Tag: tourism

A Rest Day

United Kingdom

We’ve been having such a lovely holiday. Two fabulous days in Singapore eating and wandering before we got to the UK. Catching up with Tim and Ruth, walking Bertie their exuberant Cockapoo, another crack at FitSteps (same results), a day trip to Canterbury and a tour of Windsor Castle. I’ve barely had time to sit down, let alone write.

Finally yesterday we stopped for a moment. And being the 1st of December, Ruth suggested I help her put up the Christmas decorations.

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘what fun! I love Christmas.’

And so I found myself standing at the bottom of the ladder to the loft while Ruth handed down bag after bag after bag after bag of Christmas decorations.

‘There cannot be anymore,’ I said after an hour and a half and at least eight trips up and down the stairs.

‘No, that’s it for the loft,’ said Ruth, ‘I’ll come down now and get the rest of the boxes from under the bed, and Tim can get the tree from the shed.‘

Of course.

Once everything was finally in the living room there was not an inch of room to do anything. Boxes, shopping bags, tinsel, plastic bags and baskets covered every available space. The floor, couches, coffee table, book shelves, mantel and dog had disappeared under an avalanche of Christmas storage. We could only stare at it all and wonder where to start.

This was when Tim suggested that we should have packed up autumn before we started on Christmas. Good grief.

And so we clambered through the towers of boxes and quickly stuffed hedgehogs, conkers, autumn leaves, mushrooms, pine cones, orange cushions and pumpkins into bags and carted them upstairs.

And then we started.

Now I thought my mother had cornered the market on excessive Christmas decorations, but Ruth is in another league.

It took us over three hours to unpack, position and hang everything. And I mean everything. As I sit on the couch today, let me attempt to work through it all for you. There are fourteen reindeer, five Christmas cushions and two Christmas throw rugs, three hedgehogs (different to autumn hedgehogs), an owl, forty-seven pine cones of various sizes and colours (different to autumn pine cones), seven stockings, four giant stuffed toys, five candles, six candle receptacles, hanging things, LED things, glittery things, furry things.

Hundreds of baubles, including themed baubles – Leeds United, a hamburger, a dog, a heart and a Pinocchio pipe cleaner cone.

One full size Christmas tree and three decorative trees that light up when plugged in. A huge neon star in the front window.

A stuffed felt rolling pin with Christmas bakers, a full size cardboard cut out of English celebrity Jenna Coleman. More Santas than all of the shopping centres in England. Tinsel, holly, stars, ribbons, bells.

In the kitchen there are Christmas paper towels, seventeen Christmas mugs, a Christmas apron, two Christmas cake tins, Christmas oven mitts and tea towels and Christmas plates and platters.

In the bathroom there’s Christmas toilet paper, a Christmas hand towel, Christmas liquid soap and a reindeer. Mistletoe is wound around the balustrade up the stairs.

Apparently Ruth is yet to put out Bertie’s Christmas water bowl.

It’s exhausting just thinking about it.

I was kind of hoping today might be the real rest day. But I’ve just been told that on the second day of December we put up the second Christmas tree.

The second Christmas tree.

What a week

Bali

And so it is our last day in Bali.

What a week. We started our holiday in a low key resort by the beach, some nearby shopping, relaxing by the pool. It was calm and peaceful and slowly we got used to taking our time, wandering instead of rushing.

Then to Ubud, and our villa nestled in the paddy fields, the beautiful views and the constant sound of water and birds. Markets, swimming, food, and massages to turn you into a limp noodle.

To experience all of this with two of my best friends has been magic.

For our last night we went for dinner at Honey and Smoke. We had a banquet, with multiple luscious dishes dropped in front of us one by one and cocktails that arrived in a cloud of smoke, with big red chillies, flowers and pieces of seaweed adorning them.

By the end of the night Jen was convinced a bug had flown into her cocktail that turned out to be the remnants of the seaweed, Gab was convinced that no food arriving at our table had been on the menu and I was explaining the nuances of flavours to rival a MasterChef judge. None of us could get on or off our stools, and we all wondered how we were going to balance on the back of the scooters on the ride home. When we did get home Jen found IDR 100.000 stuck to her boob.

You’ll have noted from reading that we’ve been in sync the whole time, happy to just hang with one another. I haven’t even mentioned couples massages, the pesky grasshopper, swimming in our underwear, the restaurant that was never open or our glamour birds nest photos. Some things are best just left.

It’s been wonderful; the people, the landscape, the temples and most of all the company. I admit it, I was wrong to wait so long to go to Bali, or to think I might never go!

And that thing I said before I left, about having curbed my enthusiasm for scooters and batik?

Spectacularly wrong.

Kajeng rice field

Bali

We left the beaches of Bali a few days ago, and are now in Ubud, in a beautiful villa nestled in the paddy fields. In Ubud we have spent lots of time swimming, reading, relaxing by the pool, shopping and having spa treatments.

We’ve been hitching scooter rides to get into town, but yesterday we decided to walk down. There is a short walking track through the Kajeng rice field popular with tourists that starts not far from our villa, so after being reassured by Gab that her ankle would be fine, we set off.

Bali is an absolutely beautiful island. There are waterfalls and streams, beaches, lush forest. As we walked we had the paddy fields spread out around us, rimmed by palm trees and dense tropical greenery. It’s the beginning of the planting season, so the fields were full of water with the bright green stems of early rice only just emerging. The brilliant morning sun made the water glisten. Beautiful.

We chatted, took photos, stopped to look at a small stall of baskets and spotted many birds.

It was flat and easy most of the way. And then we came around a corner to find the path had suddenly narrowed to a small tract of mud with a sheer drop to the side.

Gab reassured us that her ankle was fine, and so on we slithered.

Then we came to an unsecured dodgy looking plank of wood across a gap in the mud path.

‘I’ll go, ‘ I said as I stepped forward, ‘it seems sturdy. Ok no a bit spongey. Walk quickly everybody!’

Then we came to a vertical mud drop in the path.

‘Here…if you hold my hand….just….’

‘I’ve got it….can you just….hold a sec….’

‘Ooh, that gives way.’

‘Maybe if you go down sideways….’

The rice fields were far behind us, we were now at the top of a canyon. Ok maybe more a valley. And even through the treacherous terrain we could appreciate the crystal waterfall tumbling into the verdant gully below.

‘We’re here now,’ Jen reassured us only to find we weren’t at all anywhere.

Another bridge of wonky dodgy wood, an even narrower pathway and an alarmingly steep set of mud steps and finally we emerged into the bustling main street of Ubud.

‘Coffee?’

‘God yes,’ said Gab.

And she doesn’t even drink coffee.

I’ve been to Bali too

I cannot believe it, but I am going to Bali.

I always said I had no interest in going to Bali. I was no longer a carefree backpacker, I have mostly given up partying like it’s 1999 and I have curbed my enthusiasm for riding scooters and buying batik. Yet here I am at the airport, waiting for a flight to Bali.

There are three of us going on this holiday. Jen, Gab, me.

You may remember Disco Jen from such posts as The Entourage. She is mad strong and helped me hoist kettlebells back when we used to do things like hoist kettlebells.

You may remember Gab from such posts as Gab’s issues. She is mad skilled at attracting travel drama, and is almost certainly the cause of Madonna and my cancelled flights to New Zealand.

I offered Gab and Jen at least twelve beaches and islands that we might visit as an alternative, but they were pretty keen on Bali. Jen reminded me that we are adults and we don’t have to stay in hostels and we don’t have to go to party central. We can find a beautiful beach, visit the gorgeous mountains, eat the fabulous food and wind our way through the more peaceful sights of Bali. We can relax, swim, read, eat, shop, visit day spas and just hang out in the sun with one another.

It was a pretty convincing argument.

So I have dusted off my shells and beads, packed my shorts and frocks and am on my way to Bali, with almost zero preparation.

Actually I lie, we’ve done a little bit of prep. Gab and I have filled all of our spare time sewing outfits for around the pool. Jen has sent multiple TikTok Bali tips to the group chat.

And Gab broke her ankle. Because, you know, Gab’s issues.

We now know everything

Today we crossed the border into Queensland, and soon the roadtrip will be over. Nat and her family will be Queenslanders.

Travel, it broadens the mind. We’ve had many discussions, conversations, investigations and questions over the past four days. And we turned to google for these most pressing questions….

– what are some fun facts about Ned Kelly?

– Parallel parking – what is it again?

– Is Uno (the card game) Spanish?

– If Uno is from Ohio, how do you pronounce Uno?

– Where is the nearest coffee/petrol/sandwich/McDonald’s?

– Can you drink your pee if you’re lost in the bush with no water?

– Can you get sunflower honey?

– What is the actual name of the song about the dog that sat on the tuckerbox?

– What’s the name of that song that goes down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico?

– How do you play Go Fish?

– What are the top things to do in Coonabarabran?

– What’s the story of Jimmy Governor and Dubbo Gaol?

– How do you play Old Maid?

– What are the real rules of Uno not the rules Goldie is explaining to us?

– What/where is the world famous six foot tall cow and is it really a cow or is Lulu just making it up?

– What is the price of cherries at Woolworths compared to the price we paid to pick them ourselves?

– Nicole Kidman – googled by Peppa, who knows why?

– Why are there so many flies?

Yes, our minds are certainly broadened. Yep, Uno – pronounced like the Spanish word for ‘one’.

Cherry picking

On Day 2 of our roadtrip we went cherry picking in Wombat. Yes we did. And yes there is a place called Wombat.

It was pouring rain and cold, which I suspect are very good conditions for tromping around the hills picking cherries.

The old cherry farmer explained the pricing structure to us.

‘So it’s $15 per kilogram if you pick a kilogram but you have to guarantee you pick probably five or so kilograms each for all of you altogether and then we’ll weigh them and then you’ll pay per kilogram. Or you can pay $10 per person for the five of you and then you can pick as much as you want and then that’s yours. So what do you think?’

Nat and I just stared at each other.

‘We probably just want to pick this much,’ I said pointing to a box of cherries.

‘Five boxes,’ said the farmer, ‘so that’s about 20kg.’

‘No, not each, just one box total please!’

‘Ok, we’ll it’s best you just pay $10 each. That’s $40.’

‘There are five of us.’

‘Yep. $40.’

So we paid our $40, took two white buckets and headed out into the rain. A young boy gave us a quick lesson on how to pick a cherry, pointed into the distant hills and told us that’s where the best cherries are.

It was still raining, and we were wearing thongs and Birkenstocks, but we were determined to go where the best cherries were. For about a kilometre we slid through the mud, sank into mud puddles, slipped down hills, and slipped backwards trying to go up hills, all the while shrieking and clutching each other’s arms as we tried to reach the utopia of cherry trees.

We picked two bucketloads of lush, plump cherries, probably ate a kilogram between us, and then back into the mud we went, down to the farmhouse, where another young boy wanted to weigh our cherries and charge us even more.

‘No, we had the family deal,’ Nat was saying as I slid to a halt next to her.

The old farmer wandered up at that moment, assessing our efforts.

‘Looks like we owe you $10,’ he said.

What?

‘You can go collect $10 from the house over there,’ he pointed to a shed up another hill.

What?

‘No, that’s ok,’ said Nat, backing away towards the car with our enormous bag of cherries.

So now we have five kilograms of Wombat cherries and a bag of wet muddy shoes stuffed into the last available space in the car.

What fun!

The most logistically complex road trip ever

I’m leaving for the airport at 5am in the morning to fly to Melbourne, and I haven’t packed yet. It’s ok, I’m not taking much with me. Because once I get to Melbourne, I’m immediately turning around and driving back to Brisbane with my sister Nat, three teenage nieces and a dog.

I’m so excited about travelling again I even ironed my Lorna Jane cargo pants. I’m so excited by a road trip I’m back on my travel blog to record the journey. And I’m so excited about Nat and her family moving to Brisbane, I’m flying from Queensland to Melbourne and driving through three states, two of which are border to border designated Covid hotspots, to cross back into the relatively safe state I left four days previously.

So as much as I’m excited, I’m more than a little nervous. My sister has already hashtagged this #themostlogisticallycomplexroadtripever. We have counted backwards 72 hours from Tuesday to calculate when to do our Covid tests to get us into Queensland. We have checked towns and cities to find all of the clinics that are open early, possibly on a Sunday, that take walk ins. We have scoured the internet for dog friendly accommodation in rural NSW for five people and said dog in peak holiday season.

We’ve downloaded the check-in apps for three different states and connected our Covid vaccination certificates to each, and then emailed our Covid vaccination certificates to ourselves. We’ve mapped out an inland route that has some tourist attractions along the way, but which we now realise doesn’t necessarily take into account possible floods.

Nat has written a list of what can come in the car given there’s precious little space: one small bag for each person plus dog bowl, dog bed, dog food, dog lead, dog poo bags and dog seat hammock. I don’t know what that last one is, but it sounds to me like Tassie is going to be the most comfortable out of all of us.

In between all of this my amazing sister has packed up a household of five people, sorted new school enrolments, sold a house, done her Christmas shopping and continued working. Amazing.

Logistically challenging as this all may be, I’m certain we’re going to have fun. We have playlists and card games, we have snacks and stories, we have five wicked senses of humour and a collective spirit of adventure.

And most importantly, we have a dog.

A guide book and a map

Hyderabad

And then you have the opposite of the walking tour.

Today we took an auto-rickshaw to Golconda Fort, the sprawling ruins of a huge 16th century citadel in the middle of Hyderabad.

Because it’s handy to have a small guide book with a map, I bought one that may or may not have been photo-copied from a lovely old man who pestered me endlessly when we came through the entrance. I did refuse the postcards – really, I have no need for postcards.

“How useful will that be?” Don asked me.

“It’s as useful as 50 rupee,” I answered. “it’ll be handy to have a small guide book with a map.”

“For example,” I went on as we approached a long building with huge archways, “this is where they kept the elephants.”

“Does it say that in the booklet?”

“No, it doesn’t say anything about elephants in the booklet.”

“Is it on the map?”

“Yes, I think it’s building number 22.”

“So what does it say about building number 22?”

“I don’t know, there’s no corresponding legend for the map.”

“Then how do you know it’s where they kept the elephants?”

“I know this from experience and my extensive knowledge of ancient Indian architecture.”

I flipped through the booklet some more.

“Oh, wait, there’s something in here about the royal camel stables.”

“Well are they building 22?”

“There is no way of knowing this. However here’s something interesting,” I continued, “apparently there’s a mosque within the fort grounds.”

“Is it that one?” Don asked, pointing to a bright white mosque right in front of us.

“There’s no way of knowing this, but I suggest yes.”

“Well I suggest you put the booklet away and we just walk around and read the signs.”

“Fair enough,” I said, tucking the guide into my bag. “So do you think we got our 50 rupees’ worth?”

“I think you would have been better off with the postcards.”

Walking tours

Hyderabad

We’ve done a number of food tours on our travels – tasted delicious fish stew in San Francisco, local churros in Lima, famous skyr yoghurt in Reykjavik. On the first day of our India holiday in we took a Storytrails food tour of the bustling Rattan bazaar in Chennai with Karunya, sampling our way through the streets until we were absolutely stuffed with dosa, dal, hot milky coffee and sweet gulab jamon. Food tours are usually one of our first choices to explore new areas, but due to a number of factors this trip we’ve taken two city walking tours, and they’ve been absolutely brilliant.

We only had one day in Bangalore, so to get the most out of our time we booked an offbeat walking tour with Tours by Locals. Sushma took us for a local breakfast, before we set off on a fascinating walk that included the old neighbourhood of Bangalore, Dodda Basavana Gudi (the bull temple) and the hectic fresh produce and flower markets.

Today we walked around Hyderabad with the Hyderabad Walking Company. We started the morning drinking chai and eating Hyderabad’s signature Osmania biscuit at a local cafe at the base of the magnificent Charminar, before Navin took us up the steep stairs to the top of the monument to look out across the bustling bazaar area and the old gates of Hyderabad. We spent a while exploring the grand Chowmahalla Palace, then walked through Laad Bazar where thousands of colourful bangles are made and sold.

Neither of these tours felt like ‘tours’. It felt like we were wandering around each city having a conversation with a local. Both Sushma and Navin gave us time to take in each sight and experience. Each told us fascinating stories about their cities – legends that people still believe, and those that may be closer to the truth. They even took photos for us. And they were both genuinely interested in our own story and holiday.

The difference between wandering around by ourselves or being guided is pretty significant.

If it had just been the two of us we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to wander through somebody’s home in the old neighbourhood of Bangalore, or see the dhobi ghat where every day clothes are beaten and scrubbed in big open tanks before being hung to dry in the sun along the street. We wouldn’t know that the kings of Hyderabad were ridiculously wealthy, nor would we have been thoroughly entertained by the stories of their personalities, deeds and lives at Chowmahalla Palace. We wouldn’t have found our way through the crowded KR market in Bangalore to get to the beautiful flower markets, nor would we know the difference between the genuine bangles created by Hyderabad craftsmen or those made elsewhere and sold in the street.

I’m a fully converted fan of the walking tour.

Chamundi steps

Mysore

We like to use the local buses and trains when we’re in big cities, get a feel for how people commute, have a bit of an adventure working out the system to get us places.

However nothing beats walking. Walking really lets you explore neighbourhoods, buildings, shops and people. We’ve walked for miles through many cities across the world.

Yesterday we set off walking to Chamundi Hills that overlook the city of Mysore. Our plan was to walk to the entrance at the base, and then climb the 1001 steps to the temple at the top, taking in the smaller temples along the way and the beautiful views over Mysore.

With the benefit of hindsight, it’s extraordinarily apparent that neither of us had any freaking concept of a) a walk across Mysore or b) what 1001 steps is like.

“How far is it to the steps?” Don asked in the morning.

“Four kilometres.”

“That’s good, we can walk that.”

“And then 1001 steps to the top.”

“Ok, no worries.”

And off we went.

Google maps has done a lot for walking in foreign cities. Via what I can only assume is magic, you can track where you are without needing the internet. I have no idea how this works, nor do I care, I’m just grateful that it does. And so we tracked our walk to the hills – out the front gate, down the street filled with Levi jeans shops that aren’t actually Levi jeans, past the busy markets and around the glorious Mysore Palace.

Unfortunately Google maps magic shows you the way, but doesn’t tell you what the way is actually like; the roads, the terrain or the neighbourhoods.

On we trekked, past the bus depot and some government offices, across a busy roundabout and onto a major highway. Over a guard rail and down an embankment to an access road. Through a small local market. Over some ditches. Past some goats. Onwards towards some fields, now only 2km into our walk.

An auto-rickshaw driver who was parked by the road spoke as we trudged past.

“Chamundi steps?”

We were in the back seat faster than anybody could say how much, where are you from or how about that cricket, happy to be driven the final two kilometres to the base of the 1001 steps.

Now I’m going to be generous here and say we made it roughly 100 steps before our first rest. Those steps were randomly short, tall, deep and narrow. They sloped left, then right, and wound back and forth up the hill. Our next rest stop may have been after 80 steps. Then 60. I’m sure you can see what’s happening here.

As the number of steps we could manage decreased, the amount of rest we needed increased. We stood to the side each time, panting, sweating, our hearts thundering. Barefoot 80 year olds flew past us, teenagers stopped to take selfies.

On we went.

We’d been sitting on a step close to number 600 for quite a while when one of us finally cracked. I can’t remember who, doesn’t matter.

“Screw this, we’re on holidays.”

And straight back to the bottom we went.

This was not defeat, this was astute holiday decision-making in action. There will be plenty more temples available for visiting.

Ones not at the top of a fucking mountain.