It was our last full day of the holiday, and we decided to see the world’s largest indoor stadium. Located just a few kilometres from Dallas, the hire car made it easy to reach the AT&T Stadium, and we took a guided tour of this huge facility. On the day we visited, the playing area was being converted into a rock concert stage for Beyonce the following day. Built by a Texan oil tycoon called Jerry Jones, the size of this football stadium could be encapsulated by the high-definition television screen hanging from the roof over the playing arena. It was the world’s largest video screen when built in 2009, and it dominated the view. The home of the Dallas Cowboys, the stadium had facilities that oozed money, with no expense being spared on the furnishings, floor coverings, corporate boxes, televisions, toilets – you name it. The final cost for building this thing was 1.2 billion dollars, its monthly power bill is a million dollars alone, and it employs 6,500 employees on any match day. We all agreed, however, that it lacked the character and history of the Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Conveniently close to AT&T stadium was perhaps the final chapter in the story that we had been following over the past few weeks. Nearby was the Shannon Rose Hill Memorial Cemetery, where Lee Harvey Oswald was buried on the same day as John F. Kennedy in 1963. We were at the tomb of President Kennedy at Arlington in Washington last week, and now we were standing at his alleged assassin’s. The grave was relatively easy to find, since absolutely everything about the JFK assassination can now be found on the internet.
I wondered if it was just morbid fascination that made us seek Oswald’s grave. Standing there looking at the simple headstone with the name “Oswald” inscribed, I think Dayna hit the nail on the head when she said that this was like coming to the end of a journey that we set out on a couple of weeks ago. We thought about this man that had been buried below us, he was probably the only person who really knew what happened that day, whether he did the deed on his own, or whether he had been set up. We walked away all agreeing on one thing – of all the conspiracy theories that have been put forward about who really killed JFK fifty years ago, the world will probably never know the truth.
The long journey home took up a whole day of our precious annual leave. We left Dallas on a Tuesday, and arrived in Australia on a Thursday, completely missing Wednesday July 23rd. The Dallas-Brisbane leg is a newly introduced service for Qantas, and we were wondering how popular it was. If our flight was any indication, it’s a hit because our Boeing 747 was full to capacity. It took sixteen hours to complete, and another two short domestic flights had us arriving back in Launceston to be met by Leah. Both our daughters had bookended our journey home, which was a lovely way to finish. We miss them both when they’re not with us.
I wonder where and when the next holiday will be, but for now this one will provide some great memories. The world is full of beautiful friendly people, incredible natural wonders, inspiring artwork, astounding designs for buildings and bridges, and exciting cultures that just whet the appetite for more exploration.
Need to reinvigorate the holiday savings account ...
Thursday, 24 July 2014
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Dallas, Texas
When the time came to bid farewell to Toronto and Canada, we did so with heavy hearts. I suppose we had taken to the city because it had become Dayna’s hometown, but we also felt an affinity with it. Everyone we’d met had given us a smile or some friendly banter, and there was always something happening in and around the GTA (Greater Toronto Area - what locals affectionately refer to the downtown).
When planning the trip months ago, we opted for an alternate journey home to Australia instead of the usual Toronto-Los Angeles-Australia. The slightly circuitous Toronto-Dallas-Australia route allowed us to visit a brand new city for us, and also for Dayna and Adam. We decided to hire a car from Fort Worth airport (closest international airport to Dallas), and in air-conditioned comfort on a 40-degree day, Dayna’s phone GPS “Siri” guided us into downtown Dallas.
Our hotel was conveniently located on Elm Street in the middle of the city. We arrived before midday, a few hours before our check-in time, so we stowed our luggage and went for a walk, heading west. Crossing a few intersections, a seven-story corner red brick building came into view, and Elm Street then went down a gentle decline while sweeping to the left before passing under a triple overpass railway bridge. Grassed areas lay on both sides of the road, and on the right-hand side was a white marble pergola sitting at the top of a small hill alongside a picket fence. As we walked through the crowds of people who were milling around, a strange feeling of eerie history came over us. We had never been here before, but we all knew about this place. A small white “X” in the middle of the road marked the very spot where John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22nd, 1963.
The official explanation of what happened that day had the shots being fired from the sixth floor of that red-brick building by Lee Harvey Oswald. That floor has now been converted into a museum commemorating JFK’s presidency and assassination. I thought the displays were very well presented and interesting interpretations of the times and chronology of events that day. The snipers nest had been set up behind glass as it was that day, and it had an unusual aura around it.
What struck all of us was how small the area really was, a fact that may not be so obvious when viewed on a screen or pictured in a photograph. The observation from a sixth floor window gave an unnervingly close view of the cars down below. Then again, standing at the picket fence on the so-called “grassy knoll” gave an even closer view of the road. We stood at the same plinth that Abraham Zapruder had stood to film the most famous home movie in history. We were standing in the middle of a downtown park in an average mid-American city where the history of the world had been changed in about ten seconds, fifty years ago.
During our Dallas visit we toured several placed that figured in the assassination story. Oswald’s rooming house, the corner where he allegedly shot police officer J.D. Tippit, the picture theatre where he was arrested, and the police station alleyway where he was himself murdered (although the roller door was closed). Perhaps the most interesting meeting we had was with a guy called Robert Groden, who was sitting on the grassy knoll selling copies of his books and DVDs. He had a fascinating history – he was a photographic technician who was called to testify at several Government assassination commissions, and was a consultant on Oliver Stone’s “JFK” movie, making a couple of cameo appearances in the movie. We also had a chat with a guy who was a witness to the shooting that day, as a 13-year old (or so he claimed). He told us that some shots had definitely come from the grassy knoll.
When planning the trip months ago, we opted for an alternate journey home to Australia instead of the usual Toronto-Los Angeles-Australia. The slightly circuitous Toronto-Dallas-Australia route allowed us to visit a brand new city for us, and also for Dayna and Adam. We decided to hire a car from Fort Worth airport (closest international airport to Dallas), and in air-conditioned comfort on a 40-degree day, Dayna’s phone GPS “Siri” guided us into downtown Dallas.
Our hotel was conveniently located on Elm Street in the middle of the city. We arrived before midday, a few hours before our check-in time, so we stowed our luggage and went for a walk, heading west. Crossing a few intersections, a seven-story corner red brick building came into view, and Elm Street then went down a gentle decline while sweeping to the left before passing under a triple overpass railway bridge. Grassed areas lay on both sides of the road, and on the right-hand side was a white marble pergola sitting at the top of a small hill alongside a picket fence. As we walked through the crowds of people who were milling around, a strange feeling of eerie history came over us. We had never been here before, but we all knew about this place. A small white “X” in the middle of the road marked the very spot where John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22nd, 1963.
The official explanation of what happened that day had the shots being fired from the sixth floor of that red-brick building by Lee Harvey Oswald. That floor has now been converted into a museum commemorating JFK’s presidency and assassination. I thought the displays were very well presented and interesting interpretations of the times and chronology of events that day. The snipers nest had been set up behind glass as it was that day, and it had an unusual aura around it.
What struck all of us was how small the area really was, a fact that may not be so obvious when viewed on a screen or pictured in a photograph. The observation from a sixth floor window gave an unnervingly close view of the cars down below. Then again, standing at the picket fence on the so-called “grassy knoll” gave an even closer view of the road. We stood at the same plinth that Abraham Zapruder had stood to film the most famous home movie in history. We were standing in the middle of a downtown park in an average mid-American city where the history of the world had been changed in about ten seconds, fifty years ago.
During our Dallas visit we toured several placed that figured in the assassination story. Oswald’s rooming house, the corner where he allegedly shot police officer J.D. Tippit, the picture theatre where he was arrested, and the police station alleyway where he was himself murdered (although the roller door was closed). Perhaps the most interesting meeting we had was with a guy called Robert Groden, who was sitting on the grassy knoll selling copies of his books and DVDs. He had a fascinating history – he was a photographic technician who was called to testify at several Government assassination commissions, and was a consultant on Oliver Stone’s “JFK” movie, making a couple of cameo appearances in the movie. We also had a chat with a guy who was a witness to the shooting that day, as a 13-year old (or so he claimed). He told us that some shots had definitely come from the grassy knoll.
Tuesday, 15 July 2014
Toronto, Canada
And so we returned to Toronto for one last week before heading home. We’ve been travelling for six weeks now. We had already spent a week in this fabulous city, and so had grown accustomed to its traffic and public transport system. We still had some Toronto icons to cross off the list – the Eaton Centre (one of the world’s biggest shopping centres), Dundas Square (Toronto’s answer to Times Square), the Toronto Islands, Niagara Falls about two hours south, and the CN Tower, one of the world’s tallest structures and so prominent on the Toronto skyline. For accommodation this week we rented an apartment downtown, with the Rogers Centre and CN Tower right across the road. The location allowed us to easily explore the city, and we were able to get a good feeling for what it’s like to be a Torontonian.
It seems that the badge for Toronto city membership is to have a coffee in hand, and the most common coffee is Tim Hortens. You’ll find a “Timmies” on every corner and in every shopping centre across Canada. Tim Horten was a famous hockey player (in Australia that should be elucidated as “ice hockey”, but there is no other form of hockey in Canada), and after retiring from the game he opened up a coffee shop. Fifty years later, his name is on thousands of shops across the country, where you can buy a coffee and a bagel. Tim Hortens is as Canadian as the Royal Mounted Police and maple syrup.
Public transport is provided by subway trains, streetcars and buses, all operating under the “T.T.C.” banner, and it is very easy to figure out where you are and what transport you need to take to get anywhere in the city. The “L.C.B.O.” are government-operated liquors stores where you buy beer, wine and spirits. The most common sports team (at least at this time of year) is the Toronto Blue Jays, whose home is the Rogers Centre. You see their logo on t-shirts, caps, car stickers, key rings, coffee mugs. You see social games of baseball in parks across the city, and we even watched Dayna play with her team for a nailbiting 19-18 win in the final innings. It’s obviously baseball in summer, hockey in winter.
We took a ferry out to the Toronto Islands and walked across them, crossing bridges to get from one island to another. It’s a beautiful and quiet part of Toronto, a long way from traffic and the rat race, with access to beaches, parks, gardens, cafes and lots of trees to find shade from the sun. It was difficult to imagine this area being subjected to harsh winters, heavy snowfalls and fierce ice storms. Our nice summer days of plus thirty degrees are matched with minus thirty degree days in midwinter. We got a good idea from locals just how much a Canadian winter can affect their lifestyle.
It seems that the badge for Toronto city membership is to have a coffee in hand, and the most common coffee is Tim Hortens. You’ll find a “Timmies” on every corner and in every shopping centre across Canada. Tim Horten was a famous hockey player (in Australia that should be elucidated as “ice hockey”, but there is no other form of hockey in Canada), and after retiring from the game he opened up a coffee shop. Fifty years later, his name is on thousands of shops across the country, where you can buy a coffee and a bagel. Tim Hortens is as Canadian as the Royal Mounted Police and maple syrup.
Public transport is provided by subway trains, streetcars and buses, all operating under the “T.T.C.” banner, and it is very easy to figure out where you are and what transport you need to take to get anywhere in the city. The “L.C.B.O.” are government-operated liquors stores where you buy beer, wine and spirits. The most common sports team (at least at this time of year) is the Toronto Blue Jays, whose home is the Rogers Centre. You see their logo on t-shirts, caps, car stickers, key rings, coffee mugs. You see social games of baseball in parks across the city, and we even watched Dayna play with her team for a nailbiting 19-18 win in the final innings. It’s obviously baseball in summer, hockey in winter.
We took a ferry out to the Toronto Islands and walked across them, crossing bridges to get from one island to another. It’s a beautiful and quiet part of Toronto, a long way from traffic and the rat race, with access to beaches, parks, gardens, cafes and lots of trees to find shade from the sun. It was difficult to imagine this area being subjected to harsh winters, heavy snowfalls and fierce ice storms. Our nice summer days of plus thirty degrees are matched with minus thirty degree days in midwinter. We got a good idea from locals just how much a Canadian winter can affect their lifestyle.
Saturday, 12 July 2014
Washington D.C.
A visit to Washington D.C. is actually a lesson in American history, and if you had six months to spare, you could visit all the memorials and museums to get a thorough grounding in how the United States came into being. Unfortunately we only had four days, so we had to decide on what we would see.
My personal favourite was the Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian Institute. Yes, I admit to being a flight nerd, but to actually see the Apollo 11 command module, and a real Lunar Module (that wasn’t sent to the moon), and a Gemini and Mercury capsule, was mind-blowing to me. Couple that with a Spitfire, Mustang and German Messerschmidt from WW2, and I’m away with the stars. Perhaps the most amazing exhibit was the original Wright Brothers flyer that flew at Kittyhawk, North Carolina, as the first powered flight machine in 1903. Back then, that must’ve been akin to science fiction coming true. Speaking of science fiction, the only fictional piece on show was the real model of the starship Enterprise that was used in the original Star Trek series in the 1960s.
It was difficult to visit some of the Washington monuments without conjuring up a scene in a famous movie. The Lincoln Memorial with its reflecting pool, into which Forrest Gump jumped to run to his sweetheart Jenny, or Jim Garrison met Mr X in Oliver Stone’s “JFK”. More importantly, we felt a feeling of deep respect when standing at the spot where Martin Luther King made his “I have a dream” speech in March 1963.
Eight months after Dr King’s speech, came the assassination of the American president in Dallas. We visited John F Kennedy’s tomb at Arlington, where he has also been joined by his brothers Robert and (most recently) Edward, and his wife Jaqueline. What was particularly poignant was that we will be seeing where that murder took place in a week’s time, on our way home to Australia.
Everything in Washington seems to be soaked in symbolism, and it’s hard not to learn a little about the country as you explore this city. We made it to the top of the Washington Monument, which is a tall granite obelisk giving amazing views of the city, even to the Pentagon a few kilometres away. This lookout brings the whole vicinity into view and into perspective. This was another place that I left with the feeling that I must return to it one day, and allot more time to roam the many memorials and museums.
My personal favourite was the Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian Institute. Yes, I admit to being a flight nerd, but to actually see the Apollo 11 command module, and a real Lunar Module (that wasn’t sent to the moon), and a Gemini and Mercury capsule, was mind-blowing to me. Couple that with a Spitfire, Mustang and German Messerschmidt from WW2, and I’m away with the stars. Perhaps the most amazing exhibit was the original Wright Brothers flyer that flew at Kittyhawk, North Carolina, as the first powered flight machine in 1903. Back then, that must’ve been akin to science fiction coming true. Speaking of science fiction, the only fictional piece on show was the real model of the starship Enterprise that was used in the original Star Trek series in the 1960s.
It was difficult to visit some of the Washington monuments without conjuring up a scene in a famous movie. The Lincoln Memorial with its reflecting pool, into which Forrest Gump jumped to run to his sweetheart Jenny, or Jim Garrison met Mr X in Oliver Stone’s “JFK”. More importantly, we felt a feeling of deep respect when standing at the spot where Martin Luther King made his “I have a dream” speech in March 1963.
Eight months after Dr King’s speech, came the assassination of the American president in Dallas. We visited John F Kennedy’s tomb at Arlington, where he has also been joined by his brothers Robert and (most recently) Edward, and his wife Jaqueline. What was particularly poignant was that we will be seeing where that murder took place in a week’s time, on our way home to Australia.
Everything in Washington seems to be soaked in symbolism, and it’s hard not to learn a little about the country as you explore this city. We made it to the top of the Washington Monument, which is a tall granite obelisk giving amazing views of the city, even to the Pentagon a few kilometres away. This lookout brings the whole vicinity into view and into perspective. This was another place that I left with the feeling that I must return to it one day, and allot more time to roam the many memorials and museums.
Friday, 11 July 2014
Washington D.C.
After exploring several options, we decided that the best mode of transport to get us to Washington was by rental car. With four of us on board (wife Anne, daughter Dayna, sister Allison and me), it was the cheapest option, and enticed us with a different perspective for which to see the countryside. Little did we know …
Armed with a GPS on her phone, Dayna took the driver’s seat, being the only experienced left-hand driver amongst us. We trained to Newark airport to fetch the car, which also gave us a head start out of a busy New York City. The aim was to have a break and a meal in Philadelphia en-route to Washington. We accomplished that mission without any drama, with a bonus visit to the Liberty Bell five minutes before its 7pm closing time. In front of us was a two hour drive to Washington. Dayna telephoned our hotel to advise them of our late arrival.
Thirty minutes down the multi-lane freeway, we noticed a heavy black cloud approaching to our right. “We might be in for some rain,” I boldly declared. Dayna passed me her phone, suggesting I check the weather forecast.
I then said “Over the next thirty minutes, a severe storm front will pass over Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore“, as the lights of Wilmington passed by our right-hand-side.
“Yeah, sure Dad”, said Dayna disbelievingly, as the rain started to pound the car. We had to shout to be heard.
I continued to read the forecast. “Warning – damage force winds are associated with this storm front. Residents are advised to tie down loose items, and motorists are advised to take extreme caution.”
“Dad?” queried Dayna, now looking at me with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?” For once, I wasn’t.
We all peered to the road ahead, just in time to see a mini-cyclone cross the road just metres in front of us. En route it had picked up dust, leaves and debris to accentuate its cyclonic shape, and we only avoided driving into it by Dayna’s careful slowing down. There was a very quick democratic vote to pull off highway and find a safe place to ride out the storm. There was no opposition from anyone in the car. We parked in an empty carpark behind a hotel, away from trees and power poles, found a local radio station to get updates, and waited.
It was a nervous twenty minutes as the storm passed. The weather radar on Dayna’s phone showed a long band of heavy cloud running north/south, moving from west to east, directly over us. I think we all visions of the tornadoes that the American mid-west is renown for, where cars, cows and houses are sucked up into the vortex. Dayna even mentioned that she felt like Helen Hunt from the movie “Twister”. The storm passed with no damage done except for a few nerves, and we continued on into the night.
Arriving in downtown Washington, our hotel, the Marriott Mayflower Renaissance, appeared and it was obvious that Dayna had chosen well, as this hotel was most salubrious. We entered a huge foyer that continued down a long passageway. We later learned that several staterooms and ballrooms lead off this chandeliered hall, and every U.S. President had walked down this hallway to attend a special gala dinner. One of the rooms had a plaque telling the story of how Winston Churchill had whispered a dirty joke to someone next to him, concerning the Chinese Premier’s wife. The special domed ceiling of the room carried his words to the other side of the room, where the Chinese Premier was sitting. That domed ceiling is still there today. Another plaque in the hotel told of the interrogation of a suspected Russian spy who had been detained by the U.S., and actually named the room number where the interrogation took place. It wasn’t our room, but our room was very comfortable, and our room was palatial compared to some other rooms we had stayed in over the previous month.
Armed with a GPS on her phone, Dayna took the driver’s seat, being the only experienced left-hand driver amongst us. We trained to Newark airport to fetch the car, which also gave us a head start out of a busy New York City. The aim was to have a break and a meal in Philadelphia en-route to Washington. We accomplished that mission without any drama, with a bonus visit to the Liberty Bell five minutes before its 7pm closing time. In front of us was a two hour drive to Washington. Dayna telephoned our hotel to advise them of our late arrival.
Thirty minutes down the multi-lane freeway, we noticed a heavy black cloud approaching to our right. “We might be in for some rain,” I boldly declared. Dayna passed me her phone, suggesting I check the weather forecast.
I then said “Over the next thirty minutes, a severe storm front will pass over Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore“, as the lights of Wilmington passed by our right-hand-side.
“Yeah, sure Dad”, said Dayna disbelievingly, as the rain started to pound the car. We had to shout to be heard.
I continued to read the forecast. “Warning – damage force winds are associated with this storm front. Residents are advised to tie down loose items, and motorists are advised to take extreme caution.”
“Dad?” queried Dayna, now looking at me with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?” For once, I wasn’t.
We all peered to the road ahead, just in time to see a mini-cyclone cross the road just metres in front of us. En route it had picked up dust, leaves and debris to accentuate its cyclonic shape, and we only avoided driving into it by Dayna’s careful slowing down. There was a very quick democratic vote to pull off highway and find a safe place to ride out the storm. There was no opposition from anyone in the car. We parked in an empty carpark behind a hotel, away from trees and power poles, found a local radio station to get updates, and waited.
It was a nervous twenty minutes as the storm passed. The weather radar on Dayna’s phone showed a long band of heavy cloud running north/south, moving from west to east, directly over us. I think we all visions of the tornadoes that the American mid-west is renown for, where cars, cows and houses are sucked up into the vortex. Dayna even mentioned that she felt like Helen Hunt from the movie “Twister”. The storm passed with no damage done except for a few nerves, and we continued on into the night.
Arriving in downtown Washington, our hotel, the Marriott Mayflower Renaissance, appeared and it was obvious that Dayna had chosen well, as this hotel was most salubrious. We entered a huge foyer that continued down a long passageway. We later learned that several staterooms and ballrooms lead off this chandeliered hall, and every U.S. President had walked down this hallway to attend a special gala dinner. One of the rooms had a plaque telling the story of how Winston Churchill had whispered a dirty joke to someone next to him, concerning the Chinese Premier’s wife. The special domed ceiling of the room carried his words to the other side of the room, where the Chinese Premier was sitting. That domed ceiling is still there today. Another plaque in the hotel told of the interrogation of a suspected Russian spy who had been detained by the U.S., and actually named the room number where the interrogation took place. It wasn’t our room, but our room was very comfortable, and our room was palatial compared to some other rooms we had stayed in over the previous month.
Wednesday, 9 July 2014
New York City, U.S.A.
Ah, New York City, it’s good to be back. I’ve now visited you three times, the first was 34 years ago, BC in my life (Before Children), and you scared the living daylights out of me. I was too young and too inexperienced with overseas travel, and you were the first international city I’d ever visited. You were loud, dirty, crowded, and frightening, but brimming with sights to see and things to do. Years later you beckoned my whole family in the year 2000, when my kids were young teenagers, and we saw you through their eyes – loud, dirty, crowded and frightening, but they learned a lot about life and the history of the world and the United States. Exactly a year after that visit, you came under attack and suffered unimaginable disaster.
So I have now come back for a third time. Maybe I’m a little older and wiser than my previous visits, because I can see beyond the noise, the garbage in the streets, the crowds and the fear to see a vibrant and exciting city.
Our hotel was on 79th Street on the Upper West Side, two blocks from Central Park, and a short walk on our first afternoon took us past so many familiar places. There was the Beacon Theatre, where many of my favourite artists have played, and the Dakota building where John Lennon lost his life, and Strawberry Fields just over road, the small section of Central Park that Yoko set aside as a Garden of Peace in her husband’s honour. There was Broadway, the Lincoln Arts Centre, and Columbus Circle, diners and the subway. We arrived on July 4th, American Independence Day, but celebrations were subdued, almost as if people were enjoying a day off at home, enjoying a hot summer’s day. Three million people gathered by the river to watch fireworks that night, but we watched them on TV.
Venturing downtown there’s the Empire State Building, where I was very happy get my sister to the 86th floor observatory, as she is afraid of heights. A hop-on, hop-off bus tour took us through Harlem, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. A ferry took us out to the Statue of Liberty, giving us not only gave us a close-up encounter with the Grand Old Lady of New York Harbour, but also the classic view of the Lower Manhattan skyline. There was something wrong with the view, however, something drastically different to our previous visits. That anomaly came next in our touring itinerary.
The 9/11 Memorial and Museum can hardly be called a tourist attraction in the strictest sense, and it was not something we were particularly looking forward to seeing. It felt like an obligation. No matter how well we know the story of what happened, after seeing countless news reports and documentaries, we were not prepared for the solemn symbolism and the confronting exhibits. The footprints of both of the Twin Towers now contain the three thousand names of the people who died, and fountains cascade water into the holes left by the demolished buildings. Dayna mentioned that the water could represent the millions of tears that have been shed since that fateful morning. Beneath this area lies the ruined foundations of the former World Trade Centre, transformed into large underground spaces containing images, artefacts and explanations. It was silent, intense, bewildering, but I sensed that it was New York’s way of dealing with the aftermath of an horrendous episode in its already colourful history. We came away feeling achingly sad for the families of the victims, but reassured that the city has bounced back with gusto. Directly nextdoor stood a brand new skyscraper, the Freedom Tower, that soars over everything else in New York City.
New York people are friendly, fun and helpful. A guy sitting on a park bench randomly struck up a conversation with me, and was fascinated to know where I was from. As we said our friendly goodbyes and I was walking off, he called out to me, “… and the dingo did it.”
So I have now come back for a third time. Maybe I’m a little older and wiser than my previous visits, because I can see beyond the noise, the garbage in the streets, the crowds and the fear to see a vibrant and exciting city.
Our hotel was on 79th Street on the Upper West Side, two blocks from Central Park, and a short walk on our first afternoon took us past so many familiar places. There was the Beacon Theatre, where many of my favourite artists have played, and the Dakota building where John Lennon lost his life, and Strawberry Fields just over road, the small section of Central Park that Yoko set aside as a Garden of Peace in her husband’s honour. There was Broadway, the Lincoln Arts Centre, and Columbus Circle, diners and the subway. We arrived on July 4th, American Independence Day, but celebrations were subdued, almost as if people were enjoying a day off at home, enjoying a hot summer’s day. Three million people gathered by the river to watch fireworks that night, but we watched them on TV.
Venturing downtown there’s the Empire State Building, where I was very happy get my sister to the 86th floor observatory, as she is afraid of heights. A hop-on, hop-off bus tour took us through Harlem, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. A ferry took us out to the Statue of Liberty, giving us not only gave us a close-up encounter with the Grand Old Lady of New York Harbour, but also the classic view of the Lower Manhattan skyline. There was something wrong with the view, however, something drastically different to our previous visits. That anomaly came next in our touring itinerary.
The 9/11 Memorial and Museum can hardly be called a tourist attraction in the strictest sense, and it was not something we were particularly looking forward to seeing. It felt like an obligation. No matter how well we know the story of what happened, after seeing countless news reports and documentaries, we were not prepared for the solemn symbolism and the confronting exhibits. The footprints of both of the Twin Towers now contain the three thousand names of the people who died, and fountains cascade water into the holes left by the demolished buildings. Dayna mentioned that the water could represent the millions of tears that have been shed since that fateful morning. Beneath this area lies the ruined foundations of the former World Trade Centre, transformed into large underground spaces containing images, artefacts and explanations. It was silent, intense, bewildering, but I sensed that it was New York’s way of dealing with the aftermath of an horrendous episode in its already colourful history. We came away feeling achingly sad for the families of the victims, but reassured that the city has bounced back with gusto. Directly nextdoor stood a brand new skyscraper, the Freedom Tower, that soars over everything else in New York City.
New York people are friendly, fun and helpful. A guy sitting on a park bench randomly struck up a conversation with me, and was fascinated to know where I was from. As we said our friendly goodbyes and I was walking off, he called out to me, “… and the dingo did it.”
Saturday, 5 July 2014
New York City
The word “iconic”, in its strictest sense, refers to an object of religious devotion, so to call New York City as “iconic” is probably not accurate. Then again maybe it is, when you consider the number of songs that have been written about it, or the frequency of famous landmarks that you pass as you stroll its streets and avenues.
After a short flight from Montreal to NYC’s regional airport La Guardia, we checked into our hotel on 79th Street, and then headed downtown on the subway. Getting off the train at 42nd Street and emerging at street level, we found ourselves in the middle of Times Square. Crowds of people were around us (in fact, half a million people go through Times Square every day), and you are compelled to look up. You find yourself in a glass canyon, the sides soar into the sky around you, and there are huge advertising televisions everywhere you look. Gigantic screens in colour blast you from all directions, while cars, trucks and taxis all sing the same song as they honk horns as if in a choir.
Our first full day in New York was actually spent out of New York City. Due to complete chance, our visit coincides with a concert by Crosby Stills and Nash at an outdoor amphitheatre at Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts, which is a two-hour drive from New York City. We were able to catch a bus from the city to the venue (although the return journey was another story, one for relating over a wine and a couple of hours. Thank goodness we had Dayna still in NYC, able to hire a rental car for a rescue mission). Why would we want to go to that trouble to travel so far? Bethel Woods Centre of the Arts has been recently built on the site of the Woodstock Music Festival of 1969.
The setting was idyllic – pasture and farmland surrounded by thick forests and serene lakes. Before the concert, we ambled a short way down a country road to where a plaque has been placed to commemorate the concert. Standing at a farm fence, I could’ve been looking over any large grassed paddock anywhere in the world, except that 45 years ago, this paddock had more than 400,000 people, for three days making it the third largest city in New York State. I have listened to the Woodstock soundtrack and watched the movie so many times, that standing there looking at an empty paddock gave me goose bumps.
The Arts Centre had a museum of memorabilia from Woodstock, and it was a fascinating snapshot in time – a time when the world was rapidly changing in the late 1960s. The concert that night was great too.
After a short flight from Montreal to NYC’s regional airport La Guardia, we checked into our hotel on 79th Street, and then headed downtown on the subway. Getting off the train at 42nd Street and emerging at street level, we found ourselves in the middle of Times Square. Crowds of people were around us (in fact, half a million people go through Times Square every day), and you are compelled to look up. You find yourself in a glass canyon, the sides soar into the sky around you, and there are huge advertising televisions everywhere you look. Gigantic screens in colour blast you from all directions, while cars, trucks and taxis all sing the same song as they honk horns as if in a choir.
Our first full day in New York was actually spent out of New York City. Due to complete chance, our visit coincides with a concert by Crosby Stills and Nash at an outdoor amphitheatre at Bethel Woods Centre for the Arts, which is a two-hour drive from New York City. We were able to catch a bus from the city to the venue (although the return journey was another story, one for relating over a wine and a couple of hours. Thank goodness we had Dayna still in NYC, able to hire a rental car for a rescue mission). Why would we want to go to that trouble to travel so far? Bethel Woods Centre of the Arts has been recently built on the site of the Woodstock Music Festival of 1969.
The setting was idyllic – pasture and farmland surrounded by thick forests and serene lakes. Before the concert, we ambled a short way down a country road to where a plaque has been placed to commemorate the concert. Standing at a farm fence, I could’ve been looking over any large grassed paddock anywhere in the world, except that 45 years ago, this paddock had more than 400,000 people, for three days making it the third largest city in New York State. I have listened to the Woodstock soundtrack and watched the movie so many times, that standing there looking at an empty paddock gave me goose bumps.
The Arts Centre had a museum of memorabilia from Woodstock, and it was a fascinating snapshot in time – a time when the world was rapidly changing in the late 1960s. The concert that night was great too.
Thursday, 3 July 2014
Montreal, Canada
Waking around Montreal was like being in France, because French is the first language. For an outsider, it's very strange when considering that you’re still in Canada. Restaurants, bars and taxis all have the same greeting, “French or English?”, and everyone appears to have mastered both languages. Our great fortune was to be in this beautiful city at the same time as the Montreal International Jazz Festival. We had contemplated playing excessive dollars to see artists like Aretha Franklin or Diana Ross, but our bank balances thought better of it. Instead, we just roamed the streets to soak up the atmosphere, and soon discovered that it was like drowning in honey. The quality of bands playing for free was outstanding.
Over a few downtown blocks, the stages were many – some were set high above our heads, with large speaker bins projecting sound over a wide area, while others were much smaller in tents with a small bar at the side. The music emanating from all of them were exciting, infectious, totally free, and stretched the boundaries of jazz. We witnessed a local band called The Fat Tuesday Brass Band playing pure New Orleans jazz, a big band with a 15-piece brass section called The Sub Beer Band, and a dynamic rock/jazz trio from Denmark called Ibrahim Electric. The Danes were very exciting and we bought their CD, met them afterwards, and when finding out where we were from, they asked us about Princess Mary. They were three ordinary guys who made extraordinary and inspired improvised music, and were very friendly and approachable.
Afterwards, we ventured down to Old Montreal, found a restaurant, and were charmed by a waiter with a keen sense of humour. The Jazz Festival vibe had filtered down to the narrow streets of this historic part of town, several blocks away from the stages. It was with some remorse that we headed back to our hotel for an early morning departure for New York in a few hours. Montreal begs us for a return visit one day.
Over a few downtown blocks, the stages were many – some were set high above our heads, with large speaker bins projecting sound over a wide area, while others were much smaller in tents with a small bar at the side. The music emanating from all of them were exciting, infectious, totally free, and stretched the boundaries of jazz. We witnessed a local band called The Fat Tuesday Brass Band playing pure New Orleans jazz, a big band with a 15-piece brass section called The Sub Beer Band, and a dynamic rock/jazz trio from Denmark called Ibrahim Electric. The Danes were very exciting and we bought their CD, met them afterwards, and when finding out where we were from, they asked us about Princess Mary. They were three ordinary guys who made extraordinary and inspired improvised music, and were very friendly and approachable.
Afterwards, we ventured down to Old Montreal, found a restaurant, and were charmed by a waiter with a keen sense of humour. The Jazz Festival vibe had filtered down to the narrow streets of this historic part of town, several blocks away from the stages. It was with some remorse that we headed back to our hotel for an early morning departure for New York in a few hours. Montreal begs us for a return visit one day.
Wednesday, 2 July 2014
Toronto, Canada
I guess every country has its national day. Australia’s is every January 26th, while Canada’s is every July 1st. This meant that during our visit to Toronto, we were able to participate in Canada Day only two days after celebrating World Pride. A pretty wild coincidence. There were many events across the city, from concerts in parks to parades through the streets, and of course fireworks across the city to end the day. During the day we ventured down to a nearby park where a local rock radio station were staging rock bands all day. We listened to a very good Steely Dan cover band, followed by a Fleetwood Mac cover band, from a backstage vantage point courtesy of VIP passes through Dayna’s work.
In the few-hundred strong crowd were stalls selling typical Canadian fare: poutine, beavertails, barbeque spare ribs, and lemonade (made from real lemons). Poutine is French fries smothered in gravy and melted cheese. A beavertail is a flat sweet pastry with a coating of sugar and cinnamon (no beaver is involved at all). All of it delicious. Of course the crowd was a sea of red and white, created by hundreds of Canadian flags, t-shirts, sunhats, and anything thing else that could be worn or flown. We returned to Jill and Walter’s later in the afternoon for a leisurely barbeque on the deck, and at 10pm we walked down the road to watch the fireworks being fired from the same park where we were that afternoon. It was just as well that we could walk, because the whiskey had come out beforehand. All in the name of celebrating being Canadian.
It was interesting to witness the country’s attention to a couple of unlikely sporting compatriots abroad. While the soccer World Cup surged toward its finale in Brazil, the absence of Canada meant that only small pockets of interested immigrants gathered around televisions in bars and restaurants around the city. The most important sporting event for Canada was Wimbledon, where Eugenie Brouchard and Milos Raonic had made it to both the women’s and men’s semifinal. Quite a feat in the country’s sparse tennis history.
The following day was time to continue our journey, and Dayna joined us for a side trip to Montreal, New York City and Washington over a week. The short flight to Montreal left from Toronto’s city airport, only a few minutes’ walk from Dayna’s apartment. This small airport is situated on an island, and the only way to get to the airport is to catch a ferry, that takes you all of 50 meters from the mainland to reach the airport. It was quite strange, and supposedly the shortest ferry ride on the world. Flying out over the city gave a tremendous view of the Toronto waterfront, and flying into Montreal gave us an equally tremendous view, including the iconic Olympic Stadium from 1976, still standing high and proud.
In the few-hundred strong crowd were stalls selling typical Canadian fare: poutine, beavertails, barbeque spare ribs, and lemonade (made from real lemons). Poutine is French fries smothered in gravy and melted cheese. A beavertail is a flat sweet pastry with a coating of sugar and cinnamon (no beaver is involved at all). All of it delicious. Of course the crowd was a sea of red and white, created by hundreds of Canadian flags, t-shirts, sunhats, and anything thing else that could be worn or flown. We returned to Jill and Walter’s later in the afternoon for a leisurely barbeque on the deck, and at 10pm we walked down the road to watch the fireworks being fired from the same park where we were that afternoon. It was just as well that we could walk, because the whiskey had come out beforehand. All in the name of celebrating being Canadian.
It was interesting to witness the country’s attention to a couple of unlikely sporting compatriots abroad. While the soccer World Cup surged toward its finale in Brazil, the absence of Canada meant that only small pockets of interested immigrants gathered around televisions in bars and restaurants around the city. The most important sporting event for Canada was Wimbledon, where Eugenie Brouchard and Milos Raonic had made it to both the women’s and men’s semifinal. Quite a feat in the country’s sparse tennis history.
The following day was time to continue our journey, and Dayna joined us for a side trip to Montreal, New York City and Washington over a week. The short flight to Montreal left from Toronto’s city airport, only a few minutes’ walk from Dayna’s apartment. This small airport is situated on an island, and the only way to get to the airport is to catch a ferry, that takes you all of 50 meters from the mainland to reach the airport. It was quite strange, and supposedly the shortest ferry ride on the world. Flying out over the city gave a tremendous view of the Toronto waterfront, and flying into Montreal gave us an equally tremendous view, including the iconic Olympic Stadium from 1976, still standing high and proud.
Sunday, 29 June 2014
Toronto, Canada
Today was Sunday, and it was an extraordinary day for us three travellers from little ol’ Tasmania. Toronto is hosting World Pride, which is an international week-long event of festivals, concerts, parades and cultural activities promoting lesbian and gay issues. It’s only held every few years – last time was in London, next time will be in Madrid. Toronto has been planning this week for five years.
The day started at breakfast. Our hosts Jill and Walter are involved in a support group called PFLAG – Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays, and the group hosted a breakfast as part of Pride Week. About two hundred people came, and somehow many of them gravitated toward us, as we had clearly travelled the furthest than anyone to be there. Perhaps the most important “celebrity” to attend was the Premier of Ontario, Kathleen Wynn, who is the first female premier of Ontario and the first openly gay head of government in Canada. We were introduced to her and she asked us about our trip, our home, and our plans. It was a short but friendly conversation that could’ve been had with any local Canadian, except for the menacing security guy standing directly behind us with an earpiece and closely surveying the room with no interest at all in our chat. We also met other local politicians who asked us about gay issues in Australia – we felt like ambassadors for our country. I wished we could’ve delivered a more encouraging assessment of our government’s antiquated Marriage Equality laws.
After breakfast we walked a few blocks into the heart of the city, staked our claim at the kerbside behind the barricades, and waited for the main parade that would be the concluding event of Pride. It began at 1pm, and it was 1:45 by the time the parade reached us. Three hours later, the parade was still passing by, which was an indication of its immense scale. Apparently 12,000 people participated. What was impressive was the number of services and businesses who had a representation in the parade – a national bank, the national airline, a telecommunications company, an aged care home, hospitals, doctors and nurses, trade unions, police and prison services, postal workers, teachers and schools, and seemingly people from every country on the planet. The diversity of support for taking pride in your individuality was quite encouraging. Rainbow coloured flags were everywhere. Media reports estimated that a crowd of two million people lined the streets to watch the parade, certainly the largest crowd I have even been a part of.
At the parade’s conclusion, we went back to PFLAGs booth and helped dismantle it, after we’d helped set it up the day before. It was nice to be involved in a local volunteer group, just doing their stuff, and meeting many people from all walks of life. It was an extraordinary day.
The day started at breakfast. Our hosts Jill and Walter are involved in a support group called PFLAG – Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays, and the group hosted a breakfast as part of Pride Week. About two hundred people came, and somehow many of them gravitated toward us, as we had clearly travelled the furthest than anyone to be there. Perhaps the most important “celebrity” to attend was the Premier of Ontario, Kathleen Wynn, who is the first female premier of Ontario and the first openly gay head of government in Canada. We were introduced to her and she asked us about our trip, our home, and our plans. It was a short but friendly conversation that could’ve been had with any local Canadian, except for the menacing security guy standing directly behind us with an earpiece and closely surveying the room with no interest at all in our chat. We also met other local politicians who asked us about gay issues in Australia – we felt like ambassadors for our country. I wished we could’ve delivered a more encouraging assessment of our government’s antiquated Marriage Equality laws.
After breakfast we walked a few blocks into the heart of the city, staked our claim at the kerbside behind the barricades, and waited for the main parade that would be the concluding event of Pride. It began at 1pm, and it was 1:45 by the time the parade reached us. Three hours later, the parade was still passing by, which was an indication of its immense scale. Apparently 12,000 people participated. What was impressive was the number of services and businesses who had a representation in the parade – a national bank, the national airline, a telecommunications company, an aged care home, hospitals, doctors and nurses, trade unions, police and prison services, postal workers, teachers and schools, and seemingly people from every country on the planet. The diversity of support for taking pride in your individuality was quite encouraging. Rainbow coloured flags were everywhere. Media reports estimated that a crowd of two million people lined the streets to watch the parade, certainly the largest crowd I have even been a part of.
At the parade’s conclusion, we went back to PFLAGs booth and helped dismantle it, after we’d helped set it up the day before. It was nice to be involved in a local volunteer group, just doing their stuff, and meeting many people from all walks of life. It was an extraordinary day.
Friday, 27 June 2014
Toronto, Canada
An international voyage involving different continents can be tiresome, boring and monotonous. I try not to let that spoil the experience, as it is a very rare one for us. I find airports fascinating. Looking beyond the queues, security checks and Customs, airports are a melting pot of nationalities, all under the same roof for a brief instance before heading off to their respective destinations somewhere in the world.
The reunion at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport was emotional, as it had been over a year since we’d held our daughter in our arms, and seven years since we’d seen Jill and Walter. Driving towards the city showed us the stark differences from what we’d become used to after two weeks in Italy. Toronto is such a modern city that it is almost futuristic by comparison to Rome. Eight–lane expressways with apartment buildings and condos on each side, soaring 40 or 50 stories high. Skyscrapers in the distance. Stone and marble has been replaced by concrete and glass. Several Canadian icons remind us of where we are – Tim Horton’s coffee, Canada Trust bank, Pizza Pizza, Westjet, and of course the CN Tower in the distance.
We will initially stay at Jill and Walter’s home, and as we drove through their neighbourhood the streets became familiar, even after seven years. The houses are renovated post-war bungalows with a small plot of lawn and no front fence, a few steps leading to the front door, a second story above and a basement below. There is a slight homecoming feeling as we pull into their driveway.
Over coming days we get a feel for what life is like living in Toronto. We toured Dayna’s work - Corus is a national broadcaster of radio and cable television, and the multistorey glass building contains rooms and studios that could be used on the set of a Star Trek movie. We meet her workmates and are immediately made to feel welcome. We then visited her partner Adam’s job in a downtown hardware store, all within walking distance to their high-rise apartment down by the shores of Lake Ontario. Dayna’s view from the 43rd floor looking over Toronto’s retractable-roofed stadium and the CN Tower, with the busy Gardiner Freeway directly below, must be Canada’s equivalent to Australia’s Sydney Harbour skyline.
The reunion at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport was emotional, as it had been over a year since we’d held our daughter in our arms, and seven years since we’d seen Jill and Walter. Driving towards the city showed us the stark differences from what we’d become used to after two weeks in Italy. Toronto is such a modern city that it is almost futuristic by comparison to Rome. Eight–lane expressways with apartment buildings and condos on each side, soaring 40 or 50 stories high. Skyscrapers in the distance. Stone and marble has been replaced by concrete and glass. Several Canadian icons remind us of where we are – Tim Horton’s coffee, Canada Trust bank, Pizza Pizza, Westjet, and of course the CN Tower in the distance.
We will initially stay at Jill and Walter’s home, and as we drove through their neighbourhood the streets became familiar, even after seven years. The houses are renovated post-war bungalows with a small plot of lawn and no front fence, a few steps leading to the front door, a second story above and a basement below. There is a slight homecoming feeling as we pull into their driveway.
Over coming days we get a feel for what life is like living in Toronto. We toured Dayna’s work - Corus is a national broadcaster of radio and cable television, and the multistorey glass building contains rooms and studios that could be used on the set of a Star Trek movie. We meet her workmates and are immediately made to feel welcome. We then visited her partner Adam’s job in a downtown hardware store, all within walking distance to their high-rise apartment down by the shores of Lake Ontario. Dayna’s view from the 43rd floor looking over Toronto’s retractable-roofed stadium and the CN Tower, with the busy Gardiner Freeway directly below, must be Canada’s equivalent to Australia’s Sydney Harbour skyline.
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Rome, Italy
Rome is a city brimming with highlights, places to see, sights to admire, sensations to experience. Our four days have hardly scratched the surface. But there was one that we had left until the very last day. We headed south from our hotel to the area known as Ancient Rome, an incredibly concentrated region of 2,000 year old ruins with three famous icons – the Palatine, the Forum and the Colosseum. We paid 12 Euro each for a ticket to all three, and spent a fascinating day walking the streets of the Rome of two thousand years ago. Granted, the buildings were in ruins, but it wasn’t hard to imagine life as it was back then. The Palatine is on top of a hill and was where the wealthy Romans lived, including the Emperor, looking down on the ordinary citizens going about their business below in the Forum. What structures remained were simply amazing, with columns, steps, marble facades, cobblestone streets. The most amazing was the Colosseum, not only for the ruins still intact but the stories behind the purpose of its construction. While the floor is no longer there, this enables you to see the maze of underground rooms where wild animals would be caged and brought to the arena by a complex system of winches. Our equivalent of the MCG or Docklands in Melbourne.
And so we complete four hectic days in Rome, and yet there is so much more to see. Indeed, two weeks in Italy is hardly adequate to see it all, but we’ve given it a dam good try. My impressions of this fantastic country, as we pack our bags for a 5:45am taxi to the airport tomorrow morning …
• The Italians who have charmed us along the way – the Bangla Deshi restaurateur in Venice, with his free lemoncellos; our tourguides Maria and her Dad Rafaelle in Sorrento, and not forgetting our landlady, the lady in the bulk wine shop and the family who ran our favourite Sorrento restaurant; Giovanni in our favourite Rome restaurant near the Pantheon, Daniella (a guy) at our Rome hotel who was a musician and envied us living in Australia, and many more. Italians seem constantly happy, and it’s infectious.
• Italian buildings are either old, very old, or ancient (ie, 500 years, 1000 years, or 2000 years old). No building is over 6 stories high, so there are no skyscrapers. Even if there is something built in the past 50 years, it is more than likely sitting next to a wall constructed 2,000 years ago. These city landscapes really are a blend of ancient and recent.
• The Indian/Pakistani street merchants who were selling anything under the sun, and oh so annoying in the process, but the ones selling cold water bottles were most welcome at times.
• Speaking of water, throughout all Italian cities, we found water fountains dispensing running water. However, these were running constantly, and you could fill up your water bottle with fresh drinking water. In Australia, this would be considered criminal, as water is so precious to us. To see so many taps running constantly down the drain was so strange indeed.
• Italian traffic was as we had been told – chaotic, with no rules. Pedestrians crossing the road take their lives into their own hands. Commuting is predominately by scooter, which outnumbers cars two to one, and motorbikes ten to one. Ridden by young teenagers to little old ladies and businessmen in suits.
• The Italian economy must run on tourism, as foreigners seem to outnumber locals at this time of year. How easy is it to pick the Australian accent? We were told that crowds to the Vatican have tripled since the election of the new Pope, with Papa Francesca proving to be an economic goldmine for Vatican tourism.
We bid farewell to Italy with some wonderful memories, knowing that the county’s ancient heritage is in good hands (we saw many archaeologists working at Ancient Rome), and maybe we feel a little closer to our Australian-Italian friends, now that we’ve experienced where they’ve come from.
Canada ... here we come.
And so we complete four hectic days in Rome, and yet there is so much more to see. Indeed, two weeks in Italy is hardly adequate to see it all, but we’ve given it a dam good try. My impressions of this fantastic country, as we pack our bags for a 5:45am taxi to the airport tomorrow morning …
• The Italians who have charmed us along the way – the Bangla Deshi restaurateur in Venice, with his free lemoncellos; our tourguides Maria and her Dad Rafaelle in Sorrento, and not forgetting our landlady, the lady in the bulk wine shop and the family who ran our favourite Sorrento restaurant; Giovanni in our favourite Rome restaurant near the Pantheon, Daniella (a guy) at our Rome hotel who was a musician and envied us living in Australia, and many more. Italians seem constantly happy, and it’s infectious.
• Italian buildings are either old, very old, or ancient (ie, 500 years, 1000 years, or 2000 years old). No building is over 6 stories high, so there are no skyscrapers. Even if there is something built in the past 50 years, it is more than likely sitting next to a wall constructed 2,000 years ago. These city landscapes really are a blend of ancient and recent.
• The Indian/Pakistani street merchants who were selling anything under the sun, and oh so annoying in the process, but the ones selling cold water bottles were most welcome at times.
• Speaking of water, throughout all Italian cities, we found water fountains dispensing running water. However, these were running constantly, and you could fill up your water bottle with fresh drinking water. In Australia, this would be considered criminal, as water is so precious to us. To see so many taps running constantly down the drain was so strange indeed.
• Italian traffic was as we had been told – chaotic, with no rules. Pedestrians crossing the road take their lives into their own hands. Commuting is predominately by scooter, which outnumbers cars two to one, and motorbikes ten to one. Ridden by young teenagers to little old ladies and businessmen in suits.
• The Italian economy must run on tourism, as foreigners seem to outnumber locals at this time of year. How easy is it to pick the Australian accent? We were told that crowds to the Vatican have tripled since the election of the new Pope, with Papa Francesca proving to be an economic goldmine for Vatican tourism.
We bid farewell to Italy with some wonderful memories, knowing that the county’s ancient heritage is in good hands (we saw many archaeologists working at Ancient Rome), and maybe we feel a little closer to our Australian-Italian friends, now that we’ve experienced where they’ve come from.
Canada ... here we come.
Monday, 23 June 2014
Rome, Italy
The next day we headed for the Vatican City, pre-armed with “skip-the-line” tickets to the Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel and St Peter’s Basilica. Approaching the entrance at 9:30am, we walked past hundreds of people waiting in line, in the hot sun, and they would be waiting for many more hours. Once we’d joined our group, entered the museum, passed through security, and donned our earplugs for the commentary, we were set. As we came to the first corridor and exhibition room, we found ourselves being herded like sheep in a stock pen. Shoulder to shoulder, treading on the heels of the person in front, while our heels were being trodden on by the person behind. Every square inch of floorspace was taken up by people, and you had no choice but to shuffle along with the masses. Bad luck if you wanted to stop and admire a piece of artwork from 500 years ago, because the surging throng was relentless.
The Sistine Chapel was fantastic because of Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceilings and walls. You are drilled that you must be quiet, and not photographs. As I walked through the entrance , a guy was indignant when a guard’s hand came over the lens of his camera as he was taking a photograph. Some people just never listen. As I was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the masses, a booming voice came over a public address system saying “Silence!”, seemingly breaking the very rule that the voice was trying to enforce. The Sistine Chapel was very strange indeed.
St Peter’s Basilica was everything it was touted to be – huge, symbolic, awe-inspiring, spectacular. Being so large, it was difficult to be swallowed up in the thousands of people, but with so much detail and history in every square inch of the place, it was impossible to take it all in for the 30 minutes we were there.
Afterwards, we hopped on the tourist bus for another circuit of the city, but this time including the portion that was denied to us yesterday because of the Rolling Stones concert at Circo Massimo. As we drove past the concert site from the night before, we watched as the crews were busily dismantling the stage. A large crane was being used to hoist lighting towers to ground level, and we could see the large expanse of ground that would’ve held 65,000 people the night before. The original oval shape of the stadium was still evident, where chariot races were held as early as 4th century BC. A strange connection – Roman entertainment aligned with modern rock music 2,000 years later. I wonder if Mick Jagger ever stopped to make the connection. And I wonder who drew the larger crowd on that Sunday – Papa Franceso in St Peter’s Square or the Rolling Stones in Circo Massimo.
The Sistine Chapel was fantastic because of Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceilings and walls. You are drilled that you must be quiet, and not photographs. As I walked through the entrance , a guy was indignant when a guard’s hand came over the lens of his camera as he was taking a photograph. Some people just never listen. As I was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the masses, a booming voice came over a public address system saying “Silence!”, seemingly breaking the very rule that the voice was trying to enforce. The Sistine Chapel was very strange indeed.
St Peter’s Basilica was everything it was touted to be – huge, symbolic, awe-inspiring, spectacular. Being so large, it was difficult to be swallowed up in the thousands of people, but with so much detail and history in every square inch of the place, it was impossible to take it all in for the 30 minutes we were there.
Afterwards, we hopped on the tourist bus for another circuit of the city, but this time including the portion that was denied to us yesterday because of the Rolling Stones concert at Circo Massimo. As we drove past the concert site from the night before, we watched as the crews were busily dismantling the stage. A large crane was being used to hoist lighting towers to ground level, and we could see the large expanse of ground that would’ve held 65,000 people the night before. The original oval shape of the stadium was still evident, where chariot races were held as early as 4th century BC. A strange connection – Roman entertainment aligned with modern rock music 2,000 years later. I wonder if Mick Jagger ever stopped to make the connection. And I wonder who drew the larger crowd on that Sunday – Papa Franceso in St Peter’s Square or the Rolling Stones in Circo Massimo.
Saturday, 21 June 2014
Rome, Italy
Our day started in Sorrento, and finished in Rome. Only one hour by train (although that train was travelling at 300 kph), we arrived at Roma Termini to heat and crowds. Before catching a taxi to our hotel, I sought out a tourist hop-on, hop-off bus to get a 3-day ticket to help us get around. The guy told me that the bus may be hindered by crowds tomorrow afternoon, specifically 65,000 people would be attending a concert by the Rolling Stones in the south of the city at Circo Maximo. Allison was incredulous – if only we’d known, maybe we could’ve got tickets. Knowing the Stones, probably not.
Our hotel was in the middle of Rome, near the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, so after checking in, we wandered not far, to get a feel for the city. Our street was narrow, quiet, almost deserted. A block away, we came across a large open space, Piazza Navona, with fountains, restaurants and tourist shops, and thousands of tourists. Ah, so this is Rome, more non-Italians than locals. We soon left the Square and its bustling visitor trade, and went the block back to our hotel and had our first Roman meal at a sidewalk restaurant with hardly anyone around.
The next day we explored in earnest, courtesy of the hop-on, hop-off bus. On leaving our hotel, we turned the first corner to see a large round building at the end of the street. Walking around the front of this building made us stop and stare. Not two minutes walk from our hotel was the Pantheon, rivalling the Colosseum as Rome’s greatest building. Unlike the Colosseum, this extraordinary construction remains completely intact after 2000 years. We walked under its triangular entrance held up by 16 huge columns, each carved out of a single block of stone, and we entered a space that seemed to take us to somewhere else. As you enter, you are compelled to look up, and I watched people do the same thing we did, as they enter. Towering above us is the largest unreinforced concrete dome ever built, and at the top is a round hole 8 metres across, an opening to the elements. Directly beneath are holes in the multi-coloured marble floor to take away rainwater. Roman ingenuity from twenty centuries ago is bewildering, particularly when you are still able to step inside and marvel as if it we constructed a year ago.
The bus circuit took two hours to take us around the city, at all the major sites except for the Colosseum and Roman Forum, thanks to Mick and Keith’s rock band playing that night. We saw tens of thousands of people at the Vatican, who had just heard the Pope’s Sunday morning address. As the bus approached the Roma Termini, we noticed a flurry of activity around a five-story hotel called Le Hotel Grande. A milling crowd, a dozen very shiny and very black limousines, and official looking men in suits with lanyards around their necks. Being suspicious of what might be the cause, we got off the bus and investigated. Judging by the t-shirts being worn by the throngs, and the logo on the suit’s lanyards, our suspicions were proved correct - this was where the Rolling Stones were staying before their Rome concert that night.
Although it was highly unlikely that we would catch a glimpse of the most famous rock band in the world, we hung around for an hour, just to soak up the atmosphere. Hilariously, whenever a resident of the hotel looked out of their window, the crowd assumed the presence rock idols and started yelling and calling. Of course, each time was a false alarm, although I’m sure that I saw the haggard face of Ron Wood appear at a top floor window for one second, not enough time for me to snap a photo.
At one point I was approached by a middle-aged man dressed in a pink shirt and trendy shorts. “You want a ticket for the concert tonight?” he asked me. Taken aback and gathering my thoughts, I enquired further. The spare ticket was his wife’s, who had decided to go to Madrid instead. He was asking 150 Euros, pledged that he was legitimate, and showed me a voucher from his hotel with the concert details. Allison and I discussed, and decided to turn it down. The guy did not have an actual ticket, and we’d have to get to the venue, and back again after the concert. The clincher was that Allison will see The Stones in Melbourne in November. We left after an hour outside the hotel, and the guy was still trying to hawk his ticket.
Our hotel was in the middle of Rome, near the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, so after checking in, we wandered not far, to get a feel for the city. Our street was narrow, quiet, almost deserted. A block away, we came across a large open space, Piazza Navona, with fountains, restaurants and tourist shops, and thousands of tourists. Ah, so this is Rome, more non-Italians than locals. We soon left the Square and its bustling visitor trade, and went the block back to our hotel and had our first Roman meal at a sidewalk restaurant with hardly anyone around.
The next day we explored in earnest, courtesy of the hop-on, hop-off bus. On leaving our hotel, we turned the first corner to see a large round building at the end of the street. Walking around the front of this building made us stop and stare. Not two minutes walk from our hotel was the Pantheon, rivalling the Colosseum as Rome’s greatest building. Unlike the Colosseum, this extraordinary construction remains completely intact after 2000 years. We walked under its triangular entrance held up by 16 huge columns, each carved out of a single block of stone, and we entered a space that seemed to take us to somewhere else. As you enter, you are compelled to look up, and I watched people do the same thing we did, as they enter. Towering above us is the largest unreinforced concrete dome ever built, and at the top is a round hole 8 metres across, an opening to the elements. Directly beneath are holes in the multi-coloured marble floor to take away rainwater. Roman ingenuity from twenty centuries ago is bewildering, particularly when you are still able to step inside and marvel as if it we constructed a year ago.
The bus circuit took two hours to take us around the city, at all the major sites except for the Colosseum and Roman Forum, thanks to Mick and Keith’s rock band playing that night. We saw tens of thousands of people at the Vatican, who had just heard the Pope’s Sunday morning address. As the bus approached the Roma Termini, we noticed a flurry of activity around a five-story hotel called Le Hotel Grande. A milling crowd, a dozen very shiny and very black limousines, and official looking men in suits with lanyards around their necks. Being suspicious of what might be the cause, we got off the bus and investigated. Judging by the t-shirts being worn by the throngs, and the logo on the suit’s lanyards, our suspicions were proved correct - this was where the Rolling Stones were staying before their Rome concert that night.
Although it was highly unlikely that we would catch a glimpse of the most famous rock band in the world, we hung around for an hour, just to soak up the atmosphere. Hilariously, whenever a resident of the hotel looked out of their window, the crowd assumed the presence rock idols and started yelling and calling. Of course, each time was a false alarm, although I’m sure that I saw the haggard face of Ron Wood appear at a top floor window for one second, not enough time for me to snap a photo.
At one point I was approached by a middle-aged man dressed in a pink shirt and trendy shorts. “You want a ticket for the concert tonight?” he asked me. Taken aback and gathering my thoughts, I enquired further. The spare ticket was his wife’s, who had decided to go to Madrid instead. He was asking 150 Euros, pledged that he was legitimate, and showed me a voucher from his hotel with the concert details. Allison and I discussed, and decided to turn it down. The guy did not have an actual ticket, and we’d have to get to the venue, and back again after the concert. The clincher was that Allison will see The Stones in Melbourne in November. We left after an hour outside the hotel, and the guy was still trying to hawk his ticket.
Friday, 20 June 2014
Sorrento, Italy
Exploring Sorrento was most pleasurable indeed. Nowhere near the rat-race of Florence, this town has the vibe of being a tourist destination, going by the number of people on the streets, all speaking a myriad of different languages. It seems that tourists outnumber locals two to one, but the atmosphere is one of fun, relaxation, and sunshine. Being right on the coast, as well as high atop a cliff, Sorrento’s location provides an unforgettable view over the Bay of Naples. From the edge of that cliff, just a block away from the town center, we could look down over people swimming in the bay, or lounging on deckchairs, or heading out in boats of every size, shape and colour. On both sides along the coast are hotels built into the side of the cliff, with every vantage point being exploited for the view.
Following further advice from Giovanna, our landlady, we hired another local tour guide for a day on the Isle of Capri. What good advice it was, for we explored Capri much more thoroughly in six hours than we could have ever done on our own. Our guide was a delightful young lady called Maria, and we soon learned that she was the daughter of Rafaelle, our guide for Pompeii. The day started with the 25 minute ferry ride from Sorrento to Marina Grande on Capri, followed by a two-hour circumnavigation of the island by boat. The only disappointment was that the Blue Grotto was closed, and seeing the entrance from our boat convinced us that it was the right call. The tide and rough surf made the entrance to this cave vary from a metre above to a metre below the surface every few seconds. There was no way a small boat could enter this subterranean cave, so we would have to miss out on its apparently brilliant blue light show.
The views for rest of the boat trip were stunning. Sheer white limestone cliffs rising out of a sea coloured incredibly blue, with dwellings perched high atop, greeted us at every turn of the coast. The guide pointed out homes or hotels where famous people live or used to live – Sophia Loren, Georgio Armani, Mussolini, Jackie Kennedy Onassis. After the boat was a taxi ride from the harbour to Anacapri, taking us up the steep side of a mountain through narrow streets and hairpin bends. The higher we went, the more spectacular the view out over Marina Grande and the Bay of Naples. I think the word is breathtaking. From Anacapri, we took a chairlift to the very top of the island, with a 360 degree panorama of the Sorrento peninsula, Naples and Mt Vesuvius, and the islands of the Bay of Naples. Being afraid of heights, Allison opted to explore Anacapri and rely on our photos. Another taxi ride to the township of Capri, where we explored shops, hotels and restaurants so outlandishly expensive that it made us feel completely out of our depth. Do people really pay these prices? Maria showed us Augustus’ Gardens, supposedly set up by the Roman Emperor to use the amazing views from the cliff tops, which still exist today.
Throughout our entire time in Sorrento, I have the feeling that I’m being watched, for almost every view in the area has a common element. Like some deity looking over its subjects, an omnipresent mountain towers over the Bay of Naples like a menacing omen. Mt Vesuvius can only be described as imposing, as it rises out of the scenery like a dark cloud on the horizon, and it seems to appear in every photo I take. Its menace arises from the fact that it is hundreds of years overdue for a major eruption, and the view from Sorrento shows a mass of civilisation living at its feet. If it ever does decide to mimic 79AD, it would be catastrophic for the people of Naples and Sorrento Peninsula. I can only assume that to live here means that you cannot worry about it, otherwise your life would be in eternal anxiety.
Following further advice from Giovanna, our landlady, we hired another local tour guide for a day on the Isle of Capri. What good advice it was, for we explored Capri much more thoroughly in six hours than we could have ever done on our own. Our guide was a delightful young lady called Maria, and we soon learned that she was the daughter of Rafaelle, our guide for Pompeii. The day started with the 25 minute ferry ride from Sorrento to Marina Grande on Capri, followed by a two-hour circumnavigation of the island by boat. The only disappointment was that the Blue Grotto was closed, and seeing the entrance from our boat convinced us that it was the right call. The tide and rough surf made the entrance to this cave vary from a metre above to a metre below the surface every few seconds. There was no way a small boat could enter this subterranean cave, so we would have to miss out on its apparently brilliant blue light show.
The views for rest of the boat trip were stunning. Sheer white limestone cliffs rising out of a sea coloured incredibly blue, with dwellings perched high atop, greeted us at every turn of the coast. The guide pointed out homes or hotels where famous people live or used to live – Sophia Loren, Georgio Armani, Mussolini, Jackie Kennedy Onassis. After the boat was a taxi ride from the harbour to Anacapri, taking us up the steep side of a mountain through narrow streets and hairpin bends. The higher we went, the more spectacular the view out over Marina Grande and the Bay of Naples. I think the word is breathtaking. From Anacapri, we took a chairlift to the very top of the island, with a 360 degree panorama of the Sorrento peninsula, Naples and Mt Vesuvius, and the islands of the Bay of Naples. Being afraid of heights, Allison opted to explore Anacapri and rely on our photos. Another taxi ride to the township of Capri, where we explored shops, hotels and restaurants so outlandishly expensive that it made us feel completely out of our depth. Do people really pay these prices? Maria showed us Augustus’ Gardens, supposedly set up by the Roman Emperor to use the amazing views from the cliff tops, which still exist today.
Throughout our entire time in Sorrento, I have the feeling that I’m being watched, for almost every view in the area has a common element. Like some deity looking over its subjects, an omnipresent mountain towers over the Bay of Naples like a menacing omen. Mt Vesuvius can only be described as imposing, as it rises out of the scenery like a dark cloud on the horizon, and it seems to appear in every photo I take. Its menace arises from the fact that it is hundreds of years overdue for a major eruption, and the view from Sorrento shows a mass of civilisation living at its feet. If it ever does decide to mimic 79AD, it would be catastrophic for the people of Naples and Sorrento Peninsula. I can only assume that to live here means that you cannot worry about it, otherwise your life would be in eternal anxiety.
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Sorrento, Italy
The next day we entered our own Time Machine, and crossed off one of the reasons we had come to Sorrento in the first place – Pompeii. With advice from our helpful landlady, we hired our own personal guide called Rafaelle, and headed to the archaeological site early to beat the crowds. When we walked through the entrance gate at 9am, dark black clouds were hanging overhead, the smell of rain was in the air and it seemed as if we had the entire site to ourselves. We could see why an early start was so important.
Not long into the tour, it started to rain, and Rafaelle ducked us into someone’s house. Of course they weren’t home, as they had vacated their home on the morning of 24th August in 79AD, when the nearby volcano erupted and destroyed their city by burying it under 6 metres of ash. The weight of that settling ash caused every roof in the city to collapse, but fortunately this house had recently had its roof restored, providing us with shelter for the storm. The timing of the lightning and thunder were almost instantaneous, so the storm must have been directly overhead. The lightning show was spectacular, the thunder deafening. It was a surreal moment, stuck in someone’s home from two thousand years ago, watching nature’s most spectacular show of force.
We walked through the remains of homes, shops, baths, council chambers, even a brothel, with paintings of what services they had to offer. By midday our tour guide had completed his contract, and he left us to continue exploring this fascinating place on our own. Unfortunately by this time the crowds were here in force, seemingly the same ten thousand people who we had encountered at Florence’s David, and Pisa’s Tower. I think I recognised every one of them – Allison says they must be following us.
I still had to visit one last Pompeii attraction to satisfy the aging hippie in me. The amphitheatre in Pompeii is a large oval-shaped arena, completely empty and surrounded by stone seating . Back in October 1971, this was the venue for a unique rock concert, when Pink Floyd played live for no-one other than a bunch of sound and camera men . The concert was filmed and released as “Pink Floyd: Live at Pompeii”, and it became quite legendary as a snapshot of the famous band before “Dark Side of the Moon” was released in 1973. I felt a connection with history from 40 years ago and 2000 years ago.
Not long into the tour, it started to rain, and Rafaelle ducked us into someone’s house. Of course they weren’t home, as they had vacated their home on the morning of 24th August in 79AD, when the nearby volcano erupted and destroyed their city by burying it under 6 metres of ash. The weight of that settling ash caused every roof in the city to collapse, but fortunately this house had recently had its roof restored, providing us with shelter for the storm. The timing of the lightning and thunder were almost instantaneous, so the storm must have been directly overhead. The lightning show was spectacular, the thunder deafening. It was a surreal moment, stuck in someone’s home from two thousand years ago, watching nature’s most spectacular show of force.
We walked through the remains of homes, shops, baths, council chambers, even a brothel, with paintings of what services they had to offer. By midday our tour guide had completed his contract, and he left us to continue exploring this fascinating place on our own. Unfortunately by this time the crowds were here in force, seemingly the same ten thousand people who we had encountered at Florence’s David, and Pisa’s Tower. I think I recognised every one of them – Allison says they must be following us.
I still had to visit one last Pompeii attraction to satisfy the aging hippie in me. The amphitheatre in Pompeii is a large oval-shaped arena, completely empty and surrounded by stone seating . Back in October 1971, this was the venue for a unique rock concert, when Pink Floyd played live for no-one other than a bunch of sound and camera men . The concert was filmed and released as “Pink Floyd: Live at Pompeii”, and it became quite legendary as a snapshot of the famous band before “Dark Side of the Moon” was released in 1973. I felt a connection with history from 40 years ago and 2000 years ago.
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
Sorrento, Italy
We departed Florence, and took a three-hour train journey further south to Sorrento, via Rome and Naples. We travelled at 250 kph through farmland, mostly small plots with a small farmhouse of white walls and a red terracotta roof. The landscape was dotted with small hills poking out of flat fields, and it seemed that every hill was topped with a steeple of some kind, as if the most important building in the village must always have the most prominent position. We passed several industrial areas of factories, and then wineries and olive groves.
The Tuscan hills soon gave way to much higher mountains, dotted with stone buildings and medieval churches. Some were perched precariously on a cliff edge and were in ruins, having succumbed to the encroaching undergrowth. Several small villages were surrounded by a stone wall, with an entrance indicated by a gate with a tower on either side. The mountains were so high that it was easier for the train to go through them than over them, and we seemed to be underground for much of the journey. As soon as we arrived in Naples we transferred to a regional train bound for Sorrento. The confusion of where to find this connecting train was solved by following a young Queensland couple who were also heading to Sorrento for their honeymoon. Emerging from a tunnel, we had our first view of a scene that would stay with us for the next four days – the sprawling Bay of Naples, with high-rise apartments along its shoreline, and the huge, dark, conical-shaped Mt Vesuvius rising out of this fantastic view.
The Tuscan hills soon gave way to much higher mountains, dotted with stone buildings and medieval churches. Some were perched precariously on a cliff edge and were in ruins, having succumbed to the encroaching undergrowth. Several small villages were surrounded by a stone wall, with an entrance indicated by a gate with a tower on either side. The mountains were so high that it was easier for the train to go through them than over them, and we seemed to be underground for much of the journey. As soon as we arrived in Naples we transferred to a regional train bound for Sorrento. The confusion of where to find this connecting train was solved by following a young Queensland couple who were also heading to Sorrento for their honeymoon. Emerging from a tunnel, we had our first view of a scene that would stay with us for the next four days – the sprawling Bay of Naples, with high-rise apartments along its shoreline, and the huge, dark, conical-shaped Mt Vesuvius rising out of this fantastic view.
Monday, 16 June 2014
Florence, Italy
Our last day in Tuscany saw us getting brave. Maybe we had grown some confidence in tackling the Trenitalia regional train system, and so we bought return tickets to get us to Pisa with a possible stopover in Lucca, if we had read the timetable correctly.
There is an Italian law on trains that says you must validate your ticket after purchase but before boarding, on fear of death or a 40 euro fine. This particular morning , all of the validation machines at the Prato train station were not working, so we had to board the train and seek out a conductor to alert him to the problem (according to the blurb on the back of the ticket). When we found a conductor (or rather, he found us), he tried to fine us for not validating our tickets! The language barrier ensured the conversation (not an argument – I tried to keep my cool) continued for a few minutes. Finally he relented, wrote something on our tickets, handed them back, and progressed to hassle the next passenger. I saw a credit card transaction happening there.
Lucca was beautiful. Like so many small towns we’d already seen, the centre of Lucca was also surrounded by a high wall built in 16th century, and contained an impressive multi-coloured marble cathedral. Many large trees provided tranquil shade, and people went about their business on bikes or walking, some with a small dog on a leash. What made this place even more appealing was the total lack of tourist throngs.
On to Pisa, and with map in hand we left the train station and walked south, through narrow cobblestone streets and laneways, eventually reaching the mighty Arno River, the same one that flows through Florence but here it is closer to the sea. More narrow laneways, with street dining at restaurants and gelato shops. Reaching the corner at the end of one such laneway, we were greeted by an amazing sight. A tall, white marble tower jumped out in front of us, surprising us with its imposing presence and its familiarity. I’m sure the immediate thought process is the same for everyone when they first see the Leaning Tower of Pisa. This large stone structure is surely in the process of toppling over. It is remarkable that it is still standing after 900 years. There are not many buildings in the world that can announce themselves like this one can.
On the way home, we had to get to Prato via Florence, and I did a silly thing. Spooked by our encounter with the conductor and our non-validated tickets that morning, I validated in Pisa and also in Florence. And of course, we encountered a conductor on the way to Prato. And of course, I was unceremoniously accused of cheating the system because we were in possession of twice-validated tickets. I was beginning to feel paranoid. If only these guys spoke a little English so I could explain! We made it to Prato unscathed, and treated ourselves to an award-winning gelato, made by a guy who had gone a Gelato University to learn his craft. He proudly displayed his graduation certificate in his shop.
There is an Italian law on trains that says you must validate your ticket after purchase but before boarding, on fear of death or a 40 euro fine. This particular morning , all of the validation machines at the Prato train station were not working, so we had to board the train and seek out a conductor to alert him to the problem (according to the blurb on the back of the ticket). When we found a conductor (or rather, he found us), he tried to fine us for not validating our tickets! The language barrier ensured the conversation (not an argument – I tried to keep my cool) continued for a few minutes. Finally he relented, wrote something on our tickets, handed them back, and progressed to hassle the next passenger. I saw a credit card transaction happening there.
Lucca was beautiful. Like so many small towns we’d already seen, the centre of Lucca was also surrounded by a high wall built in 16th century, and contained an impressive multi-coloured marble cathedral. Many large trees provided tranquil shade, and people went about their business on bikes or walking, some with a small dog on a leash. What made this place even more appealing was the total lack of tourist throngs.
On to Pisa, and with map in hand we left the train station and walked south, through narrow cobblestone streets and laneways, eventually reaching the mighty Arno River, the same one that flows through Florence but here it is closer to the sea. More narrow laneways, with street dining at restaurants and gelato shops. Reaching the corner at the end of one such laneway, we were greeted by an amazing sight. A tall, white marble tower jumped out in front of us, surprising us with its imposing presence and its familiarity. I’m sure the immediate thought process is the same for everyone when they first see the Leaning Tower of Pisa. This large stone structure is surely in the process of toppling over. It is remarkable that it is still standing after 900 years. There are not many buildings in the world that can announce themselves like this one can.
On the way home, we had to get to Prato via Florence, and I did a silly thing. Spooked by our encounter with the conductor and our non-validated tickets that morning, I validated in Pisa and also in Florence. And of course, we encountered a conductor on the way to Prato. And of course, I was unceremoniously accused of cheating the system because we were in possession of twice-validated tickets. I was beginning to feel paranoid. If only these guys spoke a little English so I could explain! We made it to Prato unscathed, and treated ourselves to an award-winning gelato, made by a guy who had gone a Gelato University to learn his craft. He proudly displayed his graduation certificate in his shop.
Friday, 13 June 2014
Venice, Italy
A taxi ride to the train station in Venice must be unique in the world. Our 10am reserved taxi arrived right on time, but there was nowhere to park. The one available space was being taken up with a barge delivering boxes to a local restaurant. The remedy appeared to be commonplace in Venice – the taxi simply moored beside the barge and we embarked by walking across its deck, amidst boxes of wine, beer and bottled water. The taxi “driver” helped us with our suitcases, and we were soon on our way.
The shortest route took us through several narrow canals before reaching the Grand Canal, and one last look at the Rialto Bridge – a perfect way to bid farewell to this fabulous city. The journey to the Rialto was slow, as these narrow canals were being used by gondolas, taxis, garbage collectors, delivery barges, and police. It was inevitable that these boatmen would exchange idle chatter as they pass by, but it seems that every conversation ended in laughter. That’s the one thing I’ve found about Italians – they always seem so happy. They didn’t get frustrated being stuck in a traffic jam (or should that be “boat jam”). Whatever they were saying in Italian, they made each other laugh, and it was lovely to hear. The hearty conversations were infectious, and made us feel good too, even though we had no idea what they were saying.
The shortest route took us through several narrow canals before reaching the Grand Canal, and one last look at the Rialto Bridge – a perfect way to bid farewell to this fabulous city. The journey to the Rialto was slow, as these narrow canals were being used by gondolas, taxis, garbage collectors, delivery barges, and police. It was inevitable that these boatmen would exchange idle chatter as they pass by, but it seems that every conversation ended in laughter. That’s the one thing I’ve found about Italians – they always seem so happy. They didn’t get frustrated being stuck in a traffic jam (or should that be “boat jam”). Whatever they were saying in Italian, they made each other laugh, and it was lovely to hear. The hearty conversations were infectious, and made us feel good too, even though we had no idea what they were saying.
Thursday, 12 June 2014
Venice, Italy
This was our last morning in Venice after four glorious days, weather-wise and experience-wise. We said goodbye to Alice and Matt after lunch, as they caught a water bus to the airport to fly back to Vienna. We had to find our own way on the Italian streets for the first time.
And I failed miserably.
We decided to venture to the Hard Rock Café for our last meal in Venice. We had already visited one just off San Marco’s Square, but the tourist brochures stated that there were two Hard Rock Cafes in Venice, the other one being right next to the Rialto Bridge. So we headed to Rialto.
Any map of a medieval European city shows streets that are hardly symmetrical. They wander in all directions, with some tiny laneways hardly wide enough for one person. My interpretation of the map of Venice must have been flawed from the start, because we ended up emerging from a narrow laneway to be confronted with a large expanse of water. I had somehow lead us east to the coast, instead west to the Grand Canal. After seeking help from some locals, we eventually ended up at the Rialto Bridge, and entered the Hard Rock Café eager for a thirst-quenching beer and a meal to replace the calories burnt getting there.
The plan came crashing down when we were told that this Hard Rock establishment was only a shop for merchandise, and not a restaurant after all. I was devastated, embarrassed, and wasting away to a shadow without food. Determined, we ventured further into the heart of Venice to the Hard Rock Café that could actually provide us with all-elusive final Venetian meal. There is no doubt that my wife and sister never let me live this episode down.
A surreal moment ended a big day when we shared a bottle of vino rosso (red wine) at the Hard Rock bar after our meal, and watched the opening of the World Cup in Brazil, live on a big screen. Sitting at the table next to us was a young couple, and the guy was wearing a yellow and green t-shirt. I made a correct assumption, not that he was Australian but he was actually Brazilian, in Italy on holiday with his girlfriend. We discussed how the Brazil and Australia colours were so similar, and how he was hopeful of his national team doing well, while my hopes were for my team to at least score.
And I failed miserably.
We decided to venture to the Hard Rock Café for our last meal in Venice. We had already visited one just off San Marco’s Square, but the tourist brochures stated that there were two Hard Rock Cafes in Venice, the other one being right next to the Rialto Bridge. So we headed to Rialto.
Any map of a medieval European city shows streets that are hardly symmetrical. They wander in all directions, with some tiny laneways hardly wide enough for one person. My interpretation of the map of Venice must have been flawed from the start, because we ended up emerging from a narrow laneway to be confronted with a large expanse of water. I had somehow lead us east to the coast, instead west to the Grand Canal. After seeking help from some locals, we eventually ended up at the Rialto Bridge, and entered the Hard Rock Café eager for a thirst-quenching beer and a meal to replace the calories burnt getting there.
The plan came crashing down when we were told that this Hard Rock establishment was only a shop for merchandise, and not a restaurant after all. I was devastated, embarrassed, and wasting away to a shadow without food. Determined, we ventured further into the heart of Venice to the Hard Rock Café that could actually provide us with all-elusive final Venetian meal. There is no doubt that my wife and sister never let me live this episode down.
A surreal moment ended a big day when we shared a bottle of vino rosso (red wine) at the Hard Rock bar after our meal, and watched the opening of the World Cup in Brazil, live on a big screen. Sitting at the table next to us was a young couple, and the guy was wearing a yellow and green t-shirt. I made a correct assumption, not that he was Australian but he was actually Brazilian, in Italy on holiday with his girlfriend. We discussed how the Brazil and Australia colours were so similar, and how he was hopeful of his national team doing well, while my hopes were for my team to at least score.
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Venice, Italy
As we wandered the streets of Venice, we were joined by other tourists in their thousands, many in groups lead by a tour guide carrying a flag so they could be easily followed amongst the throngs. Alice told us that this wasn’t busy season yet. One could only imagine how CRAZY it would be in July and August when it is the peak tourist season. Of course we cannot complain, as we are adding to the tourist hoards by another three. It takes some special consideration to look beyond the crowds and concentrate on what they’d all come to see – a large slice of European history.
Visiting Venice for the first time, I see why its elaborate network of waterways makes it is so unique. These canals are the city’s roads, which mean that there is a total absence of anything motorised on wheels. The whole city infrastructure is based on boats, from shop and construction deliveries, to buses and taxis, to police, ambulance, garbage collection, even funeral hearses. We saw examples of all of these.
After hours of walking, we found that we had traversed the city from south to north, from San Marco’s Square to Piazza Roma, and the consensus was that we’d all pitch in for a taxi back to our starting point. The majority of the journey took us down the Grand Canal, and the experience was worth it just to see Venice from a viewpoint not often seen. Going under the marble arch of the Rialto Bridge made us realise just what a feat of engineering this must have been in 1592.
Visiting Venice for the first time, I see why its elaborate network of waterways makes it is so unique. These canals are the city’s roads, which mean that there is a total absence of anything motorised on wheels. The whole city infrastructure is based on boats, from shop and construction deliveries, to buses and taxis, to police, ambulance, garbage collection, even funeral hearses. We saw examples of all of these.
After hours of walking, we found that we had traversed the city from south to north, from San Marco’s Square to Piazza Roma, and the consensus was that we’d all pitch in for a taxi back to our starting point. The majority of the journey took us down the Grand Canal, and the experience was worth it just to see Venice from a viewpoint not often seen. Going under the marble arch of the Rialto Bridge made us realise just what a feat of engineering this must have been in 1592.
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Venice, Italy
It was such a long haul, four countries in 36 hours. It was the final one of four flights that created the most excitement. After all, it was still dark for the early morning short hop from Launceston to Melbourne, and the nine hours from Melbourne to Hong Kong had us stuck in the middle of the seating, with no access to a window. The twelve hours from Honkers to Munich was night time all the way, as we chased the sunrise rolling across the planet. The one hour from Munich to Venice, however, delivered an unforgettable view of the Alps, courtesy of a window seat and a cloudless sky. The flat, green farmland of southern Germany soon gave way to angry-looking mountains with rocky outcrops poking through white snowfields. With the sun just peeking above the eastern horizon, the low light gave the rugged mountain ranges a spectacular relief, accentuating the steep slopes and darkening the deep valleys. Then the sight of Venice directly below us as we approached our final destination airport was such a welcoming a sight.
We walked off the plane and into Italy unhindered, as we had passed through Customs and Immigration in Munich. Taking a water bus from the airport into the middle of Venice was just like taking Melbourne’s Skybus, and the Venetian skyline greeted us as we drew closer. We got off at the stop that our friend Alice had emailled me about, and as we alighted there was Alice and Matt to meet us.
There were big hugs for everyone from Alice, and firm handshakes from Matt, which was a little strange as this was only the second time we’ve ever met Alice, and the first time for Matt. We had previously met Alice in 2009 on a Danube boat cruise in Vienna before our Turkey trip, and we kept in touch on Facebook after that fortuitist meeting. When she heard that we were coming to Venice, only an hour’s flight from Vienna, she took a few days holiday to meet us. Matt was her new man in her life, and he was as lovely and warm as Alice, both middle-aged Austrians with good English and a sense of adventure. We stayed in the same hotel as they did, a basic place with comfy beds and delicious breakfasts, and right in the middle of Venice. We were prepared to sacrifice luxury for location.
It was still only 10am, too early to book into the hotel, so we went for a coffee and short walk before midday check-in. It was hot, 30 degrees under a blazing sun. It was a nice, gentle introduction to Italy for three exhausted and travel-weary Aussies. The adrenaline kicked in and, after an afternoon nap, we spent the rest of the day exploring before finally succumbing to fatigue that evening.
We walked off the plane and into Italy unhindered, as we had passed through Customs and Immigration in Munich. Taking a water bus from the airport into the middle of Venice was just like taking Melbourne’s Skybus, and the Venetian skyline greeted us as we drew closer. We got off at the stop that our friend Alice had emailled me about, and as we alighted there was Alice and Matt to meet us.
There were big hugs for everyone from Alice, and firm handshakes from Matt, which was a little strange as this was only the second time we’ve ever met Alice, and the first time for Matt. We had previously met Alice in 2009 on a Danube boat cruise in Vienna before our Turkey trip, and we kept in touch on Facebook after that fortuitist meeting. When she heard that we were coming to Venice, only an hour’s flight from Vienna, she took a few days holiday to meet us. Matt was her new man in her life, and he was as lovely and warm as Alice, both middle-aged Austrians with good English and a sense of adventure. We stayed in the same hotel as they did, a basic place with comfy beds and delicious breakfasts, and right in the middle of Venice. We were prepared to sacrifice luxury for location.
It was still only 10am, too early to book into the hotel, so we went for a coffee and short walk before midday check-in. It was hot, 30 degrees under a blazing sun. It was a nice, gentle introduction to Italy for three exhausted and travel-weary Aussies. The adrenaline kicked in and, after an afternoon nap, we spent the rest of the day exploring before finally succumbing to fatigue that evening.
Thursday, 5 June 2014
Launceston, Tasmania
Time seems to drag in this final week leading up to our next overseas holiday. There are plenty of jobs to be done - at work ensuring things are in place for my absence, and at home so that everything is right for our housesitters.
The excitement is tangible. In a few days we will fly to Melbourne, but instead of catching a Skybus into the city, we will head nextdoor to the International terminal, walk through a door and effectively leave Australia. The next day we will be in Venice, experiencing summer, a foreign language and a brand new city to explore, the start of a journey that's been a year in the planning. I find it incredible that we can be so far away from home and still be on the planet.
If I had a dollar for every time I've been told "no riding motorbikes", we could've paid for the trip all over again. Be assured - there will be no two-wheeled transport on this particular expedition.
The excitement is tangible. In a few days we will fly to Melbourne, but instead of catching a Skybus into the city, we will head nextdoor to the International terminal, walk through a door and effectively leave Australia. The next day we will be in Venice, experiencing summer, a foreign language and a brand new city to explore, the start of a journey that's been a year in the planning. I find it incredible that we can be so far away from home and still be on the planet.
If I had a dollar for every time I've been told "no riding motorbikes", we could've paid for the trip all over again. Be assured - there will be no two-wheeled transport on this particular expedition.
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