Christmas preparations - 17th December 2006

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.

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Old Friends and New Beginnings - 28th November 2006

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.

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

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.

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Culture and jobs....20th August 2006

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.

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A little update 3rd August 2006

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

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Bruges Birthday Bash - 12-14 June 2006

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.

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Living it up in London - 30 May 2006

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.

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Living Large in London - 9th May 2006

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...

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Paris for a day - 06/04/06

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.

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On the move...

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...

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Nothing interesting to read here… 17-28th February

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.

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

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…

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

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…

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Germany – 24th – 29th January 2006

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)

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

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.

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Cairo - 21st & 22nd January 2006

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”.

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Valley of the Kings – 20th January 2006

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.

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