I love the internet. In particular, I love how it’s opened up the world to me in a way I could have only dreamed of twenty years ago. On the downside, however, it also attracts some awfully negative, nasty folk who hide behide the anonymity the internet provides.
As part of my travel planning at the moment, I spent some time online tonight looking at flights, seating plans, airline reviews, airline food reviews and accommodation reviews, and all I can say is: “what a bunch of bitches”.
On the one hand, you would hope anonymity might lead to a higher level of honesty, but a lot of the time when you read online reviews, you just know it’s more about “their issues” than the service or experience they have in fact received.
Some of the weirdest ones I’ve seen online tonight include…
“Little personal attention from the crew, meal choice offered as it was served”
– Darl, they’re serving 300 people in a small piece of metal hurtling through the air. What did you expect in economy, a discussion about Satre and a foot massage?
“Yes, when booking it seemed tempting to book something that is $150-$300 cheaper. But you do notice the lack of service and food on your journey”
– Well, dir… if you shop at a discount store, you should expect a discount service.
“Positively surprised. Flight on time in a decent A320. Good seat pitch in row 5 and edible warm meal rounded off by round of drinks, tea / coffee. Smiling crew a bonus. Paid a very competitive price and would recommend Finnair”
– In essence, she’s saying she was expecting something awful, and was surprised when that wasn’t the case. Raise your expectations, darl…
“When I tried to call Finnair, nobody dared to answer the phone.”
– What does that mean? When did you call? What sort of baggage does someone carry when they assume an unanswered phone call means “nobody dared to answer the phone”? “Everybody’s out to get me” is the next logical thing to say in such a review.
And finally…
“Maybe their European service is OK, however, having been on their long haul flight and comparing it to all other long haul flights I’ve been on, I would rate them 0/10, maybe 0.5/10. ”
– Honestly, would you ever seriously rate anything as 0/10, except perhaps an act on Red Faces?
I find it remarkable that people write such awful unsubstantiated reviews, expecting first class travel when they’re travelling on budget airlines.
Equally unhelpful was the overly positive review, along the lines of “this was the best place I’ve ever stayed”.
Many of the reviews I’ve read tonight were really unhelpful, as they didn’t actually give me an accurate portrayal or description of what was on offered and what was delivered.
You can’t just say it was good or bad. You need to be specific.
It’s like they say about Twitter…. “everyone’s talking but nobody’s listening”.
These reviews do, however, give you an insight into the weird and wonderful people you’re going to have to travel with.
I’m guessing the person who writes online reviews also puts their seat into recline as soon as they get on the place, talks incessantly all night while everyone else is trying to sleep, and constantly asks for assistance from the flight-attendant.
The only thing is to pray to God you end up seated next to someone with normal views, and not some of the oddballs who write online reviews.
PS. Yes I know I write online reviews here too.
When I first mentioned to people at work I was coming to Sweden most of them instantly dismissed it as “the big ABBA trip”. A lot of ABBA fans did too, assuming I’d be spending most of my time hanging out waiting for a sighting of the famous four. Some fans have been known to camp on Agnetha’s property, citing the Swedish law which allows people to do this so long as they’re not too close to the house. Other fans have been known to have stolen Agnetha’s mailbox, and one to have allegedly broken into Bjorn’s car to obtain some rare recordings. I’m not one of those fans. At the premiere of “Mamma Mia” in Melbourne I had to be literally pushed up to meet Bjorn. I think a lot of that stuff is just an invasion of privacy I don’t want to be part of. It’s just not me, never has been. I’m your garden variety ABBA fan whose interest in the group remains strong, but for whom it’s opened up a broader interest in Scandinavian culture.
And now, of course, I find myself in Stockholm at almost one o’clock in the morning. I could be out and about on the town, but to be honest I’m too bloody tired. It was a long time getting here and I’m both physically and mentally exhausted. Not that I’ve been a slouch. As soon as I booked into my hotel room, I caught the lift upstairs, dropped off by bags and walked straight into town.
It’s a lot smaller than I expected. It’s also a lot quieter than I’d imagined, with not all that many people out on the streets tonight. It is, however, overwhelmingly beautiful. The buildings, especially around the old town are wonderful. As there are no high-rises per se, the town remains low which means the water remains the focus of the inner-city area. The only negative thing so far is that I’ve almost been run over twice. Because the different road rules, cars seem to come from out of nowhere. I’ve since learned only to cross with the lights, and only when other people are around. I’m gonna head off to bed soon to get fully rested as I begin to explore the city in a less-tired manner.
Although this was never meant to be an “ABBA Holiday”, I’ve found it hard to escape them. They’re front page of each of the daily newspapers today due to the “mini reunion” which occurred last night at the premiere in Stockholm of “Mamma Mia – The Movie”. And then when I wandered into the old part of the city – Gamla Stan – their song, “Our Last Summer” was the first piece of music I heard. And then, when I came back to the motel and turned on the television, there was Frida’s solo single with the band, Ratata called, “Sa Lange vi har varann”. Unlike many other ABBA fans who come to Sweden to stalk ABBA, I feel like it’s the other way around.
Lagom is a Swedish word which, roughly translate means “in the right balance”.
It’s a commonly used word, and one which many have said sums up the Swedes as a whole, everything being “in the right balance”.
But it’s also a word I’d use to describe the evening’s activities.
After an interesting and varied day at work I came home briefly before heading off to the Allen and Unwin twentieth birthday party.
Allen and Unwin is an Australian-owned, independant publisher, though with UK origins.
Generally speaking, they publish good books, and along the way they’ve had a hit or two with thinks like Harry Potter and the Chris Masters biography of Alan Jones.
I saw Chris Masters as the function, along with a range of other “journalism celebrities”.
In the midst of drinks and canapes there were some speeches celebrating twenty years of independant ownership.
And guess what? They didn’t go too long. They were about the right length, were well thought out, and hit the mark absolutely.
Thirty minutes for a speech in the middle of a party seems like a lot, but when those making the speeches have thought them through, have a point to make, and use the old adage of “get on, say what you have to say, and then get off” you know you’re in luck.
I met some interesting people through the night including a woman writing a series of books about teenage sexuality.
I also met a freelance journalist who moved from Melbourne a few years ago because there “wasn’t much work in Melbourne”, and who has no regrets about the move.
There were others too, all with an interesting story to tell, and of course I ran into a few people I knew already.
Overall, a lovely way to spend Friday night. Lots of balance.
My mind went back to the Sunday night six and a half months ago, when I fell and broke my hip. I don’t remember much about it, except that I tripped on the footpath and then, after the trip, I blacked out briefly in a lot of pain.
That memory came back tonight because I felt a genuine fear of falling again, maybe breaking my other hip. I was at the Sydney Contemporary Art Exhibition, an event I’ve been going to forever. Usually, I go with my friend Kate, but she’s tragically dealing with a death in her family, so I went by myself.
I don’t remember the exhibition ever being so busy. Almost instantly, when I got inside and started walking around, this fear of falling just took over. There were so many people, and many weren’t even looking where they were going. A couple of people brushed against me, almost knocking me over. I found myself walking along, holding onto the walls, because of the fear. After only about 15 minutes, I realized I couldn’t do it. It was just too difficult to get around.
So, I decided to sit down and have a glass of wine to calm my nerves.
I only had a chance to look at some of the works on paper.
The guy at the front counter at Sydney Contemporary was really fantastic. I explained the situation—that I had bought a ticket but was too afraid of falling to stay—and asked if I could come back another day. He organized a ticket that will allow me to return on the weekend, early in the morning, when it’s quieter.
It’s funny how you can go from feeling awesome about the world to feeling so awfully scared. Yesterday, I was on top of the world because of the arrival my new mobility scooter. But tonight, I feel a little sad, to be honest, knowing there are some things I probably just can’t do anymore. The atmosphere inside—the soundtrack reminding me of 80s, 90s, and early 2000s dance parties—and the crowds were too busy.
The one thing I’ve learned about my journey with disability is that it’s not a linear progression. Things do get better, but feelings can go up and down. Tomorrow, I’m going to a big day put on called ‘No Limits,’ which is all about amputees and support. I’m sure I’ll emerge from that feeling great about the world again. And on the weekend, I’ll make a second attempt at Sydney Contemporary, and will use it as a maiden voyage for my mobility scooter.
“Hugo Weaving plays a pretty good junkie”, I said to my friend Sue tonight as we watched “Little Fish”, a film starring Hugo, Cate Blanchett and others made in 2005.
The film was written by the sister of a friend of mine who also did “Love My Way”. ‘She likes underwater swimming scenes”, Sue noted as we watched the film about a bunch of people living in Cabramatta who are “living with heroin”.
Living in Surry Hills, you get to recognise that “hopelessness” that some people experience while using heroin (or trying to get off it). You see it at Surry Hills Mall (known locally as The Methadone Mall) and you see it on the daytime streets of Surry Hills. You see people who have totally messed up their lives, but who are trying to get it together. And when you see them, you think to yourself “I hope really hope you make it”.
“Little Fish” is a film about that. Cate Blanchett plays Tracey who is trying to get it together after using heroin for a number of years. She’s working in a video shop, and thinks she’s gonna make it. But then she applies for a bank loan, and she soon realises everything is still against her.
Hugo Weaving, on the other hand, plays a character who just seems totally hopeless and unable to make that transition to a better life.
Although suffering with a different form of addiction, he reminded me of a woman who lives locally who is a long-term alcoholic. There’s a lot of mythology associated with the woman I know as “Beryl”. How much is true, I don’t know.
I know, however, she’s been living and drinking on the streets of Surry Hills and Darlinghurst for as long as I’ve been in Sydney. Sometimes you see her walking around looking like she’s getting her life together, she’s combed her hair, her clothes are looking good. And other times you see her passed out on the street outside The Columbian, with her hair in a mess, and her clothes looking very dirty.
Whenever I see her looking like she’s getting her life together (like earlier this year), I say a little prayer, hoping that she’s going to keep it up. But then a week or so later, you see her again and she’s passed out with a cask of wine to her side. I guess I could do something to help, but frankly I don’t know what I’d do, and I suspect there are people who would be far better to help than I would. “The do-gooder gene” I have is a realistic one, I guess.
Anyway, after the grimness of “Little Fish”, we watched “The Vicar of Dibley” for a while. A greater contrast you might not imagine.
It was great having Sue come to visit for only a day or so. She has a meeting in Parramatta tomorrow which I hope will go well.
“It’s like an prison recreation yard in 1960s East Germany” was how the beer-garden at The Beresford Hotel was often described.
Even though, they’d spent a LOT of money on the renovation of the much loved Surry Hills pub, and for the most part had gotten it right, they really messed up the beer garden early in the piece. It was terribly modern and chic, I’m sure, but the painted grey concrete and the strange chairs where you sometimes found yourself sitting with your back to your friends wasn’t a particularly welcoming environment.
In the months since, they’ve made the space a little more friendly by changing the furniture and by covering The Berlin Wall with plants. There’s other little touches, like pot plants which have also made the place a far nicer environment for a Friday afternoon drink with a mate.
Although she lives in the Eastern Suburbs, she has actually booked into a Paddington motel for the weekend. The reason? “I haven’t slept for three or four nights” she told me of life without an air-conditioner in her top-floor apartment in Bondi. “I slept on the hallway floor the other night”, she added, “and thought about just sleeping on the bathroom floor, it’s so hot”.
This was her explanation why she (and a few other people she knows) have booked a hotel room for a few nights this weekend to escape the late 30 temperatures predicted. “Before I book, can you just confirm you have air conditioning and it works”, she told me she said to the hotel receptionist.
Anyway, after a few drinks, we moved on for dinner at another refurbished pub, “The Local” or “The Tap House” depending on what you want to call it. My friend had worked there many years ago, and I’d enjoyed a few meals there previously, so concluded fairly early in the night it was the perfect place for dinner. I had the pork belly which was excellent. My friend had the mussels. They were also good.
The renovation process is also underway at “The Local”. They’ve also done a nice job to date on their renovation which combines large spaces with small, intimate rooms. “It’s very Melbourne”, we both concluded.
They also recently opened their rooftop bar, which has transformed a largely empty unfriendly barren space into something quite friendly and nice (in contrast to The Beresford which had done the complete opposite).
It’s the kind of bar where you can easily find yourself chatting to the people next to you, which we did. “Do you know where we can get any coke?”, one of the women asked us very early in the conversation. I wanted to say, “I think there’s a convenience store at the servo down the road”, but then quickly realised that was a pretty lame joke. They were a group of friends who had met in Byron Bay and who were in Sydney for a “big party weekend”.
“The last time we were here, we were homeless for a night”, one of the women told us. “The reception rang us several times asking us to keep the noise down, so we put the ironing board against the door until the police came and evicted us”, she added. She was a great story-teller, eh? With just that one sentence I had a strong image in my mind and a great sense of sympathy for the staff of the hotel where they were staying. My friend and I looked at each other with a smile concluding tomorrow was going to get very messy for this group.
“We’re going to The Taxi Club, you wanna come with us”? they asked us at one point. Twenty years ago we might have said yes… but now in our 40s… we’re both much more sensible, which is why, long before midnight, my friend went back to the air-conditioned comfort of her hotel, and I’m back at home.
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