Put the lime in the coconut 06/10/2011
Want to know what people do on their holidays? Today, I spent an hour riding around on Kurt's back in the swimming pool while he used pretend tai chi 'moves' to gently guide bugs and leaves in the water out of our path. Add Comment It's a man's world 25/09/2011
"I don't think I've seen one woman driving a car since arriving in Turkey." "You know Muslim women aren't allowed to drive right?" "No, actually I didn't." "I've seen one woman driving." "Where?" "In Izmir. She nearly ran me over." "Well I guess the system is there for a reason then." Anyone who knows me well knows that I maintain a fear of stairs. It is maintained very well; I tenderly nurture it like a small child cares for her dolly. I don't know where the fear came from; I tend to believe that I died in a past life by falling down a staircase, probably very dramatically. So it was with some trepidation that I approached my first walk around town in Dubrovnik, Croatia. Any picture you see of Dubrovnik leaves you understanding in no uncertain terms that the Old Town is full of stairs. I'm not just talking about a few stairs. No. There are endless flights of stairs. To get into the city from any of the gates, you must descend at least at least ten flights - flights comprised of stones rubbed shiny from years of wear. The World Famous Tourist Parade regularly comes to Dubrovnik and it shows. Shiny slippery stairs. For me, the walk down is far worse than the walk up. The walk up is fantastic for the butt and thighs - Dubrovnik is actually a ThighMaster workout masquerading as a city. I am scared of falling, not a firm tushie. But I was not going to let my fear-dolly stop me from enjoying the delicious risotto with scampi that I knew awaited me down in the city. So with my husband there to cling to each time I thought I might fall (ie: the whole way down) and some decent shoes, I conquered Dubrovnik and my fear of falling to my death down flights of shiny stairs! Fear-Dolly was relegated to the air conditioning of our accommodation and is starting to look a little raggedy. You gotta love this city 06/09/2011
When Australian musician Tim Freedman sang 'you gotta love this city' about his native Sydney, he wasn't being complimentary. The line is 'you gotta love this city for its body and not its brains'. He reckons Sydney is a dumb blonde. The protagonist of the song is fired from his job, spends the next few days in bed jerking off to phone sex operators and eventually jumps off the Sydney Harbour Bridge to kill himself. He's pissed off that Sydney won the bid to host the Olympic Games, opening its legs like a whore to the world. I had this track running through my head on repeat the whole time I was in Prague. Not because Praguians think their city is a dumb blonde - in fact, the total opposite. We went on two different walking tours while in Prague and it struck me how much respect and reverence the Czechs have for their capital. They talk about Jan Palach, the young philosophy student who set himself alight in Wenceslas Square in protest of communism, with the light of freedom shining from their eyes. They burst with pride when speaking about how much Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart loved Prague - so much, they say, that he chose to premiere his opera Don Giovanni there, and not his native Vienna. They recount how it was the people of Prague that drove the Nazis from the city at the end of WWII! Not the Americans or the Red Army! It is easy to love Prague for its body, it is a beautiful city. But I can't say that I love the brains of Sydney the way the Czechs love the brains of Prague. It's clear from the lyrics that Tim doesn't hate his city, but he doesn't have a lot of respect for it. Perhaps a begrudging love, one that means he can slag Sydney off and woe betide anyone else that does. But that Tim Freedman chose to name the whole 1999 album after this song is somewhat telling about what he feels for Sydney. The people of Prague love their city for its body AND its brains. And it's beautiful to observe. Serbians 03/09/2011
Take away their car horns and they will have nothing left. Travel Lesson # 4329 01/09/2011
If your preference is for a quiet haircut with minimal conversation, go to a hairdresser that speaks a different language to you! Bliss! Kurt and I spent four days and three nights in Berlin recently and were determined to cram in as many schnitzels and hefeweizens as we could. We were pleasantly surprised by Berlin and wanted to share what we learned while there. 1. Berlin has bees, not flies In Australia, when you sit down to a meal, you will be plagued by flies if you are sitting outside. It's just a fact of summertime. But in Berlin, there are bees, not flies. They are just as annoyingly persistent as flies, but the added stinger makes you scared to shoo them away. Berliners avoid bee-in-beer issues by placing an extra coaster on top of their pint glasses. 2. The food and beer is AWESOME and cheap We have just come from Norway, and everything seems cheap in comparison (we still love you, Norway!). But Berlin is cheap even by Australian standards (although I believe Australia is considered an expensive country). A pint of beer is sold at most bars for around four Euros (about $5.50 AUD). A pint of hefeweizen of similar quality costs about $9 AUD. A 500ml bottle of the same beer bought from the local bottle-o in Berlin is even cheaper, sometimes one Euro. Our schnitzels with potatos, salad and gherkin (my favourite addition to any meal) cost us about nine Euros (about $12.50 AUD). In Australia, a lousy schnitzel can go for anywhere up to $25 AUD. The quality of the food was out of this world; I think I could live on schnitzels from the Hamburg-Berlin in Mitte for the rest of my life. AND... I even became a beer drinker in Berlin. Yes me, the girl craning her neck at every bar to see if they serve cider - I became a lover of beer. It's just that good. 3. Public transport is easy to use, but walking is fun I could write quite a lot on the virtues of the Berlin public transport system but I think I will leave that to another post. You can catch trains, trams and buses in Berlin and use the one card to ride them all. There are underground trains and above-ground trains. There are night buses that aren't just a special project forced through state parliament by the Greens. They are there all the time. But walking is so enjoyable in Berlin if you have the day to yourself and the weather is nice. There's a lot to see and you can stop at a bottle-o along the way for a beer as it seems to be perfectly acceptable (if not legal) to walk around drinking right there on the street. If you are reading this and thinking 'big deal?', remember that public consumption of alcohol is illegal in Australia and may get you arrested if you are being a pain in the ass. If you have someplace specific to be, renting a bike would be perfect. There are literally hundreds of bicycle rental outlets all over the city and Berlin is very bike-friendly with a wide designated bike lane on most streets and bike racks everywhere. 4. Cash is king If, like me, you are expecting to be able to use your credit card everywhere in Berlin, think again. Yes, you can use your card at the supermarket but not at many bars or restaurants, even quite large places. Instead, the staff carry around black leather purses that hold all the change of the establishment. The question of 'can I pay with my card?' is met with a stern 'nein'. If you have a card that means you're charged through the nose each time you withdraw money, I suggest you make a large withdrawal at the start of your trip to Berlin. You will need the Euros on you. So that's it! I loved Berlin and would definitely go back again. My experience was less of the party-time that I think a lot of people have and more of a foodie journey with a bit of history thrown in. Each and every meal was enjoyable and different and walking through such an old and historic city was truly a pleasure. Bis dann Berlin! Don't Stop Believing - A Journey 02/08/2011
Would we make it, to this mythical land called Overseas? After 36 hours of flights and layovers, I was seriously beginning to doubt it. We entered Sydney International Airport after a 3 hour bus ride from Canberra. Having arisen at 5am for this trip, my mind was already telling me I had had enough travelling for the day. Not a good sign. We had intended to travel carry-on-only but upon checking in at the Malaysia Airways desk, the five kilo carry-on limit prevailed. We each had about eleven kilos and had to repack our little black bag with the things we thought we might need over the next 36 hours. We geniuses didn't include toothpaste or deodorant or a change of undies so we felt a bit grimy until we arrived. First stopover: Kuala Lumpur. Ah, KL, where the weather is hot and the beer is expensive. I was already cranky after ten hours of flying and baulked at the idea of paying $12 for a beer. Kurt craftily situated me in front of a fan and I forgot all about my troubles. Then it was time for the longest flight: 13 hours to London. Kurt occupied himself with the in-flight movies as he didn't sleep at all the whole way through. I managed eight hours, even if they weren't the best eight hours I've had. We got to Heathrow and after a few wrong turns, found ourselves in the correct terminal and the land of duty-free. How delightful to wander among gleaming rows of alcohol as yet un-drunk. What times would be had under the influence of these infused vodkas, this smooth whisky, that Bombay Sapphire gin? We would soon find out... Only 1.5 hours more flying until Oslo's Gardamoen. Would it be worth the long journey, the stinky armpits, the crushing exhaustion? Well friends, you tell me:  Twilight Zone 24/07/2011
My friend Tara is going to New York today and I texted her to say goodbye. Me: New York, New York! T: I'm on the plane! I miss youse guys already. Me: Wow, we're in the future where you can text on planes! T: We are in the present where I haven't taken off yet. You're doing it wrong 07/07/2011
I am reading Revolutionary Road at the moment. Possibly not the best idea, in the weeks leading up to an overseas trip, to read a book about a couple that plans to move overseas in order to reinvigorate their suburban lives only to ditch those plans after he has an office affair and she has a home abortion that goes very wrong. As I read the story and read about the things that go wrong with them, I think about how my husband and I might react in the circumstances that April and Frank find themselves in. Probably I would confide in him my desperate desire to act on stage and would share my creative hopes and dreams instead of hiding them from him. Probably Kurt wouldn't react to my disappointment at my play being a total failure by telling me that it wasn't his fault it sucked, as Frank did. What a treasure. From time to time I wonder if we are doing it right ('it' being marriage, life, whatever) and then I remember that this is one of the questions that most people encounter and that I will figure it out, bit by bit. Reading this wholly depressing book reminds me that we, at least, will go on our overseas trip and will not grapple with our mediocrity through indulgence in extra-marital affairs and failed abortions. We will grapple with our mediocrity in our own way, thank you. Maybe I'll buy a Porsche. |
