You know what it’s like when you can’t find something. No matter where it should be, it just isn’t. I have this problem with the Foxtel remote, at the moment by the way. So you look in the bookcase, underneath your bed, you check the fridge, you check the oven, and then suddenly you realise the only place it could be is in the garbage?
So you drag out the garbage bag, and empty it on the kitchen floor, in the desperate hope you’ll find it, but still, you can’t? And so you end up with an odd pile of crap on your floor and your precious item remains elusive. Well, I saw a couple doing this in my back laneway the other day. Of course, I respected their privacy as I walked by, glancing only out the corner of my eye.
Leftovers
A day later and there was no sign of the garbage bag, only an odd pile of rubbish. An electric kettle, a couple of jam jars, bits, and pieces. It was at that point I wondered if I’d gotten it wrong. Maybe they hadn’t been desperately searching for their lotto ticket, maybe it wasn’t their remote control they’d been looking for. Maybe they were actually scavenging, or were they perhaps going through someone’s garbage trying to find items for one of their student artworks? Had they left behind a post-modern statement, an installation, or just leftovers from a garbage bag?
As a child, we had a mulberry tree in the backyard. It was not as good as the mulberry tree that Aunty Joanie had, though. Her tree was always full of large plentiful berries, whereas ours were never as good. Ours were more sour, and smaller. Or at least that’s how I remember them fifty years later.
On top of that, mum hated the mulberry tree because it would inevitably lead to stained clothing. As with mangos, mulberries were things you were allowed to eat on the back steps, but never inside the house.
And so it was with delight on my recent trip to Wagga to discover my friend Sue has a mulberry tree in her backyard. And it was FULL of mulberries.
“I’ve picked all the ones I can reach”, she said one day, pointing to the many mulberries on the three or four-metre tall tree she couldn’t reach. Below her, on the ground there were many other berries that had fallen from on high.
In the time I was there we enjoyed mulberry jam and mulberry pie, and there were also times when I just grabbed a handful and ate them as a snack.
She also has a cherry tree that was almost ready for harvest. Sadly, a bunch of visiting fruit-bats made their way to the tree one night while I was there, and removed virtually all of them. Thankfully, they weren’t fans of mulberries. More fool them.
I woke early this morning with a determination to do some sightseeing. I’d done my research, the weather was looking good, and I was looking forward to seeing more of Riga and a little of neighbouring Jurmala. My research had told me that when Latvia was part of the Soviet Union, the town Jumarla was a favourite holiday-resort and tourist destination for high-level Communist Party officials, particularly Brezhnev and Khrushchev. I’d also read that you could take a 2.5 hour river cruise from Riga to Jurmala at a very low cost. Unfortunately, for whatever reason the vessell wasn’t running today. And so I settled, initially, for the vessel called “Jurmala”, which of course doesn’t actually go there. Instead, the “Jurmala” takes you on what is possibly the lamest one-hour river cruise I’ve ever done.
There wasn’t a lot to see, aside from a distant view of the town, the television tower, a building that looked like a penis and the nude beach. Well, maybe not a nude beach per se, but as we toured along the riverside I noticed a couple of guys having a skinny dip. “Should I take a photo?”, I thought to myself, responding with “why not?”. I’ve blurred the faces of the two blokes, though, for their anonymity. And especially since they had a bit of cuddle seconds later. And besides, if they were to be recognised you’d hope it was for their faces and not their genitals, as I think D.H. Lawrence once said.
Arriving back in town I headed towards Central Station, walking through the Central Markets. The fresh produce on display looked very good. The people here seem to really love their food, though I’ve found a disturbingly low number of restaurants in the area in which I’m staying. There were a couple of things about the area around Central, though, which disturbed me. First of all, there was a lot of begging. Lots of people with missing limbs and other disabilities. A lot of people who look like they might have been from the countryside. And there were a couple of quite old women. It was enough to make me feel very, very teary. But there was also a lot of dodginess about the area too. As I walked through the Central Markets there were two separate blokes who said something to me in hushed tones. I suspect it was something along the lines of “you wanna buy something”. I don’t know exactly what the “something” was, but it was enough to make me feel pretty uncomfortable with the area.
Later this evening at Jurmala, I had a similar problem with a bloke trying to sell me a “classic Russian camera”. He looked pretty out of it, but was also really quite insistent and followed me around the station for a while. He even followed me in to buy a ticket. Although I don’t speak Latvian or Russian, I found the phrase “fuck off” delivered a fairly universal message. As it was, I caught a mini-bus to Jurmala. It was my second trip on a bus today. The first one I didn’t pay for, as I had an older driver with whom I couldn’t communicate at all. As it was, he just told me to sit down and not to worry about the ticket. The bloke in the mini-bus was similar. By mini-bus Jurmala is about thirty minutes from Riga, by train it’s about forty. And it’s obviously the beachside resort that most locals would go to, even now.
As you walk along the beach, however, you can still see remains of 1940s/ 1950s hotels and the grand era of the Soviet Union. One of those old resorts was burnt out, while another remains in a state of disrepair. In their place are modern resort hotels. Russians still seems to be the most common kind of tourist you find though. When I went for a swim at one of the indoor pools, for example, the only language I heard spoken was Russian. And obviously there’s something quite fascinating about what’s on offer at these spa resorts. There’s a salt room to clear your sinuses, mud baths, honey baths, all kinds of things. As it was, I just had a swim.
Though there was an odd kind of massaging waterfall associated with the pool which I gave try. Imagine if you would standing underneath a waterfall with the water gently massaging your shoulders. After watching two blokes use the contraption, I thought I’d give it a go as well. The water pressure was so strong I actually fell over, much to the amusement of onlookers. Even when I recovered my footing, I found the pressure so incredibly strong that I just couldn’t stand it any longer and left before the “shower” ran out.
“Changing of the guard” at Riga, Latvia
River cruise at Riga, Latvia
Phallic building, Riga
Skinny dipping on the river, Riga. This image, by the way is always amongst the most visited pages on my website, thanks to search engines. Seriously
View from the river, Riga
Central Markets, Riga
Central Markets, Riga
Beach housing at Jurmala, Latvia
Old resort at Jurmala, Latvia
Australia in the Olympic Games in a bar in Jurmala, Latvia
Train between Riga and Jurmala
Borat graffiti in Riga
After my swim I decided to check out one of the bars in the resort hotel, the Baltic. Oddly enough, as I drank my glass of white wine there was a basketball match on television between Australia and Argentina. It’s the third time in as many days when I’ve seen a television with the Olympic Games, and every time there’s been an Australian on screen. Is it like that back home too? Or is it, as I suspect, only Australians on the television coverage?
I’ve arrived home tonight and my feet are aching. But my mind is also spinning. English isn’t widely spoken at all, except by the very young. A local “expats guide” says you’re best relying upon younger women for advice, as they both speak English and are willing to help. I think I’d agree with that assessment.
Heading back to my hostel tonight, I discovered Latvians have a great sense of humour. The graffiti of Borat was too funny for words.
I’m heading out for a drink tonight at the local venue for gentlemen such as myself, and then tomorrow I want to see some more of the history associated with Russian occupation.
Oh, by the way I found this blog which is pretty funny…
If you are a homosexual, this is probably not the best place unless you like rough people who look like they have just got out of prison.
The phone call from my friend Kate came at about 5.30 this afternoon. “What are you doing? Have you already left work?”
By chance I HAD already left work, and was on my way home.
It didn’t need much convincing, however, for me to backtrack and to head towards the new Central Park development for two new art exhibitions Kate was asked to open.
The first was in a pop-up arts space on the third floor of the new shopping centre. I think it’s really fantastic they’ve made the space available to artists, and hope they’ll continue to do so, even when they have more tenants.
The exhibition was by Jayanto Daminik who “recycles” teabags, turning them into beautiful works of art.
The second exhibition was at the nearby NG Gallery and featured the works of Bryden Williams, who won a scholarship for a residency at the Red Gate Gallery in Beijing, which Kate has worked at over a number of years.
Bryden Williams – China Is Real
He also “recycles” things, and spoke tonight of the large recycling centre not far from the Red Gate residency.
His work includes video – a terrific piece where he contrasts beautiful lilyponds in the foreground with industrial construction (very evident in Beijing) in the background – and sculpture.
A particular favourite work was a piece which featured a recycled water bottle. In China, many people rely on bottled water, as there’s a high degree of unreality with the local water supply. Bryden’s work takes a recycle water bottle and combines it with a string of LED lights, creating something completely new, asking you to take a look at the water bottle in a whole new way.
So that late afternoon call, as I made my way home, turned out to be quite a lovely way to spend an hour or two after work on a Tuesday night.
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 53,000 times in 2015. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 20 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
There were 485 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 914 MB. That’s about a picture per day.
The busiest day of the year was May 4th with 428 views. The most popular post that day was Cocktail Frankfurts.
So there you have it. Despite all my world travels, my insightful posts, the busiest post for me on my busiest day was a post about whether or not it was safe to eat uncooked cocktail frankfurts, which I should point out, was actually a post from 2013.
Cocktail Frankfurts
For the rest…
See the fireworks James O’Brien created by blogging on WordPress.com. Check out their 2015 annual report.
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m at work for a couple of hours doing some training. In between time I thought I’d take a moment or two to update my blog. Aside from work and dinner last night, I’ve been a home body since I last wrote.
First and foremost, I have a new nephew, Sammuel Bobbin. Although he’s only a few weeks old, he seems like quite the early developer as he looks quite big and has a a head full of hair.
I guess the emphasis on family is reflective of my stay at home status at the moment. The exception to the stay at home rule was last night when Damien and I went to dinner at RQ, a restaurant on Crown Street. According to Matthew Evans in the Sydney Morning Herald, RQ is part of the “modern Asian food movement”, epitomised by restaurants such as Wockpool, Longrain and Billy Kwong, which is now evident in Sydney. Evans says…. “The food is usually true to its roots. It’s not trying to do East murders West. Instead, it’s often food that has been cooked by the owner’s families for generations. In many ways, it is more authentic food but served with a Western aesthetic. Most of the new breed don’t drown everything in coconut cream. They’re lighter of hand, serving the kind of food you can eat every day. Vietnamese food is certainly making its mark. It’s yummy, fresh and fragrant.”
But aside from that I’ve been at home, spending most of my time watching Foxtel. I decided to get Foxtel shortly before arriving back from Perth. Although I’d wanted to have pay-tv for a number of years, it wasn’t possible due to the lack of cabling in my street. The decision by the Body Corporate, however, to install a dish and cable the block itself meant that it became an option late last year. And then, one night, watching television in Perth, I saw the advertisement for “free installation” and rang up straight away and ordered it.
In the months since it’s become all I watch and listen to. In addition to all of the Foxtel channels, it also has ABC, SBS, Nine and all of the ABC’s radio services, so I haven’t needed to wander back to free to air, even if I do miss out on Channels 7 and 10. I decided not to subscribe to the movie channels because, frankly, I probably don’t have the time, nor attention span to dedicate to watching what are usually third rate films. Sometimes, however, I’ve toyed with the idea of subscribing to World Movies…
My current favourite programs are “Graham Norton” and “Eurotrash” on the Comedy Channel and “Teachers” and “This Life” on UK-TV. I also regularly watch “The Simpsons”.
I really love “Graham Norton” and “Eurotrash” for their camp humour. I think Norton is a terrifically talented and extremely versatile performer and have only on one or two occasions been bored by his “let’s look up dirty websites” style of program. Those occasions have been when the guests haven’t play along or haven’t gotten the joke. I think my favourite was an episode when Sybill Shepherd appeared… she was very funny. “Eurotrash” is usually pretty funny too, especially when they dub silly English accents over the humour. They’re both programs which try hard, but not too hard, if you know what I mean. I also watch “The Man Show” and “Beyond The Belt” for similar reasons… just heaps of fun and no pretention.
I also watch “Teachers” and “This Life” because they’re both programs I genuinely love. It’s perhaps co-incidental that Andrew Lincoln appears in both… playing a similar character in both. When they first screened I loved both programs as they touched me with their humour and honesty. I guess that’s why I still enjoy them now… a nostalgia for times past… perhaps?
The next week, however, looks busier with a number of social events planned. On Tuesday, Mel and I are going to see “Il Divo” an “opera boy band” put together by Simon from American Idol. There’s also a farewell dinner for Christian from work. Tim Draxl on Friday night. And then on Saturday, two gallery openings and a CD launch of Kate’s son’s band, Combat Wombat. I’m looking forward to a holiday!
Oh… hang on… an SMS from Yvette has just arrived… drinks at her place tonight from 6pm… with the karaoke machine currently being warmed up! Oh dear!!!
A few people have told me to hurry up and get out of the way. In particular, there was the woman with an SUV-sized pram, and there was the bus driver who was running behind schedule. There was also the bloke in the cafe who looked me firmly in the eye and said, sarcastically, “Don’t worry mate, I’ll just walk around you”.
In all three cases, I was hanging on to a wall or a railing, which I would have thought already indicated I had some mobility requirements. Within a couple of seconds, they all looked down, saw my prosthetic leg, and apologized. All except the bloke in the cafe. I got my revenge by standing directly next to the table he was seated at, the last remaining table in the cafe. He never blinked, not even when an elderly couple offered me a seat at their table. Arsehole.
I’m rapidly becoming “invisible” as “someone with a disability”. As I’m now mostly walking without crutches, people don’t notice me anymore. They need to look down to see that I have a prosthetic limb. For the most part, they don’t look down, as they’re often too involved in their mobile phone.
I had an older woman on a bus recently ask if I’d broken my leg in a skiing accident. She assumed the fiberglass leg was a “moon boot” (or something like that) until I told her the brief version of the full story. She was a little embarrassed, but I told her not to worry.
Because my leg sticks out a bit on buses, a few people have accidentally kicked it. For the most part, they don’t apologize, they don’t notice it, and get on with their business. But one recently apologized, and jokingly I said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t feel a thing”.
But even though I’m more mobile getting around, albeit slowly, I still need some assistance. Getting on and off a bus still requires my use of the handrail. It’s the same going up and downstairs. Though I could do both without using the handrail, I feel much safer if I do.
I have a couple of events on tomorrow where I’ll take my crutch with me. I probably don’t “need” it, but it will probably help at the events I’m attending. One is an art gallery talk where I think there will be limited seating, and it will signal to the organisers and fellow patrons, I would probably like a seat for the hour-long talk,
The other is a theatre play. I’ve managed to get the last remaining single ticket for the final season performance of “Holding The Man” at Belvoir Street Theatre. My ticket is in the middle of a row, reasonably close to the front. Theatre seating inevtiably involves stairs without railings, and so I think the crutch will come in handy.
I’m also still struggling with long pants. As the weather has started to change, shorts haven’t been enough to cope. I’m wearing the left leg to the shoe, but the right leg gets stuck at the point of the prosthetic. My current prosthetic leg is quite large, and so I need a much thinner one, one that pants can slide over when required.
The first prosthetic was paid for by the NSW Government, and I’m currently awaiting approval for a thinner, lighter prosthetic from the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS). The NDIS has recently undergone a review, and approvals seem to have slowed down a little. I’m not sure when the approval will come through, though I hope it’s before winter.
