Tag: traveller

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?’

Budapest

This visit to Budapest has been astronomically different to our last visit.

In November 1993 we caught a bus from Istanbul to Budapest. The snow had only started when we left Istanbul, but several hours in it was a full blown snowstorm. It was a hair-raising trip through Bulgaria and Romania, snowing the entire way. There were moments when enormous trucks were sliding sideways down icy hillsides towards us; at one point Don told me to hold onto my bag and when he said run, I should run. What was meant to take 20 hours took 48 hours.

There was only one other English speaking passenger, and I was one of only two women on that bus. There was no such thing as non-smoking, a haze of permanent acrid smoke filled the air. After maybe eight hours, despite his protests that we were in the middle of nowhere, we had the driver make a toilet stop. Somehow we convinced him through gestures that the whole world is a toilet. Hours later at a border crossing I gave the other woman some money when the guards refused her currency and weren’t going to let her pass.

We were the only people to get off the bus in Budapest so they dropped us in a random location. We stepped off the bus into a metre of snow, with no idea of where we were. Somehow we found a tram into the city centre. We had no Hungarian currency so we couldn’t buy a ticket. Then we trudged through the snow to the cheap university accommodation, following the tiny map in our Rough Guide to Europe. It was bitterly, bitterly cold.

At the university they told us there was no heating but they’d give us some extra blankets. We turned around, fought our way back through the snow and caught the very next train to Vienna.

Fast forward 30 years to this visit. Three days compared to three hours – Budapest, what a spectacular city.

We walked the streets and saw the magnificent buildings, squares and statues. Heroes’ Square, the Hungarian State Opera building, Central Market Hall, St Stephen’s Basilica, the heartbreaking Shoes on the Danube Bank memorial, the incredible Hungarian Parliament Building.

We went on a food tour; hot langos, delicious raspberry strudel, pastries and chimney cake, tasty sausages, stew and a straight shot of pálinka that nearly took my head off.

We walked across Széchenyi Chain Bridge and caught the cable car to Buda Castle and Fisherman’s Bastion. And of course we surprised Ruth at the Christmas markets and celebrated her birthday with the most wonderful meal at local restaurant Pörc & Prézli.

Budapest, all is forgiven; we love you! You’re still pretty chilly, but no need for extra blankets.

A cunning plan

Budapest

When we let Tim and Ruth know we were coming to the UK for a visit, and that we’d also be taking the opportunity to go back to Europe for the Christmas markets, Tim immediately messaged me.

You see, Tim had a cunning plan.

‘Don’t talk about the Christmas markets!’ he wrote, ‘Ruth will want to go too, and I’ve booked a surprise European Winter Wonderland Christmas market cruise for her birthday.’

‘We’ll be in Budapest for her actual birthday,’ he went on, ‘perhaps you could surprise her and be there too?’

That sounded like a great idea! And so we were unwittingly drawn into this cunning plan. Actually unwitting is not true; I love a cunning plan, so I was on board from the get go.

Tim kept his cunning plan a tightly guarded secret; and we had to keep it a secret as well. Which is bloody hard when you’re going on holidays and everybody wants to know where you’re going. Including Ruth. So I invented a fake itinerary for the last leg of our trip, placing us as far from Budapest as I possibly could – in Spain.

Thus everybody in the UK thought we were going to Spain.

And everybody in Australia knew we weren’t.

Every social occasion we’ve had in the UK we’ve crossed our fingers hoping nobody would ask us where else we’d be going while we’re over. When they did, we would mutter something about Spain and rapidly change the subject. Honestly, holidays are meant to be relaxing!

When we set off for Heathrow over a week ago, Ruth waved us farewell and wished us a great holiday in Spain. We flew directly to Munich, where we began our travels eastwards towards Budapest.

We also went into immediate social media lockdown. It was old school travelling – when nobody knew where you were, what you were eating, how bloody cold you were or how dodgy your youth hostel was.

We have been to Munich, where we toured the Residence, found the medieval Christmas markets, explored the incredible science museum, climbed the tower and had tasty bratwurst and glühwein every night.

Meanwhile the first part of Tim’s cunning plan was revealed to Ruth, as a few days after we left they jetted off to Hungary and boarded their river cruise. I know this because they posted on Facebook, like normal people.

We were then on to Salzburg, where the sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue. We walked beside the crystal river, ate giant pretzels, caught the funicular up to the castle and meandered the pretty streets.

Meanwhile Ruth was asking Tim if he knew why we’ve been so quiet on social media, and why there are no updates on our Spain trip.

We’ve gone from altstadt to altstadt – one old European town to the next. It has been beautifully cold, the Christmas markets have been dazzling and the buildings and ancient churches spectacular.

Meanwhile the four of us have been converging on one city.

And now here we all are in Budapest. Finally today, in front of the Christmas tree at St Stephen’s Basilica Christmas markets, we really did surprise Ruth on her birthday.

Happy birthday Ruth ❤️❤️

Anyway, must run, I have 137 photos to post.

London calling

Before I start getting into our European winter holiday, a word about London.

We absolutely hands down, no questions asked, no correspondence entered into, public transport shenanigans aside, love London. Love.

London was my first city on my very first overseas holiday with my family. Together Don and I have been to London six times. Twice we stayed for over a year. We found ourselves jobs, somewhere to live, and settled in like so many Australians before us. We caught buses instead of the underground in order to soak up the streets of London and learn how places connected. We had our local pubs, meeting after work for pints of lager and cider. We even dabbled in amateur theatre – at least to go and watch Tim and Ruth in plays and pantos. We bought winter coats and leant how to survive January when the Christmas sparkle was gone but the cold weather remained. During spring I sat in every patch of daffodils I could find. In autumn we marvelled at the colours.

We connected with people and made wonderful English friends, but we also gathered our Aussie friends close. John and Nicole, travelling the UK to play music, Lucy living and working and building a family.

When people ask us New York or London, there is no question. It will always be London.

London is familiar yet different. The double decker buses, the tube, the black cabs. Don grew up on British radio comedy, my early years were all Mary Poppins, Enid Blyton and anything Roald Dahl. Our Monopoly board was always the London version. We knew The Goodies, Dr Who, Yes Minister and The Young Ones. Too many musicians and bands to name. Live Aid. Harry Potter. Oliver, Paddington Bear.

London has The Globe, and Shakespeare in the park, and crazy arsed local pantomimes. London has the astonishing Kew Gardens, and markets filled with antiques and local designers and food and craft. London has an abundance of charity shops filled with cheap hidden treasures.

London has a gritty charm, and a majesty beyond Buckingham Palace. Tube stations are old school ornate, and everywhere there are arches and towers and old brick walls. There is Westminster Abbey, and the Thames with its multiple bridges.

In London you can get about in thrown together winter colours that imply you don’t care, or bedazzle yourself in boots and sequins to take on Abba Voyage with your girlfriends. You can go high fashion or you can rug up in rarely worn hiking boots and sturdy jackets and walk for miles through the suburbs and parks. There are squirrels and robins and hedgehogs.

Every trip we make to London we walk forever. Every visit we’ll go to the Natural History Museum, the lions in Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery, Windsor and Eton, Tower Bridge, Hyde Park and Leicester Square. We’ll check out Forbidden Planet for comics, Waterstones for books, Marks and Spencer just because it’s Marks and Spencer. We’ll buy a Radio Times from W H Smith, a Christmas teddy bear from Harrods and something random from Boots. We’ll have a full English breakfast more than once. We’ll talk football with our friends, even though I have no idea what I’m talking about. This visit has been no different.

Yep, we bloody love London.

Anyway, I write this post from a whole other European city where we’ve been for the past two days. We absolutely hands down love European cities.

London transport

London transport. Sigh.

When we arrived at St Pancras from Brussels, it should have been a simple case of hopping a tube home, with only one change of station. However as we navigated the tunnels of St Pancras, it became apparent that there were some issues with the westbound lines. Not one train was leaving from or arriving into Paddington. Not one. Something about power, or leaves, or snow or something. It didn’t matter the reason, Paddington was crucial to our journey. It just mattered that we couldn’t get home.

‘We’re screwed,’ said Don.

We brainstormed our options – hire a car? Book a hotel room? Go back to Brussels? In the end we just tried to head west as best we could until we couldn’t head west any further.

We went from St. Pancras to Farringdon to Paddington to Oxford Circus to Piccadilly Circus to Heathrow. We used five different lines and somehow went through Edgeware Road and Baker Street three times each.

It had taken us only two hours to get from Brussels to London, but three and a half hours to get from the centre of London to the edge of London.

Yesterday we were to head to Richmond to visit our friend Lucy – one tube ride plus one bus ride. Until our tube was delayed, sitting a tantalising one stop away from us, and then cancelled altogether. And then the next one was cancelled. And then the whole line into Paddington was cancelled.

‘We’re screwed,’ said Don.

We went home to regroup and to consult with Tim, the oracle of London public transport. He suggested the 702, a coach, doesn’t come very often but should do the job.

‘It’s a bit of a walk,’ he said, ‘but it’ll get you into the heart of London.’

And off we went again.

‘There might be a few people on this bus if all of the trains are cancelled,’ I said, about 30 seconds before said bus sailed past us, a sign on the windscreen proclaiming ‘Bus full.’

‘We’re screwed,’ said Don.

We started back home but then had a thought – the 81, Don’s most hated bus. Stops constantly, takes forever, but should get us to a working tube line. And there was one in six minutes. So back we headed to the bus stop.

As we turned the corner, we saw the back end of the 81 as it departed the bus stop. We stood and watched in disbelief as it disappeared.

And then it started raining.

We really were screwed. We abandoned all hope and trudged back home in the rain.

London transport. Sigh.

Fun souvenirs

We’ve bought some cracking souvenirs so far on this trip.

A pair of gloves for my cold, cold hands.
A toothbrush for Don when he lost his at Heathrow airport.
Long sleeved fleece t-shirts for each of us, mine labelled the wrong size that I can only exchange by schlepping all the way back to Uniqlo in Oxford Street.
Two cheap umbrellas for the Cologne drizzle.
A pair of fleece lined tights when I realised my thermals weren’t up to the challenge.
A pair of thermals for Don when he realised he wasn’t up to the challenge.
Reading glasses for Don (to replace his broken pair).

I cannot wait to get home to Brisbane and show everybody what we’ve bought!

Germany, world of food

Cologne

I thought we had come to Cologne to see the cathedral and wander the Christmas markets, but apparently we have come to Cologne to eat.

This shouldn’t be a surprise to me – before we’d even left the UK I prepared for our first day in Cologne by googling ‘where can we find enormous pork knuckle, mountains of mashed potato and sauerkraut close to our hotel?’

We found exactly this just around the corner. We were ushered to our table by a very enthusiastic host, gesturing impatiently for us to follow, follow. We sat interpreting the German menus until a waitress materialised next to us, took the menus straight out of our hands and replaced them with the English versions.

‘Two beers?’ she asked.

‘Just one beer please,’ I answered.

‘Two beers,’ she nodded, writing two on my coaster.

‘Ok, two beers.’ I was not going to argue.

I’m not a beer drinker, but I did have some of that beer, and then quietly swapped it for Don’s empty glass. At which point the waitress suddenly re-appeared by my side.

‘Another beer?’

‘Ok, another beer.’ I was not going to argue, Don could drink it.

We got what we came for – enormous pork knuckle and mountains of mashed potato and sauerkraut for Don, enormous German sausage, cabbage and bacon and fried potatoes for me. It was a glorious feast that started with moans of delight and sampling of each other’s dishes, and ended with unfinished plates and very full stomachs.

‘Add a tip?’ our waitress asked as we paid, her finger hovering ready to add.

‘Of course.’ Again, not going to argue. It was worth it – that meal lasted us the entire day.

Today has been no better. Breakfast this morning came with four fried eggs each. Four. Morning tea a slab of cheesecake shared between two.

Thankfully this lasted us through to the evening Christmas markets. We started there sharing one potato fritter the size of my hand.

Ok it would have been one potato fritter, except they only sold them in threes.

‘One serve, ja?’

‘Ja,’ I agreed, taking the three fat potato fritters with their dollop of apple sauce.

After potatoes we had some glühwein (red and rosé), then some chocolate covered gingerbread. We went to another Christmas market and had a bucket tonne of fresh smoked salmon smothered in mayonnaise and stuffed into a crusty bread roll. A little further on we couldn’t resist a skewer of chocolate covered strawberries, nor a free taste test of the fresh baked speculaas. Nor the chocolate eggnog. Nor the orange eggnog.

We rolled around the market for a while longer, contemplating sausages, nougat and sugared nuts but we were way too full for even a sample. It was that dire.

In any case, all of this mega-eating should calm down soon as we’re off to Belgium tomorrow. Home of chocolate, waffles and pommes frites.

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.