Monday, November 28, 2011

Canterbury, Kent

Canterbury was loads of fun. I went down for the weekend with the King’s Gilbert and Sullivan Society, and so spent three days hanging out with some of London’s finest. To be honest, I didn’t even see that much of Canterbury. We spent Saturday at the beach at Broadstairs and the rest of the time crammed in a single room in the Canterbury hostel.

Getting to the hostel was a challenge in itself. Obviously I went and stood outside the wrong building for a good twenty minutes, wondering where in the hell all the G&S people were and how exactly one got inside reception. Turns out that reception was very easy to find once I’d shifted myself one door down the street. It was a fairly gorgeous building, to be fair – entirely unhostel-like, in my experience.

We spent Friday night quizzing it up, answering most questions with ‘W. S. Gilbert’ and the like. And, by some miracle, my team won. Brilliant. Was not my fault. We dined on pizza and Chinese food – with chips! The insanity continues.

Saturday was spent at Broadstairs, a lovely little seaside town. It was much nicer than Brighton. We ate fish and chips on the beach, and I even got a separate little container of mushy peas.

A singularly thrilling event was the sand sculpting competition. Genevieve and I may not have won, but we made a pretty damn amazing loveseat throne.

We were treated to a fabulous three-course meal on Saturday night, dressed in our finest back at the hostel. I lost spectacularly at chocolate poker soon afterwards, but there was enough welfare chocolate available for everyone.

I spent Sunday morning racing around Canterbury to catch a glimpse of the famous churches and, of course, the Cathedral.

Curiously, I think I saw more of Canterbury last night at the advent carol service at St Martins in the Field near Trafalgar Square, as the Archbishop of Canterbury delivered the sermon. (It was more Russian Orthodox than St Aidans, with all its talk of judgement, death and hell and the like, and the gratuitously creepy organ music more than suited the tone.)

I’m glad I managed to get out to Canterbury, but the real highlight of the weekend was the beach. And the people I stayed with weren’t too bad either. :)


Monday, November 21, 2011

London: In Between Events

Sandwiched in between Ireland, Latvia and Canterbury were quite a few notable events. The first that leaps to mind involves a certain microwave. A certain exploded microwave. A microwave that no longer exists in our flat save for the distant smell of burning.

Okay, so I’m not completely hopeless. I know how to use a microwave. I now know how not to use a microwave. I’d set some bread on to defrost and had returned to my room when I caught a whiff of this awful acrid smell from the kitchen. I ran back to find that the entire kitchen was engulfed in thick impenetrable grey smoke. I panicked. I inhaled a kitchenful of toxic fumes while opening the windows. I ran to reception for advice and was told to try to avoid setting the fire alarms off, and maybe try opening the windows?

So essentially our block reeked of burning for about a week. On the plus side, they replaced our microwave the very next day and I haven’t managed to destroy this one yet. My lungs may be dead inside, but hey, shiny new appliance…

The second exciting event arrived on a Tuesday afternoon when I came home from King’s to find a parcel waiting for me outside my door. Forks! Tiny teddies! Hev sent me amazing wonderful things and it made my day.

And then a third fantastic thing occurred that very night when Maddie and Alice surprised me with tickets to see Matilda, the musical version of Roald Dahl’s novel adapted for stage by Tim Minchin. Brilliant brilliant brilliant! It was absolutely top quality, so much fun, so much Trunchbull. I laughed, I cried, I want to see it again and again. I normally hate kids singing on stage, but I loved all the little kiddie actors in this production. Genius.

So there we go: microwave, teddies, Matilda. Very notable events.


Sunday, November 20, 2011

Riga, Latvia

When I tell people I’ve just been to Latvia, they tend to get this funny startled look, as if Latvia isn’t really the first place they would’ve picked for a holiday. I’d honestly never given it much thought either until circumstances arranged themselves into an arrow sign pointed to Riga. It turned out to be an incredible place for a tourist. I couldn’t get enough of it, with the forest, the culture, the architecture, the food, and, obviously, the company.

After meeting up with our Melbournian-Latvian host, Antra, Alice and I dumped our stuff and headed out for a night on the town. What a fantastic introduction to Riga. The first place we went to was this wine bar featuring a live Latvian band – I’m talking violin, piano, mandolin and tuba. Amazing. They played a great set of Latvian and Russian songs, and even made room for a random cover of ‘Always Look On the Bright Side of Life’. Monty Python in Latvia: why not? Next stop was another bar down the street for our first taste of Latvian beer, where I notably tripped and fell flat on my face.

This was not the last time that the three of us would make public disgraces of ourselves in Riga – oh no.

We spent Thursday wandering through the Old Town of Riga, all beautifully ornate Latvian architecture and cobbled streets and cat statues on spires. Visual feast is accurate. There were several market stalls scattered through the streets, one of which had the best babushkas I’ve ever seen. Look closely.

There was no way we were going to miss Antra’s art exhibition in a local café, so we dropped in and admired her fantastic silk-screen prints. Check them out, they’re stunning: http://www.etsy.com/shop/MinkaSvarcs?ref=pr_shop_more

After a Latvian-style lunch of ham and beans and rice and veggies, we continued walking through the streets and soon bumped into a camera crew. Obviously attracted by our puffy jackets and crocheted scarves, the director begged us for a contribution to his documentary on Riga’s awesomeness. We almost but not quite managed to give them a passable ‘We… Love… Latvia!’ and there was embarrassment all around. And now we’re probably famous.

That night we headed up a pub called Chomskeys only twenty metres down the road from Antra’s apartment. It was there that we first met Antra’s Swedish medical student friends and collectively came up with the concept of a moose-kangaroo crossbreed that could swim, attack tourists and dent cars. It was a great night.

Friday only got better when we took the bus out to the National Memorial and the local forest. There was a really moving memorial service. Despite being warned by the Australian Travel Advisory website about ticks in Latvian forests, we then headed out to a forested area and had a fantastic time discussing determinism and compatibalism and throwing bunches of leaves into the air. No ticks spotted so far.

It turned out that Friday night marked the lacplesa diena festival in Riga, which pretty much meant that the entire town turned out to light candles, stick them in the castle walls, and light massive bonfires which they then set loose down the river. There was a stage with live music and everything. It’s lucky there were bonfires, actually, because by this stage, I was basically more icicle than human. Alice and Antra engulfed me in their puffy jackets, hence saving my life.

After watching the bonfire float away downstream, we went out and got some amazing and cheap-as Russian dumplings at a fastfood restaurant that should definitely be exported to Melbourne. Next we popped into the local Irish pub – felt like I’d gone back a week in time – and watched Antra’s friend sing a set of classic hits. After that, we headed over to the Swedish medical students’ apartment. Quizzes, Business Time, and a boxful of organs: that’s how I’ll remember those people.

We woke up extremely late on Saturday, which was a bit of an issue as the sun had taken to setting by 3pm. Making the most of the remaining daylight, Antra took us on a tour of some incredible burnt-out buildings in the area. Feeling reasonably certain that the staircase would collapse, I wimped out early.

Afterwards we went and located some delicious Latvian pancakes – almost but not quite as spectacular as Latvian bread. We then went to a great little bar called Leningrad, which had all you could ask for in honey beer and clientele drunkenly sexy-dancing on tables. Alice was the victim of an Antra attack.

The night progressed to some clubbing with Swedes, and eventually, to a fake snow fight in the middle of the city. Antra and Alice disgraced themselves. It was great fun. We got home much too late and scarfed some leftover Latvian borsch that Antra had made earlier.

Woke even later next morning and hurried out to walk through a different part of town, where the Soviet influence was clear as concrete. The best part of the day was our visit to a gallery showing interactive art. All three of us took it in turns to be strapped down to a white hammock that looked nothing less than homicidal. You whacked on a set of headphones and listened to music reflecting sound vibrations onto your skin. I think.

There was also this plant that made sounds when you touched its leaves, and a set of atlases that showed the geographical distribution of internet connection, multi-million dollar companies and all this other sociological stuff. Fascinating. I was pretty taken by a toaster-building project one design student had embarked on, constructing a functioning toaster from organic materials at an exorbitant cost. He did this to show how little understanding we have of modern technology and ecological consequences, and how we generally fail to think about how our kitchen appliances came to be.

And he quoted Douglas Adams. Nice.

We left that night, full of wonderful Latvian food and language. (Like lapsa. That means fox.) Paldies, Antra!

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Ireland, The Republic Of

Ireland was somehow exactly how I’d imagined it, Bernard Blacks and leprechauns all over the shop. Everywhere but Dublin was ridiculously green, Dublin being more of a greyish colour. But Dublin gave me my favourite Irish experience: Chinese food served the Irish way (with chips instead of rice) with the fabulous Sarah, an authentic Irish redhead and everything.

Dublin itself was quite a decent city. It was full to the brim with Oscar Wilde stuff, just as it should be. I really enjoyed wandering through Trinity College – home to the Hogwarts Great Hall! – and the cathedral district. So many cathedrals. My favourites were St Patrick’s Cathedral, with its Jonathon Swift memorial, and Christchurch Cathedral, for the cat that almost gave me a heart attack by stalking my tuna sandwich.

The next day marked the start of my five-day Shamrocker tour of Ireland’s south and west coasts. The bus was 75% Australian: great people, fun times. We left Dublin and headed into the (green, green) countryside, making a stop at Blarney Castle for the obligatory kissing of the Blarney Stone. Apparently, being groped by an old man as he suspends you over a chasm at the top of a castle in order to kiss a stone gives you the ‘gift of the gab’. You'll have to judge.

The Blarney grounds were incredible. I climbed the Wishing Stairs backwards with my eyes closed as instructed, visited the Druids’ Circle, took a wander through the Poison Garden – very cool but concerning – and generally enjoyed myself. Meanwhile, one of the guys on our tour asked his girlfriend to marry him, which was incredibly sweet.

Also, it was Halloween, leading to surprises like this in the castle:

We spent the night in the town of Killarney, where I enjoyed some proper Irish stew – delicious – and watched Pa the Storyteller perform in a small room above a pub. He was phenomenal. He drank a total of six pints of Guinness and a couple of shots of Jamieson whiskey as part of the performance. Mad. And he gave me a free cd of songs he’d recorded in his youth, so he was pretty all right.

A note on Guinness: it tastes like vegemite minus the salt. And the correct way to drink it is in three mouthfuls, to prevent it from settling and tasting awful.

I stuck to cider.

Day two took us to the Dingle Peninsula, land of incredible views and coastline. We passed through the hometown of Jack Duggan, ‘The Wild Colonial Boy’, and, more excitingly, a man who shares his name with our street. We made a stop at Coumeennole Beach, where several of our group waded into the sea and hence lost bits of their souls according to legend. I was wearing tights, and so preserved my soul. We spent the night in Ennis.

Day three delivered the highlight of the tour: the Cliffs of Moher, otherwise known as the Cliffs of Insanity from the Princess Bride, or the Cliff Entrance To The Cave Where Dumbledore Drank The Poison And It Was Creepy.

The views were spectacular. We were almost blown off our feet as we looked out over the Atlantic Ocean.

Next (or maybe before... Eh, Irish time!) we headed out to the Burren, this stretch of rubbly stone hosting the occasional dolmen. It was all very grey and eerie.

We hopped back in the bus and made a brief stop at a fairy circle, having heard all about the fascinating Celtic legends of fairies, leprechauns and general superstition. It was like something out of Enid Blyton. Abiding by the strict warnings of our guide, Carol, nobody stepped into the fairy circle, hence averting tragedy and bad luck.

We stopped for the night in Galway, Dublin’s ‘funky sister city’, and made a tour of several pubs, all of which featured live traditional Irish music.

We spent day four back on the bus, exploring Connemara’s beaches, mountains and peat bogs. It was fantastic to learn more about Irish history while visiting the National Famine Memorial. We heard some fascinating, tragic stories about the famine.

One of the best things we saw in Connemara was a statue outside a little town marked by a rather curious sign: “The Connemara Giant – late 20th c: antiquity.” The statue itself bore a plaque stating, “Built in 1999 for no apparent reason.” Brilliant.

The next day marked the end of the tour, so after taking a guided walk through Galway in the morning, we all got back on the bus and listened to Carol’s very thorough explanation of the current Irish situation.

All in all, it was a great use of my reading week. I still can’t believe how very Irish the whole thing was. And Sarah, the London offer still stands!

Friday, October 28, 2011

London: We Got The Funk

London’s a great place for celebrating birthdays. I’ve even worked out a birthday route of sorts. I got to help organise two separate birthdays in the space of about a week. As of this moment, I am at least fifty per cent cake. Mmm.

Alice’s birthday first, then! Maddie and I arrived at Alice’s house in the morning and serenaded the birthday girl mid-shower. Maddie had to go off to uni for a couple of hours, so it was up to me to guide Alice through the first of the activities that we’d planned for the day. We got lost, of course. But it was okay, because in getting lost we arrived somewhere much more exciting: the Black Books shop!

A particular highlight was our discovery of a book called In Defence of Beards.

We then made our way to the University College of London, which, incidentally, looks much like I’d imagined King’s would. The campus is basically beautiful, set right in the heart of Bloomsbury with marble facades and grass and Jeremy Bentham’s corpse, which was obviously the reason we’d come. Jeremy Bentham was some loony English social reformer and the ‘spiritual founder’ of UCL. His will stipulated that he was to be stuffed and mounted on display in UCL, much like Lenin and Mao. Unlike Lenin and Mao, his head was pinched by a bunch of King’s students at one stage and booted around as a makeshift football. It now resides in a locked case in the UCL basement.

In retaliation, some UCL students stole the King’s mascot lion and buried him in cement save for his tail – but I don’t think the lion’s on display.

Apparently the UCL staff wheel Jeremy out on formal occasions and set him a place at dinner. Amazing, these Brits.

After the Bentham birthday adventure, we headed into Covent Garden and met Maddie at a nifty vegetarian restaurant for lunch. We then wandered through Soho, found a great comics shop, did coffee in a place with vaulting equipment instead of tables, and then ended the day at a charming sort of cocktail pub.

And then it was Maddie’s birthday. Once we’d wandered through Bloomsbury to this really nice French patisserie, I reworked my Alice-birthday steps and took her to the Black Books shop in the next street and then to Jeremy Bentham. I think we’ve established a birthday tradition of paying one’s respects to the crazy headless dead guy at UCL.

We then caught a bus to Piccadilly Circus, where we visited St James Church and eventually met Alice at the foot of the Eros statue. Having dropped them off at a rather fancy restaurant for lunch, I headed over to King’s for a criminology lecture. See, Mum, I haven’t completely forgotten my studies!

We met up again in Hampstead at this fantastic café that served the most delicious chilli hot chocolate in London [she says with limited experience]. I got a free umbrella out of it, and Maddie and Alice almost got free coffees as they forgot to pay, and had to dash back from the tube station to do so.

Next we took the tube to Soho for steamed buns in Chinatown, which weren’t nearly as good as Box Hill pork buns. Then we wandered over to Ain’t Nothing But, this squashy, fabulous blues bar, where we saw a band of the following description:

"Robert Hokum is 'a funky spanking of the blues'."

Yes. He was.

So in short, those were two of the best days I’ve had in London. And if your birthday’s coming up and you’re in London, Jeremy Bentham and I will show you a funky spanking time.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Bath, Somerset

I’ve become absolutely rubbish at putting up blog entries, so I thought I should try to play catch-up before I go off to Ireland next week. So here’s Bath, where I spent one wonderful Saturday a couple of weeks ago. I went with three lovely American exchange students, Paula, Allison and Ashley – all Austen fans, of course.

We headed off to the Victoria Coach Station at some obscenely early hour of the morning, clambering aboard our bus at the last minute. After a three-hour journey, we arrived in Bath and found ourselves at the start of a gorgeous sunny day.

Having sorted out our priorities in advance, our first stop was the Jane Austen Museum on Gay Street, where the great author lived – and loathed Bath – at one stage of her life. We all posed with Jane and then entered the cramped little exhibition inside.

There was some fascinating stuff in there. And the obligatory photos of Colin Firth-Darcy. I left with an ‘I [heart] Mr Darcy' bag.

We then made our way over to the beautiful Royal Crescent. It was luscious and green and flecked all over with sunbathers.

There was even a hot air balloon. Perfect photo opportunity.

Afterwards we hurried down to the town centre for a spot of tea and scones. The scones were really dry and kind of awful, but apparently they were similar enough to an American-style biscuit to please my travel companions. We all downed an incredible amount of tea. Personally, I’m not yet converted to milky tea, but I gave it my best shot.

Next we walked the short distance to the Bath Abbey, a beautiful building next to the Roman baths. Inside we found an organ recital! What amazing luck.

After a great impromptu concert, we left and found ourselves a pub, and a tipsy, talkative nuisance of a middle-aged admirer. I tried the local cider: ginger flavoured, and horrible. The others were staying overnight, but alas, I had to leave – but what a fantastic day! I’m pretty desperate to go back and explore more of the pokey little shops. Such a perfect holiday spot.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Brighton, East Sussex

Brighton! Or ‘London by the sea’ as the locals call it. It was a bit scungy and sleazy on the pier, but the beach was fun and the shops were fab. Just the place to run off with Mr Wickham. I had a fabulous time – though honestly, it had more to do with the calibre of my companions, Maddie and Alice, than it did with the location.

The trains were playing up – as always – so we arrived in Brighton around about late morning. It was Pasty Time for Alice and I, and we munched as we wandered down into the Lanes from the station. The Lanes are full of quirky little shops.

There was one shop that particularly stood out due to its Alice-suited exterior.

And I found a little something-something for that smorgeous dog of mine:

We finally stumbled out onto the pebbled beach and reverted to toddler-hood, building pebble-castles and making pebble-angels and leaping into the air for Toyota poses.

It was great. Whoever said that pebbled beaches are depressing for Australians was severely lacking in imagination, or clung too hard to their dignity.

Next we went and visited the Royal Pavilion – a very Aladdin-looking building in the middle of a park. It was visually unexpected. We ducked inside, saw the museum entry prices and ducked out – but not before I’d completely embarrassed myself by loudly admiring the museum worker’s accent, only to discover him standing directly behind me with a Cheshire-cat grin.

We ran away to sit on the lawn and admire the building some more.

We then headed back to the beach and got delicious ice creams which we ate on the pier. As mentioned above, it was a shoddy sort of pier. The highlight was watching some teenage boy being repeatedly bucked off a mechanical bull. That and climbing into kiddie rides.

Once we’d gotten all nice and frostbitten, we hurried back up the main streets in search of a good Brighton chippie. Like Mary and Joseph on Christmas Eve, our hunt for a good pub was fruitless until we finally stumbled across something of a miracle: a really incredible vegetarian pub. This pleased us all immensely, even me with my fish-and-chips appetite, and we had a great feed.

It was a really fun day. I wouldn’t say Brighton is a must-see, but it was good to briefly experience the British seaside.