We’ve been talking a lot about travel lately. In particular, he’s interested in knowing more about Sweden, as he is considering travel there next year. “I have thousands of tips”, I’ve told him.
My workmate and friend, Tony retired last night, having spent the last twenty-six years presenting Nightlife on ABC Radio. Along with a group of others, I went in to work late last night with champagne and nibbles as he hung up his microphone. It’s not retirement, it’s not farewell, it’s bon voyage.
My final day in Stockholm was a fairly brief one, with a planned afternoon flight back to Sydney. Once again, I woke early to overcast conditions. Yes, the weather’s turned, and so it’s time for me to return. I went out for breakfast, wandered around for a while, paid a visit to one of my favourite photographic spots in Stockholm, returned to the apartment to tidy up and mop the floor, and then it was off to the airport, to return home, hoping the travel gods would smile upon me.
KatarinahissenSlussen under development 2017Swedish newspapers today, mentioned an actor’s “battle with cancer”.
You know when you’re sitting on a plane, and you see people coming down the aisle and you think to yourself “please don’t sit next to me, please let the seat next to me spare?”. I’d already played my own game of “travel bingo” where I check in online, and try to decide which seat is most likely to have a spare seat next to them. If there’s already someone in the window seat, I’ll choose the aisle seat, because no one ever wants to have the seat in the middle. And then I’ll always choose either as far to the front as I can find, or as far to the back, on the basis that people tend towards the middle.
A lot of the time, these made-up rules turn out to be correct. On the first leg of the flight, I’d chosen an aisle seat in the centre three, where someone had already chosen the other aisle seat. “Oh no, it’s a big beefy Kiwi”, I texted a friend, as a man came towards me, wanting to settle in the middle seat. After a short while, it emerged there were some free seats, and so both men actually moved, leaving me with three entire seats to myself. Just as I was about to spread out, a Thai woman asked me (in Swedish) if one of the seats was free. So in the end, it wasn’t so bad, just me and one other person sharing three seats for the first leg of the flight home.
Arriving at Bangkok Airport, with a two-hour layover, I checked into the transit hotel. At about $21 per hour, my first instinct was that was too expensive, as all I wanted was to have a shower. But when I realised, they also had good internet, and an unlimited buffet/bar, I figured it was the best $42 I could have spent. A shower, a change of socks and underwear, a bite to eat, and lots of lovely fruit juice, I was well and truly ready for the second leg of the flight home. Once again, the travel gods were friendly, with just myself, and a young woman from the Czech Republic (on her first big visit to Australia) sharing seats.
Twenty four hours later and I was home, feeling not so bad after all. It was a wonderful trip, which came at just the right time. I start a new job next Monday, and so it was great to take a break, to re-group in my mind, and to visit such a great city. Goodbye Stockholm. See you soon.
Although I toyed with the idea of catching the train from the airport into the city, I settled on a taxi instead. I figured Sydney’s public transport system was sometimes hard enough getting my head around, let alone trying to navigate my way around a city I’d never been to before.
And even though English is an official language, and clearly the language of business, my experience is that although widely spoken, it’s not spoken all that well.
My first experience of this was with the cab driver. I estimate he was about sixty years old, and he told me that he was born and bred in Singapore. “I’m Chinese Singapore”, he told me. He also told me he never goes to “Little India”, the part of Singapore in which I’m staying and that he’d never heard of “Madras Street” before. Even after calling someone and asking for advice, and having me show it to him on the street directory, he still seemed a little confused. “That’s a very old part of Singapore”, he told me, and then asked me why I wanted to go there and not somewhere new. “Because it’s old”, I told him which seemed to leave him absolutely cold, and then I also told him because it was cheap, which seemed to make a lot more sense.
For a while I was beginning to wonder if I’d booked accommodation in somewhere so incredibly dodgy that even the locals didn’t go there. As it was, I was really pleased when I did book in. Although small, the room is clean, reasonably quiet (though there’s obviously a mosque nearby as I’ve heard the call to prayers twice), and the wifi access is fantastic.
It’s also located in what’s possibly the most interesting part of Singapore I’ve seen today. As the name implies, Indian culture is everywhere. And although there’s a backpacker hostel around the corner, I haven’t seen too many caucasian faces. When I walked into a nearby cafe for dinner tonight and ordered the marsala dosai, you could see in the eyes of the bloke behind the counter a sense of genuine interest or curiosity in the arrival of the pasty-faced bloke from Australia.
I had a similar experience earlier today in ordering some food from a nearby food hall. Although we both spoke English, the older woman behind the counter and I just couldn’t understand each other until finally, her son intervened.
After my plate of chicken rice which was exactly as the name implied I went looking for a new camera, as I left mine in the lounge room at home. As it was, I’ve ended up with a significantly better camera than I had at a reasonably good price. As I walked into the mall which specialised in electronic goods, the first shop I saw was one which sold cameras. “Come around the corner”, the bloke said to me when I told him why I was there.
He sat me down on a stool and proceeded to begin to try to sell me a mid-priced Canon. He then showed me a Kodak and I told him I don’t like Kodaks, and that I didn’t think they were as good as Canons. For the next time minutes or so, he demonstrated to me just how good the Kodak was, and to be honest, I was pretty much convinced by that point. I then returned to my arguments about Canon cameras being better, and pointed towards another Canon on the shelf. “That’s a rubbish camera”, he told me, “why would you want to buy that rubbish?”
So anyway, the upshot of it all was that I bought the Kodak at a reduced price, got an extra battery and 2meg card, and despite the hard sell, held my ground and didn’t purchase the additional lens. I’m pretty happy with the purchase, even if I did spend more than I’d planned. And besides there were so many great photographs that I wanted to take, and will take over the next few months.
Visiting Singapore, near their “Southbank” style development.
Little India by night in Singapore
The Cranes of Singapore
Singapore Art Gallery
Modern Singapore
Playing soccer in Singapore
Anglican Cathedral in Singapore
Little India in Singapore
Madras Hotel in Singapore
I covered a fair bit of ground today, walking around “Little India”, “Chinatown” and parts of the CBD.
Not as interesting as “Little India” but still interesting was Chinatown. And it was at a market area there, while ordering a lemon drink that my friend Jacqui called to wish me all the best. It’s also then I discovered I can receive international calls, but can’t make them. Go figure.
The newer parts of Singapore left me enirely cold. It could have been anywhere in the world from what I could see. Architecturally there were times when I actually thought I was in Melbourne. They even have their own “Southbank-like” development. I’m not one of the anti-development crew who think it should be “just like it was”, it’s just that I personally don’t find modern office blocks all that interesting. You know what I mean?
By this time I’d conquered the public transport system and was able to make my way back to “Little India”.
I toyed briefly with the idea of going out for a drink somewhere, but common sense got the better of me, and after dinner decided a night inside with the aircon was probably a better idea.
I’ve got another long flight ahead of me tomorrow. I can’t wait to see what Lufthansa is like. And I can’t wait to use some of my high school German which, thanks to a great teacher, is still strongly with me. With a three hour stop-over at Munich before heading off to Stockholm, I can hear the words already… “Ich mochte ein bier, bitte.”
I went shopping today for a new bike. It’s several years since I’ve owned a bike (never having replaced the one that was stolen about a decade ago).
It is also about a decade since the last time I’ve ridden a bike. The last time, I know for a fact, was on Rottnest Island (near Perth) in 2004. As vehicles aren’t allowed on the island, there’s a good business there for bike hire. It was a terrific way to make my way around the island, stopping occasionally to look at the flora and fauna, and occasionally for a swim.
Before that, I can’t remember, though, of course, I’ve been riding bikes all my life.
Although I have a vague memory of little bike with training wheels, my first “proper” bike was a Malvern Star bike I received for Christmas. I can’t recall if it was 74 or 75, but by the looks of the photograph I was about eight or nine years old.
Backyard, Lismore c. 1975
I remember falling off that bike, once, and into one of mum’s rose bushes. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
I also remember riding that bike to school and almost swallowing a sparrow. I’m one of those people who likes to sing. And so, as I made my way along to school, a sparrow flew into my open mouth. I spat it out, of course.
I don’t know whatever happened to that bike. After my mum and dad died, my uncle and grandmother continued to live in the house until they died. I suspect a fair few of my things were thrown out.
Years later, living in Wagga I bought a bike which served me well for a few years in Sydney.
Sadly, the bike was stolen over a decade ago and I never bothered to replace it.
But for the last couple of years I’ve been thinking of purchasing a new bike.
My Balcony, 2014
“Don’t worry, I won’t be mountain-biking or going in 100km races”, I told the bloke in the shop today. “I just want a bike to ride around on the weekends from time to time. A little bit of exercise, a ride around the park, that kind of thing”, I added.
After some discussion about what was important to me in terms of quality, weight, price and so on, we settled on a Malvern Star. So yeah, back to where I started with the classic Australian brand.
I was a little wobbly at first, but got my balance back pretty quickly. Having not ridden a bike in close to a decade, I worked up a bit of a sweat as I rode back from Newtown.
I also discovered why Surry Hills is called Surry HILLS :)
Off to a fiftieth birthday party soon around the corner – I think I’ll walk.
“I’m sorry sir, the lounge is closed. Can you please make your way to the Business Lounge on the left”, were the words which brought a smile to my face earlier today at Sydney Airport. I hadn’t planned to fly on Christmas Day; in fact, I hadn’t planned on coming home for Christmas. But I made a last minute decision, and here I am, sending you greetings from Lismore. The “upgrade” was a very pleasant surprise, especially since I was flying with the discount airline, Jetstar.
The flight to Ballina/Byron was close to full. “So that’s where everyone in Sydney has gone?”, I thought to myself. As is common at this time of the year, my suburb of Surry Hills is like a ghost town. As I wandered around the neighbourhood late yesterday (for some last minute Christmas shopping), the only other people around seemed to be groups of tourists (with Irish and French accents dominating). At my local pub there were more staff than customers! Only the local servo and a coffee shop were open this morning. Good coffee on Christmas Day – now that’s something that I’m not used to.
For me, Christmas has always either been with family in Lismore or with friends in Sydney. The only odd occasion was in 1989 when I was living and working in Bourke in western NSW. I worked in the morning, and then at about lunchtime began the long drive to Lismore. It was going to be about ten hours by my estimate, across dirt roads, and across the Great Dividing Range.
What I hadn’t counted on was a sudden heavy rain storm which turned the black soil plains of the outback into a sticky mess. Half way between Bourke and Brewarrina, and too far from either town to make it to either for safety, I found myself literally stuck in the mud. This was, of course, in the days before mobile phones, and so after making a few “deals with God”, I walked to the nearest property, explained my situation, and spent Christmas night with some friendly folk. They recognised me from the radio station.
Another couple of nights followed staying at a hotel in Brewarrina, before I was finally able to rescue my car, and make my way to Lismore via a much longer route.
“Do you remember that Christmas when you got bogged. You had mud in the car when you arrived”, Pat reminded me last night. “As if I could ever forget it”, I replied.
It wouldn’t happen now, of course, as the road is now bitumen all the way. And these days I never drive home. I always fly.
But the memory of that fateful Christmas came flooding back, with a big storm hitting the North Coast on my arrival back in Lismore. Or to be precise, for us, driving back from Ballina to Lismore, around Wollongbar. The storm lasted several hours, included some light hail, and saw us lose power only briefly.
Late tonight, in bed, with the sound of rain on the roof, it’s nice to be home.
I had to be at work this morning at about 7.30 to head out to the Royal Easter Show. I woke, of course, just after the alarm on my mobile phone went off at 6am. I only pressed the snooze button once and was up and ready for the world at about 6.15. Feeling good about life, I got up and went for a walk around the block, before returning home for a shower at about 7am. At about 7.20, I put a call in to my colleague June to tell her I’d be there in about 15 minutes, ahead of going out to Homebush. No answer. That’s odd, I thought, but I just assumed she must have been busy.
On getting into a cab I looked at the time on the clock. It was 8.30am. “I think you need to re-set your clock, mate, it’s the wrong time”, I said. To which he replied, “No no it’s right”. At that point I showed him my mobile phone with the time still clearly 7.30am. I then got on to June who also told me it was 8.30am, though another colleague Tim also insisted it was 7.30am. When it was clear to me it wasn’t, I rang Tim, urgently telling him we were bothan hour late.
Clearly both Tim and I were victims of the modern technological era. We both rely on our mobile phones as alarm clocks. And while the cleverness of our mobile phones acknowledged the whole world was changing back to regular standard time (and changed accordingly), they hadn’t realised in NSW our time change doesn’t happen for a further week.
In chatting to an older bloke – he would have been about 60 years old – he told me his son called him this morning asking him “dad what time is it?”. Clearly he was in the same boat and it wouldn’t surprise me if there were many other people who were late for work today. Early adopters and younger Australians beware – don’t rely too heavily on modern technology.
Anyway, it was a fun day at the Royal Easter Show, even if it was more work than pleasure today. With just a limited amount of time to wander and enjoy, I concentrated on my favourite exhibits – livestock and produce.
After walking around for a while I looked back at my mobile phone. In changing the time zone to accommodate the daylight saving time situation, some of calendar information (synched with Outlook and Google) is now inaccurate – shit – shit – shit, but at least I’ll be able to get up on time tomorrow. I hope.
As a long time fan of Frida, aka Anni-Frid Lyngstad or “the dark one” from ABBA, I was really excited when I heard news of the release of this DVD to co-incide with her 60th birthday. I bought it a couple of months ago, watched it from start to finish, and have come back to it on many occasions since then, so I thought it worth writing about.
She’s living mostly in Zermatt in Switzerland, these days, and chose the Matterhorn as the backdrop for a series of reminiscences about her life and career over the past forty years (or so).
And so the DVD chronicles her life and career before, during and after ABBA, ending with a rather wonderful piece about her life now, in which she explains she no longer has an interest in music or performance, choosing to spend her days with friends, enjoying the wondrous Swiss landscape.
As a simple chronology, the DVD goes from reminiscence in front of the mountain, often with an amusing anecdote, to a (usually) high quality piece from the archive. Although many of them I’d seen before, there were also many others I’d never seen.
Frida – The DVD
Although she is sometimes identified as having been a “jazz singer” prior to ABBA, she makes it clear she wasn’t, that she sang “ever greens” and “schlagers” (big blustering Swedish pop songs). And for that reason it was fascinating to see footage from a Swedish television program where she sang classics like “Mad About The Boy” and “My Man”. Although her English language diction is sometimes a little wanting, she sings with a great deal of passion and beauty.
As she reminisces about her work, you clearly get the impression she’s largely happy with the career choices, and musical selections she made, at one point confessing that she never really had a career plan, that it all just happened.
She speaks with fondness about her days with ABBA, but makes it clear that it was also a long time ago, and that she feels that part of her life probably ended with the 30th anniversary of Waterloo a couple of years ago. Mind you, there’s also a lovely anecdote she tells of her step-daughter quite co-incidentally sitting by a pool in Spain next to Agnetha.
By the end of the video (three hours) you are given a sense of a really very beautiful person who has had to deal with some terrible personal tragedies but who has made it through happy and content. The tragedies include the death of her mother when she was two (her father was a German soldier in Norway during World War II and she was born with all of the associated baggage), and the recent deaths of her daughter (in a car accident) and her husband (from cancer). She also also speaks about being “rootless” (a bad translation) meaning she has had to continually find new roots in her life with a degree of wisdom, without any real hint of regret. Mind you, although she mentions some aspects of her private life – the divorces, the death of her husband, her close friends now – she doesn’t mention her early upbringing in any detail (the issue with her father), nor the death of her daughter.
But now, living in Switzerland and hanging out with a small group of friends – we are introduced to Urs and Heinz two obviously gay men – she seems genuinely happy with her life, which is a good thing to be at age 60.
This is really a video for fans only, tho I suspect a shortened version could be of some interest to a wider audience.
