First Impressions: Sunshine Coast – Beach, Sun & Fun

3 Oct IMG_3755

I love a good ol’ road trip. The adventure of the open road ahead, window down and wind in your hair. Singing out loud to the radio – much to your fellow passengers despair. The occasional pit-stop for a coke and a wee. Slipping from one obscure town to the next until you finally and readily reach your destination.

Who wouldn’t love all that? Truth be told, you do need to overcome the few road-trip niggles. The endless tarmac, traffic, heat exhaustion, road-kill, dodgy backpackers and any ailments which might encroach you on the way. But overall, we all love a little bit of road-trippin.

Aah, the Sunshine Coast. Stretching about three hours north of Brisbane along a beach encrusted, clear blue shoreline, where the sun shines warm and the sand is soft and bright. The further you go the more “coastal” the places become. The more you feel yourself unwind into the laid-back attitude of the area.

Strangers greet you on the streets, pedestrians wave as you drive-by. Surfboard in hand, sun-bleached golden locks and toned active physique – headed to the beach for a morning surf – you would wave too.

We first stop in an area called Maloolaba (which I am still uncertain how to pronounce – is it Maloo-la-bar?) and after a stroll along the busy, school-holiday infested beach, we stop for lunch at an Italian place and enjoy an incredible Salt and Pepper Calamari Caesar Salad. Yes please! I love the coast and their obligatory seafood menus.Image

We head further north – not far – toward Maroochydore and find our backpackers in the little suburb of Cotton Tree. Not particularly endeared by the place (and possibly the last time we will ever opt for the backpacker route – getting too old perhaps!) we head straight back to the beach.

Image

There we find an estuary which leaks into the land; and is defined by bulging sand-islands in convenient places for kids to paddle across and dominate their own little paradise. As the sun start to set and the water turns golden, we take an exaggerated meander down the beach and plan our next meal. Image

We settle on an incredible Spanish restaurant called Ba Vigo. We try crispy artichokes stuffed with goats cheese, flame-grilled prawns and Barramundi (my new favourite fish – Salmon is surprisingly pricey in Australia). A bottle of Red doesn’t go amiss.

After dinner, full and content with the happiness of food, we walk it off along the estuary boulevard and feel sleepy with the sleepiness of the town. We get no sleep at the backpackers though – enduring an entire night of fellow residents loudly sinking their beer and the night away. Damn them and their energetic youth (yep – definitely getting older).

We head further north again the next day, stopping along the way to scope out future “dream houses” on the beach, of which we will probably never afford but will stick a picture of their view on our fridge. We admire the long stretches of sand which curve their way around every corner and out of sight – beaches which are probably quieter and deserted in all the right places.Image

Reaching Noosa Heads, it is a fight against traffic to get across the busy tourist center bursting with shops, restaurants and beach-stuff for hire. Another town inundated and defined by waterways curving around hidden corners; the largest stretch of water facilitating boats, yachts and paddlers alike.

We beach it. Soak up all the sun we can before breaking sweat in the cool, temperate waves. There is a children’s surfing lesson in session and we observe while warming up again on the sand. Our eyelids sit heavy as we watch the more energetic manage the surf. The shore-break and seagulls lull me to sleep.

Refreshed from a nap, we lunch again. It’s tough, but someone has to do it. This time we try Bernardos Bistro – On the Beach and this time we choose the beef burger – beef on the coast! Sacrilege! But so very good. We enjoy the meal and a cool drink  practically on the beach itself (hence the name) and I notice an Australian flag fluttering high above an ice-cream cart, on the sand and swarming with families in queue for their Sunday treat. Image

Before post- road-trip blues completely take over, we steal a final walk along the heads – a National Park area which stretches around perfect ocean views for five kilometers or so. Through a forest of trees towering over the rugged waters, we find secret beaches and enticing look-out points, the smell of woodlands and sea breeze stronger than before in the cooling air.

We unfortunately have only enough time to cover one kilometer – before hitting the road for back home.Image

To avoid the consistent stand-still traffic along the Bruce Motorway (yes – the Bruce Highway) we choose a detour along Steve Irwin Way and pass Steve Irwin Zoo. We hope to come back to visit but agree that with the African exhibition currently advertised, it would really just be like returning home.

Nearing the final stretch of highway, I am thrilled to catch a  glimpse of the majestic Glass House Mountains, a small cluster of immensely steep but small mountains sticking out of the horizon like mole-hills on steroids. They contrast the horizon of orange, red and purple sunset.

As the dusk settles and the shutters of darkness take away last glimpses out the window, we are almost home.

Beach, fun and sun on the Sunshine Coast. We love a good road-trip.

First Impressions: Out of our Depth (Part 2)

5 Sep IMG_3475

Knock-knock. I promptly awoke to the gentle tapping on the bedroom door – only to remember that we were not in our own bedroom in the cooler city of Cardiff, but in Shannon and Grant’s spare room.

“Guys, I would suggest you don’t sleep much longer if you hope to get any sleep tonight,” I heard Shannon politely suggest from the other side of the door.

The grogginess of the jet-lag returned then – my head a sinking lead balloon – a reminder of the very recent and exhausting twenty-four hour trip we had embarked on, ending in a mid-morning jet-lag nap in Brisbane, Australia. I thought about how out of our depth we had felt,  all the unknowns coming back to me in the same way those hazy, cringing flash-backs do the morning after too many glasses of wine.

Scrambling out of bed, I scraped the sleepy stain of make-up from under my eyes and assessed the damage in the small bedroom mirror. Attempting to cover the dark circles under my eyes, I secretly mourned my beautiful, extravagantly over-sized, wooden-framed mirror back in Wales, reminiscing that this was not the first time I had thrown myself into unfamiliarity.

It had only been a mere four years earlier in fact, when I had uprooted my life in South Africa to join my boyfriend, now husband, in Scotland. At the time he was living in the staff dorms of a psychiatric hospital. Yes, strange and a little creepy, I know – but he was doing his medical training and well – he had to live somewhere. And after he became we, I found myself living there too. A couple of hours north of Glasgow; in a tiny town called Lochgilphead – that’s Logggh-gill-ped; a town over-run with loonies; with nothing other than a few clothes tightly squeezed into a suitcase

It was certainly a bit of a culture shock, and looking back a touch surreal. But even then, I don’t remember feeling as lost as I did now – and so without. I suppose I was younger, care-free and with nothing to lose. But since then – we have built. We have filled our lives with lots of things – things which no sooner we took for granted. And then almost in full circle, we had to leave it all behind and start over – all over again: New job and income; new home – filled with lots of new stuff; new car; mobile phone; bank accounts; tax-file numbers; driver licenses; medical aid; new friends…

I could hear Grant outside on the deck and a waft of barbecued chicken pulled at my nostrils. I felt momentarily relieved that we at least knew some people here – people we could call friends – people to stop us from drowning in the unfamiliarity of our surroundings. People to feed us lunch.

After lunch, we agreed to take a drive and investigate a few areas where Lawrence and I might consider renting. In the car, nose to window, I began to rationalise what I could see as the untried space filled out in front of me. We passed the local bakery first, clustered with a café and delicatessen and all of which seemed worth a visit. Around the corner and we no sooner spotted a few quaint looking coffee shops and restaurants – and in quick succession a green-grocer and a butcher. It wouldn’t have surprised me if we had also passed a candlestick maker. It was fantastic to see so many locally run – more traditional and less commercial – establishments.

One suburb rolled into the next, but each bore its own bravado as an independent and lively village. It did seem possible, however, that these suburbs had only recently sprouted supermarkets, either a Coles or Woolworths (comparable to Tesco or Pick n Pay), which I fear will inevitably put pressure on these quaint establishments with their more economic, albeit soulless, costs.

Away from the main roads, we moseyed deeper into some suburbs, tunneling between endless rows of houses, some bigger and better than others; some in serious need of some TLC. But all of similar charm and character.

The majority of the houses are raised just above the ground by what I would call wooden legs. This creates a cool space below the house which is sometimes converted into another level.  The walls are defined by wooden panels, often painted pastel hues of blue, green or yellow; or maybe a more modern off-white with contemporary grey finishes. Almost all boast a beautiful wooden shaded balcony which wraps around the entire house; a staircase extending out from the entrance way, like an outstretched arm in search of a friendly handshake. The balconies are softened by decorative railings and hanging baskets; complete with a green leafy garden; maybe a swing hanging from a large tree; and white picket fence. The types of houses dreams are made of.

Lawrence says they remind him of Canada, but we are told that this type of house is called a Queenslander (bearing its name from the state or province). They are designed in a way to keep it cool in the heat of summer, making it easy to picture yourself sitting in the shade of your well pruned balcony, avoiding the afternoon sun and sipping a cool glass of something as you watch the evening slip by.

After scouring several neighbourhoods for a couple of hours like a bunch of low-grade thieves, we decided we would drive to the edge of the city and head up Mount Cootha. From there we would invariably gain a better view of the city and surrounding suburbs. We passed the botanical gardens and planetarium, winding steadily up and up along the fringes of the forest – who occasionally called for you to follow a trail; the Simpson Falls Trail, Aboriginal Art Trail or some other intriguingly named trail. We flicked passed a number of enticing picnic spots flaunting wood-fired barbeques and I immediately decided we would have to return another time for a day of walking and a spot of lunch.

Reaching the top, there appeared to be an equal number of locals and tourists occupying the plateau. It also seemed to be the meeting point for any cyclists, walkers, runners, dogs and pram pushers. If not in the name of fitness, then they came to enjoy a sundowner or meal at one of the two restaurant cafes. We negotiated our way through the crowd and could only then see the attraction. Brisbane opened up in front of us with dabs of greens and blues and a city poking out amongst it, like a broken tree-stump jutting out of the ground.

You immediately noticed the river, unassumingly winding its way through and around, finally opening up into the gloss of the ocean. The vastness of the city hit me then and I began to feel a sense of excitement and community, the prospect of having so much to explore, alongside all these people who would soon just become familiar strangers, possibly some even friends.

That night we went to dinner at a less native Turkish Restaurant in the trendy area of South Bank. Set back just beyond the banks of the river, we sat outside and breathed in the fresh winter air, catching up then with a few other members of Shannon’s family. After a great seafood dinner of Calamari and Barramundi (a delicious, meaty, white fish), we took a walk along the boulevard and surveyed the inner-city beach. A strange concept, this man-made beach was inventively built to bring the beach to the city, with a good view overlooking the river – but to look only, no swimming please!

Having walked off dinner (only just), we headed to an area called Fortitude Valley, another trend-setting suburb within the city and where a number of nightclubs and bars are located. As far away from the nightclubs as possible, we stopped at a café infamous for its dessert-only menu. I settled on a decadent chocolate cheesecake and felt slightly nauseous as we left. Giddy at the prospect of getting home and hitting the pillow after what felt like the longest day ever, we took one last detour passed Kangaroo point.

We stood along the railings above the city-facing cliffs – both the city and the cliffs twinkling and coloured with creative lighting – and again found ourselves overlooking a beautiful view, with the river before us. Having seen it so many times already that day, it already felt like an old friend. I didn’t yet know its precise curves nor the suburbs or landmarks within them. And not a clue as to which direction it was flowing or the currents it carried. But I liked it. And figured I would work that all out sooner or later.

Overall, I felt more familiar with Brisbane and more at ease with being there. I no longer felt out of my depth. Instead I was wading in waist deep, ready to splash my arms about and fully embrace the adventure we were on.

Tags: , ,

First Impressions: Out of our Depth (Part 1)

24 Aug The Big Wheel over-looking Brisbane River

Twenty-four hours is really a very long time, particularly when it is spent commuting over sixteen thousand kilometers from Britain to Australia on an airplane designed to sleep only midgets comfortably. Flying with a little-known airline called EVA Airways (who according to Google has no recorded fatalities), I was set to overcome the notorious jet-lag and beat the nine-hour time difference through trickery and manipulation.

Based on no previous experience whatsoever, the plan was to sink as many glasses of red wine as allowed and stay up all night watching cheesy in-flight movies. I would then sleep the next eight hours in line with Australia’s night-time and wake up the next morning feeling fresh for landing. I still maintain that had I been allowed more than one glass of wine, served not in a cup whose size would be sufficient only if its purpose was to collect pee-samples, my plan would have worked. The gist of it, however, is that I got bugger-all sleep and was knackered by the end of it.

But this did not deter me from admiring the sunrise and feeling the excitement when we reached the northern tip of this incredibly vast country. I watched out the window as the sparkling sea ended abruptly and we crossed over onto the flat, bronzed land. With three hours to go until we reached Brisbane, I quietly absorbed the reality of moving to an entirely different country which, apart from the one book I read, I knew absolutely nothing about.

This thought struck me as slightly strange. What was even stranger was that I had no idea what to expect. Until then I hadn’t even thought about what to expect. And when you are not expecting anything… first impressions really are just that.

Something I did actually endeavour to do – before packing up our lives and suitcases – was to watch a few minutes of the highly recommended series called Border Control. And featured in those few minutes, was a Crocodile-Hunter lookalike being interrogated by Australian customs officials over some small dried-out bones, of which turned out to be the penis bones of Kangaroos – and some other unsuspecting creatures. Surprisingly, the penis bones were actually allowed through, where as the sheep skin, didgeridoo and half eaten packet of Pringles were not. So going on this, as well as the rumor that Australian officials are unforgiving and will search everyone, I had packed extra carefully to ensure that there was little chance of being caught out and sent back from whence I came.

Upon landing, however, I became increasingly sweaty and nervous at the prospect of perhaps, unknowingly, breaking the rules. And only once we began to near the passport control desks, did I suddenly remember the innocent pack of chewing gum in my handbag. With panic in my voice I began to ask fellow passengers if they knew whether this was allowed. With amusement, I was positively assured that it would be.

But as we reached passport control, I became doubtful and anxious once again. At the first opportunity, I immediately confessed to the passport-stamping official that I had a stash of chewing gum in my bag which I would be more than willing to hand over. And once again, I was informed that gum was more than acceptable. But as we moved towards baggage collection my anxiety returned and couldn’t help but to confess to another official handing out customs declaration forms. Reassured once again, I confessed one last time to the janitor en-route to the border control area.

By the time we got there – and almost to my own disappointment – they immediately waved us through, clearly impatient and tired of hearing about the uninspiring packet of gum and quite sure that we would be armed with nothing more than impeccably fresh breath.

Stepping out of the airport into the crisp air I couldn’t help but notice the clear blue sky. Not a cloud in it! Coming from the UK I found this to be a novel concept, particularly in the winter. Craning my neck upwards, mouth open, I also couldn’t help but notice how big the sky appeared. It may very well have been the sleep deprivation, but the atmosphere above me looked more expansive, blue and wide open than ever before. And I suddenly felt slight and inconsequential, transfixed and terrified all at the same time. My husband and I were irrevocably two small fish, totally out of our depth. And the only person we knew in a thousand mile radius wasn’t there to meet us.

We scurried around the airport, up and down, in and out, discussing the various options should we be stranded. After several minutes of panic and appearing like two lost children out the orphanage, we found Shannon, my husband’s long-standing family friend from his childhood, and regained our composure. In hindsight I don’t really know what the panic was about. In a modern world there are still things such as public telephones, taxis, hotels, credit cards…even in Australia. The way we carried on you would have sworn it was the first time we had ever left the house.

So began our first venture in the outback. Wrong. The outback is a long way from Brisbane and we were very much in the city. Contrary to what I believed, Australia is not a rural idyll with a dirt road running through its centre and a bunch of cowboys sporting cork hats. Well it is, but that’s in the outback. In the city it is clean and modern with leafy trees and a full flowing river. There is an extensive network of roads, tunnels, train-lines and bicycle lanes (for one weirdo, a tri-cycle) as well as a ridiculous number of bridges to accommodate each. This is a made necessary by the Brisbane River which imperiously snakes its way through the city and makes way for the CityCat, a network of super-speedy ferries which offer commuters an alternative route across the city and a really cool way to get to work should it be convenient.

Pedestrian and cycle bridge over Brisbane River

Train coming into Corinda Station

Shannon took us via the city on the way back from the airport, kindly pointing out all the areas and points of interest which might be useful to us newbies. “This is New Farm, lots of nice boutique-type shops along this road; and this is Fortitude Valley where there are some great restaurants; and this is Ann Street where you will find most of the municipal buildings; and I will take you passed Tenerife where there is a great Sushi place but there is a better place in Indoorpilly shopping centre; and here is Wooloongabba; and if you need to catch a train into the city you can stop anywhere between Roma and Woolowin;.” Some of the weirdest names I have ever heard and not a single scratch of familiarity about the place. The only thing I recognised, very sadly, was Mac Donalds.

For all her good intentions, everything Shannon said went in one and out the other. Between the jet-lag and information over-load I zoned out and started to take notice of the more inconsequential things. Brisbane city is abundant in creative and inspiring street art. From tasteful graffiti and murals to abstract aluminium statues and butterflies, on pavements, bridges, buildings – everywhere you look there are beautiful and unassuming pieces.

Street art in Brisbane City Centre

There are also a great number of places to go out, an entire metropolis of cosmopolitan cafes, restaurants, bars and coffee shops. A couple of restaurants in the city even operate 24/7 and unbelievably – never close. Max Brennan, which apparently makes the best chocolate sundaes, offers nothing else but desserts. Every dessert imaginable – what bliss! We have also tried out another small independently run cafe which targets the busy professionals and offers nothing other than tea and coffee – tall, short, white or black – no extras, not even a muffin.

A food and craft market runs every weekend in South Bank, where you will also find a man-made beach (alongside the river), a rain forest walk (not as exciting as it sounds) and (rather randomly), a Nepalese peace pagoda - a temple essentially. There is also the Big Wheel (comparable to the London Eye), rock-climbing off the cliff-face at Kangaroo Point, abseiling off Story Bridge, and at this time of year there is the Ekka– an agriculture exhibition which attracts almost half a million visitors a year. All this and more right in the city centre.

Nepalese Peace Pagoda in South Bank

Arriving back at Shannon’s place where we will be staying for the rest of the week, I was non-the-wiser as to how to get to the city, where to go for milk or whether New Farm was a suburb or a place where they grow animals. The only thing I was sure of was that we had not only taken on a foreign city in a foreign country, but we had taken on everything foreign inside of that.

Exhausted from the trip and over-whelmed by the experience we decided to have a nap before taking on the rest of the day. Unsure as to whether all the excitement and anticipation would allow us to sleep, as soon as our head hit the pillow we were gone to the world. When we would wake up later, it would feel like an almost entirely different day with an entire new adventure attached. But before then we would drift into our more familiar dreams and for a few quiet moments we would forget how very out of our depth we were.

Australia: A Series of First Impressions

14 Aug

I’ve always thought how cool it would to be a writer who could spend her days getting creative – while lying on the beach. Now look, I haven’t exactly made it - but I’m lying on the beach right now and I can confirm. It’s pretty awesome. Despite being a little logistically challenging. Exhibit A: I’m typing this on my iPhone whilst trying to see through the glare of the sun whilst trying to avoid the shape of a mobile phone being bronzed onto my stomach.

Today marks the two-week anniversary of us arriving in Australia. This week has been spent on the Gold Coast, south of Brisbane, my husband doing training as a flying doctor and me trying to work out what I am going to do with my life here in Australia.

It has been a totally foreign experience emigrating from the UK to a country which neither of us had ever been to. Exciting and frightening all at the same time. There are so many things you take for granted when your life is set-up with house, job, car, bank account, knowing how to find your way out of the front door. Just yesterday I walked a total of two hours looking for a bank. Taken on a wild goose chase by google maps, by the time I found it the  branch had just closed.

Regardless, every moment is a new experience and something to enjoy. I feel wonderfully privileged to have such an opportunity where we can redefine ourselves and our lives. To have the chance to explore and discover new places and things everyday.

In an attempt to document and share these things, I’m going to run a short series called First Impressions, based on just that. My first impressions of this unique and beautiful country.

I will do my best to remain objective. Tell it how it is. But based on the majority of my experience so far, it might be difficult not to boost the ego of Australia maybe just slightly. Although in my opinion, there is nothing wrong with giving credit where it’s due. Exhibit B: I am sitting on a beautiful beach in an area called Burleigh Heads and I have just seen (much to my disbelief) a shoal of dolphins swim by. That’s pretty amazing.

Please don’t get me wrong, every place has its “ups and downs”. And moving to an entirely new country is not exactly easy. Being content or in a rut can be easier.  Familiarity is comforting. 

The first post on First Impressions will be based truly - on the very first. Our first day arriving in Brisbane, the capital of Queensland. Spelt with a capital “out of our depth“.

Coming soon. X

They’re only just things…

18 Jul

Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.

I have had this song stuck in my head since yesterday. Since the truck drove away with our few measly little boxes, on their way for shipping to Australia.

The song was written by John Denver in 1966 and since then it has been covered at least 14 times. The song has obviously maintained its relevance between then and now, 46 years later. You might remember it from the 1998 film Armageddon. Ben Affleck sings it to Liv Tyler just before he heads out to space to save the world. It’s a catchy tune.

And although my hubby and I are clearly not headed out to space, we might as well be. Australia is totally foreign to us both – what with neither of us having ever been there.  So although we don’t have a clear idea as what to expect, we are obviously pretty damn excited to get there.

The next line in the song is “Oh babe, I hate to go.”

But we don’t hate. We love.

Did you know that around the year 2000, the Australian population was only 19 million? Putting it into perspective, the Chinese population grows by more than that every year. And did you know that Australia is the sixth largest country, the worlds largest island and also the only country which is also a continent? Neither did I.

And did you know, the ten most poisonous snakes in the world, are all in Australia? Wish I didn’t.

(If you’re wondering about all the random facts – in preparation of our new adventure – I just finished reading Down Under, a book written by the author and my new hero, Bill Bryson. Read it.)

Sadly, with new beginnings there are also endings. We will have to leave our life and house in Cardiff behind, taking with us only that which we can carry. That and the six boxes I managed to convince my husband we should ship over. Mostly containing my shoes.

Having moved many times in my life (four different countries, seven cities, a countless number of towns and at least thirty different houses), I have never carried much baggage. Only the emotional kind (is what my husband would joke).

But then again, neither my husband nor I had ever owned our own home, before the one we live in now. So over the last two years, we have filled it with a lot of stuff, most of which we decided we would have to leave behind.

Fortunately, my sister-in-law (fresh out of university) will be renting the house from us. So furniture and everyday household items we can leave and take over at a later stage.

So, my brief was to only fill the six boxes with things which we would consider most important, that might have some sentimental value, and which would be put to good use. In essence, the mother of all spring cleans.

The process started slooow. I hit the wardrobe first and made two piles. Keep. Throw.

“I haven’t worn this in a while, forgot I even had it. I’m sure denim is on its way back.” Keep.

“Ah, I loved these shorts. So disappointed about that big tear where you can now see my bottom sticking through. They’re great for lounging though!” Keep.

“Ooh, my winter coat. The triple-layer inner lining worked wonders through the British winter! I’m sure I’ll need it in a country made up of 70% desert.” Keep!

Needless to say I ended up with a rather pathetic throw pile. Getting tired of it already, I decided I had to get brutal. I started over.

Throw, throw, keep, throw. Shoes, bags, dresses, jewellery. Anything old or worn or of no consequence. To the tip. To the charity store. Throw. Throw. Throw! That used to belong to your great-great-great-grandmother and has been in the family for years. Throw. Ok fine, keep.

On a roll, I worked my way through the rest of the house, throwing things out left, right and center, only keeping those things I thought worthy. A few books; photographs; essential electrical items (namely my hair dryer); a few sentimental trinkets and gifts; our silver cutlery set; my favourite blue wine glasses from Kenya.

Totally strict on myself, I only packed those things which would be expensive to replace or were of sentimental value.

After a blurred flurry through the house, bin-bags taking whatever was thrown at them, my hair loaded with dust –  nails broken, slightly resembling that of a bag-lady, I eventually simmered down into a mild frenzy and took stock of what I had achieved.

And I was quite taken back, shocked really. I had filled less than three boxes. At a push, and with slightly more will power, I probably could have managed with just two. My whole life, both our lives. In three boxes!  And I would consider myself quite a sentimental person, sentiment alone should at least fill three boxes.

So I went around again. “Eh, not quite sentimental, but nice enough. You can come.”, “You have served us well little fruit bowel. I suppose we’ll need you.” “Winter evenings might be chilly, if there is space I can take my triple-layered winter coat!”

Slowly I started filling the rest of the boxes, each still with some space to spare. And by the end, anything that was not in a box or cupboard, could be found in a bin-bag. In total, there were double the number of bags than there were boxes.

More stuff to throw than to take. Surprising? A little.

Closing up the last few boxes, I saw the collection truck pull up outside the house. And suddenly – a wave of panic ran through me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so ruthless?! There is still space, things I might need, there must be something I’ve forgotten.

I started to do a manic run around the house, a last-minute shove into any of the still-open boxes. A pair of boots I could not let go of but will probably never wear again, that winter coat, a few books. All things we have said we’ll send back for, but probably never will. A few things I had decided to leave, take, leave. One or two things I had sincerely, forgotten.

After the second knock on the door, I had to stop. I felt relieved when I did. Relieved that no-one could see me desperately trying to cling on to these material things.

I don’t really know what came over me. It was ridiculous. I was acting like a mad person. Was it fear? Fear of losing these things. Fear of having to go without? Possibly greed? Optimistically, it was sentiment.

I felt quite embarrassed by my behaviour really. I had a giggle at my stupidity. I was like the fat kid trying to gobble down the remaining pieces of cake before anyone else could.

I eventually answered the door, red and flustered, cake smeared across my face. A smiling, grey bearded man introduced himself as the one who would take the material things we own and love away for us.

He chatted easily to me as he loaded the van, intermittent chatter as he walked in and out, while I taped up the last couple of boxes.

He seemed genuinely interested in hearing all about it. The move, that is. Not the bizarre manic moment I had just experienced. I was willing to oblige.

“So where you going?” he asked in a warm and genial manner.

“Australia. Brisbane. My husband was offered a great job, so it’s all quite last-minute. Which is why we’re only sending out six boxes.,” I said in an attempt to justify. And then with honesty, “Strangely enough, six boxes were quite difficult to fill.”

He eyed out all the bin bags scattered around my feet. He picked up the second to last box and just before disappearing out the door he stated, “Says a lot about your life in Cardiff.”

Whoa. Excuse me? Did you just say…? I don’t think you know us well enough to –  I am sure you can’t…

What does it say about our lives here in Cardiff? Does it really say a lot?  Is it sad that our whole lives can fit into so few boxes?

A very strong and sweeping statement from a man I have just met. A man who has only been sent to collect our very few, half-empty boxes, with our entire lives packed into them – because that is his job. So rude! And he seemed so nice!

Indignant and still thinking of a suitable response to defend myself and my husband, he returned for the last box.

As if he hadn’t left the room –  and me dumbfounded, he continued: “It says a great deal really. Who needs material things? They’re only just things. All you need is your photographs and your memories. And the only reason you need photographs, is because they contain your memories. “

And with that he walked out.

I followed him and waved a final goodbye to our things as he closed up the back of the van.

“Good luck with your travels, I hope you enjoy Australia.” he said. I wish I knew his name now. He was a nice man.

I hugged him goodbye (not really) and returned to the house feeling genuinely pleased and content. I was smiling all over and humming a John Denver tune.

Not just because I was relieved that the chore was done (I was), or because our house now looked clutter-free (it did).

But because we were about to leave. On a jet plane. And we really don’t know when we’ll be back again. But we do know we are going to make some fantastic memories, which we will keep forever, unlike the material things in those boxes.

And at least I’ll have my winter coat if it gets cold.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A train out of boredom station

10 Jul

Today I have done something rather exciting. Something, which in the year 2010/11, an impressive 11 259 968* other people did.

I have boarded a train which will be departing from Cardiff Central Station.

OK, I have been rather cooped up the last few days, what with being unemployed and all, so even the smallest of things excites me. Hence, at present, a relatively average 90 min train ride to go and see my mother-in-law endorses a pee-in-your-pants sort of excitement.

*The proof is in the numbers (above). Only with an obvious excess of time on my hands, would I ever be so willing and able to find this relatively unexciting statistic released by the guardian online and provided by UK’s Office of Rail Regulation .

Putting that aside, it is actually quite amazing to think that with the number of cars on the road today, such a large sum of people in the UK still make use of – and depend on – rail. (I suppose justifying someone bothering coming up with this statistic in the first place.) The busiest station in Britain is in fact Waterloo, which saw 91,750,382 people pass through its station in the same year. Incredible.

Anyway.

I am catching a train from Cardiff to Cheltenham Spa. A train which I almost missed as a result of losing track of time. (Unbelievably, this is very easy to do when you have an abundance of minutes to fill everyday.) So it was quite a stressful sprint to the station, all the time acutely aware of the fact that the train does not wait for anyone.  Ever.

The rail network is a logistical marvel which must run like clock-work to avoid disaster and public uproar. Those who travel by it frequently will know that it will always leave on time, down to the very second. Unless you are early – then inevitably it will be delayed.

So, I am relieved to have made it with only a minute to spare and have made myself comfortable at a window in an empty carriage. Slightly contradictory to the statistics*, the entire train seems relatively empty.

Then again, I am going to Cheltenham Spa, a place that some would refer to as a posh area and whose locals would generally not be caught dead on a train. Especially without their husbands to protect them from the commoners. (This is a judgemental and slightly exaggerated comment used purely to embellish my story. But not entirely without truth.)

Thankfully, my in-laws are not offended by such things as public transport and we all get on quite well. I’m sure some will be surprised to know that I get on particularly well with my mother-in-law. In fact, we get on well enough that if I find that she is being a bit of a bitch, I can unequivocally tell her so. True story.

I would say she has probably taken me on as a daughter-in-law rather well.

I do suspect, however, this could partly be down to her own mother-in-law. Sadly with us no longer, Granny Pussy knew how to ruffle some feathers. (Yes – she really was referred to as Granny Pussy, despite her name being Olga.)

In one instance, she turned to my mother-in-law and said, ‘There are only two people I hate most in the world. Bill,’ (her ex-husband who had left her for another woman a number of year previously.) ‘And you.’

Now, I’d say hate is a strong word. She could have just called her a bitch and left it at that. But I digress.

I love travelling on the train, I find it to be generally quite therapeutic. You get to watch the world go by as you sip on a fresh smelling cup of coffee and ease into the gentle swagger of the carriage. Intermittently tuning in or out of deep thought and the sound of land and air swishing by, you can sometimes listen in on people’s conversation. A narrow and often intriguing window into the life of a stranger.

By public transport standards, it is also the easiest mode by which you can really get a good look at people – so you can at least know who it is you are eaves dropping on. Particularly on a longer trip, there is always a satisfying number of people getting on and off.  ”People-watching” at its best.

Unfortunately today is not a good people-watching day. But that isn’t going to stop me enjoying the scenery and the few odd-balls I do manage to get a glimpse of:

  • To start, the conductor has a generous and ginger mustache, making him an uncanny lookalike to Yosemite Sam.
  • A teenage girl sitting opposite is wearing a woolly hat that she may or may not have stolen off a homeless person. Fashion I suppose. She hasn’t noticed me making this assessment, as she has held her smartphone 2 inches from her nose the entire time since getting on.
  • Another young person, who has already got on and off again, appears confused by his or her gender. I am still not sure.
  • We just passed a very dismal looking circus. So dismal in fact, that it looks the sort of place where you would be the first ever person known to catch a tummy bug off an unlikely stick of candyfloss.
  • Another woman on and off. She is wearing a black skirt, black shirt, black anorak, all seemingly 5 sizes to big for her. Either she has recently had a gastric band or she is in a cult. I’m going for the latter.
  • A castle. The well-known Chepstow castle to be precise. (According to Wikipedia, it is often cited as the oldest surviving stone castle in Britain. Construction began in 1067, a year after William the Conqueror became King of England, so to ensure he dominated the UK with as many castles as he could. Possibly trying to make up for something?)
  • Horses, sheep and golfers. (I mention golfers as they match both in numbers – so many of them, do they not have jobs to go to!? Tah.)
  • A large number of industrial buildings which smell like chicken poop.
  • An abundance of cows, pigs, geese.
  • More sheep, now out-numbering the golfers.
  • Strawberry farm, I assume. The large red inflatable strawberry sort of gives it away.
  • A Mr. Bean lookalike, swapping notes with Yosemite Sam.
  • 4 Dogs: Spaniel, Bulldog, Chocolate Labrador and a Staffie. Seasoned travelers.
  • An abundance of green rolling hills and a long stretch of the heavy flowing River Wye. Proof of the non-stop rain since summer began.
  • And quite interestingly between Cardiff and Cheltenham, more than 10 churches. Who thought religion was still so popular?

‘Next stop Cheltenham Spa’ says Yosemite Sam over the intercom. Time flies when you’re having fun.

As I get ready to make a quick escape from the train (which waits for no one) I think about how only 1 727 246 people traveled through this station in the same year – about 10 million less than Cardiff.

I wonder how many of those were on their way to visit their mother-in-law? Now that would be an interesting statistic.

Tags: , , , , ,

Hansel takes Gretel to tea

1 Jul

Full from nibbling on the witches house for several days already, Gretel turned to Hansel, “I’d kill for a cuppa tea.”

“I passed a tea station last month” he replied. “Apparently run by old man Earl Grey. Can’t remember how to get there but willing to try.”

Setting off in the Candywagen, it was pure coincidence that they found the giant teapot. They filled their pockets with tea bags and headed back home.

“What if we can’t find it again next time?” asked Gretel.

Hansel just winked at her as he began to drop a trail of tea bags behind them.

 

This is a write up for Julia’s Place 100WCGU #47

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 435 other followers