Maria and Fletch abroad

Festive wanderings

2009-01-09T23:12:00.008Z

Nordic warriors, frantic festivities and a few peaceful days by the seaside fighting off polar bears. Its fair to say that the last few weeks have seen it all.

Maria and I spent our sixth Christmas as our first Christmas apart. Maria spent the day with Elaine, Andrew and Munch the one year old destroyer of presents, whilst I discovered that my idea of 'Festive chicken with all the trimmings' and Middle East airline Etihad's idea 'Festive chicken with all the trimmings' diverged significantly. Nonetheless, they gave me a small chocolate to mark the occasion. I was moderately whelmed by their generosity.

I have finally discovered what it takes for me to fall asleep on an plane. Needless to say, being Christmas, I enjoyed a few festive glasses of wine on the flight to Abu Dhabi. This halfway point was where I ran out of steam previously, but I discovered a magical place called the 'Ghazal Lounge'. For 100 thingies (about £18) I got 5 hours worth of buffet food, open bar and a shower and wifi. After skyping Maria to have our prearranged Christmas chat, I was in the mood to get my 100 thingies worth, and the lovely girl behind the bar just kept filling my glass with whiskey as I chatted with an interesting Swedish sheet metal worker. I am usually quite nervy going through security in airports, but by the time I left the lounge I was relaxed almost to the point of being horizontal. Luckily the security guys in Middle-Eastern airports are a bit more laid back than their British counterparts. I actually fell asleep while the plane was taxiing, slept right through take off, and only awoke when the hostess asked me what breakfast I wanted. Since the plane was practically empty, I then settled down across a row of 4 seats and had some more kip. After a couple of hours I woke again, this time with a hangover. Hangovers and turbulence don't play well together, however I managed to nab a 1.5L bottle of water and used it down half a packet of ibuprofen. The breakfast of champions!

Maria drove down to Heathrow to pick me up, and rather than going home, we drove to Broadstairs in Kent to visit Tad. I'm a big fan of ring roads. I can't imagine what it must have been like around London before the M25 was built. What I am not a fan of is the increasing tendency around here to build enormous factory outlets at the junctions of the motorways. The result of this tendency is that if you try to drive from one side of London to the other on boxing day, what you actually spend your time doing is parking. Then moving a few yards and parking again. We ended up getting to Tad's place and enjoyed a brief evening of tasty conversation and erudite supper. Brief, because I couldn't keep my eyes open after about 7pm, despite my 3 hours sleep in the last 30. Of course by 2am I was wide awake, but enough whining from me.

We did drive back to Hull the next day for a teary reunion with Domino. After I removed his claws from my lap the tears dried up and we were friends again. After only two sleeps we were off again.

The 29th saw us on our way north for Hogmanay. We joined Annabel (who is marrying Maria's brother, Shaun, in August and is a resident of Edinburgh) and her neighbors Roy and Geoff on the Mound to watch the torchlight procession. This was the official opening of the Hogmanay, and is definitely worth a look next time you find yourself in Edinburgh on the 29th of December. Plenty of people in the crowd had torches (of the pitchforks and witch burning variety) and in advance of the procession, someone came along to help everyone light their torches. Leading the procession was a troop of pseudo-vikings from Shetland and Orkney, complete with swords and shields and flaming wooden torches, resplendent in their armor. They raised a great racket and and were a fearsome sight indeed. Trailing the vikings were pipers and drummers providing a fitting soundtrack. We joined the procession with the rest of the torch wielding crowd and followed it down the mound. A quick right turn onto Prince's Street and it wasn't long before the procession bottlenecked at the bottom of Carlton Hill. After quite a bit of shuffling and friendly use of elbows, we made our way to the top of Carlton Hill, where we waited for a while for everyone else to make it up the hill. It was properly cold waiting up on the hill, but I'm guessing that many of you aren't surprised that standing on the highest point in Edinburgh in late December is a wee bit chilly.

Set up on the hill was a bonfire consisting of a lion rampant at the top of a wicker tower. The vikings did what vikings do, and it wasn't long before the whole thing was ablaze. I can say without any reservation that it was the best ceremonial burning of a heraldic device by a troop of pseudo-vikings I've ever seen. Once the lion had been sufficiently cleansed by fire, we were treated to a marvelous display of fireworks. Its a shame that the breeze blew the smoke directly into the crowd, but it was spectacular nonetheless.

After we climbed down the hill we dropped in on Paula's clan (a close friend from Australia), all of whom had descended on Edinburgh for Christmas and New Year. After a quick beer and a chat, we retired to Annabel's for dinner and discussed the temperature: -4C. A bit chilly indeed.

The next day we met up with Paula and her squeeze Geoff et. al. at a cafe we know in Edinburgh that does flat white coffees. Having caffeinated sufficiently, we moved on to Mary King's Close, to try and get tickets for a tour of this historic street, sealed off when the council chambers were built. The tours were all sold out that day, so tickets were organized for New Year's Day instead and we headed to what must be my new favorite shop in the world. The shop front was about 10 foot wide and in the window was not very much of what was an entire pig. The shop was called 'oink' and all you could buy was a roast pork roll. And how good was it? It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it was the best dedicated roast swine emporium I visited all year!

We washed down our pork with a few cleansing ales from the pub across the road, an excellent establishment with a number of guest ales on tap. Maria and I departed for dinner with Annabel and Paula's gang moved back to the flat white cafe for dinner. We joined them for desert and had a few glasses of wine to cleanse our pallets. To be honest, I ended up cleansed enough to require help with the stairs.

On New Years Eve, I went in search of a suitably tartan waistcoat to wear, but discovered that these aren't items which can be bought off the rack. I was told that having selected the correct tartan (of the many hundreds of registered tartans) it would be made for me. Not really an option, so I selected a suitable bow tie. Maria and I cut dashing figures of sartorial elegance, even I do say so myself.

Annabel put on a wonderful risotto dinner for us and a few of her friends, and then we had a cocktail reception where Roy and Geoff and all of Paula's mob turned up for a drink and some nibbles before we headed off to the Hoog. A squadron of taxis duly arrived and we barreled off to the assembly rooms.

The Hoog was a big party including a Ceilidh. A Ceilidh is scottish country dancing where all of the moves are called out and includes reels and so forth and quite a lot of bumping into each other. I tended to find that I worked out exactly how the dance went just as it finished, but no matter. It was all a great deal of fun, and we danced and recovered and danced some more, pretty much continually for about 5 hours. The only major break was for us all to rush out and watch the fireworks at midnight. The fireworks from the castle were duly spectacular. I must admit that I was expecting some spontaneous outbreaks of Auld Lang Syne (it being Rabbie Burns and all) but perhaps a street party was not the place for that.

On New Year's Day we emerged fairly late for brunch with Annabel and Co. before joining Paula's clan for a tour of Mary King's Close. The Close is much the same as it was in the 17th century and the displays do a fine job of evoking a sense of how difficult life must have been for many of the inhabitants of Edinburgh in years gone by.

We had a farewell dinner with Paula's mob, as her parents and grandmother were off to Egypt the next day, and the rest of the clan spreading to all parts of the world. Paula's parents had bought 'prizes' for all of the people of the tour and gave them out during the dinner. Having seen the dinner suit I wore to the Hoog, they decided that it could have been improved with the addition of a pair of Royal Stuart tartan trousers, which I duly wore for the remainder of the evening. Maria received a quite tasteful present of a decorative plate. Why does she get the tasteful presents? Actually on second thoughts, don't answer that one...

Paula's parents were terribly generous to us during our stay in Edinburgh and we are more grateful than we can reasonably express in a blog.

TBC

The game they play in heaven...

2008-11-30T18:48:00.004Z

There are times when I wish I was back in Oz. Not that I would complain (that would mean I was going native). But the opportunity to see the Wallabies play Wales at the Millennium stadium is one of those affirming times that make me glad I made the trek.

Maria happened to be spending the week at a course in Bradford upon Avon, which isn't terribly far from Bristol. We had thought about going to see the game between the Wallabies and Les Bleus in Paris, but we couldn't get Maria back to Bradford upon Avon in time. Thus we decided upon Cardiff and the clash between our men in gold, and the reining 6 Nations gland slam champions in Red.

I made the ultimate sacrifice, taking the day off work on Friday to catch the train from Hull to Bristol via Leeds. I looked the true Yorkshire-man, with my packed lunch and my thermos. Truth be known, my culinary preparedness had less to do with the tightness of my jeans (I just can't seem to get my wallet out) and more to do with the quality of the food and coffee on British trains. It was nevertheless a long 5 1/2 hour journey, made even longer by the group of 2 dozen 6th formers (year 11 and 12) which (and I mean which, not whom) got on at Manchester.

I can't really relate the relative merits of the Midlands scenery, as the whole of the country was blanketed in a thick fog which didn't abate throughout the day. I was happy to arrive at Bristol Parkway and happy also to be guided by Maria's suggestion of a movie and dinner. Maria had no voice, having been visited by the dreaded lurgy, and rather than enjoy my cultivated wit (or at least the half I had chosen to bring with me) she felt she would rather immerse herself in the gritty realism of a Ridley Scott film. Maria enjoyed the film and I enjoyed a hot dog. Enough said.

After the film we trundled into a British version of an American version of an Italian restaurant. The fact that the vegetarian half of our pizza was better than the meat feast half (no reaction from the staff) sums up what a strange experience that was. The bruschetta was good though.

We stayed at a services hotel that night and the next morning headed into Cardiff early. We had to pick our tickets up from the ground between 9 and 12, and the game didn't start until 2:30. We parked at a park and ride (with the attendants attempting to direct us back out of the car park), and hopped on a bus into the centre of Cardiff. Unlike most rugby grounds, Millennium Stadium is pretty much right in the centre of Cardiff. Once you have been to a game there this starts to make sense. Rugby is really at the centre of what it is to be Welsh. Where other cities may have parliament buildings or great financial houses at their heart, Welshman know what is really important in life, and they have stuck rugby right near the middle of their capital city. I like that.

It was really very cold in Cardiff, so we decided to stock up on some merchandise. We had no decent head wear, and Maria's scarf looked awfully flimsy, and we suspected that people might be in two minds as to who we were supporting, so we decided to get an Aussie flag as well. I think the effect was sufficiently supportive, and yet subtle.

We still had some time to wait for the game, and we hadn't had any breakfast yet, so we headed into a typical Welsh free house called the "Walkabout". I have never seen so many blonde Australian girls in such short skirts serving so much lager. It was one of those cold shower moments. You guys know what I'm talking about.

After a pint and some food we pottered around Cardiff for a while (yes alright, Maria took me into a department store so she could try on a dress. I'm not proud). We bought some hot pastry product, as is traditional on a day of rugby, I managed to find a mobile Guiness bar (the Welsh really know how to put on a party) and then we headed in to find our seats. I went and grabbed a couple of pints of brains to get me through the game. The Welsh team are actually sponsored by a beer company called Brains. The bitter is quite drinkable, although it was so cold in the stadium that my second pint was almost undrinkably cold by the time I got to it. Maybe I am going native...

Some rugby innovations are good. Like mobile Guiness bars. Sometimes it is tradition that makes rugby what it is, and Wales has tradition in spades as well. For instance, the first Welshman to leave the tunnel before the game is... a goat! With the Goat Major of course. The goat (Taffy) is mascot of the Royal Regiment of Wales. The Goat Major is a corporal. No, I don't really understand either. You can't fault the Welsh sense of the theatrical though.

Bit different from the ol' Ballymore, no?

The anthems before the game were great. We gave Advance Australia Fair our mightiest voice, but it was overwhelmed by the other 74,000 people at the ground subsequently singing Land of My Fathers. That is a sound I shall never forget.

The game was very intense, with the Australian captain knocked silly after only 2 minutes and having to leave the field. I think that some refereeing decisions could have been better, and losing Mortlock at the start didn't help, but overall the game was there to be won by the Wallabies and they kept kicking possession away.

I guess that the two most memorable reactions from the game were these: Firstly, when the Australian flyhalf kicked a field goal. and there was a shocked silence from the Aussie crowd. Then one guy about 3 rows behind us yelled 'what are you doing! We're Australians! We don't kick field goals! We're not bloody English you know! Who do you think your are, Johnny bloody Wilkinson!'. Australians have to be the only spectators in the world to disapprove of scoring points if its not done with the ball in hand.

The other reaction was after the game, as I was having a chat with a Welshman over a warm urinal. He consoled me with the wisdom that 'as long as its a good game of rugby, it doesn't matter who the winner is at the end. Unless you are playing the English of course. That's a different matter.' So we do have something in common with the Welsh after all. And it was a good game at that.

I can't describe the emotional ebb and flow of a game of international rugby shared with 75,000 of the most ardent rugby fans in the world. You'll just have to try it for yourself. Careful though - it could be addictive. We are already planning how to see rugby at Murrayfield, Twickenham, Lansdowne Road (when it reopens in 2010) and the Stade de France.

Winter has come to Hull

2008-11-23T12:29:00.003Z

We don't get much weather to speak of in Hull really, but we woke to some this morning...

Typically, it was on the day Maria had to drive half way across the country that the met office decided to send us some fluffy white stuff.

Scottish Sojourn - 17th to 19th October

2008-10-20T20:17:00.003Z

Autumn is probably the loveliest time to be in northern Britain. And the loveliest part of northern Britain in autumn could quite possibly be the Speyside region in Scotland. Over the weekend we had the good fortune to judge for ourselves.

Unfortunately I remembered to leave the camera at home, so you will have to make do with my largely inadequate descriptions to conjure up an image of the charm and tranquility of this part of the world.

I made an early dash from work on Friday and, after pausing briefly at home to arrange matters to Domino's liking and picking up some supplies from the fridge, I picked Maria up with a full hour and a half to get to the train station at York. What could possibly go wrong? Suffice it to say that we made the platform, disheveled and cranky, with at least 30 seconds to spare.

I won't go into the details of the train pricing in the UK. Frankly, you probably wouldn't believe it if I told you. But we found that for our journey from York to Edinburgh on this occasion it was actually cheaper to book first class. I didn't need much encouragement to do so, and we travelled to Edinburgh in style, passing the two and a quarter hours sipping our complimentary tea and coffee (mine was particularly nice about my hair), and munching our way through the supplies I had judiciously snarffled from the fridge earlier.

We arrived in Edinburgh in high spirits and met up with Shaun outside Haymarket station. The next part of the journey was not quite as luxurious. Imagine for a moment what it would be like to be stuffed into a two door VW Polo with three other sturdily built people and luggage for four for a weekend away. By strange coincidence, that's exactly what it was like for the drive from Edinburgh to Annabel's parent's house in Kinross, north of Edinburgh. Fortunately this was a mere 30 mile drive including a view of the Forth rail bridge from the road bridge.

In Kinross we were assailed by three dogs and Annabel, all of whom piled into Annabel's mother's estate with Annabel's friend Lindsay, while Shaun, Maria and I retreated to Annabel's car for the 100 mile journey to Tontearie. This journey, interrupted only briefly for a stop at a chippy, passed in what was classed as "fair conditions" (this being Scotland, "fair" meant driving rain with occasional deer hazards). However it was dry and brisk when we arrived late in the evening.

We settled in to our weekend retreat with drink and a good sit down in front of the wood burning stove. It occurs to me that the rise of television and the general deployment of central heating may have had a causal relationship. When wood burning fires became less common, I imagine that people found they needed something to occupy their vision on winter evenings. Regardless, it never ceases to amaze me how alluring is the presence of a wood fire, a treat for all the senses. Except for taste obviously. But then taste and smell are supposed to be approximately the same thing aren't they? I seem to have digressed...

We awoke, first thing the following afternoon, to our first real view of the countryside in which we found ourselves. The house in which we stayed was once a farmer's cottage and is nestled within a working cattle farm within the Speyside region, south of Inverness. The narrow, winding roads thereabouts take you through forests of gentle aspect and are furnished with road signs reminding you that its likely that you will be killed hitting one of the deer which roam in seeming abundance. The various shades of green, gold, red and brown foliage, whipped up by the bracing winds, swirl around, making you feel like you are in an advertisement for an expensive German car. And when you stop to look over the loch nearby, you have to look around to make sure you don't end up in anyone's post card photograph, so tranquil and perfect is the cold, clear lake under the cold clear sky. The cottage has recently been extended with a conservatory, offering uninterrupted views of the green pastures and beyond to the forested hills, seemingly clad in gold and mountains, grey and rocky above the winter snow line.

Into this impossibly blessed landscape we were propelled by the motive force of three excitable canines. Over the fertile hills and through the fields we tramped, making our own path and finding creative ways of overcoming barbed wire. The right to roam is one of Britain's more charming affectations, and it gives you a real sense that farmers are really just caretakers, looking after the landscape and passing it on to the next generation. Well it gives me that sense. I don't think I'll go looking for scottish cattle farmers to try out my idea.

The only other adventure to be had that fine Saturday was a trip into the nearby town. Whilst the womenfolk browsed the offerings at the deli and butchers, Shaun and I browsed the camping/adventure shops. It makes one feel very hardy and adventuresome looking through their range of thermals and waterproofs and boots and such. Trying out the walking poles made me feel particularly active. And having got that out of our systems, and with the womenfolk laden down with cheeses and various other food stuffs, we returned to the cottage for some serious indulgence.

Conservative MP Michael Gove wrote in the Times over the weekend that "the three things you can't economise on are wine, chocolate and socks". He was nearly right. I think I have economized enough on socks over the years that there must be a secret fortune owed to me somewhere around the place. And frankly I can take or leave chocolate (he says over the howls of dissent from the sweeter smelling slightly more than half of the population). He was dead on about wine of course. But how could he have so flagrantly forgotten cheese! To refer to your average supermarket cheddar as cheese in the same breath as a fine, matured or smoked Wendsleydale or a caramelized onion cheddar from Arran, is to seriously mislead and may lead to unexpected haughtiness in your vicinity (at least from this quarter).

So we tucked into some lovely grub that evening, including some wonderful cheese, some delightful venison (not the result of careless driving I might add) all washed down with a couple of perfectly serviceable bottles of big 14 reds. Many of you have probably heard me say that I simply cannot fall asleep sitting up unless I am driving. Well, a few good glasses of red after a bracing walk, a nice meal and a log fire complete with a warm dog on my feet seems to provide the stimulus. I'm not sure how I could arrange that for my long haul flights, although as the only carrier who probably wouldn't notice me setting fire to the seat in front of me, QANTAS could be an option at the moment.

The following day was filled with the sweet sorrow of our parting, first from the cottage, and then from Shaun, Annabel and Lindsay. As we boarded our train from Edinburgh back to York (via Carlisle of all places due to engineering works) we felt so refreshed from our weekend that we decided to buy the weekend, first class upgrade and go home in the style in which we would like to become accustomed.

As a side note, I would like to add that, to my surprise, the service in first class was, if anything, even more surly than in cattle class. I will never understand why British people can't be nice when they sell you a sandwich. Oh well.

If you have managed to make it to the end of my rambling account, well done - 10 out of 10 and a koala stamp, as Philip Adams would say. Until I have something interesting to write about, take care.

6 months later... - 10 October 2008

2008-10-10T20:45:00.005Z

Many things have happened in the past 6 months. The writing of the blog has not been one of them. We shall redress this imbalance henceforth...

Since so much time has passed since our last exciting installment, we shall update you with a monthly summary.

May included Maria's Herculean (or should that be Marathonian?) effort, completing the Beverley 10k in a personal best time! I even put my pint of Guinness down for long enough to cheer her over the line...

Also in May, we travelled to Catterick Barracks to enjoy Shaun and Annabel's company at the May ball for Shaun's regiment. The food, drink and merriment were all fine and abundant, and we shall enjoy recalling the occasion over tall drams long after my teeth have found better living arrangements.

Also in May (a busy month, surpassed only by some of those which follow) we went to London to help Cath, our neighbor and friend, celebrate the coming of her 4th decade. Half of Cath's family are dutch, so we found ourselves in a dutch pub in the West End until we were ejected and did the only decent thing; falling into a Chinese restaurant. A great night was had by all those who can't remember any different.

June included our first ever camping trip together. It involved a tent and everything! I even have a photo to prove it! We camped in Ripon near Fountains Abbey.

For my birthday, a group of malcontents including the aforementioned Cath, my professor Chris, my (now ex) neighbor from downstairs and [also ex] colleague, Antonio, Maria and I went for a ripping hot vindaloo at Ray's place at the end of the street. I only have half a tongue left, buth ith wath worth ith.

Toward the end of June we decamped to Frankfurt for the nuptials of our friends Gitte and Stefan. The polterabend very nearly killed us. I never want to see another shot of jagermeister again. After a touching ceremony (of which I didn't understand a word) we enjoyed a wonderful evening of revelry including speeches which were usefully translated from German by Gitte's mother, Kirsten. Unfortunately they were translated into Danish, so I have no idea what was said in the speeches either. A great time was had by all.

July saw the social event of the season with Maria's 400 and 20 12th birthday, celebrated with a murder mystery party held under a marquee in our back yard. Shaun and Annabel came down, and the theme of the evening, 'Death by Chocolate' was very popular amongst the members of the fairer sex.

July also saw us meandering across the country to Manchester one fine Friday evening to see the singing budgie strutting her stuff on stage. Yes, we went to a Kylie concert, and she didn't disappoint. What did surprise me was how many members of the crowd weren't gay men. Course this was Manchester I guess...

Toward the end of July we were joined by another intrepid traveller in the form of Cam, fresh from the States and just primed for some action, Hull style.

In August we drove up to Edinburgh for Shaun's moving to Germany party, which ended up being an impromptu engagement party. Shaun had proposed to Annabel in an impossibly romantic way whilst in the Maldives, so there was much to celebrate, and a good crowd in the mood for celebrating.

The end of August also meant the end of Maria's period of employ at the North East Lincolnshire council.

September gave us the opportunity for some well earned rest, so Maria cycled from Whitby to Scarborough( though some diabolical weather), then caught the train to Thirsk, where I picked her up and we traveled to the Lakes district. We had organized to stay in some quite rustic accommodation in the Lakes, known as 'camping barns'. We discovered that the level of luxury offered in these barns started at walls and a roof. At the other end of the scale, a working kitchen and proper wood stove were included, which felt like heaven after a few days on the bike. We climbed some spectacular passes and experienced the countryside in a way which you just can't do in a car. And I never want to do it again. No sport that leaves you with such a smarting behind can be in any way healthy in my books.

After we got back from the Lakes, I dropped one itinerant off and collected another one, leaving Cam to find his way to the continent, and finding a Dave in need of a lift to the Beaulieu Auto jumble.

With Maria busy in the first week of her new job, I spent a happy week with Dave, showing him the delights of the Yorkshire Moors and Dales and indulging in not a few pints of Yorkshire's finest ales. Truly, Yorkshire is God's own country, and anyway who says otherwise is a soft southerner! Seen from the opulent luxury of a mini, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. We ended our visit from Dave with a day at the Goodwood Revival, ogling some lovely cars and WW2 planes and having a generally fine time under the unseasonably warm September sun. But before getting to Goodwood, we paused for a day in Oxford to catch up with a visiting professor and gentlemen, and Maria's former supervisor, John. Oxford struck me as an unsettling place, pretty in parts, but not satisfying in the way that Cambridge was. Can't quite put my finger on why...

After dropping Dave off with some friends in Sussex we returned to Hull and the relative routine that should see us through to Christmas. The end of September occasioned the first birthday party of Sarah (aka Munch), the offspring of our friends Elaine and Andrew so we dutifully presented ourselves in Driffield and endured a splendid lunch of finger foods and lager.

October has also been a busy month so far. I have just started my PhD (only 5 years to go!). The weather turned quite cold and then got a bit warmer again, but its definitely getting darker. We're getting up in the dark at the moment at 6:30 and with daylight saving ending in a few weeks, we will start finishing work in the dark too.

The Hull fair has opened, and I believe that we are going along next week with Cath to sample its many and varied delights. Next weekend sees us venturing once more to Scotland for a break with Shaun and Annabel, and we are very much looking forward to that (though I can hear my liver weeping pitifully as I type).

So that's it from me. As much as I can squeeze 6 months (just about) into a few short paragraphs, that is your lot. But with a PhD thesis to write, I'm sure you shall be hearing from me more often, as nothing breeds procrastination like a hundred thousand words of self indulgent drivel!

That's the end of this somewhat disappointing bottle of South African shiraz, so till next time, take care, and complaints about my grammar can be kept to yourself.

Fun in Farndale - 26th April 2008

2008-04-27T16:56:00.005Z

The daffodils are out, and the best place in the UK to see them is Farndale in the North Yorkshire Moors. So off we went for a bit of horticultural ogling.

Each year thousands of people from all over the UK trek to the tiny little village of Low Mill for a glimpse of natural splendor which lasts no more than six weeks. The roads you drive down to approach Farndale are of the single lane, rock walls and hedges on either side variety, making the journey quite slow, but very picturesque. The other main impediment to rapid travel is the great profusion of pheasants currently out and about in the moors. We chased one down the road beeping our horn, as he simply wouldn't leave the bitumen! One of the park rangers told us that, as they are deliberately bred and released for the season, not all of them end up working out how the fly. The male ones are actually quite pretty and colourful, whilst the females are a dull brown.

The daffodils themselves didn't disappoint. Despite being the end of the season, with evidence of a certain amount of wilting, we got an unusually warm (20C) and sunny day which more than made up for it.

Of course, spring doesn't just mean flowers. The lambs were out frolicking and doing their best to look preposterously cute. I took the opportunity to shoot a few of them.

With my camera of course!

We took the 'scenic route' home, passing through many tiny farming villages. This is real James Herriot country and without a doubt the best part of England we have visited. We are looking forward to spending much more of our time in this area, which is not much more than an hour's drive from Hull.

Mini Maladies - 22nd April 2008

2008-04-22T18:28:00.003Z

Those who have ever owned a BMC orphaned car, know that they can make life a little interesting sometimes. I had such a typical experience this afternoon...

I decided to take a trip up to Malton this afternoon to pick up the cricket team's new kit (the old kit having been destroyed in the floods last summer). Malton is about a 30 mile drive north of Hull. The road to Malton is one of those North Yorkshire 'B' roads - the sort that Jeremy Clarkson tends to use when he needs to test drive the latest Aston Martin. So to be perfectly honest, my right boot was stuck firmly to the floor all the way there and half of the way back.

About half way back I noticed that the mini was cutting out at high revs and full throttle. I thought to myself, 'well it is probably time I had a look at the plugs and replaced the leads.' The problem got worse however, until I had no power at all and had to pull over to the side of the road. I had a good fiddle with the various leads and connectors under the bonnet, and when I tried again, the car started and was revving normally. 'Job's a gooden, time to offsky then' I thought.

Then I realized that the carpet was on fire. Apparently the floor had become rather warm. So I whipped the seats and various bits of carpet out of the car, stomped on the smoking bits, and waited for the car to cool down before continuing my journey. I must admit that this wasn't a problem I was ever likely to encounter in the mini at home, as it never had carpet in it in the five years I drove it. I can only deduce one of two things; either european safety regulations state that a car must detect if a driver is enjoying a casual interpretation of speed limits and must proceed to set itself on fire in order to protect the driver, or the numpty that restored the car last forgot about the heat shield. Still, all in a days work for a mini driver!

Cardiff - 12th & 13th April 2008

2008-04-13T17:09:00.005Z

We heard from Shaun that he and Annabel would be in Cardiff for the weekend, so we thought we would go down and see them and Tad who is currently studying in Cardiff.

So in the wee hours of Saturday morning (about 8:30am) we headed off on the series of motorways linking Hull and Cardiff, a journey of about 250 miles. We stopped about half way, at a set of motorway services on the M42 just south of Birmingham, and noticed an awful lot cars were parked in the car park. A lot of British cars in fact. It turns out that it was exactly 1 year to the day that the Longbridge factory shut down, and so a ‘Pride of Longbridge’ day was being held. A whole platoon of Rovers, Austins, MGs and other BMC orphans had gathered in the car park and were then driving to Longbridge in commemoration of the history of the plant and the cars built there. If only we had taken our mini, we may never have made it to Cardiff.

We booked a night in the same hotel in which Shaun and Annabel were staying, so we met up with them at the hotel and went to the new developments around Cardiff Bay for some lunch. Cardiff Bay houses the Millennium Centre, a performing arts centre with quite striking architecture.

After lunch we headed into town to meet up with Tad. Cardiff is quite compact and with a population of around 300,000, not much bigger than Hull. The five of us had a lovely stroll around the Millenium Stadium, the Castle and Bute Park before retiring to the hotel to freshen up and make arrangements for dinner.

It was obviously a busy night in Cardiff as no restaurants could fit a reservation for five in until nine o’clock, so we ended up meeting up in the bar at the hotel, which was quite nice, for a pub meal and a few drinks. It turns out that we must have been quite thirsty, as we eventually poured Tad into a cab at 3am before the long journey back to our beds. Thank goodness the hotel had an elevator! That one flight of stairs was probably insurmountable.

After a quick kip and a nice greasy breakfast we were back on the road.

Steamy Pickering - 6th April 2008

2008-04-13T16:46:00.004Z

Due to our being inundated with a request to continue blogging our activities over here in England, Maria and Fletch Abroad is back and the same as ever! As a result we have decided to organise interesting weekend activities to provide fodder for the blog. It’s a real trial I can assure you, but we do it for our adoring public.

For our first weekend after returning from our Easter holidays, we decided to check out the Spring Steam Festival. There is a railway line operated by a bunch of enthusiasts called the North Yorkshire Moors Railway. This particular weekend they had some visiting steam engines running on the line as well as their own stock. We grabbed Antonio, a colleague of Fletch’s who happens to live in the flat below us, filled up a thermos and drove from Hull up to Pickering, a journey of just over an hour.

Pickering station was extremely crowded and we had some difficulty getting a seat on the 2 pm train, as much of the train was given over to dining carriages for Sunday lunch. Drawn by Bittern, a Gresley A4 class locomotive which once pulled the King’s Cross to Newcastle leg of The Flying Scotsman, the train’s 18 mile journey to Grosmont was extraordinarily picturesque despite the weather which by this time had turned decidedly soggy.

Grosmont houses the maintenance sheds for many of the NYMR’s locomotives and we spent an hour or so having a goosy gander at the various steam engines before jumping on a train pulled by a similar locomotive called Union of South Africa. By now the weather had turned decidedly wintery, and the journey back to Pickering felt quite like Christmas.

The roads driving back to Hull were quite treacherous and we decided to do something that involved less driving the next weekend.

The rain in Spain fell mainly on... Hull

2007-06-26T19:13:00.000Z

Hi all. Southern Yorkshire has been hit by some severe weather over the past couple of days. This is what 3.8" of rain in 24 hours does to Hull:

The street at the end of our avenue -

Our avenue -

The water only came up to our doorstep - being on the third floor has some advantages after all!

Months of madness!!

2007-06-17T19:24:00.000Z

Yes I know! It has been months. But we were busy ok? We had socks to sort and napkins to fold… Oh yeah, and countries to visit, antipodeans visitors to entertain, new parts of the UK to explore, and a tragic mishap.

Now you are going to read on, aren’t you?

Just before Easter we visited Bologna, an Italian town housing a certain Jacqui, with whom we drank, ate, caroused and acted in a generally Italian way. The highlight of our visit was the University of Bologna, one of the oldest in the world, with a unique space for lectures in anatomy. A close second was an osteria, where we ate traditional Bolognese food with typically Bolognese indifference from the wait staff. If was fab. After three days of Jacqui we headed north to spend two days with our friends the Girolas in Milan. We had a wonderful time catching up with Stefano and Lianne and little Lewis, who has the cheekiest Italian grin of anyone not appearing in a Dolmio advertisement!

We had a quiet Easter, and the following weekend caught up with our friend John Moorhead in Cambridge. A more apt setting for such a meeting could not have been imagined. Cambridge in the spring is a sight to behold, and the Kings College Chapel is a real highlight of any English experience. Seeing John again was marvellous, and we were sad to part but are sure we’ll see him again before long.

The first long weekend in May saw us flog the mini to Newcastle for a visit to Tad’s Aunt Urzula, a very generous hostess. She took us to visit cultural Newcastle including the Biscuit Factory (modern art) and the Millennium Bridge and surrounds. The next day we travelled north to visit the Scottish border and enjoyed the worlds finest (non-pumpkin) scone. We also walked in the footsteps of Saint Aidan on Holy Island (also known as Lindisfarne) which is just of the Northumbrian coast. It is an island cut off from the mainland twice daily by the tide. It was the site of the first Christian monastery in England and as with all male Christian communities, brewed some fabulous alcoholic beverages. Our trip north was completed with a visit to Seahouses, a traditional English seaside town serving fish and chips with mushy peas. We bought some ‘rock’, a hard candy specific to English seaside towns. We have yet to bring ourselves to sample it.

The next two weeks passed with regular tedium, until the week of the Chelsea Flower Show. This extravaganza is so popular as to entice itinerant New Zealanders to visit. Maria joined Nana in London to peruse the horticultural delights that the south has to offer. On Friday Maria took Nana to the Lanesborough Hotel for high tea to celebrate Nana’s eightieth birthday. Nana decided to hock into the champagne instead.

It was a wonderful experience in opulent surroundings. Neither they, nor their waste-lines, will forget the afternoon of indulgence. That night Fletch joined the revellers in Covent Garden. On Saturday morning we bid Nana a sad farewell as she headed off to Jersey. We took the opportunity to visit the Tower of London, the Monument and the foyer of St Paul’s Cathedral. The interior was so packed as to make casual viewing most unpleasant. So we continued on to afternoon tea in Kensington, followed by an enjoyable dinner at the Big Easy in Chelsea with Dominic and Samantha. Fletch has finally found a decent steak in England. His world is a much nicer place. The next day we tried to visit the Natural History Museum, but having been repelled by wholesome family groups, settled on the Victoria and Albert Museum instead. We whiled away some time drinking coffee and reading magazines before our evening train from Kings Cross, which we discovered upon arrival had been cancelled, as had all of the north bound trains from London that day. So we walked to an alternative train station, caught a train, a coach, another train and another train, and a taxi, which finally got us home and to bed. Thankfully Monday was a holiday, allowing us to recover from our arduous journey (I can hear the tiny violins all the way from here).

The past ten days have been most eventful for us. Almost all of Fletch’s studio equipment was delivered, we celebrated Fletch’s birthday with a surprise BBQ attended by the better part of Fletch’s departmental colleagues. Maria out did herself once again and a great time was had by all. The next morning saw a farcical chase as a horribly hung-over Fletch attempted to coax, coerce, cajole and finally force Domino into his cage. He knew what this whole cage thing was about after his last visit to the vet a couple of weeks previously, and he was having none of it. After a projected battle in which Domino killed Fletch’s page boys, Fletch asked his troops ‘once more unto the breech’ and finally Domino was dispatched under Maria’s care to the vets where upon five of his teeth were removed. That ought to teach him. Fletch then called in sick to the departmental secretary Pam, who informed him that none of his colleagues had appeared for work either. Thursday was the exam board in Music, which made Thursday night the Examiners’ Dinner. Fletch was preparing to leave work when tragedy struck!!!!

Maria was stopping innocently at a level crossing. The car behind her attempted to squeeze itself into the mini’s not overly generous boot. It didn’t fit. Neither did the Jeep behind the car. Fortunately Maria was able to get the mini off of the train tracks before being mercilessly crushed by the Cottingham Express. However we wait with terrible anticipation as to the fate of the mini. And so we burn a candle in vigil this long June night (which lasts about six hours this far north of the equator). Maria is suffering in noble silence from a bout of whip-lash, and whilst having been told to suffer bed-rest, is being most recalcitrant. Fletch feels that firm remonstration is required for her own good (although the chances his castigation will render any resultant acquiescence are as slim as the chance that he gives up complete verbosity in favour of concision). The consequence of this bed-rest was that we missed the Trooping of the Colour. There shall be other occasions however.

We hope that wasn’t too long winded, and we promise to write more often in future. But we could be lying.

Spring Update - 25 March 2007

2007-03-25T20:40:00.000Z

Warning – Maria believes this entry to be too self-indulgent.

I realised a few days ago that my life is now almost complete; but a few weeks separate me from ultimate fulfilment. Perhaps I ought to explain:

Some would consider me a complex person. Once upon a time I aspired to such pretence myself. This week I realised that my ambitions are far more easily realised. I considered that fabulous wealth would be quite a handy asset. And yet I have done nothing to promote such an ambition thus far. The fact that I work in higher education, and Maria works in the civil service, means that this ambition won’t be satisfied any time soon. Perhaps my ambitions lay in universal acclaim, my professional and artistic skills at the pinnacle of popular endeavour. Unfortunately my own tastes are quite eclectic these days, and my opinions of the popular music industry such that I can’t really take it seriously, let alone aspire to it. So what would it take to satisfy the itch of dissatisfaction? You met one of the elements in my last update to our blog. Domino is doing well. He has started venturing forth from his tartan bungalow. He devours his biscuits bei nacht, and his new scratching post shows signs of wear, as does his wind up mouse. He really is a gentle soul, and I can’t wait for his intense fear of homo sapiens sapiens to fade.

My new studio is but weeks from completion. The false ceiling has been installed and the acoustic panels are on the walls. Only the internal fittings are yet to be installed and then I can call in the supplier to start delivering the equipment. The console will take about six weeks to build (it is bespoke, don’tchya know), so I’m till going to be a while, but I’m doing a commercial jazz recording over Easter at the Scarborough studios, so at least I can keep my ear in.

The final part of my holy trinity of smug contentedness (sorry mum) is the recent acquisition of a piece of motoring history. Many of you will know that I lust after the wonder that is the two door British sports car. And here she is:

At a monstrous 55 brake-horse power, she scares all but the mightiest of men! (I have already sourced an extractor/exhaust/carburettor needle kit to bring it up to Cooper spec, but you don’t need to tell Maria that just yet).
And so, with a cat, a mini and a recording studio, my life is complete. Anyone that knew me five years ago (when I had Doopee, drove a ‘golden brick’ and ran a studio at as my personal fiefdom) could probably have told you that, but sometimes we need to learn these things for ourselves.

In other, less self-indulgent news, we visited a restaurant with a difference not long ago. It is situated within a tourist attraction and research centre called ‘The Deep’. Billed as the world’s only submariam, it allows a dining experience nestled between tanks of a wide variety of fish, including sharks. I had ‘an halibut’. That one. No not really – you don’t get to pick your dinner. Shame really. But a fabulous night, to help us celebrate (it being valentines and all).

The last little while has included a couple of visits from Shaun. We thoroughly enjoy visits (hint, hint), and we hope he enjoyed it as much as we did.

Last night we enjoyed one of the perks of working in a music department; free tickets to the Hull Choral Union’s performance of Handel’s ‘ Israel in Egypt’, performed in the splendour of Hull’s Victorian City Hall. It was a fabulous night out, and my colleague, Colin, was virtuosic on the pipe organ.

We are looking forward to flying to Italy on Thursday, both to see my cousin Jacqui and our friends Stefano and Leanne and their baby Lewis, and to have a break from the hectic pace of our work commitments.

We’ll provide an update when we return, but for now, that’s your blooming lot for the week (Cundall, P., 2000).

Fletch’s Tip for New Employees

If your entire blog has been self-indulgent, you don’t need to write tips at the end of it.

March Madness - 4th March 2007

2007-03-04T20:26:00.000Z

March already? What happened to February? Well, we had better get you up to speed.

During January Shaun returned to Hull from his British odyssey. We enjoyed some of the local Thai cuisine together before seeing him off to the airport in the wee small hours of the morning.

Australia day was celebrated in Hull with overwhelming indifference. We celebrated by wearing our wallabies shirts to work and then heading to the ‘Old Grey Mare’ with our friend Cath for a couple of pints. They did have kangaroo steaks on the menu, which was a nice touch.

February heralded a shopping spree that netted us a house of furniture. We received our first dual paycheque since arriving in Hull and boy did we go to town. Grimsby town to be precise, with a transit van and a hankering for furniture. We came back with a sofa and armchair, a coffee table and hifi cabinet, a hifi for the said cabinet, and a spare bed which a workmate of Maria’s was giving away. So now if you come to stay with us, you can admire the spare bed. You can’t sleep in it since we don’t have a mattress and thus haven’t bothered to put it together, but you can admire it.

I managed to catch my first dose of the dreaded lurgy in February and actually took the unprecedented step of taking a few days off work. My flu matured nicely into a sinus infection which I still haven’t completely shrugged off three weeks later, although I’m back at work and am almost back to 100%. I really wanted to get back to work as I don’t want the University to get the idea that they can function without me! Talking of work, my studio completion date has been pushed back until mid April due to a stuff up with the ventilation system. I can’t wait to finally have my studio.

Maria has settled nicely into her new job, so much so that they have made her a project manager for some rather major government initiatives in the region. Our plans for world domination progress…

Toward the end of February a new member of the family came to live with us (in the corner of the kitchen to be precise). His name is currently Domino, though if he decides he prefers an alternative cognomen I’m sure he’ll let us know. He is a five year old domestic shorthair, almost identical in colouring to Ratty or Pushkina (for those whom knew either of them). We invited him to stay with us after he had been staying at a hotel for cats named ‘Caring for Cats’ in a town called Market Weighton not far from Hull. He is very nervous and currently lives in a little padded igloo that Cath originally bought for her cat Victor (which Victor completely ignored of course). He comes out and sits on the window sill at night and we can hear him eating his biscuits and using the litter tray, though he doesn’t come out of his igloo when we are in the kitchen. Given time I’m sure he will become more sociable. He has only been with us for a week, and he is less nervy now than when he first arrived.

We also had a visit from a thing called a ‘Tad’. He came down from Newcastle for the night and we had a good time confiscating all of the Australian wine from the shelves of the local off license. Tad stayed over at Cath’s house, and the two of them came over for a healthy breakfast (of sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns, beans and toast). Both of them were looking decidedly green around the gills, but a hearty dose of cholesterol and about three plungers of coffee soon put them right.

And so we venture forth. By the end of the month we will be back on daylight saving time. The weekend before Easter we are planning on visiting my cousin Jacqui in Bologna and our friends Stefano and Leanne in Milan, and we are really looking forward to that. We hope you are all enjoying life, and we shall try write more regularly in future.

Fletch's tips for new employees
Never admit to having the flu to women. For some reason they seem to think its funny. If you have to ring in sick, tell them that your ears have shrunk to embarrassingly small proportions or that you have had a nasty accident involving the cat, the washing machine and your eyebrows. This will confuse them.

Happy New Year! - 01 January 2007

2007-01-01T18:41:00.000Z

Welcome to the new year. We hope that everyone celebrated in style and that 2007 brings everything you wish your way. We are glad to greet the new year, although we did it quietly. We did the countdown listening to the 'Last Night of the Proms' and greeted 01/01/07 with a glass of red and singing Auld Lang Syne. Just after midnight, the street lit up with fireworks and our neighbour across the street conveniently aimed their fireworks so that they went off immediately outside our window...we had a tremendous view!

The last days of 2006 passed quickly, encompassing Christmas and a visit from my brother, Shaun. On the 19th, freezing fog decended across Britain and here in Hull it meant that we couldn't see the houses across the street from the 19th to the 27th. The fog meant we had a white christmas, just not the traditional type.

We had a lovely Christmas. It was the first Christmas with just the two of us and we made lots of effort to make it a special day. We decided to go to midnight mass but had to find a church to attend. There is a Catholic church about 5 minutes walk from us, so Fletch rang to find out mass times:

Fletch: "Is there midnight mass tonight at St. Vincent's?"
Priest: "Yes, there is. We do midnight mass at 8pm".
Fletch: "8pm midnight mass...that's innovative".
Priest: "Not really, we've been doing it that way for 10 years".

Apparently it stops people coming into church after spending hours in the pub. This way, they can get their absolution first.

Eventually we found a church in a town 15 miles away that was doing an almost midnight mass. After mass, we indulged in some mulled wine and yule log and opened a present each. We then headed to bed, intending to get up early and make some Christmas phone calls. However, we slept in until after 10am, so we had to dispense with most of the phone calls and started on the feast we had prepared. We had a lovely breakfast of croissants and opened our presents. At 3pm, in keeping with British traditions, we listened to the Queen's Christmas Message and then tucked into our delicious roast lamb dinner. Fletch fell asleep after dinner, leaving me to drink another bottle of wine and prepare the brandy custard. We then attempted to make the Christmas phone calls, but this time too much wine and strong brandy custard proved an impediment to being able to use the phonecard correctly. So we gave up and went to sleep. Thus ended our first Christmas in Hull.

Boxing Day dawned slightly less foggy, so we decided to go for a walk. We were undecided where to walk so drove around for a while looking for somewhere suitable. We ended up at the Humber Bridge, which is a major tourist attraction in this region. It is one of the longest single-span suspension bridges in the world; so long that the towers at each end are noticeably further apart at the top due to the curveture of the earth. We strolled up to the bridge to have a look and then thought we'd walk across. We had a lovely stroll, although once you walk across you've got to walk back, so it was a round trip of about 5km.

On the 27th we got up very early and drove to the Tees Valley, near Durham, to pick up Shaun. He has been on active service in Iraq for the past four months and has two weeks leave in the UK. His plane was due to arrive at 10am, so we left at 7.30am to make sure we got there in time. Of course, this ensured that his plane was several hours late, but it was lovely to see him when the plane finally arrived.

The drive back to Hull took longer as there was much more traffic on the roads, but the fog lifted and we were able to see the magnificent Yorkshire Dales, which is where James Herriot lived and set 'All Creatures Great and Small' and his other books. We spent the afternoon taking Shaun around Hull and then enjoying a nice evening out with him.

The next day we had to visit the doctor. England has the rather unusual medical system whereby it is necessary to register with a doctor in the town where you live before you can get treatment. This entails making an appointment and then having a checkup with the nurse, who will decide if they'll take you on as a patient. This process takes several weeks and after this you are then able to make an appointment to see the doctor if necessary. Doctors work between 9am and 5.30pm and you generally need to book at least several days in advance. God knows what happens if you're sick outside 9-5. Apparently the doctor we have joined used to run one late-evening clinic and a Saturday morning clinic as well, but the NHS (National Health Service) closed it down for being too popular. That's the English for you.

Shaun stayed until Friday and then headed north to celebrate the New Year in Scotland. He's going to visit some other friends as well and then come back to Hull the day before he goes back to Iraq, so we'll see him once more before he leaves.

That's about all we've been up to. I start my new job tomorrow, which is quite exciting. My job is in Grimsby, Northeast Lincolnshire, so I have to cross the bridge and travel about another 40km. I'm going to take the bus for the moment, which means leaving at 7am and getting home about 12 hours later. I do get flexi-time in my job, so once I'm settled I will hopefully be able to figure out some more reasonable travel times.

So best of luck for 2007, and thanks for all the wonderful Christmas cards.

Fletch's Analysis of 2006 and Forecast for 2007
(Don't worry - tips will be back next time)

I thought that for the last post of '06 / first post of '07 I'd give a quick summation of our lives in numbers, complete with forecast for 2007.

2006
Places of residence (>1 month) = 5
Employers (each) = 4
Countries visited = 8
Christmas cards received = 38
Number of alerts from DFAT to
get out of the country we're in = 1
Number of theses submitted = 1

2007 (forecast*)
Places of residence (>1 month) = 2
Employers (each) = 1
Countries visited = 4
Christmas cards sent = >38
DFAT warnings = 0
Number of theses requiring
submission = 0

Here's hoping anyway!

*Note well, the scientific methodology that forms the basis for these forecasts is a combination of 2 well known statistical methods: 1) Blind hope, and 2) Pulling a number out of the air without any consultation (which is likely to get me into trouble).

Christmas preparations - 17th December 2006

2006-12-17T10:48:00.000Z

Christmas is almost upon us, so we thought we'd give our avid reader (Gladys, the one that listens to Philip Adams) an update on our preparations for Christmas. Its a quick update however, as we're only getting 7 hours of daylight at the moment, so we have to do everything more quickly in order to accommodate 14 hours of sleep into every 24.

Seriously though, the sun doesn't come up now until 8.20 and doesn't stay up past 15.40! It isn't terribly cold, but its forecast to get colder through the week, so I guess that there is half a chance of a white Christmas. We have our fingers crossed anyway.

Yesterday we went into town and did our Christmas shopping for each other. This was quite instructive such that we now have a far better understanding of which shops have what sort of merchandise. My favourite shop was House of Fraser. It is a bit like a David Jones, but all the staff were dressed up as elves and Santa and reindeer etc. They still had that superior accent of a top department store however, so the result was both incongruent and amusing. House of Fraser also got my tick as they stock some nice wines, including the De Bortoli Noble One (a half bottle of which is now in our fridge. Note to self: remove botrytis semillon from fridge and allow to chill on the bench before consuming).

I have ordered a half leg of lamb from the 'high class' butcher at the end of the street. I asked the butcher if he had any tips on cooking the lamb. He said to get the oven hot and then put the lamb in for a couple of hours. I'm glad I asked as I would never have thought of doing that...

We created a Christmas 'shrine' in our lounge room to give the flat a little Christmas flavour. Lots of Christmas cards have shown up, and we have a nice little booty of presents to open on Christmas day. Maria has come up with some decorations for the table for Christmas dinner, and we'll post some photos after the Noble One wears off (around new years probably).

If we don't get to talk to you on or before Christmas day, MERRY CHRISTMAS! Now pass the brandy custard...

Fletch's Tips for New Employees
Resourcing is an awfully complicated business in a big organisation like a university. I have discovered a few 'rules of engagement' when making bids:

1) If you ask for what you need, you probably won't get it.
2) If you do get it, it will take at least 6 months.
3) 'Blue Sky' thinking is better than 'Down to Earth'. If you need a new chair, bid for a new 'Centre of Excellence' comprising offices, smart lecture theatres, performance spaces, cafes, and a 1000 seat theatre. You may then get yourself: a chair.
4) Everything in the world that you may wish to buy COULD have a research outcome. Just think laterally.

Old Friends and New Beginnings - 28th November 2006

2006-11-28T21:26:00.000Z

Wow, the past two months have flown by! I can't believe that so much time has passed since our last blog update. The truth is, we've been busy. In fact, we've been to Australia and back and have been busily seeking employment and free lunches since our return to Hull.

As our last post indicated, Fletch took up a position with the university. They sponsored him for a two-year work visa and, British bureaucracy being what it is, we had to re-enter Australia for the visa to be issued.

Shortly before our trip home, however, we spent a day with some friends who were holidaying in the UK. They were in Scotland and we drove to meet them at Durham, which is roughly halfway between Edinburgh and Hull. We ended up spending the afternoon at a lovely restaurant called the Knitsley Mill, about 30 miles from Durham itself. We had a wonderful lunch and it was so lovely to spend a relaxing afternoon with great company.

We went to Australia at the beginning of October and spent three very busy weeks catching up with friends and family. We could have used another three weeks, time flew by so quickly. It was wonderful to see everyone, especially as it is likely to be some time before we return. However, it means that you all can come and visit us...the offer is open for anyone who is going to be in our part of the world.

We came back to the UK on the last day of October. The trip back was one of the most pleasant flights I have ever experienced. Between Singapore and London the plane was almost empty, meaning that Fletch and I were able to take up a whole row each (5 seats each) to lie down and rest. That is a good way to spend 13 hours in a plane!

Our arrival back in the UK coincided with a burst of cold weather. There were warnings at the airport and on the radio that November 1st was going to be "COLD" and, sure enough, the temperature dropped 10 degrees overnight. It has stayed cool, with temperatures varying between 2 and 12, but mainly around the 8 mark. The autumn colours came and the trees have almost finished shedding their leaves, which of course turns the streets a vibrant yellow slush. It hasn't been raining very much, so it has been clear and brisk, which is weather that I love.

The colder weather has meant that we have had to familiarise ourselves with the vagrancies of central heating. Being Queenslanders means that we really are pretty clueless about the heating! We thought we'd just flick a switch and the house would be toasty and warm. Unfortunately, we were wrong. We had to learn how to 'bleed' the system and a moderately faulty boiler means that we have to keep a vigilant eye on the pressure. Heating is very expensive as well, so we have to balance a warm house with high energy bills. As we're in the loft apartment, we lose a fair bit of heat though the ceiling, but we're getting better at regulating the temperature. I'm sure that we'll soon have it properly sussed (just in time for winter proper).

Fletch returned to work the day after we arrived back and has been busy settling into his role. I turned my gaze to the job ads and my dedication to the task has just paid off. Yesterday, I was offered a job as a Research and Policy Analyst with the local government. It is conditional on a few things (security and medical checks), but I'm hoping to start in the near future. It does mean some early mornings until we get a car - the job is on the other side of the river and the only bus leaves from the city centre at 7.30am, so I'll have to be up well before the sun (it currently gets light at nearly 8am and dark at about 4pm).

We don't have a great deal on our agenda for the next while. We're planning a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, which will be a considerable change from the rambuncous family gatherings we are used to. My younger brother will probably be coming to visit us in the New Year, which will be fun. Hopefully, he will be the first of many visitors! The only other event we have pencilled in for the moment is a big night out to celebrate the award of my Master of Philosophy. I found out that the degree had been awarded just after we arrived back in the UK, but the certificate takes a bit longer to be produced. Once it arrives here, it's party time!

Fletch’s tips for new employees

Its been a while since I have subjected you all to my weekly advice column, delving out extreme idealism, cultural sensitivity and towering humility. And since we are moving to a new format for Maria and Fletch Abroad, I thought I’d make a change to my advice column. I must admit I feel much more industrious having swapped my 41 hours a week at work ‘holiday’ for my 36.5 hour a week ‘working’ life. So for the next little while at least I’m going to present some insights into being an employee for a big, publicly funded institution. As I have always worked as a contractor before, some of the perks and absurdities are new to me. And so to this weeks advice;

Learn the subtle and mysterious art of the free lunch.

Many of you would argue that there is no such thing as a free lunch. I was tempted to lament the same having been knobbled (in the words of Jim, the Drama technician) into being the Departmental Safety Officer, the Fire Warden and the Display Screen Equipment Assessor, all in my pursuit of free lunches. Let me explain.

Universities have a staff development department. Staff development departments offer courses in time management to people who are too busy to attend, and so forth. They rely on ‘bums on seats’ in order to justify their existence, and so must offer incentives in order to get good attendances. Ergo, the ‘free lunch’.

Now people know that they can get a free lunch at these training sessions, so they sign up for courses, and to be fair, they do their best to seem interested. The development department has become cluey to this of course, so they often put their feelers out, asking for expressions of interest in potential courses. This is really code for ‘put up your hand if you want to come to a course without a free lunch’ as you have to commit to it before knowing the details.

Finally, the lunch often turns out not to be free; not that they charge you money, but having been trained in something they expect you to do something about it (thus my being knobbled early in the piece). However if you follow some basic rules, you can get a properly free lunch.

Rule number 1: Don’t ever put you name on a list for a course which hasn’t been scheduled and advertised with an inclusive meal. If people seem interested in improving themselves willy-nilly then western civilisation will surely crumble.

Rule number 2: Only ever attend events which are totally irrelevant to you or which you would not be reasonably expected to attend. For example, there is an open meeting on Virtual Learning Environments coming up in a couple of days which I am very keen to attend. There is no reason for me to be there, and little chance anyone would recognise me, so I am unlikely to get knobbled into doing anything. There is a free lunch however, and since the meeting is being attended by the VC, all the DVCs and a few Deans, it ought to be a very good one.

Rule number 3: If all else fails, remember that there is sufficient nutrition to keep you going until tea time in Assorted Cream Biscuits, just so long as you eat enough of them. And no meeting or training ever happens without Assorted Creams.

Settling in (for a whole couple of weeks) – 24th September 2006

2006-09-24T13:58:00.000Z

What a month it has been since our last Blog update! As you know, I had job interviews with Morley College in London, RSAMD in Glasgow and at the University of Hull in Kingston upon Hull. As it turns out, it is the University of Hull that desperately needed my towering expertise (and staggering humility) and thus did I begin my new life as a full time employee on September 11. I should give a quick narrative of the events to give you an idea of how Hull was evidently ‘meant to be’.

I had my interview for the Hull job on the 30th of August, having had interviews in London and Glasgow the previous week. I travelled up to Hull on the Tuesday night before the interview, and had a good rest at the hotel organised by the University. I arrived at the university at 10 o’clock on Wednesday, confident and alert. I gave a presentation, complete with slideshow, at 10:20 on ‘The role of music-technology and popular music in the University of Hull and in Hull’s urban regeneration’. My lexicon of higher education buzz words came in particularly helpful for this. The presentation was attended by the Director of Studies for Music, the Head of the Drama and Music department and a couple of lecturers from within the department. The presentation and question and answer session seemed to go down a treat.

After a presentation by my competitor for the post, Peter, the lecturer who has set up the new Jazz and Popular Music course, gave us a tour of their facilities. Since the new studios aren’t likely to be finished until Christmas, this meant looking at a corridor and an empty room, although there is already a composition suite and a couple of labs of computers ready for teaching. A buffet lunch was provided in the Recital Room, and I took the opportunity to get to know the backgrounds and interests of the lecturers present.

My interview was at 2:30pm, and was a panel of 6, including the aforementioned Director of Studies - Music, the Lecturer in Jazz and Popular Music, the Lecturer in charge of the department’s ‘Reach Out’ activities, the Head of the Drama and Music Department, the Director of Commercialisation at the University, and the Dean of Arts. They formed a formidable collection of men in suits. The session lasted about half an hour, after which I returned to the hotel to collect my luggage, and got on a train back to London.

At this point I hadn’t yet heard back from RSAMD about the job in Glasgow. I was a bit worried because Hull seemed to want to move fairly quickly once they had made their selection. This feeling was confirmed when they rang me, before I had managed to get on the train back to London, to ask whether I wanted the job. Not knowing what RSAMD were going to do, I asked to be given the night to ‘discuss the move with my wife’ before giving them an answer the following day. I then rang the head of HR at RSAMD from the train back to London, and she returned my call to say that they had selected someone else for the position, but that I had given a fine presentation and thankyou very much. So, Hull it is!

The next day, and back at work, I rang to confirm with Hull that I would be happy to accept the job and that yes, I could start on the 11th of September. After a busy morning talking to their HR department, Work Permits UK and the Immigration office, we managed to ascertain that I could start my job on the working holiday visa, and go home to get a new visa once my work permit had come through. This was by no means an easy exercise, as the advice given to employers here is somewhat different from the advice given to potential employees, and not nearly as vague.

While I was wrangling with the home office, and pretending to be selling PA systems, Maria was telling everyone at her work about my new job. As it happened, one of Maria’s Cow-orkers was originally from Hull and has a sister that lives in Hull. His sister’s plasterer happened to have a flat for rent across the road from his sister, but which we would have to decide on that weekend since he already had an application in on it. Since I had to work on Saturday, Maria jumped on a train up to Hull, took a look at the unit and took some photos for me, gave the landlord a security deposit, and said we’d move in on the 7th.

We had already booked some holiday time around this time, as we had originally intended on going up to Scotland for a break. We were therefore able to use this time to move up some bare essentials, and make a trip to Ikea to get a bed and a wardrobe since the flat is basically unfurnished. So by the 11th I was basically settled in and Maria returned to London on the 13th to do the last month of her contract.

Maria has been the incredible mover of things the past couple of weeks. This weekend she managed to get her bike, my keyboard (which is the width of a piano) including stand, and our rugs, from London to Hull on the train. We had originally planned to share the weekend travel, me coming down to London as much as her coming up to Hull, but for various reasons it has worked out that she has done all the travelling, and an incredible job she has done.

To add to the potential ‘rightness’ of this move, Maria has secured an interview for a job within the local museum sector on Thursday, and is currently out doing her research on the local museums and their collections. I have joked that the job, which pays slightly more than mine, would help soothe the irritation she has of needing a ‘Dependency Visa’ to accompany my work permit. Kind of joked, anyway.

So you can see that everything seems to be falling into place here, and Hull is one of the loveliest places I have ever been, with warm, friendly local people and plenty of nearby cafes and lots of performing arts and galleries and museums and suchlike. Once Maria finishes work in London, things will settle down into a lovely, productive routine here in Hull, and we are really looking forward to making our home here for at least the next 2 years. One thing will delay that slightly however. By the grace of God and the unknown and unknowable foibles of the great British bureaucracy, in order to work in my new job under my work permit, we must first return home to get a visa to come back again.

Maria and I are coming home for a 3 week visit from the 11th of October to the 30th. We are really looking forward to seeing everyone and sharing our tales of daring-do, and boring you all witless with endless photos, and catching up on all the local gossip and events since our departure so many months ago. So let us know your availability for catching up, as we have lots of people to squeeze into 3 short weeks!

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

When moving to a new town and not owning any furniture, immediately make friends with someone who is renovating their house. They will attempt to foist every bit of spare furniture they have on you (‘well, you know you just can’t do without a purpose built scrabble table these days…’) and may even offer to help carry it into your flat. Such friends may be difficult to find in the south of England, but here in the north, the only seeming requirement for lasting friendship is that you aren’t a chav.

Culture and jobs....20th August 2006

2006-08-20T19:15:00.000Z

Summer officially ended on Sunday the 31st of July, when the sun didn't rise and the temperature literally dropped from 35C to 20C overnight. Low lying cloud and cold winds from the Arctic have become the norm. The sun shows a propensity for humour, surprising us with its appearance at about 6pm but otherwise failing to break through the morose cloud cover through the rest of the day. We have hardened ourselves to the reality that our time in the sun is over for the year.

Sunday July 31st was also the day that we moved into our new house. We now live on the Isle of Dogs (which is surprisingly void of dogs), in the shadows of Canary Wharf. This district is also known as 'Docklands', no prizes for guessing what went on here in days gone by. Nowadays, Canary Wharf (which Fletch is convinced was originally called Cannery Wharf) is the financial centre of London. Over the past few years, there has been a significant building and redevelopment program and Canary Wharf is a mecca of towering glass and concrete architecture and carefully sculpted gardens. It is one of the few areas of London that can be described as clean and the streets are wide, parks are plentiful, cars are almost non-existent (although the five thousand car parking spaces under the buildings at Canary Wharf mean that cars do come here, I'm not sure how they get in and out of the parking stations without being seen). Of course, no-one who works at Canary Wharf actually lives here, which means that outside of business hours, we have access to one of the lovelier areas of London without the crush that seems ever-present in this city of eight million.

The highlight of living in this area, however, is the DLR (also known as the Docklands Light Railway). When we told our various colleagues that we had moved to Docklands, the initial response (from every single person) was “Wow, you'll get to ride the DLR every day”. This mystical mode of transport resembles a roller-coaster and travels some thirty feet above the ground. It also does not reach the 'sardines in a can' saturation of the tube, which means that you can travel in peak hour without emerging feeling as though you've just been in a scrum. The DLR vehicles drive themselves, which can be a bit disconcerting when you're travelling in the front seat, and are almost entirely glass. It is a far more pleasant way to travel than underground, although we do have to take a tube for the last part of our journey. I haven't started riding my bike from here as yet – the main roads from Canary Wharf to the West End resemble a highway and I'm yet to locate the cycling map for this area, so it's public transport for both of us at the moment.

July 31st was also the day that we decided we would make August our 'month of culture'. We are living in the musical capital of the world, so we are going to make the most of it. We found out that the Proms are on – we had heard of the Proms but didn't realise that it was 56 days straight of classical concerts (sometimes as many as three a day) – found out that tickets were as little as £6, worked our way through the concert listings and arranged tickets to see a number of concerts. Thus far, we have seen (for those of you who take an interest in such matters, I shall list them in full):

Motzart - Piano Concerto in C major
Ravel - Piano Concerto in G major
Musorgsky (Orch. Ravel) - Pictures at an Exhibition
S. Stucky - Second Concerto for Orchestra
– this is a new composition and only the second time it was played anywhere in the world. It is my Prom favourite so far, the performance was incredible.
Dohnanyi – Symphonic Minutes
Bartok – Piano Concerto No. 3
Stravinsky – Rite of Spring (Fletch's Prom favourite thus far)
- after this performance, the orchestra did an encore of something by Brahms and then one of the double-bass players and two violinists gave an impromptu performance of a Transylvanian folk dance...unexpected and very exciting.

Still to come, before the end of the month, are Beethoven's 9th and Sibelius' violin concerto (and a few more but the names escape me).

The Proms have been great fun. The atmosphere is incredible – they are staged at Royal Albert Hall, which is one of the most visually stunning performance spaces (although Fletch says that acoustically it isn't all that great – a domed roof...) I have ever seen. The interior is almost entirely red velvet and gives a very regal air to proceedings. There is a 'mosh pit' in front of the orchestra (these are actually the cheapest tickets (only £5), but you have to queue up on the day to buy them) that has been packed at every performance. Many of the people in the pit are Proms regulars and have a number of traditions – our favourite is the shouting of 'Heave – Ho' when a piano lid is lifted.

In addition to our classical extravaganza, we indulged in a little musical theatre to celebrate our second anniversary (yes, it really has been that long). We had dinner first and our culinary venue of (Fletch's) choice was a seafood restaurant called Loch Fyne. Loch Fyne sources all of their produce from Scotland, and the oysters and tuna steaks provided a near religious experience for Fletch. I had an halibut (said in the appropriate pythonesque way), and we even managed to find a lovely Marlborough sauv. blanc to wash it down.

Sufficiently supped, we ambled down to the Adelphi theatre for the evening's performance of Evita. It was lovely. We laughed, we cried, we got told off by the usher for trying to sneak down to better seats before the intermission. All in all it was a wonderful way to celebrate our anniversary. And Fletch says to say that I looked gorgeous in my new black dress.

Some words from Fletch

To cap off our month of culture, we are hoping that the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama (yes, Scots do refer to it by its acronym RSAMD) is going to fall all over themselves to make sure that I accept a job offer. Here's hoping anyway. I'm going up to Glasgow on Wednesday for a Thursday interview, and armed with the folio that Maria helpfully posted to them yesterday, I'm sure that they won't be able to resist my amicable charms. They'd better anyway, as Team Fletch has pulled out all the stops to try and make sure I don't come back to Brisbane any time soon! A huge thanks to Cathy for taking phone calls at absurd hours of the morning and shovelling through all of our stuff just to find a couple of CDs, to Joe for giving up so much time in the leadup to his wedding on my behalf [congrats guys, we hope you had a great day], to Greg for spending part of his holiday on Team Fletch, to mum for driving all over the countryside, and to Christopher for his hard-drive space, download quota and his time). With such a committed team, I can't help but get the job! Be that as it may, I don't want to hatch all of my counts before they chicken, so I also have an interview in London on Tuesday and in Hull (for two different jobs) on Tuesday week. I know that prayers are being said for me and I thank all those with their fingers firmly crossed on my behalf. I can think of no better job for me than spending all of my time recording classical ensembles and big bands, so here's hoping.

We'll be sure to let you know once we know how its all panned out. Till then, as Confucius said, Wok on!

Fletch's tips for new travellers
An odd coincidence in London is that the more you pay for a cup of coffee, the less like coffee it tastes. The best coffee I have had in London costs 1pound 10p and is truely fantastic. In comparison, a cup of Starbucks costs at least 1pound 90p, but you have to pay another 30p for a second shot of coffee, just to bring it up to standard strength. Incidently, the best cup of coffee was from a place called the 12 Bar Cafe in Denmark Street, near the junction of Tottenham Court Rd, Charing Cross Rd and Oxford St. Sometimes we feel like we're in London to play monopoly.

A little update 3rd August 2006

2006-08-03T20:30:00.000Z

As you are all aware, we have been especially slack in updating our blog of late. I’m sure a brief synopsis of our recent activity will garner your understanding in this matter.

We settled back into relative tedium after our trip to Belgium. As our trip to Belgium was by way of a birthday present for me, it seemed only fitting that I return the favour and organise an outing for Maria’s once yearly celebration of not yet being dead. Thus I booked two tickets to the Festival of Speed. The festival of speed is an extravaganza of fast cars, old and new, held on the estates of the Earl of March at Goodwood. What better birthday present could a girl ask for?

Getting to Goodwood from London was a 2-hour mission. The weather was quite drizzly and overcast, helping me to make a mistake of omission that was to come back to haunt me. You see, I couldn’t fit my Akubra into the pack when we left sunny Brisbane, and since we did most of our travel in the winter, I haven’t found myself needing one. We had decided to buy a hat for me on the way to Goodwood, but the inclement weather inspired complacency on my part. Being England, the weather changed its mind around lunchtime, burning the water from both the atmosphere and the racetrack, leading to excellent racing conditions, and a Fletch that passed through pink and red to an alarming shade of maroon. I at least had the smarts to wear a long sleeved, collared shirt. It was therefore only my face that bore the brunt of the sun’s vengeful wrath. I haven’t been burnt like that for over 10 years, I’m sure.

Now that I’ve got my moaning over, I can assure you that the pain was well worth it. There were some really fantastic cars at Goodwood. The theme this year was 100 years of Grand Prix, as the first was the French Grand Prix of 1906. Renault made their presence felt, bringing three 1906 Grand Prix cars, as well as the 2006 F1 car driven by Giancarlo Fiscicella (not sure if the spelling is even close). The 2006 F1 car was hooked up to a laptop and played ‘God Save the Queen’ and the ‘Marseilles’ in revs at regular intervals. I’m sure being in that tent probably lost me some of my future income, at least where mixing is concerned! (WHAT WAS THAT HONEY? STOP DITHERING AND GET ON WITH IT? WHAT? I’M NOT SHOUTING!)

Audi also had a big presence, with some 1930s Auto Unions sitting aggressively next to their rival Mercedes contemporaries. The usual gaggle of F1 and Indy cars from the past 40 years were there, as well as WRC cars of various groups and ages, and motorbikes. The 5th fastest time of the day was recorded by a Ford Transit van, one of the course vehicles, but apparently that’s fairly common. Lord March himself took a not quite leisurely drive up the hill in the new Bugatti super car, as well as a white knuckles ride on the back of a 2 seater Ducatti super bike. The F1 drivers had burnout and doughnut competitions in front of the main grandstand, and Jacky Stewart was characteristically blunt about the ergonomics of modern grand prix cars after he and Giancarlo swapped cars for a photographically opportunistic meander up the hill.

The best thing about Goodwood is how close you can get to the cars. It’s a lot like the Speed on the Tweed, only the cars cost more, and there are more women in expensive clothes sipping champagne. It’s like a cross between car racing and horse racing. Anyway, I’ll presume to talk for both of us when I say that it was a highlight of our English experience so far.

Since the Festival of Speed, we have been hard at work. We had a distinctly forgettable experience finding a new place to live. We were lead up the garden path on the first property we arranged to move into, and due a shortage of time, were forced to take a place that wasn’t available until a week after we moved out of our former residence. With the prospect of a week of outdoor living looming, we were therefore very grateful to Dominic and Samantha for providing us with refuge for our week in limbo (in Chelsea no less!). We have now moved however, and are very comfortable in our new place on the Isle of Dogs. The unit is in an excellent location, and our flatmates are of the most desirable kind; tidy, quiet and mostly absent.

So now is a time of planning and consolidation for the future. I’m hard at work applying for jobs, and am hoping for a positive response soon, as working in the shop does my head in, to use the local vernacular. Maria is also considering her options, as her thesis should be returned from marking soon, and the exciting world of patents administration has failed to keep her enthused. We are also planning on a short sojourn to Scotland in early September, before it gets too cold. Summer seems to have ended here though, with the maximum temperature being 35C on Sunday, and 25C on Monday. The sun is also setting noticeable earlier too now, with daylight only extending to about 8pm. Thank goodness I say, for London simply isn’t designed for heat, and the English seem to disdain deodorant almost as much as they disdain showers. Nothing is quite as fragrant as a trip on the tube in peak hour on a hot day. *Shudder* (Did I just indicate an action in the middle of my text? *Shudder* )

Speak again soon,

Fletch and Maria

Bruges Birthday Bash - 12-14 June 2006

2006-06-25T19:42:00.000Z

Hi all. We promised a new blog entry after our trip to sunny Bruges, and having had time to properly consider the (burp) experience, we are now ready to commit our experiences to cyber posterity.

We booked our tickets to Belgium on the Eurostar several months ago with a 2-for-1 offer that Maria cut out of the paper. Maria has been preparing for pensioner-hood by extracting every possible deal from the various rags here in London. So far we have had numerous £5, two-course meals, cheap holidays, a new watch, the tickets to Paris, and now the trip to Belgium. For me, Belgian culture is brewed by monks and goes well with salty bar snacks. Maria's interest lay more in the lace and chocolate. We managed to experience plenty of both during our time in Bruges.

Our adventure started at what is commonly described as an ungodly hour of the morning, as we needed to catch the first Eurostar from Waterloo at 6am. So we strapped on our backpacks for the first time in a while, swallowed some vegemite toast, and met the day (for there certainly weren't any people to meet at that time of the morning. We've noticed that British people aren't early risers. It might be because the sun is remarkably resistant to setting at this time of year.)

The trip to Brussels was lovely. We enjoyed the comfy seats and cabin messages in three languages. Arriving in Brussels, we changed train for the short journey to Bruges. When you take the Eurostar to Brussels, you can catch the train to any part of Belgium using your Eurostar pass. Thus we decided to make a serious survey of Belgian culture by visiting the medieval town of Bruges/Brugge.

We arrived in Bruges about 11am and strode confidently out of the train station. We have learnt during our travels that Maria has a very good sense of direction, but can't use a map, whereas I can find where I'm going perfectly when using a map, but have no real sense of direction (a compass is handy in this respect). Together we are a powerful force, as long as we know who is leading. In this instance, we walked a couple of hundred yards down the road before Maria realised that I hadn't consulted with a map and was in fact walking in exactly the wrong direction. After dodging a few bicycles, we reoriented ourselves and headed toward the lovely chiming of the carillon in the town square.

After checking into our hotel, the first order of business was lunch. We decided to have a typical Belgian lunch of frietjes vlaamse stoveriji (chips and meat gravy), which we ate sitting on the external windowsills of the Belfort. As the name may indicate, this is where the carillon is located and we enjoyed respite from the sun under its mighty shadow. Well, us and a hundred other tourists, all fighting for the limited windowsills. Maria has sharp elbows and quick reflexes, they come in handy in these situations.

After lunch we went for a long walk around Bruges. To give our walk some purpose, we decided to find a special piece of lace and this occupied our time as we weaved in and out of the hundreds of lace-shops that are located around Bruges. After several hours we decided that some refreshments were necessary, so we ducked into a licensed establishment and downed some essential vitamins and minerals. Well, Belgian beer is only brewed with natural ingredients... We also took the opportunity to watch Australia play Japan in their first game of the World Cup. Europe has Cup fever and so have we after that come from behind victory.

The game (and the hot afternoon sun) took its toll and we retired for a siesta. We awoke mid-evening, when it was still hot and very light, so we went in search of some dinner. We decided to avoid the touristy-looking restaurants and went north in search of some more authentic Bruges restaurants. We strolled along the canals and through a maze of streets but not a single food (or beer) establishment did we find. Hunger drove us back to the Grand'Place for a late dinner as the sun set around us (at 11pm). We had typically Flemish food – Maria had waterzooi and I had bugs bunny – all washed down with some typically Belgian beer (12%).

Tuesday dawned only slightly less hot than Monday (which turned out to be the hottest June 12th on record). It wasn't really our intention to rise with the sun, but the lovely carillon I mentioned earlier took no stock of the strength of the beer we enjoyed with dinner, and gave its rendition of Beethoven's 9th with unrestrained abandon. Giving up on sleep, we decided to take a cruise on the canals before all the tourist coaches arrived from Brussels. The cruise was a very relaxing way to start the day as we enjoyed the historic architecture and the incessant American small-talk. The guide was unintelligible in three languages and we took some lovely pictures of the church spires which dominate the Bruges skyline. Of particular note were the colourful array of flowers in the window boxes that seem to adorn every house.

After our cruise, we visited Huisbrouwerij De Halve Maan,(the Half Moon Brewery). The Half Moon is the only brewery left in Bruges, and does guided tours of the brewery. Both the blond and the brown ale they made were absolutely stunning, and we learnt a great deal about the Belgian brewing tradition. The Belgians take their beer very seriously, evidenced by the tour guide's assertion that bottom fermenting beer (such as lager) at 5% was just table beer, for the children. Real beer is top fermenting (is brewed at a higher temperature). The monks brewed three types of beer. The normal beer which they themselves drank was a single. The pilgrims received a double (about 8%) and if the bishop came to visit he got a triple (about 12%). Having tried a few Trappist triples, I can now understand the attraction of a monastic life.

Following the tour, we found a nice shady spot in the garden of one of Bruges' many churches to enjoy a lunch 'borrowed' from the breakfast buffet at the hotel we were staying in. By this stage the mercury had risen to near Brisbanian levels, and we sought the cool and tranquil surroundings of one of the great churches in Bruges. The Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk (Church of Our Lady) dates from 1220 and has a 122m tower, a truly stunning pulpit in carved wood, and the Madonna and Child by Michelangelo, his only sculpture to leave Italy during his lifetime. The atmosphere was made all the holier by the raised voices of the nuns, whose devotions echoed soulfully around the buttressed arches as they may have done for 800 years.

The next part of our afternoon was spent in a futile search for a candle shop. Maria visited Bruges five years ago with her friend Paula and distinctly remembers a profusion of candle shops. They seem to have moved on in the intervening years, as we were unable to find a single one. We finally gave up on candles and visited the Sint-Salvatoreskathedraal. The organist was giving a recital on the pipe organ so we pulled up a pew to enjoy the cathedral's lovely acoustics. We took the opportunity to remove our shoes and enjoy the sensation of the cold stone floor beneath our feet. You could actually see the steam rising from my socks!

Next stop was some dinner washed down with another beer and then on the the pub for a beer before bed. The inevitable storm was brewing, and the view outside our hotel window was truly breathtaking. With two church spires lit up against the dark night sky, punctuated by bursts of lightning, it was a beautiful way to end a memorable day.

On Wednesday we took the train back to Brussels for a peak at the Grote'Markt before catching the Eurostar back to London. We didn't do much in Brussels, but upon Dave's recommendation, we enjoyed a mussel pot washed down with yet another Trappist beer in a backstreet where every restaurant seemed to specialise in mussels (and beer). We watched Spain play Ukraine and the Spanish victory unleashed a cacophony of horns and cheering. It seems that the way to celebrate the Spanish victory was to do laps of Brussels in a beaten-up Ford Prefect, hanging out the windows and waving flags. Strangely, this was our last memory of Brussels.

The trip home was uneventful and Thursday saw us back breaking rocks. Maria also managed to submit her thesis, so I bought her a bunch of flowers.

On June 17th, Maria went to the Trooping of the Colour which is part of the Queen's official birthday celebrations. That evening, we met up with my cousin Jacqui and her boyfriend, who were visiting from Italy. We had a lovely evening with them in Leicester Square. While there, I took some photos of the minis from 'The Italian Job' and the car from 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang', although we're not sure why they sitting in the middle of Leicester Square.

This weekend just gone, we met up with our friend Tad who has just returned to the UK from his trip around the world. Apart from that, we're looking for a new place to live, and we're generally enjoying the British summer – which is far hotter than we expected.

Best wishes to all and sundry, and we'll update again after our day out at the Festival of Speed in early July (Maria takes me to Bruges for my birthday, I take her to the hill-climb at Goodwood for her birthday. Sounds fair to me...).

Fletch's tip for new travellers

One thing that England seems to lack is light and mid strength beer. In Australia, the initiatives targeting drink driving have probably contributed to the popularity of lower alcohol beers. In Bruges, the problem has been tackled differently. You see very few cars in Bruges, and I can only assume that this is because, having had a few Trappist triples, its hard enough to remember whose feet your using let alone which car is yours.

Living it up in London - 30 May 2006

2006-05-29T21:44:00.000Z

We’ve now been living in London for a month and have settled into a soothing routine of cycling, working, cycling, sleeping, cycling, working….

The whole cycling escapade began one fine Saturday when Maria popped out for some shopping while I was at work. She came and met me after work and we had a lovely evening out (we saw ‘Good Night and Good Luck’ – it is very good). It was when we arrived home later that night that I was surprised to find I could no longer open the apartment door. Maria had failed to mention the impediment to my usual sweeping entrance. It had two wheels, front suspension, lights, bells and whistles. A minor oversight on Maria’s part, forgetting to mention this particular purchase. Honestly, she is becoming so absent minded…

My part in the great adventure happened through a sustained campaign of propaganda. Maria began waxing lyrical over the beauty and tranquillity of a genteel ride through the parks of the West End. ‘Much nicer than rubbing shoulders with the great unwashed’ she gibed as she strapped on her helmet and sped into the distance every morning. Indeed, so enthusiastic was she that I agreed to participate in a riding tour of London the following Sunday afternoon. Not being one to indulge too enthusiastically in activities involving physical exertion, I was concerned that the ride would leave me utterly spent. Little did I know that the leisurely ride was to be the least of my exertions for that day.

Having finished our ride, and puffed up with my achievement of having ridden through Westminster unscathed and in apparent fine health, we made the bold step of hiring my admirable steed for a month to see whether I could become a fully-fledged member of the crazed two wheelers. Since I still had my doubts as to the long-term viability of my legs as a form of locomotion, this seemed like the sensible option. Deciding to take the bike that afternoon however began a series of dramas of Faustian proportions.

The bike hire shop is on the south bank of the Thames, not far from Waterloo International. As we wheeled the bike from subway to bus stop, we were educated in timely fashion as to the realities of taking bicycles on public transport. Busses were not an option. The underground is fine, as long as its not underground. Problem was, we were on the south side of town, and needed to get to the north-west side. Since we had neglected to bring our map (a glaring oversight in retrospect) I couldn’t ride the bike home. Maria offered to ride the bike home, but my bike is designed for those of great height, and the length of the journey would have given her altitude sickness. We finally discovered that we needed to take an overland train from Kings Cross. So Maria rode the bike to Kings Cross whilst I luxuriated on the bus. Maria beat me to Kings Cross, which just goes to prove that she can nearly torque the pedals off a bicycle!

Having reached Kings Cross and found the Thames-link station (which is not in Kings Cross), we discovered that the trains weren’t running. Go to Kentish town, they said. It’s not that far, they said. Catch the bus – oh, not you with the bike – you’ll have to ride there. And so, I hopped onto another bus and Maria, with a great degree of trepidation and in a fair bit of pain by now (her toes were the only things that touched the pedals, she tells me that isn’t a comfortable way to ride a bike), followed the bus to Kentish Town.

She kept up with the speeding bus quite well until she got a puncture. She managed to catch up to the bus without air in the back tyre just long enough to gain my attention by banging on the window. I alighted at the next stop, and without a clear idea of where we were, we endeavoured to follow in the bus’ wake, now carrying the bicycle because the tyre had dislodged from the rim and couldn’t be rolled. A decidedly unpleasant six kilometres later, we managed to ‘person-handle’ the bike onto a rather flash looking train. We certainly didn’t look flash by this point, but after a change onto the tube, arrived at Willesden Green and decided to celebrate our day of healthy endeavour with a Chinese takeaway meal that could have fed a family of ravenous Tasmanian Devils. Then we collapsed into a state near unto death, having exercised non-stop for nine and a half hours. Suffice it to say, we didn’t ride to work on Monday.

Fixing the puncture proved a more formidable challenge than one could have expected. Having extracted the offending bladder, Maria returned it to the hire shop during her lunch break, and brought home a new tube, and a maintenance kit including a small pump. A piece of advice for young players: valves on bicycle tubes here are very strange. The pump we had came with a useful lack of instructions, and after an hour of fruitless pumping, swearing and gesticulating, we ‘googled’ the bicycle valve and discovered the problem. The pump is designed to fit both major types of valve, and had a component which, unbeknown to us, could be reversed, thus allowing the alternative valve to be addressed. More swearing, pumping and gesticulating ensued, but this time the result was an inflated tyre, rather than a deflated ego. I was really getting to love the whole bicycle experience by this point.

The next day we started riding to work together. It takes us about fifty minutes to ride to work, and I feel pretty good when I get to work (with the not insignificant exception of my posterior, which is currently suing the rest of my body on the grounds of wilful neglect). It takes an hour to ride home however as there is an uphill section (not a big hill, just a gentle incline over 4 miles) that results in me switching to first gear and hardly moving despite considerable sweating and furious pedalling. It really is quite embarrassing being overtaken by a granny with a walking frame. The ride home has been compounded this last week by gale force head winds. In addition, the stability of the weather can only be described as ‘Melbournesqe’. A nice sunny day can turn into a squally mess faster than you can say ‘nah, I won’t need my Gore-tex!’ (As we have written this blog, the weather has changed from warm and sunny, to a hail storm, to a tropical downpour, and now its bright and sunny again).

And so I pedal to work, peddle my wares and then pedal home to my lovely petal. (Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.) And that’s about all that’s happening in our little world right now. London is in drought, with the wettest May on record. Ol’ Blighty is a strange place indeed. We shall write more after our sojourn in Bruges in two weeks time. Till then, take care, and we will attempt to do the same.

PS

We wrote this blog entry in Greenwich before attending a lecture at the Royal Naval Museum. The lecture was organised by the Flamsteed Astronomy Society (Flamsteed was the first Astronomer Royal) and the guest lecturer was the 17th Astronomer Royal, Sir Arnold Wolfendale. The lecture was on the origins of the universe, Sir Wolfendale being a specialist on background radiation. It was an incredibly entertaining lecture, with descriptions of the early universe (from 10-47s) sprinkled with anecdotes about meetings with Prince Philip and Margaret Thatcher. It has been a real highlight of our London experience thus far.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

As a learned audience, I’m sure you all understand the difference between writing in first, second and third person. Whilst both Maria and I wrote this blog entry, it was written in the Fletch person, thus allowing a more consistent telling. The Maria person is nicer than me.

Living Large in London - 9th May 2006

2006-05-09T20:44:00.000Z

Hi all. We know that you can’t live without updates on our comings and goings, so here is a brief overview of the month that was.

Since our jaunt in Paris we became increasingly disillusioned with the bustling world of hospitality, and realised that in order to escape, we had to set a departure date and trust desperation to help us find work and lodging. This tactic worked fairly well, as we are no longer enjoying the questionable luxury of hotel living. To give you an idea of how swiftly events swept us from sunny Staines, here is a basic timeline

18th April - Weeks notice given at Hotel Ugly Duckling. Slight panic ensues
19th April - Maria interviews for temp work (thanks Jacqui!) We inspect possible accommodation
20th April - We find our new studio flat and sign for 3 months
21st April - Fletch interviews for new job (successfully)
22nd - 25th April - Work 12 hour days as punishment for resigning. NB that every other member of floor staff also gave notice during this period
26th April - Maria starts first temp placement, Fletch moves house (in a Ford KA believe it or not)
27th April - Maria interviews for long term placement in patent attorney practise. Impresses the sox off them and shopping spree for suitable work-wear ensues
28th April - Fletch sees the Australian dollar conversion from the shopping spree and immediately dies. A strong coffee is waved under his nose to revive him. Heart palpitations continuing...
2nd May - Fletch starts work

So as you can see we had a busy little period. Since starting work we have been a bit too busy to do much else but work and make our apartment a cosy nest. However with the weather warming up, Fletch’s one day off per week can hardly be spent indoors, so we have been visiting various London landmarks, such as Westminster Abbey, the Royal Maritime Museum, Greenwich, and the Nero Cafe at Covent Gardens.

On our first Sunday off in 3 months (30th April), we got God. Since the only way to get into Westminster for free is to attend a service, Maria & I swallowed our Catholic sense of superiority and attended the C of E Matins service. This was quite special as the entire service, excepting of course the homily, was sung in harmonies by the all-male choir. The service was quite casual, with only slightly more pomp than a graduation ceremony. The attendants shepherded us around so that we wouldn’t accidently see more of the church than we had to as freeloading worshippers. I’m honestly not sure why they don’t just do away with religious worship entirely so that tourists can tramp through seven days a week.

Following this we jumped on the tube out to Greenwich and I took a look at the bits of the observatory that I had missed last time, including the telescope that sits on the Prime Meridian, whilst Maria strolled through the markets. We have found ourselves drawn to Greenwich and may look at moving there once our three months is up here.

Last Sunday, we found ourselves drawn once again to Greenwich. This time we had a poke through the Maritime Museum. The Museum is a very large building with not a great deal in it. It does contain Nelson’s uniform and a lot of lovely model boats, but Maria is sharing my museum fatigue, and we were drawn toward the lovely soft grass in the park outside. With summer come on, the days are lovely and the vegetation is the most curious colour (green, rather than khaki or brown. Strange huh?).

In other news, Maria has joined the ranks of the crazed two wheelers and is getting plenty of exercise dodging busses on her way to work. She believes that it is safer than braving the crowds on the underground, and if you have ever tried to beat a chav to a seat, then you know what she means. Fletch obtained a leather jacket and is now apparently giving up future teaching ambitions as he is “too kool for skool”. Spelling that atrociously almost broke my fingers...

Anyhow, we hope our loyal legion of fans are in good health and high spirits, or are at least playing up as we would expect. We shall update you again soon. Please keep the emails coming, as very few people in England are worth talking to, and we do get lonely.

PS - we now have internet at home, so we ought to be better at keeping in touch from now on.

Fletch's tip for new travellers

A secret has been kept from mankind for too long. It is the secret of the ultimate dessert. It took the courage of the team at Wagamamas to bring it to the world. It is: the Tamarind and Chili Pavlova! I can now die a happy man...

Paris for a day - 06/04/06

2006-04-06T11:25:00.000Z

Welcome to a new edition of Maria and Fletch abroad. Whilst it is true that we have been slack and not updated our blog for some time, this reflects the relatively ‘hum drum’ nature of our current existence. In the past month since leaving the Eastern European capital of Wych Cross for the Scottish/Australian Mecca of Staines, Maria and I have been working 48+ hour weeks and tying up some loose ends. Beyond a flying visit to the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, and a day at the British Museum during which I found I have become cruelly afflicted with ‘museum burnout’, our time has been used most unfashionably constructively. We found some relief through Maria’s keen powers of observation and the Daily Telegraph. Armed with four ‘passwords’ from editions of the ‘Tele’ we booked cheap Eurostar tickets and embarked on a quick visit to Paris.

Having convinced our Scottish managers of the grave necessity of our visiting the French capital, we secured a day shift on Tuesday, a Wednesday off and a Thursday night shift. They punished us by organising a Leffe tasting session for Thursday morning, but our enthusiasm remained. Thus on Tuesday we completed our shift at 5pm, and after a brief scramble to pack a minimum of essentials, headed off to catch our train.

The train from Staines to London stops at Waterloo, which by happy coincidence in the London port for the Eurostar. After a brief fight with the evening crowd, a nutritionist’s delight complete with onion rings, and a magazine grab for the journey, we checked through customs and boarded the Eurostar.

The Eurostar is a train much like any other. The seating is aircraft style and whilst relatively comfortable, the only remarkable feature it has is its length. As you walk down the platform to the ‘cattle class’ end of the train, you being to think that you are going to walk to Paris!

We arrived on time, though late in the evening, at the Paris terminal, Gare du Nord, so we were glad that we had booked a room on laterooms.com that is about 50m from the train station. We crawled into bed about midnight, French time (an hour later than British summer time), and set an alarm to herald the day of adventure we had been looking forward to.

On Wednesday morning, fortified with croissants and strong coffee, we decided to catch a bus tour around the city. An open topped, double-decker bus with multi-lingual commentary is a great way to get your bearings in an unfamiliar city. The tour let us get on and off the bus as much as we liked and services ran every fifteen minutes. Our bus tour started, where else, but the Eiffel Tower. We caught the metro, now being quite adept at deciphering what were once incoherent squiggles, but which to the experienced eye are in fact maps of the mass transit systems in a sprawling metropolis such as Paris, to a station not far from the Eiffel Tower and, surprisingly, right next door to the Australian embassy. It’s a stirring moment when you walk out of the station expecting to see a great cultural icon and the first thing you see is the Southern Cross, fluttering proudly in the cold morning breeze. It makes one walk that little bit taller (‘cause of course I’m not tall enough as it is).

The crowd around the tower didn’t seem too overwhelming so we decided to take the bus tour first and the tower later. After a quick jaunt around the Sene including the Louvre, we made our first stop the Cathedrale Notre Dame. A beautiful, gothic cathedral, the building of the Notre Dame commenced in the 12th century, but took 200 years of voluntary labour to complete. The result is a soaring, buttressed space of great proportions, with intricate stained glass and a very spiritual feel, compromised only slightly by the constant procession of tourists which abates not even for mass. Maria and I stayed for a service, and it gave us a sense of what mass must have been like before Vatican II, since we didn’t understand a word of what was being said. Obviously the spirit of socialism and denial of economic rationalism permeates even the Catholic Church in France, as it took no less than nine priests to say a midday, weekday mass. Surely some of these would be of more use in the struggling antipodean diocese where masses aren’t being said for want of a parish priest. Unfortunately I haven’t the connections with Benedict that I had with JP, so I am powerless in this instance. Anyhow, the side chapels and ecclesiastical artwork made the visit a very satisfying experience.

After a few photos it was back on the bus, with our next stop on the Champs Elysee. We took luncheon within sight of the Arc de Triumphe and, as per usual, my love of anchovies led me to a soul searching bout of menu envy. The espresso to finish my meal reinforced me for some more exploration, so we trekked the thirty odd metres to the Arc de Triumphe for a goosy gander and some photos. As a monument to Napolean’s ego, it is quite a statement and the carving is of the highest order, showing all of the restraint the French are famous for.

Back on the bus and off to the Eiffel Tower. The signage on the queue promised us less than a half hour’s wait for our tickets. ‘Great’ I thought, and a mere ten minutes later we had our tickets. What nobody mentioned was the hour we had to wait in the queue on the 2nd level in the freezing wind before being able to ascend to the very top. A large group of hyperactive, Spanish high-school kids raised the irritation levels somewhat, although I’m sure it would have been worse had I been able to understand them. The view from the top was moderately spectacular, but it was the journey in the elevator that really made the wait worthwhile. The true size of the tower can not be appreciated without that ascent.

Our obligatory visit to the tower complete, we decided to cap off our day with a visit to Sacra Cour. We caught the metro to the base of the hill upon which Sacra Cour rests, and caught a contraption called a ‘furniculari’, but which I would call a cable-car, to the summit. We entered the very eastern inspired church just as the priest was launching into his homily as we had a peek at the various side chapels and shrines around the sides and rear of the church until the priest started the eucharistic rites. At this point we sat and listened, for the dome roof, complete with painted scene of Frenchmen and angels attending Jesus in glory, beautifully augmented the real harmonies being sung by real nuns with really bad habits. This time the worshippers were disturbed by a noisy school group, but a very serious looking black man in a suit ushered them outside for a real tongue lashing. The feeling of peace and tranquillity in Sacra Cour is impossible to express in written form, and since I wasn’t allowed to take photographs, you will just have to go there to see what I mean.

After Sacra Cour, we wandered around the streets of Mont Martre before catching the metro back to Gare du Nord for a bit of kip before our 9.10 train back to London.

I write this from the Eurostar on the return journey. Overall I think Paris is a beautiful city to visit, and I’m sure I shall do so again, perhaps when we’re fabulously wealthy, so as to submerge ourselves more into the culture and culinary delights it has to offer. Anyhow, that’s all for now, so take it easy, and we’ll write more soon.

PS And congratulations to Joe and Nicole, whose 8 pound 2 ounce baby girl, Rachel Elizabeth, was born today. Good luck to you both!

Fletch’s tip for new travellers.

You may not speak the same language as the annoying adolescent trying to push in front of you, but a judicious elbow to the ear translates into any language.

On the move...

2006-03-12T20:47:00.000Z

We got sick of our jobs in Wych Cross, so we asked to be moved to somewhere more hip and happening than the middle of the forest. So, on Saturday, we packed our belongings (which took a mighty 20 minutes), hopped on a train and headed to the town of Staines, only 30 minutes from London.

We moved into our Thames riverfront address early in the afternoon. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with spending the pub's money finding furnishings that suited our taste and their budget. We had quite a successful afternoon and now have a tastefully decorated room, complete with aluminium blinds that Fletch screwed into place using only a pocketknife and a spoon. Talk about ingenuity :)

Must dash, as this update in the local McDonalds is costing us the earth. Til next time, lots of love.

Fletch's tips for new travellers
Men instinctively know that they have to own a car. I have discovered why. Without a car, you won't own a garage. Without a car or a garage you don't have anywhere for tools. Then you end up screwing things in with a spoon. I feel violated...

Nothing interesting to read here… 17-28th February

2006-02-28T16:21:00.000Z

We’ve started to get pretty bored with our jobs here at the hotel. As nice as the hotel and surrounds are, our attention has shifted to the future. Maria is spending time at the British Library, and I’m starting to reel in as many contacts as I can to get a foot into the door of the industry over here. We therefore have our heads down, bottoms up, and are spending more time staring into computer screens than serving beers. So not a lot to report at the moment.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

Always drink the cask ale that everyone else is drinking. If you drink a less popular ale, your pint may have been sitting in the line from the cellar to the tap for a couple of hours or more.

Time for some hum drum... 8-16 February

2006-02-17T09:59:00.000Z

Well things have basically quietened down for us now. We have settled into our respective roles at the hotel, Maria doing all the work, and me chatting to customers at the bar, and a routine is starting to emerge. We have two days off every week and those two days are now allegedly Wednesday and Thursday. We therefore plan to use these days to see what’s around the southern part of England.

The week was dominated with work as the roster changed such that we worked from Wednesday through till Tuesday. As a result of the renovations currently being done on the hotel, the power and hot water have been on and off in different parts of the hotel over the past week, and we have had workmen in the roof removing asbestos as well. The result is that various parts of the hotel have been off limits, including the laundry. We had to spend a night in one of the guest rooms (don’t all offer your condolences at once), as there is some weird pulsing noise in our bedroom stopping us from sleeping, and nobody can work out where its coming from.

Our only real excursion this week was yesterday, Thursday 16th. One of the hassles we have had starting work is getting a national insurance number (kind of like a tax file number and Medicare number rolled into one.) The boss told us to ring the Eastbourne office of social security, but it is almost impossible to get through. Either the line is engaged, or it just rings forever. We decided to give up ringing them and see what happened if we just turned up. At the last minute Maria decided to try them one last time before we left to at least get directions to the office. She miraculously managed to talk to a person, and found that we shouldn’t be going to the Eastbourne office from Wych Cross, we should be going to the Woking office. So he gave us the number of the Woking office and Maria tried to call them whilst I looked up Woking on our map. Maria failed to get onto Woking, which was a good thing as I found that Woking is in fact in Surrey, about 5 miles north of Guildford. Suffice it to say that we weren’t going to find it very easy to get to Woking on public transport. So Maria tried the Brighton office instead. When Maria rang the Brighton office, she got the same person answering the phone as when she had rung the Eastbourne office. So this seemingly omnipresent voice on the other end of the phone (the telecomnicon?) arranged a 3:10pm meeting for us at Brighton.

Armed with a stack of ID and some jaffa cakes, we found a transport solution that only required one bus and one train to get us to Brighton in about half an hour, and off we trudged for a day at the beach.

Brighton is demographically quite different from anywhere else I have been in the UK thus far. It is very much a university town, and university towns always have a certain feel about them. We took a stroll from the railway station down toward the beach, taking a quick diversion to make sure we knew where the social securities office was before going to the pier.

Apparently ‘beach’ has quite a different definition here. I can understand now why Churchill said ‘We will fight them on the beaches’. Anyone invading Brighton beach would become so depressed they would turn around and go home before they could reach for the Prozac. Brighton beach was cold, rocky, grey and horrible. On a serious note though, it suited me far more than the bright sun and sand of an Australian beach. ‘Why?’ you may ask. I need no justification for avoiding it! A quick walk down the pier, a few snaps with the camera, and into the fish and chip shop for lunch.

That was a mistake. Fish was evident, as were chips. One merely had to fight through two inches of solid batter to reach them. Ordering the large cod and large haddock was also a misjudgement. Indeed these fish must be man eaters in the wild. The fish were quite tasty, under all that batter, but Englishmen merely give you a look of blank incomprehension when you ask whether you can have fish without batter. Apparently they pull them out of the sea battered. Oh well.

Once we found the relative safety of the inside of the fish and chip shop, the sun mocked us by breaking through the clouds. I haven’t worn my sunglasses since we arrived in the UK, but I could have used them then.

After some brief shopping, we had our appointment at the social securities office. The staff there have quite a harried look about them, and become very friendly and helpful when they find that you aren’t a pregnant, teenage junky wanting to yell or cry at them. We should have our number in four to six weeks, and then the formalities of working in England are over for the time being.

We caught the train/bus home and that was our big day out for the week.

Take care

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

The most popular beer here seems to be Fosters. Nobody has yet been able to tell me why…

Goodbye Germany, hello England – 31st January to 7th February

2006-02-07T22:13:00.000Z

We have been a little lax with writing the diary this week, blame it on the adjustment to a working life. Our last entry was from Germany, where we were enjoying the hospitality provided by our friends, the Jakobs. We spent a lovely final day with Gitte and Stefan on the 30th. They took us to Hanau to visit a palace, but it was closed. Instead, we cuddled up to some friendly (and sleepy) bronze lions and took a stroll around the palace gardens. We then went for a walk through the Staadtspark Wilhelmsbad, a veritable winter-playground of frozen lakes and creeks, windmills, and lookouts. We skidded along the frozen ice, walking out to a small island in the middle of the lake, upon which is a pyramid. Fletch declared it the best he had ever seen :) We had a lovely time strolling around the park, enjoying the crisp cold air and the lovely blue sky. Little did we know that this was the last sunshine we would see…

When we had exausted ourselves and Gitte’s dog, we went home. We all had an early start the next morning, us to England and Gitte & Stefan to work, so it was early to bed and early to rise. The 31st was a foggy and very cold day. We caught a train to Frankfurt’s main station and then a bus to the Hahn airport to catch our flight back to Stansted. It was mid-morning when we arrived at Hahn but the fog made everything quite dark. It was only beginning to lift when our plane took off three hours later.

When we arrived in London, it was mid-afternoon. We caught a bus into Oxford Street, where we had to attend to some banking matters. This achieved, we headed for Victoria Station to catch a train to our new home. Commuting via tube and train with backpacks during peak-hour is not an experience we would recommend. Our travel woes were compounded by line-failure near our destination, so we had to hop off the train and catch a bus to the station of East Grinstead, in West Sussex. From there we caught a taxi (having missed the last bus) to a small dot on the map that is known as Wych Cross. It is here, at a 17th century hotel, we will be living for the next few months.

Wych Cross is several miles inside the border of East Sussex and is in the middle of the Ashdown Forest. It is a junction on the A22 motorway and home only to a car-yard, a hotel, and a rose-shop. Oh, and a bus stop. This bus-stop will quickly become our lifeline with the outside world. The hotel is a lovely old building, complete with lovely old building pros and cons. The atmosphere gives an impression of a hunting lodge and has excellent heating but the plumbing leaves something to be desired. Our room is in the oldest part of the hotel and from the road looks quite charming. It is a comfortable space and we have our own en-suite bathroom. All staff rooms are along the road-side, this being the noisiest part of the hotel. However, having come from living on a main road in St. Lucia, the road here is positively peaceful.

Our first day at Wych Cross was taken up with settling in. We started work on our second day. I am working in the hotel’s restaurant and Fletch is manning the bar. At present, the hotel is a bit overstaffed, so our first days of work were very quiet. Several people are leaving around February 16th, so things should settle into a normal routine around then. Our working day is not overly strenuous. I do the breakfast shift, which lasts until 3pm, and Fletch does a split shift across lunch and dinner.

In our free time (Monday & Tuesday being our days off), we have taken a few walks around the neighbourhood. As I mentioned, Wych Cross is in the Ashdown Forest. As the area around Wych Cross is wooded, it took several days for us to discover that the title of forest is misleading: it is only called a forest because the royal family used to hunt there. It is an ‘Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty’, aka AONB (the Government’s acronym, not ours), consisting primarily of heathland. It is considered to be the best-preserved heathland in the southeast of England and is the source of some 80 miles of walking tracks. We need to get some maps of the walking paths (and the visitor centre is only open on the weekend, which we didn’t know), so we have thus far stuck a main path that goes through a nearby golf-course and past a llama farm. Today, however, we took the hotel-manager’s two golden Labradors for a walk: more precisely, they took us for a walk. They led us on a path through the woodland – we had no idea where we were but they did and an hour and half later we ended up back at the hotel.

The rest of our day today has been spent decorating our room. The interior is shabby, so we have been hanging bright calendars and the papyri we purchased in Egypt to try and cheer the room up. We’ve managed to get lots of colour on the walls: an alpine scene on one wall, a 1962 Morris Mini 850 in bright blue on the other. The camel that Fletch traded his watch for at Sinai is hanging on one of the other walls, exclaiming ‘Welcome to Egypt’, flanked by papyri. It’s a bit chaotic but does take attention away from the holes and cracks.

BTW, we celebrated our 1.5th anniversary today! We were going to shout ourselves a coffee in East Grinstead to celebrate, but we didn’t have enough money.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

The Shandy is still a popular drink here in England, unlike Australia where it has fallen out of fashion. I have thus learnt a new thing!

Directions for making a Shandy:

Follow either of these two procedures to make the perfect Shandy

1 Fill glass to half full with lemonade. Top the glass with beer.

2 Fill the glass to half full with beer. Top with lemonade. Become overwhelmed with froth. Look awkward and embarrassed. Pour what is left of the concoction down the sink after much has already spilled on the floor. Get told off by manager for pouring beer down the sink. Use procedure 1. Then mop bar floor…

Germany – 24th – 29th January 2006

2006-01-29T13:19:00.000Z

On Tuesday (24th), we caught a flight from Stansted to Frankfurt Hahn. Both airports are located in out-of-the way places, and it took us twice as long to get to and from the airports than the actual flight between countries. Our arrival into Hahn was delayed for an unknown reason, which resulted in us having to queue outside before being able to pass through immigration. The delay meant we also missed our bus to Frankfurt’s Central station, resulting in further queuing outside. By the time we got on the bus we were frozen through and we were trying to guess the temperature. Neither of us came close – it was -7ºC. No wonder we were cold!

The purpose of our visit to Germany is to visit my friend Gitte and her family. I first met the Jakobs through a student exchange to Germany in 1997 and I have been back to stay with them several times. Gitte is now a teacher and lives with her partner, Stefan, just outside Frankfurt. Her parents, Kirsten and Joachim, live several hours away, in a town called Borken.

Our first morning in Germany was a big lie-in. Gitte and Stefan both had to work a half-day, so we did very little while they were at work. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day when they came home, so Gitte took us to a nearby village for a walk and some sightseeing. The village, Gelnhausen, is the birthplace of Paul Reis, who invented the telephone concurrently with (but independently from) Alexander Graham Bell. It is a very old village and has some lovely buildings, including one with cast-iron cats on the roof. As we walked around Gelnhausen it began to snow. Undeterred, we went to the ruins of a castle built by the German king, Barbarossa (a.k.a Frederick I). Unfortunately, we were unable to enter the ruins so we went back to Gitte’s house.

We had a wonderful evening with Gitte and Stefan, eating a delicious meal and playing Uno. The next morning, none of us felt like doing the dishes so we went out and bought a dishwasher. Gitte went off to school and Stefan took us to Flörsbachtal for some sledding. We passed several hours there, getting covered in bruises and having a great time. For novices, we found the hills quite steep enough, although Stefan assured us they barely counted as hills. Fletch had tremendous trouble NOT hitting trees, fence-posts and the like, whereas I just had trouble staying on the sled. We had a wonderful time.

On Friday, we drove to Borken to spend the weekend with Gitte’s parents. We arrived in the afternoon and spent several hours showing them photos of our trip – there are over 1000 so far! We then had a dinner party.

(Fletch subs in)

Saturday dawned bright and clear and cold. The meals here tend to encourage you to go for a long walk. Thus after extracting ourselves from the breakfast table, we grabbed some sleds and headed to a ‘real hill’ named Weinkopf. We took a delightful stroll through a snowy forest before launching from the top of the hill. There really wasn’t much snow on the ground by this time, but it was still quite icy. The result was a fast and extremely bumpy ride.

We then strolled back through the forest, past some lumberjacks with their chainsaws, to the cars.

Borken was originally a coal-mining town. Brown coal was mined underground until 1988 when an underground explosion killed at least 50 people and closed the mining operations. As a result the mines have been allowed to fill with water from natural springs, creating lakes. Each of the lakes is set-aside for a different purpose. One is for swimming, one is for wind surfing and aqua golf, and a third is currently in the process of filling and will be used for speedboats.

The first lake we visited, Singlis, has a coast guard boat moored in it. Why they decided to stick an old coast guard boat in the artificial lake I’m not entirely sure, but it is now used as a club and for small functions. This lake allowed me my first opportunity to walk on water. The aqua golf intrigued me, but I’d need to return in summer to see how it is played.

The next lake we visited is called Stockelache. In summer, thousands of people descend on Stockelache as it is the main ‘swimming hole’ in the area. When we visited, people were using it as an ice skating ring. Standing on a lake is quite fun, however the occasional growl and groan comes from the ice. The prospect of an icy bath when the ambient temperature is about -4˚C is distinctly distasteful for someone like me who will usually only swim when the temperature is above 35˚C. Thus the wonder of standing on a lake was tempered by the unease of standing on a VERY COLD lake.

We returned home for an afternoon nap before going out to a Greek restaurant for dinner. The experience of choosing food from a Greek menu can be fun anytime. Choosing from a Greek menu when the explanations are in German is much more interesting. I finally recognised gyros and was pleasantly surprised when it came with fried onion and baked potatoes.

After a lovely meal we came home for an espresso and a warm bed.

Today is Sunday and it is a lovely day, inside the house. It’s apparently bitterly cold outside, but we haven’t been tempted to find out. Tomorrow we return to Gitte’s house before flying to Stansted on Tuesday. Till we talk again, take care.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

Don’t knock long underwear until you have tried it. Then, don’t give it back. (Danke schoen Jakobs)

Off to London to visit the Queen - 23rd January 2006

2006-01-29T13:16:00.000Z

Our final morning in Egypt began like so many on this trip – EARLY! At the gentle hour of 4am, we set off for the Cairo airport with two others from our trip. We had independently organised a taxi-driver to take us, but the doorman was very insistent that we use a different taxi-driver (he wouldn’t get a cut from the other driver). At that hour of the morning, it’s not really worth arguing, so we gave in and took the hotel’s taxi.

We were out at the airport a bit early (the other girl’s flight was an hour before ours) and we had to sit outside for half an hour before they would let us in. However, we were the first to check in, got excellent seats, and spent the rest of our time in the coffee shop waiting for the flight to depart.

The BA flight was uneventful and we arrived at Heathrow 40 minutes earlier than expected. We had psyched ourselves up for a difficult immigration experience and in the end it was a piece of cake. We had our bags and were outside Heathrow within 20 minutes of landing.

We caught the tube into London, which we paid for with £12 of small change – 1p and 2p pieces. We’re not sure how we came to possess £12 in small change, but when we moved our stuff to Caboolture we discovered a bag of coins amongst my possessions, although I’ve no memory of collecting them. Anyway, we’ve been carrying these (heavy) coins around for the past month and the tube was our first opportunity to dispose of them. The ticket vendor smiled and said “of course” when I asked if we could pay with change: the smile changed somewhat when he realised it was copper. He took the money but told us for future reference that the vendors only have an obligation to take 20p in copper. We dashed off with our tickets before he could change his mind.

The tube ride was smooth sailing, the only disappointment being that they have changed the ‘mind the gap’ recording to something more banal. We went first to Oxford Circus to open our bank account and then headed to our youth hostel. It was in a slightly rough area of London and we were not put at ease by the 6ft signs telling us that a man was beaten to death there a few days earlier. Unfortunately, the hostel wouldn’t refund our booking fee on the basis of murder, so we took a private room and then headed out to do a few more chores and some sightseeing.

In the end, the chores took longer than expected (don’t they always!) and it was dark before we had a chance to start seeing the sights. We opted to eat dinner first, so we went to a pub called ‘The Shakespeare’, which is near Victoria station. Fletch was really looking forward to trying some authentic British beers and was very disappointed to find that the offerings were all imported. He forced himself to have one anyway and we then walked down to Buckingham Palace. It is lit up at night and looks quite lovely. We walked around the Palace and along the Mall for a while, seeing Big Ben in the distance. When it became too cold for further adventures, we decided to call it a night and headed back to the hostel.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

When we left Australia, many of our family members wanted to know why we were choosing the most dangerous places on earth as holiday destinations. Having visited London I now understand what they meant. The paranoia in London is so palpable, one wonders whether it is actually counter-productive to scare people so much.

Seriously though, I felt really secure and safe in Syria and Jordan. I also felt quite safe in Egypt, though I never took my hand off my wallet. London feels much more dangerous than the middle-east, and the ambient chatter is no less difficult to understand.

So until next time insha-Allah, shokran and ma salama.

Cairo - 21st & 22nd January 2006

2006-01-22T14:37:00.000Z

I am writing this while sitting on the bathroom floor of our hotel room in Cairo. It is approximately midday (none of the many and varied watches that Fletch has purchased over the past month are working, so I don’t actually know the time) and Fletch is sound asleep, so I’m trying not to disturb him. Our room here is like a cave – it is pitch black and very quiet. We’ve had some very noisy hotel rooms over the past few weeks, making this a pleasant change.

Our tour officially finished this morning at breakfast, although in reality it finished yesterday when the train pulled into Cairo. In many respects it is a relief to be off the tour. Some of the people were very draining to be around, so it is nice to have some space from them.

The train ride from Luxor was fairly uneventful, the only highlight being that the three most annoying people on our tour were ‘accidentally’ given tickets for a different train. With them dispatched, the trip was peaceful and we both managed to nap along the way. The train went quite slowly due to very heavy fog – so heavy that we couldn’t see the opposite bank of the Nile. However, we only arrived about an hour later than scheduled, so no major hassles.

Our first order of business when we arrived at the hotel was to sort out our washing – everything smells of either camels or dust, so we couldn’t put it off any longer. Having dispensed the clothes to the laundry, we headed to downtown Cairo to find something to eat.

There is very little to see in downtown. So we wandered back to Dokki (the suburb we are staying in) and went to the Sheraton for lunch. It was lovely to sit in their lounge and enjoy some respite from the constant noise of Egypt. It is difficult to describe in words the cacophony that is a constant companion in this country. The situation is compounded by the ever-present hawker, who just will not take ‘no thank-you’ for an answer. It is tiring to say ‘no thank-you’ all day long and it is unpleasant having people walking just a step behind you all the time. To sit by a fountain in the Sheraton, eating sumptuous Italian food, was a very agreeable way to pass the afternoon.

Last night we rejoined the group for a farewell dinner with our tour leader. He took us into the main bazaar in Cairo, the name of which I don’t know how to spell but is said something like ‘Kalid Kalily’. We walked though the bazaar for a while and then went to a restaurant in the bazaar for dinner. Later still, we went to a pub for a few drinks and some dancing. It was around 2am when we came back to the hotel.

A few hours have passed. Fletch finally woke up and we went out for a stroll. Along the way, Fletch got a shave and we got led on several journeys by people trying to get us into their shops. We were looking for specific café that we read about in the newspaper, but couldn’t find it anywhere (no thanks to the people who deliberately misdirected us). In the end we gave in and caught a taxi. Even the taxi got lost, but finally we arrived. Chocofolie awaited us :)

This café has free wireless internet and a whole host of delicious chocolate offerings. Once we’ve finished up here, we’re going to go back and pack in preparation for our journey to London tomorrow. We’ll be in Germany on Tuesday, so you can look forward to lots of interesting stories, and the Jakobs can look forward to having us there in person! We’re very excited, see you soon!!

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

Trains in Egypt are non-smoking. This means that the smokers congregate at the vestibules at each end of the carriage to enjoy a cigarette. You may find yourself seated next to the door leading to the vestibule. Egyptians seem constitutionally incapable of closing a door after themselves. Resist the temptation to ask of the latest miscreant, “Where you born in a tent?”. The slightly hurt and confused Bedouin may indeed reply, “Yes”.

Valley of the Kings – 20th January 2006

2006-01-22T14:32:00.000Z

We awoke early once more for a tour of the Valley of the Kings. We had to catch a motor boat across the Nile, which meant first climbing through a half dozen other boats to get into the one moored furthest from the pontoon. Our group met with the donkey boys on the other side who were to transport us to the site. We decided not to catch donkeys to the valley as Maria had had enough of riding animals by this point, and my feet tended to drag along the ground since the donkey isn’t an overly tall creature. Thus relatively safely ensconced in a cab, we rode in style to the valley whilst everyone else struggled with his or her wilful donkeys.

We met Saleh once again at the site entrance and he decided that another from the group would be his wife today, as he wasn’t greedy and didn’t want to deprive me of my wife for another day. This sentiment I agreed with whole-heartedly. After the usual security procedures, which involved walking through a madly beeping gate whilst the guards thoroughly ignored us, we took the short walk to the first tomb which we were to visit. Saleh was not allowed inside the tomb with us, but instructed us on the significance of the various elements within the tombs from outside, using his walking stick and the dusty ground as his chalk and blackboard. His knowledge of the tombs was extraordinary.

We visited a total of three tombs during our trip. The first was the tomb of Ramses IV. All of the tombs took many years to carve out the rock of the surrounding hills, and Ramses IV tomb took eight years just to decorate (according to Saleh – the official line is that it was completely built in eight years, but this seems unlikely considering how long the other tombs took to build).

The second tomb we visited was that of Ramses IX and the final one was of Merenptah. The Ramses tombs were both from the 20th dynasty whilst Merenptah was slightly older – 19th dynasty. Whilst all of the tombs in the valley of the kings were from the New Kingdom, they are nonetheless all over 3000 years old. What is remarkable about them is that they still maintain much of their colour. Every possible surface is decorated in carved, painted pictures and hieroglyphs. In the case of Ramses IX, the hieroglyphs indicate that it took 27 years to create the decorated tomb out of the bare rock of the mountainside.

After ogling at the ancient resting places, we decided to find a resting place of our own – for lunch that is. We jumped back in our cab with Saleh for the journey to the Africa Café. On the way we stopped for a look at the statues of Memnon. The are named Memnon by the Greeks after Agamemnon, although the statues are Egyptian and have nothing to do with Agamemnon.

Lunch turned out to be as delicious as it was extensive. Saleh regaled us with expansive tales covering topics of history, religion, philosophy and arranged marriage. We bid Saleh farewell before catching our speedboat back to the east bank of Luxor.

We had a free afternoon in Luxor which we used to pursue our favourite pastimes, (sleep and coffee – you can work out who did which). That evening we set out after some dinner. We had the cheapest restaurant meal ever. Two restaurant owners were standing next to each other outside their respective establishments beseeching custom. Having them bid for your custom was refreshing. We chose the one who offered free fresh juice and a 20% discount and ate our fill.

After satisfying our hunger, we had a look in a jewellery shop. Maria was interested in the ankhs, a symbol a bit like a crucifix, only with a loop at the top. The ankh symbolises the East and West Deserts, the Nile and the Delta, and like many ancient Egyptian symbols, influenced Christian art.

The shop was something of an anomaly in Egypt. Firstly, the proprietor, whilst very attentive and helpful, was not particularly pushy. He gave us a cup of tea and showed us some of his favourite pieces. He was obviously quite proud of his work. Secondly, the merchandise was obviously of a high quality, something rarely seen in Egypt. Finally the prices weren’t outrageously inflated. After some minor haggling, if you couldn’t afford to pay his stated price, he would let you walk away.

We discovered that the distinguishing feature of this gentleman was that he was a Coptic Christian. Usually I’m not one to use religion as a basis for comparison between people, but there are some basic cultural differences that can only be put down to religion in this circumstance (though the differences are cultural I’m sure rather than because of the tenants of the religion itself). As soon as you step into the Christian quarter of an Islamic city, it is like stepping into another city. The streets are clean. Nobody follows you down the street hawking his wares. The difference is stunning. According to our tour leader, the Christians earn on average 4 times what an average Egyptian earns and live in self-sufficient communities. The shop owner told us that the government doctors the census figures to show that there are only 10 million Christians in Egypt instead of 20 million, out of about 80 million people in total. Certainly I get the feeling that everything the Islamic Egyptians do has the feeling of transience. Nothing is made to last. Repeat custom isn’t valued, only the immediate sale.

Anyhow, we bought a quite stunning ankh bracelet made from silver and semi-precious stones, and Maria is yet to take it off. It is a wonderful reminder of our time in Egypt.

We had to run from the shop to get to the bus to take us to the train. The train left for Cairo at 10:30 pm Egypt time. So we boarded at 11pm. And left about 11:30pm.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

Nobody in Egypt will do anything for you out of the goodness of their hearts. Either they get a cut, or they expect baksheesh. If you don’t think you want someone to take a cut, then you have to deal with locals directly. Take taxi drivers for instance. You say you want to go from downtown to the Sheraton. All he has to do is cross a bridge – probably 10 minutes walk. So he decides he wants to take a roundabout route across 3 bridges and charge you 4 times what it should be. So you tell him exactly how to get their and that you can see the hotel from where you are and that you won’t pay 4 times the price. So he takes you the direct way, sullen though he has become. When you get to the other end he still demands 4 times the correct price. To deal with this, you look very angry and tell him that his mother would be very disappointed and you shake your fist. This will generally attract the attention of the tourist police. When the tourist policeman moves to intervene the cabby will take any price.

At this point you realise that it’s just easier to get the hotel doorman to organise it even though he takes a cut.

The road to Luxor – 19th January 2006

2006-01-22T14:13:00.000Z

The Egyptian section of our tour has been very full-on. We are on the move every day and usually we leave early. Today was no exception. The convey to Luxor left at 8am from the outskirts of Aswan, so we were on our bus at 7.30am. Those of us who stayed in the hotel last night are faring considerably better than those from the felucca, so I think we made a wise choice.

Today we were the first vehicle in the convey, so after we picked up our guards and their guns, we were on our way. Our first stop was Kom Ombo temple, which was dedicated to the crocodile god. Unfortunately, the convey allowed only 20 minutes at this temple, approximately ten of which were spent getting a ticket and using the bathroom, so it was really a waste of time and money.

We charged on to the temple at Edfu. This is a huge temple that seems to be in relatively good condition. It is apparently renowned for its colourful walls, but we didn’t manage to find any. We did try to walk to the roof of the temple, but our path was blocked by a gate. We were unable to find a guide (one of the problems when you arrive at the same time as a thousand others), so can’t really tell you much about this temple as we don’t know anything about it. One of the disappointments of the Egyptian leg of this tour has been that our tour leader knows almost nothing about ancient Egypt and tells us nothing about the sites. We’ve found that when we arrive at places, the guides have been prebooked by other tours, so we are left to wander around by ourselves. Nobody brought a guidebook, thinking we’d get the information from the tour leader or a guide: it’s the blind leading the blind, to be sure.

Having spent a tiny amount at Edfu, we moved on to Luxor. This trip took several hours, broken up only by the police demanding that we stop at certain places (usually because they wanted something to eat). It was around 2pm when we arrived in Luxor, but we had to rush to get to the Karnak temple before it closed.

The tour company had arranged a guide for Karnak, and it made a tremendous difference to our enjoyment of the site! The guide, Saleh, is quite famous in guiding circles and was even in the film “Death on the Nile” (playing, of course, a tour guide). He is very knowledgeable and very funny, which is a wonderful combination for a tour guide. He appointed me as his Queen for our time in the site, and he also appointed several concubines and adopted a few sons. At the end of the visit, he divorced me and gifted me to Fletch. It was a good laugh.

Karnak is actually three temples in one and it is quite remarkable. The hall of columns was a standout – 118 columns in a space of about 400sqm. The Egyptian columns are quite different from Greek and Roman ones. There are two types of capital – a closed capital which represents Upper Egypt and an open capital for Lower Egypt (or vice versa, we can’t remember). There was remarkable preservation of colour on the columns. It is very cool being able to see what they would have looked like in antiquity.

After visiting the temple, we caught a horse & carriage back to our hotel in Luxor. We passed the evening strolling around the bazaar in Luxor. We ended up in a papyrus shop after I wrote an address down for someone on the street – he made me a bookmark as a thank-you and then of course tried to sell us lots of papyri. It was a fun night.

Fletch's tips for new travellers

Egypt is a profoundly religious country. Whether Muslim or Christian, the importance of religious devotion is very explicit. The ancient Egyptians themselves held devotion to their gods as so important that they built the most resilient structures in history as a means of delivering their gods on earth to the afterlife.

The reason for all of this devotion becomes clear as you travel through Egypt. Daily life abounds with miracles. Really it does. Let me give you give a few examples of miracles:

When you get a hot shower
When your taxi driver takes you where you want to go without having to resort to fisticuffs
When the train arrives within 2 hours of the specified arrival time
When you get all of your laundry back
And its clean
And its dry
When you manage to get out of a bazaar and you still have your wallet, your wife and your sanity

This is the reason that anything that is planned in Egypt happens “Insha’Allah” (God willing).

Aswan - 18th January 2006

2006-01-22T12:53:00.000Z

We arrived in Aswan late yesterday after our horrible train experience. It was basically time to eat dinner, so we went to the Old Cataract Hotel (of Agatha Christie fame) but were told we didn’t meet the dress standards. Instead, we had some street food and then shopped for some fancy clothes for the Nubian party scheduled for tonight. Maria bought a stunning red number – literally with bells on. I chose a dashing, Arabian number in flowing white cotton, complete with an Arafat headpiece. Having obtained our fancy dresses, I bought yet another watch, this time complete with painted date and stopwatch functions. We decided to retire for the night, safe in the knowledge that we would be the trend-setters of the party.

This morning we awoke bright and early (actually dark and early since it was 3am), for a three hour bus ride to Abu Simbel. One of the idiosyncrasies of group travel in this part of the world is that it must be done in a police convoy. This is meant to provide safety for the tourists, but one would question whether it simply paints a bigger target. However, the convoy system means that our travelling is heavily regulated and the convoy leaves whether you are on the bus or not.

(Fletch buries himself in strong coffee, Maria takes over writing blog)

We arrived at Abu Simbel at 7.30am. The convey planned to leave at 9.30am, so we had quite a rush to get through the site in time. We started with a brief overview of the site from a local guide. Abu Simbel is a collection of two temples: one of Ramses II and one for his wife, Nefertari. The site was originally on the banks of the Nile river, but the Aswan Dam meant that the whole site had to be relocated. It now sits on the shores of Lake Nasser, approximately 40m higher and 200m behind its original location.

The first and biggest temple is Ramses’. Four massive statues of him, three of which are nearly complete, flank the entrance. Inside, the walls are intricately decorated with battle and offering scenes. At the very back of the temple is a little room with four statues in it. The fourth is the god of darkness and his statue is never exposed to the light. The other three are bathed in sunlight for 24 minutes twice a year (Oct. 21 and March 21, I think). Unfortunately, when they moved the temple to its new location, they miscalculated when the sun would shine into the room, so it now occurs on October 22nd instead.

Nefertari’s temple is not as big or elaborate as Ramses’, but it is still very lovely. Her’s is a far more peaceful temple, with wonderful statues of a cow goddess. I don’t know her name, but she has a human face and body with cow ears…it is actually a very cute look!

By the time we walked through the temples and around the site, it was time to go. So, back onto the bus….

This afternoon we’ve had transport of a different kind. When we arrived back in Aswan, we got changed into our party gear and walked down to the Nile, where we hopped onto a felucca (sail boat) called the ‘Nubian Dream’. Onboard, we had a delicious lunch while we floated down the Nile. We stopped at a place called ‘Magic Island’, though it is neither magic nor an island. It is, however, the spot for the best coffee in Egypt! I think we’ve mentioned the Nescafe before…if not, coffee here comes in powdered form. Usually, they give you a glass of boiling water, sachets of powered milk and coffee, and you stir it together. It’s not the most satisfying coffee, as you can imagine. However, this Nubian coffee was incredible. No milk, lots of spices (cloves, cinnamon, ginger), freshly roasted coffee beans, served in a gorgeous little cup about the size of an espresso glass. Yummy.

We spent until sunset floating along the Nile. The felucca then docked near a Nubian village and we disembarked to visit a Nubian family for dinner. We sat on their rooftop, eating a very nourishing meal and having henna tattoos put onto our feet (well, just the girls had tattoos done). By about 8pm, everyone was starting to fall asleep, so we walked back to the felucca. A group of us decided not to spend the night on the felucca, opting instead to catch a motorboat back to Aswan. As we walked back through Aswan to our hotel, we got lots of attention from the locals because of our fancy dress – they particularly took a shine to the boys, who were dressed in the galabea (flowing robes). Fletch, particularly, looks striking when dressed as a sheik. My outfit is quite musical, as every step I take is accompanied by the soft tinkle of bells. We’ve had a fun night, but now its time for some sleep. Au revoir…

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

Whilst featuring in ancient Egyptian art, we didn’t see a single Hippo in the Nile in Egypt. Not one. Apparently they used to live in the Aswan area but died out before Christ. *Sniff*

The train to Aswan - 17th January 2006

2006-01-17T17:11:00.000Z

Today is a fairly simple post. We spent 18 hours on a train that was scheduled to take 12. Six of those were sitting in the same spot. The doors were locked and we couldn't get off - they actually threatened to shoot us if we did. And we weren't fed. And we didn't sleep. And there were mice. And the bathroom... Lets just say that the bathroom isn't an appropriate subject for this forum.

It wasn't our favourite day thus far.

Fletch's tips for new travellers

If you are on an extended train ride (and you're not entirely sure by how much it is extended) it's a very good idea to only mention the mice you've seen darting around the floor of the carriage to your wife when you are getting off the train. 'nough said.

Cairo – 16th January 2006

2006-01-17T17:08:00.000Z

What a day! We awoke and broke our fast before a tour briefing at which we met some new members of our group. We now have two more Brazilians and a Canadian in our troupe. We also met our Egyptologist guide for the day’s proceedings, which included the pyramids on the Giza plateau and the Egyptian museum.

We stumbled onto the coach and the guide started describing 5000 years of Egyptian history. And geography. And agriculture. And hotels. And sports clubs. And recent wars. When we arrived at the Giza plateau, she finally paused to take a breath.

Seeing the Great Pyramid of Cheops rise out of a quite standard suburb of Cairo was a surreal experience. In my mind’s eye, I expected a sweeping desert vista. Instead there are hotels and fast food joints within a couple of hundred metres of the great, geometric monoliths. Nonetheless, the last surviving wonder of the ancient world is an impressive sight to behold.

We had only an hour to soak up what we could of the pyramids close up, so we started by diving into the burial chamber of the Chephren’s Pyramid. Only 150 people per day are allowed into the Great Pyramid of Cheops. Since we didn’t arrive at the plateau first thing in the morning, we had to settle with the Pyramid of Chephren. The Pyramid of Chephren appears higher than that of Cheops, but that is because it is built on higher ground. It is actually a couple of metres shorter. It is the only one of the three large pyramids on the plateau to have any of its capping stones remaining.

We descended into the tomb of King Chephren one at a time, since cameras were not allowed in the tomb. This puzzles me, as the only thing to take a photo of in the tomb is a basalt sarcophagus. Surely the flash isn’t going to ruin a lump of unpainted stone? The passage into the chamber was roughly four-foot high and descended quite steeply, but this didn’t stop plenty of elderly English persons waddling their way down the path. After about 50ft, the passage flattened out and all those people less than 6ft in height could stand up straight. I could smack my head into the roof. This is a sensation I am to become accustomed to, it seems.

After this relatively short reprieve, another four-foot tall corridor led upwards to the King’s burial chamber. This chamber was about 20ft tall, and about 30x10ft in area. There is nothing in there except a stone sarcophagus, and some 19th century French graffiti. Oh, and the requisite old Egyptian guy trying with desperation to extract money from you. Since I couldn’t work out what service he’d done me, I decided to insult him with a 50 piastre note (roughly ten cents Australian). I then smiled blankly and waddled away back down the corridor.

The thing that impressed me about the inside of the pyramid was the oppressive weight of all of that stone. You could almost feel it weighing down on you. Not normally a claustrophobic person, waddling like a duck in a 4ft passage under thousands of tonnes of stone did raise a certain primal level of panic. The other thing that impressed me was the warmth of the pyramid’s interior. Outside it was about 15 degrees Celsius. Inside must have been at least 10 degrees warmer.

After emerging from the pyramid and fighting with a few hawkers, (why do they keep sticking those head dresses on my head?), and refusing the very impressive offer of 2000 camels in exchange for Maria, we went to have a look at the boat housed within a specially built structure next to the great pyramid. The boat was found underneath stone slabs buried next to the great pyramid. The slabs were found using ultra-sound, but the well-preserved remains of a complete boat found underneath were a rare surprise. The boat has been totally restored using the ancient methods. This means that there are no nails or screws. The planks of the boats are fitted together ‘tongue in groove’ style and lashed with ropes. The boat is quite large and an impressive sight mounted on the second level of the museum structure in which it is housed.

This is all we managed to see in an hour, so we got on the bus and headed off to get the famous panoramic shot of the three pyramids together. Having satisfied this requirement, we drove to the lower temple of the Chephren Pyramid, next to which is the Sphinx. The Sphinx is quite a friendly looking human headed lion. The lack of nose and beard doesn’t greatly diminish the ancient look of wisdom as the Sphinx stares towards the rising sun. The lower temple, where the pharaoh was embalmed, contains the oldest columns in human history. At this stage the architects were too scared to build the columns unsupported, so these columns are built into the walls of the temple. The temple, which was originally on the banks of the Nile, is connected to an upper temple by a causeway. The remains of the upper temple are barely recognisable.

We said ma salama (goodbye) to the Sphinx and were deposited at the Papyrus Institute, where we were given a demonstration on the making of papyrus, and then subjected to the hard sell whilst we perused some really quite stunning artwork. We managed to escape with our lives and wallets intact, and clambered onto the bus to get some much-needed lunch.

After lunch we drove to the Egyptian Museum. Our guide gave us a chronological tour of the museum, starting with the pre-dynastic period and ending in the New Kingdom. The scale of the collection at the museum is staggering. One of the guidebooks we have read tells us that if you spent one minute at each exhibit, then you would take nine months to see everything in the museum. We had less than three hours. This was just enough to get a taste for it.

The highlight of the tour was certainly the contents of the tomb of Tutankhamun. So much treasure and gold for such a minor Pharaoh! His burial mask is eleven kilograms of pure, 24 carat gold. The sarcophagi in which his mummy was contained, layered around him like Russian dolls, were incredible in their beauty and sheer weight of gold and precious stones. All matter of paraphernalia was buried with him, including chariots, food, jewellery and his beds and chairs. Evidently he wasn’t a believer in the old axiom ‘you can’t take it with you’.

Another area of interest to us was the room of mummified animals. Two enormous crocodiles and a Nile perch at least 5ft long are displayed amongst a menagerie of cats, dogs, monkeys and horses.

We were on the verge of collapse from exhaustion by the end of our adventures and were very happy to get back on the bus for the return trip to our hotel. After a group meeting we did some repacking of our bags and ducked out for some dinner. In Cairo, there are a few KFC restaurants that exclusively hire deaf people. The service is very efficient and the whole restaurant is nearly silent. The gestures to indicate hot and spicy are something I will remember fondly for the rest of my days. It also goes to show that disabilities such as deafness need not stop people from working in service industries.

Tonight we catch the overnight train to Aswan. I doubt that our feeling of tiredness will be much aided by a night spent on-board a seated carriage. Nonetheless, we shall write again soon to let you know how we went.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

Egyptian hawkers speak an incredible variety of different languages. My tactic (learnt from another member of the group) is to say ‘no thankyou’ in Arabic (la shukran) and then look puzzled when they try to speak English to me. Finally, in an enquiring voice, I say ‘Icelandic?’ – I have yet to meet an Egyptian who speaks Icelandic.

St. Catherine and Mt. Sinai – 14th & 15th January 2006

2006-01-17T17:03:00.000Z

One of the things we wanted to do in Egypt was visit the Mt. St. Catherine monastery, which is located at the base of Mt. Sinai. This monastery is built on the site where Moses saw God transfigured as a burning bush. However, the monastery is closed on Sundays, which is the day that we will be at Mt. Sinai with the group. Tony, our tour leader, suggested that Fletch and I hire a car this morning and go to St. Catherine ourselves. We thought this was a great solution and arranged to be picked up at 8am on Saturday morning.

Mt. Sinai is located about two hours drive from Dahab, through quite desolate landscape. The area is heavily militarised, not only with Egyptian police and soldiers but apparently UN soldiers as well. The Sinai has been a source of conflict between Israel and Egypt and the military presence is to ensure that does not reoccur. For us, this meant the car was stopped frequently for checks. It was quite alarming to realise that while the car was stopped at the checkpoints, there were machine guns pointed at the driver and at us from afar.

The first indication that the morning might not run as smoothly as planned occurred about halfway to St. Catherine. The Egyptian agent who organised the car called us via the driver’s mobile to ask if we would still pay for the car if the monastery was closed when we got there. He kept assuring us that the monastery would be open, so we agreed to continue the drive and to pay for the trip.

Of course, when we arrived at the monastery, we found it was closed. We couldn’t really discern why it was closed, but we think that today must be a feast day. There were quite a few tourists and groups standing around the entrance, and we noticed that some were getting in after they handed over some money to the guard on the door. We decided to give that a try and thus engaged in bribery to enter the monastery.

In return for our cash, we were allowed to walk the path from the monastery gate to the ‘Burning Bush’. It was amusing to note the fire extinguisher sitting beside the bush. We also passed the well of Moses, although others claim that the well is on the path to Mt. Sinai. All in all, we weren’t overwhelmed by what we saw.

However, the guard noticed our disappointment and ran up some stairs to open a door. He called us inside and we found ourselves in the monastery’s museum, which houses a wonderful collection of icons, treasures, books, paintings and vestments. The earliest items date to the fourth century, the more recent to around the 18th. Of course, when other people noticed we had got into the museum, there was a bit of a stampede and the placed was packed in a very short time. We managed to stay in the museum for about 20 minutes. A monk then came in and yelled at everyone to get out, so we all scrambled out as quickly as we could. We didn’t get to see inside the chapel, which would have been the real highlight, but the museum was a fairly good substitute.

After leaving the museum, we drove back to Dahab. We passed a few hours quietly and then boarded our tour bus to drive back to St. Catherine. We arrived at our hotel around 8pm and went straight to bed.

At 2.30am we got our wake up call to get ready to climb Mt. Sinai. There is method in the madness of climbing so early in the day – we’ll see sunrise from the top. At 3am we left the hotel and we were on the path at 3.30am. There was a full moon in the sky, meaning the path was quite well lit. We were both surprised by the number of people on it – eight tour buses of Nigerians and a couple of Koreans as well. Add in the ever-present Bedouin guides and their camels and you have lots of people climbing a mountain in the middle of the night.

We set off quite determined to walk the whole path. After about 45 minutes, Tony decided that the pace for some of us was a bit slow and urged us onto camels. I got on a camel and Fletch walked beside it. He said the camel went at the perfect speed for him to walk beside. I made myself useful by holding the torch to light his way, the moon having slipped behind the mountain at that point. We continued like this for 45 minutes, until we came to the beginning of the steps to the top. When you walk up the camel path, there are 750 steps to the top of the mountain. They are the last section of the 3500 ‘Steps of Repentance’, which is an alternate path up the mountain. I hopped off the camel and we began the climb to the top.

We managed the steps in good time and arrived at the summit of the mountain by 6am. There we found a small church (which was closed), several hundred people, and very little space. Some Nigerians were, oddly, prostrating themselves to the moon and were engaged in very loud declarations of their faith. It actually seemed like they were trying to outdo each other – there was hysterical crying, screaming, beating of chests and so on. Add in the group of Koreans singing ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ and the summit of Mt. Sinai was not a peaceful place.

The sun didn’t rise until around 6.40am, so we passed the time trying to find the perfect spot to watch the sunrise. We opted to climb onto some rocks just below the summit on the eastern side of the mountain – this got us away from the crowds and allowed us to see in the sunrise in peace. It was freezing, though! We didn’t realise how cold we’d got until we went to climb down the mountain. The muscles in my left leg seized up and I couldn’t bend my knee to walk down the steps. After an excruciating 750 steps back to the camel path, I got on a camel to go back to the monastery. Paj, one of the girls in our group, led my camel down, while Fletch took the steps of repentance. His only comment about them was that they were very penitential.

It was about 9am when we arrived at the bottom of the mountain. Fletch went ahead to find some postcards of the mosaic from the church within the monastery since we had failed to gain entrance to the church the previous day. He returned with the postcards, and also with a cute, stuffed baby camel. It turns out that he had managed to trade his broken watch from Aleppo for the camel. We had time to go back to the hotel, shower and change, and then it was back on the bus to head to Cairo. That took seven hours, the only highlight being the Suez tunnel. We didn’t actually see the Suez Canal but we did see the ships floating through the desert in the distance.

Tomorrow is the end of the tour for some people, so tonight we’re having a farewell party for them. We’ll also have some new people join us tomorrow for the next leg of the trip.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

As you huff and puff your way up Mt Sinai, you’ll find that the Bedouin guides will run past you, wearing thongs and smoking a cigarette. Having to drag a camel along with them only slows them to a trot. The only way to make sure that the camel driver doesn’t speed off into the distance with your dearly beloved is to point out as clearly as possible that you, the pedestrian, have all the cash. This will make him stick to you like a Syrian shoe polisher on a slow day.

Dahab, Egypt - 13th January 2006

2006-01-13T16:21:00.000Z

Not much to write today - we've crossed from Jordan to Egypt via ferry, which took most of the day. I have to say, air travel is somewhat easier to navigate than land-border crossing...well, it seems to be quicker anyway!

We're in the Red Sea resort town of Dahab tonight. It is very windy here, but the actual temperature is a bit warmer than it has been. People are starting to get sick, so today and tomorrow are being treated as rest days, as we've got some very long and strenuous days coming up. Fletch and I are getting better - the climbing at Petra and Wadi Rum saw my cough return, but a good sleep last night seems to have helped clear it up. We've both still got a bit of nasal congestion, but we're on the up.

Tomorrow evening we're going to St. Catherine, which is at the base of Mt. Sinai. In the middle of the night, we are climbing Mt. Sinai, the aim being to watch sunrise from the top. Climbing may actually be an exaggeration - our tour leader is trying to convince everyone to catch a camel up. We'd really like to walk up, so we'll see how we go. In our next post, we'll tell you all about it :)

Wadi Rum – 12th January 2006

2006-01-13T16:20:00.000Z

After clambering from our cold beds at some ungodly hour, we slurped down some breakfast and chewed our way through a hot cup of tea before hearing a sound indescribably unique. Apparently camels are not morning people, and a herd of 20 of them bellowing from outside the camp, which incidentally was nestled against a rocky outcrop, is an experience I shall not forget soon.

We went out to meet the camels, and before long were mounted thereon for a quick, one-hour spin around the block. The trip went uneventfully for the most part, although Maria’s camel was determined to be the leader of the pack and would not wait for the rest of the group. The ride itself wasn’t too bad, I was able to sit down comfortably again at some point during the late afternoon…

After our camel trek we jumped in the back of some utes for what was touted as a ‘jeep safari in the desert’. We clung for dear life as the ute we were riding in seemed to find the path of most resistance through the desert, usually at 90 degrees to the direction of travel. We stopped at a pile of fallen rocks. Inside the mass of debris, our guide showed us a rock with a map carved into it from Nabataean times, probably BC rather than AD. Whilst this was thoroughly interesting, it wasn’t long before we were hurtling one more through the sand dunes to a large hill covered in sand with a Bedouin tent next to it. We took the unlikely decision to climb this hill (another painful experience) and then returned to the base for a cup or two of Bedouin tea. I’m not sure what’s in Bedouin tea, and it probably is better not to ask. It braced us however for the journey back to the main camp.

Once we returned to the main camp, we made our mournful farewell to the Bedouins, and loaded into the vans for the trip to Aqaba. The trip took an hour or so, and we were thankful for the respite.

We arrived in Aqaba about 1:30pm and checked into our hotel. By this time we were ravenously hungry. Our tour leader, Tony, took us for a quick walking tour of the city at about 2:30pm. Aqaba is a duty free town in a region where four countries (Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Egypt and Israel [or the occupied Palestine as it’s referred to here]) access the coast within a 100km strip of coast. As you can imagine, the town is very touristy, even more so at the moment when many Jordanians are on their annual beach holiday. Remember earlier I mentioned that we were hungry at 1:30? Well by 3:00 when we finished our walking tour we were fainting from malnutrition (no sniggering if you wouldn’t mind…) and thus our walking tour ended at the bastion of all things Arabic: McDonalds. Since I was in a foreign land I ordered two things I’d never seen at home; a McRoyale and a Double Cheeseburger. Maria also had a Double Cheeseburger, with a large coke the size of small grain silo. And there was a super size option available!

Having suitable stuffed ourselves with genuine Jordanian fare, we went in search of a massage for Maria’s aches and pains, and a good cup of coffee for mine. Maria was restored by the able hands of a little Chinese lady and I was restored by the able hands of a nearby barista. After a bit of quick shopping for supplies to make it through the potential nightmare of the water transit to Egypt tomorrow, we returned to the hotel for a quick rest before a 7pm group meeting. We ducked out for a quick kebab after the meeting. Maria rated it as the best kebab she has ever had, and all for less than an Australian dollar! I love Middle Eastern cuisine!

So now we fall into bed exhausted, but glad that we don’t have to leave the hotel till 9:30am tomorrow. But here I shall sign off until next time.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

Three crazy Bedouins. Three four wheel drive utes. One big sandy desert with the odd dust bowl. 17 crazy westerners sitting in the tray. Lots of revs, lots of lock, dump the clutch… Instant doughnuts, instant joy!

Does my travel insurance cover this???

Petra – 11th January 2006

2006-01-13T16:18:00.000Z

The day touted as the highlight of the Jordan leg of the tour had finally arrived. After a nourishing 6:30am breakfast buffet (which unwittingly also supplied our lunch) we were off to Petra from Wadi Musa at 7:00am. This early departure proved both fortunate and painful. It was cold - the sort of cold that makes snow men wander inside to sit by the fire and enjoy a warm bowl of potato and leak. It was also drizzling. We managed to pick only the third day of rain at Petra since October. It was fortunate however in that we managed to beat the crowds.

The first stage of Petra involved a horse-ride from the entrance gate about 600m to the start of the canyon. A 600m horse-ride may sound like a waste of time. However it was compulsory for members of groups with a guide to pay the 7 Dinar (about $12 AUD) fee to ride the horses, so we were going to get our money’s worth. We then had to tip the horsemen another 2 Dinar each, which just goes to show that the Jordanians know a closed market when they see one.

Once we untangled ourselves from our respective horses, we began our descent of the gorge itself. Our guide managed to build our anticipation to breaking point by pointing out every interesting geological feature on the way down the gorge, delaying what we knew was going to be a magical first view of the building known in modern times as the ‘Treasury’.

Seeing the Treasury rise into view through the gap in the gorge was like watching a magnificent sun-rise over Uluru. Known as the Treasury because of the 19th century fixation on finding treasure in any mildly ornate looking building, it was in fact a king’s tomb, and later a temple of the Nabataeans, who built the famous city. With two levels above ground, and one below, the scale of the building is matched only by the intricacy of the ornamentation on the façade. An interesting blend of Assyrian, Greek and Roman architecture makes the Treasury a truly unique architectural experience.

From the Treasury, our tour followed the gorge downhill through the necropolis section of the city. The unique thing about the buildings in this part of Petra (including the Treasury) is that they are carved out of the solid sandstone walls of the gorge. The residential section of the city was free standing, and was almost completely flattened by earthquakes. We clambered through caves, taking some beautiful photos of the colourful mineral deposits therein. These caves lead us to the royal tombs. We climbed inside the cavernous space within the ‘Urn’ tomb, so called because of the urn like feature decorating the very peak of the outer façade. The reverb time of the interior of the tomb was extraordinary. Unlike other buildings in the necropolis, the interior of the Urn tomb has been carved out in a totally square fashion. The number of slave hours required for the creation of the buildings in Petra is truly mind-boggling.

The next item on our tour was a 2,400 foot climb to the ‘Monastery’. The climb damned near killed us, but the wonderful condition of the Monastery, and the incredible view from ‘the end of the world’ made the gruelling climb worthwhile. For those interested in seeing the monastery without quite so much pain, it is possible to catch a donkey to the summit. Having recovered sufficiently, aided by the sandwiches we purloined from the breakfast buffet, we descended the mountain. By the time we reached the bottom we had just enough time for a quick perusal of the remains of a Byzantine church. The church had quite remarkable mosaics in the floor.

We then started the long but gentle climb back to the top of the canyon. At the top, we decided to reign in a couple of horses to get us to the gate. We indulged in a Movenpick ice-cream before getting into the vans for the drive to Wadi Rum.

We arrived at the Bedouin desert camp at Wadi Rum around 7:30pm. The Bedouins were very friendly and hospitable and a lively night was kicked off with good food and drink. Once we were sufficiently fed, the band kicked up and the Bedouins showed us some of their funky dance moves; we couldn’t help but attempt embarrassing imitations. The band consisted of a lute like instrument, and two drummers. I decided that I’d prefer performing rather than dancing, and having taken over one of the drums for a couple of tunes, I think the rest of the group preferred my drumming over my dancing too! The Brazilian girl on our trip, Virginia, was showing Maria some of her dance moves. I must say that I was unanimous in my support of that exercise. Female hips can move in so many wonderful ways…

All good things must come to an end however, and the end of our night was met by an incredibly cold bed that even my thick and comforting beer coat couldn’t overcome. So shivering and tired, after a long day of adventures, we fell asleep anticipating the warming caress of the camels that awaited us the next day.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

On a serious note, the treatment of the animals in this part of the world ranges from mediocre to atrocious. As a case in point, the rather tired looking creature I rode from the top of the gorge at Petra to the entrance gate really didn’t feel like moving along at more than a leisurely meander. This was fine with me as I wasn’t in any hurry. Unfortunately the man leading my horse seemed in more of a hurry and moved to hit my horse across the neck with a length of nylon rope. My advice for dealing with this sort of situation is this: When the cruel ignoramus attempts to hit the horse, gesture that you want the rope so that you can do it for him. Like ignorami everywhere, he is also lazy enough to hand over the whacking duties happily. At this point stick the rope firmly under the saddle and refuse to give it back. When you reach your destination, the driver will be expecting a couple of Dinar as a tip. At this point I recommend waving the notes in front of his face, and then feeding them to the horse. This will hopefully serve two purposes. The first is to show the ignoramus aforementioned that if he wants to make any money then he needs to treat his animals far better. The second is to provide the horse with probably the most nourishing thing the poor beast has had to eat that day.

Dead Sea – 10th January, 2006

2006-01-10T19:47:00.000Z

One of the major attractions in Jordan is the Dead Sea, and it was our destination today. When we awoke, it was bright and sunny, which meant that we would have a nice warm day at the beach, as the Dead Sea is 418m below sea-level.

We left Amman when it was about 7ºC, so we were still bundled up in our fleecies, jackets, and scarves. When we stopped at the sea-level marker, it was warm enough to ditch the jacket and scarf, but not the fleece. When we hopped out of the minibus at the Dead Sea resort, it was warm enough to discard the fleece. There was much rejoicing!

The rejoicing didn’t last as we realised how cold the water was. However, it could not deter us from covering ourselves in black mud and floating around in the sea. It is quite a surreal experience, floating on top of the water. You can sit as though you are in an armchair - in fact you can maintain almost posture or position as long as you don’t attempt to be vertical.

After we had spent about an hour playing in the water and covering ourselves in mud (which is supposed to be therapeutic), we went into the resort’s aqua-land and played on the waterslides. We didn’t actually remain in the pool for very long, as it was very cold! However, time in the fresh water removed any remnants of mud and salt from our bodies, which meant that we could get dressed and go to lunch.

After lunch, which was a massive buffet, we started the drive to Wadi Musa, where we are staying tonight. The trip took about three hours and was regularly interrupted by security checkpoints along the highway. Jordan is on a heightened security alert this week, so the checks were a bit more frequent than usual. The minibus had to stop and be examined by soldiers and we had to give them a cherry wave before being allowed to pass on.

Unfortunately, as we have climbed about 2000m since leaving the Dead Sea, we’re back to wearing five layers of clothing. It was dark when we arrived in Wadi Musa (the Valley of Moses), so we haven’t been able to see anything. The reason we are here is to visit Petra, which we will be doing tomorrow. That promises to be a hard day’s walking (starting at 6am), so its off to bed for us. Our love to you all…

P.S. Thanks for all the comments and emails, it is great to know everyone is enjoying the diary.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

If you ever find yourself needing to drive from the Dead Sea to Wadi Musa (don't we all) then make sure you pack your sports car of choice. The road goes for about 100kms and climbs 1,800m. It has a nice smooth surface, more twists and turns than Pike's Peak, and no speed cameras! And I'm sure that those Humvees with the 16mm machine guns couldn't catch you... I'm really glad that I was wearing my sunglasses as, being the passenger in a Torago for this ascent, it meant that nobody could see me cry. Its enough to make you go out and buy a 20 valve quattro...

Jerash and Mt. Nebo – 9th January, 2006

2006-01-10T19:12:00.000Z

This morning dawned bright and sunny, quite a contrast to the heavy rain and cold weather yesterday. The early part of the morning was taken up with tour administration, but around 10am we were on our way to the Roman site of Jerash, about 40km from Amman. We didn’t think we’d have time to visit Jerash, but we decided to skip a walking tour of Amman this morning to ensure we could visit the site.

We’re both very glad that we did! Jerash is one of the best ancient sites I have ever visited. Parts of it are mostly complete, allowing a very good idea of the way the town operated and what the buildings looked like. We hired a guide to take us around the site, which was very beneficial. He gave a lot of background about different buildings and more general Roman history, which Fletch found particularly useful. We had a really good walk all over the site and enjoyed the climb up to the Temple of Artemis, where we saw the ‘shaky columns’. These are 2000-year-old earthquake-proof columns, still standing in their original spot. The way they were built allows the columns to ‘shake’ with the movement of the earth (and the wind) but they don’t fall over. I think 2000 years staying upright is pretty good going!

The real highlight of the visit for Fletch, however, was the big amphitheatre. He was stunned to discover the unique acoustical properties of the building. He stood in the middle of the amphitheatre and spoke and could be heard from everywhere in the theatre. The design of the theatre created focussed beams of sound, designed to amplify the spoken word to the back of the theatre. The most fascinating element of the design were circular ports built into the base of the amphitheatre seating – when we sat on opposite sides of the theatre and whispered into the ports, we could hear each other perfectly. It was really quite astonishing.

We wished that we could have spent more time at Jerash, but had to return to Amman to join the rest of the group on a trip to Mt. Nebo. The first stop on our way there was at Madaba, which is famous for the mosaics found in the Church of St. George. The most impressive one is on the floor near the altar, and it is a map of the Holy Land. When we first looked at it, we couldn’t make head or tail of the map. However, once we got an explanatory plan for the map, it all made sense.

From Madaba, we drove up Mt. Nebo, which is where Moses glimpsed the Promised Land before he died. There is a little church built on the top of the mountain, which Pope JPII visited in 2001. The church is covered in mosaics, both on floor and walls. It also had stunning stained glass windows around the altar. Outside the church it was possible to see the Dead Sea, but haze prevented us from seeing much more.

As we left Mt. Nebo, I asked our driver if we could visit the Church of Sts Lot and Procopius on our way back to Amman. A stunning mosaic from this church was featured on our entry ticket to Mt. Nebo, so I wanted to see it in person. The minibus drove down the mountain along a little goat track and stopped outside a cottage in the middle of nowhere. We all looked a bit confused, but the driver kept insisting this was the church. We got out of the bus while a man came from a nearby house and opened the door of the cottage. Inside, there was a mosaic floor, but we couldn’t see the panel featured on the ticket. The man who opened the door for us explained that this building had been his grandfather’s home, and that the mosaic floor had been discovered under the fireplace. When it was excavated, the archaeologists decided that it had been a church and the building is now consecrated ground. However, we couldn’t see the panel featured on the ticket, so asked him to point it out. This required standing on tiptoe, looking over a stone step and seeing one corner of the panel. I have no idea how they managed to get the panel on the ticket looking so good, because on the floor it was quite unremarkable.

(N.B. When we entered the Dead Sea resort on January 10th, we were greeted with the sight of a large replica of the panel from the Church of Sts Lot and Procopius. I believe this is the stunning mosaic represented on the Mt. Nebo ticket).

We returned to Amman in the early evening and had a nice dinner. Compared to Syria, food here is very expensive. In fact, everything here is very expensive – the Jordanian dinar is almost the equivalent of an English pound. Tomorrow we’re off to the Dead Sea, which will be fun and, hopefully, warm.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

The bagpipes have often been only half jokingly referred to as a weapon of war employed by the Scottish. I was therefore surprised to find that the Jordanians apparently have a highland regiment! The ‘entertainment’ provided in the amphitheatre in Jarash consisted of 2 bagpipe players and a drummer in military regalia. It is possible that they were taught how to play their instruments, if you allow for the fact that they didn’t seem to know any of the same tunes. They nevertheless played simultaneously (if not harmoniously) and very enthusiastically. I think what this proves is that the Jordanian army is quite capable of taking western weaponry and making it even more offensive!

Goodbye Syria – 8th January, 2006

2006-01-10T18:55:00.000Z

We have had a really great time in Syria. The people here are extremely friendly and welcoming, even if they drive like maniacs :) The country has really surprised us with its contrasts, but we have enjoyed the experience. However, all good things must come to an end, and so today we go to Jordan.

Early mornings seem to be a part of our holiday routine. This morning’s start was 5.30am, to catch a bus from Damascus to Amman. As we drove to the bus station, we saw the most beautiful sunrise. “Red sky in morning, shepherd’s warning” – we should have taken note!

The bus was late, so we sat around the station for a little while. When it arrived, it was the yuckiest bus we’ve ever seen, filthy and smelly and uncomfortable. However, backpacking middle-east style means that you don’t have any choice but to get on, so we did. The first part of the trip went relatively smoothly and we reached the Syrian border within two hours. Here we had to go through several different formalities:

off the bus, have the passports stamped, fill in the paperwork, back on the bus, drive 50m, stop at duty-free shop, drive another 50m, soldier gets on the bus, checks all the paperwork, bus drives 100m, get off the bus in Jordan, change currency to buy visa, can’t buy visa until passport has been examined, get passport checked, go back and buy a visa, get passport rechecked, back on the bus, drive 50m, take all luggage off the bus (bus then leaves to be x-rayed), stand in the cold rain for two hours while nobody looks at luggage, stand in rain for longer as someone comes and examines the bags, get back on the bus, wait another hour while one person is detained and removed, drive 15m, stop at café for 15 minutes, spend $12 on a biscuit and water for two as it is the only food available, drive another 15m, soldier get on the bus and check all passports and stamps, bus departs to Amman, 30 minutes later something in the engine explodes, sit on the side of the road, in the rain, for another hour….on a good day, this process goes rather quickly and the bus reaches Amman by 11.30am. It took us until 2.30pm. Next time, we’ll take a service taxi!

We spent the rest of the very quietly, due to heavy rain in Amman. Tonight we met our new tour leader (an Englishman named Tony) and the new members of our tour. We are now a group of 16, of which there are ten Australians, two Americans, two Englishpersons, one Brazilian and one Kiwi. Fletch went to bed early with a migraine and I went in search of some cough syrup – my cold is getting better but my cough is quite nasty now. Having found some, I’m about to join Fletch in slumber.

Lunch! One of the best and certainly the biggest kebab I have ever had!

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

If an Australian wants to really communicate effectively with a Syrian, I advise a small amount of oral surgery. The rather simple procedure aims to extract the tongue from its usual position: firmly planted in the cheek. (See anonymous post to previous tip concerning questions about children). For anyone I may have offended (all right you lot in Australia, put your hands down now), I enjoy poking fun at Syrians much the same as I like poking fun at the English, Americans, continental Europeans, Asians, New Zealanders (particularly) and Australians. Most of all I enjoy poking fun at myself. So let me say now unequivocally that Syrians are amongst the most hospitable, polite and friendly people I have met.

Damascus and Maaloula – 6th and 7th January, 2006

2006-01-07T17:45:00.000Z

We write this from the salubrious surrounds of the Cham Palace hotel in Damascus, where a cup of coffee costs more than the meals we have been eating recently. We are sitting in their very comfortable lounge, enjoying some respite from the croweded Damascus streets. It is the Haj holiday tomorrow, so every man and his dog is out buying presents. The shops are open til midnight and the whole atmosphere is very similar to a shopping centre on Christmas eve.

Yesterday morning we left Palmyra for Damascus very early. The bus we caught is usually empty, according to Bashar (our tour leader), but was jammed full. This situation was further complicated about 30 minutes out of Palmyra, when the coolant and oil overheated and the bus pulled off the road, filling with smoke. Everybody is saying we are cursed – this is the second bus in a week to break down while we’re on it.

So, we passed the next hour or so sitting on the side of the road in the middle of the desert. Due to the holiday, buses are as rare as hens teeth, so we had to wait a long time for a replacement. The situation became somewhat complicated as the morning wore on and the girls needed to use a bathroom – there is not a lot of privacy in the desert!

We arrived in Damascus early in the afternoon and were pleasantly surprised to find the temperature several degrees warmer. Now we can wear only three layers of clothes, not five! We didn’t stay in Damascus long, however, as we wanted to visit the town of Maaloula, where Aramaic is still spoken. In fact, 80 000 people, predominantly Christian, speak Aramaic in this area.

Maaloula is carved into the hillside and many houses are actually built in caves. We visited the Convent of Sts. Serge and Bacchus, where we saw the most beautiful church. They have had the wooden support beams dated by radiocarbon and found that they are over 2000 years old. Of course, that long ago the church was not Christian, but was pagan. It was adapted to a Catholic church before 325. The altar in the church can determine this date, as it is in a style that was abandoned by the Church in 325. It is filled with beautiful icons, mainly of the two patron saints of the church, but also of Mary and Jesus. One of the nuns from the convent said the ‘Lord’s Prayer’ in Aramaic – it was very atmospheric.

After visiting this convent, we went to the shrine of St. Takla. To get there, we walked down from Sts Serge and Bacchus via a chasm in the mountain. According to the legend of St. Takla, this chasm was created by Our Lady as Takla fled from soldiers (they were chasing her because she had converted to Christianity). Her shrine is beside a spring that is believed to be filled with holy water and people come from all over to get some to cure their ills. There is also a church near the shrine, but it wasn’t as nice as the one at Sts Serge & Bacchus.

The sun was setting as we left Maaloula, which gave us a great ‘Japanese stop’. The drive back to Damascus seemed to take a long time in the dark, but it was only about an hour. When we arrived back, we went to fight with the ATM again, still with no luck. The machines here do not recognise our credit card, so we’re running out of cash. Hopefully we’ll find a solution when we get to Jordan.

Today is a completely free day for us – Bashar is not accompanying us anywhere. It is a nice feeling, actually, to be a bit independent. We spent the morning in the Damascus museum. It is not the greatest museum I’ve been in and I’m surprised by how little it actually seems to have. There were two rooms, replicas of the Throne Room in Aleppo and of the Underground Tomb in Palmyra, that were very interesting. Also, I found the glass and ceramics to be very beautiful and Fletch really enjoyed the book section. However, after about two hours we had seen all we could.

And so we wandered the streets of Damascus until we ended up here. The city seems to be laid out in sections – we walked through the pen and stationary street, the calculator street, the electrical equipment street, the paper street and so on. The people are very happy and there seems to be good cheer in the air – just like Christmas, really. We have really enjoyed doing some window shopping – the clothes here (both men and women’s) are very beautiful. We’ve been writing this as we eat lunch and from here we are going to visit the Omayad mosque and the Damascus souq. We’ll write about them soon…

Well, soon came sooner than I expected! We walked over to the Omayad mosque from Cham Palace, which took about an hour. We had to walk through the souq to get there, which was like trying to push your way through jelly. We’ve come to realise that bazaars aren’t great places to be if you have no intention of buying anything . Also, if you do look at anything here, you almost have to buy it – you certainly can’t get out of the shop without something!

Once we made it through the mass of people, we came to the entrance to the mosque. We took off our shoes and started to climb through the gate. However, a guard came up and said we had to go to the ‘special clothes place’, which meant I had to put a tent over my clothes as my jacket wasn’t considered long enough. Fletch told me that I looked like an ewok in my tent, I refused all offers of photographs so you’ll not get to see what he meant :)

What can we say about the mosque… It was built around AD 705 and has been rebuilt and renovated several times. There are mosaics all over the external doors and the internal ceiling is intricately decorated. We were there in time for the 5pm prayer, so we saw the people coming in and being led in prayer. This was interesting to watch, not least because there didn’t seem to be an imam present – instead, it sounded like they were following a tape recording. We spent a little while there, just observing and looking around.

After leaving the mosque we got lost coming back to the section of Damascus where our hotel is. Finally we recognised that we were in the camera section (see my comment above about Damascus being laid out in sections), which allowed us to orient ourselves. We were very hungry, so we enjoyed a lovely meal before coming to the internet café. And that’s really the extent of our day. We have a 5.30am start to Amman tomorrow, so its off to bed now.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

When a Syrian finds out that you are married they ask not whether you have children, but where you have left them. To deal with this, see previous tip for new travellers concerning tripods…

Apamea & Palmyra - 4th and 5th January, 2006

2006-01-07T17:22:00.000Z

(January 4th)
Our itinerary listed this morning as free time in Hama. However, we decided that beyond the waterwheels, there wasn’t a great deal to see in Hama, so we took a minibus to an ancient site called Apamea. What we found there was astounding – a 2km colonnade along the top of a hill. We got dropped off at one end and walked through the site to the other end. The road was quite lovely and the weather was perfect (the cold wind that has followed us around seemed to drop away). We don’t know a great deal about Apamea – we think it was Persian. The site holds the ruins of several temples in addition to the colonnade. We spent a wonderful hour just wandering through.

On our way back to Hama, we stopped at the Apamea mosaics museum, which was very interesting. They didn’t have many complete mosaics, mostly fragments, but there were some beautiful ones of birds – we got a great photo of a rooster for Nana. The curator let us take photos until Fletch got out the tripod. He then told us we had to buy the postcards if we wanted any more. Unfortunately, the postcards here seem to have been made about twenty years ago and they look as faded as the mosaics themselves, so we gave them a miss.

We arrived back in Hama around midday and had some lunch before catching the bus to Palmyra. I slept for most of the journey and Fletch spent it listening to the ipod. There wasn’t a great deal to see on the three-hour trip – we were heading out into the desert. The road was quite busy, though, as it is the only road to Iraq and there were lots of military and commercial trucks heading that way.

It was dark and cold when we arrived in Palmyra. After dropping laundry off to be washed, we went out to a Bedouin restaurant for dinner. The meal was divine (Syrian food is really something to enjoy!) and very cheap. We have found that food prices here are very low – if we buy something in the street, we would be hard-pressed to pay over 50 Syrian pounds (this is about US$1). For a three-course meal, with drinks, we pay about 250 (US$5).

After dinner, the males in the group decided to go to the barber for a cut-throat shave. What happened next took us all by surprise – Fletch ordered the barber to take off his beard and goatee. Yes, you read correctly – he is cleanshaven! The change is astounding – most of the tour group didn’t recognise him afterwards. He looks quite a bit younger and I think he resembles Hugo Weaving in ‘The Matrix’. I’m still getting used to it, he really does look very different.

(January 5th)
I think he came to regret the shave just a touch the next morning, when we headed out into the coldest day we’ve yet experienced in Syria. He commented all day that he missed the warmth provided by his beard. It tried very hard to rain all day, without actually succeeding. This meant that none of us were too keen to be outside and ended up going over the ancient ruins of Palmyra in just a few hours.

We started at the Bel Temple, which was quite stunning. We then went to the Palmyra tombs – an underground and a tower version. Apparently, Palmyra is the only ancient city where the bodies were interred into these kind of tombs. The tower tomb we visited was four storeys high and held approximately 40 bodies per level, with the most important family members on the bottom level and young children on the top. We were able to climb up to the third floor for a look.

We then went to one of the subterranean tombs. I was only able to stay underground for a minute or two – the smell of sulphur was overwhelming. This tomb was even more remarkable than the tower tomb because most of the sculpture identifying the tomb occupants was still in place. There was also some painting on the walls, which was in remarkable repair.

From the tombs we headed over to the main ruins of Palmyra. We found the ruins of Apamea far more impressive than Palmyra and as a result didn’t really want to stick around for too long. We did have a ‘swim’ in Zenobia’s baths and took turns acting on the amphitheatre stage, but then headed back to town. Along the way, Virginia and I took a camel ride through part of the site, which was great fun.

We spent the afternoon in various ways – I had a facial massage and traditional Bedouin teas to help relieve the effects of the severe head cold I currently have and Fletch spent the afternoon smoking nageela in Mohammed’s Bedouin tent. Nageela is flavoured tabacco smoked through a water-pipe –he had apple-flavoured. The evening will be very quiet, as Fletch is starting to get my cold. I think we’ll have an early night to give our bodies a chance to fight the virus. So, til next time, adieu.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

There is a weird device that Bedouins allege is a musical instrument. Looking like a square banjo, having only one string (which I’m almost sure was fishing line), and played with a bow, it is really a device for confounding western musicians whilst the Bedouin makes off with your wife, your camels, or both. To short-circuit this racket, ask the host to give an impromptu performance. When he cannot make a sound out of it either, he will attempt to cover his embarrassment by giving you complimentary tea. Is good ya? You like?

Crac des Chevaliers and Hama – January 3rd, 2006

2006-01-03T19:07:00.000Z

The thing I dislike about Syria is that everybody smokes. Everywhere. On the street, in restaurants, in the hotel, on the bus, everywhere. I’m the only non-smoker on our tour and the others are making the most of cheap cigarettes and the ability to smoke anywhere, so I’m constantly surrounded by smoke. As a result, my throat is raw and all my clothes smell. I guess I’ve got to get used to it…maybe I need to take up smoking…

Enough complaining! This morning we had to get up quite early to catch the public bus to Hama, our next stop. It is the Islamic festival of Haj on the weekend, during which many people hire buses to make pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia. As a result, Syria is almost devoid of buses and the timetables are all out. To get to the bus station, we caught a taxi from our hotel. Taxis here are quite small and really not equipped to hold travel packs. Our taxi driver didn’t shut the boot, so we had a pretty nervous ride, watching our luggage through the rear window and praying it wouldn’t dislodge.

We, and the luggage, made it to the bus station in one piece. We boarded our bus and made the hour and a half trip to Hama. As soon as we arrived, we hopped into a minibus for the drive to Crac des Chevaliers, a castle near the Lebanese border. Driving in Syria is terrific in the proper sense and may be related to the level of religious devotion found in this region. Lane markings are there as rough guides – if cars can fit through a space, they can drive through it. In the cities, this is controlled to some extent by the massive number of cars on the road – they can’t go all that fast. Highway driving is a different story. The speed limit is 80 km/hr but most traffic is doing about 150. Indicators are only used to tell the car in front to get out of your way, horns are then used as a follow-up, meaning that the car in front really needs to get out of the way. The vehicles doing the honking do not slow down, they’ll just hit yours if it doesn’t move. As a passenger, this can be a somewhat stressful experience, especially when the vehicle bearing down on your little minivan is a prime-mover with two containers. We, as a group, found prayer on this journey!

The minibus survived the journey to Crac des Chevaliers, including the steep ascent just prior to the castle. We originally drove past the castle to view it from behind, and it is an awesome sight to behold. Built in the eleventh century by the Hospitaller Knights, it is considered to be the foremost example of crusader architecture. During the Crusades there were eleven crusader castles between Antioch and Jerusalem, five of which were in Syria. Crac des Chevaliers guards two valleys, which today mark the Lebanese and Turkish borders. It took 11 000 people 75 year to build and it housed 4000 soldiers, 400 knights and 400 horses. It could store enough provisions to withstand five years of constant siege, providing that enough rain fell to replenish the internal cisterns.

(Maria stops writing, Fletch takes over…)

Whilst physically imposing, the interior of the castle can only hint at the everyday activities of the inhabitants of the castle. Points of particular interest to me included the massive stone oven in the kitchen, the round table for the knights which was open to the elements, and the “King daughter tower” in which we ate lunch. The lunch was possibly the highlight of the tour, with an incredible variety of vegetarian food and quantities perhaps more suited to the hoards of Christian soldiers whom previously garrisoned the castle. We also enjoyed exploring the hidden passages surrounding the main part of the castle, a feature which was an extra layer of protection in times of siege. Our guide was keen to point out that the application of hot oil was considered a “welcome drink” by the defenders.

(Maria’s back)

After we had our delicious lunch, we braved the gale force winds blowing around the castle to head back to the minibus. Everybody was so full from lunch that the trip back to Hama was very quiet.

We arrived back near sunset and quickly went out to look at the wooden ‘norias’ (waterwheels), for which Hama is famous. The waterwheels have been in Hama for a very long time and were used to get water from the river Orontes into aqueducts, which piped the water around this region. There were originally 86, but only eighteen are still standing. They are not used for water distribution any more, but instead power a number of waterfalls and fountains around Hama.

After seeing the various waterwheels, we paid a visit to a loom weaver’s shop. We saw them making cotton and silk tablecloths and cotton towels. It was interesting to see how quickly they could do the weaving and how noisy it was! After visiting their shop, which contained an incredible range of cotton products, we walked through the main shopping district back to our hotel. Fletch and I went and got some fresh juice from a stall across the street and then had a brief rest in our room. We went out to get a quick bite to eat from a local pizza shop. We actually became the main attraction – they invited us in to watch them make the dough and the pizza. Everyone in the shop came up to say hello and the young boys making the dough began to show off for our benefit, becoming more and more elaborate in their rolling techniques. We had fun waiting for the pizza to cook and it was worth the wait – it was very good.

Currently we’re sitting in the hotel lounge drinking ‘raki’ with other members of our group, eating our way through a bag of Aleppo pistachios. We’ve got quite a big day tomorrow, so we’re going to have a relaxed night – the raki will help with that!! However, we can’t say goodbye without the latest instalment of….

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

Arak (raki in Turkey) is peddled in Syria as a drink. This is a joke perpetrated by Syrians upon unsuspecting travellers. It tastes of camel, and kicks like aniseed, or something…

Aleppo and St. Simeon - 2nd January, 2006

2006-01-02T15:39:00.000Z

Firstly, thanks for the comments and the emails, it is great to hear from people. We have had a lovely day today and we both feel quite recovered from the arduous journey to Syria. As we write this, we are enjoying a cup of coffee. To get instant coffee, you ask for 'Nescafe' and they bring you a mug of frothed milk with instant coffee sprinkled on the top. Stir it in, add some sugar, and you have a very nice cup of coffee.

After we updated yesterday, we went back to the hotel. We were planning on going to the museum, but it was already getting dark. It is winter here and the sun sets around 4.30pm. We had a rest and then met the new people on our tour. We now are a group of nine, five of whom are Australians. In addition, there are two Americans and one Brazilian. To get to know each other, we went out for dinner in the Christian Quarter. It was a lovely night, but by 10pm we were quite tired and headed back to the hotel for bed.

This morning we headed out to the St. Simeon monastery. This is about an hour's drive from Aleppo, so we hopped into a little minivan to get there. As we drove out of Aleppo, we got a good look of the countryside, which is very rocky. Limestone is quarried in massive quarries along the road – a suburb called 'New Aleppo' is built almost entirely of limestone, hence the demand.

The St. Simeon monastery is located on a hill above the ghost town of Telanisous. We stopped there first to have a look at the ruins and to get the backstory on St. Simeon, the stylite (person who sits on a column). He was born c. AD 392 and went to a school at Telanisous. When he was about 17, he developed a taste for fasting and would sit for days without eating. His school expelled him and Simeon would fast sitting on the hill above the town, looking down at his school. People would make pilgrimage to see him, especially after he developed a reputation for curing diseases. A friend suggested that he sit on a column and built him one that was about 2m off the ground. For the next 30 years, Simeon would sit on this column, which gradually was increased in size until it was 16m tall. After his death, he was interred at the site and a monastery was built around the column. It was maintained as a monastery and church for about 150 years (and a burial crypt housed the bodies of St. Simeon and the monks who lived there) and was then abandoned after a series of earthquakes. In the tenth century, a Kurdish prince discovered the building and turned it into his palace.

The monastery is in a state of disrepair but the grandeur and scale can still be discerned. The entrance is particularly remarkable – a series of arches and columns. Inside, the base of Simeon's column remains in the very middle of the building. Surrounding it are four domed areas, which are laid out in the shape of the crucified Christ: the arms are outstretched, the legs point west and the head is tilted to the right. Standing at the bottom of the 'foot' dome, you can clearly see the layout. The floor was originally covered in mosaics. Some still exist but have been concreted over because people kept trying to steal the tiles. Only a few are uncovered to give an idea of what the floor would have looked like. There are also eighteen different types of crosses found in the building, at the top of columns and on the arch keystones. We didn't find all 18, but saw about 10.

The site also houses a baptistery about 100m from the monastery. Very little remains there, but we could see the baptismal pool. It had steps leading into it from two directions and would be about five feet deep. The base of the pool is covered in mosaics and there is a viewing area to the west of the pool. As I said, very little else remains, but there is good views off the hill.

After making a requisite toilet stop, which requires payment to use a hole in the ground, we headed back to Aleppo. It was midday by this time and we visited the Aleppo citadel before lunch. It is in the centre of Aleppo and is on a very tall mound. After walking up a very steep slope and many stairs, we entered into the castle. It is currently being excavated and the archaeologists have found evidence that site has been used since Hittite times (which was c. 1500 BC). The majority of the castle that exists today was built after the crusades and borrows heavily from crusader architecture. We wandered around the ruins for about an hour, marveling at how much of Aleppo we could see from the top. From the way we have driven in and out of Aleppo, we had the impression that it was not a big city. We were wrong! It stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions. Almost all the buildings are made of stone or concrete. As very few of the buildings have any facing, this gives the impression that the city is almost white. In fact, we have noticed that the Syrian landscape in general is quite devoid of colour.

The highlight of our visit to the citadel was the Throne Room. We nearly missed seeing this, as we couldn't find the way up to it. As we were leaving the castle, we noticed a few men climbing out of a hole in the wall. We decided to investigate and went in. We had to climb about five flights of stairs (where each stair was almost 50cm high) and had nearly given up on finding anything when we stumbled into the most beautiful room. Every surface was covered in lacquered wood paneling and there was some gorgeous stained glass in the ceiling. Hanging from the roof were beautiful wooden chandeliers. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the stained glass, giving the room a beautiful rosy hue. It was a beautiful room and we were so glad we found it. Nobody else in the group saw it and they were all very jealous when they saw the photos. It really was the highlight of the citadel.

We had some lunch after visiting the citadel and then walked through the souk (bazaar) on our way back to the part of the city where we are staying. The souk is incredible; you could buy almost anything there. The whole thing is arranged into sections, with fabrics, jewelry, clothing, food and so on all divided into different 'roads'. The jewelry section is quite stunning, particularly the gold 'road'. It just glows! There were heaps of people in the souk and it was very slow moving through it. When we finally made it out the other side, we had some Aleppo pistachios and apricots to sustain us. Well, I ate the apricots and Fletch the pistachios. Both were divine, Fletch said the pistachios were the best that he had ever eaten.

We then had a wander through some of the old streets until we ended up here. We have a bit of free time until dinner at 7pm, and as it is dark, we thought we'd pop in and do the diary.

Fletch's tips for new travellers

A handy tool for the traveller is a camera tripod. Not only can you take better photographs, you can also rid yourself of beggar children and pesky traders!

Happy New Year!

2006-01-01T13:14:00.000Z

Happy New Year to you all! Its now 2:30pm Syria time on the first day of 2006! We are very hopeful that it will prove better than the last 2 days of 2005!

We arrived in Damascus about an hour late and were pleasantly surprised to find our luggage had arrived too! As it was the first off the plane we can only assume it made it onto the plane by a whisker. After an interrogation by immigration (during which Maria didn’t really seem to exist) we made it to the arrivals hall to find that our contact wasn’t there. After giving up on using a public telephone (the only one was being used by a man whom also had a mobile phone in each hand), we jumped in a cab to our hotel. We found out later that the tour company office here in Syria thought we arrived on GF903, 3 hours later than the GF901 flight we were in fact on.

We met our Syrian tour guide, Bashar, at the hotel at 7pm after a quick two hour kip. We have two girls, a Brazilian named Virginia and an Australian named Heidi travelling with us at the moment, and another 5 people who started the tour in Turkey will be joining us tonight in Aleppo. After our initial briefing, we sought out a restaurant recommended by Bashar and stuffed ourselves full of Syrian food (which is basically the same as Turkish food, only cheaper).

When we got back to the hotel we decided to welcome in the New Year horizontally and snoring. We hit the hay about 9pm and stayed there until the alarm interrupted our slumber at 5am. We repacked our bags, had breakfast at 6:15am and the group caught a minibus to the main bus station in Damascus for the journey to Aleppo. We missed the 7am, so we had to wait for the 7:30. The bus was quite comfortable, but about half an hour down the road the fan belt snapped off and damaged the radiator. We therefore waited another half hour for another bus to collect us. We stopped in Hama for a toilet break (the details of which are too horrific for a document such as this which may fall into the hands of children or adults) and continued on reaching Aleppo about 12:30pm.

Having settled into our hotel here, we went to lunch as a group and then went in search of an ATM. Our Virgin cards aren’t working in any of the ATMs here, so we are glad that we have National cards as a backup (yes indeed, the very card I left in Caboolture on day 1). Still this is a hassle as all our cash is on the Virgin.

Incidentally I have bought yet another watch, since the flashy Bolex is garnering far more attention from the locals than I would wish. The new one is suitably discreet and cost me even less than my lunch. Bartering over it was quite amusing however, as it turned into a sort of street theatre for the locals. I’m sure the proprietor was very happy with the attention it brought to his stall!

And so we sit in an internet café in downtown Aleppo enjoying your company. We may go to the museum this afternoon, and tomorrow we visit the souk, the citadel and some mosques. We’ll fill you in as the opportunity arises.

Fletch’s tip for new travellers

It is often said that when in Rome do as the Romans do. This does not always work. The penchant Arab men have of ignoring women is a cultural trait, it should not be tried by an Australian man travelling with his own (forthright) wife. This particular faux pas tends to lead to complications later on (such as internal bleeding). YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

30 Hours of Hell - December 31st, 2005

2006-01-01T12:56:00.000Z

We have had the most awful 30 hours.

Our experience began yesterday at around 2pm, when we arrived at the Bangkok airport to check in for our flight to Bahrain. We were quite early and had to wait for quite a while for the check-in counter to open. There wasn’t any hassle, we cleared immigration and had a few drinks and a massage while waiting for the plane to arrive. However, it was delayed by several hours, necessitating more drinks to while away the time.

At 7.30pm, we finally boarded the plane and found out it had been delayed in Hong Kong due to faulty flight controls. The late arrival and the time it took for everyone to get on board meant that the flight missed it’s allocated schedule for takeoff. As a result, we spent considerable time sitting on the tarmac in Bangkok, waiting to enter the takeoff queue. By the time we took off, we were nearly three hours late.

The pilot then told us that we were flying into severe headwinds, slowing down the flight even further. He anticipated that we would arrive in Bahrain at around 11pm Bahrain time. Eight hours into the flight, he came onto the intercom and told us that the flight was going to be diverted to Abu Dhabi for operational reasons. However, we were carrying too much fuel to be able to land at the time, so we had to enter a holding pattern above Abu Dhabi until the plane had burnt enough fuel to land safely. We finally landed at 12.30pm Abu Dhabi time and were transferred to a terminal to be processed by security. Everyone’s hand luggage was rescanned and everyone given a pat-down. This took several hours and we then boarded a new plane for the flight to Bahrain.

Ten minutes later, the pilot came onto the intercom and told us we would be delayed again as the emergency lighting in the new plane was not working. Another hour passed and we finally took off. We landed in Bahrain at 3.00am, six and a half hours late.

Then began the process of getting a hotel room. As our flight to Damascus leaves at 11am, we had booked a room in the Bahrain Airport Hotel for the night. However, they cancelled our booking - despite knowing that our plane was delayed. We had to join an enormous queue to the Gulf customer service desk to arrange what to do next. Immigration wouldn’t let us pass through to the Transit area until we’d spoken to Gulf, even when we said that we didn’t want a hotel room. Finally, at 4am, we got to the front of the Gulf customer service queue. They offered us a free night in a hotel in central Bahrain and arranged transport there. However, they wouldn’t let us collect our bags to take to the hotel – they actually told us they would cancel our onward flight if we took the bags out of the airport. The reasoning behind this was unclear, but we were too tired to argue and said we’d go and wait for our driver.

We had to exit the arrivals hall and go to the Gulf customer service centre at the entrance of the airport to meet the driver. This is supposed to be manned 24 hours a day. Well, it was around 6.30pm by the time we managed to get the airport duty manager to find the Gulf duty manager to find out what had happened to our driver. After a bit more mucking around, they took us to the hotel so we could shower and have some breakfast before connecting with our flight to Damascus.

Well, the hotel wasn’t much better. When we checked in, they said that we would have breakfast after 8am and our pickup to go back to the airport would be at 9.30am. We had a shower and thought we’d get an hour’s nap before breakfast. That idea lasted about 20 minutes, at which point the phone rang and reception told us we had to eat breakfast at 7am instead. We trotted down to breakfast and were back in the room by 7.30 to get that elusive nap (by this point, we have been awake for 29 hours).

Just as we were drifting off to sleep, the telephone rang again. Reception said to come and meet our driver to go back to the airport. We said no, pickup was for 9.30am. They said no, it was now. Then someone came and started banging on the door – this continued until we left the room. We were back at the airport by 9am, with no sleep.

As we write this, it is 1.10pm and we are finally on our way to Syria. This plane was also delayed, meaning we had to sit in the airport for three hours. We’re not sure if our luggage is on this plane, they couldn’t find it at the airport this morning but kept insisting that it would meet us in Damascus (despite only being checked as far as Bahrain). Neither of us have slept since we got up at in Bangkok on 6am on Friday – that was 36 hours ago. I'm trying to believe Fletch's advise that sleep is just a poor substitute for caffeine. I think I'll just try the sleep :)

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

If you are considering taking the milk run across the Middle-East on Gulf airlines, do this little test first to see whether you will enjoy it.

Firstly, get someone to beat you over the head and shoulders with a stick.

Then, once you’ve developed a headache, get a group of rowdy men to have a loud argument in a language you don’t understand.

Then complete an exam on a topic you have no knowledge of, in Swahili, with the prize being that you see the only possessions you currently have, returned to you at some point.

Oh, and make sure you do all this wearing yesterdays socks and underpants.

If you enjoy the experience, then you should be pretty safe transiting through Bahrain on Gulf!

In search of a Bolex – 29th December 2005

2005-12-30T10:23:00.000Z

After a night of excruciating slumber, we went in search of massage and breakfast. Surprising us both (due to a general lack of sleep in the past month), we were up and on the road by 9am. We caught a bus to the Partunam district, which is the best place to buy a Bangkok Rolex, better known as a ‘Bolex’. However, we arrived too early for the market. While standing outside the Partunam shopping centre, evaluating our options, we were approached by a man who identified himself as the general manager of the shopping centre. After a brief chat, he sent us off in a tuk-tuk to visit the ‘Lucky Buddha’. This statue is not generally on the tourist route but is very popular with the Thai people. Today was the Buddha’s special day and there were many Thai people waiting to pray for luck, particularly for travel and study related luck. We paid our respects and then met a Thai lawyer who gave us tips on how to achieve financial success through contraband. After finally getting rid of him, we went on our way.

Our next stop was the Tourist Association of Thailand (TAT). We decided that we should do some kind of city tour to maximise what we will see here on our brief visit. It was a funny experience – we walked in, sat down, the agent said “okay, this is what you will do” (no input from us), we paid our money and then left. We are going to have a guide take us around the major temples tomorrow, which should be good.

After leaving the TAT, we wanted to head back to the Partunam market. Our tuk-tuk driver couldn’t take us, as his tuk-tuk had run out of petrol and had to be towed away by another tuk-tuk. This meant we had to barter with another driver to arrange the trip. After convincing him that we really didn’t want to visit a tax-free jewellery showroom, he dropped us in the middle of the market. By this time it was after 11am and we were starving. We found a street vendor and had an authentic Thai breakfast of chicken curry. Our hunger sated, we went in search of massage.

We found massage just down the street: it was an hour of pure bliss, followed by fifteen minutes of near torture. The massage parlour we went to had the most comfortable reclining chairs – they would be far better beds than those in the hostel! We started with a foot and leg massage that went for an hour and was absolutely divine. Having thoroughly enjoyed that experience, we asked for a neck and shoulders massage as well. That may have been a mistake – it is incredible how much strength tiny women have in their fingers!! The pain was worth it, though, as the knots from the bed were worked out. After a cup of cinnamon tea, we left the massage parlour floating on air.

We then turned our attention to the most important task of the day…finding a ‘Bolex’. The was the only reason we stopped in Bangkok on our way to the Middle East is Of the ten million residents in Bangkok, a good six million of them are engaged in trying to sell watches. The competition is fierce and it was difficult to find the best deal. After an hour or so, we found what we were looking for. Fletch got a Rolex ‘Submariner’ with a blue face and I got a diamond-studded Rolex ‘Oyster’. Both are automatic (which means that they work without a battery, relying on body movement to keep them going) and we’re very happy with our purchase. Here’s to them still working in a week!

The afternoon was drawing on by the time we bought the watches, so we hopped on the Bangkok transport system and headed to the Suan-Lum night market. This involved catching two trains. The first was a Skytrain, which travels high above the city. The second was the subway. When we got off the subway, we made the mistake of taking the stairs instead of the escalator. Six flights of stairs later, we arrived at ground-level. Needless to say, we were exhausted and had to have a coffee to recover. We then wandered the markets for a little while, until we decided that it was a pointless activity, as we didn’t want to buy anything. We decided on having having a seafood dinner instead.

Dinner was divine and very spicy! We had lots of prawns – in chilli sauce and in a sour-pepper soup (which we think meant capsicum). We had a lovely meal and lingered for some time in the restaurant. We then retraced our steps back to Partunam and then caught a taxi back to the hostel. We got severely ripped off with the price – we didn’t feel like bartering, so agreed to the price asked by the driver, which was equivalent to $7.50. We have since found out it should have cost us about 75 cents. We live and learn.

That’s about it for today. We are quite tired and the beds from hell are calling. We’ve got a very early start for our temple tour tomorrow. Before we sign off, though, some more traveller’s tips from Fletch.

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

If you wish to get back to your hostel using public transport after a Thai dinner, pay attention to the following:

**Do not ask for a second beer. The beer is served in bottles slightly taller than the average height of the team of waitresses bringing it to your table, and is about as strong as the Thai impulse to sell you their grandmother (which are excellent value incidentally, but are very difficult to fit in your hand luggage).

**Ensure that you and your dining companion have the same intestinal fortitude where chilli is concerned. Thai food can be made hotter with the addition of various condiments. The actual effect of this is unknown as no English speaker has ever survived the experience. Suffice it to say that the average heat is generally sufficient.

D-Day – 28th December 2005

2005-12-30T10:21:00.000Z

What a day of peace, calm and general relaxation...whoops, I think we’ve confused our life with someone else’s!

The day we have been anticipating since May finally arrived. With it came a major lack of sleep and general exhaustion. Neither of us got much sleep yesterday, but we were up at the crack of dawn. By 9am we had finished packing (which required Mum to do an emergency dash to the laundromat to dry some clothes) and were on our way into the city. We had to take care of a few administrative things before meeting our families for a farewell brunch at Ascot. We arrived there just after 10.30am and found everyone else sitting waiting, which was quite a shock. We’re usually the first to arrive, not the last!

After eating a good breakfast and saying our goodbyes, we got dropped off at the airport around 1pm, anticipating a leisurely check-in, a few drinks to toast our journey and then departure. This all changed when we realised that Fletch had left his credit cards at my parent’s house. After a few panicked phone calls, they found the errant cards and proceeded to break the land-speed record from Caboolture to the airport. The cards arrived, we ran through immigration and arrived at the gate just as we were called to board. We downed a few whiskies to help ease the stress and sat back to enjoy the flight.

After a fairly uneventful eight hours, we arrived in Bangkok about 8.45pm. It took us til 10pm to get through immigration and out through customs. We hailed a taxi and headed to the youth hostel, where we had secured accommodation for a whopping $2 each, per night. This got us an air-conditioned room with beds that are best described as good for the soul. However, sleep is calling and hard beds or not, we are going to sleep…

Fletch’s tips for new travellers

If you are spending eight hours in a sealed tin can 40 000 ft above the earth, do not, under any circumstances, spend the preceding three days eating bean salad that is washed down with lager.

One month to go!

2005-11-28T08:39:00.000Z

Time is flying by and all of a sudden there is only one month to go until we leave. On December 28th we step onto our first flight, bound for Bangkok. A few days and hopefully one "Molex" later, we'll be travelling to Damascus via Bahrain. Then begins our overland trip - three and a half weeks traipsing through Syria, Jordan, and Egypt. From there we head to London for just one night, then over to Germany to visit some friends - it has been four years since I last saw them and it will be their first opportunity to meet Fletch. We get back to London at the beginning of February and there we will stay until we filled with wanderlust - or more realistically, the cash to finance our wanderlust!