Eat, Drink, See, Do....

Open House London

2008-09-24T03:18:00.000-07:00

Another adventure soon befell us, though much smaller in scope.

Open House London is a festival of the built environment. It offers Londoners the opportunity to see 'behind-the-scenes' at some of the most significant buildings and places. Unfortunately, this year's festival did not include my favourite feature of the London skyline - but did offer other chances to see cool things.

A lovely, sunny Saturday began with brunch in Spitalfields Market before heading into the uber-cool arty ethos of EC1.

Lots of new media companies have their groovy headquarters and galleries here, and I have visited a few times to discuss work projects with designers etc. Even though it is much quieter at the weekend, I still think it feels about to burst into a new-New York sort of status as an art destination.

Our first stop definitely maintains that vibe. Village Underground is a modest project placing out-of-action Underground carriages on top of old railway viaducts to form new office space for designers.

I say modest because it doesn't look much from the street:

But it is pretty cool once you get up there:

The small space is well-maximised, and the view out of the carriages were quite good. I liked that one could sit in the drivers' cabin in the sunshine - cos buttons and switches are cool:

However, the workplaces themselves were quite dull, and I was actually underwhelmed by it all.

Luckily, the second part of the complex blew me away. The old brick viaduct underneath the offices had been turned into a massive gallery and this weekend was hosting the winning glass works in a competition to design a new martini glass for Bombay Sapphire.

The new media and marketing people were clearly let loose all over this campaign - it was awesome. The atmosphere in the gallery was ethereal - candles, blue hydrangeas and glass everywhere. Quotes about martinis were 'written' on the wall with white lights:

Plus, a bar at one end sold especially designed martinis. (Sadly, we couldn't quite bring ourselves to drink that early in the day!)

The designs that had made the finals were fantastic.

My favourite was a glass with blue cooling liquid in the bottom to ensure the martini remained at the correct temperature without being heated by the hand holding it. I liked it most for its shape:

My second favourite was this one because it is creepy yet elegant:

And the winner was this one, which did not blow me away at all:

Amorn Thongsaard from Thailand designed the glass. He called it 'Ramify', and was influenced by the way bubbles rise when a martini is poured. Strangely the judges gave him the award because they liked the way the bottom of the glass has facets that reflect the shape of the Bombay Sapphire bottle. Can they have it both ways?

Whatever the case, this glass offically 'expresses the elegance of the evening martini cocktail moment'. So there.

Once we emerged from the show it was far too sunny to stay indoors. So that was the end of Open House London for us.

and we can visit the Eden Project too!

2008-09-10T01:39:00.000-07:00

Our third day in Cornwall was wet and cold, so instead of our planned surfing lessons, we chose to travel south and see the Eden Project.

My parents had raved about the Project, so it was an easy decision to pass up a cold day in the surf for a drive through gorgeous country lanes to get there. The villages were very sweet, and every cottage had its own name - Haven, Little Overton, Sunny Down etc.

Once we got to St Austell, I was immediately impressed with the scale of the complex and the insane modernity of it all. It's hard to express in a photograph, but trust me that the biomes are enormous:

A lot of effort has gone into making the complex accessible to all. Not only does it have excellent facilities for mobility impaired visitors, but it is one of the first non-publicly funded places I have visited that deploys Easy Read principles on their displays.

The first thing I really liked was the vegetable garden. I spent ages exploring the varieties of food grown outdoors at the Project - and was delighted to learn that ginger, lemongrass and chillies all survive outside in England. I was even more interested to see Amaranth - my favourite breakfast cereal - for the first time. Lucy lost me in the garden for quite some time but I emerged eventually...

Apparently, the Project has the biggest glasshouse in the world. Once inside the rainforest project, I can believe it:

Not many glasshouses have five-story waterfalls inside them:

It got very very warm walking all the way to the top of the forest, and by the time we came down we needed a rest before visiting the next biome. Naturally, the Project gives you every opportunity to spend your money, and the cafe had the added bonus of selling food from within 5 miles of the Project. It made for a good break.

Fortified, we ventured into the second biome - based on mediterranean climates. It was much drier and more pleasant than the first biome, but also less interesting. There were ony two things I really liked. The first was a series of sculptures amongst the grape vines celebrating all things Bacchanalian. They were very cool:

And secondly, I enjoyed the low-key display of commercial flowers that demonstrated the links between changes in fashion and ups and downs in species protection. It was educational AND pretty:

We spent five hours or so at the Project, which was enough to tire us out and ensure an early night after dinner. Unfortunately, the weather had got quite bad by the time we reached our campsite, and I am such an amateur at camping I was convinced our tent would be squashed by the tipping over motorhomes of aforementioned empty nesters. Thus, I spent my night more or less awake in the car.

The eight hour drive home the next day compounded my weariness. But, actually, it was so good to get out of London and do some great things with Lucy that I don't mind at all. Yay for a holiday!

and into Cornwall!

2008-09-10T01:34:00.000-07:00

Even a tent is a better place to sleep than our dingy London flat! So, with another decent rest behind us, Lucy and I woke up ready to conquer our surroundings. It helped that the weather was glorious:

Padstow was as picturesque as expected. It is a small tourist town pretending to be a fishing village, so has plenty of quaint shops selling Cornish deicacies and seaside souvenirs. There was many an intriguing lane to wander, and even the pubs were pretty:

As it was getting on to lunch time, we thought we should try another Rick Stein outlet (Lucy is quite the fan). My steak pasty was excellent. Unlike yesterday's fish and chips, it needed not Watties.

Having furnished ourselves with a picnic, Lucy and I strolled up from the town and towards the lookout. Much like Padstow, it was full of affluent empty nesters walking their dogs (two spaniel minimum!).

The view was nice, but Lucy will testify that the water is freezing!:

So, rather than swim, a better way to make the most of the weather was to hire some bikes for the Camel Trail. It's been two years since I did any sort of decent riding, so was great to be back in the saddle:

Lucy and I loved the muddy, filthy trail so much we couldn't help but go quickly. Fortunately, we had most of the fast bits to ourselves:

Having ridden to Wadebridge and back in just over an hour, we'd built up quite an appetite. We were totally out of mood for anything English - and were lucky to find the one Italian place in town. Being a gourmand's holiday destination, it wasn't much of a surprise to find that even the little foodie places in Padstow are fabulous.

It really is quite a delicious place, especially in the cool summer evening when the crowds have mostly gone home:

Get me out of London!

2008-09-10T01:32:00.001-07:00

It's a good thing we like a challenge, as Lucy and my holiday in Cornwall coincided with the worst weather in months. We drove out of London through torrential rain that had already flooded villages, caused landslides and flipped caravans in Wales.

But, Lucy is a calm and magnificent driver, so we made it to our overnight stop in Salisbury only an hour later than expected.

The best thing about going on holiday is that the rooms are always nicer than our one at home. And, a really good night's sleep led us to a cool and clear morning just perfect for exploring the small farmer's market in the centre of town. Our nibbles made good company as we strolled along the river Avon towards the cathedral.

Being as it's 750 years old, one can forgive the massive restoration that makes a decent photograph impossible. Luckily, a picture from elsewhere is a pretty good substitution:

Lots of things about the cathedral are the tallest, largest, firstest or bestest. It makes the whole thing enjoyable and impressive.

One of those impressive things is that the cathedral was built very quickly - the nave and transcepts took only 38 years to finish. Being something of a devourer of cathedral-based fiction, I know that a cathedral within one generation is phenomenal. And I love that the cathedral had a really excellent model showing how it was done:

The finished product is phenomenal. The nave is beautiful:

And even the plainer of all the stained glass windows were pretty:

It would take quite an item to trump these highlights, but the cathedral manages it by hosting one of only four surviving copies of the Magna Carta. Wow. Yes, I think I'll write that again. Wow.

Annoyingly, this isn't actually my picture of the MC. A pain-in-the-bottom guide hovered in the way of the majority of the display, keen for every opportunity to launch fact after fact at us.

A few things were cool - such as how much skill it showed to write the document from start to finish with no mistakes, and no extra spaces between clauses where naughty Lords could later amend erroneous details. But, I would have preferred the guide's zealotry be replaced by opportunity for quiet contemplation of the glorious implications the document wrought for law and democracy.

So, instead, I made like a monk and used the cloisters for pondering:

Having 'done' the cathedral as much as we could, it was time to leave Salisbury and get back on the road to Cornwall. It took four hours to get to Padstow and, even though it had started to rain, the trip was far better than the previous day's experience.

Especially since we arrived in time to dine with Rick Stein. Okay, so it was fish and chips, and they were only as good as your average Friday night treat in NZ, but they were the best I've had in England. (This was probably helped by my Aotearoa accompaniment, snuck into the restaurant in Lucy's backpack - thank you Mummy!):

It was a very warm way to end a long day, and a tummy full of food explains why neither of us had any trouble falling asleep in our tent.

Me and my mates at the Mela

2008-09-04T06:43:00.000-07:00

On a typically wet August day, the flatties and I headed off to West London and the the Mela festival. The Mela is more or less an Indian Festival, and is on a similar scale as the Rise event I went to last year. London's Mela is not the largest, these are in Birmingham and other northern towns with higher Bangladeshi/Hindi popuations.

However, it was still kinda fun on a small scale. Especially since Lucy and Kelly were game enough to take on this massive ride - and be flung about in the air for five horrid minutes:

They said it stopped long enough at the top for a decent view:

This being a London 'summer', they were only up for a minute or two before the clouds rushed in and a thunder and lightening storm began. It was hard taking their picture whilst heavy rain banged my face - Kelly said they were being thrown into the rain upside down - which meant the drops were pelting them feet first!

Once back on terra firma, Kelly, Monique and I headed off for food whilst Lucy looked for some colleagues who were running a stall. After the latest downpour, they had decided to pack up, so Lucy was released from her duties and able to join me checking out the stages. Nothing much took our fancy, as most of the performers were just wannabe DJs channelling Hollywood gangsta or Essex boy youff culture. It didn't feel very authentic.

However, there is always an exception at these events, and we were delighted to find the heritage tent. Inside, the fifteen-strong South Asian Youth Orchestra was about to begin:

I recognised sitars, but the rest were mostly new. It was interesting to learn that such old instruments, played acoustically, have to be retuned in between songs. This took about ten minutes, and it was inidicative of the audience's pleasure that they did not get restless:

We stayed for almost three songs before deciding to leave the Mela altogether. It was getting late, and the trip back home was going to take two hours. Overall, a low-key outing. But I enjoyed myself.

Southend-on-Sea

2008-09-04T06:06:00.001-07:00

Having passed my probation period at work, I am now able to work out of the office ('Smart Working') one day a week. In a fit of perfect timing, my second Wednesday of doing so co-oincided with Lucy having a day's training in Southend-on-Sea, a small town at the very Eastern end of the Thames and only one hour from London by train.

The weather in Southend was absolutely lovely, and it was very hard to drag myself into the first McDonalds I saw so I could take advantage of wireless internet and begin my projects. However, I shouted myself a silly breakfast and actually got lots of work done.

Southend has an unfortunate reputation as being full of unemployed people and pensioners. I think whomever first formed this rumour might have been visiting McDonalds on dole day, just like I was. From lunchtime onwards, the locals cram the town centre, mostly having flaming rows and ignoring their misbehaving children.

It made concentrating difficult, so I thought it a good time to see my first Southend sights. Reputation aside, the beach looks nice enough:

Naturally, there's also a funfair and pier to enjoy:

I thought it best to wait until Lucy's class finished before exploring those, so instead ate a pleasant sandwich in the little park overlooking the beaches. The sun was hot and it was fantastic.

After a nice hour of sunbathing, I got all responsible and decided to find somewhere new to set up shop. I took a gamble that Southend's libraries were probably quietly roomy, and it didn't take long to find one. Fortunately, I had guessed they wouldn't have wireless access, so had put all my work from McDonalds on a disk.

Another couple of very productive hours were spent in a corner with a warm breeze blowing through the open window. One strange lady told me off for asking for her help to watch my stuff whilst I visited the ladies' room, but apart from that, it was excellent.

In no time at all, 5:30 rolled around and I could meet Lucy for a swim. She had found her training interesting, and told me good stories about the locals as we wandered to the beach. Unfortunately, all the water had left!!!!:

Not having known Southend was on a tidal lagoon, we were both very disappointed. It was hot and we would have liked to get wet. Instead, we had to content ourselves with walking the longest pier on the mainland UK. I can't say it was on my 'Must Do' list for England, but was perversely satisfying in it's own way - especially since the 45 minute walk to the end led to a cafe with excellent icecreams.

Too hungry to walk the 2km back to the beach, we took the pier's electric tram (the pier has a tram!) for the ten minute drive. Once back in the town centre, it took a long time walking amongst every kind of takeaway-cum-amuseument arcade, to find somewhere serving non-chips-based meals. But, eventually, we found the Pipe of Port, a basement wine bar serving excellent French food.

The waiter was patient and knowledgeable, the menu was perfect and the food was divine. My dinner date was pretty happy:

Having made the excellent decision to linger over our meal, we didn't actually make it home until 11pm. Smart Working is very tiring!

Going down to Downing Street

2008-08-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

Way back in July, we got to do something that not too many people are lucky enough to do. A friend (John) of friends of ours (Laurie and Cam) works at Number 10 Downing Street, and offered Cam and Laurie a tour. They super-kindly thought we like to go as well, and the four of us met up with John on a yummy summer's day.

Before we even entered the house, we spent quite some time posing on the front step. It's an important place to get a photograph!:

Members of the public are not actually allowed to open the doors themselves. So, once the security people let us in, we were given a lecture on the rules for visiting. The main one was no photographs taken from inside looking out. I suppose this is because a photo through a window could show the trajectory for a sniper's bullet?

The first few rooms were rather ordinary, but very tastefully decorated. Blues and beige everywhere. We learnt that Downing Street was actually a backwards house; in that the front door was originally the servants' entrance, and the garden was the front entrance overlooking St James' Park.

The bestest bit of the foyer was a leather seat on which the Prime Minister would sit at cabinet meetings whilst making important decisions. It has a high back curving around to increase the amplitude of the PM's voice, and has a drawer underneath designed to hold warm coals. Yes, it's the original 'Hot Seat'.

From the Hot Seat, one can look down a hallway linking 10, 11 and 12 together - the bottom floors of the houses act as a sort of open plan business suite, with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Treasury officals able to interact with the Prime Minsiter's staff very easily.

All through the building, we passed quite excellent examples of British Art. More artefact than art, however, was Churchill's favourite armchair. The left hand side is worn from where he would brush against it as he flicked his cigar ash away:

After wending through a few more passageways, we came to the stairs up to the more important rooms. A highlight for me, because I am kinda weird, was the yellow stripey wallpaper. It looked really cool with the black and white pictures/photographs of previous PMs:

And, yes, this is the stairway Hugh Grant dances down in Love Actually. The room he ends up in was part of the tour as well:

Once upstairs, the rooms became very grand. Although quite small, they are filled with exquisite furniture and paintings. We sat on the lounge chairs in which visiting PMs are photographed discussing things with Gordon Brown - each chair is worth £250,000!

Amusingly, because 10 Downing Street is not an office building, there aren't any meeting rooms (besides the Cabinet Room), so staff have all their meetings in these rooms - even just a quick chat about next weeks' quiz night will have to take place in these opulent settings.

Off course, it's not all meetings, so John was able to show us the behind-the-scenes working environment as well. Their press office was tiny, crammed in and decorated with very dark wood panelling - it seemed a depressing place to work, irrespective of whether the media were currently for or against the government.

From there, we were back into the public rooms - sitting rooms, the small dining room, the large dining room, and the PM's office:

We were also shown the Cabinet Room - but this was quite strictly monitored, and we had to stay behind a rope at all times. Some of the gifts from overseas ministers were on display - including an enormous ivory sword from Kuwait.

Our final stop was some time spent in the garden. It was surprisingly tranquill, with bright fowers and an English-y sort of landscaping:

After two hours or so, Lucy and I said our goodbyes to the awesomely lovely John and took Cam and Laurie out for dinner to say thank you for thinking of us. Shortly after our adventure, Cam and Laurie moved back to NZ for good, so we were lucky to spend time with them doing something special and so completely cool.

Go Mysterious Haka!

2008-08-23T06:53:00.000-07:00

My workmates are a friendly and social bunch, and although we all work very hard it is often balanced by some playing hard as well.

The impending closure of the Walthamstow Greyhound Stadium gave the East Enders in my team a chance to take us for a night out in the 'hood. Entry, a meal and two tote bets for £10 - yippee!

The Stadium is something of an institution. In it's heyday, over 5,000 people would pass under the awesome neon sign each evening:

However, changes to gambling laws mean on-track attendance is declining, plus nostalgia cannot hide the fact that dog racing is a rather rough sort of entertainment, appealing mainly to chavs and not particularly lucrative. For me, 'chav-ness' implies no disrespect, it just means I got to enjoy something I wouldn't normally do. The rest of team got into the East End spirit as well - as testifed by the empty chicken'n chip boxes, sauce packets, beers and betting slips:

Sadly, the closure of the track means many of the old-skool bookies are out of work. This guy was my favourite of the five or so still working the crowd down by the finish line. I loved watching them all chalk and re-chalk their odds whilst doing the maths superquickly in their heads. But, he does look rather miserable:

The tracksiders only take £5 stakes upwards, and I was keeping it real with 50p bets. So, instead I stayed indoors to place my bet on the first race - #3 Analyse to win. My bookie got a sour look in her eyes when I fessed up to my limp stake. But, no matter, because here's my doggie crossing the finish line in First (hurrah!):

My triumphant 28p win was somewhat overshadowed by my colleague Ivan who made £52 on a £2.50 trifecta.

Determined to be more successful, I followed Ivan's example and paid more attention to the 'form' of each dog in the programme. Of course, when it came down to it, I still pretty much chose my dog based on their name. I mean, who could refuse 'Tommy Bahama'?:

No matter the method, I didn't get the hang of it at all, and was on a four race losing streak (a whole £2) by the time my brother and his friends turned up to have their own East End Experience.

Matt et. al. are far braver than I, and delighted in placing £5 bets with the old guys down front. They bonded well with Ivan over shared abilities to understand form and make confident predictions in an alien language, and all did very well in their races. Bastards!

I was getting a tad somewhat despondent at my paltry efforts, so thought I might give it one last go before having to leave for the last Tube. Luckily, the many Kiwis and all the natural gamblers agreed that 'Mystical Haka' was the dog to beat in the next race.

I put a whole £1 in. And he won! So I made £2.20. I still think that's good, even if another colleague made £150 on a £5 trifecta punt.

All the winners crowded in for a shot that is smiles all round:

Our chav-tastic night ended on a complete high. Go Walthamstow!

Wow at Wimbledon

2008-08-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

Sometime late last year I thought I should try my luck with the public ballot for Wimbledon tickets. It was in the back of my mind that I could take one of my parents with me whilst they were here.

It's quite a drawn out process, as one writes away for an application form, receives it in the post, fills out and sends it back, then waits months to hear what tickets have been allocated. Again, once that letter is received, you must tear a portion off and send back with your cheque before waiting more weeks before any tickets arrive.

However, it is certainly worth doing if, on one's first try, one gets tickets to the men's finals!!!! And, my beginner's luck continued as the championship progressed and the final looked set to be Rafael Nadal (my favourite) versus Roger Federer (World Number 1).

There were a strange few days when all of England thought Andy Murray might make it through to the final round - whereby I would happily have scalped my tickets away to a patriotic punter for thousands rather than waste my own time with a match that would be over before you could say 'strawberries'. But anyway...

Mum and Dad had left the country by the 6th of July, so it was my tennis-mad girlfriend and myself who made the pilgrimage. Lucy had been to the All England Law Tennis Club before, so knew what was required to make the day easy. So, on finals day we got up really early and packed a picnic, before take the two and a half hour journey into the grounds.

I thought the atmosphere of the Club was wonderful, and loved the abundant purple and green trim - especially the flower baskets as we wandered around. It was something of an effort to resist the souvenier programme, cushions and umbrellas, but I couldn't resist buying a men's championshp towel and a few postcards to commemorate the main event:

Lucy and I had planned to sit on Henman Hill and drink champagne in the sunshine, but the weather was living up to tradition and the Club was clearly making a packet on sales of umbrellas and ponchos:

(Perhaps they schedule the Championships in springtime especially for the profit margins in plastic?)

So, our posh picnic turned into Cava from plastic cups huddled into the concrete walkway around the food court. But, it was a good chance to people watch before heading Courtside.

I had initially moaned when realising our seat allocation, but it was actually really lucky since the seats were far enough back from the Court that we could sit under the roof and wait for the rain to finish.

This being tennis rather than football, the pre-match entertainment was a royal marching band. It was cool but dull at the same time:

Eventually the rain stopped, and the covers could come off one hour late. It was a very efficient process, and it only took thirty seconds for the big green tent to turn into a rather large piece of laundry. There were 25 men and women ready to spring into action:

Another anxious wait, and the finalists came out - Federer in his trademark K-Swiss classic wear, and Nadal all young-looking:

A gentlemanly coin toss, and they began their warm up. I decided I might use my video camera to prove I was there. Unfortunately, it only recorded ten seconds or so before the batteries ran out... but you get an idea of the good view we actually had from our seats:

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After that it was all on.... except for the half an hour rain break in the middle of the third set. Oh, and the hour long rain break in the middle of a fifth set with each players having won two of the previous sets and the game tied at deuce.

All this just added to the tension of 26 break points, 4 match points, rally after rally of impossible shots being returned at angles that amazed, and the overall battle between precision and passion.

Finally, almost at the 9:30pm limit for matchtime and with darkness definitely making a difference, the game was settled 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7. If you don't know the result already, you can see match point in all its glory on this video:

As for me, I still feel the excitement of when Nadal got that final shot, how relieved I was for him to win and how hard I was screaming and yelling and jumping when he toured the court. I don't need a video to remember any of it. Absolutely wonderful.

My MasterCard advert

2008-08-21T08:58:00.000-07:00

Glastonbury ticket: £150

Tent: £60

A weekend of unending organic food, ten amazing artists, quality time with my lovely girlfriend, dancing with new work friends, seeing controversial acts for myself, tasting elderflower lemonade and learning to pee standing up: Priceless.

A new face and old friends - Day Three

2008-08-21T04:00:00.001-07:00

I tried to get up early on Sunday - but still didn't get to any stage before 2pm!

Having proven the excellence of our spot yesterday, we made base camp with the others in front of the main stage. However, I left them to John Mayer because I was desperate to see Newton Faulkner.

This proved a great idea, and the highlight of my festival.

I knew very little about him before the Festival, but the crowds of people willing to sit in the dirty margins of the pyramid field to hear him play attested to his briliance. There was quite a lot of competition for space, and I had to breach some fairly standard crowd etiquitte to get a decent view, even if only of the video screen:

As soon as he appeared on stage, I liked him. Newton's first words were of his gratitude for being back to Glasto for just his second time, and how amazing it felt to be on one of the two key stages.

From there, he just got into his zany, folky guitar sounds and it was a pleasure to be there. I was surprised to see that he uses his guitar as a drum as well as the usual way; showing lots of talent. But also, in between songs he told great, humble stories about what has changed since he debuted at Glasto last year. He was very funny. And, in the most humble gesture of all, his finale wasn't one of his songs, but a guitar version of Bohemian Rhapsody. Brilliant!

His performance sent me happily off back to the main stage, where John Mayer was just finishing (man, is he talented but boring!) and there was time for a decent chat and further reading of yesterday's paper before Neil Diamond came out.

Even though he's been around for a long time, I didn't actually know that many of the songs. But, one could see from the screen that the audience knew all the words, and Neil was enjoying himself:

So, for me it was more about sitting in the glorious sun, in a field full of happy people, listening to someone sing pleasant songs really well. It was a moment of true happiness.

After Neil, Goldfrapp gave an entirely weird performance that was forgetable to the point that I don't have anything to write about...

Fortunately, Leonard Cohen turned up just as the sun was setting. Lucy and I charged up as close to see his smooth moves:

We were surrounded by ardent fans, and one guy next to Lucy had tears streaming down his face. The others were a little too stoned for that, but it felt special to be in a thick crowd of people whilst singing Hallelujah with the man all others imitate.

I didn't think it could get any better than that, but our next stop was the Acoustic tent for Joan Baez (even arriving early enough to hear Suzanne Vega finish her set with Tom's Diner and Luca.)

Joan was the perfect ending for my festival, as I think she's glorious and have always admired her poltics. She has outlasted many of her contemporaries and looks and sounds amazing for 67:

She sang a mixture of soul, gospel and folk, and many of her songs began with anecdotes from her time as an activist. She thrilled me with an a capella version of Swing Low Sweet Chariot, especially after she told us it was a song she always remembered singing to Martin Luther King as he napped at a campaign stop one month before his assasination.

Joan also sang many of her own hits, and the crowd loved it. My camera managed to take a great video of the crowd's reaction to a particularly political song:

She was also lighthearted - using Diamonds and Rust to take a swipe at her ex-lover Bob Dylan. I knew the song was about him, and had heard it before, but this time she perfectly parodied his nasal singing voice to tell the story of a woman reminiscing about a lover making false promises. It was simultanously melancholy and hilarious.

After four (FOUR!) encores, Joan left the stage just in time to catch the helicopter performers use to rejoin civilisation elsewhere.

As for us, leaving was somewhat trickier. We'd actually been planning to leave early the next day, but the walk back to our tent gave us enough time to think about how long our options might take - and to decide to pack up straightaway and try to beat the crowds.

Luckily for me, I still had some leftover museli and yoghurt to keep me going in the strange half-light of a festival morning:

Our return journey looked like this:

12am - end of Joan Baez's performance
1am - finish packing tent, walk to queue for shuttles
3am - board shuttle (we were on the third one to leave)
3.30am - arrive Castle Cary station and queue for train
5am - train arrives
7am - arrive Paddington Station
8am - arrive Lewisham Station
9am - have something quick to eat and then head to bed.

It's no wonder it took the rest of the week to recover!

Hanging with 180,000 new friends - Day Two

2008-08-21T03:57:00.000-07:00

Saturday was always going to be the big deal - not only because of Jay-Z's controversial headlining, but for the absolutely unrelenting quality of performers leading up to it.

As full as the fields seemed on my first day, it was nothing compared to the sights and clamour of the next morning. Clearly, lots of people had arrived during the night - tents as far as the eye could see:

And, whilst we might be stuck in the middle of nowhere, we were still able to grab a decent coffee and a copy of the Saturday Guardian before finding yet more organic food.

Thus well-supplied for the evening, we got to the main stage just as the sunshine and our camping buddies arrived. What a happy bunch:

First up were Crowded House. Having missed their December concert last year, I was stoked to see them again. And, even though the early afternoon time slot indicated they might not be as popular as the other acts, I thought their years of performing experience showed in a polished set that up-and-coming acts might learn from.

It was a nice piece of home to see Neil Finn on the big screen:

And it was really cool to see tens of Australian and New Zealand flags waving along to the songs. Most of the English people knew a few tunes as well, so it was a vocal and good humoured audience to match the fun being had on stage.

(In fact, a good example of the humour can be found on this video, which I have mainly loaded because you can see Lucy on the right of your screen with her New Zealand flag at about 41 seconds in.)

And all this fun isn't just for left-leaning wannabes and face-painted flower babies. Some old hippies get into it as well:

I passed on the opportunity to see James Blunt in favour of more exploring, and some merchandise buying. However, we made sure to come back in time to see Amy Winehouse.

As with thegossip, I have wanted to see Amy live for ages. Even though it is hardly the ideal venue for her, it was still exciting. So much has been said about her in the past few months it was considered unlikely she'd be well enough to show up. But, she did:

Her first few songs were really well done. However, soon enough whatever she was sipping got the better of her and the changes between songs turned into incoherent ramblings.

For the finale, she decided to do a Beth Ditto, and go into the crowd. Of course, controversy is never far behind, so she ended up allegedly punching someone in the face. Even from just the video screens you could see they probably deserved it, as the crowd was getting very possesive. But of course, it meant her minders were keen to get her off-site as fast as they could once she finished singing.

Which left it all up to Jay-Z to finish the night out with a bang....

His show began with a video taking the mickey out of the controversy. It made me feel foolish for being one of those who had thought he was the wrong choice for headlining, and I have to say that coming out singing the most famous song of his biggest detractor in a near-perfect imitation of his style was absolute genius.

From there, he burst into a light and sound extravaganza that was awesome. It was the closest the farm could come to stadium rocking, and I thrilled at the power of it. I couldn't help thinking this was the only time I'd probably do a hiphop concert, and got quite enthusiastic:

Unfortunately, his next song was 99 problems (but a bitch ain't one), so transition from genius to sexist only took five minutes:

Sigh.

And from there it descended into standard songs (and video images as big as billboards) demeaning women as bitches and hos and skanky ornaments. This was a real shame, as Jay-Z's talent is undeniable; he performed a five minute spoken word piece about Barack Obama that was better than anything I can think of- and led into a great song remixing Bangra beats with New Jersey rhymes. But, I just thought he picked the wrong songs for the friendly, peace and equality-loving environment the festival tries to encourage.

His final song was Lucy's favourite, fittingly called Encore, and we were half hoping Linkin Park might come out to perform with him. Sadly, it was not to be, but it was still a great finale. So, overall, if he had just confined his reportoire to the non-sexist suff I think I would have been a new convert!

It was good to be able to discuss my opinion with others who had been there. I think I was in the minority, but I am pleased to see the Festival organisers say they are stepping back from hiphop for next year. Lots of other hiphop was on show (such a Santagold, Battles and Dizzee Rascal), so if they just mean not giving the main stage to the mainstream stuff full of sexism, then I am all for it!

Glasto a go go - Day One

2008-08-21T03:47:00.000-07:00

This year, Lucy and I decided to concentrate on UK-based holidays. Not only so we could get some serious saving done, but also to make sure we capitalise on all the very famous ways one can 'do' England.

Logically enough, doing famous English things meant attending the Glastonbury Festival. Glasto is a politically-aware five day musical extravanganza held in late June in Somerset. The Festival has 12 (12!) main stages, and many other smaller performance sites. It combines rock and indie with folk, jazz and poetry all whilst raising awareness about poverty, pollution and climate change.

Controversially, this year's headliner is Jay-Z, a hiphopper. Traditionalists have said there's no place for hiphop at a rock festival, but others have said it could be the beginning of a new era. It may be the naysayers were right, as ticket sales were well down on previous years and many were yet to be sold even the day before. (Normally, they sell out in five hours upon first release.)

But, for either good or bad, we were on our way - and in a wonderful twist, slow ticket sales meant some of my work colleagues and their friends had a chance to get tickets for the first time too and we all decided to camp together.

Because I was still spending time with my parents in London when the Festival began, Lucy went on two days ahead of me. This meant she arrived well before the big crowds, and was able to not only chill out and explore the plentiful variety of the festival at leisure, but we also got a pretty sweet site for our tent, replete with kiwi flag:

So, by the time my eight hour journey with the crowds from Paddington ended on Friday evening, Lucy had already sussed out the best place to eat, shower, chill and soak up the atmosphere.

The Green Fields most clearly show the purpose of the Festival - stalls and services here are all about reducing our environmental impact.

One of my favourite exhibitions was an Eco Pod - living quarters for up to two people that costs only £18,000 to build and uses renewable materials. It was super-tiny inside, but I think would be quite good for a writer's studio in the corner of a farm or similar:

After taking in all the green and hippy type stuff, and full of organic curry, I wandered towards the main stage, where we were to meet up with everyone else. Naturally, the crowd was building, and Lucy couldn't quite believe the change from an empty field to concert venue for 180,000. The farm was filling up:

We arrived at the stage just before thegossip began, and in time to meet up with everyone else for a head-banging, punk-filled boogie.

I have been wanting to see this 3-piece live for about 8 months, so it was an excellent way to start my first Festival. I don't think there is anyone quite as exhillirating to watch as Beth Ditto. Even though we were rather far away, her energy washed over the whole place. She made a massive stage feel like a tiny club in New York. Luckily for me, the BBC has better pictures than I might offer:

Beth really took to the Fesitval vibe, and jumped off the stage to get closer to the buzzing crowd. She marched up in down in front, stealing hats and sunglasses, swilling their beers and giving lots of sloppy kisses. I think she was as sad as we were when time was up...

The next few bands didn't interest me too much, so Lucy and I took the chance to buy beer (£4 a pint!) and get some yummy food back in the organic area. There were sooo many people around, it was phenomenal. And not one of them pushed or yelled or got into fights.

Soon time came for the next treat - Sinead O'Conner in the hot and heavy (and standing room only) Jazz Tent:

One of my great joys about Glasto was the pull of slightly retro or nostalgic acts alongside new grooves. I think other people feel the same way, and I wonder if they were as disappointed as I was by Sinead's dismal set.

We spent the first half listening to a track-by-track recreation of her new album - full of theological poems riffing on dull Catholic themes of guilt and quasi-redemption. The second half got better as she played her older stuff well and the crowd sang along.

But, her finale was always going to be 'Nothing compares to you' - and it needed to be good to make up for the rest of it. Sadly, she played it with shoulders slumped as if to say 'I-am-so-over-this-song-I-don't-care-how-much-you-appalud'. Worst of all, she ended the climax prematurely in the middle of the final bar, took her guitar off immediately and walked off stage. Not cool.

After that disappointment, I wandered back into the festival air ready for some sleep. It being just about midnight, the bands on the main and pyramid stages were rocking the farm, and it was fun to have them as soundtrack as Lucy and I walked the forty minutes to the other side of the fields to our tent. By the time we reached the 'suburbs', the main acts had all finished, and we had the soothing thumping of the drum and bass fields to serenade us to sleep.

A little bit of blogging angst

2008-08-21T02:29:00.000-07:00

Hi all,

Thanks for your emails about this page. I thought I might best explain my absence in a post, so please pardon my self-indulgence...

I have found keeping this blog going a real struggle. Not because I don't have subject matter - but because it takes quite a bit of time to pick pictures and find the right words to describe how much fun I am having. Are you surprised to learn that each post takes me about five hours from photo downloading to final polish?

That's quite a lot of effort and, unfortunately, my job has been leaving me with little energy in the evenings. It is hard to be creative all day and then come home to do it for 'fun'. (Blogging was much easier when I had a boring/depressing job!) But, I am proud of the record this blog has become for the many blessings and adventures I am encircled by, and I have many stories I would like keep sharing.

When I read yesterday that most blogs only last three years at most, it motivated me to update the blog and give it another go. I've been travelling and blogging for just over two years, and I would like to keep it up until I leave for Aotearoa again. And, since the adventures keep coming, that may be some time yet.

So, with your ongoing (and very gratefully acknowledged) interest in all that I am eating, drinking, seeing and doing, let's aim for a third blogging birthday in August 2009!

It means the next few posts will be very much retrospectives, but hopefully I'll be back to blogging-as-it-happens by September.

I love my life, and sharing it doubles the pleasure.

Your friend,
Amy.

Kewties at Kew

2008-07-23T05:35:00.000-07:00

After the loveliness of their first weekend, Mum and Dad headed off on a big trip around England to see places of Historical Importance to Greenwoods - like the castle in Wales from where the maid and chaffeur ran off to Lancashire to begin the whole dynasty...

I was missing Ma and Pa very much by the time they got back, and took the day off work to do some special exploring of our own.

Mum had very strong wishes to visit Kew, so after an introduction to Borough Market we headed west with picnic supplies aplenty. My cousin and her son met us there for a nibble and a catch up, then we took it in turns to climb the 18 metres to the Treetop Walkway:

It winds for 200 metres through the canopy, and is quite an interesting experience:

The view is excellent as well - lots of gorgeous glasshouses:

Looking away into the distance, one can see how well London does its green spaces - every few metres seemed to be filled with a park of some sort. Richmond and Deer Park were especially close, and I have made plans to go there One Day Soon.

Back on the ground, we parted company with the cousins and headed into the botanical collections. The first glasshouse was antipodean - South Africa, NZ and Australian plants were prominent. Everywhere I looked there were lovely natural shapes like this:

It was fresh and warm and nice to explore, but we knew there was so much more on offer that we didn't spend long inside. Instead, we did our best to stroll in a straight line towards the Palm House.

This conservatory was built in 1848 to house the exotic plants coming in from all over the globe as England extended her colonies, and it is still a stunning building. The lavender fields outside are gorgeous, and I wish you could smell them through the screen:

We didn't spend much time in there, instead wandering around the back towards Queen Charlotte's House and the Princess of Wales Conservatory. This exciting building houses Kew's collection of tropical plants. It was designed in 1976 but not completed until 1987 when it replaced 28 other buildings at risk of falling down:

I am a child of my parents' architecture books and the seventies feel of the place was wonderful. I loved the neverending feeling of light:

The three of us wandered past mini waterfalls, and eyewateringly bright flowers. Each corner uncovered more space, and it was a long, lovely trip to see it all. Cleverly, one wanders downwards to see exhibitions on tropical wildlife- including fish tanks that hide under the walkways. There were stingrays and turtles and that sort of thing, but it is the first time I have ever seen a piranha!:

We loved it all, and only the darkening day spurred us outside. Sure enough, just as we go to the Thames to enquire about the three hour boat ride back to town, the rain came falling down. So, we instead opted for the one hour National Rail journey to find ourselves at my favourite Greenwich restaurant for dinner. We toasted the end of a full and exhausting day with organic wine and tapas.

Because she's worth it.

2008-07-16T04:14:00.000-07:00

I've had the most amazing summer.

It all began when my parents arrived in London on the 31st of May to begin their month-long trip to Europe. I have missed them both so much that I wanted to do something special to celebrate. Plus, I definitely had to make up for missing my mother's 60th birthday party. Afternoon Tea at The Ritz seemed a fair apology to me...

So, Lucy and I put our bestest outfits on and met them both at Green Park to break the surprise. Does Mum's smile mean I am forgiven?:

We made our way inside to the Palm Court. The decor is opulent and very tasteful. Unfortunately, photographs inside the Court are not allowed. (My mother says this is because in the past men would take their 'secretary' to lunch and photography would put them at great risk of discovery.) However, a photograph from the Ritz website does actually do the setting justice:

The atmosphere was lightheartedly delicious, and I was so pleased with our choice. A very polite waiter took my father and Lucy's orders for tea and mother's request for coffee whilst we familarised ourselves with the tea tray. Someone else's photo to illustrate:

The tray's middle layer is left for warm scones, and these were delivered shortly, along with birthday cakes for those who had ordered them. The pianist played 'Happy Birthday' and even though I hadn't ordered cake for our table, we sang along happily.

The sandwiches were lovely, and the cakes dainty. I thought the scones were entirely average, but there was plenty of everything else to satisfy. Other tables around us didn't seem to agree, and kept the waiters busy requesting more servings of everything. I appreciate it is quite an expensive afternoon, but eating one's weight in sandwiches doesn't seem the appropriate response.

I was also surprised at the casual dress at some of the other tables. Some ladies were almost in tracksuits. It was all very strange.

Anyway, we sat happily for almost two hours, and it really was a lot of fun. By the time it came to leave, we were able to meet up with Matt after his work to take in another highlight - the London Eye.

The Eye is an enormous ferris wheel built to celebrate the millenium, and is 135 metres high. It lives on the South Bank of the Thames and rotates at 26cm per second. It has 35 or so 'pods' which you step into at ground level for a 30 minute trip.

We were fortunate to pick a quiet time, so there were only ten of us in our pod. We got some lovely views, and it was especially cool to see Westminster and Big Ben from a new angle:

Mum had said this was one of her must-do-in-London things, and I actually think all five of us loved it. (Thank goodness for the clear sky.) It was a fantastic end to the first day of Mum and Dad's trip, and Lucy was on hand to capture 4/5 of a family reunited:

(I'm so looking forward to seeing that last 1/5th in January!)

A long, long, long time coming - sorry folks!

2008-06-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

I shamefully left the blog mid-adventure, and for that I apologise. As usual, it is the hectic-ness of London life interupting my journalling. Which is a shame, because I have lots to update you all on once I get this one done... and I don't want it to take as long again...

So, with no further ado, let me return to the last day of our trip.

The morning shone extremely sunny and rather warm, so we didn't linger long over leaving the horrid hostel for some more sightseeing. We traipsed along the Royal Mile, taking in yet more poetic views of a very Dunedin-like city:

inevitably, we came to the Palace at Holyrood House - another of QEII's royal homes. Rather than go in, we thought it would be nice to relax by the fountains outside the Scottish Parliament on the oposite side of the road. It's a really good spot from where to fantasise about climbing Arthur's Seat - the highest point in the remarkable piece of highland landscape slap bang in the middle of town:

Apparently, it's not too hard to climb in four hours or so - so we'll keep it in mind for the next visit. In the meantime, we decided to stay pavement-based and headed to the Scottish Museum. It was boring. The best thing about it was the view from the rooftop. We spent quite a bit of time there soaking in some lovely sunshine and checking the vista towards the Firth of Forth:

After that, it was time to dash to meet friends of Lucy's in their new flat on the other side of town (the posh bit!). Hilary and Annie live in one of a series of old stables and craftpeople's studios that belonged to the whisky barons who made a fortune in the 1800s. The buildings are legally protected from renovation etc. Not only is it gorgeous, but backs on to a private shared garden with a 9-hole golf course, but also tennis courts and a private exit to the other really cool viewpoint in Edinburgh, Calton Hill.

Fancy strolling through your own gorgeously tended flower beds to emerge at this spot! It comes complete with uncompleted replica Parthenon. The almost-monument was a tribute to those who died in the Napoleanic Wars, but Edinburgh ran out of money before it could be finished. Glasgow offered to fund the remainder, but the city fathers were too proud to accept the money. I wonder what they would think if they knew it is now a notorious site for open air hookups of the cash-on-delivery kind?!?!:

After spending some very pleasant time with our hostesses, Lucy and I ventured downtown to the tiny gay neighbourhood and spent our evening in a very good restaurant called Blue Moon. It was lovely.

Overall, my second time in Edinburgh was as good as the first. Knowing the streets and sites well enough to be a bit of a tour guide for Lucy was rather fun. And, I was delighted to find my favourite vegetarian/vegan baked potato cafe in the whole world was still running. Lucy seemed to like it too:

Lots of Lochs

2008-06-02T03:24:00.000-07:00

There are two bank holidays in May. It's great, because you can use the first one for a sleep-in and the second to have a holiday.

Thus, Lucy and I headed to Scotland for three days. It was my second trip, and her first, and we were determined to make the most of it.

We arrived near midnight to a hostel that smelled of wet washing and was full of long term residents. My bunk was decorated with family photos of one Australian woman who was in Romania for the week (lucky me). Lucy was assigned a bunk at the top of the world - with no rail around it to stop one plummeting to the floor.

It won't surprise you at all to learn we both slept rather badly and were very keen to get going in the morning.

Lucy was to spend the day with a friend of ours who lived in Aberdeen, so she wandered off to the train station whilst I made my way down to meet my coach tour to Stirling and the Trossachs.

I have always been lucky with my tours, in that people are friendly and I make some good random connections. However, this group all kept very much to themselves. So, I just cranked up the music (Tegan and Sara) and settled in for a day of countryside.

From Edinburgh, we drove west through Glasgow to the Trossachs and Loch Lomond. I have already been to Loch Ness and it has spoiled me for all other Scottish water. Although, I must admit that Loch Lomond looked very pleasant:

So, not wanting to be underwhelmed with comparisons to my previous Loch Ness excursion, I left the rest of the group to their ferry trip and opted to explore the tiny town of Balloch instead. It probably would have taken just twenty minutes to see the whole place, but I spent twice that in the queue at the Post Office.

By the time I had finished composing witty epistles, the ferry had returned and we plied onwards to Aberfoyle for lunch. There wasn't much to recommend the town, but a falconry display beside the tourist office gave me the chance to touch a snowy baby owl. You would not believe how warm he is to the touch:

After sushi as bad as you'd expect in the middle of a national park, we headed up into the hills for some gorgeous views. Scotland is the only place I have been that I think is anywhere near as pretty as New Zealand. And this trip has confirmed it. Check out that sky:

The area was made famous in Walter Scott's romantic poetry, and some of the views must be the same as they were in the early 1800s. Like this rather beautiful holiday home:

The Trossachs National Park goes for miles and miles, and there are lochs within that I think I must have been on the other side of when I went to Loch Ness. The beauty is quite haunting, and I don't think it is too surprising that there are so many poems and legends about this area. Even a cattle thief like Raibeart Ruadh (born at Loch Katrine) turns into mystical Rob Roy at the hands of Daniel Defoe, Sir Walter Scott and the Wordsworths.

I just sat back and watched the loveliness unfold. It was very soothing and I found myself happily pondering life.

Again, I opted out of the standard tourist activity by foregoing Stirling Castle to instead wander down into the town for a better look. There some lovely old stones built into the slopes up to the Castle, and quite a lot of statues to poets, kings and heroes. I saw a weird monument to William Wallace that had him decked out as a roman warrior, toga and all. Even the inevitable Marks and Spencers, McDs and Primarks of the town centre didn't stop the place feeling medieval and fun. But, time was short, and the steep walk back up to the Castle threatened to leave me bus-less.

Fortunately, the rest of my group were utter dawdlers and they overstayed in the Castle by quite a bit. I had enough time to sit peacably in the sun and look around. The William Wallace Memorial seemed tantalisingly close on a nearby hilltop:

But, by the time everyone else emerged, I was more than ready to return to Edinburgh and find out how Lucy's trip had been.

A straightforward journey got me in by 7pm. But, a series of travel misadventures meant Captain Wheeler wasn't to arrive until 11pm. Having had an early start, we were actually pretty grateful for our soft and smelly beds. It's amazing the difference a day makes!

Off to Brighton for a birthday party

2008-04-28T11:06:00.001-07:00

Except for my flatmates and cousin, my London life really is filled with English people. Most of my friends are English and (surprisingly) all but one of my colleagues is English. My neighbourhood is mostly English people too. It would be nice if this paid off with a sexy British accent, but it just hasn't happened.

Anyway, from time to time, it is nice to be a Kiwi again. And it's even better if I can be a Kiwi Kid - which is exactly what I got to do when Lucy and I visited Brighton for a birthday party afternoon tea for our friend Corinne.

Each guest was greeted at the door with a nametag based on kiwi icons. I ended up with boot polish (?!?!) and Lucy got the Four Square Man. It made for a good conversation starter, and once we'd all been christened it made for a sociable group:

Having stayed still long enough for a group photo, it was all action once pass-the-parcel broke out. As a cool Kiwi twist, Amanda used Salmonella Dub as the soundrack.

Our children's birthday party theme was undermined somewhat by the prizes (lollies shaped like boobs, 'grow your own mistress' toys, edible nipple tassles - and an inflatabled sheep as the first prize). But, it was all brought home by the yummy feast:

It's been ages since I had pavlova, and even longer since I've enjoyed lolly cake. The English girls seemed a bit astonished at the food we consider iconic, but once the sugar kicked in, it was smiles all round.

Everyone played nicely together for a few hours, and I left on a very pleasant food colouring and champagne-based high.

Return to the dreaming spires

2008-04-27T06:12:00.000-07:00

I have made some excellent friends in England. One in particular is Pam, who gave me my first job in London and saved me from a future filled with beans on toast. Pam has an equally lovely partner called Daryl, and Lucy and I love hanging out with them.

Recently, Daryl offered to show us around her 'hood' - Bicester in Oxfordshire. Bicester is a tiny town of 28,000 and most well known for its outlet shopping mall. Fortunately, it has a lot more going for it - such as a bit of decent peace and quiet and a nice selection of pubs. It also has very close proxomity to Oxford, where we headed on a restful Saturday morning.

I'd been lucky enough to visit Oxford last year with my cool Aunt, but Lucy was having her first trip. I'm sure she was stoked that our visit coincided with some sort of Morris dancing festival in the town square. There was quite lot to watch, and I liked the relish with which these old ladies whacked each other with sticks:

This bunch were a bit more traditional, but seemed to enjoy the show as well:

After a few jingle jangles we wandered into the covered market. I had foolishly skipped this on my earlier visit. I particularly loved the deli. Not only was it fabulous in a 'remember when we were in Siciily?' kind of way, but it also had lots of Asian ingredients we just hadn't been able to find anywhere in London. We did a bit of damage there:

My other favourites were the milkshake bar (Snickers and Kahlua shake anyone? How about marshmallow and jam?), the crockery shop and the florist. These dried plants were incredibly colourful:

But, apparently, there's more to Oxford than the market.... so we wandered off to look at old things. Like the Radcliffe Camera - built in 1743 and now an addition to the nearby Bodleian Library:

Four smart women like ourselves weren't going to miss checking out England's second largest library (and the oldest, 1602!). We wandered the courtyard a bit, and Lucy took pictures of old things:

It would have been nice to do a larger tour, but we had things to do (like lunch). So, we wandered into north Oxford to find a sandwich and a grassy spot to sit. We found the sandwich alright (roasted peppers and salad - yum!), but had no luck with a park.

The Oxford planners decree that people must pay £3 to enter the botanical gardens. We didn't feel like shelling out, so sat on a nearby picnic bench. The foolishness of the policy showed in the piles of people we watched stroll up to visit the gardens and then turn right back round again. If even half of them had bought an icecream or cup of tea, the gardens would be raking in the fees.

Hopefully, by the time we visit again the policy will have changed and we can enjoy what seems to be a lovely space. This is a photo I took on jumping tippytoes from behind a perimeter fence:

After a bit more of a stroll and a case of mistaken guidebook reading on my part, we ended up back on the park and ride to Bicester. Saturday drew to a close with homemade curry and champagne. Like the four of us, it's an unexpected but wonderful combination.

A boaty blog

2008-04-08T05:16:00.000-07:00

A weekend or two ago, I joined my friend Lavinia to explore HMS Belfast, a former gunship that is now a floating navy museum on the Thames. It was a grey day, so this is a better photo than mine:

The ship is essentialy six floors of action:

We started on the dining level, where some old admirals where having a buffet lunch. The smell of their sandwiches mingled with the musty rustiness of the rest of the ship. The combination of steel, old water and mayonnaise kept us company as we checked out the galley, dentist's room (ick), hospital, radio room and map halls.

From there we went downstairs into the bowels of the ship. It was lots of fun walking on gangways above pipes and dials and those sort of techy things that make 12,000 tons of steel move:

The ship is enormous - 187m long, with steel walls 12cms thick, so no wonder it could carry two aircraft and 750 men, scrambling all over the place to fire things at Germans in the North Sea.

I think we walked a few kilometres in all the up-ing and down-ing we did seeing how it all worked together:

I'm usually a bit of a pacifist. However, I couldn't help but admire the sheer killing power of the ammunition and torpedo rooms:

The best bit was when I'd realise just how far below the surface we were. It freaked me out quite a bit, but was also kind of a thrill. I'm not really into boats, but I'm glad I did this one.

Cantabrian for the day

2008-04-01T13:19:00.000-07:00

What better time for a holiday than the coldest Easter in 84 years…

I was snowing quite prettily when Lucy and I arrived in Canterbury on Saturday afternoon, so we could explore the town in relative ease.

My first impression was very pleasant – there were a surprising number of people around. It also had a Tudor-ey kind of feel that reminded me of Stratford. The high streets are closed to traffic, and the relaxed air made for good random wandering.

The first thing I really liked was the library on Canterbury High Street:

Most of the surrounding shops are all called Canterbury this and Canterbury that, so I felt like I was back in Christchurch a little. Especially since the main tourist attraction is a cathedral.

It wasn’t hard to spot the main event, but the actual entry gate was well hidden. It’s tucked between shops like some random retailer:

If we’d come at it straight on instead of sideways, we couldn’t have missed Jesus perched above the pedestrians, looking miserable:

On first glance, I was really disappointed with the complex. This is supposed to be one of the most important Anglican churches in the world, but it is surrounded by outbuildings and car parks. Ugly stuff! I couldn’t get a photo that wasn't blocked by walls or rubbish skips etc, so here is someone else’s effort (taken in the 1970s I think):

Up close it is much more impressive:

I found a side path to explore. This was a great idea; we found the cloisters and lovely rooms away from the majority of visitors. It also gave a good view of how the building was put together – some of the nooks felt like all the dimensions were colliding:

Inside, it is a bit calmer. The ceiling is quite spectacular, and my research meant I knew it was a very early English Gothic example of high pointed arches, flying buttresses, and rib vaulting. But I didn’t need a book to tell me that the stained glass is unbelievable:

Actually, the architecture pretty much speaks for itself. Initially, I was disappointed with the lack of spectacle and awe conveyed by the building (compared to other churches like Sacre Coeur) because there was very little colour. However, the glory is saved for small bits – like this font (that is rather more gilt and blue in reality):

We joined the service that was taking place but it was a bit dull, so we just checked out some souvenirs and found the nearest pub before heading back to the hostel for the evening.

The morning found us navigating our way through thick, thick snow towards the train station. It was freezing, but the daffodils were pretty, and nothing puts me off a cheesy spring photo:

We had a good three hours to warm up again, however, as our Ashford to Eastbourne train limped south at about walking speed.

The snow stopped and the wind picked up as we got into town. Eastbourne gets a lot of stick for being an old people’s resort, but I thought the beachside hotels and tearooms were quaint.

It may have been cold and lonely outside, but there was lots of company available at the Carlton Hotel – holding its weekly pair dancing and sing along session. Lucy thought I was joking when I suggested we hang out in the day lounge, but I wasn’t bothered that the average age was probably 75. I ended up knowing most of the songs anyway – because I am a dork with a taste for nostalgia.

There was something comforting about sitting in the warmth, drinking a £1.50 brandy, deciding that today’s youth don’t know they’re born, and my goodness isn’t there a complete lack of discipline in homes and schools these days etc etc. (My participation in this conversation required just an initial nod of agreement.)

An hour was long enough, so we headed to our hotel. Unfortunately, there was a mistake with the booking, and we actually ended up coming home that night instead.

So, a shortened holiday, but no less interesting in the end. It was excellent to finally see Canterbury Cathedral (my tourist To Do List has one more tick!), and it is always good to get out of London.

A wet weekend

2008-03-18T13:54:00.000-07:00

The weather in London is fairly miserable. It certainly doesn’t feel like spring. But, we were determined to keep up with the tourism...

So, wearing more layers than I ever thought possible, Lucy and I ventured forth to the Natural History Museum in South Kensington:

The inside is no less impressive, and the wonderful light makes the entrance hall feel much larger than it is:

We wandered around a bit, and checked out a Sequoia slab that was ten metres wide and a gazillion years old.

Almost as old was the photography in the evolution exhibit. ‘Modern man’ apparently wears flares and sideburns whilst playing football with children in beige corduroy jackets whilst modern woman prepares a nutritious picnic nearby. I’d like to think we’ve evolved a bit more since then.

Wandering our way through various rooms, we eventually got to the good stuff. It was a bit thrilling to see a kiwi:

and a kakapo and a kea and a very pretend moa.

Of course, such things were very collectable, and this charming multiple homicide was made for the benefit of some gentleman’s dining room:

From there we journeyed by escalator toward the centre of a very very very unimpressive Earth (tin foil and red lighting) to learn about volcanoes and geology and the like.

In spite of the naff entrance, I liked the display of rocks and gems quite a lot. This is a tabletop recovered from a Roman villa in the BCs. Each tile is made of something that was very rare at the time, and implies an awful lot of wealth on the part of the owner:

At the other end of the spectrum were minerals that aren’t at all rare, but were kind of fun. I liked this one because it looks soft and furry, but is just a little bit less hard than diamond:

Compared to a table, this is a lot less ostentatious way to show a collection. It reminded me of the threads in my mother's sewing box:

My energy was waning in inverse proportion to that of the screaming children in our vicinity, and it was definitely time to go.

The one thing that made this visit unique for me was the opportunity to see kauri gum for the first time, and understand why it was so treasured. It makes a beautiful finished product:

Overall, the museum was informative, but kind of flat. I just felt like no one cared about the exhibitions any more; perhaps England’s loss of colonial power means it no longer gets first dibs on the cool stuff.

I can't believe we almost didn't do this one!

2008-03-06T04:58:00.000-08:00

My plans for Paris didn't originally include the Musee d'Orsay, as I was more interested in ticking off the Louvre, Eiffel, Arc etc. However, after our trip, it is now my favourite gallery in Europe.

The gallery is in an old railway station that was built in 1900. By 1940, the platforms were obsolete, so it fell into disuse and was almost demolished before the Mayor came to his senses in 1977.

It is a gloriously long building:

and the inside is cavernous:

So there is plenty of room for gorgeous things. Within a very diverse collection, Lucy and I caught up with our friend Sappho:

and then quickly moved onto the collections. I think we did it all a bit backwards; our first stop was some fun modernist paintings:

I was impressed by the depth of the collection. I know it is fairly clearly an important museum, but they had more than one or two good works by important artists. Once away from the modern stuff, we were absolutely spoiled by room after room dedicated to painters. There was a Renoir room, a lovely Degas room (including thirty or so ballet dancers statuetes in bronze) and Monet, Manet, Cezanne...

It was Art History Student heaven, and I really enjoyed seeing for the first time paintings I had written ungainly essays about for most of the mid-1990s. It was a blast to say hello to my mate Vinnie as well:

I spent the majority of my time in his room, which had twenty major works - including Starry night over the river Rhone (1876).

Highlights elsewhere included Whistler's mother (1871)and Le déjeuner sur l'herbe (c1862). Overall, it was awesome.

And a great way to finish the trip.

A magnificent morning

2008-03-05T04:04:00.000-08:00

Having been so busy to-ing and fro-ing to monuments and museums, Lucy and I had mostly been eating where we found ourselves at meal time. However, once we discovered that ‘Paris’s oldest patisserie’ was around the corner from our hotel, it made sense to make a dedicated stop there for breakfast at some stage.

And so, on our last day, we did the decent thing and stocked up:

I don’t know why, but I was particularly taken with the pink piggies:

Once we’d found a coffee cart in the main park, it seemed as good a place as any to enjoy a very Continental start to the day:

The surroundings were quite tranquil, and in spite of the cool morning there were plenty of ducks in the water:

I couldn’t help but wonder if the nearby statue hurt their feelings:

We made friends with the ducks for a while and watched some very dedicated joggers fog up the horizon. Eventually we followed them towards the Seine and to the Musee D’Orsay.

(I will leave our last tourist stop to my last tourist post about Paris…)

As a Parisian afternoon turns to dusk

2008-03-03T04:11:00.000-08:00

It didn't take long to get from the Louvre to Montmarte, but we were absolutely starving when we got there and had trouble finding a restaurant that wasn't a rip off. Even then, Lucy's vegetarian meal came with clams, so it was quite disappointing overall.

But, once half of us were fed, we wandered through tiny, charming streets up lots of steps to find Sacre Couer and the highest point of Paris. It looked glorious in the full sunshine:

In contrast, the interior is gloomily amazing. Like Notre Dame, it wasn't possible to walk into the middle. There were high walls put up, and I had to content myself with peering through arches on my tiptoes. However, it was enough to show me what is my favourite church ceiling. Here is someone else's photo:

The blue of the roof is unlike anything I have ever seen, and gave me pause for thought the whole rest of the afternoon.

After Sacre Couer we wandered round to the village of Montmarte and gawked a bit at the 'painter's' selling their work. I am always sceptical of these markets, but I enjoyed the vibe:

Some lemon crepes gave us energy for the stroll back into Paris, and it was going so well we decided to try the Eiffel Tower again.

Amazingly, after half an hour in the queue and a truly truly truly terrifying elevator ride, we got to the top at dusk. Lucy and I had long enough to spot the landmarks we'd visited on our jam-packed trip, and could then pinpoint them again after dark. So perfect:

It was also very romantic. (Must be the altitude....?)

I am very happy to have been up the Tower. I had decided against the effort on my birthday but now that I have done it, I must say it it is one of the best tourist things to do. The lookout is lower than that on the Empire States, but somehow more special.

We got a lovely backwards view on the way to dinner:

The main event

2008-02-28T05:59:00.000-08:00

Today is Mona Lisa day.

We’d done some reconnaissance on our first day in town, and knew the best time and place for getting to the Louvre ahead of tourists. So, our morning was both early and easy…

The pyramid was still impressive even on a second look:

And from inside it makes an even nicer contrast with the curly beauty of Henry II’s 16th century palace:

I was surprised to find the entrance was actually a roof, but travelling further underground showed the dynamism of I M Pei’s design to really good effect. But, I was here to see older art than this…

The gorgeousness of it all took my breath away. I had to keep remembering to look up at ceilings about ten metres high:

As Lucy and I made our way following a rather tricky map to ‘the main event’, I took lots of mental notes about returning to see the massive Greek and Roman after we’d caught up with Mona.

I think we were the sixth and seventh people in the massive gallery set aside for bustling tourist pilgrimages. Mona was a pretty cool painting, and I laughed to find out that her eyes really do follow you around the room. (If only my picture could do her justice.)

Of course, we may have been first-ish but it didn't take long for the room to full up. Having got tired of Americans talking too loudly and taking naughty flash photos, I finally turned my attention from the masterpiece and noticed the massive oil paintings in the rest of the room. They were at least 10m long and 4m tall – and very “wow!”.

And that was only the beginning. Room after room looked like this one, which happens to have my two favourite renaissance paintings side by side – Liberty leading the people by Delacroix (1830) and
The raft of the Medusa by Gericault (1818):

Even in some of the smaller galleries, the quality is amazing:

And still there are more breathtaking ceilings:

After an hour and half or so, it actually got a bit much. Tourists were crowding all the famous paintings and ignoring the other really good ones – which was a bit depressing. So, I made my way past the Venus de Milo (4th century BC) and the Winged Victory of Samothrace (3rd century BC) and out into the also-glorious sunshine.

A nibble of bread and avocado kept me amused until my fellow traveller arrived. We were both impressed with the atmosphere and wealth of the museum, and had lots to talk about on our way to Montmarte for lunch…

Le Centre George Pompidou

2008-02-22T05:15:00.000-08:00

Feeling very much like dedicated tourists, Lucy and I decided we could manage ANOTHER stop on our first exploring day. Luckily, the Centre George Pompidou was very close to the restaurant:

Finished in 1977, the Centre houses an extensive collection of modern art in a building designed to ‘turn architecture inside out’. Stairs, elevators and pipes are all on the outside, and are colour coded according to function: yellow for electricity, red for transport, blue for air, and green for water. It is a fun building, but not that shocking because it looks so much like the QEII hydroslide.

Once inside we explored various corners. I don’t remember what the art is all called, so shall just show you the pictures. I liked the first piece here because it takes bravery to make enormous wool kebabs and call them art. The rest I liked for being colourful and well made:

We spent over an hour in here, and it was very pleasant.

Having had a long and full day, we took a gentle stroll back through quietly commercial back streets to our hotel.

Jour deux – le debut

2008-02-21T06:13:00.000-08:00

Having spent a wonderful birthday simply following my nose, it was now time to get a little more deliberate in our wanderings. This meant a journey to Île de la Cité and Notre Dame (STPN4):

Being a Sunday, it was a bit crowded. There was really only one circular path that could be taken through the crowds and it skirted pews and pews of people taking Mass. Listening to a French liturgy was quite enjoyable, and the service added another dimension to some rather stunning glass and sculpture. I don’t think my photo of the Rose Window can do it justice, but I shall try:

Lucy disappeared into the pews, and I made it my business to check out every corner in the massive building. One of my favourite finds was the educational display into how the cathedral was made:

The scale models underlined why it took almost 200 years to finish the cathedral (c1345, if you’re interested), and gave real pause for thought as I explored the rest of the complex.

My tour didn’t get as far as the towers and gargoyles, as I figured these were shut during services. As it turned out, it was just that we’d arrived too early for normal tourists, so hadn’t seen the queue at the side of the cathedral that gave the whole thing away.

Alack, I was over the whole cathedral thing by then and it was time to venture towards the Bastille.

Our wandering took us off the island, over the Seine and into Saint Germain de Pres. Although it certainly had a funky feel, there wasn’t much of a ‘Left Bank’ hurrah going on. Instead, it was just more gentle strolling in the sunshine. One hundred and forty three families on electric bicycles with baguettes in their backpacks passed us by as we made our way towards the site where the French Revolution began. It is now (a la Le Arc) an enormous roundabout, and was too boring for even a photograph.

Thus, we paid far more attention to this fifteen-piece funk band. They were cool. I have their internet address somewhere…:

Their stage was one end of a market, so we bravely ventured forth to practice our French and stock up on bread, meat and cheese (which smelt like dead people). We munched on that as I got us completely lost somewhere in northern Paris. That was a bit stressful.

Fortunately, there was a metro nearby, and we were soon back on course for the Place des Vosges. This trendy little square was built in 1612, and is the first example of European town planning. The gardens were suffering a bit from winter, so the chocolatiers lining the streets fore and aft were of much greater notice. As was the Picasso Museum – where we spent about forty minutes. It is small but a good stop in a wander though an interesting neighbourhood:

The sandwiches and chocolate had worn off by now, so Lucy and I were hungry and getting a bit grumpy. Amazingly, we found an organic restaurant that served lots of wholefoods and dairy-free options for those unable to eat dead people cheese (i.e. moi). It doesn’t look like much, but this place served the kind of food I dream of eating on a night out:

Being in a rather expensive part of Paris, the floor space is so precious that the tables sit next to each other. It was rather intimate, but quite fun. (Organic red wine helped!)

Lucy said the coffee was some of the best she’s had, and I am sure the energy kick stood her in good stead for our last stop of the day…. Which I will write about in my next post.

Bon jour Paris - Happy Birthday to moi.

2008-02-20T05:13:00.000-08:00

Lucy and I had a weekend away in Paris for my birthday. We began in style with a 2.5 hour trip on the Eurostar from Kings Cross to Gare du Nord. Having made it to the hotel by bedtime, it was lovely to put head upon pillow knowing I would be turning 30 in France.

Unsurprisingly, I woke up early and excited. Lucy was as happy as I, so we headed out to get some morning sunshine and see the sights.

I knew I was in a stylish kind of town when I saw the effort they take with public toilets:

We had most of this stylishness to ourselves as it was definitely the tourist off season. So, we found ourselves strolling empty and winter-barren pathways around the Louvre complex. Fortunately, it was warm and the first celebration of the day was a sugary birthday crepe in the sunshine at at the end of Le Jardin des Tuileries.

The next logical step was along the Champs Elysses towards the Arc de Triomphe. Cue Standard Tourist Photograph Number One:

The Arc is the centre of a massive roundabout that stretches to five lanes wide. Not that there are any lanes marked. Cars go crazy, so pedestrians are fortunate to be able to scurry underground and emerge mole-like in the middle.

The Arc is very pretty, and I didn't it realise it was quite so detailed with all the inscriptions of wars and the fallen. They have plans for a museum inside as well, but it was basically empty when we made our wobbly way up the inner spiral staircase to the top.

The view was pretty good. It was nice to get some more sunshine and capture Standard Tourist Photograph Number Two:

I had been told to approach the tower from the Trocadero, and being up high made it much easier to work out what they meant. So, we absorbed as much vitamin D as possible and made our way southwards. A cute but not amazing restaurant fed us salad nicoise, and shortly enough we were at the Tower.

I had planned to be on the top at 2:48pm, but the queues just looked too long and I was feeling my age (!). Instead, we walked along the Esplanade towards Le Hotel de Invalides (STPN3):

This building was founded by Louis XIV in 1640, but eventually became Napolean's Tomb. Thus, the interior is rather posh:

It is quite an interesting monument, with some good displays. Not many people I know have seen one of Napolean's hats, and aside from the fact it might be the one he actually died in, it is kinda cool.

The rest of the complex is given over to army memorabilia. That didn't catch our fancy for very long, so we headed back out.

One of the things I have learned about Paris is that only a small proportion of the monuments and things make it into the guidebooks. So, I was caught by surprise by the grandeur of the many bridges over the Seine. I think the French do a good golden horse:

But, they do food even better, and the next stop on the itinerary was a birthday celebration to find out just how well.... (this is the bit where I refrain from mentioning I had to go home for a nap first.)

We were fortunate to find somewhere traditional next to our hotel:

It looks innocuous enough, but Bistrot Richelieu was awesome. My entree was pate as good as the best I have ever had, and this was followed by steak with scalloped potatoes and a stewed tomato. We toasted our happiness with champagne and had a good time being a little bit spoiled by the magnificent garcon.

Prior research had given me an idea to finish the night with some dancing in a women's bar in Marais, the lavender quarter. We duly made our way via Metro only to find my information was wrong, and there was no dancing to be had. Fortunately, emergency creme caramel and tart tartan were available nearby...

So, in a tiny cafe in a beautiful city, my birthday came to an end.

The Communicator......

2008-01-20T21:27:00.000-08:00

I am starting to feel at home in my new job. The Council is living up to its reputation as one funky, liberal place to be. My colleagues are very friendly, and laid back in a very un-English sort of way. No one bats an eyelid at the diversity within the district, and takes very seriously the gap between most and least deprived within it's borders. My manager told me this is basically because the Liberal Democrats dominate the Council, and given a Labour opposition it very much is a socialistic sort of place.

So far this has meant very positive things in terms of the attitude to its own staff and to the work that we do. I won't dwell on the comparison with the old job, except to say it is wonderful to be unencumbered by academic conspiracy theories regarding the placement of semicolons and the decline of modern civilisation.

I also like my shiny new widescreen laptop.

My first task is to help update the guide to council services that goes out to residents with their tax bill. A fairly dry but important document, it is proving an interesting project as the team tries to shift away from a 'municipal' directory to a more useful magazine-style brochure. It feels like it may just work, and I am pleased to be in from the beginning of the project, learning how my new team make these sorts of things happen. I am also more relieved than words can say that I am encouraged to have input on design and the campaigning to support the production.

Overall, they're a good bunch of people, and I am hopeful this role will be the learning curve I am looking for. Hurrah.

Happy new year!

2008-01-04T07:51:00.001-08:00

My apologies for the long absence.

I am not exactly sure what has happened, but will be creating posts over the next few weeks to catch up. I am already hard at work behind the scenes sorting out photos.

Stay tuned for exciting installments... or maybe just installments...

And, I'll keep eating, drinking, seeing and doing (for literary purposes, of course).

Now for something completely different…

2007-10-31T05:17:00.000-07:00

One of the perks of London is the diversity and quality of the events available at no charge. There are multiple organisations, societies, universities and political parties vying for our attention, and the pickings are generally pretty good.

For example, last night, Lucy, Matt, Geraldine and I attended a talk at LSE given by Prof Judith Butler from the University of California at Berkely, one of the world's most famous feminist sociologists:

The topic for discussion was how sexual and feminist politics have been co-opted by nation states as symbolise their modernity compared to other nations – particularly Islamic states.

One of Professor Butler’s particularly good examples was how Western governments are using tolerance of gay people to justify other bigotries (i.e. Muslim immigrants to the Netherlands must indicate their acceptance of an image of two men kissing).

The two main problems with this, are that (1) it is a discriminatory test - i.e. why don't white Australians have to take a similar test - there is nothing automatic about tolerating homosexuality just because you are white and grew up with koalas - so really it is obviously about trying to find a way to exclude Muslims.

And (2) Should gay people accept nation states using gay identities and beliefs to exclude others on the basis of their religious ones? Especially when those gay identities and beliefs are often ignored or dismissed by those same governments (such as through the denial of legal protection for gay partnerships and families).

It was a very thoughtful topic.

Unfortunately, the respondent (Prof Chetam Bhatt from Goldsmiths in London) was long-winded and unconvincing. It seemed the organisers had chosen an expert in Muslim history to discuss the ongoing associations made by governments between being Muslim and being unenlightened. I think it would have been more useful to have featured an expert on how governments throughout history have hidden behind a charade of tolerance to avoid adopting new ideas.

The Chair (Dr Suki Ali) had already let the discussion between Proffs Butler and Bhatt last far too long by the time the floor was opened up for questions. Unfortunately, Prof Butler being very famous in her field, some people really just wanted to demonstrate how many big words they knew. Dr Ali was unable to control one very waffley show off, and this meant when we finally got two really good questions (‘what is the place in anarchy in resistance to nation state oppression?’ and ‘where does a country’s imaginary mutual exclusivity of Islam and homosexuality leave people who identify as both?') we had run out of time to hear Prof Butler’s response.

Overall, it was an interesting debate. Although not effectively executed, there were times when I found myself nodding and nodding and nodding. I really enjoyed being in such an intellectual atmosphere, and having a smart friend, partner and brother around to dissect it with afterwards was an added bonus.

It shall prove an interesting contrast to tomorrow night, when I try out the newly arrived Speights pub opening up at my Tube station.

I am all for combining some thinking with some drinking.

Our final day

2007-09-28T07:46:00.003-07:00

I began the morning with a great swim. The water was as smooth as a bathtub, and I had it almost to myself. So, I just lay back, closed my eyes and listened to the water trickling over the pebbles. Half an hour of this behaviour, and I was the most relaxed I have been in ten years. Even now I can use this memory to unwind…

Of course, there were things to be getting on with. Having decided to do a bit of tourist stuff on the way back to Mytilini port, we had to head off just after brunch.

First stop was the Petrified Forest. The oldest fossils therein are 20 million years old, and it is the largest and most significant petrified forest in the world. The species of pine and sequoia unearthed here no longer grow anywhere in Europe or the Mediterranean. Most fascinating of all, is that two petrified forests exist - the second having grown over the first about 7 million years ago. Wow.

Overall, I was torn between either thinking this was pretty cool or wondering why I was clambering over a wasteland looking at rocks:

Although, this one looks like a face:

From the forest we drove to Kalloni and the Limonos monastery. We had seen this on our first day’s driving, but were too lost to stop:

This time, we had the leisure to check out the cute buildings, and the nice courtyard. Parts of the complex are closed to women, but Lucy took some covert shots of one of the chapels:

Back on the road, we were full steam ahead to Mytilini port. We arrived with enough time to explore a bit, so I walked to the other end of town to buy takeaway Ouzo and snap a picture or two:

The place was pretty damn charming, and it would have been interesting to spend a few days there. But, not this time.

Another fifteen hour trip later, we were back in Lewisham unwrapping souvenirs and already missing the sunshine.

An amazing trip.

North by northwest

2007-09-28T07:45:00.001-07:00

On our first full day in Skala Eressos, Lucy and I hung out on deckchairs all day at the private end of the beach:

It is a topless sort of place, but that was easy enough to get used to. So, we just relaxed on the shore with occasional forays into the village to buy Mythos beer (E1 a litre), fresh fruit and kebabs.

We had plans to splash out on our first festival event – an open air jazz concert in the village gardens. But, everything here is on Mediterranean time and, at the hour when the concert would have been starting up (10pm), my beloved and I were fast asleep after aforementioned hard day’s slog in the sunshine.

In contrast, the next day was action stations.

After a minor panic over appearing to have run out of money (damn useless UK banks), Lucy and I decided it was time to see more of the island. We headed to the 'city' of Molyvos, in northern Lesbos:

It is indeed a cute place. We decided to head uphill to the castle and a view of Turkey. It was closed for renovations, but Captain Wheeler turned rebel and lead me over some broken fencework at the back. The view was pretty good:

After clambering down, we made the short drive to Eftalou and Lucy was baptised by the choppy waters of St Agnassious’ beach:

The water was refreshing, but the offshore wind was pretty bad, and the gravely beach not fun at all. So, we picked our way back across the stones and ducked into the tiny hot pool complex for a dip.

The hot spring has been here since ancient times and is supposed to cure rheumatism, sciatica, skin diseases and heart problems. The idea is to start with a swim in the ocean and then sit in the 45’ water until one can’t take it, then splash on the beach before again immersing oneself until it gets too hot etc etc. One must finish with a cold swim and not spend more than an hour in the spring altogether.

Not only was I massively too sunburnt to be near anything with the word 'hot' in the title, but I wasn’t that keen on sharing my water with those sorts of disorders. However, because she is made of much sterner stuff than I, Lucy loved it. This kind of masochism also seems to attract wrinkly and topless eastern Europeans; I had to wait a while before getting a picture without too many of them in it:

The time passed very pleasantly, but the approaching sunset meant we needed to leave so as not to get lost driving in the dark.

Early evening found us at a taverna on the beach (again), where we had the meal of the trip – first off was some lovely cocktails (again), then onto a dish of tuna and broadbeans for me, and a grilled red snapper for Lucy. We drank beer (again) and enjoyed ourselves (again) as the sun went down on a gorgeous sunset (again).

There's something fairly attractive about the Lesbian lifestyle...

Hooray for Princess Fiona

2007-09-28T07:44:00.002-07:00

Mytilini Port was bustling, in spite of its size. The ships that service it are huge, and it was fun watching everything happening whilst the boat docked. Here is our first view of the place:

We sorted out our rental car pretty quickly (a lime green Fiat Panda christened Princess Fiona) and Lucy had fun getting used to driving on the right. A few more learning experiences with street signs and that impossible alphabet and we eventually found the correct road.

The scenery was rather dreary – scrubby hillsides and lots of scorched dust giving the impression you’ll turn the corner and see Luke Skywalker. The occasional view was lovely – tiled cottages or gorgeous estuaries, but I was starting to wonder if I had made the right decision coming to Mytilini instead of Crete or Molyvos:

However, as soon as we get to Skala Erresos, that changed. The village is small and bright. There were lots of colourful umbrellas, souvenir beach towels, postcards and floating toys hanging against white washed walls ten metres from beautiful blue water. Our hotel had a balcony and air conditioning to help with the heat.

Like us, most visitors were women there to check out the annual festival. Being Sappho’s birthplace, it is quite a significant spot. Although all the women seemed to be on the other side of 40 than us, and clearly quite well off, there was a nice friendly vibe about that made me feel very at home.

In spite of the festival, the beach is still wonderfully empty:

Lucy and I hit the water immediately, and stayed in until late afternoon when we got a bit peckish. Somehow, we brought ourselves to drink beer and eat stuffed zucchini flowers. Then, celebrated our good fortune with fancy cocktails:

And watched our first Lesbian sunset:

It's not a bad life.

From Athens to Mytilini port

2007-09-28T07:44:00.001-07:00

Having foregone the big A due to sunstroke the previous day, it was rather important that we got back up the hill on our last morning in Athens. Our wonderfully peaceful hotel room had cocooned us until 10:30 – so it was quite a rush to get out the door.

First stop was a proper tour of Ancient Agora. It was interesting, and I couldn’t get enough of the Temple of Hephaestus:

However, there was only so much time, and these crumbly ruins were nothing compared to the monolith awaiting us further up….

I was impressed but disappointed by the construction going on – the pixies were very busy! It meant there weren’t to be any ‘perfect’ photos, but I felt I had seen the Acropolis often enough in news and documentaries that the real thing was smaller and less impressive than I expected. Still, there were a few cool things around:

Hot enough after an hour in the midday sun, and not wanting a repeat of yesterday, Lucy and I clambered back down the hill and found the central market. Feta and salami gave me the first chance to really use my numbers, although we did just end up getting 100gms of everything (that's A LOT of olives!). I stubbornly refused to let a dodgy man sell me three mushy bananas, but my phrase book couldn’t tell me what he thought of that (yeah, right.).

Athens had taught me not to overlook the strange corners of the city, and I was rewarded for my curiosity with an ancient crumb of a church, tucked between a motor mechanics and a fishing shop on the main road back to the hotel. The churches in Athens are so beautiful inside, and this was no exception. I thought the gold crescents on the ceiling were some cool moon mural, but they are actually circles of real gold surrounding the heads of painted saints - but you can't see the saints because centuries of incense smoke and ash have faded the paintings. The atmosphere is breathtaking:

We then had a quickish stop to pick up our bags from the hotel before we headed to Piraeus port by Metro. Soon enough, we were onboard our Ferry learning what ‘economy’ means in Europe – find a spot on the floor and spread out. At first I thought this was just for gypsy families and solo truck drivers, but after trying all the alternative seats, I realised the floor was pretty much the best place. Lucy’s lack of reserve got her talking to the children, but I just kept to myself. Eventually, one of us fell asleep:

Not so fortunate, I just bummed around the ship for twelve hours. I was pretty tired as I watched the sunrise, but it was worth it.

Just in time to catch the gorgeousness of it all, Sleeping Beauty found me, and we took what I think will be my favourite ever photo:

No rest for the wicked, or tourists

2007-09-28T07:43:00.001-07:00

This is the view of the Acropolis from the front of our hotel:

Keen to see it up close, I wandered outside into the hot, sunny and fragrant Sunday morning. Beautiful singing drew me towards the church across the street from the hotel and I slipped hesitantly inside to watch the patriarch sing as he blessed babies and children and gave communion to their parents. The inside of the church was beautiful lapus and gold. It was a glorious sight, and only that Lucy didn’t know where I was got me back outside.

It being Sunday, we wandered down fairly quiet streets. It was weird to see very very old churches just sitting in the middle of tower blocks and shopping centres, although they are still quite picturesque:

Eventually, we settled ourselves at a café so that Lucy could try Greek coffee (thick, frothy, very bitter) and we could watch the world a bit. Being right in the tourist area, entrepreneurs offered us holy numbers, a song on a guitar, fluorescent plastic pets, roses, a song on a harmonica, rosary beads, pirated DVDs, a song on an organ and, naturally, the latest Louis Vuitton. Sadly, the organ fellow was the worst singer, but seemed to need the money the most:

Having decided it wasn’t really our kind of neighbourhood, we headed east towards the tourist information centre, but found only the changing of the Parliamentary Guards. Their uniforms are very sweet (note pom poms on the shoes), and it was good entertainment to watch as various persons lined up to have their photograph taken next to what is essentially someone standing still:

A man whose assistance eventually ventured into creepiness tried to help us find the tourist centre, but to no avail. So, instead we checked out the National Library and Athens Academy from the outsides and decided to part with E4 to tour the ‘City of Athens Musuem’. This was some oddball’s personal collection, and was quite nice in an eccentrically Victorian way. Lucy fell in love with the old jars and vases in the backyard, but I was just weirded out by how many paintings the fellow owned of Lord Byron.

By some excellent twist of fate, we then found ourselves on the glorious kebab mile near the central station. It was very touristy and completely overdone. However, it was 2pm and we were too hungry to care. This is Lucy and I demolishing a chicken kebab, lamb doner, tomato and cucumber salad, fries, more beer, and an extra serving of pita bread the waiter saw fit to give us:

Captain Wheeler then decided it was time for us to be brave and wander map-less up into the hills. The first sign that she was right (as always, of course) is when we found ourselves sitting on a rather large slate of granite taking quite nice photographs:

Once we had exhausted every possible Athenian angle, we headed further up the hill for the unique tourist experience of paying E9 to a man with a monopoly on Acropolian food and drink. Not surprisingly, the sugar and flavouring in icy water masquerading as ‘refreshment’ didn’t really help my headache, so we had to forego the monuments and head back to the hotel to sleep off the effects of the sunshine.

To my eternal relief, a few hours’ rest did the trick, and we headed back out in the cooler evening to see more sights. We wandered old streets near the flea market and discovered Taverna Platon just as we were getting hungry. It was a cute side-alley spot, with chequered tablecloths on little tables just for two and a lovely older gentleman singing along with his guitar. A very romantic end to the first day.

Yassus Greece...

2007-09-28T07:36:00.000-07:00

My apologies for not writing about Greece sooner. Our laptop has been sick, and is only just now back together. I hope the delay does not dampen your vicarious enjoyment of a wonderful time.

A fifteen hour day got us into central Athens close to bedtime. We had ‘fun’ navigating from the metro station to our hotel and were VERY lucky to stumble across some helpful English tourists and another kiwi couple. I thought I had found a wicked hotel all on my little own, but was saddened to discover it is actually in the Lonely Planet. So much for a unique travel experience…

Looking up to find the hotel sign, I got my first view of the Acropolis lit up on the hill at the end of our street. That was pretty special, and motivated a pretty damn quick finding of room and dumping of gear before we headed back out for an evening adventure.

Adopting a manner of over-excited strolling, we bypassed a few gorgeously lit public squares, obviously ancient ruins and enticing tavernas to find ourselves eating at the last restaurant before the Acropolis park begins. Mastering some fairly simple Greek (with help from people at the neighbouring tables), we ordered fresh fried fish, stuffed vine leaves, baba ganoush and some Greek beer with which to toast our safe arrival and general good fortune. Telios!

It was a pleasant escapade, and my first impressions of Greece were very positive. The mild climate was wonderful, the language has a similar accent to Italian (although an IMPOSSIBLE alphabet) and the people are uber-friendly. Sliding into a crisp and deliciously cool bed, I was certain this was going to be a lovely stay…

Carribean colour

2007-09-03T04:40:00.000-07:00

The last August weekend is Notting Hill carnival time. It's great fun - I wrote about my visit last year. This time I had my camera...

Arming ourselves with beer and maps, Lucy and I set off with flatmates and friends at about lunchtime. We had a slow introduction to the parade as we watched a few alcohol marketing things amble by, and spectated as a few random patches of teenagers dressed like school girls dry humped each other in a display of jamaican pride.

That seemed to be all on offer for the moment, so we took off down back streets to the food alley. A heaving plate of goat curry and jerk chicken was soon mine, someone found fairly dangerous rum punch, and it seemed best we find a quiet spot to dine.

It seemed likely a real parade would have started by the time we finished eating, so we did out best to navigate to somewhere (anywhere) with some music and dance happening. Luckily, we caught another random section of folks, and these were much better.

A salsa school was doing a homage to the movies. Aside from the Charlie Chaplin hats, I didn't really get it, but the visuals were cool:

And, they had a very bright and colourful bird to help them out:

This one wasn't bad either:

The vibe is awesome, and everyone is happy. The crowd and participants seem to feed off each other - and make friends:

After the parade, I was hoping to have a really full-on dance at a sound stage, but it wasn't easy to find a good one. Thus, we headed back home through the barbeque smoke and an even bigger crowd. The Police estimated 500,000 people attended, and I can believe it:

It was a pleasant day, and I even got a summer tan.
(Of course, it had disappeared by Wednesday.)

Do you miss me?

2007-08-21T02:48:00.000-07:00

I have been away from NZ for a year. I've kept my end of my bargain with myself(!) and it has proven a useful challenge. There have been a couple of times when I seriously considered returning, but having been here this long I feel I have achieved too much to let go and leave. So, England is stuck with me for a while yet....

Which means I get to hang out in Greenwich any time I want... even on a dreary Sunday afternoon when I just feel like going for a walk...

This is the fifth occasion on which I have strolled to Greenwich for a tourist turn, and I am still seeing things for the first time.

The Painted Hall was intended to be the dining room for the residents of the Greenwich Hospital before the entire complex was taken over by the Royal Naval College:

The custodians have provided a very cool mirror on a trolley that one can wheel across the floor, looking down to get a better view of up. The ceiling depicts the triumph of Peace and Liberty over Tyranny:

From the Naval College I decided it was time to see the Maritime Museum. This is the coolest model boat, but I am not really into them enough to tell you what it is or does or any of that stuff....:

On the other hand, sub-sub-sub-aquatic explorer pods are awesome:

After an hour faintly bemused by the collections, I wandered up to the Grand Meridian. I really like the view from up here - The three tallest buildings in Canary Wharf are worth a billion each, but I consider the Navy College, Queens House and the Museum priceless:

Then, I couldn't help but follow my ears to the rotunda at the east of the park and find these guys playing concert tunes. I had been a bit annoyed that a jazz band in another part of the park had been charging £5 to listen, so these guys were even more of a treat:

I bopped along for a bit with a gaggle of toddlers and the assorted grandchildren of the musicians before deciding to head home.

Unbelievably, I have not yet been to the Observatory, the flower garden or the fan museum. It is a good thing I am sticking around.

All gayed out

2007-08-08T01:28:00.000-07:00

Brighton Pride is the largest event of its type in England. The first week in August is always full of workshops, debates, and parties. The big finale is a parade and park festival on the Saturday.

I had never been to a Pride Parade before, so was terribly excited. Even more so because Lucy and I were staying the weekend with lovely friends we hadn't seen since their Civil Union back in 2006.

It was a very happy and busy two days. Rather than write about it all, I am just going to post some of my photos. Enjoy.

Mein hostesses:

The parade getting ready to set off:

These people were making very cool music:

There is something VERY gay about men wearing gold waistcoats:

Sailors are pretty gay too:

Drag queens are also very gay, and a bit boring after a while:

It got more girly after that. This was my second favourite float - even if it is just a marketing ploy for some cheap plonky wine.
Hot dancing girls in cages, yum!:

However, I can't deny I'm a woman of the 80s - go Fame Girls!

The parade ended and we made our way to the park.

Oh, dear Lord, the wimmin's tent. This woman was singing a funny song about having a smear. Sigh:

I found some friends, and a pink rainbow cowboy hat - yeehah!!

After all that sun and fun, the beach the next day was very relaxing:

A fairly average weekend

2007-07-30T02:38:00.000-07:00

I am not exactly sure if summer is here or not, but there are heaps of festivals happening all over the place. There is something for everyone, even a poor immigrant from New Zealand with a shoddy phonecam and a hankering to spend what little money she has on curry, beer and music. Hurrah!

My friend Steph invited me out to Ealing on Friday night for their jazz festival. It is a low-key affair, held at the local park. Admission is set at £1, to keep the teenagers out and the old rockers in.

Our first stop was the Crypt Tent and the London Jazz Collective. This is twenty musicians on a tiny stage playing original compositions for the love of music. It went very well with a pint of lager:

The aroha came through in their playing, and was quite nice. The songs were poetic and upbeat. The groove was particularly good when the band was joined by a woman whose name I never did learn:

Sadly, I missed the last part of her set to wander off and find some nosh. Being London there is always a random curry kitchen somewhere, and this one let me put lots of extra chillis and coriander on my plate. It was pretty good food for a muddy field on a cold night:

The other women grabbed some moroccan foody assemblages and we wandered to the main tent to eat. This was a much more laid-back place, even though it had a massive stage set, really sophisticated light rigging, and some serious jazz buffs in the audience. There was about 500 years' worth of musical experience on stage as the old, old, old groovers improvised and interacted:

Way cool.

Sadly, this was to be my final stop in the festival, as the journey home to Lewisham was going to be almost two hours. I left a steadily thickening crowd, dodging picnic blankets unfolding all around me like parachutes as people settled in for a long night of cool. It would be wonderful to do the same myself next year.

The remainder of my weekend was fairly low-key, although Lucy and I had a random encounter with a Maori womens' music group playing at a children's fair in the courtyard opposite my work. That was choice!

Welcome to the English 'Summer'

2007-07-16T04:12:00.000-07:00

Having finished a tough week, it was time to find the next adventure. This weekend, the Rise festival was on in North London. The Festival seeks to harness the energy of the music scene to fight against rascism, especially the BNP - who have a strong following in this part of London. It was a perfect day for a picnic, so off we went.

It took an hour and half to get to Finsbury Park and we arrived as a band called Hollyoaks started up. They sounded a bit like Strawpeople to me, and were quite popular.

Our picnic rug got christened with a little rain, but not enough to stop me exploring the stalls and such like. There were some very cool campaign areas, and it was good to see a huge Union presence. I bought one or two tokens that reflected my inner activist and was heading back to Lucy and some tofu salad when the heavens opened. Then they closed again. As quickly as that.

It had got a bit damp, but fortunately Lucy found beer, so we were warming up well when Jamelia took the stage. She's pretty cool for a RnB pop girlie, and made sure the crowd could boogie by covering other people's songs as well as her own recognisably catchy tunes.

Just as she was launching into the big hits it started to rain again. And this time, for good. Lightening, thunder, darkening sky - all very dramatic. What's a girl with no raincoat, no umbrella and no shoes to do but dance? Of course, my glasses fogged up, so I had to take them off and squint. Lucy thought I looked pretty wet and silly:

The North Londoners who surrounded us were well prepared. There is something very cool (and I suspect very English) about dancing and drinking under individual rainbow umbrellas at a summer festival.

The rain cleared fifteen minutes later, and it was best that Lucy and I stroll around - to get more beer, to dry off her jeans, and to check out the other stages. We found the African stage - but it was just someone's stereo. The Undergound stage had old skool jamaican hip hop - loud but average. The Mela stage had awesome bangra - so we learnt some moves and are now ready for the next Bollywood audition.

We wandered a bit more and bumped into a few people we knew, but we were really just too cold and wet to do much more - so thought it best to make towards the exit. I managed to avoid the Comedy Stage on the way out (phew!) and we got home by 6pm.

Long time no blah blah blah.

2007-07-06T01:55:00.000-07:00

The London 'spring' is cold and wet. It was enough to make me think about hibernating.... which I know is what a few of you suspected since I have been quiet for so long. (I will try to make it up to you with heaps of photos.) Unfortunately my silence has more to do with London hustle than a decent rest in a warm cave. I have just finished my night school course (in Marketing) and am finally finding out what the world has been doing for the last eight weeks.

My Aunt Christine is over here for some summer school at Oxford. She is taking a course on the history of the Costwolds and another on Viking invasions. We students(!) must stick together, so I had the great pleasure of joining her in Oxford as her weekend guest.

My ridiculously early train ride got me into town just before lunch, so I checked into our hotel overlooking the Isis. (The Isis is actually the Oxford section of the Thames given an alternative name so that local intellectuals can feel special.) The pub has a cute outlook- replete with old skool cranes for transferring cargo from the river:

I had my first look inside Christ Church on the way north into the town centre, and it looked a wonderful place at which to study:

Softly envious, I meandered along hallowed paths soaking up the learn'ed atmosphere. It was nice to know I would be seeing some of it the next day as a special guest. Past a million ivy-covered walls and wrought iron gates, I found myself back on the street and determined to find the University's museum on the other side of town.

The Oxford University Museum of Natural History is about half the size of a rugby field, and is filled with interestingness. In spite of its size, I thought it the equal of the Smithsonian Museum in many ways:

It was especially cool to be able to touch a cheetah- although it still takes quite a bit of nerve to convince yourself that a 200 year-old model is unlikely to come to life and want an Amy-flavoured snack:

What do you think of the creepy snake specimens?:

I couldn't help but 'wow!' at this. It looks like someone's been let loose with the Playdoh, but these are fossilised dinosaur eggs:

An anthropological museum is attached to the back of the building, and this was full of delights all its own. Unfortunately, the lighting stays down to protect all the treasures and is too low for photos. So, you will just have to imagine the wonderment of a wood and ivory ceremonial apron with decorative monkey head for yourself.

Not really knowing how to top that, I headed back to the pub to enjoy some Good British Food with my aunt. I tried not to worry about the bombs and burning Jeeps popping up all over the UK, but my thoughts naturally turned to everyone in London- especially those at the Pride Parade. By the next day it was clear that nothing terrible came of any of it, so we were able to head out and enjoy more of the lovely town.

Unable to believe my well-travelled aunt had never been on a punt before, I insisted we make the most of the ultra-English Oxford vibe and find one. Thus, we spent a soothing half hour as a scruffy student pushed us around the back of the Botanical Gardens:

Scrambling out as the weather got a bit threatening, we ambled down old, old streets towards Christ Church and lunch in the Great Hall. Rain managed to hold off until we were under the musty, oaky ceiling and soaking up the rarified atmosphere:

This was a very posh spot for a sandwich and a bit of chit chat with my aunt's classmates. I found myself talking to a retired 40 year-old who had worked as a personal banker for the Rothschilds. Other students had come from Ireland and Sweden, and the classes were very interesting - Consorts of British monarchs, children's literature written in Oxford, torture throughout the ages... wow.

After all that wonderful adventure it was time to put myself on the train back to the lowbrow confines of Lewisham. It was special to share some of my aunt's experience, and I am very grateful.

A wet and windy weekend

2007-05-31T06:21:00.000-07:00

It has been an interesting few weeks since Italy. On the bad side, I discovered my credit card was cloned whilst we were on tour, and am in the midst of wrangles with the bank to return about £1000 that was stolen from me. But, on the extremely plus side, my brother Matt has arrived in London for his OE, my fun flatmate Kelly has returned from Spain, and Lucy has been given a temporary contract at the Royal College of Pathologists(!).

Having been dragged down somewhat by the credit card affair, and wanting to cheer ourselves up a bit, I thought it was a good idea to take advantage of the long weekend in May and see some countryside. I found a coach tour that visits Bath, plus gets special sunset access to Stonehenge. It sounded pretty good to me...

We left London at about 11, and made our way westwards through incredibly English weather. Our tour guide, Paul, had a unique method of keeping spirits up - telling offensive jokes about the Royal Family. He seemed to have some sort of vendetta aginst Camilla in particular, and it wasn't pleasant to be stuck on a bus with him.

Fortunately, we got to Bath soon enough and the city is so gorgeous I was smiling immediately. The buildings are irreffutably Georgian, and their gorgeous classical proportions are wonderfully enhanced by the honey coloured stone that was sourced from the nearby hills. We parked outside Bath Abbey and skiddadled up the steps to the Roman Baths to get out of the rain and take in our first tourist stop:

The Baths are laid out in four rooms over the only hot water spring in all Great Britain. They lay forgotten from around the 6th century until the late 18th when someone investigating a mysterious leak found the baths lying underneath the town streets.

The water was really warm, and standing in the rain watching the steam rise off was rather tortuous. Everyone had their umbrellas out, and it made the whole experience rather surreal.

From there it was an hour drive to Lacock. Lacock was the setting for the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, so I expect you all know how lovely it is. Unfortunately, the weather had got even worse by the time we arrived for late supper at a pre-determined 'Authentic English Pub'.

Having already decided I hated the tour guide, I despised him even more for criticising Lucy and I for bringing our own food and sitting by the fire to eat it. Not only had I bought a drink from the bar, but we weren't given any other seating options for the rainy day. I had even tried to order just a bowl of chips, but it was clearly £11 each for fish and chips ('handled' by the tour company) or nothing! At least the bar staff were on our side - they were lovely.

Warmed by fire and brandy, I was game enough to take on the rain. Lucy got out her umbrella and we set forth. The streets were soggily cute, and we found an amateur painting exhibition at the town hall:

The locals really like their dogs and horses, and there were plenty of copies of more famous works. They were of varying quality, but there were two I would definitely have bought if I hadn't been on a budget. It didn't take much walking to have 'done' the town, so we ambled soggily back to the coach and turned the heaters on full bore.

It seemed everyone was a bit down about the weather, and the coach was quiet for the next hour as we drove to Stonehenge. The tour was timed so this would be sunset, but with the driving rain it wasn't to be. However, it was still pretty special - this company is the only one allowed to have people 'over the rope' to walk among the stones.

I had already visited Stonehenge Aotearoa, and remembered enough from that to have a vague idea of what I was exploring. At least half of the stones have been taken away, and a few have fallen over - so it is a crumbly sort of experience:

The size of the stones is very impressive and although it is much smaller than one expects, the significance of the site is fairly clear. It could have been the howling wind, but I did feel a bit tingly and shivery thinking about how ancient it all was.

We had an hour scheduled at the site, but the cold and rain meant everyone was back in the coach within half that. Paul said this was the worst weather he had ever experienced on the route - which goes to show just how much of an adventure it was! But, we got the photo:

We headed back to Capital City in good enough time for Lucy and I to be tucked up warmly at home by 10:30. We covered quite a distance, and the in and out of warmth and cold was really tiring. Add to that a pig of a tour guide, and it was quite a mediocre trip. However, it was always intended to be a taster for us, so we'll go back by ourselves to see Bath and explore the West Country some more.

Most of all, the trip reminded me that one of the gazillion things I love about Lucy is her fun-filled optimism. There isn't anyone else I would rather be with on a long, cold and wet drive across England!

I must think of a good title for the last post...

2007-05-14T06:10:00.000-07:00

Lucy and I have discovered the best Roman food joint ever – it is called Gastronimica Roscioli, and is just around the corner from our hostel. The food is fresh and wonderful. For our last lunch we enjoyed wilted rocket salad, tuna with rice and fresh fish with olive oil and lemon. It is more nutrients than we have eaten in a week!

Well fortified, we headed off to the Coliseum. Our wonderful ‘Roma Pass’ not only got us in for free, but we avoided the kilometre or so of queue to be in the thick of the action straight away.

As with everything else, the Coliseum is much smaller than I expected. Thinking I’d be looking at something the size of Jade Stadium, it was weird to find myself in something covering the same size as about two rugby fields. It wasn’t too crowded, and there were plenty of good viewpoints from which to get a grasp of the building:

The best part are the alleys and corridors that were underneath the stage area – this is where gladiators and beasts travelled to get to the trapdoors set in the floor of the arena:

Before these were built, the whole area could be flooded for mock sea battles and things – the engineering of that astounds me.

Immediately north of the Coliseum is the Roman Forum:

The buildings are similar to those at Pompeii in purpose and decay, but there are many more, and over a much wider area. It was interesting to see a cross section of a church:

The diamond pattern in the ceiling has been evident in lots of the places we’ve been to, and it was cool to see it in an open space rather than in the clean, white interior of a building.

The Forum was absolutely boggling with tourists, and we weren’t inclined to walk all the way to the end. Instead, we clambered out and took the paved route back up towards north Rome, and I showed Lucy ‘my square’ – the enormousness of it was just as cool as before.

From there, we took the back roads to the hostel and spotted some good sights for our return trip (whenever that may be!). Dinnertime found us at a basic neighbourhood place, and they didn’t seem weirded out when Lucy ordered just beer and tiramisu, and I had just fries and lemon liquor. It was an empty restaurant, so we chatted to the waitress, read magazines, and chilled out for an hour or so, enjoying the quiet before sensibly heading home for an early night.

The next morning, we had a novelty-free flight back to London and dumped our bags at home with happy hearts.

The last day, in two halves...

2007-05-08T05:33:00.000-07:00

With perfect timing, our last day in Italy arrived just as we were ready to be home again. Lucy decided to have a late start, so I went off on my own to explore, with strict instructions to return by 1pm without forgetting tomorrow’s bus tickets to the airport.

It must have been my perfume or something, but this morning lots of people spoke to me in Italian rather than English. I felt really happy to be able to talk back, and made some nice acquaintances whilst in the queue at the station.

Having achieved the first goal of the day, I decided to head to Piazza del Republicca and try and find a present for my brother in the shops nearby. One of the reasons I had chosen this part of Roma is the fountain in the middle. Here is my favourite strangely-placed woman:

From there I wandered rather randomly into where I thought the shops might be. I had some fun with Italian shopkeepers by trying on men’s shirts (if you could see the size of Italian woman you’d understand), and forgoing the handbags and shoes they kept thrusting at me.

I finally found a unisex t-shirt shop and bought some funky stuff for a few people. Sadly, this was my favourite and least favourite shop. I brought cool things, but during my time there a man and a woman worked together to crowd around me and try to steal my stuff. They were pretty good at it, because it wasn’t until they’d followed me round the shop a bit that my bag made any noise and I checked it to find the zip half open and my stuff rustled through. I didn't quite understand what was happening, and the same old doubts I've experienced with every dishonest activity in Italy reared up again. So - instead of confronting them, I just put my backpack between my knees and stood defiantly above it glaring at anyone who came close. The two of them gave up shortly enough and left the shop.

I was pretty mad after that, so decided to stop shopping and just walk where all the tourists were going. This was an excellent decision, as I found myself at Piazza Venizia staring at the biggest monument I have ever seen. They’d had the pixies in again, so here is someone else’s pic of it:

Although the Piazza is named for the nearby Venitian embassy, it is way more famous for this monument to Vittorio Emmanuel II (the first king of a united Italy). Some people have described it as pompous, but I just like it.

Having taken a while to really be excited by Roma, the Piazza is actually the first sight I have felt awed by, and (combined with the Trevi the night before) my Roman tourist experience is actually starting to feel meaningful. Overall, I think that Roma is an infuriating but necessary city, and it is only by being here in person that I can actually comprehend the scale of the civilization to which New Zealand is but a very, very distant heir.

After a bit of sitting and looking, and in a contemplative mood, I headed back to the hostel to meet my well-rested girly. For some reason the vigil in the hostel foyer made me feel happy again – a nice touch in a sometimes rough and dishonest city:

Even more happily, Lucy was very ready to hit the sights, and two girls with smiles on faces headed out to our last Roman afternoon…

All Roman, all the time! - Part Two

2007-05-08T01:21:00.000-07:00

After leaving the Vatican, Lucy and I took the Metro to Piazza del Popolo. The Piazza marks the first place in old Roma seen by people entering from the north. There are two wonderful churches side by side, and between these is Via Del Corso – which we used to meander our way south and into the newer, old part of Roma. This is Roma’s poshest street – full of Armani, Tiffanys, Berlusci, Dior and Chanel. It was divine stuff, but it made me feel very shabby in comparison.

Fortunately, it all lead up to another tourist mecca that was full of equally well-worn travellers. The Spanish Steps were very pretty, but I am not exactly sure what all the fuss is about:

The fountain of a sinking ship at the bottom was interesting:

And, Lucy and I managed to take a good shot of our happy selves:

A quick walk from there, we ticked off the Trevi Fountain – which turned out to be my favourite spot of all Rome. It was too late for tourists with families, so we got to enjoy the relative quiet and there was plenty of room to line up and throw coins over our shoulders. We threw E2, just to make sure we’d return soon.

My camera can’t show how gorgeous this spot is, but here’s a wee glimpse of it at night:

We actually returned a few days later to check if it looked as good in daylight. Here’s a pic from elsewhere that shows what we saw:

After hanging out by the fountain a bit longer, Lucy and I succumbed to the mood lighting and were persuaded to eat at an 'authentic' restaurant nearby. It was fairly average, but proved to be necessary fuel as all sorts of transport complications meant we got home at least an hour later than we intended.

Thus, our first big day in Rome fell to an end after a massive sightseeing and travelling effort. Go team!

All Roman, all the time! - Part One

2007-05-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

Wonderfully, thankfully, surprisingly and fortunately our Rome hostel was everything I was hoping for. Our room had ceramic tile floors, a Juliet balcony, exquisite cotton bedding and a next-door-neighbour who plays beautiful piano in the afternoon. It was the perfect base for our biggest city – and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Feeling a bit run down, Lucy and I took Roma very slowly in the beginning. So, not much happened in the first two days except me somehow spending E15 (that’s $NZ30 people!) talking to my mother for 7 minutes… although it was very nice to hear her voice.

By the third day it was time to put our tourist shoes back on and take on the city. I had decided the Sistine Chapel was first on the list, so (believing everything I had heard about the long waiting times) we got up at 6am to start queuing outside at 8am. Our queue started moving at 10am and we finally got in at 11am - phew!

Having made it inside comparitively early, we weren't in any real rush and could take the time to explore the collections. Our first stop in the Egyptian rooms was fairly cool and unusual. Not only were there various sorts of sarcophagi, organ jars and tomb ornaments, but I got to see an unwrapped mummy. It was very creepy.

Further into the classical collections it started getting a little more ordinary – not least because Americans are walking around eating food and dropping crumbs. The weirdest thing is that some statues have plaster leaves over their genitals. I heard a guide say this is Pope Benedict’s idea, and it seems an unnecessary step to me – especially when the colour and texture ruins the unity of the piece:

Even stranger is that not all willies are so censored – I can only speculate as to why, but it does seem to be only the sculptures that are less… shall we say, grand… that are untouched.

Most people forego the initial part of the complex, so moving on from the Greek and Roman wonders is the first time we really struck a crowd. But, from the start of the galleries until the Chapel at the end it is an unremitting lemming line. Careful not to step onto anyone’s heels, and cautious of all the tourists behind me, I managed to sneak in a shot from the map gallery. This room was one of my favourites (yep, that's gold on the ceiling):

Slowly but surely, the art gets more and more solemn, the light gets gloomier, and the air thickens with anticipation as we journey into the bowels of the Pope’s private quarters. The Raphael Rooms are four communicating parlours painted by the master over ten years until his death in 1520. The paintings are astonishingly good, and massive – I was so lucky my non-flash photos show them up:

After almost three hours of touristing it was actually a relief to enter the Chapel. Up until then I was expecting to enter a cathedral – so I couldn’t believe how small it was and (consequently) how full:

(I wonder if anyone else in that photo is thinking how ironic it is that the Chapel staff use loudspeakers to inform everyone to be quiet?)

I think that, in this modern age, the quality of the paintings is somewhat lost because people are used to seeing realistic images of people (e.g. in photos) – one needs to actively pay attention to Michelangelo’s groundbreaking perfections in draperies, anatomy, perspectives and shading to understand why the Chapel is truly great.

After a few minutes trying to be contemplative amongst the bustle, Lucy and I decided to leave. We left through a gate not unlike the one in the library at Alcatraz only to discover I had left my journal somewhere along the route. We had a ‘fun’ time trying to explain to a billion security personnel what was lost and eventually they just plopped us at the beginning of the galleries and told me to find it myself – which meant Lucy and I got to see the whole thing again.

We emerged triumphantly with journal in hand and (blinking furiously from the sunlight) decided to grab lunch before we melted. After that we headed around the corner to see St Peter’s Basilica:

This was a fairly average tourist spot, and since the queue to see inside the church was enormouuuuuus, we just sat in the sun for a bit before wandering off for more fun. There were heaps of shops around and I fought hard the temptation to buy my very own Pope:

From there we headed east on the Metro towards the more modern part of the City. Adventures therein, I will leave for next time...

Oh my gosh - Pompei !!!

2007-05-02T02:13:00.000-07:00

An exciting day started very strangely - Whilst using the bathrooms at the Salerno train station I caught the attention of a peeping tom. Had I been quicker off the mark, I would have known I was well within my rights to kick him in the face. As it was, I just thought this was some weird Italian way of checking if stalls are occupied. Either way it was fairly distressing, and it wasn’t until we were well on our way to Pompei station that I started to relax.

It was easy to tell we were in the right place – there were plenty of tourists milling around. Unlike most of the stops along the way there was a much broader cultural representation here – not just Americans this time. But it still meant Lucy and I had to push our way through throngs of slow moving people. And avoiding the same old beggars.

Dianne had given us her Pompei guidebook, and I had been a smarty with my Lonely Planet to work out an itinerary starting from the less-used Porta Nucola entrance at the eastern end of the complex. Thus, we only had to wait half an hour to get in.

Since this was (yet another?) of my must-see-in-my-lifetime spots I took plenty of photos during our visit, and I think they capture the place better than my words can. But, I’ll give both a try!

We started on the outskirts of the city, on an old residential street. The arches running along the building are for busts of the wealthy merchant owners so everyone will know how fancy and cool they are:

From there we headed towards the main street, Via dell’Abbondanza, and made our way westwards. We were aiming to get to the Basilica and Grand Forum at the other end, but there were plenty of interesting artefacts along the way. This is one of the frescoes:

By now we had seen amazing clusters of shops and villas. There were wonderful garden courtyards and lots of mysteriously empty buildings. Lucy was having a love affair with columns, so we got plenty of shots of those as well:

Unfortunately, we had somehow forgotten to bring food along to keep our energy up – and the heat and distance was taking its toll. Because once you leave the complex you cannot return, we found ourselves moving at some sort of observantly speedy pace to try and see as much as we could before we had to escape to eat. Fortunately, we stumbled across Pompei’s one and only 'food' outlet just before the Western exit and bought microwaved pizza and an awful hotdog for the price of a three course meal being sold just 500 metres away.

Anyway, having covered a massive distance in our hungriness, we had crossed from the merchant and entertainment sector to the political and religious quarter. This is where the most breathtaking buildings would have been, and provided some of the best views. My favourite vista has to be standing beside the Basilica, looking across the Forum to the Temples of Apollo and Jupiter and seeing guilty old Mt Vesuvius sitting behind:

At this stage, we’d spent five hours negotiating endless cobbled streets, seemingly identical street corners and a guidebook that didn’t match the current signposting. It was incredibly hard work, and I couldn't believe it when we kept passing woman after glamorous woman exploring in high heels!! Anyway, we decided against the northern section, and two very tired and unglamorous women headed back east to see one more thing. The Valley of the Fugitives strikes me as the whole point of the site:

It was really moving to see the human dimension of the devastation, and I thank goodness for the archaeology student who suggested to his superiors they pour plaster into the spaces left by bodies decayed over the hundreds of years since the volcano did its thing. I was struck silent by the testimony these figures offer, and it was a fitting last stop on our exploration.

Overall, Pompei was exciting and mysterious. I want to go back and see the things we missed in the northern half - such as the brothel frescoes, the Villa of the Mysteries and the House of the Great Altar. If (when?) I go back I will ignore the Lonely Planet and join everybody else at the main entrance. This is closer to the Forum etc, and I think makes a much better starting point than where we began – not least because the signposts assume everyone starts there.

Also, I’d pack a Moro bar or two.

Hanging with Higgins

2007-04-26T02:34:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about our last day in Palermo, but I realise that if it takes me three days before I have time for each new post, we will be here for a long time. Thus, the Amalfi Coast…

We arrived in Salerno after an overnight train ride, so I was a little tired and grumpy. But, the blue of the ocean and the fresh air cheered me right up. Our Canadian-Italian hostess (Dianne) had given us really good instructions on how to find her apartment, and it wasn’t long before the strangest pet I have ever seen was introducing herself. This is Higgins, Dianne’s ‘cat’:

Higgins is eighteen years old, tiny, and prone to sneezing fits. Each one feels as though it might finish her off, and it is quite unnerving eating breakfast whilst she quivers at your feet.

Anyway, Dianne was lovely, and her neighbourhood was a great spot. Crowds of sunburnt apartment buildings watch over a concrete piazza full of old and unshaven men in corduroy caps playing cards and (of course) smoking. Laundry and children hang everywhere, and the shopkeepers yell at each other over the buzzing traffic.

From there it is a pleasant-ish walk down a long seafront to the ferry terminals. I think this walk has a lot of potential, but Dianne explains that the local council has to fight two battles to clean it up. Firstly, the local mafia (the Camorra) own the refuse management contracts for the area, and dump rubbish along the shoreline because they know no one will prosecute them, and secondly, Sorrento and Amalfi complain loudly when there is any possibility that lucrative tourism might be taken from their own gorgeously maintained seafront.

So, this pretty much sums up the Salerno coastline:

On the plus side, it means Salerno remains an affordable place to stay. And it is easy to hop on a ferry for the half hour ride to Amalfi. Here’s our approach from the ocean:

Unfortunately, we were a little early in the season for millionaires and movie stars (or millionaire movie stars) – but this glamorously tranquil spot was a wonderful place to spend an afternoon. Lucy and I were even compelled to turn tourist and buy local souvenir type things like ceramics and limoncello.

The public beach was tiny, so we spent most of our time wandering the piazza and market lanes. I am amused to report that the most photographed thing in Amalfi wasn’t the glorious golden Duomo, the patchwork of terracotta buildings, the pretty view up the coast, or some of the funky pottery. It was this, in a grocer's doorway:

Sigh.

Truly a hard life

2007-04-23T05:31:00.001-07:00

Having had another rather grim breakfast, we made the most of the market at the end of the street to stock up on actual food like fruit, vegetables, salamis and bread. I even let some guy who obviously thought I was stupid scam me just to have an authentic experience! Anyway, it was a very busy street, and a wonderful slice of community life:

With a decent picnic and good weather ahead of us, we boarded the bus to Mondello. No words needed as to why:

The beach was empty and almost all ours, save for loud American teenagers flirting and generally being American (“Oh, my god, he is SO cute, he was SO totally hitting on me…”). We found a spot on the warm sand a wee way away from them and settled in. Lucy turned our shopping into a feast:

So, we just sat in the sun, ate and read our books for a bit. After a while, Lucy felt it was warm enough to get her bikini on, and a man called Frank decided he would come over and say hello. (I’m not suggesting the two are related, but…) I also thought I should take a dip in the Mediterranean:

Eventually, having exhausted ourselves with all the leisurely nothing, we said goodbye to Frank (poor Frank) and wandered up towards the more commercial part of Mondello for a look around. Being the off-season it was just the right sort of crowded and the cafes were doing a roaring trade.

We found a sunny spot from where to watch the crowd and eat tiramisu. Shortly thereafter we hatched a plot to hire a seaside apartment for a week and kidnap my brother to cook for us. (I’ll let you know how that goes….)

Being away from the hustle of Palermo, I had forgotten it was Good Friday – but was reminded fairly authentically upon our return by the re-enactment of Christ’s Passion that was going on in the piazza beside our B&B. Earnest-faced men were carrying enormous wooden and glass boxes with mannequins of Jesus and Mary in them. Each box took 32 men to lift above their shoulders and they could only walk ten steps or so at a time before they had to stop. A man with a clacker coordinated the up and down to prevent anyone stepping on anyone else. There weren’t many people involved aside from the box carriers, the brass band (which played ‘How Great Thou Art’) and a ten year old playing Jesus, but it felt like they all really meant what they were doing.

It was an interesting end to the day.

Meeting the Mafia

2007-04-23T03:06:00.000-07:00

Only a masochist would make their first trip to Rome during Easter, so we headed further south to Sicily, and the town of Palermo.

Palermo was warm but shabby. Apparently, Mafia corruption has thwarted any attempt at civil regeneration, as mafiosos pocket (as consultancy fees) most of the funding sent by UNESCO for construction projects. Whether this is true or not, Palermo looked very poor from the moment we got into town. It is also quite large; it took a long time to get from the airport to our B&B, and our hostess (Claudia) was not impressed by our late arrival. Put off by her manner, we dumped our gear and made a dash outside for dinner.

Somehow we wandered into a lively but small piazza surrounded by kebab bars. A jazz triplet busked for us as we ordered food poorly but drank beer well. I know you won’t believe me, but it was all actually very tiring. So, once it started raining we took this as our cue to leave and headed home, where we gladly fell into bed.

Sadly, sleep had done nothing to improve out hostess’ mood, and the breakfast on offer did nothing to improve mine. Claudia had furnished us with prepackaged rubbish – those horrid budget pastries, sugary ‘juice’ and the most amazing ready-made toast. (Note: amazing is not the same as delicious.) It was like the worst of the hostel food I had in the States, and these were not hostel prices!

So... we again left the B&B with the air of escapement, and headed off for the train station. On the way we passed a few reminders that language differences render some things quite amusing:

Anyway, childish sniggering aside, our plan for the day was to head to Agrigento - a town famous for its ‘Valley of the Temples’.

The Valley is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and a very cool spot. The undulating ridgeline is small and soothing, and the ruins were golden in the late afternoon sun. It felt what I imagine a tourist-free Athens or Rome might be like. I was really pleased to have made the effort to see it.

This is the largest and most famous of the temples. Of course, the construction pixies were following me:

As well as being places of worship, the temples were also a welcome beacon for soldiers returning from the many wars needed to defend Sicily. When lit up, they are able to be seen from miles away. And the reverse view from temple to ocean was pretty good too:

Aside from the temple busily being cleaned in preparation for the on-season, there were plenty of other gorgeous monuments at which one could look. This is a nice and crumbly one...

Up close, one gets a better idea of what time, wind and pollution have eaten away:

Walking from one end of the site to the other at sunset was quite special. And, having seen some excellent Sicilian countryside, we decided adventures outside Palermo are a good idea. Thus, a trip to the beach was planned for the next day…

A bit more about Firenze… with photos :-)

2007-04-20T01:26:00.000-07:00

We were staying at convent in the middle of town. As the world appears to be running out of nuns, turning a convent into a hostel seems a brilliant idea to me. And, with their history as living spaces for real people, the facilities are much better than the usual sparse hostel rooms. But, for some strange reason there was an abundance of bathrooms in the hostel – we had sixteen on a floor with only twelve rooms?? Strangeness aside, it made a very good base for exploring Firenze.

Here is one of our quiet and pious (and I assume she is also exceptionally clean?) hostesses pottering in the garden:

The Duomo in the centre of town is my favourite building of the whole trip. It is a geometrically patterned marble monster, that totally dominates the area in which it sits. I have thought other Italian buildings washed out by the high-rises etc around them, but Firenze’s cathedral totally rocks. It is a huge building, so I didn't get any really good shots. But, there are plenty elsewhere. (Unfortunately, like other monuments, it is impossible to enjoy without attracting the ministrations of beggars. Grr.)

Moving onwards, we spent a long time in a queue for the Uffizzi Gallery. This was one of the highlights of planning my trip, but I had ended up not knowing anything about how to get in or whatever. So, we just took our chances and only had to queue for two hours.

The gallery is exactly as I expected, and the collections are amazing. However, after so many rooms and hallways they all look a bit commonplace. The only exception to 'fabulousness fatigue' were the paintings with wars and dead bodies etc; those were unexpectedly interesting! After a few hours and dollars spent inside, it was something of a relief to be back in the sunshine. And, luckily for me, there were plenty more gory arty things to look at there too:

From the gallery we wandered across Ponte Vicchio, a gorgeous bridge with houses falling off both sides. A total tourist trap - cue requisite photo:

On the other side of the Arno (yep, same river as in Pisa) we found ourselves at the Palazzo Pitti – which used to be the palace of the Pitti family (rivals to the Medici who set up the Uffizzi). Ironically, after a few generations the palace was actually sold by a Pitti to a Medici. Feudal significance aside, the building was nice enough, so we stopped for lunch outside. (Lucy's amazing travellers' salads are all that is keeping me vertical in this carbohydrate-rich country!)

From the Pitti Piazza we wandered further away from the town centre, and just when we were deciding it was time for some shade, came across the Boboli Gardens. The gardens are actually the southern end of the huge Pitti complex, so we ended up visiting it after all (and paying E12 just to sit amongst some green). Lucy went one way and I went another. I think she just sat and read, but I explored all the walkways and formal areas and got a great view:

I also found some cool modern sculpture amongst the 1458 originals:

A very pleasant afternoon ended with some food in a fairly generic restaurant, a dairy-free gelatto on the wander home, and a rather tired, poor and sunburnt girly falling into her single bed.

On reflection, this was my favourite day of the whole trip. But, as you'll see from the things I have still to write about, there was some stiff competition...

Home and away

2007-04-17T02:29:00.001-07:00

We left Pisa easily enough – the only hurdle the icky old man on reception trying to charge me more than agreed (sadly for him, this Information Professional carries copies of everything!) then calling me a sugar momma for paying for both Lucy and myself…

The train trip was good – the Italian countryside is quite pretty, and we got into the really good wine country quickly. Our host (David) picked us up from the Figline Valdarno station. He was a real contrast to the Pisa hotel staff – very friendly, charming and happy. Unfortunately, all the "che lavora fi?" etc ran out and language barriers rendered it a quiet journey to his vineyard.

Agriturismo Savernano was the find of the trip – it is unlike the usual homestays in a few ways, mainly because you can stay for just one night if you wish. However, it does the have the usual gorgeous outlook, nice family and great food. And, because it was the off-season, we got the whole guest area to ourselves. Divine.

This is the view of the house from the olive groves:

And the view over the hills to the nearest town:

After storing our luggage away, Lucy and I took a stroll around the grounds. I was content to sit reading by the pool, but Explorer Girl wandered all over the place, and met up with the older and younger generations of the family fishing together at the bird pond.

Since the kitchen was shut for the off-season David then kindly drove us to a nearby restaurant. In Italian I could only just follow, he gave the staff strict instructions to call him when we were finished – I think he was worried we’d wander off and get lost in the fields!

This was a really fun, very Italian countryside kind of place. You could tell they didn’t get many non-Italians, and there was none of that tacky stuff to try and attract tourists. We got a waitress who was very happy to practice her high-school English, and the three of us had a fun time trying to sort out the huge menu. I totally enjoyed the intersection of enthusiasm, interest and a little bit of language this required, and it is true that the most important thing in another country is to smile a lot. It makes a big difference. Anyway, surrounded by tables of twenty, we somehow managed to inhale three courses each, and a bottle of local chianti all by ourselves. (Being a bit drunk, I suddenly found it MUCH easier to speak Italian.)

Lovely David picked us up afterwards and by the time we got back to Savernano he had offered to show us his wine cellar. There were eight or so vats, and we got to taste the velvet coloured liquid in them. It didn’t taste very nice, but it was easy to understand which of the flavours were going to change over time and turn into yummy wine. I also learnt that winegrowers often shoot wild boars, who eat the grape vines – David showed us the chain and drain he uses to turn pest into proscuitto in his slaughter room.

After that, the travel finally took its toll (nothing to do with wine and tiramisu!) and we stumbled into the fabulous, pillowy king size bed for a loooong sleep. This was the view from our room the next morning (with mist floating in over the valley):

Getting up in time for breakfast was a close call, but I guess when you are the only guests it is easy for the hosts to know what you’re doing. We feasted on scrambled eggs (so fresh and yellow they seemed neon), house cheeses, fresh juices from the orchard and delicious breads. Feeling all carnivorous, I was excited to be served a big plate of home-cured proscuitto, and it was delicious.

For the rest of the day we just sat in the glorious sun and considered our good fortune. However, soon enough it was time to head back to the station for the trip to Firenze. I'll write more about that later...

Pisa pics

2007-04-17T01:43:00.000-07:00

I am safely returned home to London. It has been an amazing trip and I am sorry I was not able to write about it as I went. But, I kept a journal... and had my camera. First slice of Italian life; Pisa.

Pisa was quite pretty, and very relaxed. The town's two main industries are a university and an architectural error. So, it is a small town really, and the main focal point in the area (at least for locals) is the promenades and piazzas alongside the Arno River. It is quite a pleasant spot:

Just north of the river is where we had our first shopping experience at a very earnest organic market. This is the doorstop Lucy bought:

Somewhat fortified by at least a kilo of cheese, she and I wandered through cute streets to the Campo dei Miracoli ('Field of Miracles') to gawk at the Tower. My photo makes the Field look quite small, but it is actually a rather large few acres with lush lawns and these enormous marble buildings:

Mind you, the Leaning Tower is much smaller than I thought it would be - only eight or so storeys high.

After a wee while being a tourist, and dodging the very persistent handbag sellers, we decided we liked it better on the south side of the river. So, we wandered back along different streets, and I took this shot in an alley behind the main artists' village:

I thought it captured nicely the quaintness of Pisa (all the university students ride bicycles. so they are parked everywhere) with the modern plague of graffiti that was affecting everywhere (even gorgeous old statues raised in honour of city fathers are covered).

Overall, Pisa was a good first stop in a new country. I got a gentle introduction to speaking Italian, and there were enough English-speakers around to help when needed. Also, the tiny, ancient streets made me feel very cosy and welcome.

From a very pleasant Pisa we 'went country' - deep into Tuscany...

Firenze!

2007-04-04T01:53:00.000-07:00

Ciao! I am navigating the vagaries of an Italian website to try and post this via email...

Firenze has been an unusual experience. It was an immediate change from the tranquility and beauty of the countryside, as the central station is in the noisiest part of the city. Lucy and I had a lunch break on the lawn at the front of the station to get our bearings and absorb some of the gorgeous sunshine. A woman spied us from at least 100 metres away and sent her sweet and curly haired boy over to beg, but I was more interested in speaking to him in Italian (his name is Peteara and he is four). Bad luck for Mum, but fun for me.

Sadly, this kind of thing has been very common in Florence. Whereas in Pisa people are selling you rubbishy goods for small change, here it is direct requests for money. Lucy had a woman stand directly in the way of a photo in the hopes of getting money out of her. This wasn't something I expected in a European country...

On the positive side, of which there is plenty, the Duomo, the Uffizi Gallery and the Palazzo Pitti have been gorgeous and fun. I enjoyed the Uffizi very much, and was surprised to find myself drawn to the more gruesome paintings, instead of Boticelli's nudes etc. I was amazed how many different ways one can render a headless corpse... Anyway, I spent waaay too much money in the souvenier shop, and have been surviving on pizza and beer ever since.

Yes, it truly is a tough life....

This morning Lucy and I have said goodbye to the nuns and checked out of the convent. We're going to dawdle some more through the piazzas before taking the plane to Palermo in Sicily.

Ciao!

2007-04-02T08:15:00.000-07:00

Italy has been amazing so far. I am sure the red moon we saw on our train to Stansted airport was a good omen, as everything has gone smoothly and enjoyably.

Pisa was warm and wonderful. We arrived at the central station to find the hotel was only a 100 metre walk - which was good as my backpack was getting very heavy. After checking in (without anyone blinking an eye at two women sharing a room, thank goodness) we strolled north towards the Campo dei Miracoli.

I had a lot of fun coordinating my somewhat meagre map with the actuality of fabulous Italian streets and squares. Having made it halfway, we decided to stop at the organic market just over the river. I was already having fun with my Italian, and managed to order Lucy a ginormous doorstop of a sandwich that was more cheese than bread and looked delicious. As for me, the artisans had pictures of the happy wee piggies in their stys to reassure me the food was original and natural... but I found it a bit tough to look a piglet in the face as I ordered the end product!

Meandering onwards, we passed the Pisa Botanical Gardens and a lot of very touristy pizza restaurants until turning a corner and hitting the Piazza. It was amazing to see the Duomo that accompanies the Leaning Tower, and astonishing to see so many people in one place. Everyone was taking the classic Pisa photo to make it look as though they are holding up the tower, and from the reverse angle it looks like a field of tai chi. Hilarious stuff.

One effect of the crowds was the amount of touts and aggressive keepsake sellers - and I didn't really enjoy that. I quickly learnt some Italian of my own - 'Lasciami in pace' - Leave me in peace! I think most of them are illegal immigrants, selling their wares on opened bed sheets and scooping them up for a quick getaway when the polizia appear. It was phenomenal the effect a siren had on the alleyways - empty immediately.

After dawdling home through the back streets (and loving everything) we had an early night at the hotel. I had been doing my best to speak Italian as often as possible, and having two or three complete conversations in a day is as tiring as it is exciting.

The next day we headed to Tuscany for a stay at a vineyard. Words fail to describe the wonderment of all that, so I will wait until I can upload some photos for you all. Overall, Italy is a dream come true and it seems weeks since I was in London.

A short update

2007-03-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

I have been very busy lately as my work is holding its five-yearly conference. The subject bores me to tears, but I think some of the speakers are going to be articulate and commanding – a few important CEOs and one or two Sirs.

The preparations have been extensive, and I am rather proud of my efforts… So, I am giving myself a big Italian pat on the back with a two week holiday once it is all over. It’s unlikely I’ll get to blog before then, but I am definitely looking forward to sharing some REAL travel with you all again.

And, best of all, I’ve got Lucy to help with the adventuring.

So, Ciao for now.

Out of the city again

2007-03-05T01:47:00.000-08:00

Lucy and I ventured forth to Brighton this weekend, and not before time. City life has been getting us both a bit down, and we were anxious to see some of the nicer British sights.

It was my second trip, but Lucy's first, and we both had a great time. For the first wee while it was enough just to sit on the beach and enjoy the spaciousness of it all:

After inhaling some ocean air and fish'n chips we made our way to inner Brighton, and the really funky Royal Pavillion built for George IV. Apparently, it is 'built in the Chinese style with an Indian exterior' - but I just think it is a cute play house:

It is a little bit majestic I suppose... the entry gates dwarf humans totally:

We did a bit of touristic wandering through the museum and then just sat in the grounds and enjoyed the lovely spring sunshine (with daffodils!):

As the sun went down and it started getting cooler we moved into the centre of Brighton to the shops. There are five or six narrow streets running parallel to each other, and they have an amazing diversity of goods. Our favourites were the organic food store and the vegan/vegetarian pub. Understandably, I also found it impossible to resist the street vendor selling his own vegan dark chocolate, which was sweetened with cactus juice. Yum.

It is always nice to be somewhere pretty on a sunny day, and we left for home with big smiles:

Lucy and I are investigating moving to Brighton just for summer. It would be very cool if it works out.

A Stratford Selection

2007-03-02T01:48:00.000-08:00

I have finally got organised with pictures from my trip. (Thanks heaps to Janice for sending some extras through to add to my own.)

Since I have been staying in London for a good while now, it is really cool to look at these and reflect. Compared to the hustle of City life, Stratford is very quaint. Here is a typical main street:

I liked the beige colouring of this building as it made a nice change from black and white. Even more importantly, this is Shakespeare's Birthplace:

(Or is it...?)

From the birthplace we went to the burialplace. Shakespeare's grave is inside Holy Trinity beside the river Avon. There is a warning written across the floor of the tomb which says 'Blest be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.'.

The curse is kind of gothic and cool, but I don't like taking photos of graves, so have contented myself (and you?) with a shot of the lovely stained glass window at the other end of the church:

Back outside, this beauty is Anne Hathaway's cottage. Gorgeous. I can't believe how good it looks in this photo, given it was so cold and stark when we visited in winter... hooray for photographic magic!:

And, here is a photo of the whanau. If you know my father you'll spot the resemblance with Uncle Bert immediately!:

Oh, I am come over all nostaglia like...

I've waited ten years....

2007-02-21T03:34:00.000-08:00

to see the Indigo Girls in concert. And I finally got my chance on the 15th of February :-)

Sadly, the week had started fairly badly. After a magnificent birthday weekend, with lots of fun adventures and happy London times, I was struck down with a throat infection. At the same time, Lucy was unlucky enough to be hit with a bad flu virus. So, we got to share our first experiences of the British health system...

In summary....

Each person in Britain needs an NHS number to access the services of a doctor. You can only get a number in person at a surgery. You must use the first available surgery closest to where you live and you must take whatever doctor they assign you. Doctor's appointments are only bookable a week in advance, and surgeries only deal with certain problems on certain days, and outside these times you cannot see a doctor for a particular complaint, as they will not be covered under insurance.

I could go on, but writing anymore is like reliving the whole horrid thing, so I will add no more except to say that my surgery has an open-door policy. In this case 'open-door' means all doors in the building must be kept open so people can see I am not mugging/stabbing/killing the doctor. Ah, Lewisham....

So, after all that was said and done I ended up with strict instructions to rest, and Lucy got a barrel-ful of antibiotics. We were just about coming right in time for the concert (which is the actual point of this post!).

Lucy and I joined a bunch of die-hard IG fans and headed out to the Shepherd's Bush Empire. We arrived in plenty of time to find good seats, and I was really excited by the time the lights dimmed.

The opening act was Catherine Feeny, a guitarist who has lovely music and good lyrics. Unfortunately, each song in her set had one or the other, but not both, and I ended up with my fingers in my ears for the last agonising minutes.

It couldn't have been more of a contrast when Emily and Amy took the stage. I played groupie and charged up front for a decent photo:

The crowd was energetic from the first chord of the first song, and stayed that way all night. It was surreal to be singing along with 1500 others who like the music as much as I do. Emily and Amy took advantage of this to encourage audience participation, and seemed to get a real kick out of having their words sung back to them. Emily said this was one of the reasons they liked playing in London, as 'English accents sound really..... nice'.

Apart from the audience helping out, all else they needed was a woman called Mary who played the accordian. She was really good and really tiny. Here is what they all looked like from further back:

The Indigo Girls have been performing for thirty years, so I was astonished how new they made their music sound, and especially appreciated a 'remix' they did of their song Chickenman. I've never really understood this song, and here are some lyrics which might prove my point:

'I went looking for a car / Found myself beneath the stars
I went looking for a girl / Found a man and his world
Chickenman chickenman / Chickenman hold my hand
Chickenman chickenman / Chickenman hold my hand'

But, the two of them did whatever acoustic folk guitars can do remix-wise and mashed this up with one of their much newer songs about having a personal epiphany whilst getting drunk on a mountaintop (hey, we've all been there!). The whole wonderful folk meets high-energy rock, with lightening speed chord changes and insane travels up and down over three octaves lasted seven intense minutes. They are close to being the best seven minutes of my life.

After two hours and two encores Emily and Amy made some very fond and sincere farewells to the crowd, and it was over.

We headed back out to Shepherd's Bush, had another dash across the dodgy Common and trotted down into the Tube. Someone noticed the poster below and the kiwis amongst us felt we needed a pic:

Unfortunately, the next day I woke up in London same as usual. But, having finally had the opportunity to see my favourite musicians live, I am happy to be here.

Happy birthday to me! (As of the 9th, that is...)

2007-02-21T01:34:00.001-08:00

Hurrah! I like birthdays.

As I am in the Northern Hemisphere, I wasn't suprised to find it raining when I woke up. Sadly, this breaks the record for me never having bad weather on any birthday I remember... But, it was almost snowing so that was a good trade off.

I spent a very leisurely morning opening my presents, and was utterly spoiled. I note a distinctive NZ feel to my gifts, and was particularly touched by the following contemporary pottery from my parents:

However, it didn't make me cry. Not even for a second. No matter what you may have heard.

Being a very grown-up 29, I had decided to celebrate my day by 'doing' the slides at the Tate Modern. The slides are an installation by a German guy called Carsten Holler and propose some very cool ideas... Essentially, how does our perception change when we are in motion? And, what would London be like if we travelled by slides instead of car, bus and Tube? You can read more about the exhibition here.

Luckily, the idea of throwing one's self down a five-storey high plastic chute appealed to enough other grown-ups to make for quite a fun night...

I thought it best to have a few drinks first, especially as the Tate has a very glamorous bar overlooking the river. Preliminary drinkies also seemed the perfect opportunity to introduce some of the London friends I have known in NZ to some of the friends I have made since I got here, and to introduce Lucy to all of them. Needless to say, everyone found everyone just lovely.

I thought it best to capture the moment with the fancy timer thing on my camera, but I am not quite sure what went wrong. Maybe, given we were in the Tate, my camera felt it neccesary to provide me with my own bit of Modern Photographic Art?:

And here's our view:

Anyway, the ten of us sat drinking wine and looking out over the Thames to a beautifully lit up Millenium Bridge and St Pauls Cathedral for a good three hours. It really was divine, and amazing how quickly time flew. Shortly enough, it was time to slip off to the slides.

They look fantastic lit up in the dark and cavernous lobby:

Posters line the approach to the slide warning riders that 'the experience is physical', so I wasn't sure what to expect. Fortunately, it was fun and fast but entirely manageable. It was so good I found myself sweet-talking the attendant into letting me have extra rides, including the last one before the museum shut for the evening.

Being well past ten o'clock by then, our hungry group eagerly wandered along Southbank for pizza and more wine in another restaurant with gorgeous views. Yummy all round.

From there, the die-hard party girls (yep, that even included me!) headed to G-A-Y in Soho. We put up with half an hour of terrible Belinda Carlisle remixes, a £10 bill for checking our coats and rather disgusting men groping the more naive amongst us in exchange for three hours of utterly excellent retro music. Did someone say Mel 'n Kim? Woo hoo!

The flatties and I stumbled in at half past four. Excellent!

Snow!

2007-02-08T11:04:00.000-08:00

Hi all. I know I have been rather silent lately, and my apologies. Since my fun time in Stratford I have been staying put in London, and sharing the sights with Lovely Lucy.

One or two cool things have happened recently (including my birthday!), and I think they just about justify a blog post. Small regular posts seem to be better than writing nothing in between my bigger adventures. So, just sit back and read as I write a post all about weather...

You may remember the view of our back lawn in summer:

Well, here it is in a recent snowfall:

I would hardly call it picturesque, but those few flakes were enough to close public transport down for the day in quite a few places.

Of course, nothing stops my flatmate Tiffany from smoking - She sits outside in all weathers, puffing away below my window:

Between puffs, Tiff was able to take a few snapshots of Lucy and I frolicking about. Lucy hadn't been in snow before, so this was a very unexpected 'London first'. Anyway, note the excellent teamwork and matching washing-up gloves...:

And the finished product:

Casper the Snowman lasted four whole days. This was just enough time for me to find another adventure, but more on that later....

Oswaldtwistle and Newtown Upthank

2007-01-23T04:00:00.000-08:00

Apologies for the silence lately. There has been a lot going on to keep me away from blogging, but it is about time I did some updating! I don't have photos of my weekends yet, so words will have to do...

My house is very full at the moment. Kelly and I have two houseguests crammed into the place, and our other flatmates are enjoying their company so much we're often all in the lounge together until very late. Even 'quiet nights in' are ending up as late nights out after we've all tested a few of my slowly-nearing-perfection flavoured vodkas and decided to hit The City. It's a lot of fun, although my inner-40-year-old is struggling a bit.

Fortunately, I had some sedate tourism planned to balance the madness...

Last weekend I went to visit Clive and Janice near Leicester. Clive and Janice are my second cousins on the other side of Dad's family from everyone in Colne. The best way to explain the link is that Janice's father Bert is my great-Uncle.

Although I hadn't met them before, there's quite a strong connection as my parents hosted C+J for their six month trip Down Under last year. You have to admire people over fifty who quit their jobs, pack up their stuff and head halfway round the world - it's hard enough when you're 28!

Anyway, I've been keen to meet these rather brave peeps since I got here, and had organised a £9 return coach trip way back in November. Of course, since then I had endured my unnerving Dublin experience that put me off weekend travelling, so I wasn't quite sure if it would be a good time or exhausting. Fortunately, it was amazing and my hosts were wonderful...

In addition to being cheap my bus ride was fast and comfortable, so I arrived in Leicester on Friday night well-prepared for an interesting weekend. I spent the first evening with wine and yummy food hearing Clive and Janice's thoughts on NZ and Australia, and reminiscing about the scenery, air, people etc. I got very homesick for my parents.

The next morning Janice and I headed off to Stratford-on-Avon to see some Shakespearean stuff. We passed some extremely quaint village names on the way - the favourite two give this post its title!

Although the forecast gales never materialised the temperature was very low; it was rather unpleasant to walk about in, but kept the streets nice and empty. The first stop was 'Shakespeare's Birthplace', which I had been told was actually 'The House Next Door To Shakespeare's Birthplace Because Some Idiot From The Council Read The Plans Wrong And Demolished The Real One'. I looked for clues to confirm this, but all I could come up with was that the house is always refered to in quotation marks as 'The Birthplace' and never Shakespeare's birthplace.

In between all my pedantic punctuation checking I actually managed to be enthralled by the history of the building. The timber and plaster style of Tudor houses is really interesting, and all the doorways are tiny. The amount of space families of nine grew up in is astonishing.

From the Birthplace, Janice and I just walked around Stratford and checked out all the old buildings. We visited a few other places with links to Shakespeare, and laughed at all those with rather tenuous connections (the house that may or may not have been home to Will's best friend's father....?!?!?!?) until we found ourselves taking the much-anticipated drive to Anne Hathaway's Cottage.

I remember seeing this cottage in a book when I was at primary school, and wanting to visit it someday. Yay for me, and my 'To Do' list world trip!!

Of course, being winter, the cottage was not at its best. But the thatched roof and formal garden were still very nice. The interior was like most of the other houses we had seen - fireplaces in every room, wattle and daub walls and set up as a museum. In summer this would be a gorgeous place to linger, especially with cream tea served in the orchard, and it was my favourite of all the Stratford places.

As with most of my tours, by late afternoon it is too cold to do much else, so Janice and I headed back to their house in time for tea with 'the rellies'.

That night I met Janice's daughter Jenny and her boyfriend Darren. And I also got to meet Janice's sister ('Our Julie') who is famous in my family for being engaged for sixteen years to a man who lives down the street from her hairdressing studio. They were all very nice, and just as welcoming as Clive and Janice were.

Uncle Bert was also able to join us, and it was surreal to sit across from an eighty-year old version of my father. He has the same smile as 'Our Bill' (which I have inherited), and this gorgeous shock of white hair that I can't wait to see appear on my Dad's head. We were both a bit overwhelmed by the resemblance I think...

For the rest of the evening, I just sat back and listened to Bert' and Janice's stories and soaked up a bit of family history.

The next morning Clive and Janice took me to Bradgate Park, which is 850 acres of old hunting grounds surrounding the ruins of Lady Jane Grey's childhood home. The ruins were a gorgeous burgundy colour, and the surrounding countryside was utterly picturesque with herds of deer playing between the tussocks and bubbling brooks.

We walked to the top of the grounds to see 'Old John' - a folly in the shape of a beer mug, but found the icy wind far too strong to linger. So it was quickly down again for a wintry lunch at home (Potato Pie sans mushy peas) before Janice kindly dropped me back at the bus station.

It was joyous to spend the weekend being part of a family again. I am very lucky to have connections over here that help with the distance from home. My flatmates keep reminding me how fortunate I am and with a long period stretching ahead of me without my brothers or parents around, I expect to travel to Leicestershire (and let's not forget Lancashire!) quite often to recharge my Greenwood batteries.

Christmas in pictures....

2006-12-28T08:47:00.000-08:00

Hi all. I hope you have recovered from the festivities...

The weather has been suprisingly mild, and may even have been better in London than in Christchurch, Wellington and Vinegar Hill. So, perhaps it wasn't so bad to be in the northern hemisphere? Especially since I had a great time with our houseguests.

This is Denise, Alicia, Nichola, Me, Gerry 1, Gerry 2 and Kelly on Christmas night:

Shortly thereafter the champagne was popped, and Trinidadian rythyms filled the air. We got merrier and merrier and merrier and then the kitchen became a dance floor...

(You can thank me for the photos I am not showing.... I am one of those people for whom Soca is a mysterious and tragic dance invention. T'was not intended for this white girl!)

On the other hand, I am an amazing housewife:

God bless the Edmonds Cookbook.

Escape to Dublin – part 2

2006-12-14T02:31:00.000-08:00

On Sunday morning I found myself in my coldest northern hemisphere day yet – not only was it about 5’ but the wind was devastating. Trying my best to toughen up and make the most of my time I wandered towards the old part of town. First stop was Trinity College, which had a mixture of Georgian and Victorian buildings as well as some picturesque lawns with statues. I was amazed how spacious it felt once inside the front gates, although the city’s noise and smell were doing its best to encroach on the tranquillity of it all.

Passing through Temple Bar for a second time, I discovered that Dublin Castle is only open from 2pm on the weekends. The Castle is surrounded with ‘newer’ buildings (still Georgian!) so it cannot be seen from the main road. However, the diagrams and maps at the compound gates gave me fair idea of the massive structure I was missing out on, so I am resolved to return and see it another day.

Strolling onwards I decided to walk the rest of the main road up to Christ Church Cathedral, mainly because it would be warm inside. On the way I passed the Irish People’s Movement (or somesuch) headquarters, which had rather cool representations of historical workers' rights figures in all forty windows:

(This says "The Irish Republic guarantees religious and civil liberties, equal rights, equal opportunities to all citizens.")

I found the Cathedral and actually decided against going in. I could see from the outside it was very much like the other Christchurch Cathedral with which I am so familiar. Instead, I chose a different route back to the main centre and on the way I couldn’t help but notice these ornamental curiosities on one of the bridges:

Yep, those are horses with flippers and tails.

By then it was nearing 9:30 and Dublin was finally starting to wake up. I strolled the shopping district and marvelled at the contrast between posh shopping centres lining an alley which is filled with tacky market stalls. I was feeling a bit sad that the extent of my Christmas shopping was already on its way to Aotearoa, and there was no-one over here for whom I could buy something gorgeous. Sigh…

However, I had a visit to look forward to. My friend April had suggested I get in touch with her friend Keay who is a medieval archaeologist in south County Dublin. Wonderful Keay had offered to show me around her village and help me sample some of the atmosphere. Dalkey (pronounced Dorky) was a really important trading and invading area during the Viking period, and there are plenty of ruins and pathways and that sort of thing.

Once I met Keay off the train we wandered into Dalkey and through to Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary) to visit a castle. It was a much smaller building than I expected, but there were some pretty cool features – like a ‘murder hole’ above the doorway that allowed residents to drop boiling oil or fire arrows on any invaders. I get the feeling Keay has been to this place a hundred times, but she was very indulgent of me, and even took my photo up on the battlements:

We then took a stroll through the posh part of Dun Laoghaire before we found a market in the People’s Square. It was too cold for most sellers to be out, but there was an enormous organic vegetable stall staffed by an army of local hippies, (and selling feijoas!). Keay and I sat down to enjoy the best falafel kebabs ever before venturing more into the civic part of town to a café called Henry’s that is as New Zealand a place as I will probably ever find, even if it is run by a Polish guy. The hot chocolates came with marshmallows(!), but they didn’t do soy :-(, so I consoled myself with a deliciously warm raspberry scone whilst Keay shared her photos from April’s wedding.

From there it was getting late, and somehow even colder, so I bid farewell to lovely Keay. Then it was a case of train, bus, plane, train, tube, overland train, bed. Zzzzzzzzzz.

Overall, I didn’t actually think much of Dublin. The trips to Belfast and Dalkey were good, but the rest was a bit boring. Dublin feels like London, and isn’t particularly attractive. The weather didn’t help, but even so there just wasn’t much ‘zing’ in the city. Nevermind, I am glad to have seen the place, and am still meaning to go back once again for the Castle.

But, I think my favourite Irish thing of all (or at least half-Irish) is this:

This is my cousin’s son Ronan. He is yummy and fun and one of my favourite things about London.

So, for the next while I will be staying in the City and just chilling out and hopefully spending some time with my family. I have a few Christmas things planned but am mostly looking to relax and recover from an amazing year.

I probably won’t blog again until after Christmas, so Happy Holidays !!!!!!

Escape to Dublin - Part I

2006-12-13T02:25:00.000-08:00

People who have never flown to Wellington might have thought the flight to Dublin was bad, but I was fine! Arriving was pretty cool, as the main street was bustling with activity and all the Christmas lights were up in very tasteful blues and white. Having worked a really mad day I was keen to find my hostel bed and fall into it, and that only took another 40 minutes.

The next day I enjoyed an early Irish breakfast (don’t tell the locals, but it’s just like an English one!) before climbing on my tour coach to Belfast. Sadly, the PaddyWagon had no heating, so it was a cold collection of nine girlies who headed North. The first stop was a place called Drogheda, which is best known for holding the hung, drawn and quartered remains of St Oliver Plunkett – a martyred Catholic archbishop. After the rather unique bonding experience of seeing his head, most of the group started chatting to each other and it wasn’t long before the trip got more bearable.

We then stopped at Monasterboice – which is a monastic ruin from the 10th century. It was quite a solemn place, although the sun was coming up so it was breathtaking as well – beautiful paddocks and autumn trees amongst old, old, old rocks and moss:

There is a local legend that if a couple can touch fingers around one of the three scriptural crosses they will live happily ever after. I gave it a go, but something was missing…

(Never mind, she’ll be here in January…)

From there it was an uneventful drive across the border into Belfast. The van hadn’t got any warmer, but I found a quick stroll outside was enough to make the van thermal in comparison. Ireland is COLD!!!!

From the van we swapped to a Black Taxi tour around the divided Belfast neighbourhoods. I had been looking forward to this very much, and it was as interesting and sobering as I expected. The first stop was a Protestant estate, and the murals that come up so often in the news:

We spent some time reading the messages, and our guides gave some really good insights into the history of the conflict. I knew a bit from my reading, but saw for the first time that religion has really become an excuse for what is actually a fight about nationhood and class.

After 1690 William of Orange punished the disloyal Irish by confiscating their land and giving it to British loyalists, who immigrated especially to take up the cause. Of course, this put many Irish families into poverty and started the whole horrid cycle. It is plainly apparent to me that by making this about religion, the British government can avoid any connection to the conflict (i.e. how can a secular government be responsible for a religious squabble?). Not good enough.

Of course, the bad has been on both sides. Our tour stopped at a fifteen foot high wall built to protect the Catholic sector of Belfast:

People are invited to write their own peace messages on the wall (a la Berlin I suppose). Amongst the serious stuff, I liked this one (sorry Mum):

We then crossed into the other part of the city, past gates that are closed from 7pm to 7am every day, and all day during the religious marching season. Once inside we visited Sinn Fein headquarters and tried to keep warm walking around in the really pale sunshine.

We then had a three hour lunch break, so myself and my two tour buddies Lavinia (London) and Elza (Cape Town) decided to have a beer in the oldest pub in Belfast – the Crown. The National Trust runs this place – which keeps the prices down and the interior authentic. It was nice and warm inside, and we had a fantastic Irish stew that tasted like it had been simmering all day, and washed it down with the obligatory Guinness. Yum.

Somehow the outside air seemed less horrid after that, and exploring the European Food Market that had spring up around City Hall was a very pleasant experience. We drank German mulled wine and shared French waffle thingees before deciding we had better do a bit more ‘Irish’ stuff. So, the three of us visited the interior of the Hall and took photos of the staircase just because it was the model for the one in the Titanic (yawn!).

There was just enough time left to pose for a photo. Lavinia (on the left) and Elza in front of the market:

After that it was a cold three hour drive back to Dublin. I had a half hour shower to warm up, and then met up with Elza and her roommate Syliva (Hungary) for a stroll around Temple Bar. This is where all the tourists go, so was fairly boring. But we found another lovely pub and enjoyed a warm fire and good food before saying goodbye at 11pm.

To be continued….

Te turangawaewae o Wiremu

2006-11-29T04:03:00.000-08:00

Did I mention that a full English breakfast comes with bread fried in lard? It's interesting... and not particularly fortifying. It is the one new food I haven't liked this weekend. On the other hand, I got curry and mushy peas with my fish'n'chips at lunch, and thought both were fantastic. I wonder what my mother thinks of my cuisine choices?

Anyway, after another solid breakfast, Barbara and Ollie took me for an amble around their area to show me some cool old things, like a pub from the 1700s. I got more views of Pendle Hill as well - although I couldn't spot the witch outline in its forests that makes the place so famous. Maybe I have to live here for forty years first?

We met up with the rest of the whanau shortly after and headed off on a tiki tour of places of Historical Family Importance in Nelson. This is me outside the house in which my father grew up:

The back yard gave me a fair idea of why New Zealand might have appealed...:

Barbara, Ollie, Bailey, Sydney and I also visited the garage my grandfather ran before emmigrating. It is a shabby and dilapidated place, but is still run as a garage. We then wove in and out of narrow streets looking at houses of distant relatives with familiar names, some old primary schools and parks where marriages were proposed (aw!)

After that we joined Sion, John and Fiona at the practice ski area at the top of Pendle Hill. About an acre of hill is covered with green wire and brushes which are kept wet enough for people to slide down. It was surreal, but looked fun enough to make me miss every single ski field I have ever been on:

Because it was FREEZING and windy and winter and lots of other totally excellent reasons, we decamped to a nearby pub, where I got thoroughly beaten at pool and enjoyed a kind of weird British take on Cambodian pork and rice. I avoided all the Real Ale as best as could and discovered a yummy pomegranate and passionfruit drink that I am hoping is sold in London.

Much too soon it was time for goodbye kisses, and I was back at Preston Station. The trip home was long enough for me to finish my excellent book and lose the really cool northern accent I had acquired immediately upon arrival.

So, here I am back in Capital City - completely exhausted and utterly grateful for everyone in Colne for making me feel right at home. Life is good.

Eee by goom, lassie! - Part I

2006-11-29T04:02:00.000-08:00

It was with some excitement I headed northwards last weekend, for a family reunion 15 years in the making. I was off to stay with my father’s cousin Barbara and her husband Ollie, and to see their daughter Fiona and her husband John.

The last time I saw these guys Fiona and John were getting married at a big family do in Christchurch, and yours truly was the bridesmaid:

Clearly, a few things have changed since then.

Excited to find out just how much, I left work on Friday with a mad rush to Euston. Amazingly, the transport gods were favouring me and I was rather early. Having no other option, I lingered in the terminal with a massive crowd all standing in small groups around worshipful piles of jackets and suitcases eyeballing anyone coming close to their personal area.

No less tribal was the all out war that was declared upon the concourse once the train north was announced… I have never seen so many people combine aggression with such urgency, and I didn’t hear anyone being English and apologising either. It was all especially mad given the seats are ticketed?! Is this the reality of Friday night train travel?

After the intensity of the crowds, the trip itself was short and sweet. I arrived in Colne to the biggest hugs and kisses I have ever had, and struggled hard not to cry as Barbara, Ollie and Fiona tag-teamed me. Then I was introduced to John and Fiona's three daughters, who are a pretty big difference since 1992!

Sion, Bayley and Sydney had spent the afternoon watching the wedding video, and quickly agreed I did not look as they expected me to. I have a fair idea where I’d gone wrong - where is my pretty pink dress when I need it? And I think I was last seen wearing silver tights with white shoes…

What was most comforting about my arrival, and strange as well, was that Barb and Ollie’s house was decorated in exactly the same style as my paternal grandmother’s was. The accent, the ‘settee’, the sitting room knickknacks and the food were all like being back in time when I was ten and Grandma Greenwood lived around the corner. It was really nice, and it’s either that or the brandies that gave me an excellent night’s sleep.

I woke up to a full English breakfast and a day of sight-seeing all planned out for me. First stop, seeing Fiona and John’s place. The Wellses live in a 1700s cottage called Spengarth with their dog, Kaikoura:

Spengarth is at the edge of Colne in a ‘green area’ in which new houses cannot be built, meaning there are acres and acres of gorgeous paddocks with rustic stone walls and lots of up and down dales. We went for a very outdoorsy ramble across fields and rivers, magically crossed into Yorkshire, and explored the ruins in Wycoller.

Wycoller has seven or so houses in it, and one crumbling Hall. This part of Yorkshire/Lancashire is Bronte territory, and parts of Jane Eyre were written with Wycoller Hall in mind for Ferndean Manor. Unlike other historic-type places, the ruins are left as they are for people to climb all over, and the girls and dog and I loved it:

Actually, Kai loved it so much he wee-d in the museum.

After leaving some of our party back in Colne, Fiona, John, Bayley and I then took a scenic tour up into West Yorkshire. I saw a long list of tranquil sights and some truly English countryside. My ‘greatest hits’ include:

Greenwood Lea and Heptonstall
The Greenwoods originated from the Lea, merged with the Stansfield family of Todmorden and a lineage was borne (no pun intended…). Heptonstall is the closest remaining settlement and the graveyard was full of my relatives, including (cross my heart) a woman called Lettice Greenwood. Hopefully, it is pronounced as a French name?

Hebden Bridge
This village is in the bottom of a valley and has two rivers and a canal, on which I saw this reminder of home:

Hebden Bridge seemed a cool combination of trendy and rural with some very designer shops and an impressive green-energy movement headquarters. There are also lots of trees and excellent mountain bike tracks, evidenced by the piles of muddy bikers who traipsed into town for lattes. I think I could live there and be utterly content.

Haworth
This is the parsonage of the Brontes’ father, and is a gorgeous village. It has steep streets and Christmas lights simultaneously welcoming and repelling tourists. I was unexpectedly reminded of home (yet again) by a restaurant called Wharenui, but managed to resist the warm fire therein for the sake of fossicking in antique Christmas shops. Lovely fun.

After a quick stop for a ‘Real Ale’ in a country pub (it was horrid) we headed back to Colne for an enjoyable night playing board games and eating potato pie. Sion, Bayley and Sydney are formidable opponents, and are wonderfully loud in the way almost-teenagers can be. Thank goodness I was nothing but an angel when I was growing up…

It was a long and wonderful day, and enough for a blog post, methinks. I shall write about my Sunday later in the week.

A slight digression from holiday stuff...

2006-11-23T01:22:00.000-08:00

I haven't done any touristy stuff for a bit, so this post is really just a quick catch up on a few things...

My new job is going well, and I am relishing the challenges it is posing in terms of deadlines and competing demands from colleagues. The next issue of the magazine is nearly ready, and I am enjoying helping with the flow and clarity of the articles - I think a non-academic perspective might prove quite handy for this publication!

At the same time as I am rushing around trying to get all that done, the publicity campaign for CARR's March conference is gearing up, and I am conscious that if I don't pour effort into planning it well at this stage it is going to be much harder later. These international events only happen every five years, so it is quite a significant project.

However, I have introduced novel concepts such as 'project plans' and 'strategy meetings' to ensure everyone knows what is going on. I thank Nola (my last Manager) for her influence here, as her emphasis on agreed goals and set timeframes has taught me some really effective ways to get my colleagues on board early.

So, after a few weeks' panic where I wondered if my MSSNZ job was the last I would have that actually suited me, and that I might be an idiot for having left it, I now know I have made the right decision.

I've also joined a gym, and am thankful for the balance and endorphins it provides... although 6am mornings are REALLY cold. Fortunately, the smiley feelings last all day and compensate for the fact it is dark by 4pm.

I imagine it is even worse up North, and shall find out this weekend when I visit Lancashire. Travel is very cool, and I look forward to sharing my discoveries with y'all.

Until then...

Two posts in one day!?!??!?!?

2006-11-12T16:53:00.000-08:00

I have no idea how I have found myself back at the blog once again, especially since it is 2am... However, having spent most of the morning on the thing, I find myself needing to share the rest of my day in a whole new post, because it was just so damn fabulous.

So... after posting this morning I made a quick dash across London to East Ham to meet up with Payal and Lackshma (who I met in Scotland last weekend) for the promised authentic South Indian meal.

The East Ham main road is bustling in a way I will always think of as uniquely London, with a range of bizarre shop frontages in all sorts of languages, interspersed with peeling roller doors and a geometry of railings and meshing seeming to prop up the ancient brick buildings above.

Through this bustle we trudged to "Saravanaa Bhavan". Lackshma is Veda/Brahmin, and her food preference is called 'pure vegetarian' - no meat, no eggs, but she does eat milk and honey etc. Apparently, this restaurant is a fantastic exponent of this type of food.

Happy to be the new kid, I sat back and let everyone else order for me and I ended up with a kind of South Indian buffet. A pile of rice, poppadoms and bread puffs accompanied by nine or so tiny tin cups of dhals, soup, pickle, chilli, raita, curd, halva and fruit salad. The correct way to eat is to dump some rice down, plop something savoury down on it and eat it with scooped fingers. My way is to put too much wet with the dry and spend five minutes pushing each fingerful round in a circle whilst getting really hungry and trying not to draw attention to one's honky self.

My favourite dish was a tamarind and bean dhal, and I can proudly say I managed to finish three servings of mango and mustard chilli pickle before the heat got too much. I had to pass on the curd for the sake of my weird tummy, but everything else was delicious. For the sake of tradition I even accepted a coffee - not something I normally touch. I won't bore you with more food details, but it is a very frothy way to ingest caffeine.

After all that, I waddled back up the high street clutching bags of burfi (cocount ice) that had magically appeared in my hands and took the 'Pink Line' back home. From there I had a short time to drink some precious 'V' before heading out again to meet up with Caroline, her boss Brodie and his partner Dierdre for the Dave Dobbyn thing.

Navigating multiple transport dramas, I arrived in Shepherd's Bush (a strongly expat area of London) to find it wasn't an army function at all, but a proper Dave Dobbyn concert combining a new concept in intimate entertaining with a plug for an expat association. Penelope Barr (remember her?) did the intros, Chucky Shearer (remember him!?) MC'd and Dave did the singing thing.

Amazingly, Brodie, Diedre and Caroline were offered front row seats, and this tagger-on got to join them. Sitting five metres away as he sang some of the most beautiful love songs.... here is a photo from my camphone:

So, Dave would play a few songs, sit down for a chat (gritty stuff - his battle with drugs, Queen St riots, being born again...) and then get back on the guitar or piano. He is a much sweeter musician than I realised - a completely unexpected gem.

I would liked to have heard a piano arrangment of 'Bliss', but it was not to be. His boozy pub song days are clearly behind him, and the focus now is on his faith and spreading the love, which he didn't hesitate to mention.

After a resounding encore it ended all too soon... On the other hand, I got my last train with five minutes to spare, so am lucky to be home.

And now, to bed :-)

NZ Memorial Dedication (and an ode to Caroline!)

2006-11-12T02:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the wonderful pleasure of attending the dedication of the NZ Memorial in Hyde Park. My friend Caroline is the NZ liaison person for the project, and has been hard at work (3am finishes, people!!) making sure this event is a success.

She is amazing, and fabulous and I am totally in awe of her.

Kindly, Caroline made it possible for six of her friends to attend the ceremony as invited guests. This meant we had seats and a view of the Queen. I have posted highlights on this blog, which means just a few photos out of many great moments.

It was a very special experience, and this is going to be a long blog entry.

I arrived at Hyde Park at 12:30. The roads were closed to the public, and there was already a huge queue forming at the public entrance. I went through various security searches before being escorted through an underpass by army personnel. I was quite early by VIP standards, so wandered around taking photos.

My other old school friends turned up as well, and we had quite a catch up. It was great to see them, and I had been hoping we would get to sit near each other. Thankfully, this proved to be the case (Caroline rocks!).

The symbolism of the sculpture is a very tidy integration of ideas – the Southern Cross, soldiers standing at attention, gravestones in Flanders etc. No doubt those of you who watched the ceremony on television have had a good look. As always, scaffolding interferes with my view:

Anyway, whilst I was getting up close and personal with modern art, the general public was stuck behind barriers and crowded together very closely and had been standing up for three hours before anything started:

Shortly, the dignitaries started arriving. Unfortunately, the best view for us was to look sideways and back a little to the big screen erected for the crowds – but I persevered with photos of all the important people arriving. This is one after most had arrived – and if you click on the image to enlarge it you can hopefully spot William, Camilla and Edward:

This is the Queen inspecting the troops. I wish I had got out of my chair sooner and got her facing my way instead of after she turned around. Anyway, this is the closest I have been to her yet (I sound like a stalker):

After that it all passed in a bit of a blur…. The soldiers gave the Royal Salute, there were speeches, Dave Dobbyn sang (did anyway else notice his ‘Please, Lord Jesus!’ exclamation in the middle of this?), people made more speeches…

The next particular highlight was Hayley Westenra singing a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem, particularly the Maori part. I actually don’t think any other pakeha can do it better:

And the haka was AMAZING. It made the hairs on my neck stand up, and a few tears form. It was an extended version of Ka Mate, and the depth of feeling was palpable across the courtyard:

Having reached the end, Royals were invited to inspect the sculpture, and some little girl gave everyone flowers. After that, the invited guests were able to look. Some kind guest took photos of us all together in front of the sculpture, which was especially generous given she had to handle seven different cameras with a variety of combinations of people striking a pose. Anyway, this is me with (L-R) Nicole, Michael and Sarah:

And then, of course, we had to go celebrity spotting. Having no shame and total confidence in people’s willingness to be nice I convinced these guys to pose with Nicole and I:

(I know the light is terrible, but it was a one-off thing, and I feel compelled to provide evidence of the strangest photo combination ever. If you don't recognise them - Daniel Bedingfield, Craig Dowd and Sean Fitzpatrick.)

We wanted to find Andrew Merhtens too, but I was totally put off by his wife’s appearance – she was all dressed up like a Footballer’s Wife (they call them WAGs here) and didn’t take her sunglasses off the entire time.

We also had group photos with Miss Westenra and Mr Dobbyn, but not on my camera…

Winter being well upon us, the daylight had by then totally disappeared, and we all escaped to a nearby pub. Well, actually, we had to walk all the way to Piccadilly, but it was worth it to get out of the freezing cold air.

Unfortunately, Caroline was not able to join us, as she had plenty of official duties to complete before the evening finished. Having wowed London with her total fabulousness (of course!), she was also attending the official Remembrance service in Westminster Abbey the next day.

And on Sunday evening, the Armed Forces are holding a party of their own, and Caroline has kindly invited me to go with her. I am really looking forward to it - Dave Dobbyn will be playing.

Caroline is lovely, and I wish she was staying here!!! Clearly deserving a break, Cazza is jetting around Europe before going home, and I think she'll have plenty be proud and amazed about. For example, she has now shared photographic space with Aunty Helen and Mrs Windsor (Caroline is in the background between the Queen and the soldier):

(Thanks to Clare for spotting this one.)

So, what a day! I hope you all got to see it on television, and I'd love to hear your opinions.

Drum roll please

2006-11-10T02:38:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone,

I am delighted to announce I am no longer a temporary employment animal. In between outings to old and crumbly places I have actually got a permanent job.

I will be working at the London School of Economics and Political Science as an editorial assistant and marketing officer for the Centre of Risk and Regulation.

Risk management and government regulation isn’t entirely fascinating, but I enjoy learning about new topics so I am pleased

The best part of this role is the Centre’s insistence on professional development and their desire to provide me with training from both within and outside the LSE. I have been hired especially because they want someone who is willing to develop qualifications in marketing.

So, not only am I getting to use my technical skills and do things I enjoy, but I’m getting professional education and mentoring at the same time.

I think I am very lucky.

Thank you for all your kind words and support whilst I’ve been doing the hard yards. I am very grateful.

Love from halfway round the world,
Amy xx

More Scotty Stuff....

2006-11-09T13:38:00.000-08:00

Remember my cute story about the well of the seven heads.... it is in this pretty spot:

Every place I go has some mountains called 'Three Sisters' and Scotland is no exception. Although, since this is the country where MacBeth is set, perhaps that is more poignant than elsewhere (what, with those witches 'n all). This is me between two of the 'Sisters' at Glencoe - rather lovely, and the air at this spot was fantastic - I am all smiley:

The light over Loch Ness was purpley and dramatic... very cool:

Sadly, the only monster I saw was in the cafe:

London is getting almost as cold as Edinburgh was. Good thing I have plenty of thermals....

Edinburgh photos - Part I

2006-11-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

A general idea of what Central Edinburgh looks like - pretty colours:

As explained, scaffolding interupted my front view of the Castle, thus, a side view:

I braved the chill to wander the Royal Mile at night - and this was the view at the end. The Castle lit up for Guy Fawke's night:

And, rather randomly, one of the escapees of Cow Parade in an Edinburgh schoolyard. (Cow Parade is a travelling art installation of 100 cows painted by artists to raise money for charity. I wondered where they went when it all ended....):

Next time... places with low temperatures and high dramas.... The Highlands.

Nessie, can you hear me?

2006-11-06T02:43:00.000-08:00

After a fortifying lunch and a spin around the souvenir shop (hurrah, one postcard!) I piled back onto the bus for the drive to Loch Ness.

We drove to Fort William amongst still more stunning scenery and on the way stopped at a rather historic place beside Loch Oich called the ‘Well of the Seven Heads’. The Well is so named because a band of men killed seven members of Clan MacDonnel in retaliation for the murder of the two rightful heirs to the clan title. Finding themselves on the way to visit the Chief of MacDonnel, and not wanting to present him with dirty heads, the men stopped to wash the heads in the well here. Lovely.

There being no more sweet stories like this to be shared on the way, we shortly got to the Caledonian Canal, which marks the southern end of Loch Ness. We drove up the western side of the Loch and learnt all sorts of things about it (740 miles deep, 23 miles long etc) before reaching Inverness, turning a corner and starting back down the eastern side. We passed Urquhart Castle (I declined a visit to the ruins) and travelled onwards to Drumnadrochit where a ferry trip awaited.

The ferry trip across Loch Ness was a great experience. Because the Loch is filled by peaty runoff from the boggy hills, the water is incredibly inky. I didn’t see any monsters, but then I couldn’t see anything!

Taking as many photos as my icy fingers could manage, I then bought a whisky and settled down inside the ferry café to experience Loch Ness from somewhere warm. Most of my fellow tourists had the same idea and I made some very nice acquaintances.

Back on the bus I quickly fell asleep (nothing to do with the whisky!) and woke up when we reached our dinner stop at Pitlochry. The place with which the company has an ‘arrangement’ was closed so with two of my new friends (a woman called Payel and her mother Lackshma) I braved the strange streets to find somewhere to eat. I ended up with a decidedly average steak sandwich and had to wolf it down in time to met back up with the bus. Frustratingly, we had the world’s worst trainee waitress and the bill took a long time to get sorted. Thus, the three of us were 15 minutes late for the bus… fortunately it was still waiting.

From there it was a tranquil drive through a darkening sky to get back to Edinburgh by 8pm. Having made plans to meet up with Payel when she is in London next weekend, I said goodbye to everyone I had met and wandered back along the Royal Mile to my hostel. I was too tired even to shower, falling into bed with my clothes on.

The next day was spent travelling home, and was unremarkable. I travelled through Newcastle, Sheffield and Milton Keyes and could tell when we got to London because the air quality changed very quickly. London is very dirty!

But, I am so glad to be here.

Ach aye the noo!

2006-11-05T00:19:00.000-08:00

I am not sure a mixed dorm is a good idea. Coming back from my shower to find seven frat boys sitting on the bunks, drinking beer and spitting (tobacco?) into a bin between them, I decided to put my headphones on, read and write and pretend they weren't there. In fact I am very lucky (from an anthropological point of view), because the music was not loud enough to drown out their conversation and I am now able to report some unique insights into what men (boys?) talk about when they think no women can hear. Sadly, they talk about women with exactly the sort of language one fears. Has feminism hit Wisconsin yet? These boys need some enlightening...

Anyway, they eventually went out to do some damage to the streets of Edinburgh and I slept peacefully until the morn.

I took a stroll to the Castle, but was too early for both farmers' markets so wandered with hunger in my belly up to the tour company. We left almost immediately and my hunger pangs were totally neutralised by the scenery. Edinburgh is wonderful. My guide (in obligatory kilt!) explained all the various Scottish sights and it was very interesting. Weirdly, he had a thing for speed and red light cameras, and pointed them out whenever we would pass by (why? are they Scottish?).

We departed Edinburgh to go north into a beautiful autumn day. I took heaps of photos, but I think this is one of those times one just has to be there. We stopped at a place called Glencoe ('valley of weeping') and learnt all about the massacre of the MacDonalds by the Campbells (or Wallaces, or Duncans or whomever...) whilst taking touristy photos in front of mountains and waterfalls. This is an extremely dramatic piece of countryside - the mist lies very close to the ground, the mountains look especially ancient, and the utter isolation of it all creates a terrific atmosphere. It was FREEZING, but being outside in the air, the massive empty space and the mists made me feel wonderful.

Once back on the bus, the guide played us a few folk songs about more murder and mayhem between the clans. It was all quite good, and a fitting soundtrack for the drive. Eventually we stopped for lunch at Loche Linnhe beside Ben Nevis, which is the highest point in all the Britsh Isles. (It looked to me like a large and lumpy upside down mudpie.) Naturally, the tourist shops nearby make a HUGE deal out of it, and I found myself eating Ben Nevis Broth for lunch whilst sitting betwixt mountain and loch... lovely.

I will leave my account of Loch Ness etc until later, as I must get going for my bus to London. I am looking forward to seeing more countryside - I have really enjoyed the fresh air and the different type of light that exists up north.... the change in temperature is a wonderful experience as well. Seriously.

There's nothing quite like travelling... onwards.......

The curse of the restoration pixies continues...

2006-11-03T08:23:00.000-08:00

Hi from Edinburgh.... I just decided to come north for the weekend, and see Scotland. I am so glad I did. Of course, all the main attractions are being renovated (just like everywhere else I go!) - so I need to rely on postcards for the best vistas.

(I am thinking of contracting out my services - are you having trouble getting the council to fix something in your community? Need work done quickly? Why, just ask me to plan a tour there, and some workmen will magically appear with cranes and scaffolding.)

Anyway, the overnight train ride was a cold introduction to this part of the world - it was simply freezing all night. The only parts of me that weren't affected were my merino-clad footsies (Thanks Mrs C!).

Arriving at 7:30am I was worried how I would fill in the time before the Edinburgh Castle opened at half nine. Fear not... a shambolic hostel with highly unsecure storage, plenty of 'long-term' tourists (i.e. dodgy boarders) in a nasty part of the city did not my confidence build - so I spent the morning trying to find somewhere to stay, and just said yes to the first place that looked well cared for.

After that I started exploring. I think Edinburgh is lovely. It is a gently interesting city, and the history is evident everywhere. I thought the Castle was quite fun, but I much more enjoyed walking in the autumnal gardens along Princes Street. The comparison with Dunedin is really easy to make, as the architecture and even the colours of the buildings were sending me back in time to 1997 (when I lived in Dunners, for those readers who don't know that I did).

I took the oft-plodded tourist walk from the Castle down Royal Mile to Holyrood House, which is the Queen's office in Scotland (Balmoral is her country house). I think I have a thing for palaces, as this wasn't so different from Buckingham Palace, but I loved every minute of it.

After that I explored an entire block of charity shops (I call it Heaven Street!) and found a few things I liked.... and lo and behold, someone was able to direct me to an even better spot near the old GrassMarket. By the end I had several sewing projects for the long winter nights ahead....

I then walked a bit more, and decided at the last minute against the National Gallery of Scotland, the Academy and associated arty things. I have a feeling I will be back in Edinburgh again one day, and it is a small enough city I don't want to do everything in one stay.

For that reason, I am getting into the countryside tomorrow with a trip to.... Loch Ness!!!!!! I didn't realise it was close enough, and am very excited. So, hope to share some Highlands adventures soon.

(Oh, will post photos when I get back to London.)

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside...

2006-10-30T12:45:00.000-08:00

My lovely friend Caroline is here for work, and we decided to go to Brighton for the day. Of course, I forgot it was daylight savings, so my Sunday morning started at 7am... ick...

Anyway, we arrived to a rather sunny day and quite a few people around:

I was expecting it to be a grey, gravely shore. Actually, the pebbles are a lovely combination of colours, and quite pretty.
Yep, I actually took pictures of some stones...:

Anyway, here I am posing in front of Brighton's famous pier - before I got my wake-up beer:

After said beer and vinegary fish n' chips we made our way to the fair on top of the pier. Here is Caroline graciously admitting defeat in the bumper cars championship:

I love Brighton - it was just what I needed after so many endless nights of job applications. Caroline and I found some amazing shops and cute streets; I am definitely going there again.

On the job hunting front, watch this space, as things have been going very well, and I may have news soon.

Love lots.

Back on tour

2006-10-08T11:11:00.000-07:00

Today my flatmates and I went on an outing to Greenwich. It was lovely to get away from endless job applications, and remind myself I am in an amazing city.

First stop was the Naval University next to Cutty Sark. Some local Historical Society types were re-enacting a naval somethingorother - including canon firing. I though they were trying a bit hard to look like Russell Crowe in that horrid movie, so wandered on to enjoy the other sights.

This is the University's main building (the Thames is on the left):

The best thing about this city is that one turns a corner and sees still more stunning things. This is the gorgous interior of the Naval Hospital chapel:

After a bit of walking and looking it was time for eating and drinking. We found a spot to share Heineken and some Estonian pastries. Lovely:

We then strolled to the Royal Observatory and got very lost (my fault entirely) before finally finding the Prime Meridian. At this stage it was getting VERY cold, so I was glad to be wearing plenty of layers... but it was still hard to look relaxed:

Anyway, today has been very successful. Since you are well aware that I am a geek, you won't be suprised to know that crossing Greenwich off my 'must do' list is a big deal. It will certainly make the next week at work more bearable.

Until later....

Someone give me a job....

2006-10-03T09:54:00.000-07:00

So, here I am in London. Still.

I started looking for work a month ago… so it is amazing that I am only now making it to the second round of interviews. And I am trying to balance getting offered the job I really want without saying no to the only job I may be offered…

I promise to start doing fun things when the job gets sorted, and writing about it.

Anyway, must get on… Just wanted to let you know I am still alive.

My little corner of the world

2006-09-23T04:23:00.000-07:00

I am starting to feel really settled, which is great. To celebrate, I have bought some coathangers and a new shirt for work - huzzah!

I quite like my flat - it's great to be flatting with a friend, and the transport is really close. This morning, a fox turned up to the back door. They are a lot like dogs, but when this one ran up with its tail in the air showing it was ready to play I screamed like a big, big, big girl, closed the ranchslider and ran upstairs. It then sniffed around the lawn a bit before doing a very doggie thing in a patch of weeds and clearing off to eat squirrels.

Anyway, here are some shots of my little corner of the world, sans fox:

Cue Coronation Street theme:

Stuck on the end of the street - perfect access for cats and cat burglars:

The view from my tastefully appointed room:

And our little 'lawn'. Note the days-old washing kept on the line to retain the student flat feeling:

I think one of the reasons I enjoy this spot so much is the London weather. It hardly ever rains, and was 28' yesterday! I keep being able to sit outside in the sunshine.

Of course the itchy nose, murky sky and smelly work clothes remind this is all probably the result of pollution and global warming...

This time....

2006-09-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

At last - photos are working again.... I now wish my pictures were more interesting. Anyway, here is how the guards are changed at Lizzy's place:

Oh, poor wee soldier. He looks very lonely...:

Hurrah!, here come some friends... with trombones!!!
(Three or four civilians also dropped by to say hello.):

Everyone says 'Hi, fancy meeting you here...':

Then eight soldiers leave:

Honestly, what a underwhelming experience. I am not sure it was worth sitting in one spot for two hours beforehand...

Oh well, some nice German girl took my photo so I can prove I've seen this before if anyone tries to make me go again. I don't know why I was smiling....:

On the more interesting news front, my temp contract people asked me to apply for a permanent role there. I think this is great, but hope to decline in favour of another role.

The phone calls for interviews have started coming in.... so, more good vibes please.