Beautiful Bondi, Sunny Sydney day 2.

 It is not often one gets on what one thinks is a bus to paradise, only to find one has been thrown under the bus, but that is how things feel like at present.  Whereas when I was on the crowded bus to Bondi and first came round the bend and saw the sweep of the bay, the blue sea, even the buildings, several of us travellers, including me,  exclaimed.  Here it was a lovely spring day and we could head for a busy and bustling iconic and exciting beach,  but tempted though I was I stayed on till the end of the line, for I had read, if I walked up the road a bit and then looked over the sea, I just might see something special. 

At first I thought I must be in the wrong place, a scrabby fence, that did not look safe and a wall, I was capable of falling over, seemed the only thing separating me from the rocks below but the first Australian passing by assured me she had just seen one and that she sees them regularly when walking the dog. So I hovered and looked and looked, when another Aussie, shouted there's one, I moved next to him and then I saw a different one, the smooth curve of a back and the plume of spray as the whale graced back into the water.  And then I suddenly spotted one further out jumping up, another whale beside it.   I almost jumped over the wall with excitement, yet for the next hour, until I gave up and joined the others on the beach, only a little sign of breath out to sea, told me there must be more whales passing by.  However, I was over the moon.  It has taken the whole of my life, but I have seen whales in their natural habitat and I did not have to pay for a boat to miss them.   After that I was content to mostly just sit and enjoy watching everyone else brave the fierce undertow in the water, which explains the huge Baywatch type life guard presence.  But having almost drowned in similar seas in France as a teenager, I was content just to paddle.  But I have been to Bondi beach and I have seen whales, that is worth remembering on a very depressing and wet and sad day in the UK. 

My first picture is how almost everyone imagines Sydney, my second reminds me there is another side to the town.  I had to go back to the train station on route to Bondi, before changing onto the bus, and there to my surprise lots of trains buffs, were getting on "old" trains and the brass band was playing.  Who knew.  

Sunny Sydney day 1

 Lots of things going on back here in the UK, sources of sorrows, so I am trying to reflect on how wonderful my trip was and Sydney really was wonderful. 

It started the moment I got on the train.  Miles and miles of wonderful landscapes and the occasional fortunate view of a speeding Kanger, or a stock still Wallaby, plus a suprisingly good hot meal all at a reasonable price.  The only problem was the lack of internet, so whilst I had checked getting to the Youth Hostel on arrival, I was lost the minute I walked out the wrong door.  I knew the hostel was more or less over the road, but which road.  It took an hour to find something that was only five minutes from the station. I was still staggered that a modern train service and station neither had wifi or a map even to help travellers.   

Astonishing fields of rape seed I guess, often with lone trees poking through.  No where for Wallabies to hide, but towards dusk, in the small pockets of woodland, I did see them. 

So at first Sydney really annoyed me, a real wobble but then I remembered I had booked a special Aboriginal experiences tour at the Botanic Gardens.  It was not till midday,  it was really sunny and warm, so that gave me the chance to slowly wend my way down through parks basking in the heat, stopping to read my book in a park, dipping into museums till got to the gardens, where I went all Aussie and ordered a pie with my coffee.  On my way through the Gardens I had spotted a white guy doing a talk, and to my eternal shame and had thought on no I hope he is not doing  our talk as I wanted an authentic Aboriginal tour, but of course what he taught me, and I should have known it, is that because of their very complex history, people of aboriginal decent come will also often have a lot of white heritage too, in this case I think it was mostly Irish, but the guy and I apologise I have forgotten his name, absolutely knew both his native plants and the history of his people and he responded so well to our small group, four well informed white Australians, and two Europeans, that he spent and hour and a half with us rather than the hour we had paid for.  He even showed us how Bomerangs really work and possum pelts, all sorts of things which were not officially on the tour. 

The art gallery reflecting the juxtaposition of cultures, the convict artist for example made a good living for example painting the new middle classes, whilst aboriginal creations were at that point almost universally misunderstood. 

I wish I could have recorded everything he told us both of the history and the plants, he was astonishing.  Every part of a plant was known and is known by the First nation people.  For example there is a spike on one of the plants, which is perfect for spearing small fish, or there are plants which are deadlly if harvested in the day, but not at night or something like that.   The Botanic Gardens which are lovely were instituted almost immediately the white people landed and they wanted international, especially European plants, so the indigenous plants in situ are not the bulk of the plants found there, ironically though if the Europeans had left well alone and learned from the people they were trampling all over and killing, they would have discovered how well they could survive in this new land, instead of which when farming failed they sent word all the way to the UK for food.  It is probably a shame that food arrived as of course the Europeans almost wiped out First Nation culture.  We are in a climate emergency,  if more countries had followed indigenous practices we would not be in this situation.    There is still time to benefit from their knowledge, but we are already in a crisis, not helped by people like me flying, however, it was a privilege to mentally go back in time on this tour and understand more about what has been lost.  To that effect I would also recommend the novel Edenglassie, but Hungarian, Abororiginal writer, Melissa Lucashenko which I read whilst in Australia, and the factual book, Sand Talk.  

Plant with the spear spike

It is hard to return to the 21st century after such a talk, but I wondered on through the Botanic Gardens and was confronted full on by modern day Sydney, the opera house, the hordes drinking and enjoying life in the harbour, the huge range of tourists.  It was beautiful exciting, but....However, I virtually wiped this out of my mind the following day as I joined more of the hordes on Bondi beach.  

Sydney enjoys the spring afternoon 

A unique individual tour of Melbourne

 Ordinarily by now,  even though it is often a slow process, I like to think that I would have written more about the holiday especially one so momentous as 7 at 70 but truth is the price paid seems to have been unusually high as I am still ill.    Part of me wonders if it is a refusal to come down to come back to my reality. Being away was so nice, so unique, even when I wanted to run away.

I  remember years ago when in Canada, meeting someone who had travelled for months, and whilst I could see it was tempting decided it wasn't for me,  it seemed to speak of a type of existence too separated for me, yet I cannot seem to go more than a few weeks, especially now without jumping up and going somewhere.   Though my belief that the holiday was my last hurrah, in some shape or form, may turn out to be more accurate than I would wish as at the moment even walking up the road is an effort. 

Anyway I had originally hoped to sort of just float whilst away, but I was required to get all the paperwork up front, so it was fixed, but really I had only certain points fixed in my counsciousness.  When we organise travel it is based on a fantasy, all, sometimes the fantasy is realised sometimes it is not.  Often it is exceeded enormously, which is lovely.   My individual trip around Melbourne was like that.  

Prior to going to Boston, my friend C, had said you could get out to Concorde, but unfortunately my friend is too busy that week to see you.  Concorde turned out to be a great place to visit and I totally understood her friend might not be free, but remembering that C also had friends in Australia I had enquired if she knew anyone there who might be happy to meet up.  She did not disappoint.  Not only did she have a friend, but this friend was a well known sculpture Michael Meszaros, and he agreed to show me around Melbourne, and discuss his working process.  

It might have been daunting being with him if I had not so many questions for him and it was brilliant to see both how effective or not his works were (there was only one that slightly disappointed and that was only because in my mind's eye I had imagined something larger and more distinctive) the process by which he produced them and the context which informed his choices. There were lots of parallels to the process the media students went through.  Sometimes the brief was fairly limited e.g. something here that would help set off the building, which turned into three wonderful huge birds, other times it was very specific e.g. in the Botanic Gardens, and other times it opened up space for great creativity and emotion e.g. around the women's hospital.  

Michael kindly drove me around to each sculpture, we even managed a half hour dash around the Botanic Gardens whilst seeing his work there, which was great as I had run out of energy to see if the day before, and in each location he shared the story of the work.  Just outside the women's hospital we met another artist admiring his work.  Then if that was not enough he drove me out into the suburbs, past all these wonderful Melbourne houses with their metalwork, to his charming house and studio. Normally I pay to visit such places and here I was invited to a brilliant lunch instead and all someone I did not even know.  Sometimes the kindness of strangers is just overwhelming.     Michael also designs medals and I know in future I will appreciate them much more having seen his collection of designs.  So a huge thank you to him and his wife.  

....................................

So most of my time I saw Melbourne through the lens of friends and family,  there was only one thing I wanted to do for myself there (toher than the penguins) and that was to see the Museum of Moving Images. I grew up on Australian cinema and in my head I imagined the gallery would reflect that history.  It did but only to a certain extent, it actually covered much more but that meant specific favourite movies only got a brief mention.  So I will mention Picnic at Hanging Rock, (still haunts me)  Walkabout (an introduction to indigenous Australia), My Brilliant Career (read the book too) , Braker Morant (which I saw in New York)  Gallipoli, Mad Max and the Getting of Wisdom which is probably where I fell in love with Melbourne's architecture,  of the type seen on the way to Michael's.   The museum is part of a modern complex, on the other side of the road to Flinders Station, the traditional heart of Melbourne  The square it forms one side of now seems to be the modern heart of Melbourne.  There I found a sort of exercise class going on and just joined in, and narrowly avoided being on the news and the front page of the newspaper as it turned out to be the start of the fringe festival.   I spent so much time dancing, I ran out of energy to get to the Botanic Gardens.  

That was also partly meanness as Melbourne has a whole chunk of town which is free to travel to, so one could just hop on and off the trams, but the botanic gardens would involve a cost to get to it.  I thought I could walk on paper it was not that far away, but I was wrong.  Most of the time I just went up and down from Flinders to the Youth Hostel, but on my last free afternoon I travelled the whole tram route. It takes an hour, has lots of history and meant that I glimpsed lots of places I had otherwise missed.   Melbourne is a great city and I did not do it justice, but I had a wonderful time there. 

Clots, plots and culture shocks.

 So, Ashley Banjo, nephew of my nemesis, has performed on Strictly, this week he has also sat on the Morning sofa, talking about how being human is even more important than dancing and I have held my tongue. But today, sitting next to Rav Wilder who was talking about measures to prevent scams. It was just too much for me not to want to say,  Rav look no further than the guy next to you for clues.   I know Ashley Banjo is not his uncle, and he always seems a nice person, and he is a brilliant dancer.  But making moral claims whilst not dobbing in his close family members grates.    It is not the only thing grating at present but as that is closer to h ome. I will say no more.  

I have spent the day back at the hospital and I am relieved to say I do not have a blood clot about to cut off my life.   There were moments I really thought I was gone, so it is nice to know I can get on with life. . I just wish I did not feel so rough still. The doctor says I am still recovering from my 7 weeks away.  But I loved being away, most of the time it was brilliantly warm. The only exception to that was Melbourne.  

I managed to catch up with my nephew for a meal after his work, in the hope it would warm us up,  and with my honorary nephew and his wife for an evening drink,  after their work.  Then the last day I spent with DP, (his daughter and grandson)   a sort of honarary cousin who I have known since I was a kid, from when his family returned from living in Australia.  I have had Christmases with them, been on holiday with them, in my youth,  I have been out to Berlin twice to catch up with him and his family  and it is always full on, so this last day despite my attempt to sort of make it manageable it was always going to be a little out there.    It featured the Puffing Billy,  a train, which I am glad I did not have a ticket for, but which I watched go off in puff of smoke,  a milk bar, which his family had run and a long walk in the pouring rain to the house they had grown up in.  Given his daughter is pregnant and had her young son with her, she did a much better job than me,  up hill and then down hill just ploughing on despite the distance. I was genuinely worried I was going to run out of steam,  and was without a bus or train, to help me,  so I headed back, to the little town at the edge of Melbourne, until they caught up with me and we could have cake and tea.  They meanwhile knocked on the door of the house in which he had lived as a child, and were allowed into have a look around and go down memory lane.  I have no idea when we will meet again , I got grumpy, I got wet, but it was everything I expected it to be and I would not have missed it for the world.   They are now planning to stay in Australia and make a new future, for the grandchildren. 

Puffing Billy. 

Kallista, source of much needed cake and tea. 

What was supposed to be a 20 minute walk, from Kallista,  was over an hour and we had already walked for quite a while up and down in the accurately named rain forest before then.  Eventually had to succomb to a bus, just within striking distance of the train station and the return to central Melbourne.  

Moving onto Melbourne, part 1.

Many Australians fly between cities rather than spending 12 hours on a coach, but for an Australian novice, it is the best way to see the many small towns, and the vast farms. And when we stopped, well you could be travelling through Asia and get a much better pit stop than the run down garage on its last legs that we hovered for half an hour around. But it was still fun. I got into Melbourne Saturday night and I was warned that there would be many people out drunk celebrating after the Aussie rules game, but instead I was quickly and quietly installed in the hostel and to my surprise only sharing with one other person. My schedule in Melbourne was largely influenced by the need to see several people, planned events, other people, unplanned events and some penquins, and sculptures and yet also have time to enjoy the city on my own. I person never replied, I am still on Facebook with them and Instagram and I would have loved to have had a conversation with them, but those I did see were really important people - my nephew, my honarary nephew and a sort of honarary cousin and his family and a friend of a friend.

The Tea Room, Royal Arcade. 

Sunday morning, was sunny and warm, perfect brunch weather in Melbourne, I shared with it with my honorary nephew who walked me across the river, to a place a bit like the South Bank for a meal and a catch up. His late mother, was a good friend, and he and his wife had moved only recently to be with his wife's family. No sooner had he dropped me back at the hostel than my nephew and his partner turned up and they returned me to the Flinders station area, down to an art gallery and gardens before heading back into town where we found a tea room not unlike those in the Victorian arcades in Britain. 

St Kildas. 

 Monday, my original plan was to head down to St Kildas on my own in time to try and see the penquins, and I sort of still did that, but the whole day had an unexpected dimension. DP, who previously has been living in Berlin with his wife, daughter and grandson, were starting their planned return to life in Australia earlier than expected and were in Melbourne the same week as me. So they joined me in St Kilda's for a very late lunch, for a walk along the beach to the boardwalk where a couple of penguins were and then we had tea and cake before going in our various directions. In the old days it might have been possible to stay a bit later and see a lot more penguins, but we were only allowed to stay till just after 5 so only saw those penguins looking after the home! Still very cute and better than nothing, but really most of the day was spent just enjoying hearing about DP's childhood visits to this seaside part of Melbourne.                          

Flinders Station

Paying the price.

 On the flight home I woofed down my meal,  and then suddenly felt a sharp pain in my side.  It was agony.   I have experienced something like it before, but not so excrutiating, but I thought it might be extreme indigestion or muscle pain.  Luckily or not, being in an airplane seat, I could not move much anyway and figured it would have passed by the time we got to the UK.   But as we neared touch down 10 or so hours later, I was almost at wimpering point and not sure how I was going to manage getting off.  I clutched my side, my bag, got off the plane, then saw a row of seats and collapsed in agony.  

It is over a week later, I have been wheeled through passport control, I am on anti biotics, and blood thinners, I have had an emergency ambulance come out to me and been in A and E, and last night I thought I was going to die, so the trip has come at a higher price than even i expected   Yet it started so well. 

The flight to Aus worked well.  I had a very tight turn around in Dubai, so was thankful I was a fit 70 year old who could dash from one end of the airport to the other in the time allocated, I slept when I intended to and got picked up as planned by my friend M.  I say my friend, but in truth she was a woman I meet for a week in Germany and who I had meet once again since but bless her she installed me in her lovely bedroom and I crashed out on arrival ready to discover Australia the next day. Except it was Australia with a German twist. On a beautiful blue sky day, we drove over to her friends,  A,  who I also met in Germany and drove up into the Adelaide Hills towards Hahndorf,  essentially an early settlers town, for people mostly of German extraction, including one of Australia's most famous artists, Hans Heyson.  So there I am in Australia, in England, it is Autumn, but in Australia it is spring. And there in what would have been outback is a lovely sort of Arts and Crafts house with his art works in them.   He famously painted the Australian landscapes, and he does capture the plants well, but I preferred his portraits, however, I loved the house, which had hosted the likes of Dame Nellie Melba and Anna Pavlova.   After we went up into strawberry picking country, (another surprise) and then stopped in town for a German meal.    It was all most delightful and most unexpected  

German sausage in Hahndorf with M and A. 

M, lived in a great location, somewhere I would have happily lived.  At the end of a free metro into town, she had a modern apartment, in what was an old industrial area modernised, so she had a huge cafe below and bakery.  For the next few days we happily chatted over coffee, both here, in her lovely flat and with her walking buddies.  She was brilliant company.     I did not see kangeroos or kaolas despite a brief walk in the bush, but we encountered loads of bats, which was rather scary, and saw stunning flowers and birds.   We also rather movingly went to a newly opened First Nation centre, where we had koala pie and kangeroo sausage roll, before wondering around old Brisbane, which reminded me slightly of the Baltimore area visited last year. 

The Botanic Gardens Adelaide. 

I could have happily stayed longer, but Saturday morning M took me down to the rather disapiriting coach station, and there I boarded the coach to Melbourne, for the next part of my adventure. 

7 for 70

 When I was 60 I vaguely thought I should mark the event by going to 60 countries, but then did not do anything about it.  But this year knowing both age was against me and the cost of insurance I did do much more travelling than normal.  Initially I was going to go to Japan in September and travel on from there, when I realised that would be too much for me and that I could not wait that long to get to Japan.  So I hatched a plan to go to Japan in Spring and then to friends and family near Australia.  Having met two lovely Australian women in Germany I shifted my starting point from Melbourne to their home town of Adelaide and even before going to Japan booked that flight and then did nothing till I was back from my wonderful holiday in Japan.    It is only now I am back and thinking I was away for 7 weeks that I realised that is quite a nice way to celebrate being 70.  Three weeks in Australia, two in Bali, almost a week in Singapore and finally just over a week in Malaysia.  

In my youth I was very keen to get to Australia, indeed I knew many Australians when I was training in radio and through them joined the community radio project.  I had such an Aussie accent that newcomers to the group thought I was either mad or Australian.  I was part of the inaugural group that helped put together the criteria for community radio in the UK and attended conferences etc, but things change, and although I engaged a little with community radio and of course eventuallly became a teacher of radio, gradually the friendships disappeared, but it was exciting to be involved with. I can trace one of the key participants, now backin Aus and still engaged with the community and media, but got no response from him via Facebook.     So with him out of the picture up in Townsville, and having decided much as I love the film and book Town Like Alice, that I would pass on Uluru, that left, three key towns to visit Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney.  Originally I was trying to fit them into two weeks, but in the end extended that to three,which was great.  

Then through a volunteer platform I managed to secure a cultural week, and a teaching week in Bali. From there it was a hop to see my brother in Singapore and as Mr. Portillo had kindly introduced me to the idea of travelling through to Malaysia,  I asked a friend of my sister's about going onto KL as it is known to those in the know as he is now living there. 

So I had my programme and on the whole it went very well, in fact much more smoothly than I anticipated except that it almost never happened at all. I thought I had checked every visa and document I needed, but when I handed in my ticket to get to Adelaide, they then asked for my visa.  Visa, for Australia, I do not need one I said, except I did.  I don't know what would have happened if one of the ground staff had not seen me looking very distressed, but with his kind and steady help, I applied for and got a visa within an hour of arriving at the airport and the rest as they say s history. Without his help, I would never have had this holiday and I would have lost all the costs as it would have been my fault.    So thank you Stansted, Emirates staff 

Me in Adelaide cafe.