Travel

European Safari Part 5

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It’s our one full day at sea today so we slept in, missed breakfast and headed to the bar at 11.30am ostensibly to “eat lunch”. Halfway between Gdansk and Tallinn, the sea is like a millpond and the sun is shining. If there are better conditions in which to sample the various beers on offer, I haven’t experienced them.

The daughter and son in law will be “enjoying” the WWE wrestling in Brisbane as I write this while we wrestle with the various cruise options next time round. Istanbul to Rome is winning by a half nelson and double overhead hammer lock with combined nipple twist at the moment. Hope fight night was worth it kids. Daughter bought son in law a “meet and greet” package for his birthday so he gets to meet his wrestling heroes. These guys wouldn’t have lasted a minute with the likes of Haystacks Calhoun, Killer Karl Cox and Cyclone Negro. Oh for the days of politically incorrect, good clean (apart from those bastards Skull Murphy and Brute Bernard) sporting fun.
Now in Tallinn. The first thing I noticed when stepping out into the morning air was a number of spires and a big chimney. The second thing was graffiti. It’s all over a large concrete structure which could be a remnant of the communist past so may be understandable to an extent. Then again it may reflect that this place has its fair share of morons just like we do. As we only have 36 minutes of free internet time left, I’ll probably never know.

Later that same day………

Having now done our tour of medieval Tallinn, heard the depth of feeling towards the Soviet system and seen the absence of graffiti in town I can only assume the graffiti on the low concrete bunker like structure near our ship is some form of protest. They really detest what the Soviets did here and have an endless supply of Russian jokes – Brezhnev began his speech at the opening of the 1980 Moscow Olympics by saying Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh before someone pointed out he was reading the Olympic Rings. Then his speech went for 45 minutes and was only supposed to go for 15. When he complained, the speechwriter said he’d given him 3 copies. And on it went. They used to joke people needed a visa to go to the beach in case they tried to swim the 60km to Finland.
Russian jets still buzz the place (12 times last week apparently) so Estonia couldn’t wait to join NATO. Putin has really got them worried by saying the worst thing that happened in the 20th century was the collapse of the Soviet Union; even worse than WW1 and WW2 apparently. Also he invaded Ukraine ostensibly to protect the local Russian population. The Russians in Estonia have told him they don’t want his protection thanks very much.
Humour isn’t just directed at the Russians but also at themselves. They see themselves as very self-conscious and shy (the tour guide certainly wasn’t – she had some ripper husband jokes, none of which I can remember). They say if an Estonian is an extrovert he’ll talk to your shoes. If he’s an introvert he’ll talk to his own shoes. Not a knee slapping rib tickler, I know, but they’ve got some catching up to do. Being a stand-up comedian in this part of the world (Scandinavia, Russia, the Baltic States and Germany) must be the toughest gig in show business.
Back to Tallinn. It’s a fabulous place and well worth a visit. The old town has bits that are 1000 years old. They have the oldest continuously operating pharmacy (1422??) and school (forget the date but it had a 14 in front I think) in Europe. We’d heard from a number of people who’ve been here that it was well worth it and they were not wrong.

It’s pretty cheap here also although since joining the EU and switching to the Euro, the economy has gone a bit Greek but they’re certainly not in that league yet and they’re doing better than Italy, Spain, Portugal and the other semi-basket cases in Europe. The point is, it’s quite a popular spot although the Russians have scared away some of the cruise boats. I have heard that it’s popular for buck’s parties. We did see one “Burlesque” venue and one massage parlour (no reference to “happy endings” though). So it looks pretty tame although the action could be taking place in the new part of town which we didn’t visit. In the Soviet era two things were absolutely taboo – religion and sex. You can imagine young couples sneaking off to the dark corners of a building that used to be called a church for a surreptitious prayer.

One more Russian joke. During the Soviet era you got to tell jokes three times. First to your friend, then to your KGB interrogator and then to your cell mate.

We have to fill in immigration forms tomorrow for Russia. On our European cruises we’ve visited Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Greece, Turkey, the UK, the Channel Islands, France, Spain, Portugal, Denmark, Germany, Poland and Estonia and this is the only time we’ve had to do this. Back in the day (when I worked full time for a living) we used to joke that the countries you least wanted to visit were the ones which made it the most difficult to get into. In my case that was India (it very much grew on me over time), Pakistan and Iran – at one point my title was Marketing Manager – Fundamentalist Islamic Republics. Anyway, we are very much looking forward to Saint Petersburg no matter how difficult Vlad and his hoods make it.

Just heard an announcement from the bridge for the crew. Some exercise or other. Anyway, the announcement was “echo echo echo…….echo echo echo……echo echo echo”. As the child bride pointed out, if you say “echo” more than once, it is. In the explanation of the above, the captain advised the pilot for Saint Petersburg would board the vessel at “stupid o’clock” which is apparently a nautical term for 4.30am. I’ll need to check this with our son the maritime expert

.
Goodbye Tallinn. We look forward to returning.

PS
Finally, we moved from the side of the boat to the open-air bar at the back to wave goodbye to Tallinn. Having had a few wines I needed to visit the convenience. It is such a bright, bright, bright sunshiny day (apologies Jimmy Cliff) that by the time I got to where I know the conveniences are, my eyes hadn’t adjusted and I couldn’t make out the little male/female figures stuck on the doors. I took a chance and got it right. On this ship that could have been seriously ugly.

European Safari Part 4

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We had a day in Berlin on Monday. Unfortunately the thing that stood out for me was that there is nowhere in the 3 hour drive between Wismar (where the boat parked) and Berlin, where you cannot see those bloody wind turbines. They are everywhere and have totally destroyed the German countryside. The day of reckoning approaches and sense will prevail, climate Nazis.
If you want to see the definition of the old and the new this is the place. It got hammered during the war so there are occasional old bits surrounded by lots of new bits. The Reichstag is magnificent but how it survived the war is hard to believe. Very old buildings are surrounded by recent buildings where architects have been given free reign. As you can imagine whole neighbourhoods were levelled in the war but they have done a great job rebuilding (they are Germans after all) . As you would expect, nothing funny happened in Germany. It’s not allowed.
Bornholm (Tuesday) is a sleepy island which is part of Denmark although it’s closer to Sweden. The German occupiers wanted to surrender to the Brits in WWII but the Brits had more important things to consider. Then the Russians arrived and bombed it for 2 days to convince them the frivolity of communism was the way to go. They took over then left after a year when even they got bored. Obviously it wasn’t considered a strategic piece of the Soviet Empire. And the comedy club was shit. So the Danes had their empire back – Denmark, Greenland and…..Bornholm.

Gdansk – what a brilliant place. It’s where World War II started when a German battleship went up the river and took out the armoury to commence hostilities. After Czechoslovakia and Austria gave up without a fight the plucky Poles resisted and the war started here with that engagement. Fortunately the Nazis were pretty lenient on building destruction (much less so when it came to people unfortunately) so the vast majority of Gdansk survived the war until the Russians arrived in 1945 when they destroyed 90% of the city. What can you say? Who’d want to look at a building from the Renaissance when you can look at a communist era concrete block of flats?
Great beer and some of the women here have the longest legs I have ever seen. High jump has to be the national sport. And if you want to discuss this topic further see me after class.
Met up with an Aussie bloke and his Chinese wife. His name is……if you guessed Bruce take your box and go to the front of the class. And Bruce comes from Sydney but lived in Kingaroy for some years so he and the child bride had some note comparing to do.
Back on the boat (Wednesday I think) having a burger and wine (mocktail for the CB) at the pool bar. One of the features of these cruises is that the general demographic is one that, how shall I put this, we aspire to in future years, as in, I hope to live that long. I hope I’m able to hobble around cobblestones with a walking stick and slow everyone else down when I’m 75. Anyway on this one there are some youngsters, even younger than us! And then there are those trying to cling to youngness. I said to the CB just now “look over your right shoulder and spot the boob job”. Not difficult to spot the woman with the softballs glued to her chest. I spotted them immediately they were made available for public display but I am very observant and it was just lucky that I happened to be looking in that direction.
There’s even a “Baby on Board” and we have one of those signs you see in cars stuck to the back of the boat.
There’s a lot of Aussies on this cruise unlike the previous ones. We were talking to one of the medical staff who was on cat herding duty (there’s a local tour guide and a ship person on each land tour to make sure no one gets lost or dies) for this morning’s Gdansk tour and she said they like the Aussies because we are so easy going. She is South African so I guess there’s a bit of synergy there. Some Dutch bloke (the accent is rather distinctive) was complaining bitterly about the paucity of juice glasses and coffee (it was being filled up) this morning. He can look forward to the waiters spitting on his food. Never forget, waiters and flight attendants are the most powerful people in the world.

We had to move away from the pool this afternoon because of the sun and because there is only so much naked flesh one can take. Softballs is still there but this is most definitely not a pool party in Kuta so there are no chicky babes wearing dental floss which is unfortunate for all of the young single men who might be on this cruise (none I think) but I’m not in the least bit interested – why would I be (this question is rhetorical in the extreme which means it’s a lie)? Softballs just left. Interesting contrast. It’s unfortunate if you’ve spent all that money on surgery which has no impact when you are standing up but makes you look like a lighthouse on the rare occasions that you are lying down in public.
And just to finish, those of you of a political bent may remember Paul Keating saying not to get between a state premier and a bucket of money. Well even though these cruises have pretty flexible meal times and it’s generally quite civilised, it has become obvious that you should not get between a pensioner and a free feed (sorry Mum & Dad). It can be carnage even though this is a rather upmarket cruise ship and not the Narangba Tavern.
Our one day at sea tomorrow is ahead of Tallinn so a sleep in tomorrow but we have a concert tonight featuring Chopin, Grieg and others (they are the only two I know). Not the actual Chopin and Grieg as they are dead obviously. But you knew that. Just got back. Brilliant pianist and violinist.

Till next time.

 

European Safari Part 3

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So that was Ireland – pubs, greenery, spectacular scenery and a propensity to exaggerate – on the drive over from Limerick to Dublin this morning there was a brown (tourist) sign pointing to “Barack Obama’s Ancestral Home”. Someone should tell the tourist board there’s no apostrophe after the “O” in Obama. And the old 6 degrees of separation lark is hardly a claim to fame.

Copenhagen is flat and expensive which is a bit disappointing. You’d think there’d be room for some compensation in the prices to make-up for the absence of relief. Luckily what they lose in hills they gain in water. And it’s no wonder prices are high if salaries are amongst the highest in the world which they brag about. Basic economics really. And taxis are more expensive than London although they did make us feel like we were in Brisbane. The two taxis we took were both piloted by Indians.
While on the subject of cars, there are not many – another reason taxis are so dear. They don’t make their own and the import tax is 180%. But they have more bicycles than people. This is all part of the Danish Government’s cunning plan to make Denmark carbon neutral by 2019. They mean carbon dioxide neutral of course otherwise they would have to kill half the flora and fauna including the people. What part of us (and all other living things) isn’t water and a minuscule amount of minerals is made up of organic compounds which are all various combinations of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. Governments everywhere blah blah blah……anyway, you know the rest. There may be a lack of cars but there is a plethora of boats. Not sure whether that’s factored into the carbon equation.

We did the sights from land and sea but very superficially it has to be said due to a lack of time. We saw the Little Mermaid of Hans Christian Anderson fame from every angle. It’s up there with the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa – somewhat disappointing in that it’s smaller than you’d think. They do however have a copy of Michelangelo’s David in bronze and notwithstanding the wedding tackle, it’s as imposing as the original.

It’s difficult to pigeon hole Denmark and the Danes. On the one hand they are up there with the wacky Swedes when it comes to sense of humour and their lack of imagination is epitomised by the fact that every king they have ever had has been called Christian but they did invent Lego. And they are quite proud of the fact that they produce more rubber tyres than anywhere else in the world, but only for Lego cars so the amount of rubber they use would be measured by the wheelbarrow.

Got on the boat yesterday afternoon. Went to our favourite bar – The Looking Glass – after dinner. We couldn’t go too early because there was a meeting there of all the single people on the cruise followed by a meeting of the lesbians, gays, bi-sexuals and transgenders (or LGBT’s in the vernacular) – I’m not kidding. Anyone who attended both meetings would have to be quids in you’d think. And I didn’t fall backwards off my seat like last time. Those who remember my blog entry Following the Wine Traders Part 1 will know what I’m talking about.

This morning, at breakfast a lady approached us and asked if we were Australian. It wasn’t because she heard us talking, it was because her husband saw us eating and remarked on the fact that we were both using our knives and forks properly. Had we been shovelling the food down they’d have tagged us for another nationality who I don’t intend to embarrass here. How’s that for a bit of pop sociology? I must say that my powers of observation don’t extend to that level of detail but the child bride did remark on the fact that a teenage girl in one of our Irish B&B’s was using her cutlery like daggers. She was probably crap at grammar and spelling as well.

Travemunde and Lubeck in Germany today. Lubeck used to be confined to an island back in the Middle Ages. There were 1800 people on the island then and 180 breweries. It must have been settled originally by the Irish. Back then the water was so crap (literally) you had to drink beer instead so the government paid for 3 litres per person per day. And in typically Teutonic organised fashion, for babies the beer had 0.5% alcohol and increased by 0.5% per year of age until it reached 16% – called Captain’s Beer. Now there is only one brewery left. Its original brick basement was constructed in 1225 and we had a beer tasting down there – superb stuff as you would expect since they’ve had a bit of practice.

Incidentally, there’s a big old disused brewery in Copenhagen which is pre, pre Carlsberg. One of the King Christians used to give his naval personnel 10 litres of product per day. No wonder the Danish navy’s halcyon days went out with the Vikings.

Back to Germany and whereas Ireland has its pubs and Denmark has its bicycles, Germany has its wind turbines. Seriously, these bird mincers are everywhere, onshore and off. I’m sitting in one of the bars on the ship and I can see dozens of them. I hate them with the same intensity I used to reserve for wheeled luggage.

I was going to sign off now but a rather large woman on the comfy chair next to the CB just farted as she hauled herself up. So I’ll close with that.

 

European Safari Part 2 – Ireland

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The first thing we did on landing in Dublin was pick up our hire car. That’s when things became amusing and bemusing. The vehicle check in guy told us 3 things – Ireland is well signposted, the Wexford turnoff is junction 7 on the M50 and call me anytime if you have a problem or just want a chat.
Taking the second one first, it wasn’t. Not even close. In fact after about junction 20 the M50 became the road we wanted by simply changing its name.

Regarding the first point, a typical conversation this week has gone like this :
Me : is this where we turn
Child bride : yes, we should have turned there.
Typically the sign you want to see is on the far side of the intersection so if you don’t have vision like superman you need a sat nav and we didn’t have one.
And we haven’t called him.
I could go on about the roads all day. They have N and M roads which are the good ones But they also have L roads and R roads. Perhaps left and right but sometimes L and R are on the same side of an M so I assumed they had 2 people naming them and they were going in opposite directions down the same road to save time. And how about hurtling down a motorway at 120km/hr (a civilised speed it has to be said – our nanny state should take notice) and being confronted by a roundabout. We also thought that all roads led to Amach until we realised this was Gaelic for “exit”.
A two lane road is only one and a half lanes wide but still has a white line down the middle so the buses and trucks know which side to be mostly on and the rest of us know which hedge to be in. But away from the touristy areas (where most of the traffic is) the two lane roads are three lanes wide so there is room to pull over and let impatient drivers pass. I could go on about the roads forever but let’s move on.

 

The weather’s been okay apart from day 1. The sun’s come out occasionally and……well it’s Melbourne – 4 seasons in a day but you can’t fault the Irish dedication when it comes to summer – blowing a gale and freezing cold but the kids are still in the sea and the blokes are in shorts and t-shirts because it’s July and therefore, by definition it’s mid-summer and sod the weather. As they say in Melbourne, so they say here, “if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute”.
Apparently one of the 99 things you must do before you die is kiss the Blarney Stone. We did. It’s been kissed by millions of others over many years (since 1800). I feel a cold sore for the ages coming on. Kissing the stone is supposed to give you the Gift of the Gab so this begs the question – why do women bother (sorry girls – couldn’t resist – see Addendum to Following the Wine Traders October 7th 2017) ?

 

Interestingly the initials of the Blarney Stone are BS and if you are speaking Blarney, you are in fact bull shitting. There is a connection there which calls into question the bull shit story about Queen Elizabeth I. You’ll have to google it. I think it’s a much more modern link.

 

Did the Ring of Kerry. In other circumstances that sentence would have an entirely different meaning but however you look at it, the scenery was up there with the most spectacular we have ever scene. Expected to see Braveheart and his hordes come sweeping down the hills – the movie was made in Ireland for all the sticklers. Lots of evidence of long since melted glaciers like in the Lake District (ex geologist speaking here) and not a Tony Abbott protester to be scene. Who was the bastard who canned the carbon tax two and a half million years ago and caused the world’s glaciers to melt? No more politics until next time, promise. Apart from a dig at those wind turbine monstrosities that litter (literally) the pristine Irish countryside for no good reason unless you like higher than necessary electricity bills. To get our history fix we stood where St Finbarr stood in the sixth century one morning at Gougane Barra so there are more important historical, moral, philosophical and sporting dilemmas to contemplate than a few useless wind turbines.

 

We stayed two nights in a remote area of the Dingle Peninsular at a B&B. There are two pubs across the road within a hundred metres of each other. That’s about as remote as Ireland gets. Got to love the Irish and their priorities. When we arrived I was met by the owner with a handshake, an introduction and a cup of tea. I have never encountered that level of hospitality in all of my travels – Camp Junction House if anyone’s interested. And if you want to see something incredibly spectacular, check the google images for Connor Pass, Dingle. They don’t entirely do it justice but you’ll get the idea.

We walked from the Courtyard B&B where we were staying in Bunratty to Durty Nelly’s pub. It’s about 400m and we passed two pubs on the way. In Ireland if you point in any direction there is guaranteed to be a pub within a few hundred metres.
Passed briefly through County Limerick into County Clare on our way to the airport. But brief is enough to justify reciting the best ever of those verses named after that part of the world :
There once was a girl from Cape Cod
Who thought all good things came from God
But it wasn’t the almighty who lifted her nighty
It was Roger the lodger the sod.
Ta daaa.

I’m sure there’s more but this is enough for now.
Off to Copenhagen tomorrow and an early start.

European Safari – Part 1

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A couple of years ago, the child bride and I did an expedition through the wilds of rural England and Ireland then slummed it round the Baltic on an upmarket cruise ship. Following is Part 1 of 7 describing our adventures.
Well the first stage is over. We left “sunny” England at sparrows this morning (Sunday), flew all the way to Dublin in cloud and drove down to Wexford in the pouring rain. But this is the start of stage 2 so back to the beginning.

After an uneventful flight from Brisbane to London we reached the threshold of Merry England, the immigration hall at Heathrow, and stepped into what can only be described as a zoo. I thought we were queuing up to board the arc. Thousands of people in a mile long queue that wasn’t moving due to a surfeit of processors – tea break I guess. Work to rule and all that. There was a bloke up the back doing a roaring trade selling seats in a Calais shipping container bound for Dover.

A nice touch in amongst all of this chaos is that immigration will process you as a family unit if you are travelling with someone. Consequently, when more immigration desks were eventually opened they were tied up for ages by roly poly, hirsute blokes in Bermuda shorts and polo shirts with their black bagged harem of 10, each carrying a child. Actually I’m exaggerating here. There weren’t 21 people at the desk in front of us. It was 16.
Anyway we eventually escaped to our hotel then picked up our car the next morning. We got an upgrade to a Jeep with all the mod cons – only had 5k on the clock and went like a scalded cat. This was deeply concerning to Nigella the sat nav lady. Plus the car kept telling me when to change gears. So I had Nigella constantly telling me to slow down and the car constantly telling me to change bloody gears. But we managed…..when I found the handbrake which was a button. So off to the Cotswolds.
Oxford was nice. There were cohorts of freshly minted graduates strutting around with proud parents and grandparents in tow. None of the current wave of idiotic political correctness was evident fortunately. I felt inspired….so we went to the pub – The King’s Arms obviously. And next time a Harry Potter movie comes on TV I’ll be able to say I’ve been to Hogwarts.
Bourton-on-the-Water was cute but odd – full of young Asians and old English. But it was a Tuesday so everyone between 20 and 60 was probably working in London or Birmingham (no, not really, that was a joke). Having been less than fully occupied in a vocational sense recently, the fact that people might be working has been a fading memory for me.

Stratford was next. Shakespeare right? Well yes but we found a pub that had been operating since 1594 – The Garrick Arms. That’s almost 200 years before Europeans settled in Aus. Love the history. Then we headed to Manchester and it was downhill rapidly (from our livers’ perspective) for the next few days.

Wednesday afternoon and evening with a cousin and his family was sensational except that the next morning we felt like we’d given Guns N Roses on tour a run for their money. Thanks everyone for never allowing us to have an empty drinking hand. Thanks a bunch.
Next was more great family hospitality from another cousin and family. First a trip to Blackpool to observe the cultural elite of the north-west (there’s my inner snob emerging). We went to the top of the tower which was quite a thrill. The last time we did that we lost any record of it when our camera was purloined in London by one of the south east’s cultural elite. And I can understand why the UK has got so good at athletics. Every second male wears a track suit although they do seem to all walk at quarter to three carrying a cannon ball in their shorts.
We talk about gentrification of tired old suburbs that have basically gone to the pack on all levels. My aunt lives in a street in a suburb that are now respectively the Park Lane and Mayfair of Wythenshawe in Manchester it seems. From being a focus of, as the bureaucrats would say, socio-economic under-achievement, you are now tripping over BMW’s and Mercs on the road and in driveways. The oligarchs have discovered the north west. What a turnaround in a few short years.

Prior to leaving my cousin lead the expedition to find the Hertz drop-off at the airport which had been cunningly hidden in another county.
Manchester airport and more bloody queues. At Air Lingus it was100m long with one check-in counter operating – ONE! After experiencing Heathrow then this I have come to the conclusion that the ability to queue is what made this country great. If the Brits queued like they do in a certain South Asian country there would be anarchy. And while shuffling interminably towards the desk I discovered that like many Asians, some Irish struggle with the concept of personal space. I guess it’s just their natural affection for people in general but what a nation of characters.
More to come.

Don’t Drink the Water

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Have you noticed that little sign over the sink in an aircraft toilet. It says “not drinking water”. And just next to it there’s a drawer full of toothbrushes and toothpaste. This raises a number of questions. If we shouldn’t be drinking it should we be putting it in our mouths even if we spit it out? Will the toothpaste kill the greebies that obviously lurk in this ungreen, unsmelly, uncontaminated with obvious wriggly things, water.

In the backblocks of what would be considered lesser developed countries where there is no bottled water, beer is a reasonable substitute for water for cleaning one’s teeth and I have heard of scotch being used although this is a rather expensive way of going about it. Scotch without the toothpaste would be a much more palatable option for a few days.

And if this water’s not to be drunk, where did it come from in the first place. At one end of Sydney airport is the Cook River. Next time I get on a plane parked at that end I’ll be looking out for a bloke in airport high-viz standing next to the plane sucking on a hose dangling in that river.

Anyway, I’ve inadvertently swallowed that water when cleaning my teeth or washing out the taste of the airline food, or swallowing sleeping pills. My GP assures me that the recurring bouts of cholera are caused by breathing contaminated air.

That Looks Familiar

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I may have already mentioned that in the event of my actually writing a book about travel, I already have a title for said book. It took 11 years of regular international travel to come up with it so as you would expect it’s a doozy – one Dickens, Hemingway and Steinbeck (Jason, Barry and Daryl respectively) would be proud of. I was sitting in a taxi with a colleague in Seoul one day and I said to him “You know, there are no yellow cars in Korea” and he spent the next two days trying to find one. And thus a title was born. Of course the stodgy, conservative and superstitious Koreans have loosened up considerably in the years since, what with the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over their heads. So now you do occasionally see a yellow car……. in a crumpled mess wrapped round a light pole. Actually, to be fair, the “stodgy” Koreans will entertain you to within an inch of your life given half a chance but when it comes to automobile paint strips, they’re Oliver Cromwell.
We all do this when we travel. That is, spot the most obscure differences between our homes and our destinations. Here’s one for you. On a hot summer’s afternoon especially down by the beach you will notice (so I’ve been told) that many young women forget to don a certain item of undergarmentry worn mostly on the frontal part of the torso, north of the bellybutton and south of the chin. Don’t even bother looking for this particular fashion quirk in Japan.
And while on the subject of Japanese fashion, every Japanese male wears a dark blue suit from Monday to Friday. Of course he makes up for it on the weekend and on vacation in the most emphatic way. Witness the garb worn on the golf course and you will be looking at a gaggle of golfers who steadfastly ignore their exasperated wives’ advice on colour and pattern coordination.
We also look for the occasional reassurance. Some destinations go out of their way to accommodate this – fish and chip shops and Boddington’s beer in Torremolinos for the tastefully discerning British tourist for example. In strange or unfamiliar places we appreciate that reassurance. That’s why many people like to travel in pairs or groups so even in the most unfamiliar or hostile of environments we can look at the person standing next to us and think “I can run faster than you if the shit hits the fan”.
We westerners shouldn’t demonstrate our insensitivity to the mysteries of especially the east without pointing out that Australia, for all its banality can be idiosyncratic and mysterious as well. Why, for instance, do we walk into polling booths with our eyes wide open and vote for idiots. Basically because notwithstanding the open eyes, we have our thumb in our bum and our mind in neutral and on reflection, we’re not alone in this regard. And why are there no taxis after 10.00pm? As I have previously mentioned, in Hong Kong, if you close your eyes and step out into Nathan Road at any time of day or night, you’ll be hit by a taxi (or occasionally by a Rolls Royce).
The child bride and I lived in Tasmania for three years. Tasmania is about as big as the park I can see across the road from where I am writing this. Yet Tasmanians wouldn’t travel as far on their holidays as we would to the shops. There were people on the west coast who had never been to the east coast. If it wasn’t for a hilly bit in the middle and a few big trees you could see the west side from the east side. Yes, many people crave familiarity and are terrified of losing it although Tasmanians do have an excuse for not seeking out new and interesting places. Many of them think the world ends at Bass Strait.

Status Quo

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Driving from Brisbane to the Gold Coast hardly qualifies as travelling but if it’s to see one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all time – Status Quo – on possibly their last tour, and certainly last in one regard which I’ll cover below, then I’m prepared to extend the definition. Besides, they came all the way from England so to drive an hour or so to see them seemed only fair. Incidentally, while sitting at our hundredth or so red light I was beginning to think this was not such a good idea. There are more red lights on the Gold Coast than the Reeperbahn, Kings Cross, the Rossebuurt, Roppongi, Patpong and the White House (during the Clinton era) combined. You’ll have to look those places up if they don’t all ring a bell. I’ve been in the same city as all of them except the White House. That’s how I knew.

The concert was held last night at the Star Hotel and Casino at Broadbeach on the Goldie and what an eclectic crowd that place attracts. Everyone from fake ID’d teenagers with their arses hanging out of the shortest of tight, short skirts to 90 year old Chinese grannies. Of course being a casino, the gambling obsessed Chinese are ubiquitous. The crowd that filtered out of the casino and into the theatre to see the Quo were more akin to an Australian Conservatives gathering (in appearance) although I don’t think the average Australian Conservatives crowd would know all of the words to Status Quo’s extensive back catalogue. There were a few outliers with grey ponytails, some sported by women, but since Francis Rossi cut his off a few years back it seemed like a rather superfluous gesture. And there were a few kids who’d been dragged along by their parents (or grandparents) as we had been known to do with ours some (many) years back.

There are some fundamental differences between a Quo/Stones/Eagles (our last three concerts) crowd and a Taylor Swift (for example) crowd, not least minor things like age, fashion, size (individual as opposed to collective) and willingness to pay exorbitant amounts of money for tickets although to be fair, that only applied to the Stones and the Eagles. But one thing is quite similar I assume, although not having ever been to a social media fuelled, hormone busting, like, best everrrr Justin Bieber concert I can’t be certain. Youngsters can be quite rude because many have not been schooled properly in common courtesies and oldsters can be quite rude because “I paid a bloody fortune for this ticket so I’ll come and go as I bloody well please…and spill beer on the person in the row in front as I squeeze past in the dark”. The young country singer who opened for Status Quo was very adept at embarrassing the latecomers, much to the amusement of the more polite section of the crowd. Take a bow Travis Collins.

The show was called “Last Night of the Electrics”. After this tour is finished it’s acoustic or aquostic as they call it, from then on. Not surprising really when you consider the number of shows they do and have done over the years (more than most) and the volume at which they perform. Their ears (certainly Rossi’s) must be mush. Just on the noise thing, the child bride and I saw them in 1976 at Brisbane’s now demolished Festival Hall. We were six rows from the front and my ears were still ringing when we took our seats last night, 41 years later. If Spinal Tap’s amplifiers go up to 11 then Quo’s go up to 12. Having said that, last night’s show was loud but manageable in the aural department but we were two rows further back in row 8 so that may have been why it didn’t seem as loud as in 1976.

Rather than “Last Night of the Electrics” I would have called it “Still Having a Bloody Good Time”. If I could magically transform my very modest musical ability into something a bit more respectable, to the extent that I could hold my own in a top echelon band, I’d want to be in this one. Of course I’ve said that every time we’ve seen the Eagles (five times) but that’s more from a technical excellence perspective than a fun perspective. I also thought it would be a hoot to be in Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers but now that Tom has left the building, it would hardly seem the same. No, when a bunch of musicians laugh at each other and take the piss when they (rarely) make a mistake that we mostly don’t even notice and then let the crowd in on the joke, that’s the band for me. None of this hunched over the instruments, terminally serious Radiohead bullshit for me. Or Eric Clapton demonstrating virtuoso capability but not uttering a word other than “thankyou” or cracking a smile for a whole concert.

I love that there’s no preaching and no sentimentality with these guys. There’s certainly banter and audience interaction but no preachy social justice warrior hypocrisy and promotion of pet causes. There can’t be too many diseases or inequalities left that don’t have some second rate celebrity’s name attached to them. There wasn’t even a mention of Rick Parfitt. Some bands would have put a telecaster on a stand in the corner or a cardboard cut-out or some such tribute on the stage. But they didn’t. But I reckon Francis did his own little tribute. At one point everyone else left the stage, even the drummer and Francis played the intro to a song on his own in semi darkness, a song Rick used to intro. Maybe I’m wrong – doesn’t matter because it works for me.

One more difference between 1976 and 2017. Back then, as soon as they started to play everyone stood up. Not such a big deal when you’re six rows from the front but when everyone in front of you stands on their chairs you have to follow suit. The cute but diminutive child bride was not impressed. Now, we (the typical Status Quo audience) prefer to stay sitting down. Some did get up and dance and good luck to them as long as they don’t dance in front of me. The girls with their Stevie Nicks hair-dos wave their arms around and blokes do Dad dances and think they’re cool. Even I know they aren’t. But as long as I have an uninterrupted view of the stage go ahead and act like a dork.

We got to the second and last song of the encore before the All Blacks front row immediately in front of us stood up. I thought the concert was over because it went dark all of a sudden but I could still hear muffled music, like it was coming from a radio in an adjoining room such was the totality of the wall erected in front of us. I looked at the woman sitting next to me (not the CB, the other side) and we shrugged our shoulders and stood up – what else could we do. No amount of “DOWN IN FRONT” which usually works at the cricket and football, was going to work here.

Brilliant show. That’s another tick on the bucket list.

Sniffing the Wind

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There are some things we just don’t talk about but are so natural and in some cases, confronting, you have to wonder why (because they’re confronting I guess). For example toilet breaks are never written into the script in American films whereas the Europeans love them. Like Kim Jong Un, Hollywood’s elite don’t excrete – neat slogan eh? Well at least most of them think their shit doesn’t stink which gets me to the topic of the day which I will approach in my usual roundabout way.

If you’re in a frequent flyer program, you’ll know how airlines send you those “Help us to help you” forms to fill out or direct you to the profile page on the website. This is so we can tell them we like opera of polo or flower arranging. Why, I’m not sure. My boss did get invited to a golf tournament once by an airline but that’s the only time in 30 years of travel I’ve heard of anything like that happening. And it was about 30 years ago. If an airline is thinking of slinging one my way, can I go to the Superbowl? Cheers.

In said profile, I always put that I want an aisle seat on the lower deck (for double decker planes you understand). But all airlines number their seats differently so unless you ask at check in, you don’t necessarily know where you’re sitting until you get there. Why don’t I ask? Because I bloody forget.

So I’m in 11H which is an aisle seat (woo hoo) but upper deck and right at the front against the bulkhead. That’s right the front row is row 11. I had to get up at 4.15am to get down to Sydney to catch this plane to Singapore so I’m grumpy. And then there’s the smell, which brings us back to where we started.

Smells on planes can be lumped (or wafted) into two groups – those you make and those others make. They can also be ranked according to desirability. At one extreme we have smoke, for obvious reasons and at the other extreme is the alluring scent a Singapore Girl leaves as she floats by. Personal odours are way down at the smoke end.

I once heard English doctor/writer/actor/comic/etc Jonathan Miller being interviewed and he commented on the propensity for air travel to make him fart and the “fact” that that they were “strangely odourless” (his comment). This puzzled me for many years because (1) he’s a medical doctor (2) he’s wrong and (3) assuming the first two assertions are correct, why can’t he smell his own farts. I’m also assuming all olfactory components are present and accounted for.

Anyone who has travelled at least a few times will be aware of that situation when someone drops one and there is nowhere to hide. Fortunately it doesn’t last as long as if you are in a closed room or heaven forbid, in a lift. This is because the air-conditioning in an aeroplane is strong enough to suck the dermis (that’s your second layer of skin) out through your pores.

Having pondered this riddle for many years and refused to ask for expert advice (I don’t ask for directions either), I decided it was because air is pumped into the cabin at the top and sucked out through vents at floor level. This means any olfactory nastiness emanating from the trouser region has to battle against the wind (excuse the pun) to get as high as your nose. But God help your feet.

This theory prevailed in my mind until on one subsequent trip I accidentally listened to the safety demonstration. Apparently a row of floor lights will guide you to an exit if someone in first class has accidentally set his polyester track-suit on fire and the plane has filled with smoke. You hit the floor and as the kids’ saying goes “get down low and go go go”. So much for the theory because this scenario assumes the smoke is being sucked up not down. Of course it’s only relevant in the event of a tracksuit mishap while on the ground. If you’re more than a few metres off the ground and it’s anything other than a smouldering tracksuit, forget it.

So why don’t Jonathan Miller’s farts smell. I have no idea. Maybe he only eats rose petals.

We are now going to leave smells and get onto toilets (another execrable pun which is also almost a pun itself). And if we go right back to the start, this was the original rationale for writing this piece. So let’s cut to the cheese, sorry chase. (I’m on a roll).

Seat 11C isn’t so bad except for what I’ve already said and for one other thing. The convenience is about a foot away from my feet. There is a flimsy inch thick wall between us but it’s not enough to disguise the whoosh which sweeps from the little room immediately in front of me then under my seat (below the floor – this is Singapore Airlines after all) to who knows where.

At the start of the flight it whooshed three times over a few minutes and no one emerged. Funny what you notice isn’t it? But something else slowly emerged and then they wheeled out the brunch trolley. The eggs thought it was their birthday. Harmonizing sulphurous fumes everywhere. Eventually the person who had been sitting (presumably) immediately in front of me barrelled through the door and hastily resumed his seat, having despatched….no no no, we’re not going there.

But some things are indelibly seared into your brain, never to be expunged. And one of them is pushing open an unlocked toilet door only to see a lady who forgot to lock said door squatting on the seat. Needless to say, having a complete stranger barging in on what is generally a most private moment is a reason for considerable dismay and apparently a justification for peeing on the floor. One needs to be very light on one’s feet in this circumstance.

So the upshot is, if I’m unfortunate enough to get a seat next to the khasi and someone steps through that door, I shut my eyes, put my fingers in my ears, thumbs up my nose and think of England.

Addendum to Following the Wine Traders

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Well, this will be the last journal entry for this trip before we fly home tomorrow. We’re now in London again and have just had our first pub lunch. We were here for 3 days 3 weeks ago but it was the 3 days leading up to the friendly between England and Scotland at Wembley. The pubs were full of blokes in skirts speaking a foreign language and Trafalgar Square was turned into a massive beer garden so actually getting through the door of a pub during those three days was somewhat problematic. Anyway, we cracked it today.

 


 Just had a nice relaxing three days in Switzerland, starting in Zurich and then 2 days in Geneva. I have never seen so much conspicuous wealth as in that place. Plenty of Rolls Royces and Ferraris with various Arabic (the most common language we heard while there) number plates. In Hong Kong, if you close your eyes and step out into the road you’ll either be hit by a Rolls Royce or by a taxi. Here it would be somewhat similar except for the taxis.

 


 The train trip from Zurich to Geneva was nice. I didn’t realise that all of the open spaces in Switzerland have been mowed. The whole place looks like a park. And the train trip reinforced something I have come to firmly believe since being here. For the best part of 3 hours, all the way from Zurich to Geneva, two young women across the aisle from us talked….and talked….and talked. In fact they did not shut their yaps for more than 5 seconds the whole way. It reminded me of when we were here 3 weeks ago and were queuing for the London Dungeons. We had to queue for about 40 minutes and two teenage girls behind us did not shut up for one second of that time. Two blokes can sit in quiet contemplation for hours without feeling the urgent need to communicate other than telepathically. Two or more women can’t….at all….ever. But if the word “like” was excised from the English language, 30 million women under the age of 30 would be immediately struck dumb. Do us all (as in us blokes) a favour girls and just STFU occasionally.

 


 It’s been a fantastic three weeks with only one thing left to do before we head home tomorrow. We are having dinner tonight with a good friend and her partner. She works for the same company I work for and he is Welsh so they’ve been over here frightening his relatives in the villages.

It just remains now to get home and see if the cats have eaten each other. We didn’t leave them to their own devices – they are being supervised so, you know, ignore the eating each other bit.