Red Wine Express

In August 2017 the child Bride and I visited Cambodia and Vietnam and took a leisurely cruise down the Mekong River. Following is a 6 part opus on that epic journey.

Well the Mekong Muster, Siem Reap in Cambodia to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, is now well underway. We are on the boat – La Marguerite – and having done the unpacking and explored the boat the 40 degree heat and 100% humidity are doing their job. La Marguerite is very small – about 78 passengers I think – but has two bars. Having been on here all of two hours I think we’ve done well to befriend Jenny, one of the bar attendants who now knows our order. Jenny is here to mitigate the heat and humidity.

But let’s backtrack a couple of days. We flew out of Brisbane on Saturday afternoon in gorilla class but on Singapore Airlines – scant compensation I know but it could have been a whole lot worse. No….no it couldn’t – can’t think of anything worse after all of those years flying at the front on someone else’s dime. I know you’re all feeling my pain – thanks, that makes so much difference.

We had 8 hours in Singers airport and despite all of my previous travels I have never been asked to rate a toilet but there in the airport was this very opportunity. So I go for a pee and there’s a box on the wall in the loo that says “Rate our toilet” and you can tap a button of your choice. I was torn between shithouse and pissweak. But enough of that so let’s move along.

The rest of the trip to Seam Reap was uneventful but now it gets interesting. In this politically correct world we live in, if you believe cultures are unequal you are a bigot. Anyone who thinks Angkor Wat is the equivalent of a handprint on a cave wall or a poison dart blown through a hollow reed or an ability to build a mud hut that will withstand a light drizzle can call me a bigot – guilty as charged. And we’re not here to indulge in in-depth academic debates on the pros and cons of the noble savage vs the industrial revolution so let’s leave it superficial and flippant. Those temples – hundreds of them – are not only works of incredible detail and complexity but they were carved out of impenetrable jungle about 800 years ago. Of course elephants help, vis a vis the jungle bit but it still must have been an architect’s paradise.

Compare with the pharaoh’s chief architect:
“So your munificent, sun shines out of your sarcophagus, God-pharaoh, you want me to build you a tomb. May I remind you I built the sphinx, the library of Alexandria and consulted on the hanging gardens of Babylon, so it’s not another bloody pyramid is it? Oh, it is. It’s a big one, you say, with lots of secret passageways. Hoo-f..ing-ray.”

At Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat and all the others, the builders had an absolute ball it seems compared with the poor old pyramid builders.

The first day, after spending most of Saturday night in the airport, was zombie central but we did manage to drag ourselves away from the air conditioning for a few hours. Apart from visiting the aforementioned temples, a highlight was visiting a school where a program called Overseas Development in Art teaches art as well as English language, computing and a few other things to underprivileged and orphaned kids. It was started by a local artist and now extends to eight schools. He established all eight of them.

Compared to our whiney, the tax payer owes me a living, artists who produce bugger all of any redeemable or cultural value, like standing on one leg in a bucket of offal for six hours at a time, this guy is a saint and deserves the Nobel Prize. Think Mother Theresa without the leprosy. And he’s a bloke.

But last night after climbing all over a series of temples, we did what everyone does when visiting a provincial Asian city for the first time. We visited Pub Street (that’s what it’s called) and drank $1 beers in the Red Piano Bar. Well I did. Jan drank $3 wines. Secondly, I did what every male does in these places…..no, not that. I had my feet eaten. Yes, you read that right. I dangled my feet in a large tank of water and dozens of fish nibbled the dead skin off my feet.

Now it has to said, I have the ugliest feet in Christendom (which we weren’t actually in to be fair) but these little buggers gave it a red hot go and did an admirable job. But really. If you thought maggots or bacteria are at the bottom of the food chain, think again because I can’t think of anything that beats this in a disgusting race to the last link. Of course if you’re ticklish it’s almost unbearable. I lasted about 15 minutes. Another hour or two and I could have been a foot model.

For the next seven or eight days the most stressful decision will be which of the two bars to patronise, as in offer them my custom, not talk down to them. And when the intermittent wifi kicks in I’m going to find out where I can buy some of those fish.

Well I have to admit to being suitably chastened.

Bruce Springsteen was in town and while I like a lot of his music (notwithstanding the wankerish, farcical, working class pretence of a lot of his lyrics), it’s never been enough to make me want to go to one of his concerts. Why would I want to listen to a champagne socialist with a few hundred mil in the bank, houses all over the North American continent and who flies everywhere in a private jet and have to listen to typical social justice warrior hypocrisy on how we’re destroying the planet and did I mention that Trump is Satan.

Friends of ours had a spare ticket for his concert here in Brisbane and asked me if I wanted to go and naturally I jumped at the chance. Two can play this hypocrisy game. It was sensational – fair cop me! And there was little time for commentary because there were mostly no breaks between songs. Talk about relentless. His only vaguely SJW comment referred to a charity which collects unused food from restaurants etc to distribute to the homeless and they were fundraising outside the venue. He recommended contributing – fair enough. And it was Valentine’s Day so there was a massive plug for the blokes to buy flowers for loved ones even if it’s just a crumby old single rose. Incidentally, and I’ll give myself a plug here, when I was last in full time employment I used to buy a rose for the mothers on our floor on Mother’s Day. No one ever bitched about me (that I was aware of) – management in action. Oh, and being Valentine’s Day it was only fair that I be at a concert while the child bride was a home watching I’m a Celebrity – Get Me Out of Here.

Anyhow back to Bruce. He did a few things I have never seen in a concert before and I’ve been to a few. Firstly he got up close and personal with the crowd in that he actually waded into the crowd – the standing only part at the front. He let kids strum his guitar during one song. He crowd surfed – can you believe it – about 20m across the standing area back to the stage. As far as I could tell, none of the women tried to confiscate his cruet as he passed overhead. Maybe his wife’s presence on the stage as part of the band put a dampener on that. Then during “Dancing in the Dark” he inevitably (if you’ve seen the clip of the song) invited a girl on stage to dance. Then another, then another, then another, then a bloke (??) then a young girl who looked about 8. All up about nine people invited on stage with one dancing on his pianist’s grand piano (he looked a tad pissed). Then the 8 year old got to sing a few bars.

Only one word for all of this – respect. Bruce, you’re still a social justice warrior wanker but you sure can put on a show.

I recently read an article in GQ magazine called “10 Wankers You Only See at the AFL”. They are, in order:
1. Eddie Maguire – if you’re Australian you know who this bloke is. If you’re not, don’t fret.
2. The bloke who immediately shouts ”baaalll” when an opposition player gets possession. This is like a rugby fan demanding a rugby player be penalised for not releasing the ball immediately he is touched by an opposition defender.
3. People who slag off at the huge banners the players run through at the start of a game. More on this later.
4. The up close and personal slagger – the bloke (or shiela) who’s hanging over the boundary fence screaming abuse at the nearest opposition player. More on this later also.
5. The branded stadium fan. Not sure whether the author of the piece is complaining about the fan who refers to the stadium as Drinky Cola Stadium or its old pre-branding name of Ponce Park.
6. The dodgy runner – this is the bloke who relays water and messages to the players during play and gets in the way. Easily fixed – ban it. Can you imagine trainers all over the field during a Manchester derby.
7. The light beer cry baby – they sit in the licensed area in the middle of a row and annoy the shit out of twenty people every 15 minutes when they have to squeeze past to get another beer. Not sure what the reference to light beer is though.
8. The box bastard is the bloke who gets to sit in a box because of connections and pretty much ignores the game.
That’s the end of the list. Now the most attentive of you will have noticed a minor inconsistency between the title of the piece and the content, specifically the number of separate bits that make up the content. That’s it – there are supposed to be 10 but the author could only think of 8. I guess he rounded it up. Or the GQ editor was asleep.
This is symptomatic of the massive susceptibility AFL has to the traditional Aussie piss-take. And I am not about to pass up this opportunity to take one.
Starting with banner-man (wanker number 3), there are many AFL people who spend every night of the working week either watching their team train (the ones that still train at night – old traditions die hard) or constructing massive crepe paper banners with stupid messages on them. They hold it up for about 10 seconds, the team runs though it and shreds the bottom couple of feet, it is then taken down and discarded. A week’s work gone in the blink of an eye. The term “get a life” was coined specifically for these people. Confession – I am banner-slagger-man.
The up close and personal slagger (wanker number 4) is a close relative of banner-man but spends his week watching re-runs of the last time his team won anything. This guy knows who won left half back flanker of the year for Collingwood in 1935. On match day he gets a skin-full and screams abuse at opposition players and umpires alike. He paid his taxes (when he worked a few years ago) so it’s his right, right? A certain well known cricketer would have evolved into this bloke if he hadn’t genetically stumbled on a dynamite right arm.
Now let’s look at this “game” more generally.
They refer to the dressing sheds as “rooms” as in “Lanky Longfellow must be really hurt because they’ve taken him into the rooms”. I have “rooms” in my house and there is not an AFL person anywhere to be seen.
They refer to teams as “playing groups”. That’s what we take our kids to when they are too young for school. They are TEAMS and collectively the TEAMS make up the club.
They refer to captains, vice captains and senior players as the “leadership group”. They also have multiple captains and vice captains and I think “senior player” is a title you can bestow upon yourself because there is no hard and fast definition. No, each TEAM has a CAPTAIN and a VICE CAPTAIN, that way there is no confusion as to who is responsible for running the play during the game if we can get that runner (wanker number 6) off the field for good.
The “F” in AFL stands for “Football”, not what you think I think it stands for. Listen to an AFL person talk and you will think it stands for “Footy”. I think there’s a competition amongst AFL types to see who can lever this word into a conversation the most times. So the ball is a footy, the game is footy, the players play footy, the spectators watch and worship footy, the hacks write about footy, footy is all over the news. In fact it is the only news in Melbourne where they learned about 9-11 in October because it happened during the footy finals.
Have you noticed how whenever a player has a milestone to celebrate or is retiring, they always run out carrying and/or leading a tribe of little kids? This has absolutely no relevance to the proceedings other than for the player to demonstrate to the world that not only can he play “footy” but he is a real man because here is the proof that he has sex……. with women.
After the game the players and assorted hangers on link arms in a circle and all sing “I’m a Lumberjack and I’m Okay” which I believe is the team (not the playing group) song for all of the clubs.
And last but not least, the AFL is the vanguard social justice warrior organisation in the country. The AFL is an organisation just like Qantas and the ABC and the Australian Workers Union are organisations. Organisations are defined by a few pieces of paper with articles of association written on them and maybe a certificate from ASIC. But apparently if the boss of the AFL says the AFL supports gay marriage or an ABC journalist says the ABC supports climate change then everyone at the organisation is tarred with that brush. This is bullshit not least because organisations as such, don’t have brains.
Extending this theme in respect of the AFL, every weekend there is a cause to promote. So we have the Multicultural round, we have the Indigenous round, we have the Women’s round we have the AFL executives shouldn’t have sex with adult women who also work for the AFL round. The actual “footy” is being crowded out by social engineering. But I’ll give the virtue signallers at AFL House a piece of advice for free. Up close and personal slagger (wanker number 4), who makes up at least 50% of your fan base, doesn’t give a shit.

The aftermath of 4 weeks in Europe.

After 4 weeks on the road (and on the sea and in the air to be more precise) and gastronomic, oenonic and beeronic overindulgences of the moronic rather than lessonic kinds you can imagine that our immune systems were vulnerable to attack so the child bride and I duly came down with catastrophic colds yesterday. Last night my nose, throat and lungs felt like Helms Deep under orc assault with Gandalf and the cavalry not due to arrive until about Friday. Consequently, on this my 60th birthday I feel like doing not much at all really. But this does allow the time for a degree of contemplation of something of vital importance.

If you have passed 60 already you will have received The List. No one knows where it comes from or who sends it or why. It does however provide guidance (as if any was needed, we’re 60 after all) for the twilight (zone) years of our lives. If you are over 60 you need read no further as you will have received your List already. If you are well past 60 you will have received it by post in an envelope with no return address. If you are well under 60 you will not know what I am talking about in that previous sentence (if you know what a sentence, of the grammatical not prison kind, is).

The List I received goes as follows:

1. Health
We, the human race, are living longer. For this reason we are apparently imposing an increasing burden on the health system. Now it stands to reason that if we are living longer we are actually healthier so there is an obvious contradiction here. Notwithstanding this, for the over 60’s the health system is a veritable pub smorgasbord of drugs and treatments to be taken advantage of at every opportunity. Over 60’s have lost all respect for the user pays system because we’ve paid and now it’s time to use. The younger “me generation” is going to have to come to grips with that as total economic melt-down looms because, as yet, they haven’t. Over 60’s won’t because we’ll all be dead, possibly from a drug overdose.

2. Education
a. English
English is about communication. This involves more than abbreviated texting and sexting (in the words and clothes departments respectively) via various devices. These are for making phone calls so people can speak to each other in well constructed sentences. Over 60’s understand this. They also understand that punctuation is not something you do in a colonoscopy bag.

b. Mathematics
Over 60’s can perform addition, subtraction, multiplication and division in their heads. They also know what these things are.

c. History
Over 60’s love history because they have more of it than the young. Stuff happened before the internet. You can use it to check.

3. Sex
For men over 60, sex can be likened to pouring your last can of petrol on the fire. This is a euphemism (for a metaphor) for attaching your superannuation to a fish hook, dangling it in a pool of pre-cougars, catching a trophy wife and going for it until the fire flames out in about 6 months. Then it’s over, assuming the money’s run out also. For married women over 60 this list item has no relevance.

4. Music
In our over 60s’ music, performers actually sing. More recently this has not necessarily been the case. Remember MC Hammer? “Thanks for talking us through that song MC. Now can you sing it and add a few musical instruments to that boring repetitive bass line? Oh…that’s it?” He’s got a lot to answer for. We of the Rolling Stones generation look forward to hoe rap clones scratching each other’s eyes out and the gangsta rap clones shooting each other into extinction. Either way the biggest con in musical history has a limited shelf life. Now leave us to our country and western heavy metal – a tuneless noise about hay – and dreaming about the hedonism of 60’s and 70’s rock.

5. Dancing
Over 60’s don’t or shouldn’t dance. Unfortunately some wish to retain this right. Fortunately the Dad Dance phase is well and truly over by 60 and if you must, it now involves anchoring your feet to the ground and swaying your arms to the music, generally with a small child attached to them.

6. Sport
All references to sport must now begin with the phrase “Back in my day…” as in “Back in my day these poofs wouldn’t have lasted 5 minutes with Lezzy Boyd, Greggy Dowling and Artie Beetson.” All given names (we used to call them Christian names) must end with “y” or “ie”.

7. Injuries
The above sport reference applies equally to sporting injuries as in “Back in my day we’d play on Sunday and go down the mine with a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder and concussion on Monday”.

8. Religion
Most people don’t have any anymore but over 60’s reserve the right to a gradual return especially if the church is putting on free food or more importantly, free booze. The logical extension of this process is the death-bed conversion, just in case.

9. Free Stuff
We deserve it and the rest don’t. They have to pay for it. Simple.

10. Working
What’s that? Hahahaha

11. Fashion
Back in the day when today’s over 60’s were dedicated followers of fashion, it meant something if you wore jeans and thongs. It meant you also wore a flanno and had a mullet which were quite popular for a while there amongst a certain demographic. Some over 60’s now feel comfortable with fashion faux pas such as wearing socks with sandals, a crime for which you can be shot incidentally. And for the over 60 ladies the transition from frilly and filmy to industrial strength is now complete.

12. Drinking
Once you crack the big 6 oh there is no reason to ever buy a drink again. If you find yourself in a pub in a shout with younger members of the community it is likely that they will tell you to take your hand out of your pocket when it is your turn to shout. This behaviour should not be discouraged. In fact it should be actively encouraged by constantly complaining about the bloody government and its treatment of the backbone (sciatica notwithstanding) of the community and you can’t make the pension go as far as it used to blah blah blah. And anyone who doesn’t think we’re the backbone, may we suggest a headcount (see Health).

13. Birthdays
As a youngster, birthdays involve waking up in a pool of your own vomit with a new face tattoo. The older generation is satisfied with more material but no less cheap thrills. Like for the mature man a trip down memory lane with a “look but don’t touch” pass. May we suggest a particular place that unnecessarily interrupts football games with displays of….and…..and beer.

14. Gifts
Birthdays (if it’s yours) are about receiving gifts. Unlike the economy, which many youngsters of a socialistic bent think is a zero sum game, gift giving actually is i.e. every time one gift is given, one is received. We over 60’s know which side of that equation we want to be on.

15. Cars
Over 60’s know that as phones are for making phone calls, cars are for getting you from A to B. Unlike with phones however, we like the toys that come with cars. But we are torn between getting the GT super sport pack or going on another cruise. Convertibles are a particular dilemma. These are for very young people but because most very young people can’t afford a decent convertible, special dispensation has been given to the over 60’s to buy them. Looking ridiculous in a convertible is an issue for people who want “the look” but is irrelevant to over 60’s who revel in not giving a stuff about what they look like (see Fashion).

16. Aging
This brings special privileges which are called brain fades or mental blocks or senior moments or CRAFT as in Can’t Remember A F—ing Thing moments. These involve issues such as going into a room then having to contemplate the exact reason for going in there in the first place.

17. Political Correctness
Over 60’s don’t do political correctness. It’s for well norked celebrities with their climate off-sets and private jets and bureaucrats, academics and ABC types who think they’re distantly related to Evonne Goolagong. If you take offence then put the bloody thing back before the cows escape. Now, did you hear the latest Irish/Polish/Kiwi/Arab/Jewish/Catholic (insert ethnic/religious group to be ridiculed) joke?

18. Politics
This is not relevant. Over 60’s know all there is to know about politics. From one me-generation (baby boomers) to another (the young), don’t worry, it’ll all be fine. We’ll spend our super and you can spend the tax we contribute. Oh that’s right, we don’t contribute tax anymore. Hahahahahaha.

I called this the prologue in the previous post. Apologies to all of those people whose grammar and punctuation I have criticised (justifiably – all of them) in the past.

We got back from Europe in time for my birthday and what feel like massive hangovers.

 

Back home this morning after a rather long time between getting off the boat in Stockholm on Thursday morning and getting back to Brisbane. Still, got here in time to see replays of Broncos v St George played last night and the Wallabies v New Zealand from last Saturday (which we won – woo hoo). Let’s hope the result is the same for the Bledisloe decider tonight (it wasn’t).

Completely knackered after almost 4 weeks of “relaxing” holiday and struggling to make it to a decent hour to go to sleep and avoid the worst of jet lag which has a bigger impact when going west to east than the other way apparently.

We got a magnificent welcome from Charlie the dog who greeted us with an enthusiasm only he can muster. But then he carries on like that when you come back from the toilet. Anyway, he’s helped me watch 2 football games today. Even the cats seemed pleased to see us or at least enough to feign a rather aloof acknowledgement that some familiar faces were back in their house.

My brain is mush at the moment. I used to go into the office after flying in from Europe or wherever, in my younger days. Thankfully, I learnt that lesson eventually. In fact, going into any office seems a somewhat remote possibility at the moment. Thank God it’s Saturday.

 

 

 

This is the last entry (other than a prologue describing the aftermath – following) regarding the child bride’s and my gallivant round the Baltic and other salubrious European destinations. Stay tuned for the Mekong Muster covering our recent visit to the backblocks of Cambodia and Vietnam ……. in a degree of luxury it has to be said. Remember the child bride has a pathological hatred of cheap champagne and all things camping.

 

Last day today, in Stockholm and we’re doing a roof top walk. There are always numerous onshore trip options and this was an opportunity too good to miss. Saw a couple of the gay guys at breakfast this morning. They’re going to the ABBA Museum. Obviously.

Back from our roof top walk. Wow just about covers it. 40 odd metres up on top of the court house on a walkway about a foot wide with a harness attached to a wire at floor level. You also wear a hard hat which is basically a blood bucket if you fall off. The CB was a bit dubious at first but handled it with aplomb. I got the wobbly boots a couple of times I have to admit but they assured us they hadn’t lost anyone this month so I wasn’t going to be the first. As you can imagine the views were fantastic.

The guides were these fit young Swedish ladies with well developed………senses of humour – quite a pleasant surprise. One regaled us with tales of midsummer celebrations in Sweden (longest day of the year, usually late June) where singing comes before drinking not the other way round. So you sing a ditty then everyone in the group downs a shot. Then the next person sings and you down another shot and so it goes. She gave us two renditions of her ditty, when she was first and when it came round to her turn again in a group of 25. A bit like Not Garfunkel at 2.00pm and Not Garfunkel at 6.00pm but in reverse because we sound better the more we drink. And she pointed out that many babies are born 9 months after midsummer. March must be birthday season in Sweden.

All sounded pretty good to me until she explained what they traditionally eat. Herring figured prominently. I tried pickled herring once. It was revolting. I think they pickle it in brake fluid.

The photo count is up over 1300 after Stockholm with a few more of the ship before we leave tomorrow morning then we’re done. It’ll take me all of next week to file them. Took some photos of the sunset last night. It was amazing; unlike anything we get at home. The sky was like a cathedral dome painting without the angels and cherubs (that we could see).

We’re now sitting in The Looking Glass, our favourite bar, for the last time on this trip reflecting on what has been a fabulous twelve days. The CB’s having her last champagne cocktail and I’m not having my last beer. It’s always a shame to leave and plenty of people stay on for more than one leg. The next one for this ship is almost a reverse repeat of what we’ve done but finishing in Southampton instead of Copenhagen so I don’t expect many will stay on. There were quite a few who stayed on from the previous cruise which was the Norwegian fjords. Apparently the weather was atrocious. Everywhere we’ve been the weather has been great and invariably the tour guides have said “lucky you weren’t here last week….”. Not sure I could do consecutive voyages.

As I said in the previous post we need a rest after this holiday. But then we did have a week in England and a week in Ireland before joining the cruise and we didn’t get out of either unscathed. I forgot to mention in the bit about Ireland – Crean Lager – brewed on the Dingle Peninsular. Superb drop.

Just got back from the final show of the cruise – a hypnotist. He started off with 10 volunteers, 5 men and 5 women. When he’d culled those who weren’t playing the game there were 5 women and 1 man. Interpret this however you want. I personally thought it was bullshit. And he started off by saying he wasn’t going to get them to do anything “dirty” (his word) or remove any clothing so it was a complete waste of time.

That’s it. So we’ve added a few countries to our “Visited” list and crossed a few more things off our bucket list but there are very many more on both lists. If you have the inclination and the wherewithal don’t leave it too late.

We’re just pulling into Helsinki with only today here and tomorrow in Stockholm to go. Thursday we head to Stockholm airport and home. It’s been over 3 weeks now and after 3 solid days in Saint Petersburg and 3 solid weeks of enjoying ourselves we’re starting to feel a bit jaded like someone I’ve already mentioned a couple of times. I’m pretty sure I now know what a world tour with Guns N Roses feels like. No one’s thrown any underwear at me yet (thank heavens for small mercies). And apparently all of those marriage proposals in Russia were from hookers.
Day 3 in Saint Petersburg was more opulence and extravagance. Peter the Great’s summer palace (about as far out of town as Redcliffe is from Brisbane) is called Peterhof. It is famous for fountains – 180 of them of which 150 have been restored. Most of them comprise multiple jets (500 in one) and all run on gravity – there were no pumps in 1720 and restoration is to the original including gold leaf on virtually everything. And he had nothing on his daughter Elizabeth and niece in law (I think), Catherine the Great who both went berserk when it came to decorating, renovating and building and generally spending money. Why am I not surprised?
Like many places in this area, Peterhof saw two pitched battles in WWII – when the Germans arrived in 1941 and when they were driven out in 1944 so it was mined and bombed to within a facade of its life. But it’s back to what it was like and is a reminder of the disgusting waste of money that went on back then but attracts gaping mouthed tourists now.
We also went to St Isaac’s Cathedral which was used to store valuable stuff during the war on account of its 2m-5m thick granite and marble walls. Another church filled with gold, artistic masterpieces and icons. Ho hum.
Interesting parallel between Russia and Vietnam. The locals were the heroic defenders of all that is good and the Germans and Americans respectively were the worst kind of bastards. We heard snippets of the Red Army’s behaviour in Gdansk and Ronne so as they say, the winners get to write the history although I’m pretty sure the Yanks still think they won in Vietnam.
We had the obligatory all singing all dancing White Night on Sunday evening. The gay boys were in their absolute element putting to shame everyone including two professional dancers, on board to do their enthusiastic ballroom dancing routine – the bloke was throwing the girl around like a marching band leader’s baton when we saw them. Incidentally we saw them perform at an exclusive (half the boat was there) function for repeat cruisers who are in the cruise company’s club. We’ve done three so went along. They also give out awards to the top cruisers on the boat. A UK couple are up to 38. I doubt we’ll live long enough to do that or have the money.
We left Saint Petersburg at 7.00 pm last night so had plenty of daylight to check out the “newer” parts of the city. These included the massive port infrastructure that stretches for miles along the river and into the bay as you head out to sea. There were dozens and dozens, possibly hundreds of cranes at container terminals, a scrap iron wharf, wharves where there were acres and acres of what looked like cement bags, thousands of aluminium ingots and dry docks and floating dry docks galore plus a naval shipyard. Not one crane was operating, there were no people to be seen and there was no vehicle movement anywhere. It was positively eerie – almost as if the whole place shut down when the communists left. Big ports operate 24/7 all year round and especially when the temperature is 22 degrees in a port that ices up in winter.

I was reminded of the Peter Sellers movie, The Mouse That Roared where this tiny imaginary European country decides to invade America and lose so the Yanks will rebuild their country. They just happened to arrive in New York during a nuclear war exercise so everyone was in bomb shelters. They had to go home to report that unfortunately they had won. If the Germans took on Leningrad (the original sign at the port entrance is still there) again, disguised as tourists on cruise ships they’d win hands down. They would however have a fight on their hands with the Chinese who are everywhere and not just in Russia. They take photos of everything in minute detail so don’t be surprised if a few imitation Peterhofs or Hermitage palace museums spring up in Guangzhou.
Being in Finland I feel somewhat compelled to have a Pure Blonde beer but less compelled to have a pickled herring burger or reindeer hot dog. I’m sorry but the only reindeer I know all have names and are absolutely vital to the success of Christmas so eating them just wouldn’t feel right.

I’m reminded of the Finnish national anthem which goes something like this:
Finland, Finland, Finland,
The country where I just want to be,
Pony trekking or riding,
Or just watching TV.
It was written by either that famous Finnish composer Sibelius or by Monty Python. I can’t recall which.

Speaking of notable Finnish, Paavo Nurmi is a local hero who had many notable finishes at the 52 Olympics which were held here. He was a distance runner. There is a statue of him outside the Olympic stadium and he’s nude. I thought that was Ancient Greece not 20th century Europe.
But what a wonderful place (like most places we’ve been to this trip). The sun’s shining, there’s no wind, hardly a cloud in the sky and it’s 22 degrees. I could live here until +22 becomes -22 and the sea freezes. Then I’d shift to my summer palace in Redcliffe.

One more wonderful place to visit – Stockholm. We know it’s wonderful because we’ve been there. Consequently tomorrow we are undertaking a more unusual tourist caper. It’s a rooftop walking tour which goes to some pretty scary places apparently. So this could be the last post.

We arrived in the land of the cabbage cocktail and had all day (first of three) in Saint Petersburg. What an incredible place. Concrete blocks of flats with crumbling facades interspersed with magnificent palaces (also some with crumbling facades with literally piles of shattered masonry on the footpath), incredible museums and gold onion topped cathedrals. Re the crumbling facades, this place was under siege by the Germans in WWII for over 2 years so there’s a massive amount of restoration work still being done and they’ve done a brilliant job so far. Also there’re more statues than you can poke a stick at. It’s a bit like Paris in a lot of respects with Russian service staff about as humourless as your average French waiter. Three days here so another dose of culture tomorrow (today) then again on Monday.

Had our first Russian meal at lunchtime which started with a tot of ice cold vodka (very civilised), a bit of salmon caviar (so it was imitation caviar in fact) and a glass of anti-freeze champagne. The floor show was quite something. The establishment was a theatre restaurant so we had two musicians, one playing a triangular 3 string guitar type thing and the other playing a piano accordion without the piano bit. It had buttons on both ends. The guitarist could have got a gig with any thrash metal outfit. His hand speed had to be seen to be believed. Slash reckons he can play fast (he said it in his autobiography). He’d be pushed to keep up with this bloke. I was seriously impressed.

As the Japanese eat sashimi, the Koreans eat kimchi and the Indians eat curry, so apparently the Russians eat beetroot soup or borsch as it’s called and we were duly served it. We then had beef stroganoff naturally (chicken stroganoff on day two). Apparently stroganoff was invented by Count Stroganoff’s chef on account of the boss running out of teeth and not being able to handle steak.
We visited two palaces on day one and also a fort in which there is a cathedral where all the Tzars are buried including what they could retrieve from various mine shafts of the last lot, the Romanovs (the computer just changed that to “aroma nobs” for some reason). Visited yet another palace on day two being the one where Rasputin was murdered plus a spectacular church (The Church on the Spilled Blood) built by Alexander II’s son on the exact spot where the old man was blown up by anarchists and bled to death. We also did a boat cruise which is always a good way to see somewhere especially somewhere with over 300km of waterways.
The opulence and frankly, sickening extravagance of the nobility in the 18th and 19th centuries (the child bride, she who will never go camping, thought it perfectly acceptable) gives you some idea why the peasantry eventually got the hump in 1917. Ultimately it was just one mob of nobility being replaced by another set of self proclaimed nobility, the difference being that the second lot didn’t have the fashion sense of the first although I understand Raisa Gorbachev made Mikhail’s Kremlin issue credit card smoke whenever they got anywhere where the shops stocked more than turnips.
We saw a statue of Voltaire in the Hermitage Museum – Catherine the Great’s winter palace in Saint Petersburg and now a museum that rivals the Louvre. Catherine bought all of Voltaire’s books, letters and other writings when he died. It’s kind of ironic that his complete works are here and he’s the bloke who said “I may not like what you say but will defend to the death your right to say it” (or something similar). Hardly the motto of the communists (or the erstwhile nobility) and not something Vlad subscribes to either I’ll wager. That reminds me of another Estonian Russian joke. Apparently speech was as free in the Soviet Union as it was in the USA. In the USA you could stand in front of the White House and shout “Down with Reagan”. Similarly you could stand in front of the Kremlin and shout “Down with Reagan” as well.

Speaking of Vlad, he figures prominently on souvenir shop t-shirts, in a very positive way as action-man in various poses. Maybe it’s the locals taking the piss but I don’t think so unless the country that gave us the gulag is more nuanced than we think. I’m only aware of one t-shirt “celebrating” an Aus PM. It says “F….k Tony Abbott” and was produced by a journalist for The Age newspaper in Melbourne. Incidentally, The Age is known locally as Pravda on the Yarra so it stands to reason doesn’t it.

We saw quite a few wedding parties on the first two days. There are so many great places for photos so the bridal parties were out in force. I have to say, as a confirmed male chauvinist pig (do femonazis still say that?), Russian girls are extremely attractive (think female Russian tennis players) whereas the blokes all seem to be pasty faced petrol pump attendants. Talk about punching above their weight. All of them.
Question – why do Americans abroad think we are even remotely interested in what they have to say? We are in the bar part of the restaurant at the back of the ship and are surrounded by shouting Yanks. STFU readily springs to mind. It is possible to converse and laugh without taking everyone in the post code into your confidence. The CB thinks I’m getting grumpy in my old age. I’m not. My tolerance for stupidity is just reducing. The people on the next table must be on party drugs.

 

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.

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.