When you are part of a tour there are three important factors which, when combined, will almost definitely ensure its success.
a)Nice, friendly fellow tour group members
b)A well balanced and varied itinerary
And
c)A really cute guy you can perve at from the backseat
Unfortunately, our PaddyWagon tour of Ireland lacked in the department of the latter, however we also had one aspect that was, almost, better.
The funniest, and craziest tour guide ever.
Introducing Connor:
a.k.a Conrad
a.k.a Captain
a.k.a Capitano
Someone with that amount of names must have to have a similar sized head to match, and that pretty much sums up the crazy Irishman who manoeuvred us around Southern Ireland for three days.
Here are some of the better ‘Connor’ moments that have to be shared, if not for laughs, simply for longevity - these have to be written down for historical comedic purposes.
Connor Moment Number #1:
Connor loved the Aussies.
Whilst it may not appear it at first, or maybe at all, he had a little spot for us in the crazy Irish heart of his. Here are a few of the tender stories he shared with us about the special bond between the Irish and Australians.
‘We have a very strong pub culture in this country boys and girls (be prepared for that a lot, that’s pretty much all he called us even though none of us were five…). The Australians say that they do as well, but ill tell you, you do not have anything like us Irish do. Firstly, when we want a drink we go to the pub. Not you Australians. You drive into a weird garage thing and give a guy some money and he puts beer through your window, which you put in the fridge. When I was in Australia I said to a friend late on a Monday night, ‘let’s go to the pub for a drink’ to which he replied, ‘oh mate I’ve got work tomorrow and its like 10:00pm, just go to the kitchen and get a beer from the fridge’. In Australia you have to make plans to go the pub – ‘Connor we’ll go on Friday night ok, I promise at this time we will go’. In Ireland we got the pub whenever and wherever. In Ireland you have to make plans to go to kitchen to drink – ‘Connor on Friday night we’ll go to the kitchen to drink, I promise at this time we will go’.
Australian’s think you have a pub culture? We Irish think not, and don’t bother trying to come up with a retort for that one boys and girls cause I know you are thinking ‘Connor is right’
And unfortunately, but hilariously, he was.
‘We have a sport here called Gaelic football. And we actually do a tournament versus the Australians with a mixture of rules from their game AFL – it’s called International Rules. However, a lot of Irish folk feel that the Irish have to give up too much for the Australians.
You moan and complain because you have to learn to handle a round ball after the oval one that you use for AFL.
BUT the tackling rules are laid in favour of the Australians – we get our puny little Irishmen put up against your ENORMOUS AFL players, who get pummelled so hard they become part of the playing field. And the Irish argue our game is so much more skilful, whereas in AFL you just smash someone into the ground, step on them, grab the ball and run off.
Now does that sound fair boys and girls?
Connor Moment #2
His one liners
(talking about Irish history)
‘So it is all very interesting, lots of shit went down boys and girls and this made Ireland what it is today’
(leaving Galway on the first night)
‘Good morning boys and girls, hope you had a nice night in County Galway. If you had a big night and are feeling a little seedy this morning you will be happy to know we will be going through some of the windiest and roughest Irish roads pretty much all day!’
(referring to Louise and I)
‘I’ve decided to call you Floozy #1 and Floozy #2. What is a floozy? (we asked) – well if a very nice girl is a 1 and a prostitute is a 10 then a floozy is about a 6’.
Oh nice, thanks Connor!
(referring to Dublin)
‘I like Dublin, the best thing I like about it is the view of it in the rear view mirror. It’s shit’.
Was Connor actually a really good and informative tour guide?
DEFINITELY
Was he trying to hit on some of the tour members?
MAYBE
Will I get sick of hearing him calling us ‘Darling’ in his Irish accent all day?
There were very few things I knew about Ireland before I went there
a)They drink Guinness
b)They play Gaelic footy – the wussy version of the real man’s sport Australian Rules
c)They like to paint everything various shades of green
Whilst all the above may be true, it really doesn’t provide one with the clearest picture of what to expect from the Isle of Green. So where does my Irish tale start you ask?
In Louise’s room at Boddington, being woke up by our alarm at 4:00am…
Arrived at the Leeds Bradford Airport sleepy eyed and groggy (and surprisingly hungry for 5:00 in the morning!). Checked into our flight, ate a hearty breakfast of a chocolate muffin (are you allowed to have chocolate before 6:00am??) and sat waiting for our RyanAir flight to Dublin.
Note: Just to interrupt I feel it is important to say a little spiel about RyanAir. There isn’t really anything like it in Australia – it is a strange European phenomenon. It is a RIDICULOUSLY low cost airline which flies all around Europe. However, these amazingly low prizes do come with certain risks – like you might not actually get wherever it is where you need to go. And yes you may have only paid 5 pounds for your flight but most would say reaching your destination is relatively important….
So we get to the gate and get on the plane (this would be the time you could breathe the sigh of relief with other airlines…oh but not RyanAir) and luckily headed off for Dublin. And – wait for it – arrived in Dublin EARLY! That must have been a RyanAir first and I feeling pretty privileged to be a part of that! They should design commemorative medals for the passengers or something.
I’ll be waiting for it in the mail.
Although we did arrive early in Dublin it really wasn’t to our advantage as it was only just after 7:00am and still completely dark in Dublin. Can’t do much sightseeing in the pitch black.
So Louise and I hung out in the Dublin airport at the bagel stand, making one of our MANY, MANY food stops that we do daily whilst we are travelling, got a map and started to plan our day.
Caught the bus into the city centre and got to our hostel. Not a single person who worked at the Hostel was actually Irish but that was fine they were all very lovely. Bought a ticket to the Hop On and Hop Off Sightseeing Bus and did a full circuit loop around Dublin. Saw all the main sights and everything that is worth seeing in Dublin. Drove through the Main St, past Trinity College, St Patrick’s Cathedral, The Dublin Gaol, The Guinness Storehouse, The Dublin Zoo, and heaps of museums and other churches. Afterwards we picked out the places we wanted to see that day and did a walk through Trinity College (where I saw the most enormous snowball you have ever seen in your life – photographic evidence is available in my Ireland photos). Following this we headed the Dublin Castle. Now the problem with the choice of name for such a building is it really does not portray the true essence of the structure.
Not because it can’t fully describe its beauty.
Not because it can’t instil in you the true sense of its history.
It’s because Dublin Castle looks like NO castle I have ever seen….
Later on, we did read that Dublin Castle was voted as the number one Castle in Europe which ‘least resembles an actual Castle’ and more just looks like every other historical building in the area.
Ripped off.
Having been significantly disappointed by Ireland’s ability to accurately name their Castles we headed to Temple Bar for our first pint of authentic Irish Cider. The Temple Bar area isn’t one specifc pub but more the description of the whole area. It was really quite cool with HEAPS of proper little Irish pubs and cute touristy shops (you know I love my tourist shops!). However, we had been warned by a couple of other well worn travellers that Dublin was a great city, very lively, very Irish but to be careful because (to excuse my French) it will rape your wallet. Up until that moment we had been doing ok, but it was all a façade people! Dublin was just trying to lull us into a false sense of security before it stole every penny we had (or wait that would be cent because it was Euros…).
Went into an Irish Pub and Louise saved our table while I went to the bar.
Ordered two pints of Bulmers.
‘That will be 12 Euros love’
‘Um excuse me what?’
’12 Euros’
‘Right well I’m just going to go and sell Louise’s liver and my first born child and I’ll be back with the money’.
Ok that’s a little exaggerated. But it was SO expensive.
Went for dinner on Grafton St, to Bewley’s Café, a restaurant recommended to Louise by her parents, who had been to Dublin not that long ago. Had some really great food and a waiter with a crazy accent that Louise could not understand. By far the best part of our night though was the entertainment. Luckily for us, there was a choir group of some kind having their Christmas party in the same restaurant – and after dinner and many bottles of wine they sang Christmas Carols for everyone.
You could just feel the Irish love in the air.
The next morning we went shopping, had a surprisingly REALLY good coffee in a seedy looking Irish café and visited the Dublin Writers Museum. Of course anyone who knows me, knows I have a very special relationship with my books but Louise was a good enough friend to tag along – and didn’t once complain she was bored! Visited the gift shop, bought one book and then had to forcibly remove myself at the risk of wanting to buy all of them. Hopped back on the bus and visited the Kilmainham Gaol where some of Ireland’s most famous men and women were held.
That night we had dinner with Alice and Bec our fellow ‘Radadelaiders’ and Alice’s cousin Megan. Stupidly, we headed for Temple Bar again, to find we couldn’t eat at any of the Irish pubs because of their outrageous prices. And besides after yesterday’s cider experience Louise and I only had one liver between us to sell and I don’t think that is medically recommended. So in very un-Irish fashion we ate at the Hard Rock café and drank 5 Euro cocktails.
It was the DUBLIN Hard Rock, surely we get some Irish credit for that???
Monday saw us leave on our 3 Day Southern Ireland Tour. Got introduced to our bus driver, tour guide and local Irish crazy person Connor, a.ka. Conrad, a.k.a Captain and headed off with 20 others West to Galway. Along the way we met Roxy and Jonathon, two fellow Aussies, Brian the bubbly Canadian and Sarah and Kyle, perhaps the only genuinely nice Americans we have met since we have been in England…(too harsh?!?!)
Along the way Connor pointed out various Irishy things, and gave us many a spiel about Irish culture. Some of them were so classic, they deserve an entry of their own so keep your eyes pealed for that.
Drove past Galway, even further West into the wild Connemara region. Stopped at the village of Cong (no, not as it King) and had lunch at a gorgeous little Irish pub. We were the only people in there but the service was amazing, the food was a credit to those fine Irish people. For the rest of the afternoon we drove through the Connenmara which had some of the most spectacular scenery I have seen anywhere. Visited Kylemore Abbey which was this enormous and ornate mansion built into the side of a hill alongside a beautiful lake. Connor told us it was built by an Englishman for his wife.
Now that is the sort of husband id like!
Spent the night in Galway where we ate in Murphy’s (I had VERY traditional Irish lasagne…) and then headed to Taffe’s for some proper Irish music. The little four person band that played there looked like they had been ripped straight from an Irish postcard (and I would know, I have bought so many since I’ve been here!) and the youngest guy played the tin whistle, the spoons and cracked some amazing Riverdance moves.
And to his credit he didn’t even laugh THAT much when Roxy got up in the middle of a completely empty dancefloor and danced around like a looney trying to impersonate his Riverdance and stealing his spoons.
God Bless the Australians – there’s always one…
Tuesday saw us drive South heading for Killarney, along the coast of County Clare. Again, the scenery was breathtaking and SO different from where we had been only a few hours away the day before. Got some great photos overlooking the Atlantic, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky!
Arrived at the Cliffs of Moher and hiked up the way-too-many number of steps to O’Brien’s Tower which overlooks the whole cliffs. Bought, yet MORE souvenirs and got back on the bus.
Spent Tuesday night in Killarney and had a big group dinner at yet another proper Irish pub. Although, at one point they played a terrible Irish cover of ‘Land Downunder’ by Men At Work. Not quite sure whose idea was that but I would suggest in future taking your advice from Michael Flatley and sticking with the Riverdance…
Spent the rest of the night in an Irish ‘club’ (oh dear it was as sad as it sounds) but there was a great cover band on, and once again Roxy kept the ENTIRE tour entertained with her solo interpretations of Irish dancing.The next morning we were introduced to Bill and Patrick who took us on a horse and cart tour through Killarney National Park (Bill was the horse, Patrick the driver in case you were confused…) Luckily the views of the park were amazing, because after sitting in an open aired carriage for an hr in the freezing Irish air you would want it to be worth it!
Drove on from Killarney to Blarney Castle where Brian, Louise and I hiked up the castle to kiss the famous Blarney Stone. Now they say that when you kiss the stone you get given the gift of the Irish gab for seven years. Well the ‘gab’ is something I do not lack so kissing it was either rendered completely obsolete, or I’ve been given an overdose of the talking gene.
Which probably isn’t a good thing for anyone involved. However, I did kiss it and we explored the Castle grounds before heading back to Dublin.
Because a couple of the people on our group were doing the six day tour – they left with Connor to continue on and we hopped on a bus with Shaunie who was taking us back to Dublin. If I thought Connor was a little crazy in his little Irish head, Shaunie is like Glenside personified (sorry if your not from Adelaide and won’t get that!). He was really good fun, but nobody could barely understand a thing he was saying and he lead the bus in an a capella rendition of Backstreet Boys ‘I Want it That Way’.
Need I say anymore.
Headed back home to Leeds with our trusty RyanAir, bags full of kitchy shamrocks and leprechauns (ok well maybe that was just my bag…) and our heads full of Irish tunes.
Was Ireland actually a lot better than I was expecting?
DEFINITELY
Is it a pre requisite for all Irish people to be slightly mental?
MAYBE
Will I ever forget our bus theme tune – The RubberBandits ‘Horse Outside’?
PROBABLY NOT! (and seriously people look it up on YouTube its freaking hilarious!)
The London Underground is an inexplicable phenomenon.
Much like the Northern Lights or a Solar Eclipse, it is confounding, a little puzzling and is running at 100% efficiency only about as often as one can see either of the above.
My experiences with what Londoners refer to the ominous sounding ‘Tube’ (affectionately or otherwise I am yet to ascertain) were mixed and therefore I wanted to flesh out the pros and cons to decide for myself whether the ‘Tube’ (I feel like the Jaws music should accompany the very term) is indeed friend or foe…
Pro Number #1
It’s underground.
This may seem as deadly obvious as the nose on your face but this is often a commonly overlooked MASSIVE pro. By having the whole system underground, commuters do not have to contend with any of the mental London traffic. Also, it doesn’t need to follow the already designated roads and when building in new lines they can pretty much just hack out a tunnel anywhere they want (I’m sure it is more complicated than that but that is why I deal with words and not engineering). This also means you can get somewhere IN THEORY quicker than you could on the roads. Although NASA has said people could live on Mars IN THEORY and you don’t see people rushing off to their local rocket ship….
Also, it is warm underground. Well warmer anyway, but when you are contending with minus one London weather as I was even the slightest increase in temperature is welcomed. Although, on this note, it probably would get a little hot in the summer. But seeing as the English wouldn’t know what a real summer was if it slapped them in the face, I’m guessing this wouldn’t be a real issue.
Con Number #1
It’s underground.
No, I haven’t suffered short term memory loss – the fact the Tube is underground is a negative just as much as it is a positive. I discovered the joys of this con when trying to get to Piccadilly Circus to see Grease on West End.
Got on the train.
My train was fine.
The train in front? Not so fine.
So what do you do when the train in front of yours breaks down?
You guessed it people – absolutely nothing. There is no such thing as a Tube ‘detour’, for the simple reason that there is nowhere to go. So everyone just has to wait on the train until the problem is fixed and the line is free again. Obviously this can cause HUGE backlog problems, big delays and a lot of cramped and angry Londoners. And trust me; they are cramped and angry at the best of time so these sort of situations are not helping.
Pro Number #2
The Oyster Card
I would like to kiss the person who invented the Oyster Card. If only the head of the transport system in Melbourne or Sydney had been there when God handed him the gift of the Oyster Card, then we wouldn’t have some of the most badly organised and run transportation systems in the world. The concept is quite bewilderingly simple.
Put money on Oyster Card.
Swipe Oyster Card.
Get on Train.
Get off Train.
Swipe Oyster Card.
And repeat.
Of course there are other ticketing options, but the idea of buying a ticket for EVERY single leg you to take makes watching paint dry look more appealing. It also is a very efficient system as it means you don’t have to line up for the ticket machines and can just swipe away like the crowds and crowds of local Londoners who are rushing around the Underground at a million miles an hour in their typical uptight English fashion.
Con Number #2
The Oyster Card
Some famous guy once said there are always two sides to the same story. The Oyster Card my friends is no exception. Yes it is efficient and yes it is easy to use but there is one little characteristic of the humble Oyster Card which is often overlooked and is almost always the cause of its downfall.
It is ultimately a piece of technology and what is the one thing we can rely on when it comes to technology boys and girls? It will and does break.
So for example, I loaded my Oyster Card with 10 pounds from a local newsagent and got the station. Moved into the enormous queue of people lining up to swipe their precious Oyster Cards and got the front. Swiped it and lo and behold it didn’t work. Swiped it again. No go. (And of course it has one of those little red lights which just teases you incessantly…’haha I’m not letting you through’.
Just as I was about the try it a third time there was a sharp and angry London voice in my ear:
‘It won’t let you in cause you have no money, now can you please move?’
Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine….
I of course turned and told her that I had just put on 10 pounds so it did definitely have money on it but nevertheless I backed out of the massing crowd and had to get someone to check my card. They informed me that yes the money was on there but just to try again as they can be a little funny sometimes.
The Oyster Card. Reliable, efficient, but sometimes a little ‘funny’?
Uh huh.
Pro Number #3
The map.
Despite being a crazy labyrinth of colourful lines and tiny little station names in ridiculously small black font – the system is actually quite easy to use. Each station is really well signed and you really would have to be pretty stupid to get on the wrong one. Especially because when you get on they tell you where that particular train is going. So if you were going to get on the wrong train you would have to be really thick or deaf or both and if you fit into any of these categories I do apologise. Even when getting off a train and wanting to transfer to another one, there are plenty of signs and plenty of time to read them with the crowds moving incredibly slowly through the station.
Con Number #3
The dreaded strike.
That one S word is enough to instil fear into the hearts of every Londoner. Unfortunately for me, one of their famous strikes happened to fall on one of the days I found myself in London. And let me tell you it is as annoying and frustrating as it appears.
Having said this, the transport people do actually deal with it the best way they can. At each station there are loads of transport officials who can help you try to get where you need to go if you can’t take the route you normally would. Yes, this is helpful and I was very grateful for it, but if there weren’t SO many lines and stations closed the problem wouldn’t be there in first place. And of course for the strike to have any ACTUAL effect they shut off the lines which are the most central and go through the most stations where people need to go.
People meaning tourists as well.
Gay.
Is a ride on the London Underground a bit of a hit and miss experience?
DEFINITELY
Would something similar work in certain cities in Australia?
MAYBE
Will I EVER stop giggling at the Piccadilly line that terminates at Cockfosters?
London Bridge
London
Streets of London
Landing in London
London by Night
Cemeteries of London
London Conversation
London Calling
London Underground
People say that London can be a little full of itself. Well let me be the first to say if I had so many songs written specifically about me I’d probably be pretty big headed as well.
But it’s not being conceited if it’s true.
London is so amazing it can park its huge head in my backyard anytime.
Friday morning I was on the train to London and arrived at Kings Cross Station a little after lunch (and a compulsory stop at Pret of course…man I love that place!) Surprisingly, I had arrived in London having planned very little. Which, for anyone who knows me, knows is very odd (I have been known to make lists of to do lists to make and am not the slightest bit ashamed to admit it). But having been in Newcastle the weekend before, and trying to madly finish some uni work (oh right that’s ACTUALLY what I’m here for…), planning was left a little by the wayside. So here I found myself, in London with the address of my hostel in Earl’s Court but without a single clue of how to get there.
Having luckily perused Google maps before I left I knew that Earl’s Court was south west from Kings Cross so I figured I’d just start walking, find a tube stop and get on the tube to the hostel.
Or perhaps not.
After walking for who knows how long, dragging my little suitcase behind me, not being able to feel my hands anymore in the -1 degree weather I came upon the Tottenham Court Underground station. There were people EVERYWHERE and I can assure you they do live up to their not so delightfully friendly reputation. I could feel it coming down over me like a plague, hovering above my head somewhere waiting to strike… a little thing I like to refer to as being OVERWHELMED. After failing to get hold of my resident London expert Louise who was at Heathrow picking up Andy, I had to resort to more dramatic measures. Calmly I ran my regularly used mantra through my head (‘suck it up sez’), took a deep breath and bought a London map. Then I ventured into the monster’s lair that is the tube and asked a nice man how I could get to Earl’s Court. And then suddenly, 20 minutes later I was there.
I should take up a motivational speaking circuit that’s all I have to say.
Dumped my stuff in the hostel and took a call from Louise, to whom I proudly relayed to my story about surviving my first hour in London.
Little was I to know the drama that was to come…
I had bought a ticket for Grease on West End for that evening (had to virtually sell my liver for it but hey you only live once right?) and met Andy and Louise in Earl’s Court for a pub dinner. The show began at 8:30pm at Piccadilly Theatre which the receptionist at the hostel assured me was a two minute walk from the Piccadilly Tube station, which was a 15 minute ride from Earl’s Court. So hearing my mother’s voice in my head and thinking ahead I left Earl’s Court at 7:30pm, just to be safe.
There is a reason why mothers are always right people.
I got on the tube at Earl’s Court. Fine.
The tube left on the time from Earl’s Court. Fine
The tube was going along well and I was going to be there in plenty of time. Fine.
The tube stops at Hyde Park Corner and does not move. At All. NOT FINE.
Have you ever had the experience of tearing up the stairs of a tube stop three stops from where you need to be, and running around like a madwoman trying to hail a taxi in the midst of crazy Friday night traffic?
No?
Well I have.
Luckily, I encountered the one Londoner who God graced with manners and he could see I was so distressed and gave me his taxi. Not so luckily, the reason my train had stopped was that the one in front of it was broken and therefore they had to block the traffic ABOVE ground to allow the maintenance men in.
I mean did I do something wrong in another life? Really?
Eventually I ran (no not power walked, RAN) up the stairs of the theatre, breathlessly waved my ticket in front of the face of the surprised adolescent theatre worker person and sat down in a flurry of hair, coat and stress.
Just then the lights went down and the first bars of ‘Grease is the Word’ began.
I wanted to simultaneously laugh hysterically and burst into tears.
Day 2 was dubbed ‘sightseeing day’ and with my walking shoes packed Andy and I headed in from Earl’s Court to meet Louise in the city. Had breakfast at Covent Garden, at this really cute little place. Strangely though, they served the hot drinks in a bowl. With no handles. Must be the London way I guess….
Once we were all topped up with energy the sightseeing marathon began. Firstly, to Trafalgar Square where Andy scaled the Lion monument like a monkey whilst Sarah (in a dress) thought it best not to subject the innocent London public to such a view. From there walked down past Pall Mall, some palace… (what was that called Lou?) and Downing St. Following this we turned left and suddenly there it was; a thousand times more amazing in real life: Big Ben!
Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament were perhaps my favourite attraction, they are almost more London than that old lady herself. On the other side of the Thames in London Eye which was just as impressive and I could have stood there all day admiring the view.
Alas, we moved on pretty quickly, because due to the breeze coming off the river, we were freezing all parts of our anatomy off. And I mean all parts. I have yet to be as cold as I was on that bridge!
Louise: ‘do you want another photo with Big Ben? That one didn’t really work’
Me: ‘I want a heater. Now’
After that we walked what seemed like a million km’s along the river (although we did bypass a Xmas Market which is always a bonus) and found a tube stop and caught it to Green Park to visit that old lady at her little home. Well by old lady I mean that Queen of England and by her little home I mean Buckingham Palace but I must say unlike the day before, I was feeling a little underwhelmed. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting and there was only one funny walking guard on the gate to point and laugh at.
But at least I can say I’ve seen ‘Bucks Pal’ as Louise calls it. Ha!
The rest of the day we spent in Hyde Park, eating cone fries from yet another German Christmas market and trying to fight our way through the weekend crowds.
I actually thought my blood was going to boil with how slow we were moving! Not a good place for someone with my tendencies to be! Made a pit stop to Harrods on the way home, the crowds must have read our minds cause they were all there as well.
Bought a Harrods bag tho! Miss Lia Harris if you’re reading this I have one now too!
Saturday night, the three of us spent a good few hours in a cute little Italian restaurant with amazing food, good wine and great company. I think it was at this point I was starting to get good at this whole London thing.
Sunday morning we got up bright and early and headed off for another of London’s well known attractions: markets! Being able to only do one that day we decided to bypass the more common Portobello and headed to Camden, to the Camden Street Markets. We were not to be disappointed. I have never seen anything like it: it makes Melbourne’s Victoria markets look like a yard sale. Everywhere you turn there is a new little lane with yet more stalls and there were several occasions where I had absolutely no idea where we were. And that’s exactly how market shopping should be. Bought a few things, including the BEST EVER present for Mum (haha don’t think I’m going to let the secret slip in cyberspace Mummy dearest…)
Ate dinner by myself in a restaurant in Earl’s Court, which was strangely nice. However, the waitress sat me next to this other business guy eating by himself. I didn’t realise we had to be placed together in a corner where everyone can look at us with pity and wonder why we have no companions…
Monday morning the news had come through that half of the Tube was on strike. Just. Great. Wanting to go to Harrods again and avoid the huge crowds I set off early and got off at the nearest Tube that was actually running and walked 20 minutes to the department store. To find it closed until 10am. And it was 9:30. Despite wanting to kill someone, I spun around and was graced with the best sight I could have hoped for at a time like this: a gorgeous little coffee shop. After a coffee and the BEST granola I’ve had EVER, Harrods decided it would open and I went in to purchase a few more presents… (o now I’ve got you thinking…)
My plans to get across to the other side of the city to the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge were a little derailed but after making three stops and catching three lines I managed to get there. Actually really enjoyed the bridge, because unlike the Palace, it really was as amazing as I thought it was going to be.
Unsure of where to go to next I sat down on a little park bench to get out my map and rethink my next move. Decided I would head back into the city and have lunch at London’s Hard Rock Café, I got up and headed to the Tube. Got on the train and was just about to sit down and made a mental calculation of all my possessions:
Wallet? Check
Phone? Check
Camera? Check
Harrods Bag? OH SHIT
Leapt off the train just as the doors were shutting, ran screaming up the stairs to the street, dashed across the road and luckily my little green bag of joy was still sitting exactly where I had left it.
To those who will not be named who are getting a Harrods gift… you better damn like it for what I had to go through to get it!
Lunched at the Hard Rock Café again by myself (I’m starting a new trend) and then walked around a little more exploring before heading down to one of the few stations that WAS still open and catching a line home. That evening I had tickets to the Brooke Fraser concert, a kiwi singer with whom I have been in love with ever since she first released a song over five years ago. Luckily for me, she has another couple of devoted fans in Pete’s English cousins Micki and Francesca and two of their friends, and so the five of us headed off the gig together. Despite making us wait in the cold for almost an hour, Brooke lived up to all of our expectations. We got great spots (especially for the vertically challenged Francesca and I) and she was amazing to say the least. Although, still SO jealous of the girls who got a photo with her after they had to go back for Micki’s missing glove… why didn’t I drop my glove! Grrrrr!
Tuesday morning was to be the last time I was going to wake up in the freezing London air… and it was snowing! A fact that I exclaimed a little too loudly at 8:00am to a room full of sleeping girls….oooppppsss…
Wasn’t going to have a repeat of the Grease Tube Incident of 2010, so I left REALLY early to make sure I wouldn’t miss my train. Arrived at the station, looked up on the board and lo and behold my train wasn’t on there. Of course it wasn’t.
Kindly asked the information man at the information booth why my train wasn’t on there. His response you ask?
‘Oh that train’s been cancelled’.
Me?
‘Oh has it now? Oh I’m so glad you told me thank you so much for your excellent help’
My real response?
‘I’m sorry come again?’
Lucky for me there was an earlier train that wasn’t cancelled because of the snow and I was able to get on it as I had arrived at the station so early. See this is why mothers are ALWAYS right.
Left London in a flurry of snow, sad to see it go.
Was London everything I hoped it would be and more?
DEFINITELY
Did I lose 5 kilos on our sight seeing marathon?
MAYBE
Thanks to me, is there a single souvenir left in the whole city?
The excitement levels were high - after all this time in England I was finally making the trip up North to visit my favourite English person. No sadly not Prince William (to whom I’m still not speaking to after news of the engagement) but the lovely Miss Ria Farncombe.
Oddly enough, with Pete being in England as well, we had our own little Australian reunion, albeit minus the sunny weather and replaced by the very chilly and rainy Newcastle….
Pete and I arrived on a train from Leeds on Friday to meet Ria who had skipped class early because she was so excited ‘that my Australian friends are coming!!!!’ (direct quote there). Headed back to Ria’s place and met all of her lovely housemates. We didn’t really have much time to see Newcastle that day, because as soon as we arrived we were whisked off the Durham to see Paul’s art exhibition.
Even in the dark Durham was so cute, with its famous Durham castle all lit up. Made our way through the fully cobbled streets of the shopping area (quaint in theory, not so great practically) and stopped for dinner at some Italian place with spaghetti in the title… despite not being able to remember, surely the fact that it had spaghetti in the title has to give it some kind of Italian credibility. We all shared the most enormous antipasto plate I’ve ever seen, which in turn was served by the sleaziest waiters I have ever seen. Shared two bottles of wine and ate in communal Italian food happiness (poetic pause here for the ecstasy of Italian food happiness).
Arrived at the art exhibition and spent the next few hours trying to convince myself and the other people there that I actually knew anything about art. Epic fail there but a lot of it was good – occasionally odd, but good. A shout out has to go to the person who’s piece was a big, black leather chair facing backwards and placed in a corner under an ominous red light.
My bets on the ‘mystery’ occupant of the chair were on Voldemort or Mr Burns….
Had a couple of drinks and a bit of a dance at a Durham club and then made the last bus home to Newcastle to collapse into bed.
Ria’s plans for day two were to head to the ‘beach’ (keeping in mind the English definition of the beach). However, she must have done something wrong in another life or Mother Nature didn’t get the memo because the weather was not exactly of ‘beach’ quality. We were determined to go though, and armed with all of our wet weather gear headed to the coast. To boost our spirits a little there was a cute little weekend market on with heaps of stalls selling a wide range of things. Unfortunately one of these many items of bric-a-brac was books, which are one of my few not so secret vices (the others being old school Britney Spears and Kit Kats of course). I did buy one book (oh come on it was 2 pounds!), but made sure I stayed away from the temptation of all those colourful covers for the rest of the day. For lunch we were expecting a lot. Ria had talked up the fish and chips from this place to no end, and she had a lot to deliver! Apart from the fact the food was really good; I just loved the whole English feel of it! You know it’s a true Northern fish and chip shop when they ask you if you want curry sauce with your chips (soooooo strange) and you can’t understand half of what they say because of their accent! After eating we thought we should at least see the ocean which is what we came here for in the first place. So with umbrella’s at the ready we dashed to the beach, looked and ran straight back again.
I mean we all know what water looks like right?
Saturday night Ria had planned to take us out on the Newcastle town. However, before anyone can do ANYTHING on a Saturday night in England they must all partake in the one weekly television event, rivalled only by the news and football… the almighty X FACTOR. I cannot describe how obsessed the English are with this show, I mean I know we have it in Australia but I really did think my Mum was the only one who really watched it (sorry mum!). So whilst we were all getting dolled up, lots of pairs of English eyes in that flat were glued to the X FACTOR action. Go figure.
Started off at Lynches the cocktail bar, with a huge list of options (not that I stole a menu or anything…..) and then finished off at O2 Academy. Ria and I finished the night off with sharing a pizza and getting into a warm bed!
Ria had told Pete and I that she had something planned for Sunday that we could only do on that day…My response?
‘oh god it’s not church is it?….’
But she laughed and assured me it would be much more to my liking. This then leads me to explain the one tradition that the English have which my stomach is particularly fond of. Sunday Roasts. Of course lots of countries have a Sunday Roast but even in Australia you don’t necessarily have it on a Sunday and on the weekend the family are often out doing different things so can never be home together to eat. So Sunday afternoon saw Pete, Ria, Anna and I in a proper little English pub having my first proper English Sunday Roast. And man was it totally worth all the hype! I think we all could have quite happily died then and been happy that we had lived a fulfilled life. Sunday night we took a trip to the shop on the corner for munchies for a night of relaxing. Alicia had the amazing idea to watch Moulin Rogue, even though Pete had no idea what was happening in the movie…. And asks how we do?
Because we CAN CAN CAN of course (even I’m proud of that pun Moulin Rouge fans!)
Monday was to be my last day in Newcastle and we spent the morning looking around the University and the City. Discovered the Newcastle Christmas Market, which is so much better than the Leeds one, and bought yet more fudge. I’m going to look like fudge soon… Had lunch at a little American style diner and then Pete and Ria escorted me to the train station to head back to Leeds.
Was it so good to see my bestest English buddy again?
DEFINITELY
Have I become a Yorkshire pudding convert?
MAYBE
Will I miss the sleazy Italian waiters drooling over the girls at our table? (I bet their names weren’t even Mario…)
Whilst on a weekend away in Newcastle, I encountered my first experience with a monster. An albeit nice, normal looking monster, but one with a deadly weapon.
A completely unintelligible accent.
Monday afternoon saw myself and two friends (one Australian and one English) in the back of a taxi on the way to the train station attempting to converse with a Scottish man who had the world’s strongest accent. The whole situation rendered me completely stupefied. I was consciously concentrating very hard to understand what he was going on about but it all just came out in this huge, drawn out, mumbled syllable. The only thing I managed to grasp was something about a sister who lives in Australia and someone who glasses someone in a pub….hopefully the two weren’t connected.
Luckily for me, my English friend had obviously taken some lessons in Scottish and was able to hold up the passengers side of the conversation and my Australian friend and I were saved from the humiliation of having said ‘oh yes of course’ to a question which was not of the yes or no variety...
It was only afterwards that it got me thinking about the whole accents phenomenon. How is it that people come to say the same words (well in the Scottish case I swear they weren’t the same) but in a different way?
It is the general consensus that everyone likes the sound of other people’s accents over their own. I find it highly amusing that some of the English I have met love the Australian accent, and for the life of me I cannot figure out why. It’s so terribly nasally and we make up and shorten words like there is no tomorrow.
However, accents are useful tools for two main reasons.
1.They make you recognisable as coming from a certain country or area and can thus perhaps give you something in common with another person from that country or area.
Or, and most importantly,
2.It provides endless entertainment for the people who don’t have your accent and are constantly laughing at the way you say things.
I can admit that I have been lucky enough to experience both sides of the argument. Although, perhaps the latter more than the former. Of course.
So despite his interesting speech and pronunciation, I wish to say hello to the nice Scottish man who drove us to the train station. We are all unique individuals and it would be rude of me not to appreciate the speech from your beautiful homeland.
And besides, you can’t help it if no one has a single clue what you are saying.
Do the English learn a lot about the Australian accent from Neighbours?
DEFINITELY (and it’s really not the best teacher guys!)
Was the Scottish man talking about glassing his sister in a pub in Australia?
MAYBE (but I hope not)
Will the English ever truly believe me when I tell them that no one really says ‘throw another shrimp on the barbie’?
Cambridge. Home of Cambridge University, which was this year voted number one in the world beating out Oxford and Harvard. As with a lot of the places I had been to, Cambridge bought with it many expectations of quaint little rivers, beautiful old college buildings and little men steering punts with long sticks and those ugly boat shoes.
Well fortunately (although unfortunately for the boat shoes) I was lucky enough to experience it all.
The morning of the Cambridge trip arrived and I felt – not amazing at all. In the space of half and hr I had convinced myself that I should stay and get better because it was a long way to Cambridge and then changed my mind again because I so desperately did not want to miss out. Luckily, my somewhat jealous streaked reared its ugly head, and it was the thought that everyone else was going to have a great day and have so many good photos that got me on that bus!
It was a long (3 hr) bus ride to Cambridge (well long for English standards anyway…I virtually spanned the nation!) However, once we arrived at the beautiful little town, all thoughts of being cramped and cold on the bus were forgotten.
We began at Kings College, the most visited and well known in all of Cambridge. The buildings were amazing and the Kings College Abbey towered over them all. Being the nosy children that we are, we took a sneak peek into a couple of the rooms on the ground floor – it was so crazy to think that students actually stay in this place! We also saw some people having lunch in the dining hall… a dining hall that looked like something from Harry Potter….can you say jealous!
Just a note here: I also found out that tuition fees at Cambridge (and I’m assuming Oxford as well) are not anymore expensive then what you would pay elsewhere in England. Yes, you have to be the best of the best to get in but I was very surprised to learn the fees are very equal. Made Louise and I wonder why Adelaide doesn’t do an exchange with Cambridge?!?! And why we didn’t do it?!?
The rest of the morning we spent wandering around looking at the buildings, ducking into cute little shops and perusing the Saturday markets. All I wanted to do in Cambridge was go punting on the river and our prayers were answered by the most handsome punter alive: a.k.a Tom.
Tom took us on a tour down the river, past all of the colleges and the historical buildings and monuments. Everything was so nice and the sun came out just for us. The boat was a little unstable with 6 of us in it but Tom assures us it is actually quite difficult to capsize. And if he said it, it must be right. Louise and I got some really good photos (of the view and Tom of course) and we bid our punter adieu as he collected a new group. Sigh.
Afterwards we climbed the main tower in the square to see the view from the top. Little did we know it was what felt like hundreds of steps to the top in a staircase that you would not have fit in if you had eaten too many donuts that day. And don’t even get me started on the way down, it was so steep! But the view was amazing, as we were there just as the sun was beginning to go down and the girls got some great shots (remember people that the sun starts going down at about 3 here!)
Ate high tea and scones at a nice little café (with terrible service but that’s ANOTHER story) with all the girls and sat back basking in the Cambridge air. Got on the wrong bus to go home and were promptly redirected to our bus where EVERYONE was waiting for us (ooopppssss) and headed back to Leeds.
If you were going to go to any University would it be Cambridge?
DEFINITELY
Was the fudge from the Saturday markets one of the best I’ve had?
MAYBE
Will Cambridge still be Louise’s ‘favourite place ever’ once we go somewhere new? (keeping in mind her ‘favourite place ever’ was the Lake District. And then Bath. And then Cambridge….)
Cultural adjustment is a tedious thing. Yes, England and Australia are both Westernized societies and are firmly set in their Western ways. However, there are many small, some would deem insignificant, things about life her in the Motherland which are irksome, tiresome and just generally piss me off.
A list of such things is as follows:
Computer keyboards.
I must admit, I did not originally think this would be a problem I would need to contend with on a daily basis. But after discovering now that I do indeed have a severe problem with them it has been constantly bugging me. Firstly, a few of the keys are in the wrong spot. The @ sign is underneath the apostrophe (now that’s just plain weird). And I spent a good five minutes looking like a complete retard searching the keyboard for the comma. I’m guessing though that the English lack of grammar could be attributed to other people’s inability to also find the comma key…
Secondly, NO ONE uses the number pad at the end of the keyboard. I think this very odd. I hate the numbers on a laptop because they are in one line and my fingers aren’t long enough. However, on a computer keyboard it is all located nicely for you in one little square. But every time I go to use it, some dickhead has turned the ‘Num lock’ off and I end up printing no numbers and making a right mess of whatever I’m trying to work on. I swear I used the same computer in one day and someone had TURNED IT OFF… I don’t understand why that is even necessary! I mean I know that a little light comes on when you do it, but surely they are not THAT much conscious of their electricity consumption. LEAVE NUMBERS LOCK ON PEOPLE!
Sugar.
Here in England the coffee shops are run much like Australian coffee shops. Except on the whole, with exceptions of course, the coffee in England is largely terrible. So in my attempt to make it palatable I look to the little condiments booth in most coffee shops for my sugar. And there we have white sugar, brown sugar and sweetener: all of which are unacceptable. A large proportion of Australian coffee selling establishments provide RAW sugar for people’s hot beverages. I am a big raw sugar fan. A) because it takes better and B) because its like brown sugar, but far superior, and you don’t feel so bad putting it in your drink because its not obese producing white sugar. Well England have apparently not been hit on the head by the Raw Sugar fairy and have Brown Sugar instead. Brown Sugar should be put on top of an apple crumble and NOT in my skim latte.
Not happy.
Slow Walking People.
Anyone who calls themselves my friend knows that the one thing I hate more than anything in the entire world is people who walk slowly in front of you. If I’m walking somewhere, most of the time it will be because I need to get somewhere and there is nothing I hate more than people that prevent you from doing so. Yes, they might have carefree lives where they have all the time in the world to meander down the road but I do not and would kindly prefer for them to get out of the bloody way.
I do not intend to be racist when I say this, because there are a lot of other people who commit this crime regularly. But I will have to deem the English as one of the worst offenders I have ever seen. Most of the time I believe it to be students who are either trying to put off their inevitable arrival to a lecture, or are still trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other after a big night out. You would think that a country like England, which has weather as a bad as it does, the general population would not hesitate in their trips between warmly heated buildings. Get a move on people! This Australian is not happy!
So there it is, another rant to fill in the abyss that is another rainy afternoon. Of course there are also many good things about England, some that I even prefer to our Australian way of doing things.
But those are so nice. And boring.
Nobody wants to read about that right?
Will the English Winter be the death of me?
DEFINITELY (no seriously it could be, it is so cold!)
Should the English adopt some of the Australian ways?
MAYBE
Will I miss having to pay 10p per page for printing at the University when we get over $30 FREE PRINTING CREDIT in Adelaide?
I hate English money. There I said it. You are now free to come and attacked me with your torches and pitchforks and yell blasphemous insults in my direction but, to follow in the steps of the suave Rhett Butler, ‘frankly my dear I don’t give a damn’.
So herein follows the justification I have for hating the currency of this grand country.
Number #1: The Penny. There are not enough words in the English language (or any other language for that matter) which can successfully explain how useless these tiny bits of copper are. And if that wasn’t bad enough there are two of them! The argument is that they are necessary because in England, items are not rounded up to the nearest 5c (or p depending on where you’re from) so when a sausage roll costs 1 pound and 82 pence they mean exactly 1 pound and 82 pence. In my opinion 1 and 2 p coins only serve 2 purposes, neither of which are particularly comforting. One, they serve to largely bulk up your wallet making it appear as though you have more money than you actually do. And two, it is handy to give to charities who don’t make a whole lot of money because all they are getting from other people are their 1p coins as well.
Boo for the penny.
Number #2: English ATM’s. The automated teller machine is one of man’s best inventions. It is the epitome of convenience and ease of use. Well apparently that memo was not passed on to the English who have attempted to make the world’s most complicated ATM’s. First of all, they do not give out 50 pound notes. As you can only get them from the bank, it is very rare to see a student in possession of one.
(Side note: this would explain the story of when I first got here and I was at a club waiting at the bar to be served, clearly displaying my 50 pound note. The guy next to me saw this and wittily commented ‘you must either be a foreigner or a member of the mafia’. Right. Duly noted)
So because of this, when you go to an ATM and try to withdraw 100 pounds, its anyone’s guess as to what assortment of notes you will get. It is unnecessarily complicated and very frustrating!
And don’t get me started on how many more buttons you have to push too…I just want money, not to send Morse Code to Mars!
Number #3: Say it together English people, ‘WATERPROOF’. English money is made from paper. Paper that has not been laminated. This is an alien notion to us Australians, and I can assure you that yes, it is just as impractical as it sounds. Whilst I was in Manchester, after just arriving in England, I watched in amusement as a lady tried repeatedly to feed a wet 10 pound note into the machine dispensing the tram tickets. Because it was soggy the machine did not accept it and she left in search of another ticket-buying avenue, just as the tram arrived.
So that’s my rant about the complex and unnecessary problems the English have imposed upon their monetary system. Perhaps they should just take a leaf out of the Australian’s book where everything seems a lot less complicated. I mean its paper and circles of metal; it’s not rocket science people!
Is Australian money far superior to the English?
DEFINITELY
Are the two pound coins the only good thing about English money?
MAYBE (they are prettier to look at than the Australian ones…)
Will I ever miss digging around in my penny-laden purse looking for that 7p?
Bath is known in England for being a place of refinement, royalty and class. It is where many a Jane Austen heroine came to frequent ‘The Pump Room’ and lunch with those in the high society. It was also where the sick and stressed came to ‘take in’ the waters of Bath, and leave rejuvenated and revived. So when two bus loads of rowdy foreign tourists exploded into town, the ambience perhaps was taken a little by surprise.
However, they have little need for complaint, Bath is a tourist town and it is not hard to see why. From the minute you drive in the architecture and general ‘vibe’ of the place is breathtaking. The majority of the buildings and houses are crafted from Bath Stone, the quality of which is still heavily maintained today. After leaving our bags in the hostel we grabbed our camera’s and set off in search of our very own Jane Austen moment.
Of course with Louise as my travelling companion, what is the one thing on our mind 99% of the time whilst travelling?
a)How hungry we are
b)What we have eaten
c)What we plan to be eating later
d)Scoping out new potential places to eat.
Lord knows how we are not broke and the size of houses by now.
So after making the compulsory eating pit stop at a quaint little café hidden in a tiny courtyard, we made our way to the Roman Baths. Easily the biggest attraction in Bath, the Roman Baths contains the baths themselves (duh), an extensive and interesting museum, and The Pump Room where the lesser folk can eat amazingly overpriced high tea and imagine themselves in a terribly riveting conversation with Mr Darcy. Took many a photo overlooking the beautiful waters, and although we were given the option for a taste, politely declined. (We were advised that the almost green, murky water, tastes about as good as it looks…)
That afternoon we perused Bath Abbey and took a stroll down the centre of town. Credit goes to the designers of the shopping ‘district’ who took great care to uphold the architecture of Bath, even in some of the very new buildings.
Saturday night we had dinner with the rest of the tour group at Salamander’s, a ritzy English pub with a reasonably ritzy price list. You only live once though right and when you’re paying 9 pounds for a meal, I still can’t help but read that as 9 dollars which is an unbelievable bargain! (please no comments about the exchange rate and how that is actually about $17 Aus dollars….ignorance is bliss!) Also, Louise and I sampled some of the local Bath cider which was commendably good.
After dinner, we donned our Halloween costumes and headed out. I was having a major stress out because I had misplaced my camera (although luckily someone had it), but once it was recovered I was intent on partying down Halloween style. That was until we got the club the tour had recommended and were greeted by a virtually empty room, except for the token creepy old guys that stand in the corner and do a very unfunny Joey Tribbianni ‘how you doing’ impersonation…
So with that, we moved on to a pub a few blocks down that was pumping. Despite the fact that it was playing SAW on all 4 television screens (it took all my strength not to scream and cover my eyes), the music was good so I was forced to overlook their interesting choice of Halloween entertainment and bear it.
The next day saw us up bright and early for destination: Stonehenge! Now Louise and I had both heard very mixed opinions about this wonderfully weird stone circle. Some had said it was exactly what it sounded like ‘a circle of rocks’ and one of the not so lovely Eastern European guys on our trip commented ‘we have much better rocks than that in the Czech Republic’.
Uh huh.
So we armed ourselves in the only way possible – talk it down a lot and then if it’s bad you aren’t disappointed and if it’s good, you will be pleasantly surprised. And that is how we came to be standing in front of Stonehenge and commenting in awe ‘actually it is pretty cool’. It still amazes me how they even got there (not that anyone really knows). They say the stones originate from Wales. So how the hell did they get all the way to Southern England? Somehow I don’t think Bob the Builder and his team were around to lend a helping hand…
After saying goodbye to the mystifying mystery that is Stonehenge, we travelled on to Avebury; Stonehenge’s awkwardly less popular cousin. There are more rocks at Avebury and they encircle the whole village which is actually creepily cool. Whilst we were there, we witnessed a very strange procession of people walking through the rocks – they looked like they had misplaced the address of the Harry Potter convention and were chanting and banging on drums….
The strangeness of the English? Exhibit A….
On the way home we visited a quaint little farm shop, where the bus stocked up on home made goodies. I think the ladies working in the shop nearly had a heart attack, there had never been so many people in the shop!
From there we started the 2 hour journey back to Leeds (LOVE that England is so small!) tired but satisfied we had indulged the young Jane Austen, and weird rock worshipper, that lives within us all.
Was I just a little excited to be visiting the very places that have leapt from the pages of Jane Austen?
DEFINITELY
Were aliens from outer space trying to use Stonehenge to contact earthlings?
MAYBE
Could I ever be convinced to try the ‘amazing’ Bath water which looks like it had been scooped out of a muddy puddle?
