Sibling time in Singapore.

 Christmas has interrupted my travel musings, but also given me an opportunity to insist on sharing some of my experiences with family, who were not necessarily interested but had me as a guest in their house for the celebratory week.  However, I tried to focus my accounts to a large extent with my brother in Singapore as I figured that would most interest my older brother.  It was really important to me. 

For various reasons, that I did not really understand, my brother in Singapore had fallen out with me.  But the sad death of his mother, (he is my half brother) and my more recent travels to places he has known well or lived in has enabled us to have some useful IM contact.  And having seen his son in Melbourne, I was keen that the next part of the trip  went well.  I have never lived with my brother, and previous plans to visit fell apart, and I was trepidatious with regards to how it might work out, given our turbulent history, but actually it was really fine.   I really enjoyed his company and could not help noticing a range of similarities between him and various family members, which added to how comfortable things felt between us. 

Divali decorations up in the Indian part of Singapore. 

His history is really interesting, because having left school with virtually no qualifications, he now has a Masters and has worked teaching English in various places, including significant universities.  His language skills, (and sporting etc)  are much greater than mine.  I enjoyed talking with him.   We happily found cheap places to eat,  he especially likes the Indian side of the city as he is a vegetarian,  (like one of my other brothers and my sister) and we both happily pottered around the various beautiful gardens in Singapore, or by the river.  Having a coffee in a nearby neighbourhood, felt like meeting up in Hampstead, it felt so nice and regular but the best was seeing the University that he has made home for the last few years.  Like much of the city it is lush and green, and cosmopolitan, and unlike much of the city, not as built up, spacious feeling even, a nice environment in which to live and work. 

Fort Canning Park 

 Having worked in Spanish speaking areas and in the Middle East,  he has found Singapore a more challenging place in which to find friends, the work ethic, makes little time for socialising.  But I am most impressed with what he has achieved. It is hot in Singapore Working long houses in that heat alone is a challenge, but he regularly runs, (the University has great sports facilities) he is doing an online sailing course or something similar and is able to nip back and forth to places like Thailand, which he really likes.  And all at a good age.  It seems hard to believe, but he is only 6 or 7 years off retirement, depending on UK regulations.  

Changi prison door. 

He has not had much time for just doing the simple tourist things, but whilst he was working, I was happy to explore both some famous areas, e.g. the iconic "trees", the bay, Raffles,  and some now less well known areas such as the Changi museum.  Changi was once a long jungle walk from the centre of town, but now the whole area is built up.   The bus from Chinatown to there takes an hour, it is built up the whole route.  Singapore was considered a fortress, but actually had been neglected by complacent military preparations.  Malaysia and the Phillipines fell under Japanese rule, as well as Singapore.  The dreadful treatment of the many British prisoners is relatively well known, but the Chinese locals suffered even more and whilst there were many privations in prison, interestingly Brits did on the whole make the best of a very bad situation e.g. setting up classes and entertainments whilst incarcerated.  Seems Tenko was more accurate than I had realised, with incredibly resilient matrons and creatives, but death a reality, that "courage" managed to limit as much as possible for example from villagers who smuggled in food, or prisoners who escaped to forage   In recent years I have visited the death camps in Thailand, Hiroshima in Japan, I did not realise until after I left that I could have visited some of the war time graveyards in Singapore, but I was glad to add to my knowledge about this period in history, a counter to the glamour and luxury in the centre of Singapore. 

I had a lovely coffee and cake in Raffles Hotel Cafe. 

Singapore is expensive but I stayed in a hostel in Chinatown and for the most part was very happy there. We had to take our shoes off on entering the place,  I was in a room with ten others, in a little pod, and I slept well, and managed the shared facilities well, (luckily it was not full) until one night when the air con, was playing up and I suddenly felt really scared, that I was stuck in this place with no air con and what felt like no air.  I was pleased to leave and on the last day, moved to a hotel a bit further out, ready to be near the coach departure place.  I took the opportunity to go to the edge of the island and just spend some quiet time on their Coney Island.  

The edge of Singapore. 

Sad reflections and joyous memories.

 On Facebook, I saw references to another disaster, something to do with Judaism, but it was only on Sunday morning, that I heard about the killings on Bondi beach.   There is nothing one can say to make something like this less horrible.  Holidays are set against such tragedies.    Bondi will probably never be completely the same, at least not in my lifetime, my thoughts are with everyone there, but since I travelled in Japan, Thailand, Indonesia, each country and its residents have dealt with some terrible situations.  As a tourist one can get caught up with these tragedies.   And with climate change more tragedies are happening and my travels are contributing in some ways to them,  so I have contributed to these deaths and been lucky to still be here to travel more. I felt very anxious for example in Thailand knowing I was in Tsunami country but did not know where to go or what to do if one came.   We can't escape reality.   Even in Bali, known as a paradise, there was a bombing.  I know lots of things happen to children as they become adults, but when we think how gorgeous most kids are it is hard to credit how adults can be so hideous.  

I was very lucky in Bali, as I got the gorgeous kids.    With my throat in flames and coughing my guts out, I was not sure I would deliver in my promise to work in a school, yet somehow that was the only thing I did manage to do my second week in Bali.  The organisation I went with had worked with other schools before but me and the two young Germans were the first in the school we worked in.  The schools all functioned as regular schools in the morning, but we worked there in the afternoon, to increase their access to English.   Only a relatively small group came on the first day, so all three of us worked in the class with me in the lead.  We also got to do photos with many of the staff.  To my surprise the teachers were a uninform but not the kids.  (they might do at their regular school and on Thursdays the teachers ditched their uniform to wear skirts, which we too were asked to where that day).   After that enough children came for me to have a class and the two Germans, a second group. In some ways they had a more difficult time as their kids were younger, but still had more English than we expected.  I Partly because of my ever diminishing voice, I got to work more with the Balinese support staff, and we made a great team.  Riding back in the car to our base, I was completely buzzing, prepared the next day, ate and then crashed out. By the last day I had virtually no voice at all, I was on steroids, anti biotics and cough medicine, all so I could actually leave the country on schedule but I did it.  And for that I am very proud,  I could not have done it though with out my Balinese support,  a young woman not long out of school.    She was the real star, who helped an old woman have a happy time.  

My departure, almost did not happen.  I tried getting roaming on my phone, but failed, so in the end one night found myself ringing insurance in England at cost price.  They could not hear me properly but basically said get a no fly letter, which was not what I wanted to hear. I actually felt so ill I wanted to hear I could fly back to England if necessary so a no fly letter, would scupper that and mean a very sick woman having to find somewhere to stay till better and everything else collapsing.  But because I was with the organisation, they took me to a lovely woman doctor, working at 8 pm, who I more or less got to speak with straight away,  she could speak good English and did lots of checks, and prescribed the meds and gave me permission to fly onto Singapore  as it was only a short way away.  By the time I flew out, it was hard to tell I had even been ill, which was good as my brother had basically said if you are ill in Singapore, I can't meet up with you.  Given he was one of the main reasons for the journey I was very relieved to arrive at my third destination and to be met by him at the airport.   

Hugs, calm waters and a sore throat.

 Someone gave me a hug today,  someone who has had a much tougher life than me and they took the time to help me,  makes such a difference in life.   And I bumped into someone I like and then also heard from another kind, person, after several weeks of not really getting out, this pre Christmas period re-engaging with colleagues in Herts Welcomes Refugees and the Green Party has been lovely. Virtual signalling, virtue signalling, virtue signalling.  

Bali could also be said to be virtue signalling but really it was more to do with me being selfish, I wanted to have one last go of doing something important, but as much for me as for those who might in the process benefit.  I wanted to spend time in a classroom and to just also be in one place in another country in a way that would mean getting to know the place.  I had tried in Thailand to get volunteer work, but it had failed so in the end I just had a holiday there, but I wanted to try one more time, to do something similar so this time I went through what for me was a better organisation and I just arranged something small,  a week's cultural experience and a week volunteering in a school.   Because it was Indonesia, relatively cheap,  I could afford to choose to stay in a hotel whilst doing the experience, but I also had the backup of the organisation which turned out to be very helpful.  

I was not going there as a tourist so did not need to travel around, but several people told me Bali was not worth visiting now as it had lost its beauty, and for two and a half hours of the taxi journey across the island which was basically solid traffic, I could see why they might be saying that, but then we went up into the mountains, everything was lush and green and then down into Lavina, and found my final location, 3 minutes from the beach.   The organisation I went with is American, and I guessed most of the other volunteers would be native English speakers like me as we were there to teach English speakers from the States and the UK.  Instead I was with a whole bunch of enterprising young  German women.  They were staying in dorms, some arrived the same time as me and we spent the next two weeks together, some had arrived before hand and were already teaching or working on other projects.  They were all always kind and curteous but understandably had more in common with each other, even though they did not know each other until they arrived.   Many hoped to be teachers and were able to get invaluable experience over the many weeks they volunteered there mostly working in the kindergarten or school.   Then for each of the two weeks I was there, there was also an English speaker, one with her daughter from Aus and the other from America and, we had an easier connection but everyone was lovely.  

And then there were the Balinese.   And that was the really great thing, the Balinese, they organised the event and ran the event.   Most of the time a strict young woman was in command, which I thought was brilliant but all our drivers were men.   The first week we were put through our paces learning some Indonesian and lots about cultural values, they also organised cooking classes, making offerings, took us to a temple and wonderful hot spa, and Balinese dancing and gamelan.    I loved the hot spa, but only one of the younger women fancied it, I think everyone thought because it was hot and the weather was hot, then they would be exhausted by it, but it was amazingly refreshing.  The organisation also helped us arrange a boat trip to see the sunrise and dolphins. We all loved swimming with dolphins, I choose not to actually swim with them, I was just in the boat, and it was not completely swimming with them, but one could be in the water at the same time as them. One of the women was almost a professional swimmer, she was amazing, but of course not as amazing as the pods of dolphins around us.  I think we all were surprised by how many boats there were out at sea, because the actual location was very quiet with very few tourists, and as far as we could tell the dolphins were not panicked by our presence, but it was not quite what we had anticipated.  So a lesson for all of us.  However, what an amazingly beautiful thing to do.  We were also treated very seriously by the dancers and musicians in the special school we attended.  So that was a special experience for all of us and what was nice was being all in it together.  

In between activities, we could swim, eat the three meals provided, rest, read go down to the beach or in my case along to the hotel just down the beach for a coffee und kuchen.   I loved just looking at the water it was so calm.   Perfect.      So almost everything one wanted, except  by Thursday I was champing at the bit to get a bit more involved and to find out about the teaching, but also concerned in case it was too much for me.    And by the third day, possibly because of the snorkeling, I had a very sore throat and people were beginning to automatically bring me ginger tea when they heard my cough.  Everyone knows about Balinese belly, but by the weekend, it was clear I was ill, with Balinese cough.  I cancelled my planned visit to a coffee farm in the mountains and tried to focus on being well for the Monday and the teaching, but really struggled alone in my room at night, awake and unable to rest. Being ill is never nice, but being ill and feeling alone away from home is definitely worse.  

Sydney shines, life grinds.

 Sometimes one feels just so sad, one doesn't know how to cope.  Today I have picked up a paint brush to paint a wall, but have had to stop just to feel.  There's no one I can talk to about it, as the person involved can't be castigated, I itch to put something on the Facebook comment that they alone started something, and they alone are impacted by their chooses,  as that simply isnt true, but really there is nothing that one can do when things hurt so much other than to go through it and know at some point the hurt will mostly lie fallow as one gets back on the horse, to mix my metaphors.  Coming so soon after other hurts to the most important person in my life, it feels too much.  But really I have to remember I am just a bystander really, even though I am impacted and I need to try and get over my own hurt to support others, and maybe one day even understand what has happened. 

Prior to travelling to Australia my main feeling was disgust, the flags flying around in my area, just confirmed how racist a country we are.  I just wanted out, to get away.  Australia's own history of racism is appalling but of course it is mostly our racism trasported elsewhere.  Back in Sydney though, with the sun shinning and people from all over the world basking in pleasure, it is easy to forget how tough the start was for Europeans and how damaging it was to the existing residents. So on my final day in Sydney I was amazed and grateful to discover what I thought was the open market below the Sydney Harbour Youth Hostel turned out to be a free event hosted by the local museum.  Music, cooking, free access to old buildings were all part of the event, listerally on the door step.  Then I found the Rocks Discovery museum that reflected the life of the tribes who had formerly lived in the Rocks area and how their world was submergered below layers from other cultures as people from all over the world moved in.    I also puttered over to the Royal Opera house again and this time saw their light show dedicated to the tribes and animals of the harbour area.  As a tourist it was both sombre and illuminating and the perfect way to round up my visit to Australia.   

In Sydney I knew virtually no one, though one of my sister's friends, who now lives there, kindly had brunch with me one morning. Also the other residents in the Youth Hostel kept themselves to themselves, which is somewhat unusual especially when we  even did yoga together overlooking the harbour, but the hostel itself, the location was so good,  I would recommend it to anyone.   The building has an open atrium, from the top floor, you step out to an amazing view, and underneath there is an archeological site.  In Sydney I happily sat alone on Manly beach or in the park just taking it all in.   I enjoyed it all.   However, in Bali I knew would be very different,  as I would be with an organisation and others, though I did not realise how different it would be till I got there. 

Feeling Blue, But loving Blue

The light is going out and I wish I could say more but I am having to hold my tongue.  I would love to find a way to say what I feel, which is both angry and sad, but that might make things worse.  However, there is like this permanent tension at present, but not to do with my life, but with the life of others.  In myself I am both happy and light much of the time, but the rest of the time I am still just ill and unable to do anything. It is hard to credit that this is the same women who got on the train and headed to the Blue Mountains just outside of Sydney.  And once again it is a trip I have to thank Michael Portillo for because probably without him I would not have realised a) how close the mountains are to Sydney and b) how accessible they are and c) how even though they are over an hour away from the centre of Sydney and Sydney is a very clean town, every inch of fence and house en route is graffitied, which looks great in most places, very urban, but less attractive when majestic mountains and a blue haze, caused by the gum trees,  is on the horizon. 

I stayed away from the edges, but loved the views. 

Another experience I passed on. 

My rationale for the trip was relatively simple, on TV the Blue Mountains always looked enticing, but they were also cheaper to stay in than Sydney and I felt they would give me a sense of what small town Australia was like.  I was lucky prior to going there I met a woman in Manchester who had lived in Wentworth, almostthe next town down from where I was staying and she knew Katoomba, and could recommend several good eateries in town.  Without her input, I might never have tried Kangeroo Pizza at the Station,  (the pizza I can recommend, but Kangeroo is really not to my taste but I thought was better than crocodile) I definitely would not have had the courage to walk into the wonderful Carrington hotel for lunch.  Nor would I have gone in search of the oddly named Parisien cafe (given the location) run by a Japanese woman who she had befriended.   They all added to the pleasure of this one road town on the border of stunning countryside. 

               

Wonderful cider at the Station Bar. 

I also had a bit of luck as when I popped into the hop on, hop off bus which I had booked for just one day, they said I could use it for all three days of my visit.   For me this was perfect, as I managed to get lost on my own and this enabled me to visit key sites, go up and down dale, and yet grab a coffee and make it manageable.   The views are wonderful and it is great just being in the bush, but surprisingly little wildlife visible, except the cockatoos.  If it was not for the original residents most of the walkways would not exist,  so one is walking over ancient and sometimes sacred spaces, which is not always good, but the area was  also once a mining town and now is just a really pretty tourist area with lots of lovely flowers whilst also in parts being a little run down and the kind of place lost souls gravitate towards.    Some come to really hike miles, for example one of the other residents of the youth hostel had worked for the education section for Joe Biden and had just caught a plane out of the country on election day she is still awol all these months later and just walks and walks, others, many from Asia,  were bused in and out in one day with just time for a coffee overlooking the valley.  Whereas I got to potter, and find stones that resonated and gravestones honouring the dead from both sides in WW1.   I could have happily stayed there perched on the edge of Sydney, and would have loved it if I could have afforded one of the houses,  but the big city was calling me back.   

Another bar, this time at the Carrington Hotel, actually the Youth Hostel was pretty swish, but I would have loved to have stayed at this place. 

Reminders of the pain of WW1 

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.   Mind you not just me under there.  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. 

More escapism.

 I was always planning to go to the theatre last week, so it was always going to be a special week.  I was also planning to go and see Cat Stevens so a doubly exciting week, and one with the slight challenge of accomodating the energy for both, but when a friend offered me her unused ticket to see Cabaret, I just could not refuse even though it meant more trips into London and more energy.  So one way or another it has been a brilliant week, some balm, but balm with a warning. 

Opening set, Goodnight Oscar, staring Sean Hayes. 

The production of Cabaret, the first time I have seen the actual original stage version so to speak, was out there. Even now the dancers of the Kit Kat club can shock.  And nestled inside are two stories, that of Sally Bowles and the Christopher Isherwood character and that of their landlord and her elderly Jewish lover.  It was the latter story that especially surprised as I could not remember that from the film.  And of course it is in telling their story that there changes coming to Weimar Germany are most implied.   With Farage and racism rampant in parts of the UK the warning of what can happen to a people is clear, but just as, in fact of course even more shocking is what is happening in Gaza.  Hate teaches hate, teaches hate.    I was there on my own, which I often am, but to my delight bumped into someone I know.  So it was nice to be able to share the luxury of a seat near the front, relish the dance moves, and yet have a social commentary all at the same time. 

Central Mosque Cambridge

I thought it would be very hard to top the production with the play I was seeing, with my friend from school, but Goodnight Oscar, turned out to be just as brilliant. I have always liked Oscar Levant,  and it turned out that Jan felt the same, and on the rare occasions I saw Will and Grace, I always enjoyed it, so seeing one of the American stars from that, capture a drug fuelled, psychotic episode on live TV,  morph into a beautiful rendition of Rhapsody in Blue, and back was both funny and very powerful.  Having seen my Grandma Jane sectioned, and given ECT, it also brought up unexpected memories from my childhood and the fear of mental health problems.   When I was at school I felt so much shame, first my Dad had left and also a "mad" grandmother, I hid so much.  But I also always felt relatively safe at schoool, but not safe enough to want to head to the school reunion, not yet a while yet they all seem so sucessful and sure.    And although I felt I had friends at school, I do not even seem to be on their radar, so whilst I would quite like to have some time with some of them, I am not up to meeting up yet.  However, I was very glad to be with a friend to see the production. 

Then I finally got to see Cat Stevens, Yusuf, having missed him twice before.  Compared with the other productions, it could be said to have been a bit lacklustre, he is not the most charismatic story teller, but it is a tale worth hearing, about his lifelong search and his conversion to Islam.   But then there are the songs, which he put into context and sang as beautifully as he did all those years before.  En route, I found a beautiful mosque in Cambridge which Monty Don had visited for one of his TV shows, and I finally got to the National Horse Museum in Newmarket. I am sure that horseracing would be condemned by some of my friends, and having seen a horse put down the one time I actually went to a race,  I would not want to go again, but it was interesting to discover the history of the sport , to see the jockey club, Tattersalls, and of course meet some of the horses that stay in the museum.   I have never seen a horse reduced to sopiness before like a dog being rubbed.  It felt like a real escape to be in the sun, in Suffolk, but the Palace housing the art works, had been partly destroyed under Cromwell, so even this halcyon scene revealed the complexities of history. 

Even more hate but also some glory.

 The British people, especially those around Broxbourne because more appalling by the minute. I find myself not wanting to go out.  The haters online continue to try and argue it is okay to protest outside the 'home' of the children, some people deny their presence, indicating they are not local or in the know.  

The good news is the counter protest has emerged. I am getting almost as many messages of support and a large counter protest happened on Friday, with a big police presence and a Green in the lead, so that was something. Though I still felt those in the hotel might not be able to tell the difference between the noise coming from the haters or the others.   

I have been obsessed with challenging people on Facebook, not because I am better than the people online, but working with refugees I am better informed, but how to speak to out and out racists and those who also seem to be slightly informed but even more anti despite being former refugees themselves. It was ever thus.  Racism breeds racism.  I just think kindness is safer and more a form of self interest.  

I had something though the last week with which to totally distract myself.  Sondheim, or a mini production of Sondheim, with an organisation called Ross, where professional directors and conductors work with amateurs to put on a theatre production in one week.  A nod to Judy Garland put on a summer show.  At first I was upset that I was the only person to not have a part and then I was relieved when I realised how hard the music was, but I styled it out the best I could, albeit it in a borrowed dress and hat and jacket.   It was also lovely to see the whole process from start to finish and my brain has not work that hard for ages, but we did it, I did forget some of the song lines, but I entered and exited in more or less the right places. I did have the least of anyone on the stage to do, but just being there and getting through the week was my challenge.   On the whole people were very kind, and I mostly really enjoyed it.  Would I go again. I do not know.  I should have done it of course when I was younger, and I am just wondering where have all those years gone.  But if not next year then at least one more time. Some people go every year.  It depends on how well these limbs stand up and they will face an even bigger challenge elsewhere. The haters have made me very sad, depressed, concerned. I really do not want to live here any more. If I could just pick myself up and put myself elsewhere I would, but where? They are everywhere and even more and more.   

One of the other participants, the only other person to have Googled, putting on a summer show,  was a lovely young woman all the way from Ukraine, for a week, she departed the war and now she is back under the bombs in Kiev.   She inspired us all.   And so did the other young partipants, who seemed to embody their parts in the adapation of Spelling Bee.  I enjoyed just watching everyone's performances. 

I also added another garden to my repetoire,  visiting RHS Bridgewater, I would like to go back and see the canal route, but the actual gardens are really lovely. It was a stunning day and everyone was having fun.  

British bullies. .

 I am a white British 70 year old.  Yesterday, standing in support of the families in the local asylym hotel I was verbally abused and called a pr....k by a man who is more of a threat to me than any future citizens waiting for their legal asylum claim will ever be.   He wasn't alone.  About 10 Labour party, Green party and other locals who knew that the residents were no trouble were celebrating the diverse history of this land, while white, mostly male, opponents of asylum seekers swaggered across the road with their ignornance and aggression.   If the police had not been there blood would have been shed.  They claimed only 1 child was in the hotel, which suggests that they were not local or informed   So they were there for trumped up reasons and just wanted shout and show off and cause trouble -just like the Taliban and other brutes who have forced so many people to seek aylum.  

The presence of theese avowed Tommy Robinson supporters was threatening enough, but what was additionally depressing was the seeing so many young children being brought out to learn hate and hearing so many beeping motorists spilling out that hate, that xenophobia.   In addition, our local MP, Lewis Cocking is fueling that hatred with his speeches in and out of parliament.  Shame on him.   

I have long known that Broxbourne is a racist area, the hidden tension mostly lie beneath the surface but sometimes they erupt.  The tiny group of pro refugee supporters were completely outnumbered by the bullies so retreated to avoid being hurt but that meant leaving the poor aylum seerks stuck in the hotel will a threatening mob outside, which must have felt awful.   

At home I turned into the Proms, famous of course for being the bastion of Britishness, but actually it was a celebration internationalism with performers from north and south America.   That an the allotment has reduced how stressed I feel bbut if an hour facing these thugs has left me feeling so bereft how must it feel to constantly face them.