“You really must come back to Sweden in the spring or summer”, I wrote to my friend Sue yesterday, attaching a bunch of photographs from my morning walk around Djurgården. Sue came with me to Sweden four years ago, in March, when there was still a lot of snow and ice around. In contrast, the weather is now warm and summer-like.
It was walking around Rosendals Trädgård that I thought of Sue, knowing how much she would really like it. Even though I’ve known about the restaurant/garden/farm for a number of years, I’ve never been here before. But on hearing a podcast last week, I was inspired to make a visit.
It’s not far from one of my favourite places in Stockholm, Waldemarsudde, a beautiful house, turned art gallery/museum which overlooks the water. It was reasonably busy when I visited, with groups of older women, and school-children dominating. With all the school groups around the city, you can tell it’s approaching end of term, with lots of school excursions underway. With the warm weather finally arriving in Stockholm, the gardens at Waldemarsudde are starting to look really beautiful.
I said daffodils, but I meant tulips.
Nearby at Rosendals, there are still lots of empty paddocks, though the compost heaps are tall, and the plants inside the greenhouses look healthy. The food in the cafe/restaurant is also very, very good. Visiting these two wonderful places was a terrific start to the day. And in keeping with the whole theme of the morning around food, I actually saw someone foraging in the nearby forest. It was fascinating to watch her, as she wandered, taking some leaves from a plant, pulling a root vegetable from the ground etc.
Later in the afternoon, I took a walk around Årsta. Though it was my intention to go for an afternoon swim at Erikdalsbadet, I couldn’t be arsed, preferring instead to walk around, enjoy the views and enjoy the sunshine. With the warmer weather, I swear almost everyone in Stockholm must have taken a “sickie” yesterday, as there were people absolutely everywhere.
Finally, at about 4.00pm, I called in to Loopen, a waterfront bar I’ve been to on several occasions, and like very much. Half-way through a glass of rosé, I received a call from Sandra, saying that she and Robert had found a lovely spot in a nearby park, and asked if I wanted to join them. “See you in five”, I told her.
In the evening, we also caught up to see a musician friend of hers perform some fairly avante garde electronica which I enjoyed very much.
Late sping, early summer, whatever you want to call it, it feels good.
Two years ago, I had returned from an overseas holiday with a severe infection that led to the amputation of my lower right leg. To mark the second anniversary, I decided it was time to prove to myself that my travelling days were not over.
I chose China for a number of reasons. A super-cheap travel deal was the main driver, but it was also the appeal of visiting somewhere familiar. I had been to China twice before and felt I knew what I was getting myself in for, at least in terms of the physical challenges.
The decision to join a group tour as a single person, however, weighed heavily on my mind. I didn’t want to be a burden or, worse, a subject of pity. I worried about spoiling their holiday if I fell over—a real concern, as only a few months prior, a fall had resulted in a broken hip and a complete replacement. In the end, I made a pact with myself: I would only go if I felt absolute confidence in my ability to travel independently. Right up until a couple of days before the flight, I still had my doubts.
My prosthetic limb certainly attracted some interest during the trip. On one occasion, an older woman stopped dead in her tracks, pointing at my leg in shock. I just smiled back and offered a platitude about how well it works. In the entire week I spent exploring cities and towns, I was the only visibly noticeable amputee I saw. It reminded me of a trip to a rural town 15 years earlier when I had seen a man without legs begging on a footpath. That’s not to say there are no amputees in China; they just weren’t visible in the same way.
The tour itself presented the challenges I had anticipated. The cobblestone streets and the sheer distances were demanding. On the day we visited Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, our group clocked up 18,000 steps. In amputee terms, you can probably double that for the amount of additional effort involved. The two older women on the tour wisely hired a wheelchair and an assistant for the day, which cost them about $80. They assured me it was worth it, and as I struggled with the distance and the heat, I wondered if I shouldn’t have been so stupidly independent and joined them.
The “yellow” tour group, led by Eric made up with people from Australia and New Zealand
A visit to the Great Wall was always going to be a test. I had climbed it twice before in my youth, scaling the heights with friends. This time, I could only manage a few steps up the steep, cobbled incline. “It’s not so bad,” I told a young man from Tasmania who congratulated me on making it that far. “You see a lot more when you take it slowly.”
Walking on the flat bit of the Great Wall of China
There was only one day when I really struggled. It was raining, making surfaces slippery, and we had to get on and off boats with a distinct lack of handrails. But throughout the trip, the 41-person tour group was a source of incredible support. Members would often offer assistance, not from a place of pity, but genuine kindness. Though I mostly declined with a “thank you, I need to do it myself,” there were a few moments when a helping hand was a welcome relief, and I smiled with a simple, “Thanks, that would be lovely.” They were a great group of people.
A couple of days before heading off, I spotted a “Made in China” rain poncho at Big W. I only used it one, but it sure came in handy on the day it was needed.
This sense of camaraderie culminated on our second-last night. On the bus, one of the participants led an extended chorus of the Slim Dusty song “Duncan,” with personalised verses for everyone on the tour. When my turn came, I told them with a smile, “It’s okay to change ‘he never gets rolling drunk’ to ‘he never gets legless drunk’.” The bus erupted in laughter.
The institutional challenges, however, continued right up to the end. There was a moment, as I waited for the wheelchair to depart from Hangzhou Airport, that I had to laugh at the bureaucracy. Even though I had pre-arranged assistance, there was an added layer of paperwork to fill in and an additional counter to visit.
It’s worth noting that wheelchair assistance in China is nowhere near as common as in Australia. Back home, it’s a regular sight to see people being assisted through airports. In China, while the staff were wonderfully helpful, they did seem a little unprepared for the logistics. On one flight, a single staff member impressively pushed two separate wheelchairs at once. On another, I was initially assigned one person, but two others soon arrived to help. Despite the institutional differences, the support I received was great. During one of these transfers, an attendant politely asked if the man pushing my chair could have a photograph with me. Perhaps I looked like a famous celebrity instead of an old white guy from Australia? Of course, I agreed and, in return, asked for a photo with them as well.
After the delays at Hangzhou, I breezed through customs and security for my flight home. The journey ended with one last, unexpected hurdle upon arrival back at Sydney Airport. I was “randomly” selected for a full quarantine screening, which slowed down the otherwise speedy process. The one upside to this final delay was getting to meet a very diligent sniffer dog named Emma, who gave my bags a thorough, but ultimately approved, inspection.
Though it was a great trip, it’s great to be back home nonetheless. There’s no place like your own bed. The only downside? After a week or so in the northern summer, it’s freezing back in Sydney!!
Post Script
I shared a few of my experiences on the Facebook group, TripaDeal China Family and therse were some of the responses to my observations and tips about travelling with a disability.
“I found the tour amazing with my mobility challenges. Tripadeal contacted the guide company who were happy to accommodate my small lightweight scooter.”
“Love reading about your experience. Everyone seems to be saying the same thing about tour groups helping each other. I’ve booked my first trip for October.”
“Thanks. I’m concerned about being too slow (old army injury can slow me down when I’m getting weary) and hearing this makes me a bit more comfortable!! We leave Monday, cannot wait!!!”
“Thank you for sharing your experience. I also took all assistance I could when we did our trip in 2023. Wheelchairs at Airports, at various attractions etc. I also took a walking stick which could easily be converted into a seat, and therefore was able to sit for short periods instead of standing. Our Guides were fantastic and very helpful, and so were the members of the Group we were travelling with. It is challenging, however, with a bit of planning it is absolutely doable.”
“We both have mobility issues. Hubby took a small fold-up seat and I took a hiking stick. Also, we had excellent members in our group who helped us with our mobility issues like helping me up and down stairs.”
“Hi, what a great post! Practical advice and with a positive can-do attitude. You should do blogs for travellers in the same situation, as some may be afraid to venture out. Well done.”
“I love this post – so glad you got to enjoy China despite your disability. I look forward to reading more of your travels and how you navigate things.”
While I maintained a composed exterior in public, today brought a few moments when I found myself unexpectedly overwhelmed by the emotions accompanying my return to work.
It’s been a span of over four months since I fell seriously ill, narrowly escaping death, enduring the amputation of my lower right leg, and being diagnosed with diabetes. Following several months spent in the hospital and rehabilitation, and more recently, recovering at home, I decided it was time to rejoin the workforce on a part-time basis, with the agreement of my doctors and colleagues.
Since my last stint at the office, a few changes have occurred. We are currently in the midst of a management restructuring process that will continue to influence my role into the next year. Additionally, my workplace has undergone some reconstruction, and I now occupy a completely new office space. Interestingly, this new office is located in a section of the building that I had contributed to rebuilding back in the mid-2000s, and it’s scheduled for refurbishment halfway through the coming year. It never ends :)
Amusingly, and perhaps co-incidentally, this photograph of my first day at school has turned up on my desk at home recently.
As I returned to the office today, I encountered a slew of unfamiliar faces. Some were individuals I had only previously met via computer screens, while others had taken on new roles. Of course, there were also those whom I had known for several years. There were warm embraces and heartfelt gratitude for the support they had offered me during the past few months, particularly the cards, messages, and visits.
Inevitably, there were also colleagues who had departed from the company, either voluntarily or due to the ongoing restructuring.
Despite the seemingly brief four-month hiatus, it felt like an eternity. I discussed the range of emotions I might experience with a colleague, who shared her own experiences of taking time off to have children. Fluctuations in one’s work life are a common occurrence, and various emotions are par for the course. However, my history with the ABC, having worked in different locations and positions since November 1989, has made it an integral part of my life. Returning today, after the tumultuous experiences and emotions of the past few months, was never going to be a straightforward endeavor.
As expected, I needed a couple of breaks today. I took five minutes to close my eyes and relax in my office in the morning, and another twenty minutes later in the afternoon. There were also a couple of occasions where I needed to take my prosthetic leg off, and at the after-work drinks I needed to sit down while my colleagues stood. Besides the physical toll that this year has taken on my body, I believe there were moments of emotional exhaustion as well.
When I arrived home, I found solace in a few hours of much-needed rest.
Group shot of friends and colleagues from ABC Pride
I’m slated to return to work again tomorrow, gradually easing back into a three-day working week until my body is prepared for full-time employment.
As I made my way home on the bus tonight I checked Twitter to see if anyone else had been to see Lily Tomlin and what they thought. I tend to follow a wide ranging group of people – I see as many people tweeting about rugby union matches as I do about Mardi Gras – and so wasn’t expecting to be inundated, but I was expecting to see something. The only comment I saw was from one of the lame-arsed young gay comedians I follow who tweeted something about how her comedy was stuck in the 70s.
Instantly, I had to respond with a comment about how she was both several times the age, and several times as funny as a lot of today’s so-called comedians. I mean, Lily Tomlin is a %^%&*(ing comic legend! And her characters are multi-dimensional, have something to say, and have made a real difference. And they’re funny!
Her best known character, the telephone operator who doesn’t help (yes, long before Little Britain) remained contemporary in tonight’s show as she took on the American health system with a biting commentary. In between these character spots, Lily can be a little eratic. Some things she says – like her comments on gay marriage – seemed to come from nowhere. They were still relevant and funny, but seemingly with little context.
A favourite spot was her Q&A session at the end where she answers written down audience member questions. Her response to the question “have you had sex with Oprah?” was “are you kidding? Gayle would break my back” which got a huge laugh. On stage, aged seventy-one, she remains a power-house: the show goes close to two hours with only a couple of “video breaks”.
“You speak very good Swedish”, the bloke behind the counter said to me, as I purchased 200 grams of mixed “godis”. Godis is the Swedish word for “sweets”, though the word sweets often don’t apply to Swedish confectionery.
“That’s too bitter for me”, someone nearby said, after tasting the licorice. In contrast, I’m a huge fan of licorice (always have been), and I’m not a great fan of “sweet sweets”; I like the Swedish approach to confectionery.
Having had Christmas lunch with friends, it was a welcome sight to see a sign for “Swedish Candy” at the Christmas market in Sydney’s Martin Place. While my friends headed to the light rail, I called over to the stall for https://yumyumcandy.com.au/
Swedish candy for sale in Sydney’s Martin Place
Even though I practice most days, I haven’t spoken Swedish to an actual Swede for a couple of years. After a moment of trepidation, I summoned up the courage to ask “Är du svensk?”. He told me was from Malmö and his partner was from Stockholm. We chatted for a while in what I sometimes describe as “Swedish as it is spoken by 5-year-olds”. It was lovely to connect, and lovely that I could hold a half-decent conversation without having to think too hard about it.
It was all going fine until he said I spoke: “bra Svenska” (good Swedish). Since only about 10 million people in the world speak Swedish, I’ve always thought it was the polite way of saying, “I can’t believe you actually speak Swedish”. Anyway, he seemed like a lovely man, and now that I have details of his online store, I’m bound to be making more purchases.
Swedish candy. I bought 200 grams on Thursday, and it’s all gone.
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.
Even though I typically make it to the Archibald Prize exhibition at the Art Gallery of New South Wales most years, I inexplicably missed it in 2024. I’m not sure why; perhaps I was simply caught up in the ongoing process of my health rehabilitation over the last couple of years.
So, when I saw an advertisement for the Archibald Prize 2024 opening night at the Lismore Regional Gallery, I immediately thought, “Yes, I’ll go!”. Generally each year, the Archibald does a “regional tour” after the city showing. I’m on the gallery’s mailing list and had just been there last week for the flood exhibition opening, so buying a ticket seemed like a no-brainer. Fifty dollars for wine, food, and entry sounded like great fun for a Friday night! My friend Jacki, a school friend from Richmond River High School many years ago, was also in town, so I suggested we go together. We had a wonderful time exploring the exhibition.
One portrait immediately caught my eye: I nudged Jackie and pointed to it, saying, “He’s from Lismore!” Jackie looked surprised. It was a portrait of Craig Foster, the renowned soccer player and human rights advocate. Craig actually went to school here, attending the same school as another famous sports figure, cricketer Adam Gilchrist. Lismore clearly holds a special place for him, and I believe his family lived in town until just last year, though I’m not certain where on the North Coast they might have moved. Seeing Craig Foster’s portrait felt like a wonderful affirmation of the exhibition’s quality and its connection to our local area.
Craig Foster by Julian Meagher in the Archibald Prize 2024
The other portrait that truly resonated with me was that of Ed Lebrocq, the musician and broadcaster, who transitioned a couple of years ago. The portrait powerfully affirms his gender. Having met Ed on a few occasions, I found it particularly moving to see his representation in the exhibition. All the other portraits were, of course, excellent, but these two were the ones I enjoyed the most.
Captured by the official photographer for the night, so maybe we’ll appear in the “social pages” somewhere?
Afterward, Jacki and I headed to the nearby (very cool) Levee Bar for a cheese plate and a glass of wine and more catching up. It was fantastic and buzzing with activity for a Friday night!
I’m happy to visit Stockholm again anytime!
Your friend Sue