It is just over a month until I am set to leave this glorious country for another that lies most dearly in my heart. It is the home of the Hobbits, a lot of sheep and plenty of place names that are unpronounceable by 99% of tourists. The Land of the Long White Cloud, New Zealand.
Tagging along with me, for his very first trip overseas is my boyfriend who, despite being excused for his lack of travel experience, has been learning a few lessons about travelling overseas with Sarah.
In case any of you ever plan to voyage around the world with me in search of its many wonders, here is a list of things NOT to do before we go (almost all of which my boyfriend has done)
Book all accommodation, car rental and flights the night before.
Although it pains me to say so, I am not the world's best spontaneous traveller. I don't like saying it because I feel that as soon as the words are uttered from my lips the "travellers secret society" will cast me from their circle for being the person who wants to have a roof over their head and isn't really ok about sleeping at the airport to wait for an available flight. A lot of travellers I know are incredibly spontaneous and have amazing stories of where their unorganised-ness has led them. But they also have spent good portions of their trips sleeping in public toilets and wandering the streets at night amongst local mafia and petty burglars. I say that makes us pretty even. I'm not super fussy about what flight I take, what car we get or where we stay but I like to know that we have SOMETHING booked so I feel calmer about being in a foreign place and can begin to enjoy the experience more.
2. Go to the airport "when we feel like it"
In my eyes, this is the most cardinal of travelling sins. The departures terminal of any airport is my most favourite place. It is full of people with their bags packed off to visit family, their school mate or an oranguatan sanctuary but they all have something in common because they are HAPPY. People that are stuck back at the check-in desks crying because they were late for their flight and it has now closed, NOT SO HAPPY. Because I have travelled from a very young age, my mother has drilled into me that you must be at the airport 3 hours before your flight and, to the best of my ability, that is a rule I have tried to adhere to. I don't mind the waiting. I like being surrounded by the collective excitement at the Departure Gates and because of this, can't bring myself to feel sorry for those poor sods who get their names called out over the intercom.
"Paging David Smith on Flight LK89 to Bangaldesh, your aircraft is now ready for departure and all passengers are waiting on you".
I mean nobody wants to be THAT guy.
3. "Figure" it out when we get there
Lonely Planet was invented for travellers just like me. Yes there are those who like to go off the beaten track in search of the world's unknown but in this day and age of travelling there aren't many of those places left, and half of them have 200 page travel guides, already written by the lovely people at Lonely Planet. The key to a great trip is the amount of research you are willing to put in. Have you talked with your colleague at work who recommends that great pizza place in Queenstown? Or that boutique clothes store in a laneway off from the Pantheon in Rome that your neighbour told you about? With the wealth of information available to us, thanks to the Internet, there is no excuse to not take the experiences of others and use them wisely to create your own incredible journey. Now if only those little blue books didn't weigh so much, I'd have one for every town and city...
So in a nutshell that is the three NOT's to do when planning a trip with Sarah. Yes it can be a little hectic before you have even left, and yes I am anal about being organised but I am yet to have a complete travel disaster (fingers and toes crossed) and hope that my habits will ensure I never have one.
Will I be at that airport exactly 3 hours early when we head to NZ?
Definitely
Should I consider buying shares in Lonely Planet to at least get some financial benefit from my guidebook obsession?
And so we meet again. I've decided the travel inspiration in my head needs to be let loose again and as such am officially reviving this blog from the dead. Yes I'm not on my student exchange any more and yes I don't like to be reminded of those better times. But although my life goes on somewhat more boring than before, and I edge into "grown up life" where the most sought after thing is a stable job and a family dog, I still have the travel bug burrowing inside of me.
To keep you updated, since I've returned from England I've been to visit family in New Zealand and spent two weeks in Bali with a girlfriend celebrating our graduation from University and our inevitable entry in the aforementioned "grown up life". Both trips were enough to satiate my appetite, and Bali especially opened my eyes to a whole new corner of the world I hope to explore more of later on.
But with the Bali trip finishing over a year ago, the monotony of life has seeped into my body and the adventurous and passionate spirit in me has been a little squished.
So this post is to announce the blog is back on! I am looking to actively pursue my travel writing and hope to get my foot in the door with a few publications - nothing good in life is achieved by sitting on your ass. Yes I am proud of finishing my degree and getting my first job as a fresh graduate and yes it is good to have money (well the modest amount that graduates get paid anyway), but sometimes all of that seems less important in the face of a life lived without as much travelling as possible crammed into it.
So with an impending trip to New Zealand approaching with my family and my boyfriend, this is the new start of Definitely, Maybe, Probably Not, and the reignition of my drive and passion to write about the world and all its gloriousness.
Am I now more motivated than ever to make a life out of my most treasured love?
DEFINITELY
Will the journey be fraught with obstacles against the pushing tide of everyday life?
MAYBE
Will I let this discourage me as it has discouraged others before me?
PROBABLY NOT
I dont know whether you are technically allowed to write an entry in a travel blog when you cease to be travelling but I guess I write this blog so I make the rules. Unfortunately, writing this from sunny Australia does mean that my time in Europe is over, and this is the last entry from a girl saddened by her inevitable return.
Of course there were other places I visited that don't get a look in through the blog, specifically those at the very end of the trip where my life was in a suitcase and the possibilities of discoveries appeared endless. But having returned to Adelaide and back to the glaringly obvious 'real world', it gets harder and harder to reform those amazing memories onto the page. Or rather the screen.
But in case you were kept completely out of the loop here is a small recap of my time in my last few destinations: Italy, Spain and France.
1) Despite thinking I was going to spend my Italy trip a lonesome loner (and that is the worst kind of loner), I met Kat and Soph, two true blue Aussie girls out there in the Italianness doing what we Australians all do best; exploring things we are yet to see. Between the three of us we had so many crazy adventures, amazing pictures and unforgettable memories. There is nothing like a couple of aussie accents alongside of you to make it all seem so much easier.
2) Italian Diet for all 15 days I was there. Crossiant and Coffee. Coffee. Pizza. Gelati. Pasta. Rinse and Repeat.
3) Spending time in Spain with Andrea whom I had not seen in five years. But had not changed a single iota. Laughing at her being the only English speaker amongst her Spanish friends and the only Spanish speaker amongst her English friends. Now she truly knows what it means to be a human translating machine. I think I did actually see her head spin...
4) Tasting the best of Barcelona after a authentic, live Flamenco show with Myf and Cait Doughty. Dancing, Paella, Tapas, Crema Catalan and jugs and jugs of Sangria... there is no better combination.
5) Nearly dying in the plane ride from hell from Barcelona to Leeds. Thanks goes out to Bec Riggs for attempting to keep my calm. Sorry about your hand, hopefully it will heal soon and you will regain full use of your fingers.
6) Paris with my very very dear friend Lou Victorsen. Who constantly ceases to amaze me with her ability to be an amazing friend and yet STILL have no idea when it comes to directions. What are you going to do now that I am gone? Special note has to be eating Nutella crepes on the TOP of Eiffel Tower, and devouring strawberries and taking toooooo many self portraits UNDER the Eiffel Tower. Perfect Day.
7) Spending the last days in Leeds with all the people that made my trip so great - Jo, Fran and Tom, Tori, Bec and Alice, Anita, Ria and of course Louise. Burgers will never be the same again unless I can have one from the Library. And I don't mean the place with all the books people.
So that's it. A very quick look at the last couple of weeks of a 6 month trip that went by in the blink of an eye. Thank you to everyone who read the blog and supported this new endevour of mine. As the blog nears towards 2,000 hits, I have to share my appreciation for everyone who has helped that become possible.
And to anyone out there in cyber land who wants to do a overseas trip.
Do it.
Not tomorrow.
Not next Tuesday.
Not next year.
Now.
That's all the advice I can give.
Was this a trip of a lifetime?
DEFINITELY
Do I still wanna up and leave now and go back?
MAYBE
Is this the end of my global wanderings?
DEFINITELY NOT!
We are all familiar with the biblical tale of Moses. He climbs to the top of Mount Sinai and receives the Holy Ten Commandments from God, which are intended to help his people lead pure and fulfilling lives. We all know them: Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery, Thou Shalt Obey Mother and Father, Thou Shalt Always Eat The Crusts of Sandwiches Lest They Get Curly Hair.
But the Maltese must have all been in their siesta when Moses trotted to the top of that famous mountain and God came out of the clouds in all his puffy Holiness.
Because Malta has a very different set of Commandments…(featuring in descending order of course)
#10 Thou Shalt Have Plentiful Amounts of Stray Cats
I have never such a feline phenomenon as there was in Malta. It was like a water balloon of Cats exploded over the country and they all fell around the island. Ok that is not a great example because Cats HATE water but you get the general idea. The first few times I saw them, it was a little strange but I soon learnt that the only person staring incredulously was me, and that perhaps I was missing something. On the boardwalk along St Julian’s Bay lives dozens, all strolling around or lying in the sun with no worries in the world except where their next mouse will come from. Being a cat woman myself (pun intended) I loved it, so many pretty kitties to swoon over. Many of whom sat with me for hours and hours as I read, patted them and considered whether being an old spinster cat lady would really be SUCH a bad thing… At least they don’t hog the remote and leave the toilet seat up…
#9 Thou Shalt All Have Some (if only miniscule) Relationship to Australia
From what I discovered, the Maltese love Australia. They don’t know a WHOLE lot about it
(OLD MAN: ‘Where are you from?’
ME: Australia
OLD MAN: Ah! Australia! Sydney or Melbourne?
ME: Um well neither…. )
But their enthusiasm towards our great country is nonetheless impressive. Everyone I talked to had a mother, brother, auntie’s uncle’s yellow canary that immigrated to Australia and ‘very much likes it there’ (unsure how the canary would have communicated this). Triple points goes to the little Maltese man who tried to show his deepest condolences for my country with its ‘very bad water problems…’
#8 Thou Shalt Celebrate Cocktail Hour At Any Time
Along with the amazing Maltese sun, cocktails (along with gelati) were the other thing which ensured my position in a bliss induced coma the whole trip. There is no good time for cocktails in Malta.
Day One I had a cocktail with my afternoon brunch at 3:00pm.
The next day with my lunch at 12:30pm.
And then finally the last day as an accompaniment to my morning reading session at 11:00am.
Was there a judgemental or even remotely surprised face in the building? No siree.
NB: and on that note, nobody thought it was strange to have tiramisu gelati at 9:30am either.
Bless these people.
#7 Thou Shalt Provide An Efficient and Helpful Sightseeing Service
The Malta Sightseeing Tour was amazing. The ticket was valid for the whole day, and unlike other sightseeing tours which just take you around the city, this tour took you around THE ENTIRE ISLAND. I know that Malta is probably half the size of one side of Adelaide but that is completely beside the point. The tour guides and bus drivers were really friendly and all spoke Maltese, English and Italian. Which I would have appreciated more if I spoke either Maltese or Italian.
(Although, one time the tour guide asked this Italian couple to see their tickets and I had to physically restrain myself from jumping up and screaming ‘Hey I understood that!!!’ Miss Pomari would have been proud). The bus driver even drove me to meet Carla, in a different TOWN, just because he had dropped everyone else at their hotels and so why shouldn’t he drop me somewhere?
#6 Thou Shalt Make Terribly Translated Tour Commentary
The only downfall of the tour was the commentary. Unfortunately, the content must have been written in Maltese first and then when it was translated into English a little something got lost along the way…
Regarding the Italian population in Malta:
‘There are many Italians that live on the island and many people speak fluent Italian. A lot of Maltese families take part in Italian culture and often eat pasta more than once a week’
LOL!
#5 Thou Shalt Not Speak Normally But Constantly Shout
If there is such a thing as an official indoor voice (and not something your parents just make up to keep you quite at important family functions) then Malta have not been informed. They don’t mean it an angry way (although you wouldn’t want to make one of them angry to check) they are just very enthusiastic. With almost absolutely everything they say. It was not uncommon to see two men shouting at each other over the road, not about anything, probably just whose turn it was for the weekly poker game or the neighbourhood gossip (obviously I’m just guessing because I don’t understand Maltese – could have been complex Mafia plans for all I know). I’m guessing there was never a successful timid Maltese businessman, he would have been outshouted in no time.
#4 Thou Shalt Drive The Most Craziest Humanely Possible
The Maltese drive on the left side of the road. They give way to the right on roundabouts and they stop at red lights and go at green. Aside from that, I couldn’t find ANY international road rules they did adhere to – they all drive with the intention to get somewhere NOW or die trying. People pull out everywhere and there are constant traffic blockages with people refusing to let other people in, people who are trying their damndest to make them do so. A lot of streets in Malta are only one way one which creates a whole new basket of bees worth of problems. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I haven’t decided yet…) I witnessed a poor man who stalled his car and couldn’t restart it, thus holding up the HUGE line of traffic behind him on a busy one way road. But of course in true Maltese fashion, people all stopped their cars, got out and helped him push it to the curb.
Malta: stopping the traffic chaos for one minute to help a brother in need.
#3 Thou Shalt Make Constant, Plentiful and Very Unnecessary Overuse of A Car Horn
By the end of five days I wanted to curse the man who invented the car horn.
Or bus horn.
Or bike bell.
If there is any obstacle between a Maltese driver (in any form) and where they want to go, they will honk. A lot. So much in fact that when asked what the ambience of Malta sounds like (ok well nobody asked me that but hypothetically) I would say, swishing waves, smiling babies and honking. The Maltese Buses are the worst, they will honk at anything (half the time I swear it was just at thin air) and paired with the crazy driving and buses which are like a million years old – it all makes for an interesting ride!
#2 Thou Shalt Have The Most Amazing Scenery in Europe
Ok so this is a biggie. But I don’t believe in doing things half assed and if you’re going to make the big calls you got to get behind them. I believe Malta is the most beautiful place I have EVER scene.
When I caught a taxi from the airport, we drove through Balluta Bay to get to my hostel and as soon as we turned the corner into the bay I gasped. OUT LOUD. Like someone drowning. Even in the dark I had never seen anything so amazing in my entire life. Over the next five days it only got better, and with each new place I was more and more amazed. I think I took 40 photos of the same views just because I thought the more I took, the better the camera could capture what I was actually seeing in front of me.
And after I put the photos on FB, judging by the 41 notifications I got just on THAT album of 70 photos, other people were amazed too.
#1 Thou Shalt Have The Friendliest People You Will Ever Meet
Anyone who says there is such a thing as a mean spirited native Maltese person is deluded, deranged or lying to make their own country feel better. This small population of people are the kindest people I have ever come across and (as I found out) will do ALMOST anything to help you in times of need. Of course, travelling by myself an unable to consult with travelling partners about any possible trip difficulties, I was doing a lot of asking.
Firstly, there was the taxi man who took me to my hostel. He didn’t really know where to go but got help from the other taxi drivers and soon we were on our way. We arrived and realised that we were indeed quite lost. He stops the car, gets out and talks to this cute little old Maltese man walking past, asking him for directions. Still, we cannot find it. So we call the hostel and he talks to the girl on the phone and figures out where to go. He drives me there, carries my suitcase inside and makes sure that I have everything I need .And then, when I try to tip him he refuses, ‘all part of the job lovely’.
Most taxi drivers would disagree my lovely.
Secondly, when going back to the airport (maybe I just have airport issues), the reception to the hostel was closed and I had no way of calling a taxi and no credit with which to do so. So I go to the little corner shop across the road and ask if they can call one for me. Next thing I know the husband says he will take me – we’re in his car and driving to the airport! I’m sitting with his little daughter in the backseat staring at me constantly (‘What’s your name?????????? she says) and then suddenly we are there. He does accept money but only because I would have forced it on him if he had refused.
Thirdly, there was Carla, Pete’s cousin who took time out of her busy studying-for-exams schedule to come into town and hang with me. Of course she is related to Pete, but for all she know I could have been a psychopath on the lookout for Maltese blood.Well that came out more morbidly than I wanted...
And that friends, is the Ten Commandments of Malta
Was Malta one of the best places I have ever been?
DEFINITELY
Did I already consider putting in a deposit for a nice sea view apartment?
-Condiments (English mayonnaise and ketchup is to die for)
-Retaining the Ashes (much to my dismay)
-Having the most posh and bogan accents simultaneously within the same land mass
However, there is one reasonably important thing the English do not cope with so well: pretty much any form of weather.
The English freak out at:
-Any temperature over 20
-Any more than 7 snow flakes
-Cats and dogs falling from the sky
Ok well perhaps the last one would prove to be concerning for most nations, but be assured the English would certainly reach a whole new level of freaked-out-ness.
In their defence England, and indeed the whole of the UK, has not experienced heavy snow in the past, and has only just been introduced to it in the last couple of years. However, whenever the sky turns a little white and the pretty little snowflakes drift in the air it seems to be some sort of weird Morse code for the whole country to go into complete and utter distress.
The transport systems grind to an absolute halt, which is just amazing if you need to get anywhere, a fairly common goal for thousands of people everyday. Cancellations and delays caused by the snow means train stations and airports are completely clogged with angry and grumpy people who are given no answers and very little assistance.
So you would think that perhaps if the weather was a little warmer the snow wouldn’t be a problem and life in old England town could return to normal?
Oh no I would think again.
As I learnt from one Leeds local, the highest temperature recorded in the summer of 2010 was 25. And they were freaking out. You can just imagine it now: old people were passing out, supermarkets were running low on bottled water and Primark probably sold out of shorts, which is a travesty in itself.
Us Australian’s on the other hand are a race of winners. We don’t like to lose and this can be seen even in the way we approach our weather. Mother Nature has been known to throw some crazy curveballs at our country: we can have raging bushfires and swelling floods at the same time in different parts of the country. The difference between the ocker attitude and the English is that whilst they cower under Mother Nature’s wrath, we get even and are prepared for anything she will throw at us.
A whole country of people who had to put down their stubbies in order to tackle the weather are not the sort of people you want to mess with.
So despite being able to hold their pints, when it comes to coping with any form of SLIGHTLY extreme weather the English get a resounding F. Let’s just hope for the sake of the lovely people of this nation that this global warming thing is all an elaborate hoax and the weather won’t get any worse.
But realistically, that’s not looking good.
Was I surprised at England’s complete lack of preparation for extreme weather?
DEFINITELY
Could the English learn a little from Australia, the land of four seasons in one day?
MAYBE
Will England ever be able to handle any day that’s not 18 with a pleasant northerly breeze?
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…)
