100 year old wooden canal boat

Riga

On our last day in Riga we went on a boat ride along what was Riga’s former moat. We waited for the boat down by Riga’s grand Central Market and watched as it appeared from under the canal bridge and slowed to a stop to collect the six waiting passengers.

The captain greeted us all and bustled us onboard. Before we set off, he asked us all where we were from. Scotland, Norway, Australia, we all answered.

‘‘And where are you from?’ he asked the dark haired girl next to me.

‘Germany,’ she answered.

Satisfied, he proceeded to rearrange everybody from where we had settled in order to distribute the weight evenly in his 100 year old wooden canal boat. For stability, he explained.

Finally off we chugged, past the Central Markets and straight out into the massive, choppy river that runs through the middle of Riga, the Daugava. In his 100 year old wooden canal boat.

We were precariously low in the water as the boat pushed its way through the waves of one of Europe’s biggest and no doubt coldest rivers. The 100 year old wooden canal boat rocked in the waves as our Captain passed around his phone with a photo of the boneless fish we should taste at the markets.

This was the point at which one of the passengers jumped to the other side of the boat to take a photo. Stability be damned, the whole boat tipped to the left, leaving us dangerously closer to the river. Still chugging along through the waves.

Oblivious to the peril, our Captain pointed out more sights as we clung to the sides of the boat. Multiple bridges, the church spires, the massive new library, home to six million books. His spiel was interspersed with stories that kept us entertained and dad jokes that kept him entertained.

And at each landmark the errant passenger would leap to the side for the perfect photo as the rest of us steadied ourselves by hanging on tightly and checking where the life vests were located.

After 20 minutes or so we stopped for three new passengers to board and two to disembark.

‘So, we have new people,’ our captain said excitedly. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked the dark haired girl next to me.

‘Germany,’ she answered, ‘still.’

‘Yes of course,’ he laughed at himself as his mate pushed us back from the jetty.

We bobbed about a bit until we heard our captain mutter ‘Why aren’t we moving?’ before he discovered he’d yet to start the engine. Another laugh and a turn of the key and we were off, into the much calmer canal.

We wound around the canal, heads swivelling from side to side as we were directed to more sights. The Freedom Monument, the Latvian National Opera building, parks, canal fountains. An office block, a public school, a restaurant.

Eventually we were back at the Central Markets where we’d started.

‘Thank-you,’ we said as we climbed out.

‘Danke schön,’ he replied happily.

You see, this is what you need a tourist activity to be – informative, funny and with more than a hint of danger.

Five stars. Highly recommend.

The Balsam to start please

Riga

What a fascinating city Riga is. We are staying in the old town in a fabulous art nouveau building, with big windows overlooking the rooftops of the town.

On our first day in Riga we went on a morning walking tour through the streets of the old town. We learnt about the history of Latvia, the occupation by Russia, Poland, Sweden and the gaining of independence – twice. We saw churches, exquisite old buildings, the Freedom monument and ancient walls and towers. We heard about Latvia’s favourite sport, the local foods and Riga’s famous drink – Black Balsam.

In the afternoon we went up the tower of St Peter’s Church for beautiful misty views of the town. We walked along Alberta iela and marvelled at the intricate art nouveau buildings, and later we found the Baltic Way Footprints, the other end of which we’d seen in Tallinn.

To top off a marvellous day we had dinner at Rozengrāls, a 13th century medieval basement restaurant, full of uneven wooden furniture, shields and stone walls. All of the staff were dressed in tights and hessian sacks, although a glance into the kitchen caught chefs in tracksuit pants. The only light came from enormous wax candles on each table. Peppa nearly went up in flames when she bent her head to read the menu.

Our waiter arrived at our table in full serf attire. Pen poised, he began with drinks.

‘We’d like to try the Balsam,’ I said.

‘The Balsam to start?’ he asked, ‘excellent. Is 43% alcohol.’

‘Sorry, come again?’

‘One of each,’ he continued as he scrawled on his pad, ‘traditional and blackberry. BlackBerry only 32%. Only small glasses.’

‘Ok, great,’ said Nat.

She turned to me. ‘Should we try the honey potheen?’ she asked.

‘Moonshine,’ our serf interrupted, nodding and scribbling, ‘good choice, is also 43% alcohol. Three?’

‘43%? Same as the Balsam?’

‘We make it ourselves,’ he said, nodding proudly, ‘three?’

‘One. To share.’

‘One,’ he repeated, scratching on his pad in disappointment. ‘And to eat?’

We started with thick chunks of salted fried rye bread with garlic sauce, so crunchy that Peppa called them ‘jaw defining’. Smoked chicken, venison and lamb followed, all served on enormous piles of barley, with bread that came wrapped in hessian.

And our drinks. They were not small as promised, they were in fact quite large. And quite alcoholic. Our serf presented them to us with a proud flourish.

The Balsam was thick and black and not unlike cough medicine.

‘Tastes like panadol,’ Peppa said after her first sip, screwing up her face. Five minutes later she was singing ‘Holding out for a Hero’ and searching for a knight in shining armour. I guess if there was one to be found anywhere, here would be the place.

Completely stuffed with food and Balsam, our pumpkin pie dessert arrived, along with the potheen. Also in a large glass, and also, unsurprisingly, quite alcoholic.

‘This one’s smoother,’ I wheezed, reaching for my water.

We couldn’t quite finish the pumpkin pie, but Nat insisted it would be rude not to finish our drinks, so finish them we did.

A bit blurry (hee-hee) we had a jovial walk across the cobblestones and back to the hotel.

Our first day in Riga a day well spent.

Aurora sightings unlikely

Helsinki

All year my sister, Nat, my niece, Peppa and I have been planning our holiday. Month after month we’ve sat together on weekends, piecing together the itinerary, booking flights and food tours and going down the rabbit hole of family history.

And finally, after nine months of planning and a torturous 26 hours of travelling, we have arrived at our first stop, Helsinki, in an explosion of hair products, chocolates and puffer jackets.

Travelling together so far has not disappointed.

We’ve visited the Herring Festival and sat on reindeer fur in cosy tents drinking chocolate hot enough to burn your oesophagus. We’ve climbed the steps to Helsinki Cathedral and wandered through shops full of Moomin and Marimekko.

We’ve sampled salmon soup, rice pies, shots of sea buckthorn, salty liquorice and Finish pancakes, and we’ve dunked ourselves in the freezing Gulf of Finland – twice – after steaming hot saunas.

Nat has researched and announced aurora sightings unlikely, but clouds 100%, and has declared she could happily live here.

Yesterday we crossed the Gulf in a massive ferry to explore the old town of Tallinn, Estonia. Nat has declared she could happily live there.

Of course many things we’ve done have been accompanied by a happy stream of merciless family ribbing.

Nat left the lid open and emptied the entire contents of her giant water bottle into her bag, leaving her sitting at breakfast in a puddle of water.

Peppa padlocked her suitcase shut and then left the key back in Australia.

Nat and I scoured the hotel room for two days looking for a hairdryer, only to be told by reception it’s just under the sink.

I brought my teeny tiny water bottle with me, giving Nat and Peppa endless amounts of material every time I take a sip.

But my absolute favourite has got to be Nat doing a post or some such thing on her phone, with Peppa looking on.

I swear this is word for word.

‘Well you do it’……. ‘No, no, no just swipe up and’….. ‘I know, I’m just’…. ‘There, that..oh, nope too late’….. ‘No but I did that’….. ‘No but you didn’t’…. ‘Well why did it’…. ‘Surely you know how to’ … ‘I do but’…

‘Have you even used a phone before?’

It is only Day 2.

The mathematics of travel

New Zealand

A whole day of walking through more atmospheric pools and craters, cruising across Lake Taupo to see the Māori rock carvings and finding another supermarket can be quite tiring. We were fully exhausted by the time we got back to our Airbnb. But there was no time for resting; we had a whole load of maths to do.

“I’ll just get our tickets for tomorrow’s glowworms trip,’ I said to Don.

“How long is the drive?”

“Two hours maybe?” I opened google maps to assist with calculations, “so I’ll aim for 11am tickets.”

“How long do the glowworms take?”

“An hour?”

“How long is the drive back to Auckland from the glowworms? What time do we have to return the car?”

He is certainly one for the questions. He is also a stickler for obeying the rules of car return.

“6pm.”

Having ascertained the timings and due dates of all returns and check ins, I returned to the ticket bookings.

All timeslots sold out.

I went to a different company. Most timeslots sold out.

“9am is available.”

“What time would we need to leave here?”

“Hmm, ok, forget 9am. We could buy one ticket at 11:40 and one ticket at 12?”

“That sounds fun. No.”

“We could go to Hobbiton instead?” I suggested, switching websites and rerouting google maps.

“How long will it..?”

“One hour to Hobbiton, two and a half hour tour, two hours to Auckland.”

“Ok I suppose.”

“Only afternoon tickets left.”

“Would we be back in time to return the car? What time is that again?”

“6pm. We’d just make it.”

This did not please him.

“I’d rather see glowworms than hobbit homes.”

“Ok let me recalculate,” I switched websites again.

“There are two late afternoon tickets for glowworms.”

“How long is the glowworms tour? How long is the drive back to Auckland again?”

“One hour. Two hours.”

“Can we sleep in?”

“Yes.”

“And what time do we need to return the car?”

I clicked on ‘Purchase’.

“7pm,” I said, “we’ll be fine.”

Geysers and mud pools

New Zealand

We’ve come on a short break to New Zealand. Just a few days on the North Island this time, to see the mud pools and geothermal springs.

Today we drove through Rotorua to the Waimangu Volcanic Valley where we walked down to Lake Rotomahana, past craters, bright blue pools and hot bubbling springs. It was spectacular – steam rising through the rainforest trees, bright green algae, rust red rocks and pale blue waters. All created after the eruption of Mount Tarawera in 1886. It was such a massive explosion that it made one huge lake from the two smaller ones, completely wiped out the pink and white terraces (the tourist attractions of the time) and created a 17 kilometre rift, the end of which is the Waimangu Volcanic Valley. The eruption cloud was 10 kilometres high. Ten kilometres!

When we reached the lake we had a private boat tour – private due to the pouring rain and us being the only tourists there. We chugged across the lake and saw the place where the white terraces used to be and the place where the pink terraces used to be, along with steaming craters and geysers that were actually there steaming and geysering.

The whole experience was both stunning and fascinating, and like nothing we’ve ever seen before.

On the way back to our Airbnb Don and I gave in to our love of a foreign supermarket and our diabolical fear of running out of food. Not food that has vitamins and nutrients. Not even food that we keep to hand in our own home. Nope, for reasons unknown, when travelling we urgently require a stockpile of snack food.

We left the supermarket with two blocks of cheese, a box of crackers, the biggest packet of chips we could find, three bagels and an enormous block of chocolate. We stashed it in our mini-kitchen with the packet of Tim-tams from our hosts, the half a muffin I had leftover from morning tea and the chocolate chip biscuits that we’d bought on the road the day before. Later that night we added the leftovers from dinner.

That should keep us going until tomorrow when we get to visit more geothermal attractions and another supermarket.

The Taj Mahal

In all of our travels there are some places we have been that have brought me to tears. The Taj Mahal is one of those places – it is breathtakingly beautiful, and we are so fortunate to have now visited twice.

On our first visit all those years ago we fell completely in love with the Taj Mahal. We had brilliant clear skies and bright sunshine, our photos all squinting into the camera and shielding our eyes from the sun. Our randomly chosen guide fabricated his stories, and I finished the visit by dropping my iPhone into the squat toilet. Later that day a monkey stole Don’s bananas.

It was the perfect day.

No such shenanigans this time. We had a late start, waiting for a heavy fog to lift, but by the time we arrived the sky was a beautiful grey blue. The small arched entry gives away very little, just glimpses of white, until you emerge into the complex and the full building reveals itself – beautiful and grand, perfectly symmetrical. The sheer size is astounding. The magnificent white dome of the mausoleum fills the sky, the minarets stretching up around it. Beautiful red sandstone gateways and a mosque sit framing the grounds. Past the gardens and fountains huge tiled spaces spread out like mosaic carpets, whole panels of marble carvings make up the walls. Up close to the mausoleum the intricate decorations are revealed; perfectly carved flower petals, inlaid coloured stone, Arabic lettering surrounding the entrance.

The light was perfect. We took multiple photos of ourselves and of the Taj Mahal from every different angle. I even went back to the same toilets – the scene of the crime so to speak. And Monika our guide was fabulous, carefully weaving us through the crowds, providing stories and information, taking our photos and giving us our own time and space to explore.

I took a long last look as we left today, knowing deep down it’s unlikely we’ll get a third visit.

When stars align

Jaipur

The first time we visited Jaipur, somebody recommended we visit Jantar Mantar.

‘It has all these ancient astronomical instruments. It’s very interesting,’ they told me, ‘and it’s a world heritage site.’

Don would like that, I thought, he’s a science nerd. So I added it to our list of things to do in Jaipur.

It was searingly, crushingly hot when we visited that day in 2012. We entered the archway to a flat expanse of pale yellow concrete with numerous pale yellow concrete structures spread throughout. Concrete on concrete. We had no idea what anything was other than the giant sundial as there were no signs in English, and the blinding white pages of my guide book were hurting my eyes. Luckily the star signs were labelled, twelve sets of random concrete steps and arches. We took our photos near Sagittarius and Cancer and left dazed, sunburnt and no wiser than when we’d entered.

‘Well,’ I said last week to my sister Nat, who’d had the exact same experience, ‘Jantar Mantar is not on our list of things to do in Jaipur this time.’

However the City Palace, right next door to Jantar Mantar, was definitely on our list. Beautiful and ornate palace buildings built by the Maharaja on a sprawling royal site. Trees, hedges, lush grass, fountains and a gift shop.

We walked to the City Palace this morning, glancing at the giant astronomical structures as we passed by the open doorway on our way.

‘There’s that sundial place we went to last time,’ I said to Don, ‘remember?’

‘We’re not going there again are we?’ he asked in alarm.

‘Hell no!’

We lined up for our palace tickets, had them clipped and headed through the entrance. Excited to see the glorious City Palace before me, I looked up from tucking our tickets in my bag to be confronted by an enormous sundial.

‘What the fuck?’ I exclaimed.

Don right behind me took a moment. ‘What’s going on? What’s the matter? Where’s the palace? Hey, is that a sundial? Woah, wait a minute, where are we?’

We had not bought tickets to the City Palace. We had bought tickets to Jantar Mantar. We had not walked through the ornate entrance to the palace, we had walked through the concrete entrance to Jantar Mantar.

Oh how we laughed as the hot sun beat down on us.

‘Well we can’t leave until we’ve got our four dollars worth,’ said Don, ‘we’ll just walk around for a bit. Maybe there is something here for us.’

‘Have we got our four dollars worth yet?’ I asked a minute later as we stared in bewilderment at a giant concrete cylinder.

We took a selfie, found our star signs and deemed it done.

After heading out the exit (dazed, sunburnt and none the wiser) we walked further along the road until we found the correct ticket counter, and spent a fabulous couple of hours marvelling at the ornate buildings, the beautiful old clothes and textiles and the intricately decorated doors of the City Palace.

I am sure that there are many enthusiastic astronomy types, history buffs and mathematical geniuses who would find Jantar Mantar totally worthwhile and absolutely fascinating. And I’m equally sure that there are new and interesting things for any tourist to learn by visiting.

After having now visited twice, all I have learnt is to check in with Don on what activities are science nerd suitable.

However I am no closer to understanding why Cancer’s representation at this significant site is a group of giant concrete steps and walls with a concrete fence.

I mean, where even are the claws?

Saved by the spicy corn

Ah Kathmandu, what a mixed up basket you turned out to be.

Our first day we explored. Down to Asan Bazaar where six streets meet at a bustling square. Colourful fruit and vegetables, chickens, slabs of meat, glittering silver fish, clothes, shoes, plants, temples and statues. Further on we saw Durbar Square with its many temples, and from where kings once ruled.

In the afternoon we wandered through the streets and lanes of Thamel with its multiple stores selling trekking gear, singing bowls, earrings and prayer flags. Even more stores sold headbands, floaty skirts, loose pants and overalls – dyed, embroidered, patch worked, in cotton, hemp, silk and wool the likes of which I haven’t seen since last week at Woodford. 20 year old Angela would have been in heaven.

Day two we walked to Swayambhu Mahachaiitya – the monkey temple. We kept tight hold of our hats, glasses and phones as we climbed the 360 steps to the top to see the incredible stupa and views across Kathmandu. Here we also found singing bowls, earrings and prayer flags, floaty skirts, loose pants and overalls.

By this stage we were really suffering from the quality of the air, so the next day we left the city for the clear air of Chandragiri, where we rode the cable car to the top of the hill for spectacular views over Kathmandu to the Himalayas. It was a long ride up – people used to walk the 11km to the top until they built the cable car. Perhaps they still do. On a clear day you can see a tiny bit of Mt Everest, behind another mountain. We had a beautiful clear day so I took at least 87 photos of the mountains and am confident that Mount Everest is in there somewhere.

On our last day in Kathmandu the earth moved. Literally. As I was perusing the breakfast buffet options I paused at the spicy corn. I do love me some spicy corn. Suddenly the floor shifted. Don felt off kilter, but I had no time to feel anything as a painting high up on the wall came crashing to the ground, shattering at my feet. A magnitude 6.8 earthquake had just hit Tibet and we were feeling it through Nepal. We had no idea what had just happened until the staff said something. They swept up the glass, sat us down and we continued with breakfast, the pottery bowls hanging from the ceiling still swaying above us. I have since read how devastating this earthquake has been for Tibet.

Kathmandu, you’ve certainly been an adventure.

Foggy Mountain Breakdown

Kathmandu

It’s hard to describe the feeling when you arrive in a brand new country for the first time. The excitement of somewhere new, the anticipation of exploring the streets, tasting the local dishes, poking around in museums, shops and galleries.

We flew into Nepal this morning, our first ever visit, and we had all of these feels; marvelling as we passed the Himalayas and descended over the sprawling Lego like buildings of Kathmandu. We held hands as we landed, grinning at each other in delight.

Of course the short journey was not all sunshine and lollipops.

It’s likely a well kept secret that I used to be terrified of flying. Scared spitless. I would cling to the armrests every minute of every flight, refuse all food, and arrive at my destination with cramped muscles, starving and prepared to find a job in order to avoid the flight home.

Through sheer determination I have mostly overcome this fear, and I quite enjoy flying now. Except for taking off. I still hate taking off.

This morning in Delhi a heavy fog had settled over the city. Should be gone by the time we leave the hotel, I told myself.

The fog was not gone. If anything it was worse. Through our taxi ride, check in, clearing customs and security, I kept telling myself the fog would lift, or the flight would be cancelled. Either of these options would be fine with me.

The fog did not lift and the flight was not cancelled. Instead we were shuttled across an airport we couldn’t see to a plane we couldn’t see, up some stairs we couldn’t see and told to take our seats.

A litany of sabotaging thoughts and desperate responses ran through my head as we sat on the tarmac waiting to leave.

How can the pilots see the runway? How can they see anything? I can’t see anything. NOBODY CAN SEE ANYTHING!

Everything runs on computers and radars and technology these days, the pilots don’t need to see.

OF COURSE THE PILOTS NEED TO SEE! WHAT IF ANOTHER PLANE GETS IN THE WAY?! WHAT IF WE GET IN THE WAY?

There’s no way we’d be leaving if this wasn’t safe. This must be safe.

WHY DID AIR CANADA CANCEL THEIR FLIGHT? WHAT ARE THEY NOT TELLING US?

Everybody here knows what they’re doing. This is a huge airport.

THIS IS A FUCKING HUGE AIRPORT! NOBODY IS SAFE!

The flight attendants look calm, it must be fine.

THEY’RE PAID TO LOOK CALM. DO NOT TRUST THEM!

Don’t look out the window, don’t look out the window, don’t look out the window. I’ll just look out the window.

IT’S A COMPLETE WHITE OUT! IT’S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT!

Calm down Angela, you’re perfectly safe.

HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN MY LAST INSTA PIC OF THE FOG WILL BE ON NATIONAL NINE NEWS?

Don made an attempt to distract me with some fun facts about Star Trek or Cheezels or who invented the mountains. I don’t know. I wasn’t having a bar of it, and he soon gave up. Instead I clung ferociously to his hand the whole time we were taxiing blindly across the tarmac, squeezing my eyes shut when the engines roared, the pilot having miraculously found the runway. God, my heart is pumping just writing this.

Without a word of a lie we broke through that cloud and into brilliant sunshine three seconds after taking off. Maybe two seconds.

It amazes me how bloody fast my whole body can pivot from abject terror to complete chill. My eyes opened and I loosened my death grip on Don’s hand.

‘I told you,’ he said, ‘it was just some low lying cloud.’

Even if I had heard him say this I wouldn’t have believed him.

We landed, we disembarked. Out visas were stamped and we collected our bags. Sanity and calm had well and truly returned. Sunshine and lollipops re-engaged, I was again filled with excitement and anticipation, chatting away to Don, the ground crew and anyone else who would listen.

‘It’s our first time in Nepal,’ I said to the man sorting out our taxi voucher.

‘Welcome to Nepal, Madame,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ I said happily as he handed me the voucher.

‘You’re welcome. Could I perhaps interest you in an early morning joy flight over the Himalayas?’

A Roaring Start

Never underestimate the power of a rest day when you’re travelling.

Yes ok, a rest day on the first day of our holiday may seem a bit much, but I planned this knowing we needed to recover from our gruelling flight schedule from Australia. Let us never forget The Zombies of San Francisco or Hours of Entertainment. Besides, Don is older than he was the first time we went to India.

We left Brisbane at 10:30am yesterday, and arrived in Delhi at 2:30am this morning. Knowing we’ll be back on an early morning flight again tomorrow, I scheduled only two things for today’s itinerary – rest and buffet breakfast.

Still, it hasn’t been easy.

We had to set an alarm so as not to miss said breakfast after falling into bed at 3:30am. Having eaten at least one of everything the buffet had to offer, we then went on a post breakfast walk to check out the neighbourhood. We followed this up with a well needed nap, which was followed by a post nap walk to check out the neighbourhood again when things were actually open.

We rested some more in a local cafe over coffee and salted Ajwain cookies. Then Don had another nap while I had a massage at the hotel spa where a small woman tortured the bejesus out of any deep vein thrombosis in my calves and anywhere else thrombosis might lurk, including apparently my eyeballs.

We’re now in the midst of afternoon rest time, before deciding on where we’ll go for dinner.

We certainly are off to a roaring start.