Day 5. Wednesday 12 March.

A good night’s sleep and we awoke to a bright sunny day but with a forecast of rain in the afternoon. After breakfast of gazpacho and Spanish omelette, we decided to make the most of it and take the metro into the Parque del Buen Retiro and perhaps a bit more if the weather was kind. 

The first task after breakfast (and doing the washing) was to manage the Madrid metro system. We walked to the closest subway, Canal, where a very kind assistant, who claimed she had a little English but had quite enough, ran us through the simple process of getting a rechargeable train ticket for 10 rides, after which we caught the #2 line into the Parque and wandered around the gardens for several hours. We. Had planned on visiting the Crystal Palace, but it was closed for renovations until 2027. The Jardines de Cecilia Rodriguez had potential – but the roses were just budding at the start if the season.

We caught sight of the double-decker buses, doing the tours of Madrid, so decided to check it out.

On our way there dropped in to the Museo de Prado, which was showing an El Greco exhibition: it was closed (we think for a temporary break). Then stepped into the Iglesia Parroquial San Jerónimo el Real de Madrid: perfect record, it was closing too! Quickly ushered out by the priest.

There were two tours on the same ticket – as it turned out they cover some of the same ground. As we’ve found in other cities, this was a useful way of getting an overview. After the tours walked into Sol, the main shopping precinct and from there onto the metro to Canal.

At the end of the day after a fair bit of walking (12.6K steps) we caught the train back to our accommodation, picking up some supplies for this evening‘s meal, plus of course a reserve of wine. As it turned out, the weather was kind all day. Very cool here but sunny and no rain.

Magic Moments

1: the bird feeder/ photographer in Retiro

 2: The family exiting their car at the green traffic lights near plaza de Cibele (centre Madrid)…no rush…no pressure – kids, luggage & oops… a couple more bags from the back seat! sang froid (or whatever the equivalent is in Spanish). Other traffic not impressed.

Dinner: Chicken Little Patricio with zucchinis in a sweet red wine jus with a Castillo De Haro Rioja Crianza 2021. (Jus ingredients – cummin, onion, leak, red wine, vinegar, raw sugar, salt, pepper, water, inspiration)

Day 4. Tuesday 11 March.

Not much can be said about 15 hours stuck in an airplane. The food was better than the first leg, so that was a plus. Some sleep, and D watched all of the episodes in Series 2 of Reacher. We were picked up by our pre-arranged taxi and delivered to the apartment. A lot of use of WhatsApp  with the apartment management over payment, access codes, keys, parking, payment….but all very civilized and hence resolved easily. By this time we were totally whacked so decided to do a short loop from the apartment with a small shopping trip (that became just that bit bigger, and not just because of the beer, champagne and red wine). As we were about to enter the very narrow lift a couple joined from next door. We crammed in – both neighbours were tall Americans, and he was huge – over 6.5 feet at least and about as wide in the shoulders: well put together. D made a crack about being in the lift with Reacher: did not get a response. Oops.

Drizzle on and off but not enough to be off putting. 

The afternoon dragged on: “what do you mean it’s only 2 o’clock?” A late walk around the area and a leak and potato soup for supper and then off to bed early – although 7.30 here is 0330 in Australia, so perhaps, until we adjust our body clocks, it was a very late night. Whatever. 

Dinner: Potato and leek soup with baguettes and a Senorio de Los LLanos Tempranillo 2021

There was virtually no rubbish, no broken glass, no ‘loud offensive behaviour’, very little advertising…At around 3pm we’d had enough, made our way back to Tung Chung, popped inside the mall to use a bathroom (flushing was out of action at our hotel), we’re very conscious of the expensive ‘labels’ scene on the higher levels, got the S1 back to hotel. Feeling desperate for a beer, we walked thru the tunnel to the airport in search of a reasonably priced bar establishment…they apparently don’t exist in the airport! Got three 500 ml Heinekens, a packet of chips & a Peking Duck wrap in a convenience store to consume in our room- at a reasonable price: the whole bill was less than the cost of one small hotel beer (and the beer cheaper than in Australia). Airport bars seemingly don’t exist & there are virtually no cafes!

A slow afternoon waiting for the right time to walk the 5 minutes to the airport.

First hurdle was checking in. The self-serve kiosk couldn’t process D and directed us to the assisted check in counter. Bonnie took some time trying to get us both processed, eventually giving up and calling or her supervisor. Seems the system wouldn’t accept that our tickets didn’t match our passports – both tickets missing our middle names. That had’t been an issue leaving Sydney so watch this space leaving Barcelona in 3 months! First security check – via a ‘token’ was OK, but the second check using facial recognition required a manual check for D. Then a trek down several escalators to board a fast train, to then go up several escalators to arrive at our departure gate….to find out that departure was delayed, but that the Australian pilot Chad would try to make up time.

Next post – Spain.

10 March. Day 3.

A quiet day in Hong Kong planned with a short shuttle ride down to Tung Chung the ‘outlet center’ where we’d been told there were shops & cafes. But the timings were inconvenient and the concierge advised that the S1 bus would take us there for eight Hong Kong dollars so we decided to do that – D had some small change left over from a Defence trip about 15 years ago (of course). 

Soon enough we were on the bus, transiting via the airport terminals Cathay headquarters, the aviation fuel tank farm and a couple of other places, we arrived at Tung Chung  station, akin to bussing to Woden Interchange but on a very much larger scale.  Having avoided the horrendous costs of breakfast in the hotel, the next step was to look for a coffee and some breakfast, but that was not so easy and in the end we bought a beef bun, two bananas, two yogurts, and an apple in a supermarket which sold a vast range of packaged/prepared food (hot & cold). Yogurts weren’t really useful, at that stage, because we did not have a spoon. We ate our bun outside and got a coffee from one of the bakery cafes: David had a umami scroll, which tasted fishy (seaweed) and Trish had an apple and raisin scone. This is not a cafe culture but patrons & staff were young, well-heeled in Western style & appeared to be enjoying a ‘western processed food scene’. 

From there we decided to walk toward the water and follow a suggested historical trail, but  without any indication of distances – it was a ‘discovery thing’. 

We climbed stairs & followed paths through gardens, across footbridges and past housing estates (multiple tower blocks). We found ourselves in the old fishing part of Lantau, passing through a ‘suburb’ or area called Chung Hau, complete with alleyways/workers’ cafes, small businesses and very old waterfront housing (the stuff of a culture disappeared) in the old fishing zone (now it seems to be the construction workers’ lunch spot & maybe the eating zone for the older style housing blocks). 

The  day was surprisingly very warm so we paused in shade within an estate & used foraged  spoons to eat yogurt. Here we saw kids (middle eastern, perhaps Pakistani, definitely not Chinese)  playing cricket outside the apartment tower. This seemed a world apart from the Tung Chung scene. 

Suspect action – perhaps Sri Lankan?

Then we followed the trail toward the estate that claimed to be a public art space…it was an estate which had installed a variety of installations. The estate struck us as a ‘suburb’…an area of many skyscraper apartment blocks.

 The estates have schools & small shopping outlets, central playgrounds,  sitting areas and covered walkways. The demographic was far less well heeled than at Tung Chung & there were no Westerners. We found about 6 art installations all referring to the link between  past rural/ natural  settings & the current urban neighborhoods. Here there were all ages, kids in school uniforms, some women in middle-Eastern garb, ‘ordinary folk’ without the glamour of the Tung Chung set. The apartment block estates had washing lines outside the windows, old aircon units & there were rusty old bicycles abandoned and chained up, filling up the designated bike racks, signage for dog owners, ….but all was otherwise so clean & orderly.

8 March. Day 1.

IWD and Sal’s birthday, so we started with a breakfast at Space Kitchen in Phillip. Well, it actually started at 0930, after some time doing final clean ups. Jo dropped us off at Jolimont to catch our Murrays bus to Sydney, after navigating the street closures and detours caused by the light rail extension. Bus dropped us off at International Departures, where we caught the shuttle to the Holiday Inn Express. A short walk, finding a small green belt near the hotel, then a beer, a glass of wine with lasagne and pizza and off to bed.

Room was small – adequate but very quiet.

9 March. Day 2.

Needless to say, a night of light sleep until the first alarm (of 7) went off at 0445. Shuttle to airport, checked in to then discover our main bags wold not go straight through because of the 30 hour stopover. But check in and immigration checks otherwise quick and easy. Then just a wait to board.

Exit from the plane and airport was quick and easy (apart from a slightly anxious wait for T’s case) with a sort  5 minute walk to the hotel for another quick and easy check in. After a wander around the complex, a swim and sauna. Dinner was an underwhelming selection (sort of an Asian tapas) and including a couple of beers – a steal at $HK184 – about $AS 37. We decided then that we wouldn’t eat or imbibe at the hotel again.

Day 47. Sunday 30 June.

We’ve lost a day – Saturday 29 June – as we crossed the International Date Line. We were asleep at the time – or what passes for sleep on any aircraft. Notwithstanding, the 14 hours was about as comfortable as it could be.

Arrival in Sydney at 0615 highlighted the contrast with our US arrival and departure: no queues to speak of, rapid processing, no fingerprints, a very casual official asking at the luggage carousel “Has anyone got anything to declare?’ and quick exit. We had brought back some herbs taken for our self-catering. D insisted that we answer ‘yes’ on the entry cards in the appropriate box, although T reckoned we didn’t need to, having bought them before leaving home. So, a quick change to the box on the arrival card and confession to the casual official. ‘What do you have?’; ‘Black pepper’, says D and T mutters something about some ‘cumin seeds & fennel seeds’ and can’t get her brain into gear. She was probably right: the inspector stamped the cards and waved us through without any further questions, which actually helped us get out more quickly because our luggage wasn’t put through the X-ray screening.

Transit to domestic terminal left us with a couple of hours to wait – but provided a lesson. Our original booking involved a flight about an hour after arriving, and D had thought this was too little time and had requested a later flight. On reflection, there was no imperative to ensure we didn’t miss the earlier flight, as we’d have just been placed on a later one. And no, we couldn’t jump on a different flight because there was a fare difference involved!

But blessings come unexpectedly: on boarding the plane we were able to share some precious chat with a dear friend returning from Katherine: her husband, a very close and dear friend also, had died while we were away, and we’d missed what was reportedly a wonderful affirmation of his life.

As we took our seats an announcement asked if anybody on board could speak Dutch, as there was an elderly woman passenger who could not speak English, and she was quite concerned that she wasn’t on the right flight, and that her luggage wouldn’t go to the right place. A man seated across from us put his hand up, said he spoke German, and a few of the words were probably similar, so he’d be happy to try. Turned out the woman was actually Austrian and her language was Deutsch, so everything turned out well. For all the miles we’d done in several different countries, speaking only English, it was another reminder of how limiting it is to have only one language, particularly if that language is not common in the countries visited. It was also somewhat of a surprise that a European couldn’t speak English (although she may well have been fluent in several other languages!) as just about everyone that we’d dealt with in the past 6 weeks was multilingual. We really are in a cultural bubble down under, with of course some exceptions.

Craig picked us up and delivered us home, where there were fresh provisions enough to get us through the day. That is such a boon. Later Jo and Maya, Theo & Charlie dropped by for a cup of tea and a noisy chat. We were home. Heating revved up and the promise of blessed darkness by 1730!

So this is the final post for our trip. Thank you to all followers for just being there and sharing the journey. If we have not responded to a comment (we intended to in every case and we did receive them via our email account) it is most likely that in our moving from place to place, a response got mislaid. Our thanks and apologies.

Day 46. Friday 28 June. 

What to do with a full day – our flight isn’t until 10.25 PM, although D for a while (until T pulled him back into line) was planning our trip to the airport based on a morning flight. It’s been a long trip.

We still had our 24 hour Big Bus ticket, so eventually decided to use it to get to Sausalito, a small town of about 9,000 on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. Big Bus Red Route crosses the Golden Gate and then returns to SF: the trip into Sausalito is by another bus that provides a circuit of the area Green Route -– for an additional price, of course.

There was another queue to join to get on the bus. One gentleman appeared and lodged himself in front of us, continuously gesturing to others in his party further back to stay where they were. This continued as the queue moved forward, until that time when we would be included in the next group to board, which is when he moved and his group butted in ahead of us. D had had enough after 6 weeks of this, and told him brusquely to get back in the queue where he belonged. ‘But they’re family’ was the response. D was not in the least bit interested, and said so. When we got to the bus, the interloper stood back to let us on ahead, so D signalled a lone American woman who had been behind us and also therefore gazumped, to come forward. A small victory.

Sausalito’s charm is that it is relatively unspoiled, with the tourist strip confined to the ‘front road’ and it’s on a warmer aspect of the bay. A stroll after breakfast along the waterfront took us away from the main tourist precinct.

 

Lots of very expensive watercraft and a few interesting ones (not the one pictured, which we think would look good moored in the Derwent River).

 

The bus driver on our return trip mentioned one modelled after the Taj Mahal, the owner spending about $2 million dollars to replicate that icon after a visit to India where he fell in love with it. Lots of rooms and bathrooms, and a cellar, and it stays moored where it is.

On the return leg to the pick- up point, the bus driver commented on the heavy traffic on the bridge, caused partly by cars trying to take a short cut but instead creating congestion. And they kept coming. He offered instead to drop everyone off on the SF side of the bridge – as long as we didn’t tell anyone about this unauthorised route deviation. Even so, it was slow moving, and we arrived just as an almost empty Big Bus departed the stop. Needless to say, the next bus was full – no spare seats. By this time the waiting crowd was getting a bit edgy. The next bus turned up, also almost full. A couple got off and the driver was happy to let everyone on, with people standing in the aisle, or sitting on wheel arches. Part of the charm of the Big Bus tours was the constant, zany patter of the conductor/driver. In each journey, stories and jokes were told, the monologues interspersed with the  loud belly-laughing of the speaker, and all the while, the speed of speech and the accents of the Afro-American speakers meant that only half was intelligible. The good cheer of all the tourist workers we encountered was admirable.

 

Friday rush hour at the beginning of a weekend when SF would be a ‘sh..heap’ looked ominous. George, the airport taxi driver would be escaping the city for the wine district of Napa but for our airport trip he was very communicative, and spoke almost non-stop for the 45 minute journey. Politics, the health system, California’s demographic  (it’s Chinese), Silicon Valley workers, ‘all medical & pharmaceutical research in that valley’… ‘the guy in that car on our right , I’ve seen him in Tenderloin and he’s a crack dealer,’… He seemed well-informed, perhaps because he’d had a previous career in the corporate world. He must have done well: he said he owned the taxi licence, which had cost him a quarter million 15 years ago! T was a bit perturbed by the hands-free approach to driving (off the wheel, that is) and George’s frequent turning around to introduce us to his next topic.

Getting to the airport early means waiting for 4 hours to board, but it also meant we avoided long queues at check-in and security, both of which were remarkably short.

Our next post, the final for this trip, will hopefully just be a postscript saying: home safely.

Firsr the book, next the movie:

Day 45. Thursday 27 June.

Mason Diner for breakfast (D really wanted to have the diner experience, to better understand the Reacher novels), after waiting in the hotel restaurant for far too long & ignored. Mind you, it took a good 15 mins to get a seat at Mason’s; but it was a very substantial start to the day (3 attempts at a cup of hotel room tea, in the coffee maker had failed!).

The day evolved: T had thoughts of getting seats for an evening show Once, but that was abandoned when the only seats available were back row and not together. We decided that a hop on & off bus tour would be a good way to get a city intro, so if we were clever enough, we could get a 24 hour ticket in the late morning, to last through Friday as well.

Why do we feel the need to do the tram ride thing? It is the ‘thing to do’, it will take us to Fisherman’s Wharf, and we can then pick up the bus tour. Good concept, but the queue to get the tram!

 

Well, we stood, crept to the boarding point (45 mins), bemused/discomfited by the histrionics of the guy predicting that Jezebel will take us to hell among other threats concerning our souls – the Jehovah’s Witness trio standing quietly next to him were in ignore mode: if we don’t look it’s not happening.

Beggars and homeless are commonplace, as are folk talking to themselves or gesturing – a bit confronting but not in the least threatening, and blithely unheeded by locals and visitors alike.

The tram ride was really about the conductor and his interaction with passengers who hadn’t paid or who had the wrong tickets, all part of the performance.

Fisherman’s Wharf bustled in its grime and glitz. A coffee stop at Boudin’s bakery extended into a tour which consumed and fascinated us for a couple of hours, taking in the museum and bread production…the bakers, the machines, the story…

 

Along to Pier 45 and the WWII naval vessels (a submarine and the last surviving Victory ship) and then Pier 39 where the sea lions barked, fought and rolled and dived for the crowd. The loser in the fight ended up in the water: the victorious sea lion seemed to look to the crowds for applause!

 

Pier 39 was mostly cheezy and just a bit sleazy…But there were some other amusing distractions: two characters dressed up as Trump & Kim Jong Un, and a multi-instrument (all at the same time) musician. And a little girl and a little dog couldn’t care less about everything else going on around them.

 

Around 4pm we boarded the BigBus tour and the afternoon breeze had become VERY chilly. On the top deck, the views and commentary were great…across the Golden Gate, back into town…

Past the Town Hall, site for a couple of weddings.

The city is proud of it’s colourful recent past – particularly the beatnik and hippies revolutions of the 60s, notably the 1967 ‘Summer of Love’.

And is also staunchly for Gay Pride – a leader in recognition of gays dating from the 1970s. We will regretfully miss the Gay Pride March through the city on Saturday, in which 1 million are expected to participate.

 

Another interesting sign was the one about home loans: didn’t this precipitate the GFC?

For dinner? Chinatown and the hard decision: where to start? With spruikers shoving menus at us on the footpath (sidewalk). A restaurant offering a sampler of dim sums…and now we feel like a pair of dumplings.

Old angels young angels feel alright
On a warm San Franciscan night

And a last thought: we’re not sure whether the juxtaposition of the two signs was deliberate!

Day 44. Wednesday 26 June.

0439 hrs.  An apartment room in Oslo:

‘Are you awake?’

‘Of course I’m bloody awake!’

‘Might as well have a cup of tea then.’

‘Yes.’

Tram 17 to Oslo Sentrum, outside our front door, departs at 0543 hrs and we’re on it, with 2 minutes to spare. Not alone, but definitely not crowded. D relaxed, T resigned.

Fast train to OSL is similar – no fuss and 3 minutes to spare. This has been so easy – if you except the interrupted sleep! D relaxed, T resigned.

First flight to Helsinki is a short hour or so, and we’re still (barely) human. Then there’s the five hour wait in Helsinki, mercifully shortened by an hour thanks to a time zone change. D relaxed, T zombie. D calculates that this is an 18 hour journey – just to San Francisco airport.

Boarding was slightly weird: passing through a Yes/No questioning (we passed) but there was no check whether our answers were honest. Are you a terrorist? No. Pass. An elderly couple (and really elderly, not elderly like us) were separated: he went into one pen without a problem, she was returned into a security checking area (what did she answer?) and then went pen into another with a gate between them. Eventually resolved and they were reunited.

Boarding was announced and the rush started. What is it about the need to get there first or early? Access to the overhead lockers? Status? The plane won’t leave without you. Saw soething similar today in Union Square.

On board, then a wait for transit passengers delayed. So what was the rush for? D relaxed, T resigned.

The flight was 11 hours, and easy enough, but of course it seemed longer.

D gave up trying to find the train link into the city which had seemed so simple online, and went for a taxi – an unusually uncommunicative driver until close to the hotel when a simple question hit the on switch and then he was full bore. San Francisco (according to him) has a population of only 900,000 or so but is full to bursting with visitors because it is the friendly city, with inter-racial harmony. From there he got on to the Spanish, Chinese and Indian diasporas, the Mexicans fleeing poverty…….and just a passing mention of Trump, unusually neither for or against.

Arrived at Handlery Union Square Hotel at 19.30 hrs – twenty four and a half hours after walking out of our apartment in Oslo. Knackered.

A short walk up and down a couple of those famous hills in search of milk for tea. After the comparative quiet of Oslo, SF was bustling, raucous, slightly tatty. There were conspicuously more beggars and a wide range of unusual characters and races. Traffic boomed , sirens and horns blared, loud music blasted. And the sky was dirty. We took our confused bodies to bed.

Day 43. Tuesday 25 June. 

Our last day in the Scandinavian ‘sommer’…grey, then a gentle rain – fitting perhaps for some sad but expected news from home. D, having optimistically believed the forecast and gone out without a jacket of any kind, later succumbed and bought a second umbrella. A tram ride – again using the great public transport system – through a culturally more diverse part of town to Sofienberg and then via the Botanic Gardens to explore some Oslo art: the Munch Museet and its Exitexhibition, as it gets ready for a move to a whole new building on the waterfront.

 

The exhibition was as much about the history of the current building, its shortcomings, politics and the 2004 theft of The Scream& The Madonna, as it was about Munch’s art of people and for people and the museum’s philosophy of accessibility, education etc. We knew nothing apart from the ‘screaming icon’, so it was terrific to learn about the enormous body of work Munch produced and his varied skills. Interestingly, in film footage from 1963 (opening of building) a young girl walks through the exhibition space with her mum(?) eating an icecream! T is taken by the technique of creating an image from colour stripes (The Scream) and loves the way Munch lets his bare canvas comes to the fore as a ‘textured white’ colour in its own right; but the highlight for her is Munch’s drawing/printing skills. The sick child is her favourite.

D has got the map (it’s correct for a change) & tram routes sorted so that the next stop is a ‘garn’ shop. T wants to find that missing colour for her knitting project. She’s decided that the knitting re-start will be a ‘sideways thing’ with colour stripes running vertically (after admiring a cardigan, worn by a French passenger on Nordlys) and has googled an appropriate retail spot. The ever-patient D finds things to amuse himself, mostly just observing daily life, while T chats to 3 women at Verbitt Garn Oslo (Weathered Yarn Oslo).

One woman is stitching: mending a vestment from the local church and conversation proceeds about ‘spirituality education’ today, where people find their ‘church’ etc. The other 2 women share their knitting techniques with T and comment that the Scandinavian system of knitting-in-the-round does not wear as well as the British system of knitting in sections and then stitching pieces together. They offer coffee and chocolate (theirs goes cold during the chatter) but then T sees D peering through the window (D: after 40 minutes!). It’s time to go….well, not actually immediately.

Conveniently, a local tram back into town continues on to allow  us to get off for a short harbour side walk to visit the Astrup Fearnley Museet. By now that second umbrella is proving its worth. Much of the contemporary collection leaves D wondering: are they really taking the piss? He’s pretty sure they are, even if they don’t mean to and really believe the guff they’ve written to explain their motivations. But several items in the latest acquisitions section resonate: the de-commissioned fire hoses, now called Gees Americanreminds us of Fiona’s printed firehoses from 2004. The traditional smocks-on-hessian collage is wonderful.

 

Library V-II by Liu Wei is a standout installation made from books – and see how you can actually peer down the alleyway.

 

One had an impact on both of us – titled ‘Close of Business’ – about small business.

Then, in the second building of this gallery, the woodblocks of Anselm Kiefen were favourites for T (especially the piece with little Theo in the forest), while Damien Hirst’s works using butterflies, and flies (larvae) in resin were tops for D – however, the carcasses of sheep (arranged as symbols of crucifixion) and cows (cut longitudinally in half) preserved in formaldehyde didn’t really resonate.

 

After a day of Oslo gallery art, it was back to the tram stop at 5pm rush hour in the rain…and another two images of Oslo ‘street art’ to complete the day.

 

Tomorrow we fly via Helsinki to San Francisco – it will be an early start and a long day.