling are instantly recognisable. To stand in the space and look upon those frescoes alone and unhurried must be fabulous. To be jostled and bumped by the hordes is not such a pleasant experience. Both Claudia and I found the experience a little less than comfortable and spent only about 10 minutes gazing about before retreating to quieter areas.

Second stop was Piazza St Pietro, the sweeping curve of colonnade bound pavement stretching out before St Peter’s Basilica. Being lunchtime and both of us ready for a sit-down we resisted the urge to enter the Basilica right way and walked across the Piazza to a café recommended by a German friend of Claudia’s. Having seen where Germans choose to eat while travelling, I was somewhat dubious. My fears were allayed as I sat down to a carafe of chilled white wine, excellent bruschetta and lasagne.

Stomachs sated off we sauntered to St Peter’s Basilica. Without a doubt the most overwhelming space I have ever set foot. I defy anyone to enter the doors of the Basilica and not be moved by what they find. Whether it is the scale of the architecture (the building can hold 60,000 people – more than Lang Park, for a quick comparison), the richness of the decoration or something deeper I am not sure - perhaps a combination of it all.

The statues are enormous, towering about us from niches in the columns and walls. Every wall, column and floor is covered in patterned marble. Huge images adorn the wall behind the altars of the chapels down each side of the Nave. You take them to be elegant paintings or frescoes until you move very close, only to find they are actually the finest and most detailed mosaics - the skill of the artist is beyond comprehension.

The canopy over the central altar appears to float above barley sugar columns. Made of bronze and designed by Bernini it marks the point, under the basilica, of the tomb of St Peter and stands like an island at the centre of the cross of the Basilica ground plan.

There is so much to take in as you slowly walked around the space, and it was almost a relief to step back out into bright Roman sunshine and leave the intensity of the Basilica behind.

From the steps of the Basilica the view takes your gaze down Via della Conciliazioni, a contribution by Mussolini, to the distant River Tiber, so we walked that way.

We strolled, in the shade as the day was a warm one, toward the river. The cylindrical lump of Castel Sant Angelo drew near and we found ourselves looking down into the River Tiber, sluggish and a rather deep, bottle green in colour. Ahead of us leaping across the river from the entry to the Castel Sant Angelo was the Pont Sant Angelo. A guide book had identified this bridge as the prettiest bridge in Rome – clearly the other bridges of Rome were not going to offer a visual feast. We wasted little time on the bridge which would not get a second glance in Paris and plunged into a labyrinth of charming little streets and lanes on our way to Piazza Navona. We only got lost about three times before we found our way into the Piazza; home to three fountains and the second obelisk of our weekend’s touring – the first being outside St Peters - and by no means the last. Piazza Navona is also home to a plethora of stalls selling clichéd oil paintings of Roman scenes – St Peters, the Coliseum, Cafes etc. and a rather good gelateria called Tre Fontana. We bought both paintings and icecream.

Next stop was the Pantheon. Unfortunately, closed by the time we arrived we decided to return the following day so I will deal with it later. Although, while walking away we did enjoy obelisk number three…

Five minutes later and we were standing, mouths slightly agape, staring at the Trevi Fountain. It is rather larger than had anticipated and it dominates its tiny square, and the space is not taken up by the fountain was crammed with people. We managed to squeeze our way to the top of the stairs and take a few photos before we retreated to periphery to take in the sight. The fountain is designed to look like the sculpture, and the entire building above it, is emerging from the living rock. The edges are blurred where uncarved rock looms up out of the surrounding balustrade and creeps up into the building façade. The figures of horses and men spring from the mass of stone at the heart of the fountain as water pours around them. Despite the vigorous life of the sculpture and the throng of people all around, the square seems to hold onto an air of coolness and peace and there is the ring of laughter and joy in the rushing, tumble of the water and of the voices of those looking on.

From milling throng to milling throng. The Piazza di Spagna was no less busy than anywhere we had been all day. But, despite the crowds we found a few square feet on the Spanish Steps to sit and enjoy the afternoon. The steps really are perfectly formed for sitting and lounging and watching the world. Worn smooth and shiny by millions of feet and back-sides the travertine is remarkably comfortable. To lie back and gaze down upon the Piazza is a delight. The sun was warm and eventually that warmth and the need to meet up with other friends forced us to relinquish our spot and head to the Metro and back to the hotel.

Southern England

2009-05-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

I had been wanting to go to Winchester for some time. The Cathedral gets a pretty good rap whenever it is mentioned and the town itself sits in a rather pretty park of Southern England.
Last Sunday dawned bright and sunny (despite a weather forecast predicting clouds and rain) so I took advantage of the day and scuttled off to Waterloo to get the 9:35 train to Winchester.
I have mentioned travelling by train before, but it really is a great way to see the UK. You peer into the back gardens of London’s populous (often looking a tad too Dickensian for the 21st Century) as you race out of the city at speeds that seem far to swift for what you know is inherently a 19th Century railway.

I am always surprised at how quickly a train will get you out of London and into the countryside. 15 minutes is all it really takes at 90 miles an hour. Look at a map of Greater London and you would think it should take at least an hour to work your way out of the dense habitation – which it would in a car I am sure.

So, the countryside was soon all around me and it is something to see in Southern England. Rolling green hills dotted with farms and small town, and fringed with woods, the odd country house standing serenely on a hill-side quietly commanding its surroundings.
In the middle of this picture is the city of Winchester. Former capital and home to some of the first Kings of England, the town seems to have had an existence of prosperity and solidity, at least as far as the 1800s anyway.

I had primarily come to visit the Cathedral, and on its own it would be well worth a visit. Many of England’s cathedrals were started in the 11th and 12th Centuries in the Norman style, but were often later rebuilt in Early English and Gothic form (often because the earlier buildings had a propensity to fall down). Winchester retains its Norman transepts – despite the original Norman tower… well… falling down). The difference between this architecture and the later Gothic is quite marked. The building also retains much sculpture, often missing from other sites thanks to one Henry VIII and his work to remove the Catholic Church and all its symbolism from the English world. I could wax on for quite a while about the place; the medieval floor tiles, the glorious windows, and rather avant-garde music choices of the practicing organist, but there are other gems to Winchester.

The view from St Giles’ Mount is well worth the climb up the steepish stairs. Looking west over the town the view is rather grand. It is also surprising to look at the 2 images at the lookout and compare what is there today to what was there in 1730. Very little seems to have changed.
Walking down from the hill, I wandered down to the river, through the ruins of Wolvesey Castle – the former home to the Bishops of Winchester, and into a quaint little Water Mill cared for by the National Trust. Unfortunately a sluice gate was broken and water wheel would not turn, so I could not watch the millstones grinding wheat.
Strolling up the High Street I made my way to the old West Gate at the top of the town. This is the only ancient city gate still standing and offers another great view over the town – back toward St Giles’ Mount.

My final stop for the day was the Great Hall. Formerly attached to a Castle – destroyed by Cromwell, and Royal palace of Charles II that burned down, it seems remarkable that this building has survived at all, let alone remained in such a fantastic state of preservation for 800 years. Nailed to the wall at one end is a rather gimmicky looking interpretation of King Arthur’s round table, complete with the names of his knights. Made in the 13th Century, it is about as good as gimmick things get I suppose… Although it’s not alone; close by is a rather grandiose, larger than life, bronze of Queen Victoria on the throne and at the other end of the hall are two great steel gates to commemorate the marriage of Charles and Diana – looking ever so slightly rusty these days and little used… which seemed appropriate.

And so, once more swamped by history I departed Winchester, as clouds gathered from the west, and headed back to London and sunshine.

Southern Italy Part III

2009-04-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

Finding the bus stop was my first challenge of the day. I had set my self an ambitious itinerary of climbing Vesuvius in the morning and wandering about in the glamour of Positano in the afternoon. After my limited mobility the previous day, I had to compress my travel plans a tad to fit it all in. So, here I was outside the ruins of Pompei trying to find the right stop for the bus to Vesuvius. It was early… even the tourist market selling dodgy copies of ancient artefacts (yes, I bought one) next door was still closed.

Finally I deduced that the one bus stop with absolutely no signage must be the one that I wanted, and shortly along trundled the bus I wanted.

50 minutes later after a rather dramatic mountain road I was standing in the carpark for a volcano. This was a novel prospect for me. I have never set foot on a volcano and was looking forward to dramatic vents pouring forth steam and gas and bubbling pool of lava. Alas it was not to be. Vesuvius is a very civilised and considerate volcano (well, the day I was there it was anyway). I hiked up the steep by well-graded path spiralling around the cone, the temperature plummeted and wind rose. There is not a tree, shrub or blade of grass growing on the mountain side once you get above the car park. The mountain’s sides are crumbing red gravel which can give the volcano a rather fetching glow in the afternoon sun.

I was ahead of the larger tour groups and upon reaching the crater rim looked down into a dramatic, but by no mean menacing looking, hole. The view into the crater – without steam, gases and lava – is out done by the sweeping panorama when you turn around. The view from the Sorrento Peninsular, with Capri at it tip, right up the Bay of Naples to the city of Naples is breathtaking. The Island of Ischia floats out in the bay and the ferries speed across the blue waters with long white foamy tails trailing behind. I could have gazed at it for hours… but it was rather cold! … and I had an appointment with the Amalfi Coast.

My hike down the mountain was swift and, thankfully, warming. Back on my bus it was back on the bus it was back to Pompei, back to St Agnello for a quick change into something more stylish than the daggy sweater I was wearing, and off to the Amalfi Coast and the rich and famous…

The road is incredible; clinging to the cliff-sides and sweeping around the coastline, it seems far too narrow for traffic to pass safely, let alone at 50 miles and hour. One thing that will not wear out on the buses of the Amalfi Coast are the brakes, they are never used! Although the first bus I was on did have a small malfunction with its gearbox, and a bus load of people were cast out onto the roadside in a small hillside village while we awaited the arrival of a replacement bus. It was a rather nice day to be stuck in the middle of nowhere… especially Italian nowhere.

Eventually the alternate transport arrived and I was on my way again towards Positano. Famed for its beautiful location and as a playground for the rich and famous Positano definitely lives up to the hype. Nestled into a steep hillside, the town seems to tumble down into the azure water below.

The streets of the town are lined with classy shops selling designer clothes, art, ceramics and anything made from lemon you can think of – the most famous product of course being Lemoncelo the local lemon liqueur which makes for a tasty but rather potent after dinner aperitif.

The anchor for the town, beside the beach, at the foot of the hill, is the church of St Maria Assunta. Its dome, covered in green and gold majolica tiles, is visible from high above on the road into the town and can be seen as you twist and turn through the narrow lanes and stairs as you descend through the town.

Passing right through the town, I wandered along the coast path toward the beach of Fornillo. My guidebook had recommended the terrace of Hotel Pupetto as a great place to eat and drink and take in the view. Arriving at 3pm, I was a little past lunch, but the staff very kindly offered to make me a tomato and mozzarella salad and serve me a beer while I looked at the rather splendid view. The beach was nothing to write home about – mostly pebbles and dark sand – but the view along the spectacularly rocky coast with the bluest of water foaming at cliff bases was incredible. I confess I probably spent more time lounging over my late lunch than I should have, to the detriment of my exploration of Positano. But in reality its not a big town and my walk up and down from the bus stop took me though a main part of it, and so I climbed the path back to the main road and joined the hordes waiting for the bus back to Sorrento.

Southern Italy Part II

2009-04-22T14:59:00.000-07:00

Since my run of good weather seemed to be continuing I braved the hordes of overly primped and credit carded American youngsters on ‘Spring Break’ and crammed onto a ferry heading for Capri.

The ferry is rather fast and delivers you into Marina Grande on Capri about 25 minutes after leaving Sorrento. Happy to escape the diesel fumes of the ferries and chattering college students I took the Funicular up to the town of Capri, high above the harbour. My plan of action for the day was to get to Villa Jovis and the Blue Grotto and have a wander around the towns of Capri and Anacapri in between.

Villa Jovis (the House of Jupiter) was the party place of Emperor Tiberius during his years of self imposed exile on the Island. Stories of debauchery surround the site as do rumours that he used to cast those who displeased him from the cliff tops into the blue waters far below. It certainly seems a good place for a party. I was happy just to celebrate the achievement of actually making the walk up the hill! The Villa sits on the very top of the north-eastern point of the island and commands a panoramic view. The ruins are quite well preserved, but unfortunately lacked some decent information. There was the odd signboard telling you where you were, but unfortunately very little about what you were looking at… the view was very nice though…

The walk up and back to the Villa from Capri is delightful. It takes you along walled lanes between, what must be ridiculously expensive, white washed villas, lined with flowering trees framing views to the sea. As you descend back into Capri shops start to appear along side the lane with things or sale that were far beyond the means of my wallet… until eventually you end up in the piazza surrounded by people, watching people, watching people watch themselves. As all those people were in spectacular abundance I boarded a bus and headed for Anacapri.

The bus trip was an experience in itself… if you happen to take a bus on Capri; a tip from me… when travelling along the cliff top roads, don’t look down!

I clambered out in the middle of a piazza in Anacapri with 2 goals; to find lunch and to get to the Blue Grotto. Lunch I found in a local trattoria. I have a rather good Caprese Pizza (when on Rome so to speak…) and a beer and then made my way to the bus stop. From here things went a tiny bit pear shaped - Italian transport being what it is. The bus arrived on time, however the driver then got out, locked the bus and disappeared for what I can only guess was a lunch break. My fellow commuters and I looked around bemused as the timetable clearly said the bus was due to leave there and then. 25 minutes later the driver ambled back, unlocked the bus, we climbed aboard and we were off (Again… don’t look down!). So I was now running a tad late - I was booked on the 4:30 boat back to Sorrento and only had an hour. Alas it left me with too little time to join the queue to enter the Grotto.

A quick change of strategy and a look at the boats going in and out of the Grotto, I was on the bus back to Anacapri. My idea was to walk from Anacapri down to Marina Grande via the Pheonician Steps (better down than up I figured). I was right, it was better to go down the stairs, and yet… it still hurt!

I have no idea what the height of the stairs is and don’t really want to think about it…. but by the time I hit bottom my knees were a wreck. (If you look carefully at the picture you can see them zig zagging up the mountainside and the road structure cuts around about half way up). It was a pleasure to collapse into a seat on the ferry (again immersed in the inane babble of college students - this time with sun burn, which amused me no end) and dose until I was dumped back on the wharf in Sorrento.

The following morning lady at the station was very kind… she told me the last train from Naples to Sorrento was at 12:38pm - a little earlier than I had anticipated, but as it was Easter Sunday and a festival day there was not a lot I could do. I had a full day planned… a morning walk up Vesuvius and then the afternoon at Herculaneum. Well, the volcano would have to wait. Thankfully I had started early so the morning would be enough time to see my next lot of ruins.

The modern town of Ercolano is not place to loiter. It’s a working class town (to be polite about it) and I walked swiftly between the train station and the entrance to the excavations. The morning air was punctuated with explosions and fireworks, all part of the remarkable Italian Easter celebrations, and they gave the town a distinctly unsettled feel. I don’t think this is somewhere I would venture at night.

The ruins are worthy of the challenge though. Herculaneum is located in a large hole in the ground with the modern (and modern is a relative thing in Italy of course) town of Ercolano sitting precipitously around the rim. It’s a long way down - some 16 metres from the current street level to the lowest of the ancient streets below. Only a small portion of the site has been excavated. The proximity of the current town and the cost of digging has kept this site much more discreet than Pompei.

Herculaneum is a different prospect to Pompei which was buried by ash and pumice. Herculaneum was buried by pyroclastic flow which preserved the upper levels of many of the buildings.

I had a couple of hours to cover the site, and looking at the map… it should be about right. So, off I set with map and audio-guide. The audio-guides for Pompei and Herculaneum were great. I would recommend them. Both sites had proper walking, talking guides available for hire, but I wanted to see everything, not just a highlights tour and, listening in on some of the guides, I definitely got the better deal.

Architecturally, Herculaneum is probably the more interesting site. A lot more of the original detail is still in tact. Timber doors, walls and floors are present in many buildings and help bring the town to life and, as it is also much smaller than Pompei, it is a bit easier to digest and understand.

I managed to make it back up the road through Ercolano to the train station and onto the last train back…

Southern Italy Part I

2009-04-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

A 6:50am flight from Heathrow means a very early start. London’s public transport network doesn’t really crank up until about 5am and the prospect of an hour on the Tube or a selection of Night Buses before dawn didn’t really appeal anyway. So I splashed out and took a cab.

Terminal 2 was a mess. Crowds of people were trying to check-in to Alitalia’s feeble 3 counters and I was stuck with them. On-line check-in was not working for my flights so I couldn’t bypass the queue despite only having carry on luggage. My crawl through T2 pretty much set the tone for my day’s travel. My flight was late leaving London and late arriving in Milan. My onward boarding pass to Naples could not be printed at Heathrow due to some computer glitch, so, I found myself in Milan airport, having to get to a check-in counter to get my boarding pass, face an unusually long queue of people waiting to get through security, and then high-tail it to what I am sure was the farthest departure gate in the airport, only to find my connection was delayed by 45 minutes – something which no monitor in the airport revealed except the one at the gate; and so my love affair with Italian transport began!

Thankfully my day (and whole trip) improved. Landing in Naples I exited the most archaic airport I have ever seen (it reminded me of watching my father arrive at Brisbane airport in the early 80s – planes parked on the tarmac, no aerobridges and a baggage reclaim hall straight out of 1975) into the bright sun of Southern Italy.

A 75 minute bus ride saw me standing on the side of the street in Sant. Agnello about a mile from Sorrento. A 5 minute walk later and I was at my hotel and, shortly after, opening the curtains in my room to reveal the looming bulk of Vesuvius across the Bay. It seems a bit of a cliché but it truly dominates the landscape wherever you are on, or around, the Bay of Naples.

I arrived having already decided what to see, but not when. The weather forecast had been average, with showers predicted for most of the weekend, so I was pleasantly surprised with the sunshine. I decided to take advantage and strike for Pompei the in the morning.

Pompei has its own train station on the Circumvesuviana Line to Sorrento - the line itself is another story, boring its way through the hills of the Sorrento peninsular - but I think a bit about Pompei…

Surprisingly, you enter the city from below. I always imagined a rather large hole in the ground full of crumbling ruins (which Herculaneum delivers quite nicely by the way) instead you find a city rising above you on a hilltop, which still holds a commanding position over the surrounding county-side. There is far too much to describe here. With only about 60% of the buildings shown on my guide map actually open to the public, it still took me a good 6 hours to work my way around the site …and those buildings open to the public are a miniscule percentage of the exposed city, some 60 or 70 buildings out of thousands (and that, of course, does not include the 50% of the city still under the ground patiently awaiting an archaeologist’s trowel).

The Villa of Mysteries is impressive. Located outside the old city it has been extensively restored and conserved. Its roof has been rebuilt and its famous frescos are still in place (in may parts of the city they were removed). It allows you to feel how a Roman Villa actually is to be in; the bright courtyards with their shady colonnades, the dark, cool inner rooms and the symmetry of an important Roman house. However I find it a little disturbing to walk over mosaic floors that are starting to crumble and break under the thousands of visiting feet every year, and very little apparent effort to halt the decay. It is an issue noticeable across the site. Contemporary graffiti is mixed with that of the ancient variety, carved into frescoed walls and soft stone. Clearly the task of protecting and conserving the site in enormous, but it still a pity to see.

The rest of the houses are inside the city walls and are packed in. The city is remarkably dense. The streets have no parks or gardens, the houses crowd right up to the roadway, which much have made for sweltering streets (and probably still does if you were to dare to visit in the heat of August!). It’s only once you get inside a house that you get greenery and some respite from the hard stone of the pavements.

The city has everything a self respecting Roman could want; an agreeable climate, close proximity to the Bay of Naples, a couple of theatres, a stadium, numerous temples, market places, baths and the odd brothel thrown in. Who could want anything more? Although maybe the imposing view of the nearby volcano was something they could have done without…

a 2 month summer

2009-02-10T10:06:00.000-08:00

Landing in Sydney on a clear morning with the sun glinting off the Opera House, the traffic crawling across the Harbour Bridge, the water of Botany bay glittering as the plane descends, is a hard to beat; as good a way to arrive in Australia as any I should imagine.

My flight from Hong Kong had been quicker than expected and I had even managed a little sleep. I had arranged a day and half to explore Hong Kong and had loved every minute of it. I hadn’t set foot in the city since I was about 14 was very keen to reacquaint myself post ‘handover’.

I checked into a small but very nice hotel in Causeway Bay and immediately set out to explore the city. I took the MTR to Nathan Road on Kowloon side. I remember as a child, being in awe of the size, the shininess and bustle of the shopping centres in Hong Kong. The bustle was still there but the awe had gone. Maybe it was because the same centres can be found is any give suburb in Australia. But then, I hadn’t really gone to Hong Kong to shop. The afternoon was wearing on and I had a few things on the agenda, so I set off to walk to down Nathan Road to the harbour. The traffic, the thousands of people, the neon signs all make Nathan Road an incredible place to wander – even if the experience is somewhat like human pinball on the crowded pavements. The closer you get to the harbour the more salubrious Nathan Road gets. The hotels get bigger, and have more stars; the shops get more fashionable and turn from electronics to clothes; trees start to make an appearance and eventually you are standing beside the Hotel Peninsular and staring at where you think the harbour should be. Instead you see only the pink edifice that is the performing arts complex, a particularly 80s design that grinds slightly with grand Peninsular across the street.

Working my way through a maze of pedestrian subways (beaten in complexity only by the phenomenal underground labyrinth at Elephant and Castle in London) I made my way to the Star Ferry terminal for a quick trip across to Central on Hong Kong Island. The Star Ferry is a great way to see the city from harbour, and for a pittance. In 10 minutes the ferry cuts across the harbour amongst junks, pleasure craft, barges and flotsam and jetsam to dock in Central.

Living in London I get used to large number of cranes on the horizon, but the number in and around Central is enormous. Beside the ferry terminal alone was a reclamation site that must have had 20 or 30 cranes.

Walking around the mass of construction, I hiked up through the city to the Peak Tram. The sun was starting to set and I was keen to get to the top while there was still a little light. The trip up in the Peak Tram is great. It feels like you are being dragged up a wall. I had to stand on the trip up due to the crowds and found myself braced against a rail to maintain my footing. The Peak is now home to a rather large development with markets, restaurants, shops and of course, right at the very top, a viewing platform. As the light was fading I made my way up countless escalators to the top and found the city sprawling far below in the evening twilight. It was a cool night, but clear, and a perfect opportunity for photography as the daylight faded and the lights of the city came on.

The cool temperature on the Peak and a need to eat, forced me from the view and an hour later, at the recommendation of my hotel, found me strolling along Hollywood Road looking alternately at the menus of the restaurants and in the windows of the now closed antique shops. I settled on nice looking restaurant called Wagyu and found myself unintentionally in an establishment run by Australians. Dinner consisted of and Aussie beef pizza washed down with Chinese beer quite a decent combination in Hong Kong. I had intended to find a decent bar somewhere for a few quite beers – it was only about 8:30pm, but tiredness and the prospect of a very long day the next day – including an 8 hour flight to Australia - changed my mind.

I had arranged a tour for the morning. I had already been to the Peak and was planning to spend the afternoon in Stanley (both on the itinerary of most Hong Kong Island tours), so I chose a tour to the New Territories. It visited the Buddhist, Bamboo Temple (not made of bamboo anymore) a Wishing Tree, an ancient walled town and the Hong Kong China ‘border’. The view across to China from the lookout was most impressive. The city of Shenzhen sprawls into the distance in a white blur. Nice to know where all those Nike shoes come from!

I decided to take public transport to Stanley to visit the famous markets and have a look at the Hong Kong ‘Riviera’. The road is narrow and windy and steep and slightly disconcerting in a clapped out bus, but the views are beautiful. The palatial houses around Repulse Bay cling to the hillsides amongst tropical greenery. I did not remember this part of Hong Kong from my last visit and was surprised by the white sandy beaches and clean, clear, blue water. Stanley village sits amongst this greenery at the end of a small peninsular bordered on the sides by sandy beaches. The market was a nice place to stroll and was thankfully rather quite the day I was there, but it was a lot smaller than I expected. I bought a couple of small gifts before retracing my tracks back to Causeway Bay. It was time to head to the airport so I collected my baggage from the hotel and took the airport train…

…and the following morning I was marvelling at the beauty of the place as I landed in Sydney.

The short flight to Brisbane followed where I was met by the parents. It had been almost 6 months since I had seen them last in Istanbul of all places.

So, I was back home. Brisbane was hot and sunny. Brisbane was humid. Brisbane was unchanged. Sure it has a couple of tunnels now; the bones of a couple of new bridges over the river are in place; there are a few new high-rise in the city; and it has more water, but the place hasn’t really changed in a year, thankfully.

The 3 weeks leading up to Christmas were a delightful blur of social activities.

The primary of course being with the family; my parents, my brothers, my great aunt.

Margaret and Richard asked me to lunch. They are avid readers of this dodgy account of my life, having travelled a lot in the UK and Europe, and I was keen to catch up with them face to face. We spend a lovely afternoon, chatting, and dining on most excellent food, and I thank them wholeheartedly for their hospitality.

I had lunch with my former work-mates. A beery lunch the University’s campus club eating the same (slightly dodgy) food I had eaten with them on any give day during the 4 year I worked with them. The place didn’t seem to have changed too much despite some upheavals. By and large the same happy faces were still there, eager to laugh and have a good time.

My former boss and his wife asked me to dinner.

I managed, through some minor miracle, to get all my old school friends in one place at one time and spent a weekend on the Gold Coast with them. The weather was a tad blustery, but we made it to the beach, to the surf club and to numerous restaurants in Broadbeach.

Friend Helen (she happens to adore that reference – sorry Helen) dropped by after Christmas. It was great to catch up and look through some photos of Paris and Switzerland.

The 3 weeks after Christmas were a bit of a bonus - I ended up staying a little longer due to a paperwork delay with my visa. Despite having no plans for this period it seemed to pass in a flash.

I managed a couple of days away in Pottsville. Bruce and Joan had invited me down if I had the time, so I took them up on the offer. Pottsville is a lovely little seaside town; much smaller than a lot of the surrounding towns. It’s basically one small street, a bowls club and a caravan park on the river (I don’t even recall seeing a pub!). But the beach is miles of unspoilt white sand and rolling surf. The countryside around Pottsville is some of the most beautiful you will ever see. I spent an afternoon driving around - through Ocean Shores, Mullumbimby, Bangalow and Byron Bay. I had lunch In Byron, and wandered up along the path around Cape Byron, although I didn’t make it right up to the lighthouse, having parked a little too far away. So I drove back to Pottsville and the next day to Brisbane.

…and 2 days later the time finally came for me to come back. A job and a flat awaited me in London as hopefully does a lot more travelling in 2009.

back for the second

2009-01-29T13:02:00.000-08:00

It was the first Australia Day in a long, long time that I did not have a drink! My flight landed at Heathrow at 5am - only 3 weeks late… not that I minded all that much. An extra 3 weeks in Brisbane had not been all that difficult to deal with; warm weather, sunny days and a lot of catching up with friends. London by comparison had been very cold while I was away -10 at one point. It was a barmy 4 degrees when I arrived, but the sun shone for my first 2 days back making for a rather pleasant welcome.

I spent my first, somewhat jetlagged, day wandering around the West End reacquainting myself with London. It was nice to be out and walking in the sun after a full day of flying. The pavements were almost free from people making for a pleasant stroll in a city were walking on any major street is normally a game of human pinball. One of the benefits of London in winter is the lack of tourists… to walk down Shaftsbury Avenue to Piccadilly Circus and not have to force your way through the hordes taking photos is a rare experience.

So, here we are at 2009… another year in London, another year to see a bit more of the world.

Swiss Air

2008-10-28T13:15:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, it has been far too long since I have written here…

The basic truth of the matter is that since summer ended I have not been travelling quite so much and by default haven’t had to much to write about.

Of course I did get myself to Geneva last week…

I had decided not to go away again following a quick weekend in Barcelona for the sole purpose of catching the last of the summer sun and a long weekend in Ireland.
However… the prospect of some 12 weeks in London before heading back to Australia for a month in December turned out to be too long, so I found some cheap air-fares and sorted a weekend in Switzerland. Geneva probably would not have been my first choice, maybe Zurich or Lucern, but the price was right and it offered the benefit of Lake Geneva and the nearby town of Lausanne.

A couple of weeks before I left, my workmate Claudia decided she too would like to see Geneva so I had a travel buddy!

We flew out of London City airport, which is definitely London’s most convenient airport, and just over an hour later landed in Geneva. A quick bus ride and we were at our accommodation.
It is a very pretty place… a bit of a cross between the lakes of New Zealand’s south Island and the North Shore of Sydney Harbour and we were lucky enough to strike two sunny days. The first dawned hazy, so we couldn’t fully appreciate the views during the train trip around the lake to Lausanne.

Lausanne apparently started life as a Roman garrison town about the same time as London… The town sits on a long steep slope that rises away from the Lake and, as any good garrison should be, the old town is located at the top of the slope. That however, leaves you with the challenges of hiking up the cobbled streets from the train station. Well worth the struggle though. We gathered a map from the tourist office at the station and followed the marked trail through ancient markets, past the Cathedral, the Bishop’s Chateau and up and down narrow winding streets and stairs. Lausanne is not a huge town and an hour’s walk saw us back where we started, at the train station, and starting the walk down toward the lake in search of lunch (and maybe someone who could speak English! or even German - that being Claudia’s native language).

The lake shore in Lausanne is dominated by the yacht harbour and we settled into a cafe overlooking it to eat food we had ordered via sign language. Claudia ended up with a sweet crepe and I with a burger and fries (which was generally, if not exactly, what we had wanted). Thankfully the food was very good… must be the French influence!

Walking along the lake shore after lunch is a breathtaking experience… the view, even on a misty day was sensation, the water is crystal clear and the chateaux dotting the hills around the lake are picturesque.

Lausanne is home to the International Olympic Committee and the Olympic museum, sitting in a garden full of sculpture dedicated to Olympic sports, overlooks the lake.
Not really having time to go through the entire museum, we perused the gift shop, chatted to the group of Australians we met in the court yard (you can’t escape them!) and then wandered through the sculpture garden.

Despite having planned only a morning in Lausanne, it was 3pm by the time we got back to Geneva. Knowing the town would be pretty much closed on a Sunday, we took advantage of our remaining Saturday afternoon and headed into the city. The main shopping street was a hive of activity, but as it was like main streets everywhere (except, perhaps, more expensive) we walked up into the old town. Its streets are narrow, cobbled and lined with art galleries selling paintings you would only expect to see in a nation’s art collection… old master paintings, priced beyond comprehension, peered out from shops staffed by very stiff looking people, seated at baroque desks, talking on mobile phones… the galleries were interspersed with antique shops selling astronomically priced furniture and objets d’art, and decorator shops selling upholstery, fabrics and wallpapers. Basically the old town of Geneva is a ‘Home Base’ for the ultra-rich… well, I guess they have to shop somewhere…

Passing all of these shops without opening the wallet we wandered into a square, found a table outside and enjoyed the passing parade as we drank out pricey coffees… day 1 in Geneva was just about over and we had not been bankrupted yet!

Sunday dawned better than Sunday… sunny and less hazy – by the end of the day the air had cleared enough to see Mont Blanc across the Lake.

We had planed to do a tour of the United Nations, however, a slight lack of prior research and an inability to actually find the entrance, meant we missed the 10am tour. The next was at 2pm and was 2 hours long, finishing too late for flights back to London. We commiserated with a magnificent brunch at Perle du Lac on the lakefront in Parc Mon Repos, a ferry trip across to Port Noir and then a walk in the sun along the lake front back into the city. All-in-all a rather nice way to spend a sunny day! So sunny that I actually felt a little burnt by the end of the day… clearly I have been away from Australia too long if I can get sunburnt by the sun in Europe in October!!! I will blame the altitude…

Claudia’s flight left an 2 hours before mine, so we parted company at the train station at 3pm and I wandered along Quai du Mont Blanc, enjoyed the views of the Lake and yachts, and watched as the mist gradually cleared from the distant Mont Blanc. By 8pm I was back in London, waiting for the Docklands Light Rail at London City Airport and wondering where my weekend had gone!

down by the Riverside

2008-10-28T13:13:00.000-07:00

Considering I was at Buckingham Palace a couple of months ago, it seemed logical to complete the local duo and visit Windsor Castle.

It is easy to get to via a slow train from Waterloo or a fast one from Victoria. Waterloo being closer to home I chose the slow train and 90 minutes later (to cover a 45 minute distance) I was disembarking at Windsor and Eton Riverside Station and started my stroll up the hill to the Castle.

The day wasn’t perfect… slightly overcast and coolish (the first hint of the approaching winter was in the air) but is wasn’t raining and the slightly drab scene suited the castle and kept the tourists away.

As with Buckingham Palace, the tour is via a very well presented audio guide and takes you through the various areas of the castle open to the public… the most spectacular are the state rooms, St George's Hall and semi-staterooms. The latter having been restored after the fire a few years ago.

An unexpected highlight (especially for a guy) is Queen Mary’s Dolls house. It is far from being a dolls house and is in effect a scale model of a 19th century mansion. The house is about 6 feet high and completely furnished, even containing miniature, original, paintings on the walls. It is fascinating, and requires a lot more the few minutes you have, looking at it!

The tour also takes in St George's Chapel with its most magnificent ceiling. Alas, like Buckingham Palace, the Queen was not at home when I visited. I am starting to feel she is avoiding me!

Mumbles

2008-09-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

Wales is a long way from Brisbane… a damn sight further than the Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast, and yet, it is a beach in Wales where I have first set foot on a surfboard (albeit for a only a few seconds at a time).

I first surfing attempt was at a small beach called Caswell Bay near to Mumbles (great name isn’t it!), a charming little beachside town about 5 miles from Swansea. The weather did not look promising. All week the Met Office forecast heavy rain and wind, and even as we drove from London on Friday night through heavy rain, weekend forecast was that same with the addition of flooding added for South Wales.

In true style for UK weather, Saturday dawned slightly cloudy, but dry and with only a light breeze. In fact the sun showed its face several times in the early afternoon. So, we headed for the beach.

As the trip had been arranged by one of my work-mates, we had a fair contingent present from the office; including 2 Directors, one of them being my boss. We all donned wetsuits as our instructor gave us a chat about the basics and then picked up our boards and fumbled our way out into the waves.

Again, the vagaries of British weather blessed us and we faced a 3-4 foot swell, very little wind, no sweep and a water temperature which was surprisingly bearable (although without a wetsuit it may have tested the endurance) which was just perfect as we were all of beginner standard.

Half an hour in and pretty much all of us had managed to get to our feet in some manner and after 2 hours we were looking quite… well… still like beginners really. We were having a ball, but starting to feel a tad weary. There is a surprising amount of effort needed. Not just in paddling out but in lifting yourself to your feet off the board. As I write this I am rather sore across the back of my arms.

And so, feeling satisfied, but tired, we retired to the pub for lunch and a pint or 2.

The following day dawned with even better weather than Saturday, unfortunately that meant there was no swell at all, so surfing was out, and while some of the group decided a swim would be in order (without wetsuits!) I decided on a more cosy way of passing the time and visited the local, cold, damp and crumbling castle. Oystermouth Castle sits on a hill overlooking the town. It’s not the world’s largest castle but for a huge entry fee of £1 you get to scamper over the ruins and take in the view of the town and bay.

The views are worth looking at. The Welsh coastline is striking. Small bays with sandy beaches and harsh rocky cliffs topped with emerald green fields forests. Next time, along with a spot more surfing, I think a bit of hiking is in order…

pussy cat, pussy cat

2008-09-07T12:57:00.000-07:00

I have been in London since last November and I have been expecting, long before now, an invite to the Palace. Alas, none has been forthcoming. So, I have had to take matters into my own hands and go and take a look for myself.

A recent visit by friend Sam seemed a good excuse to wander up to Buckingham Palace and have a look around. Saturday morning found us queuing in the most civilised manner (with the exception of some very pushy – and I mean literally pushy – Spanish women) at the Ambassadors entrance. You get to see 19 state rooms (well that’s what the brochure says – I actually lost count) and you are soon overwhelmed by chandeliers, gilt mirrors and marble.

The high point is the state ballroom, currently laid out for a state dinner. Despite the milling throng and the waxworks footmen, the room is spectacular. The enormous number of plates and glasses is incredible and that’s before you get to staff, food and wine.

The tour finishes off in the garden and allows you to take your time and enjoy the lakes, lawns, trees and the ‘Royal Swamp’ as Sam identified what I am sure is considered a ‘pond’ by the gardeners. (But I have to admit it did have a swamp-like appearance)
And of course, like any great tourist attraction you can’t exit without passing through, in this case, the ‘Royal’ Gift Shop. We were both suckered into various purchases, but as gift shops go this one did have a certain air of quality… maybe it was all the plastic crowns and tiaras!

You know you are in Ireland when...

2008-09-04T12:02:00.000-07:00

...people are drinking pints of beer at the airport when you arrive at 9:40am!

I spent my first day doing the booze tours... I bought a 'Dublin Pass' at the airport which got me my travel into the city and free access to most of the tourist attractions... pretty much got my value out of it on the first day, so I would recommend it to anyone visiting the city and wanting to go to a lot of tourist attractions.
I started at the Jameson's Distillery. A fantastic tour though the original distillery in central Dublin, finished off with a very pleasant whiskey - even at 11:30 in the morning (it was Ireland after all)

The distillery was followed that up with a tour of the Guinness Brewery. It was even better than the Distillery. I had lunch there... a very nice beef and Guinness stew washed down with a pint of the black stuff... did the tour and finished that off with another pint up in the bar on the roof with a great view of the city!Following all this drinking I thought it better to do something more sober, so I headed off to Christ Church Cathedral. While it was a very nice cathedral dating from Norman times I am fast reaching my quota of churches for the year! They are all starting to look the same!

The following morning I avoided religious sites, starting at Dublin Castle touring the state rooms, then taking the 3 mile walk to the old Gaol (also identified in the guide book as ‘Jail’ to help the American tourists) and finally back for a wander around the city itself.

Day 3, an early start and a train trip and I found myself in Limerick. It looked good on paper. In reality it’s a slightly sad place. There is no shortage of For Sale and For Rent signs. It does not have the beauty of the attractions of Dublin and felt depressed under the grey skies of the afternoon I was there. The afternoon was enough to see King John’s Castle, the Cathedral and a couple of small museums, and I was relieved to be on a train to Cork for the night.
Surely no trip to cork would be complete without a trip to Blarney Castle. It’s only a 15 minute bus ride from the city …and of course I kissed the famous stone (so if you have noticed any particular eloquence in my writing this posting you know why). Even without the stone the castle and grounds are worth visiting. Blarney is how a European castle should look; grey, foreboding, damp and slightly decayed, its age evident in every stone.

Right... well... clearly this is where the eloquence runs out...

an evening stroll in the East End

2008-09-02T08:39:00.000-07:00

‘twas a dark and stormy night! …actually it wasn’t. The sun was setting over a clear skied London, throwing a golden light on the Tower and Sam and I were standing at the entrance to Tower Hill Underground station awaiting the start of the Jack the Ripper walking tour.

It was one of those things I had been meaning to do since I arrived, but it took the presence of a visitor to get it happening. The tour is conducted by London Walks (http://www.walks.com) who do a huge number of these type of things all over the city. I have done 3 now and they have all been great… but enough of the advertisement.
The tour was led by Angela, an Irish woman of substantial vocal capability. As she led us through the now gentrified streets of the East End she did her best to bring to life the dark, foggy world of the Ripper amongst the 1960’s office blocks and the roar of peak hour traffic. It wasn’t until we skulked down a side alley away from busy Aldgate to Mitre Square and the actual spot of one of the murders did she finally capture everyone. From here we stuck to back alleys which grew slightly creepy in the growing dark of evening despite the city bustling all around. Even in 2008 some of these lanes and alleys are isolated dark. Our guides graphic description of the 5th and final murder in a tiny alley off Artillery Lane provides the climax for the walk before we move to the final location, Christ Church Spitalfields (an edifice by Architect Nicholas Hawksmoor dating from the early 18th century) on one of the few street corners of the East End virtually unchanged since the Ripper’s time. The tour ends with a bit of supposition into who he might have been and the background of a few of the many suspects. Still know one know and it seems the lack of physical evidence still in existence will likely keep it that way. That of course does not stop the guesses… apparently he could even be buried in Brisbane, according to a recent article in the Courier Mail.

from birth to death of the Bard

2008-08-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

I think I am getting worse at keeping up to day on this site!
The weekend before last I had 2 great days in Stratford upon Avon - the town where too much Shakespeare is not nearly enough.
Early Saturday morning I caught my first ever train from Marylebone Station and thus completed my list of excursions from the Monopoly board. Of all of London’s Station Marylebone is definitely the most charming. It is small and quaint and only caters for a handful of trains from its 5 or 6 platforms. It’s a far cry from the bussle of Kings Cross or Waterloo with its colourful potted flowers and staff who are almost friendly.
About and hour and half out of Marylebone and I was arriving at Stratford (well, Warwick Parkway to be precise) to be met by my hosts for the weekend.
Richard and Jill very kindly put me up for the weekend and showed me their town. After a quick cup of coffee in their delightful back garden we were off! First stop was Anne Hathaway’s Cottage a beautiful thatched house about 15 minutes walk from town and the childhood home of William Shakespeare’s wife. We strolled back to town to visit Hall’s Croft, the Holy Trinity church to see the grave of Shakespeare, wandered along the river and, after lunch, attempted to see Shakespeare’s birthplace. Repelled by the hoards queuing to get in we decide to visit first thing in the morning and headed off to Nash’s House and the site of Shakespeare’s house ‘New Place’ next door which now forms part of the gardens of Nash’s House (the home of Shakespeare’s granddaughter and her husband).
Across the road is the charming Guild Chapel (complete with some excellent contemporary tapestries created by Stratford locals – including a kneeler cushion by Jill).
Touring for the day done and feet weary we headed home for a quiet beer and some dinner before heading back to Hall’s Croft for a performance of ‘The Winter’s Tale’ by a group of local players. Staged in the courtyard at the back of the house, on a remarkably clear and barmy evening, the play was a great way to experience the work of Shakespeare amongst buildings he would have known.
Sunday morning dawned as sunny and warm as Saturday and saw us, bright and early, at Shakespeare’s birthplace to avoid the tour groups. The house was quiet as we wandered through but as we left, the tourist hordes again were massing for another busy day of tours.
The final place on the list to visit was Mary Arden’s House and Farm. The home of Shakespeare’s mother, the farm is about 10minutes drive from town and, I am told, a very pleasant walk along the canal on a nice day. Time was against me as I had a train to catch in the afternoon so it was the car for us. The farm is a working demonstration of Elizabethan farm live. Period livestock and crops are grown for use on the farm and in the farm kitchen pork was being roasted for lunch.
The farm also has a working falconry and a number of falcons and owls are kept, one being fed its breakfast of rat while we were there.
After a very pleasant lunch back in town and a walk through Harvard House (which was somewhat overwhelmed by display cabinets full of pewter) it was time to get my train.
Thanks again to Richard and Jill for their wonderful hospitality. It is always lovely to be welcomed into a home… especially when they take you on spec!

the London 8C Show

2008-07-31T14:34:00.000-07:00

My photos definitely don't do it justice... even the colour is wrong. In the metal it is a deep, vibrant and slightly vicious red. Competizione Red to be precise and my pics make it look orange!

Forget every other motor car on display at the London Motor Show... they fade into insignificance... Bentleys, Jaguars, Ferraris even the Bugatti Veron matter not.

The Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione steals the show. Its not even displayed very prominently... tucked away at the back of the stand behind the Brera and 159 next to the also-new MiTo mini Alfa which does not have quite the same impact, but of course is not quite the same price either.

Well, my words are hardly going to do it any more justice than my photos so here they are.

Of course if anyone is wondering what to get me for Christmas...

The Championships

2008-07-03T02:09:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday dawned sunny with scattered cloud. Good enough for me to venture to Wimbledon. The first leg of the journey was a 30minute train ride from Waterloo to Southfields Station via Wimbledon main station and then a 10minute walk up the road to join ‘The Queue’.

You see, I did not have a ticket, so, I had to do what 10,000 other people did that morning and sit in a field for 3 hours in order to buy one of the day tickets on offer. At about 12:30 I bought my Ground Pass ticket (the tickets to the show courts being sold hours earlier to those hardy enough to camp out overnight) and entered the grounds. £20 is not a great deal to pay for the entertainment on offer. A Ground Pass gives you access to all courts except Centre and Court 1 (although you do have to stand if you want to see Court 2) and is valid all day. It lets you wander around the 17 outside courts and watch whatever match happens to be on.

Next year I must remember to get myself in the lottery for tickets and save on the queuing bit, but I guess first time round it just adds to the experience.

My first half hour in the grounds was spent wandering about before I settled in front of a court with a match about to start. The match was a men’s doubles match between Americans, Bobby Reynold and Rajeev Ram and Daniel Nestor (Canada) and Nenad Zimonjic (Serbia). I was only going to watch the first set and move on, but 4 sets and some strawberries and cream later, I got up having seen the American pair beaten despite a valiant 3rd set fight back. Having lingered at the doubles I only saw the last set of Arnaud Clement’s match against Austrian Jurgen Melzer on court 18. The match was pretty much over by then with Clement winning in 4 sets after dropping the first.

There is a distinct elegance at Wimbledon. The umpires and lines-people are attired in blue blazers and cream trousers, the roses are in bloom and the crowds wanders sedately eating strawberries and cream or sipping Pimms. No one is in a hurry, there is no running (except on the courts) no loud voices, no screaming children. Even the drunken Australians are unusually reserved and quiet in their inebriation. As you walk between the courts all you hear the hollow thud of racquet on ball, the grunts of the Eastern European, women players and the polite applause (and occasional cheer) from the spectators. It's all very proper, just as it should be.

5 days in the sun

2008-07-03T01:51:00.001-07:00

It seems quite a while ago now, but this time last week I was still in Turkey. I had arrived on a Saturday in the late afternoon, but early enough to check into my hotel and take an hour’s walk around the city. Istanbul is a city that envelops you immediately. Its myriad of tiny streets are easy to get lost in (as I found out a few days later trying to find my parent’s hotel) but in Sultanahmet they are lined with shops and cafes as they sweep around Haghia Sophia and the Blue Mosque.

I wandered back to my hotel and, with an early start the next day had dinner in the hotel, and went to bed.

6:30am found me sitting in the stuffy hotel lobby waiting for a tour bus to pick me up, and by 6:45 I was on my way through the suburbs of Istanbul to Gallipoli - the required Turkish pilgrimage for Australians and new Zealanders. Gallipoli is a 5 hour drive over some rather average roads. Thankfully the 12 seater tour bus was air-conditioned and quite comfortable. After a brief stop for breakfast and a half hour for lunch we rolled into the Gallipoli Battlefields National Park.

I was slightly unprepared for the beauty of the Gallipoli Peninsular. It is harsh and rugged country covered mostly in pine forests but those hills offer spectacular views of the Aegean Sea and the Dardanelles and the water itself, particularly at Anzac Cove, is crystal clear.

My tour took me to all the poignant places, Anzac Cove, Lone Pine, The Nek, Chanuck Blair and a handful of cemeteries as well as the Turkish Cemetery.

As my tour was two days, I had an overnight in Canakkale, a town on the Asia side of the Dardanelles. I hadn’t been told the name of my hotel, and based on my Istanbul accommodation, was expecting a facility of modest quality. I was pleasantly surprised when the tour guide dropped me off at a rather pleasant beach resort about 20min out of town. My room had a nice view to the Gallipoli Peninsular I had just visited across a white sandy beach dotted with umbrellas. Arriving about 5pm I had plenty of time for a swim and some time in the sun (a real luxury living in London).

The next morning saw me again in a stuffy lobby waiting for the tour bus. This time I was off to Troy. People had told me there wasn’t much to see of the city, and to some degree they were right. There are no standing buildings and the excavations are quite complicated as there are actually 9 cities built on one top of the other (The city made famous by the Iliad and Helen of Troy is the 6th apparently) most destroyed by earthquakes, but you do start to get a feel for the city and if someone bothered to mow the grass a little more often it would make for a great attraction. If nothing else it’s quite nice to walk where legends were made and to stand in what’s left of a temple built by Alexander the Great.

And so, I started my long bus ride back to Istanbul to catch up with my parents who were arriving the same day.

Arriving back in town about 5pm was not the greatest idea as the traffic was atrocious and I finally got to my hotel about 7. A quick shower and I was off to meet the parents at their hotel, a tram ride and lots of wandering about small streets later, I made it.

We saw a few sights together over the next 2 days. We started with Haghia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, shopped and haggled at the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar (although haggling was much less productive here) and spent half a day at the Topkapi Palace. Saying good-bye to my parents, they were off to do a cruise on the Bospherus and I had to catch a flight back to London, I had just enough time to descend into the Basilica Cistern, an amazing Roman water reservoir under the plaza between Haghia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. The space is incredible and is home to some very large fish. It was apparently undiscovered until the 1960s - I would recommend a visit to anyone! Well the whole city is worth a visit…

Pavilion

2008-06-15T03:04:00.000-07:00

I can’t say I was expecting dragons and snakes and palm trees and gilt sea shells… from the outside the Royal Pavilion is a highly ornate, but monochrome building in the pale beige of English limestone. Its towers and domes and minarets have the look of faded glory. A building once grand, but now stripped of its colour and life. It sits within small grounds close to the surrounding streets of Brighton looking intriguing, but somewhat less than a Royal palace.

You enter through a small portico into a low ceilinged room painted in pale peppermint green. It is the first splash of colour but is still far from giving you any expectation of what lies further within the pavilion. From the entry into the long gallery. Decorated in late 18th century chinoiserie style, gallery sweeps off to the left and right, again with a low ceiling and with a clutter of furniture. At each end of the gallery is the sweep of a staircase to the upper level… the stairs are pierced to allow light to shine through giving them a light, translucent, floating feel at the end of the dark hall. Turning right along the gallery and under the staircase at the end empties you with a gasp into the dining room. The room is a double height space and is design to impress. The central chandelier cascading from the ceiling and is suspended from the claws of a dragon, flying amongst the fronds of a palm tree that sweeps out across the ceiling.

The central light matched with four smaller versions in the corners of the room. The dining table is smaller than you expect. It’s only for 30 people with the Prince Regents extra wide chair centred along the side of the table. He clearly liked to be in the middle of the action.

The Royal Pavilion was the sea-side retreat for George IV while he was Prince Regent, during his father’s madness, and later while King himself.

After dinner guests would be moved from the dining room the next door drawing room and as the evening progressed they would move through a series of rooms to the Music Room at the opposite end of the Pavilion from the Dining Room. Again its hard to suppress a gasp when you enter the room. Dragons are joined by snakes on the walls and suspending the chandeliers. This time the lights look like upturned umbrellas and take the form of giant Lotus flowers. The ceiling above is a mosaic of gilt shells on the underside of the dome which glitter and shimmer in light.

I had no idea the Pavilion was as ornate and opulent as it is. From the outside, despite the fussiness of its facades, the building looks reasonably unassuming. It’s nice to be surprised.

Brighton is a fun place… the pier is a wonderfully tacky mix of new and old amusements, fish and chip and ice-cream, and there are restaurants, bars and pubs aplenty. The beach, with it’s pebbles, might not be the Gold Coast but its still a nice place to sit in the sun and look at the sea and the pier. There are even deck chairs for those who don’t want to get too close to the pebbles. I didn’t go near the water. I didn’t even take swimmers with me. But the 6 people who braved what I am sure was icy Atlantic water seemed to be enjoying themselves.

still in London

2008-06-06T12:29:00.000-07:00

It's been rather a while now since I wrote about life in London...
It's my current place of residence but, to be honest, it doesn't feel like home... I still think of Brisbane as home, which is probably a good thing. My life here was only ever intended to be temporary...
That said I have decided to stay on for 2009. The company I work for seems to like me and wants me to stay and, despite what feels like constant travel, I have seen only a small part of what I came here to see.
I am pretty much used to day to day life here now... the crowds, the grey skies, every so often, a sunny afternoon sipping Pimms on the Southbank watching the sun set over the West End.
Summer makes for a very pleasant London actually. Daylight saving adds a lot of time to the day and the warm weather makes walking to and from work on fine days a pleasure. I guess it's why people stay here - summer in London makes you forget all about February in London, when the temperatures get below freezing and the sun sets at 4:30pm. I am glad I had the winter first though. It has allowed me to appreciate the warmth and sunshine all the more.
I have been here 7 months now. On my way to work every day I pass the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, and walk across Trafalgar Square. My office is in the heart of Covent Garden 100 yards from Covent Garden Market. On my way home I walk across the Thames and even now still admire the view down toward the City and St Paul's Cathedral ...and most importantly it still all makes me smile! I guess when I stop smiling I will know it's time to go home.

Before Paris

2008-06-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

Before Paris there was 6 days in London…

The weather wasn’t the greatest but we managed to see just about everything we planned to.

The week started with the arrival of the parents on Friday afternoon. Despite landing late, they cruised through Heathrow (apparently new Terminal 5 has taken some of the pressure of the rest of the airport) and were at Paddington via the Heathrow Express by 4pm.

A slow trip by the Circle Line and were in the City and heaving the parent’s luggage to the hotel. A quick change of clothes, and a freshen up saw us in a cab on the way to Chelsea. As luck would have it the weekend the parents arrived was the weekend of the Chelsea Flower Show. Luck was really on our side as the cloud that had been hovering above London all week cleared away for a sunny evening.

The Chelsea Flower Show is quite a spectacle. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but in the end was impressed by the show gardens, including an Australian garden designed by none other than our own Jamie Durie complete with requisite water feature. It was actually the largest of the show gardens and rather well done, particularly when viewed from across the 'billabong' water feature while enjoying a glass of Pimms.

Under the huge marquee was the flowers bit. Stands of cut flowers and arranged flowing plant filled the marquee with colour and perfume. Pretty much everything was there from orchids, to roses to carnivorous plants.

As the parents started to show signs of tiredness (they had been flying all day and then hurled around London by me all evening) we headed back to Sloane Square station and the hotel.

And so began 6 days seeing the sights of London. We did most of the major tourist spots; the Tower, Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s and took a ferry down the river from Embankment to Greenwich. The week just seemed to fly by. In between the London sight-seeing we managed to get to Hampton Court for a morning and spend a day in Bath. All in al the weather was tolerable with the exception of Monday. The day dawned windy and cool with heavy rain. It was the worst day weather-wise since I have been in London. We managed to find shelter from the wind and wet Westminster Abbey but postponed our plans to go to Greenwich in the afternoon. On a spur of the moment decision (after buying theatre tickets to the new show Marguerite) we split - Mum and Ed and Sandra headed for Harrods and Dad and I went to the British Museum, meeting back up in time to head to the Theatre Royal Haymarket for the show. None of us had a clue what it would be like. I hadn’t read any reviews and the foursome from Australia hadn’t even heard of it. I think everyone enjoyed it in the end... the show is a rather heavy story of love in Paris during the second world war, written by the creators of Les Miserables. The music is quite engaging and the leading man shows his talent by singing and playing piano on stage but some of the scenes between the musical number drag a little. That said… I can assure you it will not still be playing after 22 years continuous run like Les Mis! It might make 6 months… might…

6 Days in London was not enough and the weather made the time we had even shorter… and since I have decided to stay another year here… a good excuse for the parents to come back!

Paris

2008-06-02T13:07:00.000-07:00

So, two and half days in Paris…

Clearly not enough… but it is a start.

I arrived on Thursday afternoon with parents and friends in tow, and on advice from family friend Helen (which turned out to be excellent, thanks!), headed straight out to Versailles. The Chateau is enormous and the rooms your get to see are spectacular (if I need of a good dusting!). We did not have the time or the weather to spend wandering the gardens which would have been very nice on a sunny day.

The dawning of day two in Paris saw the parents and I part company for the morning. They had a guided tour of the city organised as part of their grand tour of Europe and not particularly wanting to be the youngest on a bus by about 30 years I decided to go it alone and walk.

I started from the hotel, located handily close to the Eiffel Tower and walked toward Notre Dame. An hour later, having wandered along the banks of the Seine past the Tuileries Gardens and enormity of the Louvre I arrived. The pale cream, freshly washed exterior of Notre Dame belies the cool dark of the interior. Even filled with the chatter of tourists the vast space somehow remains peaceful and reflective. It is a place best observed while sitting quietly. I managed to find a seat where I could see both the naïve and the transepts and not be stood on by the other sightseers. The great rose windows, the height of the vaults and the detail of the stone work need time to be taken in due to the dimness of the light.

It seems my walking tour and my parents guided tour collided at Notre Dame as we ran into each other in the plaza outside… some quick hellos and I was on my way again back toward the hotel and this time to the Musee D’Orsey. If ever I underestimated the time needed to see something it is this place. I had an hour. I needed a day – at least! Still, it was €8 very well spent even for just an hour. This art museum is limited in what it displays – only works produces between 1848 and 1914 – but they are works produced by Monet, Degas and Van Gogh to name but some of the most famous …and not just one or two… but rooms full of works by each artist …and so, my list of places to revisit grows!

Following the rushed tour of the Musee D’Orsay it was a swift hike back to the hotel to meet up with the parents. After a quick lunch we decided to visit Napoleon’s tomb at the Eglise du Dome and the War Museum attached. Napoleon, it seems, is dusted more regularly than Versailles!

…and so to the Eiffel Tower. We joined the queue at 5pm and by 6 we were standing upon the second level looking out at the city. The afternoon was sunny and clear and the view was excellent. Not much else I can say really!

The third day in Paris dawned cool and slightly overcast and it stayed that way all day. We had set aside this day to do a walking tour recommended by Helen. We took the Metro to St Michel. After a slight sidetrack for the women to buy scarves and my father and I to buy the required small model of the Eiffel Tour at one of the numerous souvenir shops next to Notre Dame we started the walk. We strolled through the Place de Vosges with the house of Victor Hugo and surrounded by art galleries; Wandered down the Rue des Francs Bourgeois with its line of classy shops and the Gardens of the Musee Carnavalet and eventually to the Place St Gervais for Lunch a little cafe. Places I am sure we would not have found without the great instructions from Helen..

I have to admit that we did truncate the walking tour and after lunch headed to Palais Garnier (the Paris Opera). We were all keen to see it and decided to squeeze it in before I had to leave to get my train for London.

If Napoleon had been dusted the Opera is polished! It is, without a doubt, the most opulent place I have ever been. No palace I have been in is a magnificent as the grand staircase and foyers of the Palais Garnier. The auditorium is just as magnificent. The balconies contain only private boxes. The only open seats are in the stalls – a clear mark that to sit on the lowest level is, well, the lowest level!

It is also nice to know that the building is referred to as Palais Garnier, and Garnier was the architect. A fitting tribute to the amazing space he created.

So from the Palais Garnier to Gare de Nord, and to a place that needs more than a dust! Gare de Nord as the Eurostar terminal in Paris and I found it grimy and dirty, with cracked and broken floors. It made it a tad easier to climb about the comfort of the Eurostar and head back to London.

You know you are in London when...

2008-05-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

…there is a brass band playing in the park on Sunday!

Although, to be honest, the other major activity in the park was most un-English. It was a rather spirited game of Australian Rules Football being played between the Wandsworth Demons and the Putney Magpies.

I arrived just after the bounce and spent a great couple of hours watching the game. The play wasn’t exactly professional standard, but there was some definite talent amongst the players and the game flowed freely. The Magpies eventually took the day, to the disappointment of the home team Demons, although most of the crowd didn't seem to notice.

The carnival atmosphere of the day was pretty well summed up by one of the goal umpires who much preferred to signal the scoring of a Behind as it meant he didn’t have to put down his beer…

Oh, and as for the brass band… I managed to find that at half time while looking for a beer myself… in the end I settled for an ice-cream and 5 minutes listening to a medley of hits from Grease before returning to the game.

Deutschland

2008-05-12T11:57:00.001-07:00

Well, the weather was perfect, the trains were late and beer was rather good. Two out of three ain’t bad!

…and I am told that being on a train that runs late in Germany is a rare thing… and I was on two of them!

Friday night last week saw me flying out of British Airway’s new Terminal 5 at Heathrow. The baggage problems and massive delays are a thing of the past. Now that it is working properly the terminal is a breeze. No queues, open space and helpful people (is it really in Britain???). Even my return trip via Terminal 5B – the satellite terminal across the tarmac - was easy, even using the ‘Transport’ – a driverless train - back to the main terminal. It’s all very ‘Blade Runner’, right down to the polite and slightly metallic, female voice used for announcements.

Germany on the other hand was not nearly as ‘Blade Runner’ as I expected. Hamburg is a very pretty and vibrant city. It is growing at an enormously fast rate. The new harbour city area is a forest of cranes with residential and office buildings rising from the old docks. Across the river the port of Hamburg has a matching forest of cranes disappearing into the distance, lifting containers off huge ships.

My host for the weekend, Sabine, showed me around the city. We walked for most of the morning along the riverfront, took a ferry up the river and back and then spent the afternoon walking around the old city. There is plenty in Hamburg to fill in a weeks worth of exploring and I think we managed to see most of it in a day!

The following day was an early start with an 8:30 am train to Berlin. An hour and a half later (and 2 minutes late) we arrived and I was again walking. Past the new Chancellery, the Reichstag, the Brandenburg gate, the new Jewish Memorial, one of the remnants of the wall at Potsdam Place, the Museum Island.

The highlight of my day though, was the Reichstag. We joined the queue at 7pm and an hour later we were climbing the ramp of the dome to enjoy sunset over Berlin. The dome, designed by British Architect Sir Norman Foster, provides a panorama of the city as you stroll up one ramp to the very top of the dome, open to the sky, and then down the other. The dome sits high above the Plenary Chamber of the German Parliament visible through the glass floor below.

So, the day in Berlin was a big one… especially with a train back to Hamburg at 11pm… and even at that time we are rushed making the train.

My final day in Germany was a tad less hectic. Sabine took me to a small town about 30 minutes from Hamburg. Luneburg is a medieval salt mining town and has remained relatively unchanged since its economic peak in the 16th and 17th centuries. The main square is lined with gabled merchants houses with fancy brickwork that don’t look like they have changed, ever.

But the town is a living town and a prosperous one. The ancient streets are lined with fancy shops and restaurants and cafes. The locals seem to be wealthy professionals from Hamburg who have moved out of the city to a picturesque town and have plenty to spend (especially on the restoration and upkeep of their ancient homes).

Luneburg was followed by a commute to the airport and a flight back to my real life here in London. Thankfully the trip home was quick and at least Terminal 5 works now!

2 days up North

2008-04-22T11:31:00.000-07:00

The breeze was a bit of a shock… the days in London have gradually been warming up over the last month (despite the odd slip back into iciness noted in my last posting), but Edinburgh is a different story. The temperatures looked ok on paper, but the reality was a stiff breeze blowing constantly up between the hills from the Forth.

Bracing I think you would call it and just cold enough to seep through jackets and shoes if you stopped walking for any period of time.

Thankfully I barely stopped walking for the 2 days I was there. The first day we (I say we as I was travelling with my work mate Claudia) started our tour of the city with a 3 hour guided walk. The guide, strangely enough, was from Oklahoma, but he was very entertaining and knowledgeable about the town and its history despite having only lived there for a month! He did mention that he was a history student so I suppose that helps.

In 3 hours he walked us through streets, lanes, closes, back alleys, cemeteries and parts of the Royal Mile. There was a stop for lunch half way through and Claudia and I chose a pub first owned by a woman who was hanged for illegal pregnancy – she wasn’t married to the father - only to regain consciousness on the way the cemetery. She apparently lived a long and healthy life afterwards owning a pub overlooking the place she was hanged.

Walk completed and promises made to our guide to tackle the ghost tour he was guiding later that evening, we wandered up the hill to the Castle. Clearly a highlight of any trip to Edinburgh it is a wonderful place to explore, even if the exhibit showing the crown jewels of Scotland looks like it was made for 10 year olds. We were treated to a wedding being celebrated in the tiny St Margaret's Chapel on the very top of the hill - so tiny that most of the guests had to wait outside. The wedding party was accompanied by a most excellent piper. Even I, a person who generally thinks bag pipes sound like a bunch of strangled cats, enjoyed the performance.

So, after an examination of Mons Meg (a rather large gun), a look at the Scottish Crown Jewels, the Stone of Destiny, and the confusion of seeing the name HMAS Sydney carved into the wall of the Scottish War Memorial (if anyone knows why, please let me know... were there Scots on board?) we headed back down the hill for a pint or two of some rather pleasant local ale, ahead of our ghost tour!

Now, for me, the appeal of a ghost tour is somewhat dampened when it is conducted completely in daylight. You don’t here too many people saying they saw ghost, ghouls or unnatural things with the sun still an hour and a half from setting - as it was when we started our walk at 7pm - so my expectations of being scared witless where low – and they were met. But, despite the lack of scariness, we did have the same excellent guide from our morning’s walk, and we were taken into the New City (built in the 1700s but still a damn site newer than that old City!) and up to the Acropolis. The views of the Old City, Arthur’s Seat and Leith are excellent and we were lucky enough to have a clear, sunny – but still windy – afternoon.

…and so, after our tour, the sun set and while we enjoyed another couple of pints maybe the real ghosts started to come out. I didn’t see any… even after a couple of drinks.

Day 2 in Edinburgh dawned as day 1 had, overcast with high cloud and the same breeze blowing. We climbed on a bus and started our journey to Leith and Ocean Terminal - the current, and probably final, resting place of HMY Britannia. She is a remarkable pretty thing to look at, even jammed up against a new, and not particularly well designed, shopping centre.

The tour started well (with the UK standard audio-guide provided with the entry price) with a tour of the Bridge and upper deck, but by the time we had reached the Royal staterooms it was clear the tour was tailored to the ‘royalist’ and not necessarily to people like Claudia and I. To be honest neither she nor I was particularly interested in the Queen’s bed linen. I would much rather have learned about how and where she was built (the ship, not the Queen) and even some of the politics around why she was built. But no, alas, pillow cases, napkins and carpets were the order of that day. Despite this, the visit was great. To walk the decks of the ship is an experience in itself; to see how those above and below decks lived, worked and partied. The tour ends with the engine room. From what we could see through the windows it is cleaner than most hospitals, but it would have been nice to get a bit closer. It would have been even nicer to hear it running… a ship tied forever to a quay does seem to me to be something a little sad.

a cool Sunday

2008-04-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

This morning it snowed...

...this afternoon it was sunny.

But, while it lasted, the snow was rather pretty. It made for a very cold day though!

between travel...

2008-04-03T02:17:00.000-07:00

I am between travel right now. I have plans though. I will be in Edinburgh for the weekend in 2 weeks (probably dealing with brass monkeys cold!) and then I have a long weekend in Hamburg, the first weekend in May …and of course hot on the heals of that trip the parents will be here.

But right now… I am between travel. The weather has been average since Easter - in fact it was average during Easter. It was distinctly more average here in London with storms hail and snow that it was in Barcelona… so I was definitely better off where I was!

Being between travel is interesting as you get into the general life of the city… work, eat, sleep, work, drink, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep… It makes me realise what life would be like here if I wasn’t travelling every few weeks. It would be just like home with crappy weather, better public transport (when it runs) and too many people.

It’s times like this that I really miss Brisbane, and, strangely enough, it’s not the things I used to do that I miss. It’s all the things I didn’t do, or do very often anyway. How easy it is to take weekend and go to the Gold Coast, the Sunshine Coast, Straddie, the mountains, Byron Bay, Sydney, Melbourne… and how often did I take that weekend? Once, maybe twice, a year if I was lucky. Now I sit here and get fidgety if I haven’t been out of London for 2 weeks! I look for things to do, day trips, museums… last weekend I walked for 3 hours on Sunday afternoon. It was sunny and warm(ish) and I just walked. Never (ever!) did that in Brisbane (of course 3 hours walking in Brisbane would see you dead of heat exhaustion on some vertical hill in Paddington!).

So, the weekend approaches and I have no plans, and it annoys me! The weather is not looking great so that limits the options. But, London is a big place… and I haven’t seen it all yet. There are definitely things to do in London to fill the gaps when I am between travel.

Barcelona stuff (2)

2008-03-26T14:28:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, as you may have noted from my last post, I was in Barcelona. This was my first trip into continental Europe, and I don’t think I could have chosen a better place to start. The weather wasn't perfect - it was cool and often overcast - but it didn't really matter...

Every since I was at university I have wanted to see Barcelona. The primary reason for this is Antoni Gaudi. His work fascinated me from the start… it gives the impression of being completely uncontrolled and amorphous and yet, it is not wild or childish. To control and balance architecture that is so organic is amazing and quite awe inspiring.

His masterwork is Temple de la Sagrada Familia. The temple looms up out of Eixample (pronounced ‘esharmplah’ and meaning ‘extension’) to the West of the Old City. Photos do not do it justice; they do not let you look into the remarkable detail of the facades, particularly the Nativity Façade to the East front. Covered in carvings or people, animals and plants you could spend hours exploring the figures. It is a lush, vibrant and overwhelming combination of art and architecture. Its contrast is the West front, the Passion Façade. It is stark and sharp edged, but no less beautiful.

…and then of course you walk inside. The forest of stone columns are quite literally tree trunks, with the branches reaching up to the ceiling where they spread into vaults glittering with gold. The naïve is still unfinished and the stark ends of the vaults contrast with the bright sun and blue of the sky. 2026 is the current estimate for completion and will be the 100th anniversary of the Architects death. A good excuse to go back I think.

Of course Barcelona is dotted with Gaudi’s work, particularly the district of Eixample. It was the major area of the City to expand during his lifetime. It was developed in the middle of the 19th century to cope with the growing city. The old city walls were demolished and a regular grid of street laid out to the west on the field between Barcelona and the village of Gracia. There are broad avenues lined with trees which contrast with the maze of narrow alleyways in the old city and the hillside of Gracia.

I did a lot of walking in Barcelona. Walking and the Metro seem to be the best ways to get around. Or course you see more walking as the metro in underground… so, mostly I walked; through the Old City, on La Rambla, along the beach.
Barcelona seems a very easy place to live. It has good shopping, eating and drinking, a beach, some great museums and friendly people. Shame I don’t speak Spanish (yet)...

Barcelona stuff

2008-03-25T14:42:00.000-07:00

There are things you expect to find in Barcelona...

art
architecture
museums

I wasn't expecting a couple of gum trees though...

Happy Easter!

2008-03-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

I thought I would post this a few days early as I am off to Barcelona for the weekend tomorrow night...
So, a very happy Easter to you all!

AAF

2008-03-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

Today I bought a cow...
...well, not a real cow... just someone's impression of a cow.
Strangely enough the purchase of the cow was a direct result of a short trip in a train on the London Underground.
On Monday evening, heading home from a late meeting, my attention was attracted by an advertisement. It was advertising an affordable art fair in Battersea Park.
So, I thought I would wander along and take a look considering Battersea is not too far from home... and tonight I did just that.
My thought, walking through the park this evening, was that I might find a small affordable impression of London, something to take home to Australia eventually that would remind me of life here...
The art fair was in a huge temporary structure and I could not even guess how many artists and paintings where exhibited. The concept is great and was well attended even on a cool, drizzly mid-week evening.
So, I went looking for a painting of London... unfortunately painting of London were very scarce, and those that were there were not quite as affordable as I might have liked.
But my gaze fell upon a painting i liked... strangely enough... of a cow... I have never previously considered buying art of farm animals... but tonight I did...
Thus, I am now the owner of 'Bessie'!

comments

2008-03-10T14:51:00.001-07:00

For those of you who have been trying to leave comments, you should now be able to without too much hassle (I hope).
...although I do reserve the right to moderate what is written, as this is a public blog.

The answer to the question at the end of the previous post...

2008-03-10T14:25:00.000-07:00

...is Canterbury.

It is a week and a bit ago now... (and yes, I have been a tad slack in updating the blog, sorry!) but the day dawned sunny so I took a train east and spent a day wandering about Canterbury. The cathedral is clearly the highlight of the town. I spent a couple of hours slowly wandering about the buildings and ground with my audio-tour handset against my head looking like a 1980's mobile phone.

The audio-tour is to be found at most attractions in the UK and can be had in a variety of languages (generally I chose English, for those of you who may be wondering). Personally I prefer a proper tour conducted by a human being. The audio-tour has more detail, but people always have more character and their wonderful little anecdotes the are lacking from the recorded version.

Unfortunately I was a few minutes too late for the guided tour of Canterbury Cathedral so the audio-tour it had to be. It was rather verbose and had a rather heavy backing of organ music, but generally it got the point of what I was looking at across... eventually.

The highlight of the visit was a large, temporary set of tiered seats in the middle of the naive. These, very conveniently, contained about 100 of the Cathedral's choristers who spent the entire time I was in the building rehearsing. The sound of those voices echoing through the stone vaults and aisles made for a most uplifting experience (and thankfully overpowered the organ music background of my audio-tour).

Having now visited quite a number of cathedrals, abbeys and minsters it will be interesting, next time I am in Brisbane, to visit the nearly complete St John's. Clippings from the Brisbane press sent to me recently (my mother likes to keep me in touch with the local news) have shown its copper spires being erected, a mere 104 years after the building was started. I wonder what it will look like in 800 years?

ad hoc sunny days

2008-02-19T11:00:00.000-08:00

One of my greatest joys in this city is the ability to walk out the door of my flat (and not because my flat is old and slightly dingy…) and enter a place where there is always something new to see, hear, learn…

This is going to be one of my ‘rambling’ blog entries… so I apologies in advance!

It is so easy to just get out of bed and do something. A few weeks ago I went on my first ‘London Walk’ (http://www.walks.com/ if you are interested); actually it was Australian Day to be precise. I chose one that took me to the back streets of Waterloo. My own backyard as it were… being a South of the Thames dweller. The walk was lead by a retired Elephant Handler and she was a wealth of knowledge about the surprisingly intact community of early 19th century houses in the shadow of Waterloo Station. The morning was cold but beautifully sunny and the walk opened up a whole new understanding of the area of London I live in.

Last weekend, similarly, I decided, on a whim, to go to Hampton Court. The Met Office forecast on Thursday showed a fine and sunny weekend so I took advantage. I was at Waterloo Station bright and early (well… 9:30am… but that is reasonably early for a Saturday and the Palace doesn’t open until 10am anyway) only to be told that due to engineering works the train I wanted to take wasn’t running and that I would need to take another train to Surbiton (a nice place for changing trains… and that’s about it) and transfer to a bus. An hour and a half and one missed bus later I found myself on the banks of the Thames opposite Hampton Court… the trip should only take 35 minutes in normal conditions. But once again the day was lovely and sunny and, as usual, cold. The Palace looked huge across the river, and the enormous picture of Henry VIII fixed to the side of some scaffold, and towering over a portion of the palace under restoration, did nothing to reduce the impact.

I spent a couple of hours wandering about the halls and rooms of the Palace, the same halls and rooms inhabited by Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey, William & Mary, and one of the Georges (which one it was eludes me right now). The tours are very good, and conducted by guides dressed in period costume and assuming a period character. It sounds a bit tacky but it works rather well.

So, the question that remains is; what to do this weekend? The Met Office is predicting another dry weekend… I’ll let you know.

Bath Part 2 (half day tour)

2008-02-16T10:20:00.000-08:00

The sun was low on the horizon, the hills of Salisbury Plain were green and rolling, the air was crisp and crystal clear, the British Army was firing its artillery nearby, the sheep were grazing placidly beyond a little rope barrier, the traffic was wizzing by 50 yards away and I stood and gazed at the circles of stone that make up Stonehenge and I was entranced.

How do I describe Stonehenge... almost everyone is familiar with its form so I guess I really won't. The stones are dwarfed by their location, set high on a plain of open, grassed, rolling hills and yet they stand grand and impossibly large when you consider the people who put them there, their lack of tool and machine and distance they transported them.

The audio tour, that comes with your entry fee, can give no answers as to how they were moved to their location between 1500 and 3000 years ago and really, even why it was built... there are many hypothosies... but no definite answers. I guess it just adds to the allure!

You can no longer walk amongst the stones themselves. You walk around the monument behind a little, low rope fence (just like the sheep). As nice as it would be to get amongst the stones, the benefit of being held back means photos are devoid of other tourists! ...which is rare at any UK monument or even some vague place on interest.

...and I did get some nice photos!

You know you are in London when...

2008-02-13T14:01:00.001-08:00

...you walk to the bus after work (and after a couple of pints) and the bell ringers are practicing in St Martin in the Fields, the melodies ecoing across Trafalgar Square...

Bath Part 1

2008-02-12T12:46:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am, recently returned from a weekend of travel, and writing about it... while slightly under the influence!

Congratulations, this it the first blog of mine you are reading written after a few pints (actually far to many for a Tuesday night!). Be that as it may, I thought it time to write about last weekend.

First let me set the scene...

It is hard to describe the perfection of the weather last weekend. Saturday was almost warm, the sun was shining with an Australian brightness and the air was crystal clear, and I was lucky enough to be visiting South East England. Bath, Stonehenge, Cheddar Gorge and Wells to be precise.

My weekend started at a rediculously early hour for London... 8.37am when my train left Paddington (well, actually it was 40 min earlier when I left my flat to get the tube to Paddington but that doesn't count)

2 hours and some railway signal delays later I was in Bath and in the delightful company of Jean. Jean and her husbane Roger are friend of my parents after meeting in Northern Australia, and they very kindy offered me bed and breakfast and some wonderful sight seeing and company while I was in Bath.

Perhaps the easiest way to describe the weekend is quickly outline what I got up to. (In part 2 I will try and go into more detail)

Well, on arrival in Bath, Jean met me at the station and took me straight to the Pump Room for a coffee and a Bath Bun following morning tea seranaded by the musical trio in the Pump Room we spent an hour and a half walking about the city. Jean proved an admirable guide showing me some of the more famous areas of the city and eventually depositing me at the collection point for my afternoon tour to to Stonehenge and the ancient town of Laycock (I'll write more about the tour in the part 2 bit!)

Let me just say at this stage that I could not have asked for a better afternoon to visit one of Englands most ancient sites.

Jean and Roger met me on my return the Bath after the tour and the following morning offered to show me Cheddar Gorge and the nearby town of Wells.

Between them, they are a wealth of information about the area and proved wonderful tour guides.

The weekend ended with my train journey back to London (again interupted by National Rail problems) and a surprisingly relaxing nights sleep before the work week commenced.

Well, thats about it for my summary blog about the weekend... next time I will try and tell you a bit more about the things i saw... right now... I need to sleep off the pints!

g'night!

you know you are in London when...

2008-01-23T11:52:00.000-08:00

...the bloke trying to sell you a copy of The Big Issue says,
"ello guvna!" as you walk past.

fancy a tasty meat pie?

2008-01-20T10:07:00.000-08:00

"There's a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
and the vermin of the world inhabit it
And its morals aren't worth
what a pig could spit
And it goes by the name of London."

the verse is from the opening of Sondheim's Sweeney Todd.
maybe it was true in the 18th century...
...maybe its still true now.

Last night I thought it would be a good idea to see the new film version of Sweeney Todd.
It has had some good review... and is rather well put together, even if the the blood does flow a little too freely (Mum you will not enjoy it!). Decided to have Chinese for dinner after... although for some reason I had an appetite for a pie...

The last couple of weeks have been a bit of a theatre-fest. A friend visiting London is always a good excuse to get out and do some of the things I have been putting off and while Nadia was in town we took the opportunity to see Avenue Q and The History Boys.

It good to finally be taking advantage of my proximity to the West End and the cheap tickets on sale at Leicester Square... roll on the next show!

one night in York

2008-01-20T02:04:00.000-08:00

Technology is a wonderful thing… here I am, on a train on the way back to London after a night York, typing up my latest blog entry… and yet I am frustrated that can’t get the laptop to connect properly to the wireless network on the train… therefore I can type the blog… but not post it until I get home… not that it really matters… but while technology is marvellous… the more marvellous it gets the more opportunity it has to frustrate!

But, ranting about technological inadequacies is not the point of this post… its all about the City of York

I travelled up on Friday for a one day seminar for work… the company very generously put the attendees up at a very pleasant hotel and fed us… and boozed us… so I figured I would take the opportunity today (being Saturday) to look about the city…

York is a charming place… narrow, twisting, cobbled and car free streets lined with ancient shops and houses. York is home to a very impressive cathedral, well a Minster to be precise. With a few colleges from work, who had the same idea as me, we climbed the 275 steps the top of the tower to take in the panorama it offered of the city. It’s a view over a city largely untouched by the second world war, which means it still has much of its old city intact including most of the city walls.

Only having a few hours I was limited in what I had time to see, and after the Minster, a 45 minute tour of the city on one of those open top tour bus things (they are kind of cheesy but they do show you a city quite quickly) and a bite of lunch headed for the Nation Rail Museum. It’s a bit of a boys museum… full of giant bits of shiny metal on wheels… but I think anyone who has any interest in history would find it a great place to lose a few hours.. I only had 2 and barely had time to take even a cursory glance at the exhibits… although I did linger over a few of the more famous bits, the great blue streamlined Mallard (which still holds the world record as the fasted steam train, set in 1938), the various carriages from royal trains, and the Flying Scotsman which is currently in pieces all over a workshop floor as it undergoes a full rebuild.

2 hours here is no where near enough and of course 1 day in York is not nearly enough either. I didn’t even get to Shambles Street. – not that it looked all that messy as I whizzed by on the tour bus. So I guess it gets added to the ever-growing list of places to go back to.

Stand up if you hate Tottenham!

2008-01-03T12:17:00.000-08:00

European football, soccer, the round ball game, whatever you want to call it...

it's actually quite fun to watch live.

I have tried, with limited success, in the past to watch European football on TV. Australia's (relative) success in the last world cup spurred some interest and I watched a game or 2 but found the game lived up to its cliche of a lot of effort for no result...

However, I have now seen a game in England, live, at the ground.... and my attitude has somewhat changed.

A few weeks ago now I was lucky enough to score a ticket to a Chelsea v's Valencia game with the boss. It was a very pleasant evening entertaining a client with dinner and drinks followed by the game.

The game was very entertaining, Chelsea were at home and top of their table (the competition they were playing in was explained to me but I failed to grasp the details... it appears teams here play in several competitions at once...) and Valencia were pretty much out of the competition but put up somewhat of a fight... the atmosphere was great... the stadium was full... some 40,000 people turned up... and they were in fine voice.

I am still not sure how 10,000 blokes spontaneously burst into raucous song, but they do ...and much of it was directed at Tottenham, the traditional rivals of Chelsea (clearly they didn't give a damn about Valencia). The stadium was filled with the dulcet strains of stand up if you hate Tottenham, Tottenham, stand up if you hate Tottenham! ...and yes, they stood up.

The singing and raucousness was not due to alcohol! Well, alcohol bought at the stadium anyway... football stadiums in the UK are dry! God Forbid! not even light beer is served... but I suppose it helps stop rioting... the English are a tad fanatical when it comes to their football.

...and then of course there was the game itself... Valencia put up a bit of fight, but were held scoreless by the clearly dominant Chelsea. In fact Valencia never even looked like scoring... Chelsea on the other hand had at least 6 attempts at the goal, but despite their best efforts were also denied a goal... there was some bad luck involved with the ball striking the woodwork 3 times... but all in all they failed to capitalise on their advantage...

so... my first game of football was a lot of effort for no result... nil all!

But... if you are going to see all that effort, see it live!

Now all I have to do is choose a team to support... Chelsea maybe??? well, I did get a large, free team flag at the game (the Brisbane Lions would have charges $29.95 for it!) But I think I will reserve judgement... a football team is for life... so one much choose with care!

Merry Christmas!

2007-12-24T11:02:00.000-08:00

a Blackheath sunset

2007-12-24T10:56:00.000-08:00

Saturday evening in Blackheath and a lovely sunset.

staying on your feet...

2007-12-24T10:24:00.000-08:00

Ice skating is not really the most natural of things for the average Australian...

but... I managed to stay on my feet!

That ice is cold and rather hard upon the back side when one falls upon it!

Somerset House on the Strand is currently home to one of a number of temporary rinks across the city, and it provides a most picturesque backdrop...

A couple of weeks ago I spent a delightful hour or so with my new work colleagues on the ice as part of our Christmas party. Thankfully I maintained my dignity and stayed on my feet... despite a couple of very close calls... none of which were caught on film...

Ice skating seems to be a very popular Christmas pastime, and there are rinks at the Natural History Museum, The Tower and various other landmarks.

The Somerset House rink (pictured) sits in a neoclassical courtyard a few feet from the busy Strand. However, stepping through the arches into the court you move away from the bustle of the West End and into a serene space with piped classical music, the rink and most importantly a bar!

school's out

2007-12-21T11:09:00.000-08:00

Today was the last day of work for me for the year... and it dawned on me when I got home that it's been a while since I wrote here... almost 2 weeks...
I guess that shows that life has gotten busy... or at least that my days are taken up with work now, which gives me a lot less time to write (and things to write about)
Although I have managed to get out and about a little bit over the last fortnight and will endeavour to complete a new post or two this weekend... since I am on holidays for a few days!

3 or 59???

2007-12-09T14:11:00.000-08:00

Ramblings from Friday 7th December…

The last few days, and Tuesday in particular I have felt a tad homesick...
Up until now I guess I have been busy travelling, seeing sights and generally just taking everything around me.
But this week I have been at work (which in itself is fine) but it has given me more time to think about home, warm weather, beaches and family.
Thankfully there are mornings like today. I got up, had breakfast and shuffled down the stairs to go to the bus stop...
Outside though, the sun was shining, the strong breeze that had been blowing all night had gone and even Waterloo looked a lovely place.
My first big decision loomed...
The No. 3 or the No. 59 bus?
The 59 heads past Waterloo Station and over Waterloo bridge (with its sensational views of the City to the right and the Houses of Parliament to the left) and drops me on the Strand next to Somerset House; I then have a pleasant 3 block stroll to the office. It is probably the quicker of the 2 options.... but as fate would have it... the number 3 came first.

The Number 3 crosses Lambeth Bridge which, I think, gets a bum steer to the favour of Waterloo. True, you look to the left down to Vauxhall - which is nothing spectacular, but to the right you have the Houses of Parliament from the west - which is apparently not the purists preferred view, but for my money is infinitely better ...and, it is a nicer bridge!

The view in not dominated by Big Ben - don't get me wrong Big Ben is very impressive, but it seems that everyone looks at it and forgets the rest of the building... The view from the west puts Victoria Tower (the Sovereigns Entrance to the Parliament) into the foreground - if you look at your standard pic of Parliament, it is the tall bit in the background with the union Jack flying on top; and even gives you a little bit of green in the form of a park along Millbank (the name of which alludes me right now) and the joy of a Rodan's sculpture 'The Burghers of Calais' a copy of which resides in Canberra.

But that is not the real reason the No. 3 cheered me up this morning as I was on the bus as I passed these things and didn't get to stop and look... it was when I got off that I was glad it had come first. After rattling up Whitehall the No.3 drops me off at Trafalgar Square. This morning the sun was shining on Nelson, casting shadows on the enormous Lions at his feet and glinting off the freshly applied gilt on the weather vein on the steeply of St Martin's in the Field (most of which is still hidden under plastic as it undergoes restoration) Everything seemed right with world.

The Square was deserted except for some cleaners - London at 8:15 am is a rather quiet place!. I had the place to myself as I walk across it toward the Charing Cross Station and the Strand. To have Trafalgar Square surrounded by its grand buildings, pretty much to yourself at anytime, let alone in broad daylight on is a rare thing indeed!

...and with the weather forecast for the weekend showing rain wind and cold sunny mornings are to be savoured.

Back to the grind...

2007-11-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

Well... it seems my tourist days are over for the time being.
Today I returned to work.
When it isn't raining and windy the walk to work is rather pleasant... across Waterloo Bridge with its great views up river to the Houses pf Parliament and down toward the City. Plus you get to see the people gawping from the London Eye... there's something I haven't done yet!

Wall-to-wall marble and stone

2007-11-24T14:39:00.000-08:00

While the sun shone and the new job was still a few days away, I thought it best to continue being tourist and walked to Westminster to tour the Abbey.

If St Paul's is to be admired for its relative unadorned simplicity the first thing that hits you upon entering Westminster Abbey is the shear number of memorials and tombs that line its walls, columns and floors. There does not appear to be spare space for anything... and if the number of new interments (and only if you are cremated) and memorials have slowed to a mere trickle in recent years it is understandable ...the place is full! Even the Kings and Queens of England are now buried at Windsor as there is no more room for them at the Abbey.

I decided that the guided tour was the best option here... there is just too much to do on your own... but at 5GBP (on top of the 10GBP entry!) it is no bargain! But, it does go for 1.5 hours (actually almost 2 hours as our guide was very thorough) and it does take you into the Quire, the Screen and St Edward's Shrine which you can't do unless you do the tour ...andwho wants to miss out on being able to touch the tomb of a Saint! Apparently the only one still in one piece in Europe (the Saint that is...)

St Paul's has some rather special people in its Crypt... but Westminster Abbey can top it...

At the top of the hierarchy are the Royal burial. Besides St Edward the Confessor, there is Edward I (a different Edward) Henry III, Edward III, Richard II, Elizabeth I, her half-sister Mary I and basically all English Kings and Queens up to the end of the 18th century and strangely, buried in amongst them all, is Oliver Cromwell...

Those not quite so royal, but just as interesting, include Charles Darwin (Origin of the Species and place in Westminster Abbey, quite the double act! - but he only got into the Abbey at the insistence of Queen Victoria!), Isaac Newton, Dr Livingston I presume?; all in the Science Corner. Nearby in Poet's Corner is Chaucer, Dryden, Charles Dickens and Rudyard Kipling, and these are just some of the burials... the memorials cover just about everyone who is anyone and cover the walls. There is also an area dedicated to musicians and composers and several Prime Ministers including a large round plaque on the floor near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, stating "Remember Winston Churchill". It was installed by the current Queen and is the last thing you read before you leave the through the Great West Doors.

When you get a moment to look beyond the statues, shields, monuments and carvings, there is quite a remarkable building. The church has been in place a lot longer than St Paul's. It was begun in the 13th century and 700 years has left its mark on the stone. In places it is chipped, broken, scared and worn smooth by continual use over those years. It is stained dark from hands and feet.

The Abbey lacks the shear awe inspiring space of St Paul's, but the Nave ceiling is higher and the pointed Gothic architecture gives the illusion of even more height... the sun pouring in through the clear glass windows (the original stained glass was mostly destroyed by bombing in WWII) casts dramatic light and shadow on the fluted columns and ornate stonework. Down the centre of the Nave hangs a double row of modern chandeliers (a gift, in 1965, from the Guinness company!) they are made of Waterford Crystal and are 10 feet tall but are dwarfed by the height of the Nave.

But! Westminster Abbey does not have a cafeteria! I was somewhat disappointed by that...

530 steps...

2007-11-24T13:05:00.000-08:00

They twist up narrow towers and between walls, worn and smooth from centuries of footsteps, lined with stone walls carved with graffiti from the ages...but, the view at the top is worth the effort... It is probably the best view in London. The 360 degree panorama from the Golden Gallery of St Paul's Cathedral is spectacular. From it, you have vistas down the twisting canyon of Ludgate Hill, Fleet Street and the Strand to the West End (pictured), across Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern Art Gallery south, over the jumble of streets to the brutal towers of the Barbican Centre to the north and to the east the view is down the block between Cannon Street and Cheapside toward the Financial District somewhat dominated by Architect, Norman Foster's, Swiss Re Tower better known as "The Gherkin".

But I have started at the top... I should return to the Cathedral floor...

St Paul's is one of the great buildings of the world (according to the recorded tour I hired anyway). Designed by Sir Christopher Wren following the Great Fire of London in 1666 which destroyed its predecessor, the current building is the latest in a series of Cathedrals on this site dating from the at least the early 7th century.

The building is a masterful manipulation of space. The stonework towers over you as you approach the grand west doors, but once inside the space is bigger than you could have imagined (a 17th century tardis top use a Dr Who analogy). The vaulted arched ceiling seems impossibly high and the Nave disappears into the distance ahead of you, and on the day I was there, the sunshine streamed in through the huge clear glass windows highlighting the interior with dazzling shafts of light across the Nave. The interior is surprisingly simple. Most of the walls and ceiling are unadorned which highlights the monochrome, early 18th century paintings on the underside of the dome and the glittering 19th century mosaic ceilings of the Quire and Apse. One monument dominates the Nave. Wellington's Monument is immense and quite difficult to appreciate at the close quarters from which you see it. At 8 or 10 metres tall, it is layers of marble arches and columns topped with a bronze figure of Wellington on his horse Copenhagen, and this is just his Monument. Wellington's body lies below in the Crypt in his equally impressive tomb...

I always expected a crypt to be a creepy place, but not at St Paul's. It is brightly lit and adorned sculpture and plaques identifying the tombs and memorials of some remarkable people; Nelson is there, as is Wellington, the Architect Christopher Wren is also there, and there are memorials to Florence Nightingale and Churchill to mention.

The Crypt also had a very nice refectory which served a delightful baked ham roll with gravy and salad (hmmm, food at tourist attractions is becoming a theme...)

10 Minutes at Australia House

2007-11-24T12:17:00.000-08:00

This week included voting day for me, as the Federal Election loomed Saturday...

I was quite looking forward to voting in the UK... I had heard that is was quite fun ...a line of Aussies around the block outside Australia House (conveniently and prominently located at the City end of the Strand) a good bit of chat, political leg pulling etc...

It seems the time I chose to arrive was not exactly peak. I did not have to queue, I spent 25 seconds in the security check while a metal detector was waved over me... I wrote out my absentee paperwork, voted and was gone... I barely had time to admire the grand interior of the Australian High Commission. It was all over in 10 minutes. Clearly 11am on a Wednesday was not the time for witty pavement conversation while waiting to vote... next time, after work!

The polling place was the main hall of Australia House. Surrounded by marble columns and floors, gilt light fittings, ornamentation and statuary, the cardboard voting booths, fold out table and election paperwork looked shabby and, thankfully, temporary... still, it was better than Manly West State Pre-school! ...now all I have to do it swing an invitation to the High Commission Ball, which I am sure makes much better use of the room!

Anything for a decent flat white...

2007-11-24T11:58:00.000-08:00

Coffee in London is a strange thing... the locals think it to be wonderful... they spend hours sitting in coffee shops reading, writing, chatting and drinking soup-bowl-like cupfuls of warmish milk with a slight flavour of coffee, topped with anaemic foam. I guess you can fool all the people all the time!
The city is dominated by chain coffee houses... Starbucks, Costa and Nero. The average fair they serve is so cheap that no-one else can compete... the independent coffee house is a rarity!
But... they do exist, and to seek them out is to find a better standard (slightly)!
The flat white is also a rarity. As far as I know only 3 establishments in the entire Greater London area serve a flat white... thankfully one is a 10 minute walk from my flat and the other 2 are 5 minutes from my office!
Those of you in Australia reading this... have a decent coffee somewhere for me!

The Tower

2007-11-21T11:36:00.000-08:00

A bit of catch up here...

Last week I visited London's busiest tourist attraction... The Tower of London.

Thankfully it is off-season and it was a tad overcast and drizzly... so the place was relatively quiet. The crowds must be murder in summer! (pun intended)

In hindsight, a place of such misery and horror is perhaps best viewed when the weather is grey and cold. To visit when it is sunny and warm I think would feel a bit disrespectful.

My feet were cold and damp all day, and the breeze and rain got under the collar of my coat. All in all prefect weather.

The day started with a tour by the Yeomen Warders of Her Majesties Royal Palace and Fortress the Tower of London - better know as Beefeaters. The tour is 30 minutes of great information, anecdotes and stories about the Tower, its history and its residents. For the record... the Beefeaters remain residents of the Tower and have their homes (with their families) and a pub within its walls.

I did the standard tourist things and viewed the Crown Jewels - from an airport style moving walkway, which is all a bit "American", but I guess it helps move the summer crowds through the exhibit. They are all very shiny and glittery, but the real interest for me was less well polished. The entire place is quite amazing and took me 4 hours to walk around, but 2 places captured my attention.

The first can only be visited on the tour with the Yeomen Warder. The Chapel Royal is a small stone church tucked away in the corner of the Tower complex. Beneath the floor and in the walls of this church are most of the people who died at the Tower. Tower records showed that little more than 300 people had been buried in the chapel after execution or death by other means. Excavations in the 19th century found well over 1000 bodies... considering the size of the chapel getting this number of people under the floor is extraordinary in itself! It is also holds the graves of 3 of Henry VIII wives, Anne Boleyne, Catherine Howard and Lady Jane Grey. The walls and floors are covered with memorials to those dead, but unfortunately the tour only allows a few minutes, no real time to take the place in properly. It is a wrenchingly sad place. To know that so many came to rest here for so little reason. I am sure some were terrible people, but most were just victims of circumstance or prejudice or of being born on the wrong side of the political fence.

The second allowed more time for contemplation. Beauchamp Tower was the last place of residence for many of the political prisoners of the Tower. It is a small hexagonal tower with 2 floors. Prisoners were kept on the upper floor in what would have been reasonable comfort by the standards of other areas of the Tower, and it would have been a refuge between bouts of torture. The room itself is unremarkable with basic stone walls and floor and a large fireplace. What is remarkable is the legacy of wall carvings left by those who resided here over the centuries. Carved into the walls are messages of hope and misery, messages to loved ones and political supporters, last words generally... carved with the words are elaborate coats of arms and decorations depicting families and allegiances. I sat for quite a long time and read those words (well the translations anyway, as most are in Latin), and there are hundreds, of the long dead and doomed who lived their last weeks, months or years in that room... whether guilty of their crimes or not.

The Tower is definitely a must for anyone visiting London... even if you only have an hour to spend there. I am sure everyone would find something to capture their imagination... there are priceless gems, suits of armor, guns, cannon, torture, dead Prince's and Queens, beautiful, ancient stone buildings and a rather decent cafe too!

...and of course right next to the Tower of London, standing majestically abreast the River Thames, is the Tower Bridge... but I will have to go back for that... all I had time to do was take the photo...

London streets...

2007-11-21T11:12:00.000-08:00

Walking back to the flat with groceries from the utilitarian Tescos (not quite as good as Sainsbury's, but cheaper ...which in turn is not as good as Marks and Spencer Food, which takes a back seat to Morrison's. The Supermarket hierarchy here is quite amazing!) I happened to pass a man, about my age, with a proper waxed mustache... clearly he is hoping the 1850s will make a fashion come-back...

Cloudy and Damp, Manchester and Lambeth Walk

2007-11-20T01:53:00.000-08:00

Shall we start with the weather...

"Cloudy and damp" is the forecast, and a quick peek out the window confirms it... I guess that the sunny weather could not continue indefinitely. It would have been nice to have had another week of it, but this is England and you take what you get.

It has been a week or so since I wrote here last, and most of that time was taken up with a side trip to Manchester and Liverpool. I don't start my new job until next Monday so I figured that I had a little time to kill and Manchester was only 2.5 hours away by train...

The trip up was novel and fun... Trains are definitely the only way to travel in the UK (and preferably 1st class). Virgin Trains operate the London Euston - Manchester Piccadilly service and they are fast and comfortable. I booked a Standard class seat up, but managed to upgrade, for next to nothing, to a 1st class seat on the return journey, and thankfully I did, as the train was overfull and people were sitting on their luggage back in the Standard class cars...

Manchester is a very nice city... that said, it really doesn't have any real tourist draw card. I had 2 full days to kill and spent the first on wandering about the city. It has great Christmas markets in the Albert Square outside the town hall which attracted the lunchtime work crowd for a few Friday drinks...

The city does have some rather interesting Architecture. The highlight was the Royal Exchange Theatre... a former Exchange/Trade building for the Linen industry it is now a theatre in-the-round. In order to preserve the original space of the hall, the theatre has been inserted as a freestanding structure and looks a tad like the Lunar Lander (see picture).

Saturday brought a day trip to Liverpool. At 8.50GBP return and 40 minutes by train it was hard to resist.

Manchester may not have a tourist drawer card... but Liverpool has the Beatles.

...and they don't let you forget it! Liverpool is the first place I have done the "open top bus tour". There is nothing that screams "tourist" as much as sitting on the top deck of a double decker bus while an overly loud PA system (in the voice of Ringo Starr) tells you about the sights and delights of Liverpool. but it is a good way to get to know a city in an hour...

Liverpool has some Architectural gems... the 3 Graces on the waterfront (the Royal Liver Building, the Cunard Offices and the Shipping Office - see picture); the Anglican Cathedral - which is huge!; St George's Hall, and Albert Dock. Having just one day, I only had time for the bus tour and a walk around the city... must get back and have a more detailed look.

Arriving back in London came with the relief of moving into a flat. I now have a room to myself and share with 2 others, both school teachers. It appears teachers come with an interesting view of the world, I guess it comes from spending so much time with young children who are not yours...

The room is large by London standards (and by Brisbane standards actually).

I spent yesterday buying sheets, towels, a duvee and cover, a bedside lamp... all the fun stuff! Which has set me up reasonably well for the time being...

So... I now officially live in a flat above a church hall... a Methodist Mission Church Hall to be precise... at least there wont be drunken parties on a Saturday night... or dancing!

oh.... and I live on Lambeth Walk!

old things and a new coat

2007-11-12T00:42:00.001-08:00

well... I have been slack in updating the blog for the past few days... I have been out and about seeing London and getting back rather tired, so here I am on a cold Monday morning (it is 5 degrees right now), with the last few days in review:

A day at the Museum...

...and a day is not nearly enough. The British Museum is a bit of a tourist trap on the weekends and full of loud school groups on weekdays, but whenever you go, you are fascinated, awed and basically run out of time to see everything...

The Egyptian Government calls the Museum the best advertisement for Egypt in the world, and as it has the largest collection of Egyptian antiquities outside Egypt they are quite right!

There are halls and galleries full of granite statues and burial find (including dozens of mummies on display). To stop and read the information on every piece would take years. I chose to wander through and glance at everything, working on my current "travel principal" that I will return to the parts I liked in more detail at a later date (HA!)

...and of course the Museum has more than just Egyptian artifacts, there are displays from most for corners of the former British Empire, as well as huge collections from ancient Greece and Rome. Although the majority of the Greek galleries were closed for some unexplained reason (welcome to London) so that will give me a definite reason to return.

The architectural highlight was the relatively newly finished Great Court by Norman Foster. A huge faceted glass roof has been spun between the walls of the old museum and the circular reading room in the middle of the courtyard. The effect is amazing... a giant white space that provides perfect circulation to the various galleries, a meeting place, a place to rest for a few minutes and let your sore feet recover from pounding the stone floors and a place to sit and try to absorb what you have just spent the last 4 or 5 hours looking at...

The great walk...

When a day dawns with crystal clear blue skies and a slightly warm sun (although tempered by a cool breeze) the thing to do is to get outdoors... I had intended to visit the Tower but decided to do a more on-the-move bit of site seeing (plus I still hadn't bought a decent coat so I figured here was a good excuse to see some sights and find a coat at the same time. In short I walked from the East End to Southwark and then to the West End... quite a few miles! The sights seen?

- The remnants of the Old London Wall

- The Barbican Development (including 15 minutes of the London Symphony Orchestra playing in the Concert Hall thanks to a kind usherette on the door...)

- St Paul's, again... (and this time I established that it costs 9.50GBP to get in... when I eventually do the tour and the walk to the top of the dome)

- The Millennium (or Wobbly) Bridge (the pic of St Paul's is from this bridge - note the cranes - good for construction jobs!)

- The turbine hall of the Tate Modern with its infamous "crack" (the current installation... which is actually quite intriguing as it is at least 3 feet deep at some points and runs the complete length of the hall...)

- The Globe Theatre

- Borough Market (which will be about 10 minutes walk from my flat and has some superb cheeses, vegetables, antipasto and one of only 2 places in London you can get a Flat White Coffee...)

...and yes, the walk did result in a new coat, which has been very useful as the temperature has dropped and taken the pressure off my old leather one... which has performed admirably I might add.

Trainspotting... well the trains turn up later in the week...

St Pancras Station seems to have gotten some good publicity all around the world... and rightly so!

For us, here at the beginning of the 21st century, buildings of large size or structures of extraordinary span are seen every day in every city... they are every day things... unfortunately many of them lack grandeur, scale and the ability to awe.

This one has been doing it with ease since 1868.

Photos do not do it justice, the span of the pale blue vaulted iron and glass arch is beyond description... the structure is unbelievably delicate... and even in London's dull light the train shed bright. The contrast between the 19th Industrial Revolution architecture and the new steel and glass platforms is wonderful. That contrast will be complete once the sleek Eurostar trains start running from the station this week.

Sunday at zero time

2007-11-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

The continuing sunny weather and warm(ish) days, made my mind up for me on Sunday to visit Greenwich. A convenient 30 minutes on the Tube and Docklands Light Rail, Greenwich has quite a few diversions for the sight see-er.

The high street is a rather charming place to stroll (well it would be if the crowds were not quite so numerous! ...something I am coming to terms with wherever I go in London). But beyond the high street is the Cutty Sark, currently undergoing substantial conservation and unfortunately wrapped in plastic, but the visitor centre fills you in on the progress of the works and the unfortunate fire earlier in the year.

Behind the Cutty Sark is the Greenwich Naval Hospital (see photo) a beautiful collection of buildings built by several monarchs before being given over to a hospital and home for pensioned seamen. These days it is open to the public and also the home of the Trinity College of Music.

I spent a little longer here than I intended, but I was well worth the time. The Painted Hall and the Chapel (pictured) are fascinating and built on a grand scale beyond any space I can think of in Australia. I was lucky enough to time my visit to the Chapel with an organ recital provided by the TCofM, and spent half an hour soaking up the strains of the organ and the intricate detail of the Neo-Greek interior.

I did not have the time to climb the hill through the park to the Observatory, or have anywhere near the time needed by the Maritime Museum across the road... oh well, a good excuse to go back!

scenes from Camden Town

2007-11-03T11:02:00.000-07:00

The people walking the pavements of Camden Town were quite extraordinary... both in shear numbers and diversity... being from a quaint and conservative city like Brisbane, large numbers of people with Mohawks, safety pins in their faces and black jeans are a rarity...

...and here I was thinking "Punk" died with the 80s!

The Camden Lock Markets are amazing... they are huge, and sell a cheap version of just about anything (not that I bought anything but dodgy Chinese food for lunch - see picture!) and Saturday seems to be the day when every second Londoner turns up for a look around.

Built in old railway arches, catacombs, warehouses, sheds and even a former horse hospital the scenery alone is enough to keep you entertained.

Like everything else in London, I will have to go back and spend more time, explore more of the Market, the High Street and Camden Town. Beyond the busy pavements of the Market and the High Street the town itself looked a very interesting place, with some good restaurants, pubs and shopping. Although, like most of London, the everything need a damn good wash! The canal and Lock (see below) were floating with rubbish and general detrius...
but hey, I guess it all adds to the charm...

the prospect of a job ...and sore feet!

2007-11-02T09:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I am here safe and sound...

Had the job interview today, which went rather well... I am hopeful of an offer mid next week which would probably see me start the following week.

The weather has been kind to be for my first 2 days here... I was sunny most of today as well as yesterday afternoon... Did a bit of sight seeing yesterday arvo. I walked for about 2 and a half hours around Westminster, the West End and the City. Walked past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, Westminster Cathedral (both of which are vast!) and then up along the Strand to find my (hopefully) future office in Covent Garden. Covent Garden is a fantastic place... besides the proximity to Trafalgar Square, The Royal Opera House and the Covent Garden Market it is full of restaurants, cafes, and pubs and professional offices - the whole place is alive.

The walk up Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill to St Paul's (also vast!) is like walking along a building lined canyon... its just a shame that many of the grand Victorian facades now hide empty offices, no longer occupied by the Newspapers and Magazines that once made the street famous. The walk down into the city ended at Bank Station when, with sore feet, the prospect of a train ride home overcame the desire to explore further. I will have to get back to all these places and do proper tours eventually (as well as the other million places to see in this city!).

A start... at least

2007-11-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

A McCafe in Singapore is an odd place to doubt my plans... but there it was.

Sitting, eating a cheeseburger, staring at bland advertising and wondering why I was turning my life upside down to this extent.

It had been a long day and, in my defence, I was tired and didn't have a lot to do before my flight to London later that night...

A tour guide earlier in the day had recommended the shopping centre, that housed said McCafe, for no other reason that the spectacular decoration of the gents toilets ...and I guess a full wall mural of the Running of the Bulls to entertain you while you wash your hands is worth a detour.

Besides, the detour provided that few minutes of rest and reflection over a cheeseburger.

London was a long way from Brisbane, from family, from friends...

London from a McCafe in Singapore looked like a vast, cold lonely place...

London without any confirmed prospect of a job or somewhere to live...

London, a city with cold grey skies, drizzle and misery.

...and most pressing of all, London was an overnight flight in economy with the prospect of little sleep...

But, now I am here, it's not nearly so bad... even the sun is shining!