tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58223541148197864102024-03-05T15:10:50.712-08:00Helen OchyraAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-78975056271498426432013-10-04T06:24:00.003-07:002013-10-04T06:28:44.031-07:00Shutdown in Washington DC<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9DM7T-5Xsd-1wsMonS0lPJRX4MnwDT7vfNArWxU-xJHVSoUPzsC96lk7m6nFWHV-jXA2LrqvSeTfq__WUBxnmyHQZ2ySLqDbqpLztDVtavloixWUknG06nFFx-Ru60SljXYqgn6qXN4/s1600/IMG_3320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9DM7T-5Xsd-1wsMonS0lPJRX4MnwDT7vfNArWxU-xJHVSoUPzsC96lk7m6nFWHV-jXA2LrqvSeTfq__WUBxnmyHQZ2ySLqDbqpLztDVtavloixWUknG06nFFx-Ru60SljXYqgn6qXN4/s320/IMG_3320.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Today the streets of
Washington DC are quiet. Temporary metal fences have been pulled across the
entrances to museums and monuments and hastily laminated signs hang at an
angle: “Because of the federal government shutdown, this facility is closed.” With
all but the most essential US government staff sent home, attractions across
the city (and the country) have had to close their doors to visitors. </span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The majority of
Washington’s museums are operated by the<a href="http://www.si.edu/" target="_blank"> Smithsonian Institution</a>, a
government-run organisation. On a normal day this is good news – it means the museums
are free. But today it is bad news – because every last one of them is closed.
Want to visit the National Museum of American History? You can’t. Want to see
the Declaration of Independence? Tough. Want to pay your respects to World War
II veterans? Sorry.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Today, walking along
the Mall, heart of the world’s largest museum complex, is like exploring a film
set. Apart from the odd lone jogger, there isn’t a person in sight. Leaves
tumble along empty pavements and even the refreshment kiosks are closed. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I head instead to 9<sup>th</sup>
Street and take a seat at the counter of <a href="http://www.lincolnswaffleshop.com/" target="_blank">Lincoln’s Waffle Shop</a>. The <a href="http://www.fordstheatre.org/" target="_blank">FordTheater</a> across the street (where Lincoln was shot) has closed its doors and
disappointed tourists who haven’t yet heard the news wander up and then away
again. People stop to take pictures of the signs on their mobile phones. Even
the waffle house is quieter than normal; though on the upside, with the markets
running scared those waffles are slightly cheaper than they were a few days
ago.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But all is not lost.
The solution for visitors lies just a few steps away, at the <a href="http://www.spymuseum.org/" target="_blank">International SpyMuseum</a>, and in the <a href="http://www.newseum.org/" target="_blank">Newseum</a>. These privately operated museums continue to open
as normal and there are plenty of them to explore. Visitors can also still
enjoy the exteriors of the city’s buildings – the White House, the Capitol, the
Washington Memorial. The architecture of these attractions is perhaps their
most impressive feature anyway – and that is one thing that cannot be shutdown. </span><br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-83750292869995503842013-08-29T06:01:00.002-07:002013-08-29T06:01:47.285-07:00New Miner's Route at Wieliczka Salt Mine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Room for one more” I
am told as I am gently nudged into what looks to me like an
already-full-to-capacity lift. The doors are pulled across behind me with much
scraping of metal and we move up – by about five metres. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This will happen twice
more before we can finally descend the 57 metres into Wieliczka salt mine. This
is so that we can load more people into the lift’s other levels, packing us in
quite literally on top of each other. It is hot, cramped and uncomfortable – I
feel like I am getting an insight into the life of a miner already, just a few
minutes into my three-hour tour. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is the new
Miner’s Route, and it starts with this descent by lift down the oldest existing
mine shaft to be found here, the Regis shaft. The lift is not completely enclosed
and so I watch the shaft’s walls rushing past as we descend at a speed of four
metres a second. By the time we reach the bottom, just 15 seconds later, I am
completely disorientated – and very glad of our guide. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He leads us along
tunnels only just tall enough to avoid bashing our hard hats on the ceilings
and points out the wooden beams holding it all in place. At various points on
the walls and particularly in the joints of the wood we see cauliflower-like
deposits of salt – it feels like salt is seeping out of every one of the
earth’s pores here. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But the most
remarkable thing is the size of the tunnel network. Just 1% of the mine is open
to visitors and yet we walk for hours, clambering up ladders and marching down
endless flights of stairs. There is chamber after chamber to explore. We see
the remnants of the so-called “Hungarian dog” transport system, a simple wooden
cart pulled along runners in the ground, and are taught everything from how to
measure the methane levels in the air to how to use a pickaxe to dislodge salt
from the walls. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We really start to
feel like the novice miners we have been cast as, trudging along in our grey
boiler suits, and I must be doing something right because I am picked out to
navigate our way back to the lift. I am handed a map of the mine and that
feeling of disorientation immediately returns, there are tunnels in every
direction, looping off and circling back on several different levels. I turn
the map this way and that and eventually identify a couple of landmarks. A few
minutes later we arrive at our final destination – a modern lift back up and
out into the sunlight. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We have reached a
depth of 101 metres but there are still hundreds of metres below us, not to
mention another 240-odd kilometres of tunnels we haven’t even set foot in. This
is a truly vast mine. We may have hacked off a chunk of it with a pickaxe on
this tour, but we have barely scratched the surface. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="http://www.wieliczka-saltmine.com/" target="_blank">Wieliczka Salt Mine</a> is
located just outside <a href="http://visit-cracow.com/" target="_blank">Krakow</a>, in the south of <a href="http://www.poland.travel/en-gb/" target="_blank">Poland</a>. The Miner’s Route tour
costs 76 zloty (about £15) </span></i></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-9792747377347443572013-08-25T08:00:00.000-07:002013-08-29T06:02:38.200-07:00The Edinburgh Festival<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</style> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Colourful flyers are
being thrust at me from all directions. My phone is beeping with a reminder
that it is time to see a show (what I have no idea). I have a sandwich in one
hand, a bottle of water in the other and frankly, my feet hurt. I am standing –
not even walking now – on the Royal Mile and I am going to have to admit that I
am lost. This is the <a href="http://www.edinburghfestivals.co.uk/" target="_blank">Edinburgh Festival</a> and it has completely overwhelmed me.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I am not easily
overwhelmed. I deal well with the frenetic, am not afraid of choice and tend to
operate at a pace few others can keep up with. But it turns out that the
festival is not something to “keep up with”. Grand plans to see everything,
stick to a schedule, attend every recommended show, all go out of the window as
soon as you step out of your hotel – and don’t even think about picking up that
phonebook-thick programme. </span></span> </span></span></span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKmHMe0pJROq2t2sgV16Z25LnJH2h1jBd_NAHgSRdjdn2OVPgw9D_kPsuncaFTOwCVVqmFzHVo7Xp7zMm742WuikJgVeIf90ZRSKfMmR7ip23J_TsMNZxBhuV5vlIuc7fDMyGlP6eAaw/s1600/IMG_0495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKmHMe0pJROq2t2sgV16Z25LnJH2h1jBd_NAHgSRdjdn2OVPgw9D_kPsuncaFTOwCVVqmFzHVo7Xp7zMm742WuikJgVeIf90ZRSKfMmR7ip23J_TsMNZxBhuV5vlIuc7fDMyGlP6eAaw/s400/IMG_0495.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There is just so, so
much of it. Because this is not just one festival, but a collection of several.
My main focus is the <a href="https://www.edfringe.com/" target="_blank">Festival Fringe</a> but zoning in on this does not narrow things
down – because the Fringe is the largest arts festival in the world. There is
music, comedy, theatre, cabaret, dance and everything in between. There are
hundreds of venues, thousands of performers and what feels like millions of
spectators.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Time to calm down. I
step off the street into a basement where a comedy show is promising free cake.
And suddenly I get it – I need to let the festival take control. So that’s
exactly what I do. I stay on for the next show, partly because it is half price
as I’m already here, and partly because it sounds fun. I duck into random shows
when it starts to rain, choose what to see based on being in the right place at
the right time, and start talking to those flyer distributors. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It is fabulous. I
discover that the <a href="https://www.edbookfest.co.uk/" target="_blank">Book Festival</a> on Charlotte Square is an excellent retreat
from the melee and has great coffee. I sit knee to knee with strangers to hear
<a href="http://www.benchampion.co.uk/Ben_Champion_Comedy_Songs/Home.html" target="_blank">Ben Champion</a>’s hilarious <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkorOOWwnN8" target="_blank">Autocorrect</a> song and am challenged to confront
society’s prejudice of those with so-called “special needs” at <a href="http://rialina.com/" target="_blank">Rai Lina</a>’s
<a href="https://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/thpethial" target="_blank">Thpethial</a>. I even find a love of Scottish folk music – complete with bagpipes,
fiddle, guitar, flute and traditional dance – at <a href="http://breabach.com/" target="_blank">Breabach</a>’s fantastic Assembly
Rooms show. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No, I didn’t see
everything I thought I would. And no, I didn’t end up seeing anything I
actually took a flyer for. But I did see a man squeeze himself through a tennis
racket – and I did have a fabulous time. I will definitely be back next year.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><u><span style="font-size: small;"><b>STAY:</b></span></u></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="http://www.tunehotels.com/my/en/our-hotels/haymarket-edinburgh/" target="_blank">Tune</a> has small but
perfectly formed budget rooms with double beds, power showers and fast wifi.
Located opposite Haymarket station it is on a direct line into Waverley station
and is just 20 minutes walk from the Royal Mile and Princes Street. </span></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-42358358750828219932012-03-26T07:19:00.003-07:002012-03-26T07:26:03.653-07:00New and improved: Kensington Palace reopens<a href="http://www.hrp.org.uk/KensingtonPalace/">Kensington Palace</a> used to hide behind hedges and trees, tucking itself away as if embarrassed to be hogging so much valuable central-London parkland. But not any more. As of today (March 26,2012) the palace reopens to the public after a £12 million renovation, proudly announcing itself with a grand new entrance. There’s no missing this royal home now, its 17th-century, red-brick frontage is clearly visible across sharply cut lawns and wide expanses of welcoming pathway.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGZpn4one6f24kw3AfQMTV1iXsByDoeuUG3YD4oGkggXhaREaUL6T-cDcbDWMBHEmi-PYrlpUQV0ZK80xDxKCHoDU07indR3ppwujJ_BbXbwNgPGvHFnN20ijBEtWJX9iDkZWKDqfugE/s1600/IMG_5593_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGZpn4one6f24kw3AfQMTV1iXsByDoeuUG3YD4oGkggXhaREaUL6T-cDcbDWMBHEmi-PYrlpUQV0ZK80xDxKCHoDU07indR3ppwujJ_BbXbwNgPGvHFnN20ijBEtWJX9iDkZWKDqfugE/s320/IMG_5593_small.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And it’s all change inside too. The palace is now divided into four separate “routes”, each one focused on a different part of the building’s royal history.<br />
Take the King’s route and you’ll find yourself climbing the magnificent Kings staircase to enter the state apartments. Many of the rooms seen here were used for entertaining, and performance company Coney – who have been integral to the palace’s redevelopment – have designed a game for visitors to see if they can make their way through court and reach the King. This taps into the social climbing scene of Georgian London and is designed to help visitors to understand the stories the Palace has been the backdrop to over the years – although it is rendered somewhat unnecessary by the sheer grandeur of the rooms themselves, which had me goggle-eyed as I craned by neck to view the intricate ceilings. <br />
<br />
The Queen’s route features even more of Coney’s interactive, installation-style interpretation and at times this feels a little laboured. Again the rooms themselves have much of interest to offer, and the interactive approach can become a little tiresome. There are whispering columns all over the place and visitors simply seeking a seat can find themselves jumping up again in surprise as disembodied voices take their ear.<br />
<br />
Some of the additions are poignant though, with the dining room a particularly emotive spot. Here Coney have introduced 18 little wooden chairs, each one representing one of Queen Anne’s lost children. It is difficult to see this forest of tiny seats and not feel the impact of this one family’s neverending loss and it is this personal approach to the royal family that is sure to have visitors enthralled.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68YH6WZR9opGjecYkoAbeJFrNgjJ2XD-f9NRFdSzSFu6kfineJwAE2-1u-7ZuAHhzR4tcheiBOo0g3WXPq7fk1Nux8D8RR7vZrpmendr8Rl_XHHXxqYV-I2UW6UuCkIqX1jRpdErvLKg/s1600/IMG_5616_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68YH6WZR9opGjecYkoAbeJFrNgjJ2XD-f9NRFdSzSFu6kfineJwAE2-1u-7ZuAHhzR4tcheiBOo0g3WXPq7fk1Nux8D8RR7vZrpmendr8Rl_XHHXxqYV-I2UW6UuCkIqX1jRpdErvLKg/s320/IMG_5616_small.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Each of the four routes leads back to the Hub, where you’ll find a luminous lace sculpture by Loop.pH, which for me was reminiscent of the redesigned Kings Cross. This does not detract from its beauty though and it’s easy to see how this web of light has improved this incredibly dark central space.<br />
<br />
From here the Victoria route leads into the Victoria Revealed exhibition which continues the palace’s new personal theme by attempting to uncover the life of Victoria and show her as being more than the large, scowling woman so many people think of her as. Each room has a theme and the one dedicated to her relationship with Albert is particularly moving, with quotes from love letters they wrote emblazoned on everything from the walls to the carpet. Her stunning ivory wedding dress is on display here too – the first time it has been for over a decade. <br />
<br />
Further rooms show her childhood toys, her attitude to her work and the impact of her grief when her mother and Albert died in quick succession. Artefacts on display include a teething ring from the royal nursery, sketches Victoria and Albert made of each other during their first year of marriage and Victoria’s set of watercolours, all of which add up to create a picture of the monarch’s daily life.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the most striking room however remains the Red Saloon, where the 18-year-old Queen held her very first Privy Council. The room has been painstakingly and beautifully restored and evocative details such as moving shadows on the walls and yet more quotes scrawled on the (reproduction) table bring the gravity of this location home.<br />
<br />
The final route is, inevitably, Diana, and leads into a display of five of her dresses, three of which have never been displayed in the UK before. It is a small collection but anyone interested in fashion will appreciate the importance and elegance of these dresses, and fans of the Princess are sure to flock here for a close-up look at some of her most well-known outfits. The fact that this area is self-contained also means that there’s no need to wait until the end of the tour if this is really what you’ve come to see.<br />
<br />
And that is the beauty of the Palace’s new design. Not only is the whole place more immediately welcoming thanks to its new entrance, it is also much more visitor friendly as you explore. Whoever you are interested in and whichever period in history you most want to explore there is something for you here. Just be careful where you sit!<br />
<br />
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VITAL STATS<br />
Adult tickets cost £14.50 or £13.50 when booked in advance online. Children under 16 can visit for free. The gift shop and café can be visited without paying the entrance fee.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-89717600054307864902012-03-26T07:17:00.002-07:002012-03-26T07:25:05.867-07:00Real wizardry: the new Harry Potter London attraction“You may never look at Quidditch the same way again.” This is Daniel Radcliffe’s (aka Harry Potter’s) parting shot as he and his on-screen classmates Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley) and Emma Watson (Hermione Granger) introduce visitors to the <a href="http://www.wbstudiotour.co.uk/">Making of Harry Potter studio tour</a>.<br />
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This brand-new attraction in the outer reaches of London’s northwest claims to uncover the secrets of the most commercially successful film series ever produced. Nothing on display here has been specially created for the tour – a Universal theme park this is not. <br />
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But just because you won’t find thrill rides here doesn’t mean that there’s nothing thrilling to see – and the start of the tour has that air of theatricality we have all come to expect from the theme parks. After the short introductory film the cinema screen disappears to reveal the door to Hogwarts’ Great Hall and passing through these famous doors is genuinely dramatic. The set was one of the first to be completed, as well as one of the largest, and the actors hadn’t seen it until they began filming – meaning that Radcliffe’s jaw-drop expression in the Philosopher’s Stone is as real the solid York stone on the floor beneath your feet.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2od2UjOS8ZkbKx-L6zBvK_cEWagU8QFO3V8bZfYLNmETPm6FddWr8CngvbNjuwOwvC1cJz1W0XXJOP3bx914r1aEgc_KGGzbCoLbGNk0f318Nw_2YcNhyphenhyphenqJdVw1eOHSgIWuAhQEzW-yk/s1600/IMG_5646_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2od2UjOS8ZkbKx-L6zBvK_cEWagU8QFO3V8bZfYLNmETPm6FddWr8CngvbNjuwOwvC1cJz1W0XXJOP3bx914r1aEgc_KGGzbCoLbGNk0f318Nw_2YcNhyphenhyphenqJdVw1eOHSgIWuAhQEzW-yk/s320/IMG_5646_small.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Around the hall you’ll find robes belonging to characters from each of the four houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin) and Harry Potter’s first ever set of robes are pointed out by staff and duly photographed by excitable fans. You can spend as much time in here as you like and any ardent fan is sure to find it hard to move on, imagining not only the scenes played out in here from the films but also the parties the cast and crew have held in here over the years.<br />
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It has to be said that the Great Hall is the high point of the tour, but that is not to suggest that the rest is not engaging – or, dare I say it, even magical. The sets on display include the Wesley’s “Burrow”, Dumbledore’s office, the Potions classroom and Hagrid’s hut, and you can see everything from the sorting hat to the door of Gringott’s vault. A display of wands shows clearly how each character was waving around an entirely different (and character-specific) wand and highlights the level of detail which runs throughout all of the films.<br />
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And that is what is most enthralling here. Seeing the sets and props of a much-loved film can often be something of a disappointment, as you discover unpainted plywood hiding in the corners and unfinished props meant to be seen only from one angle. But Harry Potter is different – everything created for these films was lovingly produced as if at any moment the whole place would come to life and a bunch of actual witches and wizards would require it all to be pressed into service. Some 17,000 wand boxes were individually crafted and handpainted for the scenes filmed in Ollivanders wand shop, yet only a couple were seen and even then only for a few seconds. They were then blown up by the special effects department (so can’t be seen here). In Dumbledore’s office there are 48 portraits on the walls, each one of which was painted twice, once with the character awake and once with them asleep, and switched over for night scenes accordingly.<br />
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Seeing the sets and props here means seeing them for longer than you will have done on-screen and this is one of the joys of a visit. In the Creature Shop you can see the Monster Book of Monsters snapping its fang-like teeth and wonder at the lifelike appearance of models of characters including Hagrid and Dobby the House Elf, while outside you can climb aboard the Knight Bus and sit in the flying Ford Anglia. In Diagon Alley you can gaze into the windows of Ollivanders and Wesleys Wizard Wheezes and through the magic of interactive touchscreens the interior sets area offers the chance to explore the Marauder’s Map.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL85vRpPv_9cLJvnui8o7NyMMjVgWeW4FLqTGvYOjcl72JL1i9eUuPLIV7RCEDBN3Fzv4-NNNwnLxGrfWqOWdn8MhJmYpNQNL4TpnnQNwAP1eHSExJ_E_szKVCnixQ8OOs8V73QKWcDYU/s1600/IMG_5723_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL85vRpPv_9cLJvnui8o7NyMMjVgWeW4FLqTGvYOjcl72JL1i9eUuPLIV7RCEDBN3Fzv4-NNNwnLxGrfWqOWdn8MhJmYpNQNL4TpnnQNwAP1eHSExJ_E_szKVCnixQ8OOs8V73QKWcDYU/s320/IMG_5723_small.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Although at times the tour feels very museum-like, with displays featuring quotes from crew and information about production issues (such as the challenge of making the films before the books were even finished), this is also a family attraction and there is plenty for the kids to enjoy. At the Burrow a series of mounted wands can be used to control props inside the set so visitors can chop carrots or knit a scarf (although one of these was already broken when I visited), and there are passport stamps to collect and hidden snitches to find.<br />
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The tour’s most theme park-like component is the Disneyesque “Quidditch Photo Experience”, an opportunity to sit on a moving broomstick in Hogwarts robes and have your picture taken against a computer-generated backdrop. This is sure to attract those eager for a souvenir but at £12 a photo it smacks of money-making and, to me, felt like an unnecessary intrusion – especially when everything else here is marketed as “authentic”.<br />
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The tour ends on a high note though, with the final room being home to one of the film’s most impressive props – a model of Hogwarts castle. There is little that can prepare you for the truly stunning craftsmanship and the sheer amount of hard graft that has gone into creating this striking model and emotive piped-in music makes this an emotional experience for many a fan.<br />
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This is all the better to prepare you for the inevitable, the exit through the gift shop. But ignore the sweets that give little change from a tenner and Dumbledore’s £500 robes (yes, really) and spend your time in the wand room instead. Here you’ll find wand boxes printed with the names of every person involved in the films, from JK Rowling to the runner; a sight which really brings home just how much was involved in creating these much-loved films. And that’s the real magic.<br />
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VITAL STATS<br />
The Warner Bros. Studio Tour London – the Making of Harry Potter opens on March 31. Adult tickets cost £28, children’s tickets are £21 and under 5s go free. Audio guides cost £4.95 and are available in English and eight other languages. The nearest station is Watford Junction, from which shuttle buses depart every 30 minutes. Tickets cost £2 per person return.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-59600901874222880622012-03-02T13:15:00.000-08:002012-03-02T13:15:26.507-08:00Rain stops playWhen travelling in the UK you expect to change course due to the weather. You pack umbrellas, waterproof trousers, endless coats. You plan for having to retreat indoors at short notice. And you simply assume that at some point it will rain.<br />
Not so in Australia. Travelling here generally requires just a few casual outfits, a decent line in swimwear and lashings of sun cream. You expect to be warm, if not mind-bendingly hot, for the entirety of your trip, and my god, do you expect sunshine.<br />
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Yesterday at Uluru it was (at best) 20 degrees and raining. I left Sydney first thing on a flight that should have taken a little under three hours. Six and a half hours later, and after an aborted landing at Uluru and a brief diversion to Alice Springs where we sat on the tarmac and gazed glumly out of the windows, we finally landed at Ayers Rock airport.<br />
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I had missed my afternoon’s tour to Mount Connor, a place I will in all likelihood now never see. I had been basically in transit for three days. And I had a hangover. It is fair to say that my mood was not a sunny one.<br />
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But then I realised something. I was going to see Uluru in a light that people rarely do. Every picture I’ve ever seen of the sandstone monolith has shown it bathed in sunlight, and emanating the beautiful red glow we all think is a constant feature of the outback. But every so often – and just for a day or two – the rock is clad in swirling grey clouds. Yesterday Uluru appeared and disappeared on the horizon like a mysterious spaceship. I would look out of my hotel room window to see it brooding under a blanket of swirling mist, turn my attention away for a minute or two, and turn back to see just a corner of the rock peering out moodily from behind a darkening fug. I also saw rain like I’ve never experienced anywhere else, pouring out of the sky like marbles and thundering onto every surface with a noise I kept thinking must surely be thunder. I felt marooned in my hotel room and went to bed so early it was practically still light.<br />
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But I am lucky – I can come back. My itinerary has been changed and today I fly up to Darwin. Yes, it means I’ll take 12 flights in as many days and yes, I’m exhausted and just a little fed up. But so many of the people who will share my flight out of here today have missed what they thought they came to see. They may appreciate having seen an iconic place in a different light, but they are more likely desperately disappointed that the sunset was obscured by apocalyptic rain, the usually dazzling night sky blotted out by endless cloud cover.<br />
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We have seen, yet again, that mother nature is always and unfailingly in control. Travel plans will shift thanks to unexpected rain, an ill wind or sudden changes in temperature, the weather will unpick the very best laid plans – and even in Australia you might just need an umbrella.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-75762719470639251302011-09-05T04:04:00.000-07:002011-09-05T04:09:09.155-07:00Bistro du Vin comes to the West EndIs there anything in life better than a well-cooked steak? For me it is the pinnacle of foodie achievement and I make it my business to check out the choice cuts on each and every menu I find myself in possession of. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQ2PlcOB_KbJO-1UlEgH5ZnE-7v5Aj32UdIW9hsVJttOctqiCoQXStQ3muzF1P3Mudd-PcRQujZ75CfH5_bSdN-YUJh7A2W_hBOb8lmAfGx9Pewnf28w16XbN1j8w1DtJBKoq5VP0UMI/s1600/Bistro+du+Vin+Soho+dining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQ2PlcOB_KbJO-1UlEgH5ZnE-7v5Aj32UdIW9hsVJttOctqiCoQXStQ3muzF1P3Mudd-PcRQujZ75CfH5_bSdN-YUJh7A2W_hBOb8lmAfGx9Pewnf28w16XbN1j8w1DtJBKoq5VP0UMI/s400/Bistro+du+Vin+Soho+dining.jpg" /></a></div>Which brings me to Bistro du Vin, Soho. The latest outpost from the popular Hotel du Vin group is only the second to open in London (the first was in Clerkenwell) and is a welcome addition to the West End’s food scene for anyone who enjoys fine but unfussy food washed down with something grape. <br />
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The atmosphere here is buzzy and unpretentious with the sort of décor I like to think of as stylish-rustic: plenty of wood paneling, neutral coffee-palette tones and simple modern lighting. Service is informal; you won’t find hushed tones and nose-in-the-air waiters here, instead you’ll get attentive, friendly staff and help with the book-length wine list. <br />
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Having visited the du Vins numerous times I knew I wanted steak and built my dinner around this, asking sommelier Romain for something to match the fillet. He suggested the Domaine de Fondrèche Fayard 2009, a meaty blend of Grenache, syrah, Mourvèdre and Carignan, which went tooth-smackingly well with the beef and is something I would almost certainly not have chosen myself (I’m a new world aficionado, it has to be said). <br />
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I started with the artisan cheese and charcuterie plate which was almost impossible to resist after a quick nose around the Cave au Fromage: a climate-controlled cheese room stacked with more varieties of artisan cheese than your average delicatessen. Served on a wooden board this was the perfect, light choice for pre-steak sustenance, leaving me ready for the hunk of beef to follow.<br />
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As ever, the steak was cooked to perfection and as juicy and melt-in-the-mouth as rare fillet should be. The chips were just the right side of salty and the sides I ordered rendered unnecessary by the sheer size of the portions. <br />
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I had just enough room to finish with more cheese, allowing me the chance to try even more varieties from the fabulous cave.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-20452846511508649642011-08-08T12:29:00.001-07:002011-08-08T12:29:50.373-07:00Enfield riots: the aftermath<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;">Last night, Enfield was trending on Twitter.<br />
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As people across the globe wondered why and struggled to place us on a map, I sat in my living room, just metres away from hundreds of criminals smashing up my home town and attacking the police sent to protect it. I slept to the sound of helicopter rotors and riot van sirens.<br />
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This morning I woke to a sinking feeling and an itch to get out there and survey the damage as yet more sirens blared. This is what I saw.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heavy traffic on Windmill Hill and Chase Side as Church Street remains closed to all vehicles</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least seven riot vans remain in Enfield town and Church Street is closed to cars and pedestrians. One policeman said: "we can't let you through. There's broken glass and blood all along here."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztAsj_WcgT_X3Ppv2EWIfDxjANyEVOfSIZVGQOjSJvetD8Vjw6X6sKqnpxJ6Z7S4FyRjKkoFWXOFMuq0HkyOPwO3pj5HLT9-s8tiN_vJpqtqKTyehGzHJuNNXcesUJSJieSzmNoSp9-w/s1600/IMG_0687.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztAsj_WcgT_X3Ppv2EWIfDxjANyEVOfSIZVGQOjSJvetD8Vjw6X6sKqnpxJ6Z7S4FyRjKkoFWXOFMuq0HkyOPwO3pj5HLT9-s8tiN_vJpqtqKTyehGzHJuNNXcesUJSJieSzmNoSp9-w/s400/IMG_0687.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is as close as onlookers can get to the now infamous HMV store on Church Street, epicentre of last night's looting.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-KL6rck7iPrzhyx1Uwo42Y7UBnjmr4QYdR53EFPT27kUuWuSIKccVM3QjBZ0hLTMKJ_diyVnTyEBRuSqeXhmziK_JiHsCp5miYddW1i3u7UWIElfXc5TtnWUOcgtEv-cQu_YyMDcdXA/s1600/IMG_0685.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-KL6rck7iPrzhyx1Uwo42Y7UBnjmr4QYdR53EFPT27kUuWuSIKccVM3QjBZ0hLTMKJ_diyVnTyEBRuSqeXhmziK_JiHsCp5miYddW1i3u7UWIElfXc5TtnWUOcgtEv-cQu_YyMDcdXA/s400/IMG_0685.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most shops and businesses on Church Street are closed today. One onlooker said: "it's eerie. Like a film set."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHahg3qIwDdWM6hNvRbBTiPR-KQ6XM8FPkK8xCyISfm2RNCv9t8jLPcYQ6huJHS87O-F12zRhDvurlGxpOgGYFDiiH-TIwTEABAM_Fnd0zNXGIInog0ZbTJSezq5g3F7eBGpOfPTYg8yk/s1600/IMG_0684.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHahg3qIwDdWM6hNvRbBTiPR-KQ6XM8FPkK8xCyISfm2RNCv9t8jLPcYQ6huJHS87O-F12zRhDvurlGxpOgGYFDiiH-TIwTEABAM_Fnd0zNXGIInog0ZbTJSezq5g3F7eBGpOfPTYg8yk/s400/IMG_0684.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But some businesses remain open, including local cafe Papadelli and KFC. Many are full of local people discussing the riots in disbelief. Most just want to go about their daily business, but can't.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2nWWfpFQnDgvkvJMkY0lrB5pHjffURCtaUAvzptVjwlXnwNG-DQAp02nrb6cTjoS2KuT8VfOYMQJRf7fNeWCzPfNY4iLaqyyXHAyo7JAUqlq12GDogvYAzv_QelGKHl3EP2z_J_lbU8/s1600/IMG_0690.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2nWWfpFQnDgvkvJMkY0lrB5pHjffURCtaUAvzptVjwlXnwNG-DQAp02nrb6cTjoS2KuT8VfOYMQJRf7fNeWCzPfNY4iLaqyyXHAyo7JAUqlq12GDogvYAzv_QelGKHl3EP2z_J_lbU8/s400/IMG_0690.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local residents congregate around the police lines and there's a palpable sense of shock. "Nothing like this ever happens here", said one long-time Enfield resident. Behind us a gate slammed shut. Everybody jumped.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezFSuLjUSkgZfUSQb5XGeN0h3MsQqLbD-3iAqwXCSbSdl0dfFEKnE5huKhHWSne0JTuiHm8WkpV-liKAgDSlV966HnDNoI_pJLAiV4j-77eQn6bNgJ8v8w0kCiBfM-Lgz5AJKB9e56bU/s1600/IMG_0691.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezFSuLjUSkgZfUSQb5XGeN0h3MsQqLbD-3iAqwXCSbSdl0dfFEKnE5huKhHWSne0JTuiHm8WkpV-liKAgDSlV966HnDNoI_pJLAiV4j-77eQn6bNgJ8v8w0kCiBfM-Lgz5AJKB9e56bU/s400/IMG_0691.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Post Office is closed, along with most businesses between Nationwide and Barclays bank on Church Street. Local people gather nearby with envelopes and paperwork. "I can't get to the bank" one elderly lady said to me in exasperation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4vJwIIXPx7As5Ym6iw6vabPb_IaKbLhINKzdkxRTQdA93vSSL-swn53z_v3eNrt1lOEPITNJFMfyWfiZ3feR8-yelBVlIPRftGO28kqATI-44ESSx8bUOVQb6fqtgngFcpa4JBuOTsI/s1600/IMG_0693.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4vJwIIXPx7As5Ym6iw6vabPb_IaKbLhINKzdkxRTQdA93vSSL-swn53z_v3eNrt1lOEPITNJFMfyWfiZ3feR8-yelBVlIPRftGO28kqATI-44ESSx8bUOVQb6fqtgngFcpa4JBuOTsI/s400/IMG_0693.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The burnt out car on Little Park Gardens is still attracting attention but is a lone testament to the destruction. No other non-police cars appear to have been damaged.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBpaCv42QGUfnmz0SJAQnBxKs9yeMJuTes232Nr3CgvU2fVE5kNssRNvc8W17miBj_ap1Cvqmiup1Xtuk45ASeFypL8TPq_fO6KJfO7C0i3iDZSzmd8O32IDtmz4yDZpXOWEjLCZoS0I/s1600/IMG_0696.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBpaCv42QGUfnmz0SJAQnBxKs9yeMJuTes232Nr3CgvU2fVE5kNssRNvc8W17miBj_ap1Cvqmiup1Xtuk45ASeFypL8TPq_fO6KJfO7C0i3iDZSzmd8O32IDtmz4yDZpXOWEjLCZoS0I/s400/IMG_0696.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A burnt-out wheelie bin in the marketplace. No other fire damage is evident in town.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzctCghI__XrxiVSNahOOhbCPs1jo6me_lvlGMBaVhciI3xz3ziWRt2ZGSzRbl5Rx-p_xDXaq8PmfMWRITBkYVHbTSHZi-VJtL5GS6yB4ZgFMzLWd5MJEqLxrTVwe5ggX-OS0fo3849lY/s1600/IMG_0698.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzctCghI__XrxiVSNahOOhbCPs1jo6me_lvlGMBaVhciI3xz3ziWRt2ZGSzRbl5Rx-p_xDXaq8PmfMWRITBkYVHbTSHZi-VJtL5GS6yB4ZgFMzLWd5MJEqLxrTVwe5ggX-OS0fo3849lY/s400/IMG_0698.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shopping precinct will be closed all day. One angry would-be shopper said: "that's £1.20 in parking wasted then." Information is evidently still limited if people think they can shop here today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCcLVXAAn198JI8UoBkMvJ6YFc_I8gMBZ51Pxu18WzFGfA9hgjth9ofTMYizRRarbIX1VK5MBaZhfWgbF29h84LqEzG3P5_GE_wokdhvcibXB7OWuEFw4r6Q30BLAFZjZago9A2sjLsk/s1600/IMG_0704.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCcLVXAAn198JI8UoBkMvJ6YFc_I8gMBZ51Pxu18WzFGfA9hgjth9ofTMYizRRarbIX1VK5MBaZhfWgbF29h84LqEzG3P5_GE_wokdhvcibXB7OWuEFw4r6Q30BLAFZjZago9A2sjLsk/s400/IMG_0704.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite widely reported rumours Nando's was not damaged. One local teen said: "I knew they wouldn't have hit Nandos. Everybody needs Nandos, man."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIfKmL-gjdwLzdwf-VPEiQ2uqjSFTcEf0u4c_GgEPqqvahdCAa2s5MWjMyBCXCoZwY_H1apSbsVH5w7Y42j_eWuflWXxnkhzTNl4Vj77hxTO-pubanfzc-OlqnlKmMA1HP6IJfmKiXgE/s1600/IMG_0700.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIfKmL-gjdwLzdwf-VPEiQ2uqjSFTcEf0u4c_GgEPqqvahdCAa2s5MWjMyBCXCoZwY_H1apSbsVH5w7Y42j_eWuflWXxnkhzTNl4Vj77hxTO-pubanfzc-OlqnlKmMA1HP6IJfmKiXgE/s400/IMG_0700.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enfield is largely closed for business. One four-year-old said: "it's sad today, mummy, isn't it."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9usSy5QABmtk5wNAaFN5vP7vUo8X6bkhX06wjzLhuSYLH2RaJhItLBoGmFmPY_nDvkXb_sFEX_pv3Lkw-m9Tnb90DrlutTwDFRatUQz7MHQ7QdLC_T883_cHDLXEbOHqFcOv63uSjGDU/s1600/IMG_0711.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9usSy5QABmtk5wNAaFN5vP7vUo8X6bkhX06wjzLhuSYLH2RaJhItLBoGmFmPY_nDvkXb_sFEX_pv3Lkw-m9Tnb90DrlutTwDFRatUQz7MHQ7QdLC_T883_cHDLXEbOHqFcOv63uSjGDU/s400/IMG_0711.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The jewellers which bore the brunt of the looting last night and the neighbouring betting shop are a sorry sight today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsxFukUEnSFzGrDSNqzxm2uqSTsztx4FEpCe8Unw5edzaH-y35YAEF3LEjCTI5QllPTi-vN8rj_BoLMctQWws8p6EUkPTG6Zr198udssuQTvNnXkmvQ610gKBJ9zI00aWxcI69Xe6j5s/s1600/IMG_0714.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsxFukUEnSFzGrDSNqzxm2uqSTsztx4FEpCe8Unw5edzaH-y35YAEF3LEjCTI5QllPTi-vN8rj_BoLMctQWws8p6EUkPTG6Zr198udssuQTvNnXkmvQ610gKBJ9zI00aWxcI69Xe6j5s/s400/IMG_0714.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local department store Pearsons has one shattered window, but the displays inside are untouched. A damaged police car remains parked outside. Opposite, and to one local teen's relief: "Macdonald's is alright. They didn't get Macdonalds."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6tPU1aagRFxlk5Z3NJbb-9UxAfRPOQl3e7yAeYE-rTgQg2eog6DN7FtBhd17A-YUltVK54BxOEsAfV_St42-KNrorCJHiKzHMH8WEAbi9JR5Vv2Z80JJuIR9fRXLurNAwUg91RTplc0/s1600/IMG_0715.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6tPU1aagRFxlk5Z3NJbb-9UxAfRPOQl3e7yAeYE-rTgQg2eog6DN7FtBhd17A-YUltVK54BxOEsAfV_St42-KNrorCJHiKzHMH8WEAbi9JR5Vv2Z80JJuIR9fRXLurNAwUg91RTplc0/s400/IMG_0715.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The job for Enfield's police is very different today from yesterday. This officer is being asked if the shops behind him are open. There's a real lack of understanding about the situation from some people.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_m_d7Btkv11rHPfaFfEOMCPACFaFTl_DhSchy1Fxm6gVYhAp4sp0r2fosTDHZ9alW_0nteCzOQe1IHKz5SP66dea_j7dAqkjyA4Qyg16BZDdktdZI78egraf93GnlZjBrAlaVFMN5tzw/s1600/IMG_0717.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_m_d7Btkv11rHPfaFfEOMCPACFaFTl_DhSchy1Fxm6gVYhAp4sp0r2fosTDHZ9alW_0nteCzOQe1IHKz5SP66dea_j7dAqkjyA4Qyg16BZDdktdZI78egraf93GnlZjBrAlaVFMN5tzw/s400/IMG_0717.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kings Head in Enfield's marketplace is open for business, but was deserted apart from one lone drinker at the bar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SAEMkzJdyP0IMiqvqcSFcfSMsGpRdh4HuN7YX_rvsaFCcPBWPVujiwHtCsMRSuX11hw6TzKxPVQuUVqrDz41OaqIfgHMJa8ySt5w87kW_b6RDza_KMCyWiiBzLAV_JzOU7jVPUXsLBo/s1600/IMG_0718.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SAEMkzJdyP0IMiqvqcSFcfSMsGpRdh4HuN7YX_rvsaFCcPBWPVujiwHtCsMRSuX11hw6TzKxPVQuUVqrDz41OaqIfgHMJa8ySt5w87kW_b6RDza_KMCyWiiBzLAV_JzOU7jVPUXsLBo/s400/IMG_0718.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meanwhile, across the street, people gather in the window seats of pub The George to keep an eye on what's going on in town. Nothing much is, but the sense of community is strong. People are keen to talk to one another today and I have numerous unprovoked conversations.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-TSugwMdygEYwWC0J_EeQen7FZd8xopWKIIVbvRsmie7AvR40dDQrGl0EPNej_td7YRJAi_K-zZvenazLFPJJuqqVdlppre44AVLCs-Y2nY5KW3wxrzWJSjAZ6S5hmRuSBkU1pvM2HM/s1600/IMG_0720.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-TSugwMdygEYwWC0J_EeQen7FZd8xopWKIIVbvRsmie7AvR40dDQrGl0EPNej_td7YRJAi_K-zZvenazLFPJJuqqVdlppre44AVLCs-Y2nY5KW3wxrzWJSjAZ6S5hmRuSBkU1pvM2HM/s400/IMG_0720.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trains from Enfield Town station are said to be running to a normal schedule, although earlier this morning no services were running, forcing local commuters to use Enfield Chase station (which is unaffected) instead.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VQGFK8gJr06L6yqGOBiDt8bsecocQxdHcBRcGp0exL7whMzOlTqSgL16QNeYFchGq8eQ7Zk58cIxc0sPe4kCkNiAvUxsqwd6S5ZzUYGtApLVk_OxPpkxvLX7GSF3RUIWp4C3eo2gNZg/s1600/IMG_0724.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VQGFK8gJr06L6yqGOBiDt8bsecocQxdHcBRcGp0exL7whMzOlTqSgL16QNeYFchGq8eQ7Zk58cIxc0sPe4kCkNiAvUxsqwd6S5ZzUYGtApLVk_OxPpkxvLX7GSF3RUIWp4C3eo2gNZg/s400/IMG_0724.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colman Parade was particularly badly hit last night and some businesses remain closed today. This chemist was particularly badly damaged, as the owner remained inside.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2oFLrexg9B_pzY1BcxoA7pVr9CQXYb-oYB7gdqKj1FuF7JKRmIc41hwfwzpCAPhkv2o84YfVf8eSy3keeGh86OoH2UI3DbFvl6GBYqrn06JE7uen_lHUooWXj2MyDcq-c9XvkTVK9Qo/s1600/IMG_0726.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2oFLrexg9B_pzY1BcxoA7pVr9CQXYb-oYB7gdqKj1FuF7JKRmIc41hwfwzpCAPhkv2o84YfVf8eSy3keeGh86OoH2UI3DbFvl6GBYqrn06JE7uen_lHUooWXj2MyDcq-c9XvkTVK9Qo/s400/IMG_0726.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bar Ten on Silver Street (which is currently closed to all vehicles) is optimistic that tomorrow will be a better day. But with no repairs to broken windows currently underway, will it be any different from today?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_XlM4ZYpzjNbEIiZklw0jm2Jkct9WivSLRXfUSdaHg7iHjGU2hMP6xD9uGGnPBxiUL0_pfq1NlW4GrPZXnovQ9y5vBNHoWMqHJHmITE2CK_Eho1clwiwWPNCCqx9UkwFj7I92qbyvX0/s1600/IMG_0730.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_XlM4ZYpzjNbEIiZklw0jm2Jkct9WivSLRXfUSdaHg7iHjGU2hMP6xD9uGGnPBxiUL0_pfq1NlW4GrPZXnovQ9y5vBNHoWMqHJHmITE2CK_Eho1clwiwWPNCCqx9UkwFj7I92qbyvX0/s400/IMG_0730.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The car park on Church Lane was looted for bricks last night and the abandoned weapons now litter the street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bZdnVpj8M_kXGm8F2NpMAkF_Gy0Kb8_XqWCVpprMtygqP4kdFc1Prs6bOoHYbhCzJZfwSQ2uKzHySggzjUkAsiHtGS_2nJ6-jKlKWb6zl2xOJBC_w4U6gW-cUAJw9IjYTIOdp2efV-Q/s1600/IMG_0731.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bZdnVpj8M_kXGm8F2NpMAkF_Gy0Kb8_XqWCVpprMtygqP4kdFc1Prs6bOoHYbhCzJZfwSQ2uKzHySggzjUkAsiHtGS_2nJ6-jKlKWb6zl2xOJBC_w4U6gW-cUAJw9IjYTIOdp2efV-Q/s400/IMG_0731.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walls around town were broken down for bricks to use as weapons. One local resident said, with audible lump in throat: "it's all smashed up."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7AAfkqBF1-9EMF2BwWcRGri8NUARS0N1_OMcKcTmwwIOWG4IqQyybbJyJeS5TPS3bML64fnmnAENgGIshuD5oVClBTVABNgbFFnrTJZh6Pb9ZEKLFoGE6ZUFbjvh3g7LPV0zzknRUSU/s1600/IMG_0737.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7AAfkqBF1-9EMF2BwWcRGri8NUARS0N1_OMcKcTmwwIOWG4IqQyybbJyJeS5TPS3bML64fnmnAENgGIshuD5oVClBTVABNgbFFnrTJZh6Pb9ZEKLFoGE6ZUFbjvh3g7LPV0zzknRUSU/s400/IMG_0737.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least seven riot vans remain in Enfield this lunchtime and, at my guess, at least 100 police. Mostly they are giving directions and information to confused residents and visitors. But what will they be doing later? As the day goes on, this is a question running through many minds. Is it over yet?</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-77731220702115506102011-06-21T11:14:00.000-07:002011-06-21T11:14:52.946-07:00A real sea change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've always been scared of the sea. Not of flying over it, dipping a sandy flip flop in it or looking wistfully at it from restaurant terraces you understand, but being in it. Specifically being in it and in among all those slippery sea creatures and terrifying dark shapes which always turn out to be clumps of seaweed and not the imagined jellyfish/shark/seasnake.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ73WzTtlNId6CMSput6NAApuIqgddfAEuO4HvNxs9aUaW4lchtGdOsYCAxoIYYLax5M5qWTHe3YCFHOuylZBaWToiMxzqtyP3wL9N919wBZynVTs20_GPlJ5Rf9U7ilPf9RhXNunfjl8/s1600/IMG_0592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ73WzTtlNId6CMSput6NAApuIqgddfAEuO4HvNxs9aUaW4lchtGdOsYCAxoIYYLax5M5qWTHe3YCFHOuylZBaWToiMxzqtyP3wL9N919wBZynVTs20_GPlJ5Rf9U7ilPf9RhXNunfjl8/s400/IMG_0592.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch at the Wishing Arch, near Portrush</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So it may surprise you to learn that I loved sea kayaking. For the past two days I've been bobbing about on the ever-cold Atlantic Oceans off the coast of Northern Ireland in a plastic boat and when asked that immortal question journalists always get asked by the people hosting them – namely "did you enjoy it?" – for once I didn't have to smile painfully and lie.<br />
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Of course I do a lot of things for work that I wouldn't elect to do on my own travels – ice climbing, cycling, surfing in February – and, being someone who hates getting cold, wet and unattractive, often find my positive journalist self struggling against my lily-livered would-rather-curl-up-with-a-book self. But today was different. Today I discovered a love of the sea.<br />
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This is largely because, as it turns out, travelling by kayak is without doubt the best way to see the coast. And what a coast it is. The UK should be scream-from-the-rooftops proud of its diverse, endlessly fascinating and stunningly beautiful coastline. We have glorious sweeps of white sandy beach which are devoid of all human life (except possibly a guy with a kagoule and a metal detector). We have craggy inlets, cathedral-like caves and interesting geological oddities. We have castles perched on clifftops, harbours which have barely changed in centuries and salty stories aplenty about all of them. And yet we don't spend much time looking at it. <br />
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I for one have spent far more time looking away from our coastline and out to sea than I have turned around and looking at the cliffs, caves and beaches themselves. A sea kayak lets you do just that: its low clearance means you can glide over submerged rocks and sand banks a regular boat would run aground on; its diminutive size means you can squeeze into caves and along channels no other vessel could; and its solidness allows you to explore dangerous areas swimmers could never safely venture. <br />
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And boy did we venture. Over the past two days I've seen the secret escape channel from 13th-century Dunluce Castle, discovered that a simple rock can be all the colours of the rainbow in Dunkerry Cave, watched gannets dive and cormorants nest from just feet away and played hide and seek with a seal. I've seen the postcard-famous Giants Causeway from an angle most people never do, drifted under Carrick A Rede rope bridge as people walked gingerly above and been carried towards the shore by the too-dangerous-to-surf waves at White Park Bay. I've discovered a new way to travel – and it's fabulous.<br />
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Yes, my muscles ache more than a pint of the black stuff could make me forget. Yes, I got soaked through to my underwear, sat in a puddle of seawater and am still finding sea salt crystals in everything. And yes, the rain eventually did roll in. But I enjoyed every sodden minute of it – and for the first time in my life, I'm actually keen to get out on the water again. Even if there are slippery sea creatures involved. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-15182481989757764412011-03-15T09:23:00.000-07:002011-03-15T09:24:40.843-07:00Living like a local in Amsterdam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">There's something about staying in an apartment that trumps a hotel every time. Like staying with a friend, or even living for a short while in a foreign city, booking a short-stay apartment allows you to feel like you belong. You step out of your own front door and it's as if you live there. There may be no fancy lobby or on-site swimming pool but what you lose in facilities you more than make up for in personality. Because apartments, although sparsely decorated, are never as homogeneous as hotel rooms. There's a kitchen, not a minibar; neighbours instead of a concierge and, in the case of this Amsterdam apartment, a fascinatingly vertiginous spiral staircase instead of a featureless lift.<br />
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Booked through <a href="http://www.shortstayapartmentsamsterdam.com/">Short Stay Apartments Amsterdam</a>, our apartment at <a href="http://www.shortstayapartmentsamsterdam.com/apartment/jordaan-brouwer-canal-apartment/photos.html?areas=jordaan">36 Brouwersstraat</a> in Amsterdam's funky Jordaan district was perfect for a short stay in the city. Had we wanted to cook we could have (it had not only a stove and microwave but also a dishwasher and proper coffeemaker) and the lounge area was spacious enough to loll around in on lazy afternoons - and far enough from the separate bedroom to feel like a proper living room. We found ourselves discussing where our stuff would go if we moved in, entertaining furniture fantasies and visualising dinner parties, and revelled in having a place to retreat to when the sightseeing got too much.<br />
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The location was perfect for us - near enough to a selection of inviting restaurants and bars, but far enough from the crazed bustle of the old centre. We could walk everywhere and were right in the heart of the action without having to be kept awake by it come nightfall. The bells of Posthoornkerk<br />
<span jsdisplay="i.title" jstcache="72"><span jsdisplay="!features.embed" jstcache="85"><span dir="ltr" id="place-title" jsdisplay="!i.linkback||(i.lba&&i.lba.cr8Line1)" jstcache="98" jsvalues="innerHTML:i.title;dir:bidiDir(i.title,true)"><b jstcache="0"></b></span></span></span> marked the hours (which only became annoying when those hours were the early morning ones) and our view over the Brouwers canal meant minutes were whiled away watching boats float by and bikes meander past.<br />
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My only complaint about the apartment would be that the bathroom was small and not well-designed (the cord from tap to shower snaking across the bathtub was pretty poor), but this seemed a small price to pay for a home away from home in the heart of Amsterdam. Next time we visit, we won't be booking a hotel.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-6529129593159462412011-01-31T07:40:00.000-08:002011-01-31T07:41:45.893-08:00The Middle East for beginners<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Unfortunately, all my knowledge about the Middle East has previously come from the news. Contentious cultural clashes in both the UK and across the Middle East, convoluted political relations between “us” and “them” and, most prolific of all, the threat of a conflict we are told is constantly looming.<br />
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But, of course, none of this even begins to help those of us living in Britain to get any grasp at all on a region made up of 20 or so different countries (depending on your definition of “Middle East”), each one with its own, often ancient, set of cultural values. For that, you have to visit.<br />
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I have just returned from my first trip to the Middle East, spending four days in Oman as part of the British Guild of Travel Writers’ AGM. It didn’t begin well – an overnight flight on which I didn’t sleep, a hotel which turned out to be almost two hours’ drive from capital city Muscat in the middle of (seemingly) nowhere, and far too many hours on a succession of coaches which dropped us off for five minutes here, ten minutes there.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMiKBaZEnXz_ilJruRCli1YC1i_FIn3xyYYVDV0Ax1nkNAWkwAdDK4219ccSSvIl5lasEMUx2AeEfcfBIXkvv7O29-pFg3SJADCoD22C1GeehvilOHW48SqyEZ8vwwNMvFBc0TtgDUZDI/s1600/oman_muscat_palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMiKBaZEnXz_ilJruRCli1YC1i_FIn3xyYYVDV0Ax1nkNAWkwAdDK4219ccSSvIl5lasEMUx2AeEfcfBIXkvv7O29-pFg3SJADCoD22C1GeehvilOHW48SqyEZ8vwwNMvFBc0TtgDUZDI/s320/oman_muscat_palace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fortunately, one of those five-minute stop-offs was at the impressive Sultan’s Palace, the 1970s-style home of the Sultan of Oman, reached via a short walk along a wide avenue of impeccably gleaming white marble. From here we could see the beautiful old Portuguese forts bathed in yellow light on the hilltops surrounding us, while en route we had a 30-second leap from the coach to grab a picture of the skyline as a whole and a short pause at the souk to take in the frankincense scent and be tempted by pashminas and purses.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Lx1DNbA2H4HhGMng7DEggUFGs4tN4B7qMtKP4B2jZRxZKBJp22_Hl4NMDwIhl8a7UwpBCswvfizfVg2Ei35-vGnSrg5Fmiunu_48DHrC0TpnOjNb_xy2YOJnMRXLxW1qKS3E86TskMk/s1600/oman_mosque_exterior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Lx1DNbA2H4HhGMng7DEggUFGs4tN4B7qMtKP4B2jZRxZKBJp22_Hl4NMDwIhl8a7UwpBCswvfizfVg2Ei35-vGnSrg5Fmiunu_48DHrC0TpnOjNb_xy2YOJnMRXLxW1qKS3E86TskMk/s320/oman_mosque_exterior.jpg" width="320" /></a>Slightly more time was spent at the Grand Mosque, Muscat’s crowning glory and a building more than worthy of this much-overused adjective. Covering my head with a scarf before being allowed to enter purely because I’m female did feel slightly wrong and I’m not sure any of us women were too pleased to see the stark contrast between the relatively plain women’s prayer hall and the riot of colour and overtly expensive furnishings that was the men’s, but all this was quickly forgotten as we soaked up the feel of this vast marble structure and gazed at the ten-tonne Swarovski crystal and gold chandelier. It really was impressive.<br />
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Perhaps more impressive was the chat with our guide, a Christian from the Ivory Coast, who told us how welcome he felt in Oman, and how free he was to worship his own faith. An interesting contrast would be to ask a Muslim resident of the UK how welcome they feel here – I wonder if the response would be as positive.<br />
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After two slightly fraught days of coach hopping in Muscat, the general feeling on leaving the Millennium hotel in Musannah on Thursday morning was one of relief. To be embarking on the very last long bus journey was to feel the weights lifted and a nap and another flight later a smaller group of ten of us arrived in Musandam, excited to be seeing another part of the country.<br />
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Musandam is separated from the rest of Oman by the United Arab Emirates and occupies the very tip of the Arabian Peninsula. Flying in, we could already appreciate the impressive geographical situation of the capital Khasab as sheer limestone cliffs closed in from either side and we landed amid towering peaks. <br />
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The main attraction here is the coastline, an intensely rugged landscape formed not by glaciation but by the movement of the Arabian tectonic plate under the Eurasian. We couldn’t wait to get out on the water to see it.<br />
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Happily this did not involve a long bus journey and by early afternoon we were bobbing towards the Khor Ash Sham on our beautifully painted dhow. Musandam Sea Adventure run trips from Khasab into the khor (similar to a fjord) to view the towering limestone cliffs and abundant local wildlife. Here the limestone is a mass of horizontal strata, packed together in their differing shades like the pages of a well-thumbed book. The lines run at angles, as if the cliffs have slumped to one side, and as the sun moves overhead a rainbow of colours running the gamut from ochre to russet can be seen in them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNTXzNfyr-Eq7WaGElHZs9EUWDqClZx79TkaHQ6nYSoP7JvZquifsQ5tn3TcI0Yyxh19z2Vo4_mToTPW1uXAUfo3FyY7iCROM1iss899sONAYunZc1kYeWHyeXXBYuz7Lw-8b5WMCbcw/s1600/oman_musandam_dhow2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNTXzNfyr-Eq7WaGElHZs9EUWDqClZx79TkaHQ6nYSoP7JvZquifsQ5tn3TcI0Yyxh19z2Vo4_mToTPW1uXAUfo3FyY7iCROM1iss899sONAYunZc1kYeWHyeXXBYuz7Lw-8b5WMCbcw/s400/oman_musandam_dhow2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
If I sound like I’m romanticising, please indulge me. After hours of motorway driving and cramped legroom the chance to sprawl about on cushions as nature glides by in all its glory is akin to paradise. We all had soppy grins on our faces after the first few minutes and they were made all the wider when the local dolphin pod appeared to put on a show.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6t94iHIPqbPE1AMO8YShOPvfgYoiHCON8HxU1BpBcD8aBMIXUNHdXAk6pDlI_Mk02KqgeQp9wf2d1t5jgV8Sxzv7MOC51RhGhzczVuu8yhV02nLEVHCV0pMW6qDwzPokG-v1DRQ0-Yk0/s1600/oman_musandam_urchin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6t94iHIPqbPE1AMO8YShOPvfgYoiHCON8HxU1BpBcD8aBMIXUNHdXAk6pDlI_Mk02KqgeQp9wf2d1t5jgV8Sxzv7MOC51RhGhzczVuu8yhV02nLEVHCV0pMW6qDwzPokG-v1DRQ0-Yk0/s320/oman_musandam_urchin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But not everyone has found this landscape so appealing. When a communication cable from India to Britain was laid through here in the 1860s and a telegraph station was built in the middle of the khor the men who manned it referred to being stationed here as “going round the bend”. This may or may not have led to the meaning of this phrase today but it is easy to see why being posted here would not have been top of anyone’s wish list.<br />
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After a scramble about on Telegraph Island we headed back to Khasab at some speed, told by our friendly guide Abdul that we had somewhere else to go. We weren’t expecting to see anything else and as we drove back into town many of us were yawning from the sea air. That is, before Abdul told us we were attending a wedding.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshiViM7IIMzLaQQRFg3YvruoPm8_F0eOc5Kn8UL558Z8z4JBjZpMb2kYJRViVLfV08ddNEa85b6MDPyiobkRWkreFeFE-RGJ48tA0bkOGM3Zs0iJuKPmyRlI3-XexrgNoKpYXavR7s4k/s1600/oman_musandam_wedding1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshiViM7IIMzLaQQRFg3YvruoPm8_F0eOc5Kn8UL558Z8z4JBjZpMb2kYJRViVLfV08ddNEa85b6MDPyiobkRWkreFeFE-RGJ48tA0bkOGM3Zs0iJuKPmyRlI3-XexrgNoKpYXavR7s4k/s320/oman_musandam_wedding1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Nervous of how acceptable this would be, I felt unsure stepping from the minibus but Abdul sprang ahead through the crowd calling to us all to follow. We stood in the middle of a spectacle I never would have hoped to see, let alone be a part of, as people offered us drinks and children giggled delightedly as we smiled at them. The local men, most dressed in dishdasha (the long white robe which is the country’s traditional dress) formed two rows either side of a line of drummers, banging wooden sticks together in a manner bizarrely reminiscent of Morris dancing. Others stood around the edge filming on bang-up-to-date video cameras and mobile phones while a group of three men fired rifles into the air off to one side. <br />
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The women gathered in the house behind us, not mixing with the men at all. Fascinated by each other, we stared at them as they gazed back at us and after a few minutes Abdul told us we were invited in to sit with them (just the women). What followed was one of the most heartening experiences of my travelling life – they brought out fruit, drinks, a vast rice dish topped with goat. Despite the language barrier we communicated our names, made each other almost weep with laughter and were introduced to the mother of the groom. We shook hands with women wearing batoola (a metallic mask which covers part of the face), had sweets literally rained down upon us and chatted to an animated young girl who spoke good English about white wedding dresses – something both our cultures share. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJS4vXl6T5kmYgeYrMXH2wxPwIcnzESUkMHdPemSil7KFG-C0XVOtwkAOuSJONC0gfoyqxPwbuzk0ZYkGemFt2EGl9bVdAxKwz0bl6Y0jAp-7Oy91xToiIeukrFN-zg4nwh-POvmhqns/s1600/oman_musandam_wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJS4vXl6T5kmYgeYrMXH2wxPwIcnzESUkMHdPemSil7KFG-C0XVOtwkAOuSJONC0gfoyqxPwbuzk0ZYkGemFt2EGl9bVdAxKwz0bl6Y0jAp-7Oy91xToiIeukrFN-zg4nwh-POvmhqns/s320/oman_musandam_wedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I’ve been to dozens of different countries and have never had the good fortune to meet such welcoming, friendly people. Our experience in that lively house in Khasab couldn’t have been further from the images most often beamed from this region into our living rooms via the news. If only we could send every prejudiced Brit to follow in our footsteps – an encounter with these wonderful people could surely change the minds of even the staunchest bigot. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-1566735671064737442011-01-05T15:45:00.001-08:002011-01-05T15:53:04.938-08:00The best hotel in England?In even the most beautiful, PR-slick of hotels, when you’re paying for nada and the drinks are free, it’s usually easy to find fault. Because, it would seem, most hoteliers don’t actually stay in their properties and, consequently, they forget to check that everything actually works. I’ve stayed in £300-a-night hotels where the socket for the kettle is in a place it’s impossible to access, where the bath takes (literally) an hour to fill, and where the TV doesn’t even have channel five, let alone digital.<br />
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Well, at <a href="http://www.boveycastle.com/">Bovey Castle</a>, the fault was obvious: the shelf in the shower was a full eighth of an inch too slanted so that the bottles of shower gel and shampoo slid…I can’t even keep up the pretence. My room (number 18) here is so obviously perfect that I literally can’t find a thing to complain about – which is, I hate to admit, a rare thing. Ummmmm… the maid who came to do the turndown service didn’t seem happy… it hardly seems important.<br />
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The room I’ve been given is amazing. Honestly. King bed, vast terrace with expansive views of Dartmoor, underfloor heating in the bathroom, double sinks, free-standing bath, a TV large enough for a cinema screening, a shower for two which could actually hold a barn dance, enough cupboard space to satisfy Cheryl Cole – there’s even a window seat for heaven’s sake. The toiletries are Elemis and the cups are Villeroy and Bosch. There’s a real fireplace and the décor is a pleasing shade of natural green, accentuated by oak furnishings. The swimming pool downstairs has kid-free hours, the spa offers signature rituals which involve hot stones and the restaurant has a plum soufflé to bring even the fussiest of guests begging back for more.<br />
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During the day, visitors can play 18 holes of immaculate golf on the octogenarian parkland course, practise their swing into the cricket nets, play tennis on the all-weather courts, take a guided walk on Dartmoor or learn the art of falconry with the wonderfully nonchalant <a href="http://www.dartmoorhawking.co.uk/">Martin Whitley</a> who brings out bird after bird of terrifying proportion and yet makes guests feel strangely at ease with these glorious yet deadly creatures.<br />
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I travel a lot and like to think I’ve seen it all, yet I can scarcely find words to convey how much I think of Bovey Castle. It’s British in the very best of ways, bringing patriotism out in the most traitorous of Englishmen. The <a href="http://www.boveycastle.com/Dining-and-Bars/The-Edwardian-Restaurant.html">Edwardian restaurant</a> has a piano player outside to welcome you with tinkling ivories but maintains an informal, friendly atmosphere – it’s got a no denim policy but when I visit there are children in combats. There are formal-seeming lounges with puffed up sofas without the attitude to match for morning coffee and afternoon tea and the bistro serves up casual lunches to all and sundry with impeccable service but no airs and graces. There’s valet parking and porter service without the slavering, tip-expectant drool and a restaurant which pours the wine without the obsequious side order. <br />
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It’s wonderful – the kind of place you discuss bringing your partner back to and actually mean it, the sort of hotel you wish you’d chosen for your honeymoon. I can honestly say I’ve stayed at nowhere better and, believe me, that’s saying something.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-88501283498331739242010-12-09T05:32:00.000-08:002010-12-14T05:33:50.661-08:00A sauna and a sunsetI can’t decide if I like Broome or not. On the one hand it’s swelteringly humid and ridiculously spread out; but on the other (cocktail-holding) hand it does have some fabulous hotels – and I’m staying in one of them. <br />
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The grand dame of Broome accommodation is Cable Beach Club, a stunning resort within beachtowel swinging distance of the famous Cable Beach sands. The rooms and bungalows are dotted around what feels like a botanical gardens, all draping trees and exotic plants, and there are humpbacked wooden bridges over little lagoons to lead you from pool to spa, room to restaurant. It’s a wonderful place to spend the day and I’ve very much enjoyed taking in the last sunshine I’m likely to see for some weeks by the (adults only, hurrah) pool. <br />
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Unfortunately though, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my time here, nice as it is. I wanted to get to know the town better and maybe even get out into the surrounding bush but, as everyone keeps telling me, this is a bad time of year to be here. It comes as quite a shock after several weeks of high-season sunshine and busy resorts to suddenly find myself in low season, surrounded by closed up shops and restaurants and unable to join a tour because nothing is running. It’s like months have passed without my noticing. Numerous places are shut until next year, the hotels are quiet and the streets are near-deserted as everyone escapes indoors to avoid the unrelenting sauna-like heat. <br />
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So I’ve had to join them. I did venture into Chinatown where the touristy shops were open for business and the café terraces were full but now I don’t have a car it’s very difficult to get anywhere much else. I shared a taxi from the airport with a local guy who told me not to walk around alone at night and having been on the streets during the day it’s not hard to see why this is the local advice, so my evenings have been spent hotel-bound. <br />
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Fortunately this hotel has one of the town’s best restaurants, at least as far as setting is concerned. My dinner tonight was at the Sunset Grill, so-named because the terrace looks out towards Cable Beach and those famous ball-dropping sunsets. The food wasn’t the best I’ve had but the view certainly was and as I tucked into steak and local shiraz, I was able to watch the blazing sun disappear into the Indian Ocean. I may not have quite got to grips with Broome but could anywhere else have provided a better end to my Aussie adventure than that?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-91694506021494266552010-12-06T01:31:00.000-08:002010-12-06T01:36:54.489-08:00Snorkelling for beginnersI’ve always had what I consider to be a healthy respect for the sea. Others may call it a fear but I prefer to think of it as self-preservation. After all, why would you want to mess with something which can so easily kill you? <br />
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Just last week a British backpacker was swept out to sea on the south coast by a rip tide, never to be seen again. And yesterday the news featured a surfer who had lost her arm to a shark. Here the sea isn’t just a little bit scary, it’s bloody terrifying. <br />
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So it was with some trepidation that I arrived in Coral Bay on Friday. The coast from here north towards Exmouth is one of the few places in the world where the reef comes right up to the beach – and so snorkeling is practically compulsory. I had carried my trusty snorkel all the way from England pretty much for these next few days on Ningaloo Reef, and there was no way I wasn’t going to use it. <br />
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Thing is, there are signs everywhere (and I mean everywhere) telling you that snorkeling here is dangerous. There are offshore currents, rip tides, large waves, tiger sharks, sharp corals… I could go on. The advice from every corner is not to snorkel alone and never to attempt it if you’re not sure it’s safe. Of course I’m travelling solo and haven’t a clue about things like wave patterns and wind strength. I’m like a statistic just waiting to happen – last time I was here I freaked out my boyfriend by swimming too far out and of course, this time there was noone to stand on the beach scanning the horizon for me when I didn’t come back to shore. <br />
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But dammit, this is a sight worth a little risk to see. Ningaloo Reef is truly spectacular – miles and miles of multi-coloured ancient coral harbouring thousands of tropical fish, turtles, rays, and yep, sharks, all just a couple of minutes swim time from the sand. I saw more types of coral than I knew existed just on that first swim and spent many happy minutes mindlessly following shoals of shimmering fish around the reef. Of course every couple of minutes I’d have a little panic and stick my head up to check land was still ahoy but I’m writing this so you already know that I didn’t get eaten by a shark/taken to Indonesia by a freak wave/speared by a stingray – and it was fabulous. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqxRUP2dh-mIswnpFOhsPlz7A6Po_2SfVbJug_M3PcU4FxqzRLecK4oepHdJihMO7YST3slLM2K998mjIOzc08DzFoJ_pgAGhf6xYTsZ1UVhXPJi21zfyrb4zuGQ-bL4M8dHQ6M37acQ/s1600/turquoise_bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqxRUP2dh-mIswnpFOhsPlz7A6Po_2SfVbJug_M3PcU4FxqzRLecK4oepHdJihMO7YST3slLM2K998mjIOzc08DzFoJ_pgAGhf6xYTsZ1UVhXPJi21zfyrb4zuGQ-bL4M8dHQ6M37acQ/s400/turquoise_bay.jpg" width="400" /></a>The next day was even better. Cape Range national park reaches south from Exmouth, a string of jaw-dropping beaches with sand so white it almost looks like snow and water so turquoise you take your sunglasses off because you can’t believe it really is that colour. I swam at the aptly named Turquoise Bay, perhaps the most idyllic spot I’ve ever had the luck to visit and saw what felt like thousands of fish from tiny to half my size and even a sting ray. I won’t pretend my mind didn’t float straight to images of Steve Irwin but I didn’t panic this time and by the time I got back to the car several hours appeared to have passed. <br />
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Yesterday was my final day on the reef so I took a trip with <a href="http://www.westernaustralia.com/en/Pages/tour.aspx?n=Glass_Bottom_Boat_-_2.5_Hour_Coral_Viewing%2C_Snorkelling_and_Coastal_Explorer_Extravaganza&pid=9000253&sid=9008069">Ningaloo Ecology Tours</a> on a glass-bottomed boat so I could get further out and see the really impressive corals. And my god, but they were impressive. Huge lumps called bombies came so close to the boat I would have feared we’d hit them if it wasn’t for the self-assured skipper Alek, and we saw every tiny detail of these centuries-old living marvels. There were literally thousands of fish – striped ones, iridescent ones, electric blue ones, silver ones, all with names instantly forgotten because I was too wowed to get out my notebook. <br />
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It was amazing but even better was the snorkel we did here. All fear now gone I was one of the first in the water, battling the strengthening waves as the wind got up to swim within a couple of inches of every type of coral you can imagine and follow fish from one crevice to the next. The fish out here were bigger and the reef stretched for seemingly miles away from me in every direction. I swam until my flippers pinched and my skin shriveled but not once did I even think about those ever-present sharks. Until, that is, it came time to head back to the boat. Many of my fellow snorkelers were Aussies and, of course, they all had that typically laissez faire attitude to all things deadly. Floating just a few metres from the boat, one of them, Will, looked at me excitedly and said “wow, did you see that reef shark?” Despite the blazing sun and snorkel mask I, no doubt, went white and replied “No, where was it?” “Right underneath you mate”, he replied “it was huge”. He held his hands about four feet apart and grinned before he was off again. I like to think I acted cool, and I was actually sorry not to see it, but I also reckon not many people have climbed back on that boat quite as quickly. <br />
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On our way back to shore Alek told us what he wouldn’t elaborate on earlier – that there’s a resident tiger shark out here which is such a frequent visitor locals have named her. I couldn’t tell you what because Alek went on to tell us how it grabbed his flipper once last June and that it’s almost as long as the boat – a part of the story that had me gratefully packing my snorkel away. <br />
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This happy story occupied my mind for the journey back to the beach but just as we were about to lay anchor, Alek spotted a turtle and swung the boat around after it. Being mating season, the females are desperately hiding from the randy males at this time of year and so are much harder to spot – so this was lucky indeed. As we scanned the water for more turtle heads popping up, a vast loggerhead floated sedately underneath the boat. He was only there for a second or two but my mind was well and truly off that shark story. Well, at least until the next time I decide to go for a swim.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-52235205690892781692010-12-01T07:00:00.000-08:002011-07-20T07:23:54.615-07:00The best "job" in the worldTravel writers don’t get a lot of sympathy. People think all we do is swan around from one exotic location to another, pausing every so often to meet some fascinating local figure or other or possibly, just occasionally, bang away at a laptop for a while. Of course this isn’t really the case and so, in the interests of ever finding a kind ear to moan into again about the downsides, I am almost regretting writing this post before I even start. <br />
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Because I’ve just had the most amazing day and I know that if I tell the world about it my chances of ever making anyone understand that travel writing is not an easy profession may well be scuppered. <br />
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It started in Kalbarri, a dreamy little coastal town where nobody seemed to wear proper shoes and everybody appeared to be permanently in a good mood. My “hotel” was actually an apartment big enough to move into, the sun had popped back up again after its dazzling closing show the night before and I had an appointment to get to – with a pelican.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEqu9Ql-VGSubGabf_4SdrnW9lyDs-YjRvK2o6TczMgf3SrX3BUqygEMQXn2n76beb2XNsRa6syrn8rA9oeQtRxQdljoKzr80Z4x9J2rc6vkL9Nj8FMlIWKtNZA96xcMMMhBsCJuufZs/s1600/kalbarri_pelicans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEqu9Ql-VGSubGabf_4SdrnW9lyDs-YjRvK2o6TczMgf3SrX3BUqygEMQXn2n76beb2XNsRa6syrn8rA9oeQtRxQdljoKzr80Z4x9J2rc6vkL9Nj8FMlIWKtNZA96xcMMMhBsCJuufZs/s320/kalbarri_pelicans.jpg" width="320" /></a><style>
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</style>Every morning for the past 40 years the Kalbarri community has fed a bucket of fish to the local pelicans. Far bigger than any pelicans I’d seen before, these huge birds were much more graceful than you would imagine as they came gliding in to land on the grass. I got picked out to grasp a greasy fish by its tail and fling it into the pack of excitedly waiting birds, and the whole experience had a real theatre about it – the pelicans fighting over the fish with a bunch of seagulls who cheekily tried to muscle in.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP4im-xeo4vtv6UioIwwQQpR0CkRnqnih2V3FAAUlY5uTgwUQMWxeTVJyYnEDqOO4QJ59R1y2DinJOy4sxYZ4ZcMCk6GuT5YsQUDwGCxhSulUUUeJIIbz1cvMYW7Zk56cj4FFMP5RT2g/s1600/kalbarri_gorges.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP4im-xeo4vtv6UioIwwQQpR0CkRnqnih2V3FAAUlY5uTgwUQMWxeTVJyYnEDqOO4QJ59R1y2DinJOy4sxYZ4ZcMCk6GuT5YsQUDwGCxhSulUUUeJIIbz1cvMYW7Zk56cj4FFMP5RT2g/s320/kalbarri_gorges.jpg" /></a></div>I was sorry to leave Kalbarri but called in at the inland gorges on my way out of town and was confronted with scenery straight out of an “Outback experience” promotional video. The gorges are part of a wildly scenic area of dramatic red-rock formations which stretches all the way along this coast and they were spectacular – one of those sights you find yourself staring at mouth slightly open, camera hanging obsolete around your neck because you know you’ll never capture it.<br />
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From here it was – yet another – long drive. My destination for the day was Monkey Mia, about 150km off the highway in the Shark Bay world heritage area, and a five-hour drive from Kalbarri. Fortunately there’s plenty to see along the way, including a beach made up entirely of tiny compacted shells, several bays with sand so white and sea so aqua you start drifting across the road for staring at them, and the lifeform credited with putting enough oxygen into the earth’s atmosphere for us to start evolving. The stromatolites at Hamelin Bay may look just like any other collection of rocks but looking out to sea here is like looking at the earth millions of years before we were even a twinkle in its eye and it’s hard not to be a little bit moved by that. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfibedQNk-Nnmf94FmG_U_9MwiUQCBWvTyzU3ZNLMz2oktoUBUmGVjSaKQn4rnAcyWlTPV2-YL86BcdUNrIC-BoJaJYYWPhfPM6VTNO41ZqAQzv5AUGRqTs6QNHLaVfB0aDatUmACu5Y/s1600/stromatolites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfibedQNk-Nnmf94FmG_U_9MwiUQCBWvTyzU3ZNLMz2oktoUBUmGVjSaKQn4rnAcyWlTPV2-YL86BcdUNrIC-BoJaJYYWPhfPM6VTNO41ZqAQzv5AUGRqTs6QNHLaVfB0aDatUmACu5Y/s320/stromatolites.jpg" width="320" /></a>I arrived into Monkey Mia feeling hot and tired but it’s the kind of place that makes you instantly forget about all that. Stuck out on its own on the sheltered side of the eastern Peron peninsula it’s basically just a sweeping sandy beach with a simple resort ranged along it. My room was literally beach-towel-throwing distance from the sand, with nothing to impede my view of the turquoise, almost-waveless water and the marine life within it. Before I’d even brought my suitcase in from the car I’d seen two dolphins bobbing along the shoreline – more than enough reason to see me immediately bikini-clad and heading for the water. <br />
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</style>After a few minutes I heard a commotion just along the beach and looked up to see people with cameras pointing at the water. Despite seeing some dolphins already, I couldn’t believe that it could be anything more exciting than a fish or a seabird but I started to float towards them nonetheless. Convinced it was nothing too exciting I took my time moving along the beach until I glimpsed a telltale flash of grey – it was a dolphin they were looking at and I couldn’t believe they weren’t all in the water themselves. <br />
Before I knew it the dolphins were just three or four metres away from me and as I stood there in the shallows two of them broke off and swam past me, one on either side. I was literally speechless (a rare thing) and just stood there gawping as a nearby family screeched with delight. Over the next few minutes we all bobbed about in the water, watching the dolphins swimming around us and chatting like old friends over our shared experience. Then we saw a turtle, a pelican landed on the water in front of us and an emu wandered along the beach behind. It was absolutely, completely amazing. And yes, it was technically part of my job. <br />
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So go ahead, tell me travel writing is more like being on holiday than having a job. Just for today, I’ll agree with youAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-20293577412992629712010-11-29T07:14:00.000-08:002010-11-29T07:35:19.716-08:00The never-ending journeySometimes luxury is simply staying in one place. These past few days I’ve gone to sleep in a different bed every evening, woken to different sounds, struggled to find a differently located toilet in the middle of the night…it’s been exhausting frankly. Every day I get up, round up all my hastily flung around belongings, shove them back in my suitcase and hit the road again, off towards yet another different mattress.<br />
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But if I sound like I’m complaining, I’m not. Moving on every day means you see something different every day – and this weekend has been an extremely varied one because of it.<br />
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I left Kalgoorlie on Friday and spent hours driving past waving golden fields which held more wheat than the entire Ashes cricket team could hope to eat in a lifetime, and through the down-at-heel and downright depressing communities that have sprung up to tend to it. The fact that one was called Grass Patch might give you some idea as to the dubious highlights that pass for being attractions in these parts, and I was relieved to reach New Norcia after seven hours horizon-chasing. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPDheotckLHpmFAHE9tySFatXNHL4oPIlLGFO0s8XODeWJlLp-J0R0logZ6wYHoLndT5fUIdkvqaWFNhRhIecNm7pJaV7MUBB8kr3ZSR-nxg9sMbpnzFB_xZVsvT7LiUARjSIBXwJl54/s1600/new_norcia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPDheotckLHpmFAHE9tySFatXNHL4oPIlLGFO0s8XODeWJlLp-J0R0logZ6wYHoLndT5fUIdkvqaWFNhRhIecNm7pJaV7MUBB8kr3ZSR-nxg9sMbpnzFB_xZVsvT7LiUARjSIBXwJl54/s400/new_norcia.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Sadly this relief was short-lived. The architecture of this somewhat random monastic community is truly stunning when you compare it to the surrounding flat fields but unfortunately, though my hotel for the night looked grand from the outside, inside it was more akin to that hostel Leo stays in in The Beach. Paint was peeling off the walls, the rowdiness of the bar downstairs could be heard through the paper-thin walls and the ceiling fan whirred annoyingly and managed to be ineffective at the same time. Having been used to air con, flatscreen TVs and, well, having my own bathroom, I became instantly sulky at having to share facilities and cope without so much as a tap to call my own. The service didn’t help – it was by far the worst I’ve had here – and I went to bed with a storm cloud over my head to match those building outside.<br />
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Fortunately the next day I was heading back to the coast and, after a look around the outside of the beautiful monastic buildings accompanied by a flock of galahs, I sped off westwards towards the coast and Cervantes. This tiny crayfishing town would be nowhere near the tourist trail were it not for one, rather magical, thing: the Pinnacles, and there is an air to the town that seems to suggest they would rather not bother, thanks all the same. They may not have to for much longer in fact, thanks to the brand-new bitumen of the Indian Ocean Drive which has cut the journey time from Perth and ended the need to get anywhere near the town unless you specifically want to, but for now it’s the only place to stay if you want to view the Pinnacles at sunset – which I did. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVUurIlgv1Or0XxCFosBPdPkksHLSfV64Ed9XrBKbnJsF0vkItJobuzgC0RORu0VDeG7mocyXv4VYmeha3_UWPSYZkEIncMwI6qPZCiFU2IGf6JdRw_lrJJCyJJ2qih92_o7-rE247B8/s1600/pinnacles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVUurIlgv1Or0XxCFosBPdPkksHLSfV64Ed9XrBKbnJsF0vkItJobuzgC0RORu0VDeG7mocyXv4VYmeha3_UWPSYZkEIncMwI6qPZCiFU2IGf6JdRw_lrJJCyJJ2qih92_o7-rE247B8/s320/pinnacles.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Pinnacles are bizarre rock formations which poke through the sand, forming a sea of columns across a vast area of sand dune. I joined Mike Newton’s <a href="http://www.thepinnacles.com.au/">Turquoise Coast Enviro Tour</a> for a three-hour trip out to see them in the hope that this time I would understand a bit more about the natural phenomenon that caused these geological marvels. Thanks to Mike I now do, although I wouldn’t like to try and explain it without the help of numerous diagrams and possibly the internet. Suffice to say they’re amazing, and utterly unique. I was spellbound by them again and watching the sun set between them was an unforgettable experience.<br />
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From Cervantes I was heading further north up the coast but it turned out, as it so often does here, that the road was in fact miles inland and offered only more agricultural land as a backdrop to my day. Fortunately it wasn’t far to Geraldton, a suburban-feeling town which had nothing besides fine weather to offer on a Sunday afternoon. I lapped it up of course and wasn’t the least bit upset at my enforced relaxation time due to a lack of internet and open attractions to visit. <br />
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The town’s museum was open this morning so I learned all about the dangers of boarding a boat anywhere near this coast in the Shipwreck Galleries and discovered that it is here that some of the earliest evidence of life on earth leaving the water for land can be seen. It was fascinating and left me with a greater respect for Geraldton – a great museum is a rare thing after all.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnoBM3VZ_gV80IPXdTPzeL6iHLwAkWVF5d5zhw-baf0UwgarNBbdqpjnF_FeXlMQ6AvDQM7nf-510a5LHMkExGKD_PmMXefjTvfx8q4ZmhE1bO23_mRjlaPtEJJks1uIWL73QQqw4Hns/s1600/kalbarri_rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnoBM3VZ_gV80IPXdTPzeL6iHLwAkWVF5d5zhw-baf0UwgarNBbdqpjnF_FeXlMQ6AvDQM7nf-510a5LHMkExGKD_PmMXefjTvfx8q4ZmhE1bO23_mRjlaPtEJJks1uIWL73QQqw4Hns/s320/kalbarri_rocks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My destination today was Kalbarri and this time the drive really did take in some coastal scenery – and spectacular scenery at that. The sandstone coast along here has been gradually eroded by the water and there are gorges and striated cliffs stretching for several kilometres south of the town. I popped happily on and off the highway, diving down access roads to viewpoints and short walking trails, and snapping away to try and capture the rich red, brown and ochre colours of the rock. Hopefully I succeeded enough to help me remember it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9xvdx5xrBt5BOFxDki9DLjLYpw-BMGNB84EINl_HrvcmS0G0leuG3Z7BwUOdk1StT-WRTDWc-yc6XqMBC_YOSGNoFTWhxrJaygPHkd9qXSaPxsLV5MmEuLblmvmT6oSbFW1ctXVXjBU/s1600/kalbarri_sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9xvdx5xrBt5BOFxDki9DLjLYpw-BMGNB84EINl_HrvcmS0G0leuG3Z7BwUOdk1StT-WRTDWc-yc6XqMBC_YOSGNoFTWhxrJaygPHkd9qXSaPxsLV5MmEuLblmvmT6oSbFW1ctXVXjBU/s320/kalbarri_sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My day ended with roast duck on the terrace of the <a href="http://www.thegrasstree.com.au/">Grass Tree</a> restaurant while the setting sun turned the sky blazing red and gave the water a beautiful rosy glow. I may have had to drive several thousands of kilometres to get here but every last one was worth it for that and although I’m not looking forward to packing up the car – again – tomorrow morning, I am looking forward to where it will take me next.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-45770968427404439002010-11-25T04:54:00.001-08:002011-07-20T07:08:23.638-07:00Boom and bustsI rarely go to the same place twice. Always wanting to see more, do more, experience more, I don’t like to return to a holiday destination year on year, take a second city break in the same place or even revisit London attractions I’ve already been to. But today, I made an exception for something truly jaw-dropping and went back to somewhere I’d only just been a few hours before.<br />
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The Super Pit in Kalgoorlie (or Boulder, depending on how you look at it) is genuinely one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. Its name, granted, does not inspire thoughts of excitement but once you are standing there on the cusp of a bloody great hole, this vast gold mine seems every bit as awe-inspiring as the Grand Canyon. Alright, so I might be getting a little bit carried away but, trust me, this is an impressive hole in the ground. It’s forever expanding and deepening (the lookout has just been moved so it can be incorporated into the mine) and once finished in 2013 it will be a staggering 3.8km long, 1.35km wide and more than 500m deep. From the lookout the yellow haul trucks which bring out the dirt look like meandering insects but they are in fact the size of a modest house and each tyre on them is worth $26,000 (about £16,000). What makes it even more startling is the fact that all this is man-made. If the Grand Canyon is testament to the power of a river, then this mine is testament to the greed of man. <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Because, of course, we don’t really need gold; it’s main function is to look pretty. The town of Kalgoorlie, surrounded by some of the harshest, most unforgiving landscape known to man, exists purely because we like to ornament ourselves and our things. It’s crazy that it’s here at all, let alone that it’s by far the most lively place for hundreds of kilometres around. </span></div><br />
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In the same way as Las Vegas is a law unto itself, so is Kalgoorlie. The ever-warm and sunny weather combined with the vast sums of cash to be made here make this a place to fly in and fly out of, making a quick buck in half the time it could take elsewhere and having a damn good time while you do it. Back when the mines were smaller and more numerous and the average wage in Australia was around seven shillings a week a man working underground here could earn 14 shillings a day. The ladies working in the brothels could earn enough to pay for a house every single month and could spend more than two thirds of the year travelling first-class around the world on the money they made here in the rest of it. <br />
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Things have changed now, of course, but wages are still high here and there’s still an I’ve-been-down-the-mine-all-day vibe to the nightlife. As darkness descends people flood the streets and fill the pubs, sitting on the balconies of these grand old buildings downing pints and swapping tall tales, their work boots still on. <br />
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I’ve spent most of the day listening to some of the most entertaining stories I’ve heard on this trip. At the Mining Hall of Fame I went down the mine shaft and listened to ex-miner Jim talk of near-misses with 100-tonne boulders, clouds of lung-clogging dust and dangerous machinery while at Questa Casa brothel (the oldest in Australia) madam Carmel told us about scantily clad prostitutes turning cartwheels in the street, a man who died then revived during his allotted hour and a woman who drove through the building in silent rage, reversing up to try again as she hit every mound of rubble.<br />
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I feel I’ve only scratched the surface of this barmy but loveable town today and wish I could spend longer hearing its stories. Because, in a place like this, I’d bet my bottom gold nugget that there are always more.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-77072011431799145982010-11-23T02:07:00.000-08:002011-07-20T06:27:13.984-07:00Cruise control<style>
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</style>It may be an obvious comparison but driving an automatic really is like driving a toy car. Not having to change gear takes much of the skill and challenge out of getting from A to B and leaves you, literally, with stop and go. At first my left leg didn’t know what to do with itself. It jiggled up and down in time with the iPod, shifted around making me bang my knee painfully against the steering wheel (I’m so short I sit practically on top of the wheel) and kept trying to get involved with the mechanics of the journey. My left hand kept resting on the non-gear stick (what is that called in an auto?) and excitedly jumping up as I came up to hills or junctions. But as the days – and kilometres – rolled past my appendages settled into their positions and presumably went to sleep while my brain tried to follow. <br />
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Because the trouble with driving an automatic is that there is so much less to think about. It tricks your brain into thinking it’s not actually in control of several tonnes of metal and once you throw cruise control into the mix (which I did yesterday as I drove the long, straight road from Albany to Esperance) your right foot doesn’t even need to do anything and you find yourself thinking you’re in some kind of simulator. <br />
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I spent much of yesterday gazing unthinkingly at the ribbon of bitumen and endlessly chasing a horizon that never seemed to come any closer. Every half an hour or so I would have to adjust the steering wheel all of an inch to the right or left and then would return to staring robotically ahead or, as the madness really set in, crooning loudly to Lily Allen. <br />
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So today came as something of a relief. I’m in Esperance for two nights, in the same hotel no less (the same bed for two nights in a row really is the travel writer’s holy grail), and spent today exploring the Great Ocean Drive scenic loop and the Cape le Grand national park. Fortunately for my numbed brain this involved lots of bends and twisty roads so, although my left leg still didn’t see any action, my right leg and both arms had plenty to occupy them. <br />
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The Great Ocean Drive is half amazing, half dull. The first half (if you go clockwise) takes you over rolling coastal hills and to a string of tourism-brochure-worthy white-sand beaches. There are lookouts and beachside strolls along the way and just when you think you can’t possibly find a more beautiful beach – ever, even if you live to a hundred and cash in those airmiles – you round the next corner and, yep, there it is, even more sweeping, more white and more photographable than the last. The second half however is inland, with the purpose of returning you to town via the pink lake. Sadly today it was cloudy so the temperature wasn’t high enough to bring out the beta carotene from the algae which makes it appear pink so it was, if we’re honest, just another lake and I was driving on just another long, straight bitumen strip. <br />
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Visiting Cape le Grand national park was a similar mix of the sublime and the yawn-worthy. Getting there took well over half an hour on one straight cruise-controllable road after another and I started to grow glass-eyed with fatigue once more. That is until I reached the park itself and found, unbelievably, beaches even better than those I’d seen nearer town. Hellfire Bay was the sort of place you want to roll up and pack in your suitcase, while Thistle Cove was backed by beautiful wildflowers and home to whistling rock, a stone bizarrely shaped like a howling dog which echoed the noise of the waves through its crevices. <div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcnE4yQX0iXTkK3tvVExpMh9tb1cWm0C_R8iFhipiMMZuWiW5mYa1bRp7AU54HAiqtYqjkd0yd7UEh9080zTW8etXkdrvgtS0BtFwEs09KIVyV99RMaRbDDXlTuA8iJopvWI_lQ_hcPY/s1600/hellfire_bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcnE4yQX0iXTkK3tvVExpMh9tb1cWm0C_R8iFhipiMMZuWiW5mYa1bRp7AU54HAiqtYqjkd0yd7UEh9080zTW8etXkdrvgtS0BtFwEs09KIVyV99RMaRbDDXlTuA8iJopvWI_lQ_hcPY/s320/hellfire_bay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I guess today really sums up the trip as a whole. Half the time I’m marveling at sights you’d swear had been computer generated or at least airbrushed and thinking how unbelievably lucky I am that this is, in fact, work; the other half I’m bored to tears by the endless highway and wishing I could be at home with a Chinese and a cup of tea (that Lily Allen song really did get to me today!). <o:p></o:p> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Still, if you want to see Australia you have to drive. Far. And so in that spirit I’ve already programmed my sat nav for tomorrow. It says “in 103 miles turn left”. Oh dear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-28852777388894938652010-11-21T08:12:00.000-08:002010-11-23T02:09:46.817-08:00What lies beneathSometimes it feels like everything in Australia is out to get you. Poisonous snakes, jumping spiders, hungry crocs…all these are obviously dangerous but it is not these that are most likely to prematurely end your visit Down Under – drowning, evidently, is what you really want to worry about.<br />
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Today as I gazed out at yet another sweeping sea view (this time in the Torndirrup National Park near Albany) I fell into conversation with a local who casually started telling me all about rip tides and king waves. Australia can’t just have waves and currents you see, it has to have those added-value adjectives, the ones which hint at the possibility of death in the blink of an eye. More people die from drowning in WA each year than from all the poisonous species you could name put together. People have been happily standing on the coast here one minute, and washed away by a king wave the next. The sea is a terrifying place. <br />
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I spent my day finding out how the sea has impacted Albany and exploring the maritime history of this area and have discovered that it is really is littered with wince-worthy stories of death, dismemberment and disaster. At Whale World I heard not only tales of flensing the blubber from a sperm whale (which was disturbing, naturally) but also of legs being cut off by stray harpoons and deckhands being grabbed by a tentacled squid arm and drawn into the icy depths never to be seen again. At the Brig Amity, a replica of the ship which brought the first European settlers ashore here, there were stories of scurvy, disease and the dispossession of the indigenous people; while the Residency Museum told tales of difficult beginnings and environmental blunders. <br />
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But despite its difficult beginnings Albany is far from a negative place. When whaling ended here in 1978 the community sank into economic depression but there is no evidence of this today. Everyone I’ve met here has been very proud to be from this small city marooned on the south coast 400km from Perth and indeed, why shouldn’t they?<br />
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The city is set on a beautiful bay within easy striking distance of not only the coastal Torndirrip national park but also the mountainous Stirling Ranges and the rolling Porongurups. The attractions in town have been top-notch too. The Residency Museum is the only place I’ve seen so far to place Aboriginal history directly alongside European, showing how the two mirror each other and helping people understand the issues all the better; the nighttime tour of the Old Gaol with its amateur theatrics and spooky cell visits was the most fun I’ve had sans alcohol on any evening in recent history; and Whale World presented a difficult subject in not only an enlightening way but also a fascinating one, allowing visitors to independently explore an old whaling ship and make up their own minds about the whaling industry. <br />
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All in all I’ll be sad to leave Albany tomorrow - and not just because this is by far the largest place I’ll see for some time. The people here have been so welcoming and so keen that I should go away with a positive view of their home that I can't help but promise them I'll be back. I'll be sure to keep that promise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-79437175012666024892010-11-20T01:47:00.001-08:002010-11-23T02:08:39.208-08:00When travel itineraries attackOne of the easiest mistakes to make while travelling is to try to fit too much in and yesterday I definitely fell victim to the overstretched itinerary. As anyone who knows me will attest, I’m not one to take it slow and I do tend to travel at breakneck speed (even for a guidebook writer) so when I planned to make five stops and travel 500km in one day I thought I could handle it. Turns out I was wrong.<br />
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I left Margaret River around 8am and dashed south to make the first tour of the day at Cape Leeuwin lighthouse. I climbed its 176 steps with a lovely German couple I regretted offering to take a picture of (they posed for far more than was strictly polite) and a family of what turned out to be complete bogans. Anyone unfamiliar with Aussie slang may have to look that one up but its meaning may become clear when I say that the three grubby kids all climbed the tower in bare feet. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQtS0ASYcUntIE9Cu9EG38eEorxq_Dh5rOUXUvlAHH_Gwu-nN1wZyVqmgS8cDiahMoYkhNFv4FDXicf0IA2oSDuYUshZj5xjdnBFLeQtAyJENqC-7vFQw4tu-ZeZ4BRC45u5AyUsPCl8/s1600/leeuwin_lighthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQtS0ASYcUntIE9Cu9EG38eEorxq_Dh5rOUXUvlAHH_Gwu-nN1wZyVqmgS8cDiahMoYkhNFv4FDXicf0IA2oSDuYUshZj5xjdnBFLeQtAyJENqC-7vFQw4tu-ZeZ4BRC45u5AyUsPCl8/s320/leeuwin_lighthouse.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>It was spectacular though. We could get outside on the walkway at its top and see for miles over the Southern and Indian oceans (this is where they meet). There was even a pod of dolphins playing in the surf just offshore, as if on demand just for us. <br />
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But I didn’t have time to soak it up. Back in the car it was two hours to the Gloucester Tree (an old fire watchtower you can climb up on metal poles sticking out from its sides), which I barely had time to call in at, and then another half an hour to Northcliffe and the Understory Sculpture Walk. WA was having its hottest November day in seven years or something (being so close culturally to us Brits, this of course made the paper) and I had chosen the peak of the heat to climb out of my air-conditioned bubble and walk 1.2km. Fortunately most of the sculptures were among the trees so shade was abundant and the MP3 player soundtrack meant it was easy to learn about the artwork without too much concentration. There were sculptures of all kinds, from carved wooden seats to thrusting metal flowers wrapped around a tree and I had the place to myself – a hint that Northcliffe’s plan to keep the visitors coming by building this may not be quite paying off just yet. <br />
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Back in the car I had about 1.5 hours to drive to the Valley of the Giants treetop walk and this is where I came a gutser, as they say in these parts. First I had to negotiate roadworks – not British roadworks where you barely pass within half a mile of any action, but Aussie roadworks where the bitumen was literally completely uprooted and the dusty, rutted underneath was my only way through. I passed a working digger with about three inches to spare and very nearly ended up in the ditch the other side thanks to its roadhogging but, thanks be to the car hire gods, the car survived unscathed. <br />
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The road from here was straight as a tightrope and there was barely an undulation to keep me alert for kilometre after kilometre. I felt very drowsy so pulled in to take a break and decided to climb into the back for a few minutes. The next thing I knew half an hour had passed and I felt like I’d been hit by a roadtrain – fortunately, my in-one-piece car attested that this was not the case. Now late for my 4pm appointment (who knew guidebook research was so much like being a travelling salesman) I had to push on, stifling my yawns. <br />
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Suffice to say, I made it in one piece and the tree-top walk was as spectacular as I remembered. Being level with the tops of the tingle and karri trees is by far the best way to understand their great height and the walk around the forest floor allowed me to sit inside a tree big enough to drive through. <br />
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Feeling more alert for the 45-minute drive to Denmark I even managed a pit stop at Williams Bay National Park where the deep blue sky made Greens Pool an even more spectacular shade of green than normal and the granite outcrops of Elephant Rocks seem utterly idyllic. <br />
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I was left with less than half an hour to shower and change for dinner at Pepper & Salt (a fab new restaurant at Matilda’s Estate winery where I had deliciously juicy steak and yummy shiraz) and wasn’t the best company I’ve ever been for meeting my contact from the tourist board. Feeling like I just wanted to go to bed during one of the nicest dinners I’ve had in a while made me realize that I need to build in more rest time and not spend 24 hours of every day thinking about work. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to sit and smell the coffee – both figuratively and literally.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-80699537450624895642010-11-18T06:36:00.000-08:002010-11-23T02:09:16.560-08:00Discovering Margaret RiverToday was one of those idyllic days that travel is, in an ideal world, all about. Leaving Nannup and heading back towards civilization around 8am the sun was already beating hard enough through the windscreen that air con was needed and there was not an airplane trail, let alone a cloud, in the sky. <br />
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My first stop was <a href="http://www.chocolatefactory.com.au/">Margaret River Chocolate Factory</a> where I had coffee and loaded up on truffles, before driving on to the town of Margaret River to join Sean Blocksidge’s <a href="http://www.margaretriverdiscovery.com.au/">Margaret River Discovery Tour</a>.<br />
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Sean markets this as the “tour for people who don’t do tours” and it certainly didn’t bear much resemblance to the coach and minibus tours I’ve previously been herded around on. Our group was just five (six is the maximum) and we all spent the day being driven around in Sean’s 4WD as if we were old friends of his. The beauty of this tour is that Sean knows all the right people in the area to get exclusive access to places not normally available to visit and we literally got to see things we couldn’t have seen on our own – certainly not in a hired 2WD anyway.<br />
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We start on the Margaret River itself, which, despite being the area’s namesake, is way down the list of attractions most people are here to see. Canoeing about three quarters of a kilometre out and back is a great introduction to the river – long enough to relax and get into the spirit of the tour but short enough not to be backache-inducing. The others in the group were two couples (one on honeymoon) and it’s easy to see why this is the main market for this tour – with the right person in the boat with you, this would be really romantic.<br />
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Heading on out to the coast, we grab coffee at Sea Gardens Café before watching the swell at Prevelly, aka Surfer’s Point. This beach has seen some of the biggest waves in the world over the past few years and Sean showed us unbelievable pictures of surfers riding them and told stories of friends returning to shore with dislocated hips and broken shoulder bones.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2B_-gaFOHgE6kmsS6V8VSsI7jwBTTrDYlBUlgM2Cp0W6s4fSny49SG293fnOiFMBrpbhQG8dFaZ9HYPPpICQmIqaCDUcJyTedlysoVOh0zWps8ZY_GB2fArJVAYq5XYDcFhpb4Xtetw/s1600/discovery_tour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2B_-gaFOHgE6kmsS6V8VSsI7jwBTTrDYlBUlgM2Cp0W6s4fSny49SG293fnOiFMBrpbhQG8dFaZ9HYPPpICQmIqaCDUcJyTedlysoVOh0zWps8ZY_GB2fArJVAYq5XYDcFhpb4Xtetw/s320/discovery_tour.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>From here we head into the surrounding Leeuwin Naturaliste National Park, a protected area of sand dunes which is home to the permanent water source Ellens Brook and dreamtime site Meekadarabee Falls (more a trickle if we’re honest). We pause here to soak up the bush for a while and Sean points out jarrah, marri and karri trees, has us chew on a peppermint leaf and gives us a taste of three delicious local honeys. Talking about how the Aborigines lived off the land here for over 30,000 years and tasting some of the produce that comes from it makes me realize how abundant it really is – it might look like a scrubby wasteland but the truth is it’s far from barren out here.<br />
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To prove this even further we head for Fraser Gallop winery to taste some of their wines and have lunch in among the barrels of their shed. This is not something the general public can do and visiting a winery this way is far better than any cellar door experience – we get three whole bottles between us for a start. Both the whites (a sauvignon blanc semillon, or SBS, and a chardonnay) are lovely but the real treat here are the award-winning reds. We all want a glass of the cabernet merlot and as we finish up Sean produces a bottle of the cabernet sauvignon, which in its 2007 vintage won Best Bourdeaux Blend at the Decanter World Wine Awards. It’s so smooth, so velvety and so smoky that I could down the bottle but there’s one more place to visit: the Willyabrup cliffs, and it won’t pay to be tipsy as we walk along the coast.<br />
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Wandering along the path here (part of the long-distance Cape to Cape walking track) is the perfect end to the day. The views are spectacular under the still-dazzling blue sky, the wildflowers add splashes of vibrant colour to the scrubland under foot and off the coast the beady-eyed are rewarded with sightings of migrating whales blowing. <br />
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Unlike most tours, this one has been genuinely enlightening – as well as completely considerate of its surroundings. It’s been lovely to spend the day in a group too and it almost makes me sad to go back to the lonely open road tomorrow. Still, I reckon I’ll survive – I’m taking some Margaret River wines with me after all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-37041347536979243892010-11-18T02:05:00.001-08:002010-11-23T02:09:46.818-08:00Burning rubberI feel slightly guilty admitting it but hiring a car is the best thing I’ve done so far on this trip. I may pretend to be the intrepid traveler but the truth is that travelling with my own vehicle is far more comfortable (it has air con for a start), involves much less lugging of suitcases and means I can see so much more than if I braved the public transport network. <br />
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Since picking the car up in Perth on Monday I’ve travelled over 500km and spent my days zigzagging around the area south of the city to Bunbury, Margaret River and Nannup, getting to know the region so much better than I could have ever done by bus (unless I had weeks to see it in, of course). I’ve been to out-of-the-way wineries, side-of-the-road food producers and am now staying at a rural B&B near Nannup which feels a whole lot less isolated when I remember the shiny gold Holden Omega sitting just outside. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEeIQ0rVrSkYGaCEgP5Ybh4LtoF9mKR_6h-g5ruJrTD9gWbcG4_HYny-0O5z77PAVibGeDX94-Hl3cZCMIa7d6jLsA1RlbN4lXUlXABewK4RGhJqDEuf8hnJvaf3U1_NhM4-iTBFY5hQ/s1600/munda_biddi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEeIQ0rVrSkYGaCEgP5Ybh4LtoF9mKR_6h-g5ruJrTD9gWbcG4_HYny-0O5z77PAVibGeDX94-Hl3cZCMIa7d6jLsA1RlbN4lXUlXABewK4RGhJqDEuf8hnJvaf3U1_NhM4-iTBFY5hQ/s320/munda_biddi.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>The past two days have been spent on the <a href="http://mundabiddi.org.au/">Munda Biddi</a> cycling trail, a new long-distance cycleway which begins in the outskirts of Perth and is being extended all the way down to Albany on the south coast. I’ve seen large chunks of the trail from the saddle (plus lots of its access points from the road) and it really is beautiful. It winds through the karri and jarra forests, sometimes emerging into hot, dusty scrubland, at other times plunging into thick woodland. Birdwatchers would be in their element here – I’ve seen dozens of different species including cockatoos, galahs and wrens and am told that my home for the night, the Blue House, perched on top of a small hill overlooking fields and forest, is the perfect place to spot lots of dazzling blue wrens. <br />
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Considering the dry landscape and unrelenting sun it’s amazing to see anything alive at all out here, but there have been numerous wild flowers of all different colours, including some wonderful orchids, poking their heads through from the gravel and a whole host of lizards, snakes and goannas have crossed my path (or rather, darted from it) as I’ve cycled or walked by. <br />
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I wish I had a bit longer here but, as is the curse of the travel writer, I have other places to get to. I’m starting to feel the pain of my itinerary with its 6am starts, long drives and endless new faces but that open road feeling is getting me through and I’m loving the constant thrill of the new. And besides, tomorrow includes chocolate and wine tasting – what could be better than that?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-23717176535600627292010-11-14T07:08:00.000-08:002010-11-23T02:09:46.819-08:00Fremantle for lonersThe weekends are the worst part of the week for travel writers. Come Friday the locals you’ve barely seen all week suddenly appear en masse as one big, happy gaggle of family and friendship groups, making the lone journo feel like the poor soul who didn’t get invited to the party – a bit like when your neighbours throw a raucous shindig the night you’ve planned to be early to bed. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoui0WLjX0RGxuGHpKeWUoYA07p1nGG1zywkNP21eHu3q4NjoDLYeVRLnkcSj3A3Bxzu7xmnHu1ApdFJK0UmPRNsqZdPKkNXMBfG0zMni4HipvskTlg4iutY2z33KiXrPmbXSbdEHnOc/s1600/maritime_museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoui0WLjX0RGxuGHpKeWUoYA07p1nGG1zywkNP21eHu3q4NjoDLYeVRLnkcSj3A3Bxzu7xmnHu1ApdFJK0UmPRNsqZdPKkNXMBfG0zMni4HipvskTlg4iutY2z33KiXrPmbXSbdEHnOc/s320/maritime_museum.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Today I really felt the isolation – and I blame Fremantle. On my previous trip to WA I fell in love with Freo, as the Aussies call it. Visiting with my mum and boyfriend I spent many a happy hour sipping coffees on South Terrace, guzzling fish and chips at <a href="http://www.cicerellos.com.au/">Cicerellos</a> and knocking back the drinks at <a href="https://www.littlecreatures.com.au/">Little Creatures</a> – sun-soaked memories that have kept Freo at the very top of my favourite places list for the past five years. <br />
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So this morning I arrived by train from Perth in high spirits. I had planned to revisit my favoured haunts and rediscover the laidback port city I’d remembered so fondly. But then I remembered that it was Sunday. The whole of Perth appeared to be in Freo; families with multiple buggies choked the pavements of South Terrace, raucous friendship groups were squeezed into every last space outside Little Creatures and hand-holding couples seemed to be everywhere – most of them meandering along at shuffle pace immediately in front of me. <br />
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I could, of course, have jostled with the best of them and grabbed a space in each of the places I’d planned to go, but is there anything worse than being gradually surrounded by groups while repeatedly telling people that yes, they can take that chair? I genuinely don’t mind eating alone but when everybody else is part of a gang it’s hard not to feel lonely. <br />
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So my day in Fremantle wasn’t quite what I’d planned. Instead I visited the <a href="http://www.museum.wa.gov.au/museums/maritime">Maritime Museum</a> to play with the interactive exhibits and still not quite grasp why the Aussies are still going on about winning the Americas Cup and wandered around the <a href="http://www.fremantlemarkets.com.au/">markets</a> trying to comprehend how so much hippy tat is still being gleefully sold. I watched herons picking at discarded fish and chips down by the wharf and realized why every Aussie has a hat after walking far too far in the blaring sun. In short, I made some new memories – and they were just as sun-soaked.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-8374986869884318022010-11-13T08:59:00.001-08:002010-11-23T02:09:46.821-08:00The humpback highway<a href="http://www.rottnestisland.com/en/pages/Home.aspx">Rottnest Island</a> is (cliché alert) like paradise on earth. There may be more attractive islands in more remote places but Rotto, as the Aussies call it, is so easily accessible, so affordable to reach and so simple to get around that it could rival even the most stunning of tropical idylls.<br />
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I was picked up at about 8am this morning by <a href="http://www.rottnestexpress.com.au/">Rottnest Express</a> to head down to Barrack St Jetty for the ferry ride down the Swan River and across to the island which was, although convenient, frustratingly slow. The boat was stuffed to bursting with weekend day trippers eager to get out of the city so loading everyone took an inconceivably long time – plus we had to make two further stops in Fremantle before heading out to sea – and the journey from hotel to island ended up being almost three hours.<br />
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It was, of course, well worth the journey. The water on Rotto is an arresting shade of turquoise, the sand is like silica and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky – my camera battery took a beating. I explored some of the bays near the main “port” Thomson Bay and walked up to Bathurst Lighthouse, then joined Rottnest Express’s Adventure Tour for a trip around the island. Our boat was a rigid inflatable (a rib) which was so sturdy it could crash directly into the waves, negotiate the rising swells and turning on a patch of water the size of a credit card, leering several feet up above the water at a 45 degree angle and making everyone grin from ear to salt-splashed ear.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpjDzmJthyphenhyphenbFsAYY7XEZH-ikDFP_ySBS4aSCv8zga8Q9A8rOAWdR_9OIfkGONgUyI2peHpeRZjzoaUesg-XHDNuCUDe7wLRPryYHWVIRdtHz7xE5MS7IMzogBR9_AUIsAFoYVsJrH0N0/s1600/whale_rotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpjDzmJthyphenhyphenbFsAYY7XEZH-ikDFP_ySBS4aSCv8zga8Q9A8rOAWdR_9OIfkGONgUyI2peHpeRZjzoaUesg-XHDNuCUDe7wLRPryYHWVIRdtHz7xE5MS7IMzogBR9_AUIsAFoYVsJrH0N0/s320/whale_rotto.jpg" width="320" /></a>We started the tour in the deep-water channel eagerly scanning the horizon for humpback whales, a species which is currently on its long annual migration south. The desperation was almost palpable with everyone constantly leaping up, pointing with an excited arm then dropping it again dejectedly and, of course, firing up their cameras, but for several minutes we didn’t see anything. Our guide’s commentary became increasingly desperate but then suddenly several humpbacks appeared, three on one side of the boat at first then two on the other, then a juvenile right up close. Camera shutters clicked excitedly all around the boat but I just watched in awe – no photograph can do this justice. <br />
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After the whales moved on we continued to cathedral rocks to watch New Zealand fur seals lolling around on the rocks and regulating their body temperatures by diving underwater, leaving just one flipper in the air. A cormorant was feeding its chick on a ledge above us and out to sea a pod of dolphins glided serenely by. I’d forgotten how much being in Australia is like being in a giant wildlife park and was slack-jawed in admiration of this unique continent.<br />
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Back on the island I basked in some deceptively harmless sun (I now have red shoulders and a radioactive looking forehead) and got up close to several quokkas, the unique marsupials which call the island home, but quickly ran out of time. The ferries to Rottnest are timed so that if you’re on a day trip you only get five hours on the island – not nearly enough to even scratch its sandy surface. I didn’t get to the saltwater lakes, the windswept “west end” or the snorkeling trails (I didn’t even pick up the bike included in my ticket) but I did get to the <a href="http://www.hotelrottnest.com.au/">Rottnest Hotel</a> for a drink on the terrace. And I did get to see those whales.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822354114819786410.post-37532515444486187822010-11-12T06:45:00.000-08:002010-11-13T09:05:35.863-08:00At home far awayFlying from London to Australia is strangely like being in an Anglophone bubble. On my flight from London to Singapore almost everyone on the plane was either an Aussie or a Pomme and even in Singapore airport the signs were all in English and the TV tuned to Channel Newsasia with its role call of the most recent Premier League results in perfect Queen’s English. <br />
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After almost 24 hours of travelling it’s hard to believe you’ll end up somewhere English speaking. For that amount of effort, passengers from the UK are usually rewarded with exotic spicy aromas, an indecipherable language and locals wearing turbans, wheeling carts or leading donkeys. We expect something different, exciting, perhaps even scary. But my first few hours in Perth I talk to as many Brits as Australians, check into an international chain (the YHA) and am served a drink by an Irishman. It feels like home immediately.<br />
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I joined <a href="http://www.twofeet.com.au/">Two Feet and a Heartbeat</a>’s Eat Drink Walk Perth tour as soon as I arrived last night and found that half the group had lived in London so found myself talking about Enfield and the tube network. Determined to appreciate my location a bit more I drank wine from Margaret River but paid as much as I would have in central London which was something of a shock – the last time I was here an Australian dollar was worth about 40p; now it’s more like 60p. <br />
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Everything I pay for seems very expensive but Perth has definitely changed a lot since I was here five years ago. So many cool little bars have opened up since the government made it easier to get a liquor licence and the CBD is a lot hipper than it was the last time I tried to get a decent drink in it. Perth only has a population of about 1.5 million people so it can seem overwhelmed by the backpackers and Brits abroad if you go to the wrong areas (Northbridge, namely) but the city centre feels very Australian and you can almost see the mining money pouring in. This is definitely a city on the up and judging by the number of cranes poking their heads over the skyline, it’ll be a whole different place by the time I come back.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07489434419199702728noreply@blogger.com2