Landed back in Oz at 7am this morning, after a hectic last 48 hrs in UK - battling delays and re-routing on the rail network and catching up with mates. First up was a stop-off to see Geraint and Ann in Welshpool - the only down side to that was then having to stand all the way to B'ham. The overcrowding wasn't helped by 8 lads out on the lash, who'd got on the wrong train in Shrewsbury and found themselves heading for Aber rather than Chester! And that was before they'd even started drinking seriously.
Later, Gazza picked me up in Slough, and we skillfully navigated (with only one about-turn) the backstreets of south Landan to reach Rich's in Wimbers. We reckoned that the three of us hadn't met up since '94 - shocking. Even scarier, we're starting to think about organising a gathering to mark 20 years since we first met in uni. They suggested having a long weekend in Cambridge, but I think we should all descend on Jinsey's pad in Tokyo and abuse his hopspittality, as he does to everyone else... we shall see.
Anyway, it was 21 deg C when we landed this morning and is prob. mid 30s by now - a glorious sunny day in the X, overlooking the shimmering Sydney Harbour. We're going down to Rushcutters Bay with the gang tomorrow evening to watch the fireworks and partake in the 08 celebrations. I'm tempted to see if I can drag Birq kicking and screaming along to the cricket on the 2nd, although I may regret that come mid arvo when we're a few beers short of a follow-on (we'd only be drinking to guard against dehydration, of course!).
After that, I guess I'd better knuckle down and do some work... it had to happen eventually. Hope you all have a fun NYE, Shifty
Saturday 29 December 2007
Saturday 22 December 2007
Two ickle boys
I've reached Llandre now, in mid-west Wales, the final stop on my 'World tour of Europe'. Hadn't been here 24 hrs and it's started to rain - ah well, after 10 days of sun / frost I can't complain. The couple of days in 'deburg were fun, and surprisingly useful thesis-wise (in case my supervisor chances upon this!). The National Museum has a pretty good display of medieval pottery from Iran, which I diligently photo'd and will pass on to you Alison, don't worry!
I also caught up with George and Phil, from my Jordan past-life, which was fun, and saw another L'pool game, although the result was disappointing (again - how Crouch can fly through the air to take out Essien at knee-height and then bemoan 'foreigners' for hamming up injuries I don't know. Sure, he may not have been that badly hurt, but it's your own fault you got sent off)
The first night was spent baby-sitting my sister's 'mini-men'. I like kids who get put to bed by their parents and then don't stir all evening. You get so many brownie points for not having to do anything! We then took them to the Botanic Gardens, where a squirrel tried to climb into MiniMax's push chair and Zacster chased some pigeons - he would've had a go at the ducks on the ice, but railings intervened.
This arvo was spent decorating the Xmas tree - my parents never put it up more than a couple of days before Xmas, which is the way it should be. Here are a couple of pics from 'deburg...
I also caught up with George and Phil, from my Jordan past-life, which was fun, and saw another L'pool game, although the result was disappointing (again - how Crouch can fly through the air to take out Essien at knee-height and then bemoan 'foreigners' for hamming up injuries I don't know. Sure, he may not have been that badly hurt, but it's your own fault you got sent off)
The first night was spent baby-sitting my sister's 'mini-men'. I like kids who get put to bed by their parents and then don't stir all evening. You get so many brownie points for not having to do anything! We then took them to the Botanic Gardens, where a squirrel tried to climb into MiniMax's push chair and Zacster chased some pigeons - he would've had a go at the ducks on the ice, but railings intervened.
This arvo was spent decorating the Xmas tree - my parents never put it up more than a couple of days before Xmas, which is the way it should be. Here are a couple of pics from 'deburg...
Monday 17 December 2007
The culinary tour of Europe - pt 2
I think it's fair to say that the food here in Budapest tops that in Beglam - good solid meaty fare. No sooner had I arrived than we found a quiet piano bar and tucked into duck and pear slices on toast, washed down by a couple of Dreher (local lagers). Last night's wild boar and blueberry stew, with gnocchi, was delish - probably the tastiest meal I've had since... well, the 'Rabbit Grandmother's Style', in Gent on Thurs after the lecture. The local beer's not as varied as in Beglam, obviously, but hey ho, you can't have everything, and the gluhwein is perfectly adequate for keeping the cold out.
Yesterday morning was spent in one of Bud's many thermal baths - just what you need after 17 hrs on a bus, although I did have a shower first, so as not to pollute the waters! The steam room, which was too hot to sit down in, was infused with peppermint, which made a pleasant change from the sulphorous smell in the rest of the baths, although you soon get used to it. Judge from many of the generous girths on display, the locals enjoy their cuisine too - power yoga boot camps don't seem to be popular out here. Can't say I'm surprised - all that stretching in the snow is only going to end in tears.
We then grabbed a goats cheese sarnie (I'm not sure Alun totally appreciates that pressie from Beglam, as it stinks out his fridge) and headed to the Caledonian Pub to watch the 2 top of the table EPL soccer games - shame about the L'pool result, although I did tip a Man U win. Can't say I'm overly confident about Wed's clash with Chelsea, even if it is in the Mickey Mouse Cup. Fingers crossed I can find a pub in Edinburgh showing Sassanak soccer...
Yesterday morning was spent in one of Bud's many thermal baths - just what you need after 17 hrs on a bus, although I did have a shower first, so as not to pollute the waters! The steam room, which was too hot to sit down in, was infused with peppermint, which made a pleasant change from the sulphorous smell in the rest of the baths, although you soon get used to it. Judge from many of the generous girths on display, the locals enjoy their cuisine too - power yoga boot camps don't seem to be popular out here. Can't say I'm surprised - all that stretching in the snow is only going to end in tears.
We then grabbed a goats cheese sarnie (I'm not sure Alun totally appreciates that pressie from Beglam, as it stinks out his fridge) and headed to the Caledonian Pub to watch the 2 top of the table EPL soccer games - shame about the L'pool result, although I did tip a Man U win. Can't say I'm overly confident about Wed's clash with Chelsea, even if it is in the Mickey Mouse Cup. Fingers crossed I can find a pub in Edinburgh showing Sassanak soccer...
Saturday 15 December 2007
a sprinkling of the white stuff
Beglam was cold (well, temps hovered around 4 deg C, so to say it was feezing would be an exaggeration); but by the time we'd reached central Germany last night, on a 17hr bus trip south, a few flakes of snow were drifting down, and it was -6 deg C in Linz (Austria). More of the stuff is falling outside the window now, here in Budapest, so with any luck we'll wake up to a picture-postcard dusting in the city. Going to the steaming hot baths tomorrow, with snow in the air, will be fun; getting in and out less so.
I managed to fit in a bit of kultur before departing Brussels, after meeting Sofie for a yummy garlic scampi and beer lunch near the central station. For that, we had to skirt around barbed wire obstacles and polis blockades (some big EU meeting, we suspect, rather than security precautions given my visit - the Beglams haven't had a government for 6 months now, since the last election resulted in deadlock, but the place seems to function nonetheless. We were heading for an exhibition entitled 'From Gilgamesh to Zenobia' in the Royal Museum of Art and History, one of those impressively monumental (and gloomy) 19th century grey-facaded buildings that probably took years to build and came in way over budget. It was a bit of a strange exhibit whose theme seemed to be 'Here's some ye olde things from Iraq... and some from Syria... and some from Iran, etc.' That said, several of the 2nd-3rd millennium pots were magnificent, and I quite liked the string curtains around each display case, which gave you a sense of intimacy with the objects when you pushed through into their semi-secluded space. The fact that they hadn't printed the book of the exhibit seemed rather inept - you could flick through proofs, and put your email down expressing interest for when it comes out.
My time in Ghent wasn't all beer and gassing either, although I did manage to talk for 105 min on Thurs night, without even contravening libel laws... well, not many. On Wed arvo I visited 15th century painting The Adoration of the Lamb by the van Eyck brothers in St Baaf's cathedral - apparently there are 40+ identifable plants in the central pasture scene, so it's no wonder it took two of them several years to complete.
I also forgot to remark on the fact that supermarkets in Beglam have bread slicers which customers can pop their loaves into. H&S madness! But apparently, Beglams are mature enough not to slice off their own limbs, or if they do, it's generally regarded to be their own stupid fault, so supermarkets don't get sued and everyone gets neatly cut bread. Whatever next...
The locals also seem remarkably trim, despite their apparent full-fat, luxurious diet. Maybe it's because so many of them smoke; Aurelie suggested that it's because they regard their junk food as snacks, rather than a main meal - suitably greasy for munchies at 5am after an extensive sampling of trappist concoctions (and she has young kids! I thought parents weren't allowed out after 1, nevermind 2 kids... not AM, but that too!). Or maybe it's all the cycling...
Hungarians carry more padding, but given the snow, my skinny frame can see the virtue of carrying a few extra pounds as insulation.
I managed to fit in a bit of kultur before departing Brussels, after meeting Sofie for a yummy garlic scampi and beer lunch near the central station. For that, we had to skirt around barbed wire obstacles and polis blockades (some big EU meeting, we suspect, rather than security precautions given my visit - the Beglams haven't had a government for 6 months now, since the last election resulted in deadlock, but the place seems to function nonetheless. We were heading for an exhibition entitled 'From Gilgamesh to Zenobia' in the Royal Museum of Art and History, one of those impressively monumental (and gloomy) 19th century grey-facaded buildings that probably took years to build and came in way over budget. It was a bit of a strange exhibit whose theme seemed to be 'Here's some ye olde things from Iraq... and some from Syria... and some from Iran, etc.' That said, several of the 2nd-3rd millennium pots were magnificent, and I quite liked the string curtains around each display case, which gave you a sense of intimacy with the objects when you pushed through into their semi-secluded space. The fact that they hadn't printed the book of the exhibit seemed rather inept - you could flick through proofs, and put your email down expressing interest for when it comes out.
My time in Ghent wasn't all beer and gassing either, although I did manage to talk for 105 min on Thurs night, without even contravening libel laws... well, not many. On Wed arvo I visited 15th century painting The Adoration of the Lamb by the van Eyck brothers in St Baaf's cathedral - apparently there are 40+ identifable plants in the central pasture scene, so it's no wonder it took two of them several years to complete.
I also forgot to remark on the fact that supermarkets in Beglam have bread slicers which customers can pop their loaves into. H&S madness! But apparently, Beglams are mature enough not to slice off their own limbs, or if they do, it's generally regarded to be their own stupid fault, so supermarkets don't get sued and everyone gets neatly cut bread. Whatever next...
The locals also seem remarkably trim, despite their apparent full-fat, luxurious diet. Maybe it's because so many of them smoke; Aurelie suggested that it's because they regard their junk food as snacks, rather than a main meal - suitably greasy for munchies at 5am after an extensive sampling of trappist concoctions (and she has young kids! I thought parents weren't allowed out after 1, nevermind 2 kids... not AM, but that too!). Or maybe it's all the cycling...
Hungarians carry more padding, but given the snow, my skinny frame can see the virtue of carrying a few extra pounds as insulation.
Thursday 13 December 2007
It's Beglam out there
Belgium has a higher density of battle sites than most other unfortunate nations in the world. It's not that the Belgians are particularly bellicose... they are just rather unlucky with their neighbours, who throughout the centuries have had the discourtesy to fight many of their wars on Belgian soil. No surprise then, that the seat of the medieval Flemish kings, the austere but impressive Gravensteen castle towers over the centre of Gent, just outside my B&B.
The castle formed the centre piece of Aurelie's directions to me - stay on the tram until you see it. You can't miss it... but after little sleep on the flights from Oz, a dash around Landan and then the whizz of Eurostar to Brussels, I was starting to have my doubts (being a Doubting Thomas and all that). It was dark and dank, and every second building in Gent looked like it was twice as old as (European) Oz, if not more. Churches, monasteries, covered markets, towers, city halls... they all had a rather fortified look to my jetlagged eyes. But I was too tired to leap off impetuously, and the tram staff were insistence on directing me to the youth hostel which fortuitously is also located close to the Gravensteen.
I'm staying in The Karawanserai, which is kind of appropriate. It's a quirky mash-up of oriental furnishings rather than an eastern themed hostel, run by a friendly, if somewhat absent-minded single dad. He looked appalled when I asked for brekkers at 8:30... would 9am be ok, he asked. He has to take his daughter to school in the mornings. My line-in is thus enforced... it's tough in Euroland.
Gent itself is a delightful, picturesque, sleepy town. I've spent most of my time wandering around the historic centre, ducking into the occasional church and monastery when the cold gets too piercing. My woolly hat and gloves qualified as the best things I've packed within 5 min of stepping out the front door. Gluhwein in the Xmas market also helps keep out the chill, but I'm sticking to the soup today, at least until I've given my 90 min talk (and then 30 min of questions) this evening. That's the normal teaching slot over here... I can hear most of you academics wilting at thought, apart from Birq, of course, who has only just warmed up when he passes the hour mark!).
Window shopping has been a pleasure - I could spend a serious amount of Euros here, but fortunately I haven't been given my speaker's fee yet (yup, people are actually paying me to rabbit on about what I do for 'fun'!). Art and design are taken seriously here, jewellery and chic clothes shops abound, as do shops of crafts and festive decorations. A quirky take on traditions, however, lifts these beyond the banal - particular favourites include the rotating scene of a girl kissing a frog, and turning into one herself, the rabbits holding carrots behind their backs about to give each other pressies with the caption 'Can you guess what it is yet'? and the nativity scene with presents of gruyere, edam and brie from Three Wise Mice. The cow-shaped clock, with ticking udders swaying back and forth, on the other hand, was hilarious, but just plain wrong!
Amidst all these are the traditional local delicacies - the crusty bread (the rye bread with raisins and walnuts for my brie sandwich yesterday lunch-time was delicious), monastery-brewed beers (the monks knew their flock oh so well), cocoa-dusted chocolates by the kilo, waffles dripping in syrup, whole shops dedicated to cheeses, olive oils and vinegars, and amazingly, even an Australian shop offering didgeridoos, for those kids who have just about everything (I also passed a snack bar called The Australian Bite this morning, but they didn't seem to be offering 'roo sarnies or widgety grubs on a skewer).
I'll sign off by recounting an overheard conversation in the bierhuis on Tues night as I watched Liverpool demolish Marseilles. So often, we cringe at our fellow countrymen abroad, be they Aussies chanting Oi Oi Oi (there is a second verse, of course, extolling the balletic grace of great sporting clashes and the pathos of being a long suffering fan, but like the national anthem, few people seem aware of it), Germans commandeering the beaches, or Brits... well, shall we just say, some English NATO (?) guy was 'jokingly' telling his Danish and German counterparts that black footballers are cheap... you just have to pay them bananas. Stony silence followed. I guess it lost something in translation, and we all know how lacking 'Old Europeans' are in humour.
The castle formed the centre piece of Aurelie's directions to me - stay on the tram until you see it. You can't miss it... but after little sleep on the flights from Oz, a dash around Landan and then the whizz of Eurostar to Brussels, I was starting to have my doubts (being a Doubting Thomas and all that). It was dark and dank, and every second building in Gent looked like it was twice as old as (European) Oz, if not more. Churches, monasteries, covered markets, towers, city halls... they all had a rather fortified look to my jetlagged eyes. But I was too tired to leap off impetuously, and the tram staff were insistence on directing me to the youth hostel which fortuitously is also located close to the Gravensteen.
I'm staying in The Karawanserai, which is kind of appropriate. It's a quirky mash-up of oriental furnishings rather than an eastern themed hostel, run by a friendly, if somewhat absent-minded single dad. He looked appalled when I asked for brekkers at 8:30... would 9am be ok, he asked. He has to take his daughter to school in the mornings. My line-in is thus enforced... it's tough in Euroland.
Gent itself is a delightful, picturesque, sleepy town. I've spent most of my time wandering around the historic centre, ducking into the occasional church and monastery when the cold gets too piercing. My woolly hat and gloves qualified as the best things I've packed within 5 min of stepping out the front door. Gluhwein in the Xmas market also helps keep out the chill, but I'm sticking to the soup today, at least until I've given my 90 min talk (and then 30 min of questions) this evening. That's the normal teaching slot over here... I can hear most of you academics wilting at thought, apart from Birq, of course, who has only just warmed up when he passes the hour mark!).
Window shopping has been a pleasure - I could spend a serious amount of Euros here, but fortunately I haven't been given my speaker's fee yet (yup, people are actually paying me to rabbit on about what I do for 'fun'!). Art and design are taken seriously here, jewellery and chic clothes shops abound, as do shops of crafts and festive decorations. A quirky take on traditions, however, lifts these beyond the banal - particular favourites include the rotating scene of a girl kissing a frog, and turning into one herself, the rabbits holding carrots behind their backs about to give each other pressies with the caption 'Can you guess what it is yet'? and the nativity scene with presents of gruyere, edam and brie from Three Wise Mice. The cow-shaped clock, with ticking udders swaying back and forth, on the other hand, was hilarious, but just plain wrong!
Amidst all these are the traditional local delicacies - the crusty bread (the rye bread with raisins and walnuts for my brie sandwich yesterday lunch-time was delicious), monastery-brewed beers (the monks knew their flock oh so well), cocoa-dusted chocolates by the kilo, waffles dripping in syrup, whole shops dedicated to cheeses, olive oils and vinegars, and amazingly, even an Australian shop offering didgeridoos, for those kids who have just about everything (I also passed a snack bar called The Australian Bite this morning, but they didn't seem to be offering 'roo sarnies or widgety grubs on a skewer).
I'll sign off by recounting an overheard conversation in the bierhuis on Tues night as I watched Liverpool demolish Marseilles. So often, we cringe at our fellow countrymen abroad, be they Aussies chanting Oi Oi Oi (there is a second verse, of course, extolling the balletic grace of great sporting clashes and the pathos of being a long suffering fan, but like the national anthem, few people seem aware of it), Germans commandeering the beaches, or Brits... well, shall we just say, some English NATO (?) guy was 'jokingly' telling his Danish and German counterparts that black footballers are cheap... you just have to pay them bananas. Stony silence followed. I guess it lost something in translation, and we all know how lacking 'Old Europeans' are in humour.
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