And while Patrick went off with some friends for a day at the beach, I had a meeting with my friends in Hawkesbury One, an art collectors group we formed a several years ago.
Put simply, we each contribute an amount of money each year with which we collectively purchase art works. The works are then shared and rotated amongst us for six months at a time. It’s a very democratic structure, as we all contribute exactly the same amount of money, and all have an equal say in the art works we purchase.
Overall it was a reasonably productive meeting, and it was great to see everyone again, as we usually only meet every three, four or six months. So it’s not only “business” that we all talk about. “I remember when you were pregnant with your first child”, I said to one of the members, as we reflected on the fact she and her husband now have three daughters. Time flies, eh?
And then I came home and caught up with Patrick, and we then headed off to a birthday party I’d been invited to upstairs at KInselas.
It was a bit of a showbiz party with a few well-known faces here and there, including the very stalkable Matthew Mitcham. It was the second Sunday I’ve seen him in a row. How weird is that?
After a couple of hours, I bid Patrick a fond farewell, as he headed off back to Canberra.
And then I came home, watched my usual favourite Sunday night viewing of British comedy on Foxtel – “Are You Being Served”, “Yes Prime Minister”, “On The Buses” etc – and then it was time for bed.
pinnIt’s three months, now, since I arrived in Perth, and this weekend found myself anxious to do a little more exploration. So yesterday I headed off to the Visitors Bureau in Perth looking for a one or two day tour to somewhere in the countryside. After browsing the brochures, I settled on a trip to “The Pinnacles”, located about 250km north of Perth. The twelve hour trip offered some picturesque scenery and day out of Perth for just $129.
I was picked up this morning by the driver and the Japanese interpreter who informed me there would be quite a few Japanese people on the tour and that she would be both a guide and a translator. She wasn’t wrong Narelle. After leaving Perth, we called in briefly to a national park where we looked at kangaroos, koalas etc. Great for the tourists, but maybe a little boring for me.
The Pinnacles, Western Australia
Thus for me, the first major stop was actually at the massive sandhills located just east of Lancelin, which is a small fishing town about an hour’s drive north of Perth. The sandhills – reminiscent of some of those featured in Mad Max – are, apparently popular with sand boarders, dune buggy drivers, motorbikers and four wheel drivers. Throwing caution to the wind, I was the first to sandboard down one of the slopes, and I made a fool of myself, falling off only about ten metres down the hill. The second time around, however, I was much better and it was great fun. Mind you, having to walk up the hill a second time, I quickly got “over it”.
A few more hours in the car, some lunch and then finally we arrived at our destination, The Nambung National Park, home of the Pinnacles. There are two main theories to explain these rather odd looking strucures. The first is that they are “slightly harder columns of limestone that formed around tree tap roots that penetrated deep into limestone formed within ancient sand dunes. Water is always active in limestone and calcite is thought to have been preferentially deposited near these roots. When the softer limestone was eroded away, the columns remained”. The other theory, no longer readily held that they “are the result of calcification of tree stumps from an ancient forest, once covered in sand and now exposed by shifting dunes”.
The experience was quite amazing. Some of the formations are up to 14 feet tall, others just tiny rocks on the ground. The combination of these strange formations, the desert sands, and the ocean closeby makes for an interesting, slightly eery place to visit. As we ambled (?) our way through the stone maze, many people took photographs, with people often interpreting the shape of the rocks to be reminiscent of turtles, churches, elephants etc. While I could see that in some, others were a long bow in interpretation in my view. But what a wonderful experience it was.
As I mentioned previously, most of the people on the tour were Japanese, with the exception of myself and a young English couple. Almost all of the commentary was in Japanese which didn’t worry me so much, since a lot of it was apparently about “Australian culture”, but I know the English couple found it a little overwhelming.
At one point our guide handed around some books about Australian wildflowers – one in Japanese, one in English – and so I kept the Japanese one and handed the English version back. I know, smartarse! Everyone browsed through the wildflowers. But when our guide showed a copy of “Women’s Day” with Mary Donaldson on the cover, and spoke for at least 15 minutes about the Royal Wedding there was genuine interest in the bus!
Coming back I began to get the giggles about the day – the Japanese commentary, the “Air Supply CD” etc – and then finally I lost it when at a road stop cafe a couple asked for “two lattes” and were given the response “would you like milk in them?” You gotta laugh.
“Just keep walking, it’s a scam”, I shouted to the young tourist couple, hoping they understood my English. I knew something was awry when on the approach to the Eiffel Tower, I saw a young girl approach them, pretending to have found a gold ring in the sand and asking if it was theirs.
Just a minute or so earlier, an identically dressed young girl had done the same thing to me. As she bent down, “discovered” the ring and came towards me, I knew something wasn’t quite right. With one hand raised I ignored her approach, and with the other held tightly to my bag. Looking around to the right, I saw a young man who looked quite similar (an older brother I assumed by his appearance) who was closely observing the situation. I glared at him, and he looked back at me, recognising that I wasn’t about to be caught by their scam.
And then I saw the same scenario being played out again just a few metres up the track, I knew for sure my initial feelings were right, and that’s when I yelled out to warn the young couple.
In fact, it was just the scenario M-H had described in blog comments a couple of days ago, where the tourist is distracted by one person, while another comes along and takes their bag. I hope the young couple took my advice, though I didn’t stay around long enough to see if they did, concerned for my own personal safety. And besides, I was in a hurry to get to the Number 1 tourist destination in Paris: The Eiffel Tower.
Not only is it a hell of a lot cheaper to walk the tower stairs rather than catch the lift (4 euros, as opposed to 11 – though I was also only charged 3 for some reason), but it was also a really great experience to do so. Similar to climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, in that you really get to see the tower’s construction as well as the magnificent views.
Even being a slightly overweight forty-year-old, I didn’t find the walk too much. Maybe because I was so excited I literally bounded up the stairs. And I didn’t envy the people who’d paid a lot of money to be tightly squeezed into the elevator. Coming down, needless to say, was a breeze. In fact, a couple of young blokes had a race to see who could get to the bottom first.
In all, I guess I spent one-and-a-half, maybe two hours wandering around two different levels of the tower. I was extremely lucky too since both the weather and the views today were spectacular. It was also great just to sit and watch people have a truly wonderful experience. Young families with kids. Couples in love. All having the times of their lives. And for a few of them, I was the “official photographer” of their wonderful moment.
The views were even better than those I’d had earlier in the day at Sacre Couer, the church not far from where I’m staying. There’s a lift there too, though it’s something I didn’t know about, and couldn’t take advantage of, since I was coming from the other direction. The view, though, is definitely the first thing you notice when you reach the top of the stairs.
And then you notice the beautiful church itself. And, since it’s a “working church”, a lot of people (including myself) took the opportunity for some quiet prayer in the midst of the tourist jam.
Outside on the stairs, it’s both peaceful and noisy. I first took a seat on the stairs near an American bloke playing classics such as “What A Wonderful World” and “American Pie”. And when that became too much (after about two minutes), I found myself another spot near a bloke playing the harp. He was good. Really good. And the harp also seemed to suit the scene a little more too.
I must have sat there for about thirty minutes (maybe longer) enjoying the peace, the solitude (well, kinda), and the views. And then a woman asked me if I would mind moving slightly so she could hold the railing to walk down the stairs. As I instantly recognised her French was as bad as mine, I replied, “No worries”. “Oh it’s so nice to hear an English voice”, she said to me. And when I replied telling her I was Australian not English, she told me that was just as good, and that her son was an Australian.
In some ways, it’s been a day of ticking off the tourist boxes of Paris, since I also paid a visit to Notre Dame. It’s just as touristy as everywhere else I’ve visited. And no wonder, since it’s a very beautiful church. Quite remarkable.
On the way there, however, I also discovered the great little “island” in the middle of the river. Well, discovered isn’t so much the word, as the island was full of people sitting enjoying the sun, reading, eating and drinking champagne.
And of course, there was some romance too. There were some teenagers tentatively holding hands. There were a couple of gay boys with their legs gently touching each other. And there was a lovely middle-aged couple holding hands too. I thought it was great to see a couple who might have been together for maybe twenty years or so quite happily showing affection in public.
Well, that’s what I thought until they decided this beautiful spot was also the ideal place to go for the “big pash”. And by that, I don’t mean, a tender, passionate, romantic kiss. Hours later, the sight of tongues and hands going places they shouldn’t go in a public place still haunts me.
Not only has this one single event absolutely confirmed my homosexuality, but I think it’s also put me off sex for life. “If that’s what I look like when I’m doin’ it, then I’m never doin’ it again”, I thought to myself. I hope I’m not sounding too much like a fourteen-year-old teenage girl if I say, “Ooooh gross!”.
Anyway, that’s not gonna be an issue is it, since I’m staying in a youth hostel? I have, however, been lucky again tonight. Once again, I’m in a four-bed dormitory on the top floor all by myself. I’ve nicked the pillows off the other beds, so I hope no one turns up at midnight. I’ve got the window open. There’s a gentle breeze. The sounds of Paris traffic can be heard gently in the background. Could life get any better?
Post Script: I wrote too soon. Three other people arrived to share my room at about ten thirty. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The Museum of Danish Resistance 1940-1945 is surprisingly good. We went along expecting something quite small. I think our expectation was based on some publicity we had read which indicated the museum tour (in English) was less than an hour. In the end, I think we spent well over an hour there, and could have spent even more time visiting.
The museum documents the lead up to the occupation of Denmark by the Nazis, explains some of what happened while they were here, and also covers much of the resistance story. I was particularly interested in the radios and printing presses which were at the heart of how communication was maintained both within Denmark, and with other countries such as the United Kingdon. But there was a lot more to see, including lots of paper documentation, uniforms, weapons and so on.
From there, we wandered down to Nyhavn, the waterfront district of Copenhagen. Although I’d been on the canal tour when I previously visited Copenhagen in 2010, I was definitely keen to go again with Sue and with Aaron (the young Australian guy we had met yesterday). Unlike 2010, there was still a fair bit of ice on the water as we made our way in the boat which took us to both the larger bodies of water, as well as the smaller canals. It was cold. Sue went inside, while Aaron and I stayed outside (along with a few others), as we were both keen to really experience the outdoors, and to be able to take some really good photographs. Although it was undoubtedly warmer inside, I really enjoyed being outdoors in the thick of it. The tour costed about 70DKK ($10-12 AUD) and lasts for about 65 minutes.
Although it was a good way to spend an hour or so, we definitely needed warming up after that, and head in for a coffee at Baresso, described to us yesterday as the Danish equivalent to Starbucks. I’m not sure if I’d agree with the comparison, as I’ve found the Baresso coffee to be vastly superior to Starbucks.
As for the cold? Marian, whose apartment we’re staying in, told us this year has been unseasonably, exceptionally colder than it has been for a couple of years. When I was here three years ago (at almost exactly the same time), it was much warmer, I remember. You can see it in the clothes I was wearing. (The photograph also confirms I’ve lost a fair bit of weight since then, and was complaining I was sick of wearing the same clothes every day.) I wouldn’t say it was warm, but it was certainly warmer than it has been this year.
And finally, I feel inclined to re-assure my family I have brought with me on this trip more than one set of clothing. If you’ve looked at the photographs I’ve blogged so far, you could seriously think otherwise. The warm jacket on loan from Damien has been an absolute treasure, as most days have seen sub-zero temperatures in Stockholm, Berlin and now Copenhagen. But, it is beginning to look like I only have the jacket, a pair of jeans, a jacket and a beanie, and so I risked the cold and asked Sue to take this photograph to prove otherwise.
A photograph for my family to demonstrate I have more than one set of clothes on this trip.
Hitler and Mussolini children’s toys in the Museum of Danish Resistance
Canal Tour in Copenhagen
Sue with an ice-covered river background in Copenhagen
Tears welled up in my eyes, a rare occurrence over the past several weeks, as I found myself in the company of Michelle and Karran at Sydney’s Beecham Hotel, formerly known as Beauchamp Hotel.
Michelle was sharing the details of the phone call Pat had received on that fateful Saturday morning, right after I had been admitted to the hospital. “Oh, no, no,” Pat had said, before taking charge of the call. Michelle, being a nurse, was uniquely positioned, grappling with the emotions of a close family member in distress, while comprehending the gravity of my condition.
She went on to describe her conversation with Tony, the surgeon, who had sought her consent for the possibility of an “above the knee” amputation. I couldn’t help but express my profound gratitude for the burden placed upon her in making that life-altering decision on my behalf.
It was at that moment that my emotions welled up again. My tears were not solely for my own predicament but also for the immense emotional toll my family and friends endured during those harrowing first 48 hours when my life hung in the balance. Michelle mentioned she had a photograph of my leg in its pre-surgery state, and I conveyed my desire to see it when the time was right.
Later, as I returned to my hospital room, I experienced a surge of emotions once more. While the journey is far from over, there’s a growing sense that we are approaching a conclusion. My room had mostly been packed up in anticipation of my permanent return home on Tuesday.
This weekend, Michelle and Karran were here for a “test run” of being at home, preparing for my eventual return.
Over the past couple of weeks, my recovery has progressed remarkably well. After those initial challenging weeks when I could hardly leave my hospital bed, I now spend most of my days in a chair and attend physiotherapy sessions twice daily, wearing my prosthesis.
Working out at the hospital gym
I can’t say enough about the incredible team at the hospital. Their dedication and expertise have been instrumental in bringing me to this point. I wouldn’t be here without them, and I’m immensely grateful for the love and support of my family, friends, and colleagues. I truly feel blessed.
“You dodged a bullet by staying in Lismore”, my friend Graeme commented the other day. Of course, he was referring to the growing COVID-19 problem in Sydney, and the associated lockdown.
Things are obviously going much better here. There have been (to date) no cases or close contacts, and the restrictions (facemasks indoors, compulsory sign-in) are minimal. Nonetheless, people are taking things seriously, and people are wearing facemasks, even outdoors, where they’re not actually required by law.
A few things have been cancelled/postponed. For example, there was going to be an Aboriginal market held today at The Quad, as part of NAIDOC Week. And last night, there was going to be a one-woman comedy show at The Civic which I had hoped to attend.
There was, however, a comedy show which wasn’t canceled, which I went to on Wednesday night at the Northern Rivers Hotel. According to the MC, most of the fourteen or so people doing stand-up were preparing to participate in the Raw Comedy competition.
They all had about five minutes to speak, and they were all reasonably funny,
Comedy night at the Northern Rivers Hotel in North Lismore
The one thing I did notice, though, were recurrent themes amongst the male comedians. A number of them referred to themselves as having small penises. A number of them also referred to their discomfort with non-binary definitions of gender and sexuality. By the time the third had come along with a routine along these lines, I’d lost interest and had gone to the bar.
I was sitting in the front row, by the way, and thus became the subject/target of interaction from the host comedian. In Sydney, I would never sit in the front row (keen to avoid the interaction), but on this occasion I did.
“Where are you from?”, she said. “Two places”, I replied, “South Lismore and Surry Hills”. For the rest of the show, I became known as “Mr Surry Hills”. I didn’t mind so much, it was fun. I couldn’t stay for the whole night. though, as it became pretty cold in the pub’s beer garden.
For the sake of my role as “guy in the front row”, they gave me a t-shirt.
Aside from that, it’s been a reasonably ordinary week of getting up, working, and hanging out with my family.
One of the very cool things about being home with family is enjoying treats like this chocolate roll from the South Lismore Bakery. It’s been years and years since I’ve had a chocolate roll.I also received a lovely gift from some colleagues in ABC Pride, in recognition of Nancy’s recent death. The flowers smelled fabulous, and the whole family has been really appreciative of the gifts, and the sentiment behind them.
The only major “drama” of the week was having to make a few alternative arrangements for my forthcoming holiday to Tasmania. Thankfully, I can still (currently) travel there, so long as I don’t leave Sydney Airport in transit. I have enough evidence that I haven’t been in Sydney anytime recently, which is good. However, the direct flight from Sydney to Hobart has now been cancelled, and has been replaced with a stop-over in Melbourne. But fingers crossed all should be okay.
In the meantime, I’m enjoying being away from the lockdown in Sydney, and wishing all the best to friends back there.
Lovely sunset, leaving work at the ABC in Lismore yesterday afternoon.
Thank you James!!!!!
Varsagod!