I have been dealing today with a government agency requiring photo ID for an older family member, impacted by the disaster in Lismore. He’s now too old for a driver’s licence and has never been overseas, so he has no passport. To get a replacement birth certificate, he requires a photo id. To get a photo id, he requires a birth certificate. Yes Minister.
I have explained to them he lost EVERYTHING in the flood. There’s NOTHING left. It’s now up to the manager to decide if they can accept the application without a photo ID.
Should I explain this is the only photo ID we have?
There have been a few moments of frustration over the last few weeks, dealing with bureaucracy in both the public and private sectors.
Memorably, I have spoken with a couple of agencies who told me I should “go into their branch in Lismore”. “But you have no branch in Lismore”, I’ve told them. “Apparently we’ve set up a temporary branch” they’ve told me, on checking the computer. “No, that was washed away in the second flood”, I’ve replied.
Others have been awesome. For example, I spoke yesterday with someone from Lismore City Council about getting a copy of a rates notice, also washed away in the flood. We need this to apply for some government support. The person on the phone was wonderful and provided some advice about how we might need to deal with things in the future.
Lismore floods have taught me power of attorney is one thing, but also important is to be able to speak on behalf of older family members before that’s required. This is especially the case with technology-based companies like phones/internet, where it’s ASSUMED everyone has everything online and doesn’t still live in a world of paper.
Despite these setbacks, there have been some moments of joy.
I LOVE some recently unearthed photographs of Gloria from the early-mid 60s. Likely before/around the time I was born. South Lismore.
Gloria washing her feet in the tubs at 21 Kyogle Street. A packet of Rinso is nearby. Can you still buy Rinso?
And it was awesome to see today this has won the Archibald Prize. Lismore artist, Karla Dickens, as painted by Blak Douglas. Both are wonderful artists, and great to see Lismore getting a mention again. Friends commented (dark humour) that the flood waters were much deeper
I just saw Adam/Blak on ABC TV, and he said the leaking buckets were about artists losing income to galleries, curators etc.
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.”
“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.
Tap House Hotel
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.
A touch of Sweden at The Tap House with a wall stencil
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.
A few years ago a former colleague and I joked (on Twitter) about how much we both loved election nights. The sense of drama. The winners. The losers. “I could watch an Estonian election and, without knowing the language, still enjoy it”, I recall her saying. Although she’s been tweeting about the Scottish referendum, she’s been noticeably quiet on the Swedish election which, in contrast, I’ve been following closely. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I spent quite a few hours yesterday watching SVT’s coverage of this year’s Swedish election, the first time I’ve done so.
While in Australia, we go through the ritual of a seat by seat analysis of the results as they come in, the Swedes make one big announcement at a predetermined time. In Australia, we have to sit through the agony of phrases such as “it’s just a handful of votes from a couple of small booths”. But in Sweden, they literally have a “countdown” where all of the results are revealed at once. A clock “ticks down” on the television screen to the “big reveal”. “The results are in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…” Seeing the results revealed in this manner was like watching “Big Brother”. There were cameras at all of the venues where the party faithful had gathered. Applause at some; tears at others.
Swedish Election coverage on SVT, as they count down to the results.These are the results.
But even then, the results weren’t clear. Yes, the Red-Green Alliance had gained the highest number of votes, but not enough to control the parliament. Remember Australia 2010? The anti-immigration party, the Swedish Democrats with over 10% (now a day later, almost 13% of the vote) seemed to have the balance of power. But that doesn’t mean they will have such a role, if the Red-Green Alliance can attract the Centre Party or the Liberal Party (members of the Right Wing Alliance) to join them to form a majority in parliament. On top of that, all of the parties can in theory put forward their own budgets which can be voted on. It’s the kind of uncertainty the Australian media and political types on Twitter would abhore. We like our politics “black and white” in Australia. Left and right. Good and bad.
The political parties in Sweden, aside from the Swedish Democrats and the Left Party (a remnant of the former Communist Party), all tend toward the centre. Indeed, most of the parties would appear to be on the “left” in an Australian context. The former centre-right government had about 50% representation of women in cabinet, as an example of how switched on the Swedes are, compared to just one female member of cabinet in Australia’s centre-right government.
The Swedes also have a “women’s party”, the Feminist Initiative which has been heavily bankrolled by Benny Andersson from ABBA.
In an Australian context, you might say the Swedes have voted out the “right wing of the ALP” and have installed the “left wing of the ALP”.
My friend Kate and I went to the fortieth anniversary drinks for the Copyright Agency.
I hadn’t realised until both Brian Johns and Thomas Keneally spoke about the history of the organisation: that it all came from the fact in the early 70s in Australia universities were allowing students to photocopy books, but were not willing to compensate the authors for potential lost sales.
Forty years later, there’s the added complexity of electronic publishing. But despite this, the agency now collects millions of dollars of revenue each year which, in turn, goes back to the authors, which is a good thing.
The drinks were awfully good fun and I even got to meet someone I know from my online life, but had never met in real life. That was a really lovely and surprising part of the night. It was also great they had a cartoonist there, who did a really great cartoon of Kate and I.
In the midst of all the posters on Götgatan (the main street of Södermalm) promoting concerts, festivals, comedy nights, and dance clubs, there was one I saw the other week which really stood out. In contrast to the all the other posters which were very “busy”, this poster portrayed a single image of twenty-something woman (a woman living with a disability) dressed beautifully and holding flowers.
As I was heading off to Turkey in a day or two, I didn’t have the time or attention to find out more, and so I snapped and image and made a mental note to re-visit this.
In my post-Turkey days back in Stockholm, I was determined to find out more about the exhibition. A bit of Google-ing revealed the poster was there to promote an exhibition of photographs by Stefan Bremer currently showing at the Finnish Institute in Stockholm>
The associated publicity explains…
Duva/Diva is a photographic collection created by DuvTeatern in co-operation with photographer Stefan Bremer, Blue Flamenco School of Dance, costume designer Paula Varis and graphic designer Maria Appelgren. The photographs are inspired by the beauty and glamour of the world of the opera, the proud and sensual flamenco dance, the dramatic story of Carmen and the roles developed by the performers in Carmen, Bird of Prey – a variation of Bizet’s opera Carmen. Carmen, Bird of Prey premiered in January 2011 and was a co-production between DuvTeatern, Finnish National Opera and Blue Flamenco School of Dance.
Ever since its establishment DuvTeatern has challenged common conventions and conceptions of theatre by raising such questions as who has the right to be on stage and who is a real actor. The encounter with the world of the opera and its professional singers further highlighted these themes and enabled both performers and spectators to reconsider our notions of professionalism, self-esteem and beauty. For what is beauty? Who is worthy of admiration? And, finally, who is the true Diva?
The realisation of this series of photographs was made possible thanks to the sincere commitment of the eight actors of DuvTeatern and the four dancers of the Blue Flamenco School of Dance. This publication is a tribute to them: to their dedicated, creative and ambitious approach towards their work as actors and dancers.
There’s about twenty or thirty photographs in the exhibition, and they’re all absolutely compelling. In some exhibitions where there’s a lot of similarity in the style of imagery, you can find yourself browsing the works, walking quickly from one to the next. That wasn’t the case with this exhibition. As the works were all very personal, I felt compelled to spend time with each of them, and to look closely into the eyes of the people portrayed.
There’s also a video of the actual theatrical production, and so you get a sense of what that was like also.
If you’re in Stockholm over the next few weeks, I’d highly recommend this beautiful exhibition.
Everything is going smoothly so far. I’d pre-purchased my ticket for the Arlanda Express, which is a dedicated high-speed rail link that whisks you from the airport into Stockholm Central Station in just 18 minutes. It hits speeds of up to 200 km/h, but the best part for me was the accessibility; it offers level boarding from the platform, which makes life much easier. The airport wheelchair assistance was also excellent—the wheelchair assistant took me all the way to the platform.
Aside from a minor detour—there are two Radisson hotels next to Central Station and I naturally picked the wrong one first—it’s been a breeze. It’s cold, certainly, but hardly a blizzard. I’m actually still wearing my shorts. Tomorrow is forecast to be sunny.
The $50 Doctor
I’m flying with Norse Atlantic Airways, a relatively new low-cost carrier that has stepped into the gap left by other budget long-haul airlines. They operate a modern fleet of Boeing 787 Dreamliners, offering a “no-frills” experience where you pay a low base fare and then add on everything else—from meals to seat selection—as extra. I bought the ticket well aware of these limitations, but the price for a return trip between Bangkok and Stockholm was too good to pass up.
While boarding my flight in Bangkok, I overheard a classic budget airline exchange. “Could I get a seat in the exit row?” a woman asked the flight attendant. “That will be $50,” came the reply. “Even if the seat is free? And I’m a doctor,” she added, hoping for a professional courtesy. “That’s still $50,” came the reply.
“It’s half the price of flying with Thai Airways,” a man remarked to me as we boarded. He’s Swedish but has a Thai wife; they split their retirement years between both countries. At 70, he’s been retired for a decade after running a printing business. He was returning to Sweden to check on his house on an island in the archipelago. He mentioned he also helps out his older neighbours by “emptying out their shit buckets”—apparently a common logistical challenge for island dwellers.
Conversations and Cultural Clues
One thing about having an amputation is that it’s often a natural conversation starter. He noticed my Australian passport and asked what happened. Realising we could have a laugh, I gave him my usual lines: I sometimes tell people it was a shark, or that I lost it fighting as a soldier in the Middle East.
I’d estimate about half the passengers were Swedish. In the middle of winter, they flock to Thailand to escape the gloom. You can always spot the returning Swedes at Bangkok Airport—they’re the ones with the deep, two-week tans. I remember once seeing a woman take off her sunglasses to reveal stark white circles where her tan hadn’t reached.
The In-flight Experience
Months ago, in a moment of sensible foresight, I’d pre-ordered a diabetic meal: grilled fish with steamed vegetables. It was actually quite good, even if the toasted sandwiches smelled tempting.
The in-flight menu is priced in US dollars. A ham and cheese toastie will set you back about $10.50, with small meals around $13.00. They also sell a lot of “travel tech” merchandise, like luggage trackers and Bluetooth connectors for headphones. Not that those were useful today—an email last night warned us the in-flight entertainment system was broken.
While the Swedish couple next to me were quite concerned, it didn’t bother me. I’d brought my Chromebook tablet, packed with about a dozen of my all-time favourite films for precisely this reason. I revisited some absolute classics like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Brokeback Mountain. There is something about the isolation of a long-haul flight that makes those heavy, emotional dramas hit even harder. I also have Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (fitting for a Stockholm arrival) ready to go.
I also started watching A Single Man, where Colin Firth plays an academic in the 1960s dealing with the hidden grief of losing his partner. I remember sobbing out loud the first time I saw it. Within fifteen minutes today, I started to tear up again, so I decided to save the rest for the flight home.
The crew were lovely—a truly international mix with a Swedish captain, an American customer service lead, and French-speaking cabin crew. I had one flight attendant speak to me in Swedish, and I was able to respond accordingly The plane felt modern and well-maintained, despite the tech glitch.
The flight from Bangkok to Stockholm takes roughly 12 hours and 40 minutes. We left the lunchtime heat of Thailand and touched down in mid-evening, sub-zero Stockholm.
Interestingly, the security officer seemed baffled as to why an Australian would be coming to Sweden at this time of year. #rollseyes
My Swedish friends also can’t understand why I’d visit now rather than in the height of summer. I understand their perspective, but for me, the snow and ice are the main draw. It’s been ten years since I last saw a proper winter. There are risks, of course—falling is a bigger concern now as an amputee—but the beauty of the landscape far outweighs the downsides.
My friends back home seem to be in a panic about the weather on my behalf, but I’m exactly where I want to be.
Like this:
LikeLoading…
Related
5 Comments
I think agencies expect an older person to have an advocate for them who can deal with form filling and tech matters. But what if they don’t have such a person? I’d like to think bureaucracy would step up to the crease and help the helpless person. Am I being naïve?
There have been times when I’ve found the help stuff challenging, and I know my way around computers and bureaucracy. Other people don’t have much support. I know there’s lots of help for people in Lismore at the recovery centre. But even so, there’s lots of help you may not know existed.
James, great title question but presumably rhetorical as you could find out the answer as easily as the rest of us. So (with difficulty) I am resisting the temptation to provide the answer, though it did send me down a rabbit hole about brands of laundry detergent.
Like toothpaste, they differ very little. The technical term is “market segmentation.” In other words, still trying not to answer your question, it doesn’t really matter if you can buy “Rinso” or not.
I think agencies expect an older person to have an advocate for them who can deal with form filling and tech matters. But what if they don’t have such a person? I’d like to think bureaucracy would step up to the crease and help the helpless person. Am I being naïve?
There have been times when I’ve found the help stuff challenging, and I know my way around computers and bureaucracy. Other people don’t have much support. I know there’s lots of help for people in Lismore at the recovery centre. But even so, there’s lots of help you may not know existed.
James, great title question but presumably rhetorical as you could find out the answer as easily as the rest of us. So (with difficulty) I am resisting the temptation to provide the answer, though it did send me down a rabbit hole about brands of laundry detergent.
Like toothpaste, they differ very little. The technical term is “market segmentation.” In other words, still trying not to answer your question, it doesn’t really matter if you can buy “Rinso” or not.
Hehehehe
Update, with persistence, we got the necessary paperwork.