I had every plan of watching a fair bit of television tonight, but somehow the only thing I managed to watch properly was the Oprah in Australia special on Channel 10.
It was another monstrously busy day at work, and then after heading over to visit my friend who has been in hospital, my plan was to come home, sit quietly and watch a fair bit of television.
After all of the hype of the last few months, how could I NOT watch Oprah? Although I missed last night’s episode, and probably won’t see tomorrow night’s either, I was determined to watch a least one episode.
“How was it?”, my friend asked as we chatted on the phone later in the evening. “It was actually pretty good”, I told her. I really like the way Oprah seems genuinely committed to bringing a little magic into people’s lives, and how she never forgets her impoverished roots. I raised my eyes at the yoga on the beach at Byron Bay scene, but that’s all because of my own personal North Coast “baggage” more than anything to do with the program. Otherwise, it was quite an interesting program, the scenery looked great, I definitely decided I must go and see those penguins near Melbourne some time, and boy did Oprah look pissed off when the chopper ran out of fuel when she was atop the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
Oprah on the Sydney Harbour Bridge
My friend and I then got into a chat about Oprah and the nature of her relationship with her friend Gayle, which is often speculated to have certain Sapphic qualities. “What’s happened to the husband – Stedman?”, my friend asked. “Oh, I don’t know, although I don’t think he’s been around for a while”.
We then got into a discussion about the sexuality of tennis players currently in the Australian Open. Sam Stosur? Really. Allegedly, of course. Henri Leconte? What? But hasn’t he had three wives and four children? Hang on, they keep describing him in newspaper articles as flamboyant I noted.
Anyway, Oprah was the only show on television I managed to watch all the way through.
I was looking forward to seeing Keanu Reeves on Graham Norton, as I’ve long thought he was quite attractive. In fact, my ex and I had a discussion once that we would have an open relationship if Keanu was part of the equation. Not sure about the acting, though I loved The Matrix, but definitely cute. But guess what? Keanu was quite boring and I fell asleep watching the show, even though I quite love the program.
Sophisticated conversations, eh? Must check the biorhythms. Intellectually strong but physically and emotionally weak. Sounds right.
Biorhythms
At the end of the night, I’ve managed to add significantly to the number of recordings on the PVR and on my computer that “I must get around to watching”. I don’t have much planned for the weekend – except taking delivery of a new washing machine – so I’ll make another attempt at watching a bit of television then.
I’ve just been reading tonight that former Sydney Blogger, Mark, is having a bit of a crisis – maybe that’s too strong a word – about his imminent return to Sydney. Mark studied in Sydney last year, but returned to Perth because he wasn’t really that happy here, missing family and friends. I understand this totally, as I felt the same living in Perth. Now, he faces the prospect of returning to Sydney to complete his studies.
His reflections on his blog about the dilemma he faces in addressing the difficulties of finding a balance in life struck a chord with me, so I sent him a message which I hoped might provide some insight, and which I thought I’d share here too, as they are also important issues to me.
(STARTS) Although sometimes I don’t like Sydney – like at the moment, but I’m heading bush this weekend to get some fresh air – deep down I know it’s where I want and need to live.
I think it’s because the small country town in which I grew up doesn’t offer me the freedom Sydney does. And it’s not the cliches you’d think, not the expected stuff, it’s the “choices” Sydney offers, the ability to be me.
When I go home to Lismore, I become “Jimmy” again, the eighteen year old who left there, and who, in the eyes of my family and friends will always be “Jimmy”.
But I don’t want to be Jimmy, I want to be James. Maybe in some ways it’s like Muriel who changed her named to Mariel when she moved to Sydney in “Muriel’s Wedding”.
Sydney offers me the chance to be James, the grownup, to have a life that I can enjoy, and to have the career choices that I can’t back home.
That said, when I was living in Perth, pursuing my career, I felt like I was a thousand miles from home – four thousand kilometres actually – and I often felt alone, although everyone was very friendly.
So I totally understand what you’re saying Mark…
The question you have to ask yourself is where you want to be in five years time, or ten, and what you need to do to get yourself there, fulfilling the desire to balance both work and life. (ENDS)
After yesterday’s shitty weather, my final day in Stockholm was one of those classically-beautiful Swedish summer days.
The morning started with packing and check-out, and a lovely compliment from one of the staff at Sky Apartments that my Swedish was very good. Although I’m sure she was flattering me to an extent, I accepted the compliment with an appreciation that yes, this time around, I was able to converse more fluently, and to pick up a lot more of the conversations going on around me.
Grand Hotel at Saltsjobaden in March last year. Sunny with snow.
After checking out, I popped in to town to visit one of my favourite places in Stockholm – Katarinahissen. I love catching the lift up to Globen Restaurant and then going that one floor further by step, and then emerging outside to a wide, broad view of the Stockholm Skyline from 10 or 11 stories (I can’t recall, sorry) up. You look behind you to Sodermalm, and then your eyes take you to the Stockholm City Museum, over to the CBD, then Gamla Stan, and then down to the Patricia boat, over to Grona Lund and so on. It’s really a very spectacular view and it costs you nothing.
Around lunch-time I caught the train to Saltsjobaden, an end-of-the-line seaside town about thirty minutes by train from the centre of Stockholm. Located on the Baltic Sea, the village landscape is dominated by the Grand Hotel.
I stayed for a few days at the Grand during my visit to Stockholm last year during March. At the time, the landscape was covered in snow and the sea was frozen over. I have one particular memory of standing on the shore and looking out at the frozen water and seeing some fisherman right out in the middle. “Do I dare walk out any take a closer look?”, I asked myself, concluding in the negative, as I knew I could have fallen through some thin ice and sunk to a watery grave.
In contrast, the environment was lush and green and there were boats everywhere on the now, unfrozen, Baltic Sea. There’s even an old fashioned swimming bath there with separate male and female entrances which was also very attractive. I spent most of my time wandering around looking at the plants, looking at the ocean, and generally enjoying the sunshine. I even took my shirt off for a while just to experience a little extra sunlight. If I had done this at home I would have sizzled within minutes, but the sun is very gentle in this part of the world.
Enjoying the sunshine at Saltsjöbaden on my final day in Stockholm
Later in the afternoon, Graeme and I met up for a final drink and chat before I caught the train to Arlanda Airport.
As always with a holiday ending there’s a mix of emotions. It’s going to be nice to go home for all of the obvious reasons. But there’s also a touch of sadness. Unlike previous trips to Sweden which were journeys of discovery, this one was made a little more different and meaningful. I had an apartment to base myself in, and so wasn’t always moving from place to place. I knew Stockholm a lot more than I used to, and so those day to day things that take up too much time (looking at maps and so on) wasn’t so much of an issue. My Swedish is a lot better than previously and so I didn’t have to struggle so much with that aspect of travel. And I had a good friend in town for much of the time to share the experiences. It was a holiday, for sure, in a comfortable place, and one which I enjoyed very much.
“Don’t worry. My camera is shockproof and waterproof to fifteen feet”, I told Michaela. And with that, I made my way into the middle of those fountains where the water pops up seemingly randomly. I don’t know if it’s been generally a warm summer for the Northern Hemisphere, or if it’s just the places I’ve chosen for my holiday this year which have experienced these warm conditions. Tokyo. Rome. Venice were quite hot. Even Stockholm almost got there, eventually. New York is no exception with temperatures in the thirties. Thirty seconds or so later, my arms, legs, and face were wet, and I felt good. I really do like fountains.
Williamsburg Beach, Brooklyn
I also really like catching ferries, especially if you can stand outside, and let the wind blow on your face. So we began the day with a ferry ride from North Williamsburg to the downtown area of Manhattan. Our only “plan” for the day, was to do a bit of a reccy for our visit to the State Of Liberty later in the week, and to visit the World Trade Centre.
World Trade Centre
Though we didn’t visit the World Trade Centre Museum, we did spend a fair bit of time in the general area of the memorial ponds. It was genuinely touching to see all of the names of those who died, enhanced by the simplicity of the water memorial. It was also really terrific to get a “sense of place” for what happened and to see the new World Trade Centre building.
9/11 Truthers
And there really is some terrific architecture in New York. In the midst of all of the square glass boxes, there are some wonderfully quirky buildings, where the outside facade is warped in some way, as well as the classic art deco style of buildings that you most commonly associate with New York.
Koons Balloon FlowerThere are also so many wonderful bridges. And the walk over the Brooklyn Bridge is truly sublime.
We walked a lot today. A real lot. And so the plan for Saturday night was simple: something to eat, a glass or two of wine, and bed.
Coming back to Brooklyn later in the afternoon, we both had a yearning for pizza. After a bit of “Yelping” and a bit of “Googling”, we settled on dinner at a restaurant called Fornino, not far from where we’re staying. The food was excellent. The waiters were friendly, without being fake. The prices were good. And importantly, the air conditioning was excellent :)
I’m on the Murray’s bus, headed towards Canberra. Just a moment ago, the driver told us we’ll be arriving roughly forty minutes later than scheduled, due to heavy traffic in Sydney. Despite the delay, I love the bus trip to Canberra: I’ve had a brief nap, answered a bunch of emails, and have read some online newspapers. In some ways, the delay is a blessing, as it has given me the time to begin this, my first “proper” blog post for the year.
Even though I’ve been reasonably busy, both work-wise and socially, I’ve been procrastinating with my blog. Lately, I’ve been thinking my life is a little “boring” right now – just go to work, come hone, watch TV, and listen to the radio, with no exciting overseas holidays to reflect on or anticipate – and therefore have had nothing of value to write about. But then, a few days ago, I remembered when I began this blog years ago I would often write about the movies, books, television I’ve been watching etc, and so this year I’ve decided to also share some of the more “ordinary” parts of my life.
Over the last few weeks I’ve been to see some terrific movies. “Three Billboards” is violent, but compelling. You really need to suspend belief for “The Sound Of Water”, but it’s a beautiful journey. And of course, I’ve been to see “The Big Gay Movie” of the year so far, “Call Me By Your Name”. It’s a wonderful story about the summer relationship between two young men. The relationship is complicated by one of them being under eighteen, though there’s not a huge age gap between them. The end of the film is very sad, and I had a few tears.
Season 4 of “Rita” was released on Netflix last week. Although previously, I’ve binged on the Danish program about a non-conformist teacher, I’ve been taking this new season a little more slowly. Friends who’ve watched the whole series have said on Facebook they found themselves “blubbering”. And so I’m anticipating a sad conclusion, and therefore, have been avoiding “the binge”, wanting to hold off and really enjoy every moment of what I assume will be the final series.
I’ve been slowly enjoying the Hillary Clinton biography (as well as being fairly honest, she shows a fair deal of self-awareness), and I’m about half way through Luke Harding’s book about Russian involvement in the US election, “Collusion”. I’m currently listening to and loving “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning”, an older woman’s story of de-cluttering, after the death of her husband. Though the narrator is English, the intonation and the visualisation is taking me on a wonderful trip to Sweden.
There have been a few terrific catch-ups with friends. There was a long lunch at the awesome Chin Chin and drinks at Kinselas with a couple of old school friends; dinner and some jazz, featuring Lily Dior, who performed some of the back catalogue of Sarah Vaughn at 505 Cleveland Steet; and awesome drinks at The Winery with a friend who now lives in Paris, whom I haven’t seen for a couple of years, but who was back in Sydney. In fact, the last time I saw him was in Canberra at the “Australian Of The Year” ceremony, which co-incidentally is why I’m headed to Canberra now.
Since emerging from the induced coma, I’ve been able to reflect on the incredible series of hallucinations I experienced during that period, while under SERIOUS pain medication.
One very amusing hallucination involved me being on the sixth floor of the hospital, where I imagined a fully-fledged television production team working on a documentary about amputations after overseas holidays.
One of my friends, who happens to work in the film industry, lightheartedly offered to handle the release forms for the non-existent documentary. Release forms are the documents required to confirm agreement for appearing in a documentary. Reflecting back, we now chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.
Another hallucination transported me to a hospital that also functioned as an ABC Radio station in regional Victoria. In this alternate reality, a nurse played the dual role of a radio station technician.
Throughout this period, I had other visions where I believed I was moved to different temporary hospital wards around Sydney and told a friend we should make a documentary about the staff. (I actually think we should, but that can wait).
There was also the dream where I was in some kind of open space, and someone was buzzing the door, but no one seemed able to open it. “Can one of you open the freaking door” I said in my dream, and maybe out loud.
And there was the moment where I wanted to call a friend, but didn’t have my mobile, so I asked a young person in the dream if I could use theirs. “Oh no, our generation doesn’t use mobile phones anymore”, she said. Yeah, like definitely an hallucination.
I was absolutely convinced this piece of medical equipment was a 1990s mobile phone and tried to call friends on it.
Some moments were bizarre and disconcerting, like the fear of “my toxic faeces” causing blockage in the hospital toilet system, or the incident where I imagined being held hostage by a nurse threatening to blow up the building
Though the pain relief during my previous operations (appendix and cyst removal) were significant, this period of sustained hallucination was unlike anything I had experienced before. I later attributed the vividness of my hallucinations to external conversations being absorbed into my unconscious state and then magnified, much like when radio chatter seeps into your dreams while sleeping.
For a few days after awakening from the coma, I clung to the belief that some of these hallucinations were real. It took time to reconcile them with reality.
Later, I wondered whether my mobile phone’s location tracker might validate my experience in Victoria. Unfortunately, the phone was switched off at the time, and I couldn’t fact-check the peculiarities of my hallucinations.
Throughout this whole period Michelle (my niece) told me she couldn’t find my mobile phone. I understand why.
I was almost late for the ABBA tribute concert tonight in Sandviken, near Gavle, north of Uppsala in Sweden. As much as I love ABBA, this wasn’t, however, the attraction to move out of Stockholm for a couple of days.
News today from Sweden – the weather forecast for Easter
Rather, I was keen to see one of the participants, Magnus Carlsson. I discovered Magnus when he became a member of Alcazar a few years ago. Aside from “Crying At The Discotheque”, my favourite period in the band’s history was when he was a member. They had great songs and video clips during that time.
After leaving the band, he has released a few singles and a couple of CDs including far too many Christmas CDs, but they’re always quite popular here. I like both of his proper solo CDs very much, though possibly preferring the Swedish language album, as it’s one which has been quite helpful for me in my Swedish language studies: he sings with good diction, making it easier to follow.
I was also interested in seeing a little more of Charlotte Perreli, Sweden’s Eurovision winner in 1999 and contender in 2009, however she called in sick and was replaced by two other singers, including Anna Sahlene (who I really like).
Charlotte Perrelli is sick, replaced by Jessica and Anna
The train from Stockholm to Gavle only takes ninety minutes and, if you choose the right time, can be reasonably cheap.
Trying to book online though is frustrating. Before leaving the hotel this morning I tried unsuccessfully to book a ticket. The system asks you for both a credit card and a phone number. My conclusion at the end of several attempts was the system either doesn’t like one or both if you’re from Australia.
I tweeted about this while waiting for the train and received a few similar frustrated responses. One bloke I know mentioned on one system you could get A and A…. but not Australia. A friend mentioned he was having similar problems trying to book tickets in Italy.
And then I remembered trying a few months back trying to do the same, having the same problem, and finally using the telephone operator system. It’s much easier to go to Central Station and use one of the kiosks I’ve found. You select your route, you put in your credit card, and out pops your ticket.
The train today was quite full. In second class, at least. Lots of American backpackers choosing the cheap option which gets you a ticket, but not necessarily a seat, so there were a few of them sitting in the stairwell.
In stark contrast to central Stockholm where much of the snow and ice has been removed from the roads and footpaths, the countryside between Stockholm and Gavle remains blanketed in snow. As I looked out the window, I felt very Anna Karenina.
Along the way you pass through Arlanda (where the airport is) and Uppsala (not terribly impressive from the railway at least) before finally arriving in Gavle, a town of about 100,000.
Before arriving, I tried to find some useful tourist information about the town, but there wasn’t much to be found. There was mention of a Railway Museum. But mostly the recommendation was to use the town as a point for exploration of the nearby area.
Hotel Gavle isn’t anywhere near as glamorous as the accommodation I’ve been enjoying the last few days. But it’s clean, has a bathroom (no shared facilities), and since I paid for it a few months ago, it’s kinda like having a couple of nights of free accommodation.
I haven’t seen all that much of Gavle. As soon as I arrived mid-afternoon, my main priority was to get to nearby Sandviken for the ABBA tribute concert by the local symphony orchestra.
As you catch the bus between Gavle and Sandviken you get a real sense of the countryside. Even though it’s only 20km by road, you get the sense you are really in a rural part of Sweden. “We’re not in Stockholm anymore, Toto”, I thought to myself at one point.
Unfortunately it’s been a day for losing my sense of direction and any ability to speak Swedish, it seems. Even a simple phrase like “I would like a white wine” (which I used a couple of times) tonight drew blank faces on the locals. Do they speak a different type of Swedish here? Or is my accent too thick to make sense?
So although I made it to Sandviken, I went to the wrong venue. I misread the ticket. Although it was promoted by the Folkhuset, it wasn’t actually there. Feeling a sense of frustration at being totally lost, I went into a local shop. Yes, I think it might have been a video shop. They apparently still exist in these parts. Thankfully, the woman behind the counter was very helpful, and even dialed the right number for a cab into my phone. Hemmakvall – thanks to the woman here who sent me in the right direction and helped calling a local cab
I made the show with just seconds to spare, and boy was I excited since it was ABBA songs sung by one of my favourite singers.
Unfortunately, the bloke next to me, who STANK of alcohol. He also insisted in singing along with just about every song. The passive aggressive soul in me stopped me from saying, “I’ve come all the way from Sydney in Australia, via Stockholm. I’ve paid a lot of money to hear this show. And you think you sing better than Magnus?”.
I refrained from saying this because there was a creepy quality about the guy next to me. He had a SIGNIFICANTLY younger girlfriend (which in most cases is quite okay), but in this case had a kind of “dueling banjos” quality about it. At interval, thankfully, he moved to the row below, leading to a sigh of belief for all of us closeby.
The show was pretty good, though not great. Magnus, of course, was tops. I was particularly impressed with his versions of “Knowing Me, Knowing You” and “When All Is Said And Done”. He also did an excellent version of “On & On & On” and kept the references to picking up men in bars, not changing the gender. Good onya Magnus.
There were times though when you though they may have contracted Frida as their lyrical consultant for the show. Non-ABBA fans may be surprised to learn Frida was notoriously bad for remembering the lyrics and often fluffed them. There were times tonight when the show resembled karaoke, unfortunately.
But hey, they had a couple of last minute stand ins for Charlotte, which Magnus mentioned on at least two occasions. I also think I saw him sigh, somewhat, when one of his co-stars got the words wrong.
It was fascinating, however, to go to a country town and to see a show in an arena like this. Once in a lifetime, eh?
As I walked back to the bus stop in Sandviken I felt an incredible urge to have a wee. If I was in Australia, I would have walked off the road-side, hidden in a bush, and done my business. But in Sandviken there was still a lot of snow, and the trees had no leaves. Thus, I had a wee, for the first time in my life, on a roadside in full-view of traffic. The people of Sandviken will probably never sleep comfortably again.
On arriving back in Gavle, I got lost again. I couldn’t find my hotel, so I wandered aimlessly. Along the way I saw a group of young people in two old American 50s/60s cars, barely roadworthy, driving around town. That was a highlight.
Finally, walking into the Clarion Hotel and asking them for directions, I was soon sent in the right direction.
But not before I had a drink. I mean, it was that kind of day. So I settled down for a glass of white wine in the Absynthe Bar of The Clarion. It was fascinating to watch the locals, and especially to see some Swedes get totally smashed. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen that on this trip. It was also fascinating to watch some small-town goings on. Who’s sleeping with who and all that kind of thing. My lips are sealed.
After so many mixed experiences, it was great to have a couple of glasses of wine after a long, long day.
