AustraliaQueenslandBrisbane27°28’4” S 153°1’57” E
May 5, 2023 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C
And we're off again ... Here we come, London (via Sydney)!
EnglandGreater LondonWestminster AbbeyWestminster Hall51°30’2” N 0°7’40” W
May 5, 2023 in England ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C
As the excitement of our next adventure loomed, Jason was determined that he wasn't going to be packing the night before our flight. Instead he packed a week early, unpacked and repacked several times. He then spent the rest of the week lording it over me. “Have you packed yet, Ricky?”. But Jason's efforts were all in vain. The night before our flight, stress and panic set in. How was he going to fit all of the additional crap he had added to his backpack! Organising everything at the eleventh hour wasn’t part of the plan.
The big day finally came and we boarded our flight via Sydney and Singapore. The flight was relatively uneventful. It was the usual cramped cattle class, wedged between a screaming child and a dirty woman with her feet perched up on the walls. The dirty bastard.
Our next leg of the flight from Singapore was delayed, and instead of the gay flighties, it was full of blonde British women. Jason could hardly understand the Irish attendant, questioning if she was speaking Gaelic: “say that again”.
Being in such close quarters to others, there's not a lot of personal space. When I tried to put on a jumper to shield against the Arctic winds coming from the air conditioning, I almost took out the old man next me. Oops, sorry. He already had one foot in the grave anyway.
The flight was delayed leaving Singapore, and we were then held in a holding pattern before we could land at Heathrow. While it didn't faze us, we had hours to kill before we could check in. For a British woman on the flight, she began to panic that she was going to miss her connecting flight to Cork. She barged through the cabin like Sharon Strzelecki making her way to the all-you-can-eat buffet, making a rude remark to the Irish flighty, which was met with a sharp-tongued barb. With less than 45 minutes to get to her gate, there was no way that she was going to make it. Karma?
We’d planned our journey from Heathrow, working out which train to catch, but we got a little lost along the way. We had time to kill before we could check into our micro studio apartment on the Thames in Broken Wharf, near St Paul’s cathedral and Blackfriars station, but we really didn't need the extra steps.
We dropped our bags off at the hotel and then made our way to get a UK Sim card. It wasn't long before we were playing Jason’s Lost World again, season 2 is now on streaming services. Within an hour of being in London proper, Jason couldn't find his wallet. He’d concluded that it had been stolen and now he was left poor and destitute. No doubt he'll need to join the sex workers on Charing Cross road. Turns out it was in a pocket in his bag. Throwing things all over the Three mobile phone shop, he actually ended up losing his umbrella. Being London, it didn't take too long before he realised that it was missing, and quickly backtracked to reclaim his brolly.
After checking into our apartment, we went on a mission, traipsing through London to London Tower and along the Thames. I could hardly walk by the time we got back to our abode. If we continue at this rate I'll need a hip replacement by the end of the trip.
By the afternoon, the jetlag had set in and we could hardly keep our eyes open. We needed matchbox sticks to keep them open. So it was an early night for us.
The following day was the coronation of King Charles III and Queen Camilla. As a Republican (not to be confused with the US conservative political party), I was in two minds about going to the coronation. Democracy not monarchy! I wasn’t the only one in the crowd who was anti-monarchy, a crowd of protesters gathered in Trafalgar Square holding placards saying “not my king”. One of the best slogans had to have been: “worst season of game of thrones ever”. Even Jason, who has been a staunch monarchist for many years is starting to see a different perspective to the point that he began singing Britney Spears' "Womanizer", substituting the chorus with coloniser ... “Coloniser, coloniser, you’re a coloniser.”
The coronation procession was due to commence from Buckingham Palace at 10:20am. People had started camping out days before, so it was unlikely that we were going to get sideshow seats, but Jason reasoned that we’re tall and would be able to see over all the British little people. We ended up spending an hour and a half walking around London going from one viewing point to another. As each area filled up, the police closed it off, leaving us to continue our search for a position to catch sight of the royal entourage. Police had put barriers up, apparently so the royal couple wouldn't be able to see the protestors. Finally, we resolved ourselves to the fact that we would need to join the plebs in Hyde Park to watch the pompous ceremony on the big screen.
As we stood in the rain watching the big screen, the crowd behind us started booing Rishi Sunak as he came onto the screen. We got talking to a young British guy, who shared a dislike of the monarchy but like us was fascinated by the regalia and the ceremony. As the Archbishop of Canterbury hovered the crown over Charles’ head, the noise of the crowd reached a crescendo as it was lowered, with shouts of “God save the King” and “Long live the King”.
Prior to this though, when the choir was singing a hymn about Camilla in Latin, one could have misheard the lyrics, a mondegreen moment. We both looked at each other and in union said “are they singing vagina Camilla?”. Thankfully there were closed captions that could correct us. No, they were singing “Regina Camilla”, and modern British pronunciation of Regina no longer sounds the same as classical Latin. What was even stranger to hear was the pre-recorded message on the subway from Charles and Camilla wishing everyone a great coronation weekend, with Charles reminding us “to please mind the gap” in his royal British accent.
As we walked away from Hyde Park, a black car with an entourage of escort cars sped down the street. We're fairly certain it was Prince Harry exiting the ceremony and heading to the airport.
After another day of thinking we were Kerry Saxby, we were ready to retire for the evening; that is after a belly full of food.
Next stop: Cardiff.Read more
WalesCastleRoathCardiff university Queens Buildings51°28’58” N 3°10’9” W
May 7, 2023 in Wales ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
If Jason had his way, we would have left London at the crack of dawn. Somehow I managed to convince him that a 9:20 train to Cardiff was a much more civilised time to leave. Even so, Jason had me rushing to get out the door by 8am. We had to navigate ourselves to Paddington from Blackfriars station, and with Jason’s forward planning, we got there with plenty of time to spare.
The almost 2-hour train trip from London Paddington to Cardiff Central was interrupted at Newport when the train driver announced that there was a medical emergency in the rear carriage. We were told that we needed to wait for the paramedics to arrive. An update came across the loud speaker advising that the train would be delayed by an hour an a half. Surely it's not going to take that long for the paramedics to arrive. Otherwise it won’t be a paramedic that's needed but more like an undertaker. The only paramedics that we saw in Cardiff were on push bikes with side-saddle medic kits. Surely they didn't need to ride from Cardiff Central. By this stage, everyone got off the train and transferred to another train going to our final destination.
Almost as soon as we entered Wales, we felt like we needed to buy a vowel. I'm not being funny but does the Welsh language actually have any vowels? It seems they only know about consonants in Wales. As we were walking along the streets, Jason says “are you listening to this? I’ve never heard a language like it. It doesn't sound Slavic, nor does it sound Eastern European”. No, it’s a Celtic language devoid of vowels, at least to the ears of two Aussies. A series of hoots and clicks according to Jason.
It only took getting to the hotel before the next episode of Jason’s Lost World was on replay. This time he's thought he'd left his leather jacket in London or forgot to pack it in his packing and repacking episode. The entire contents of his backpack were strewn across the room. Nope. He was convinced that it was gone. Now he’s going to freeze in the cold Arctic-like temperatures of Wales. That was until he unzipped another section of his bag to reveal said leather jacket. This was followed by a lost mobile phone episode of Jason’s Lost World.
After ascertaining that nothing had been lost, we made our way to the city centre. Cardiff is condensed into a small area and can be easily traversed in an hour or so. As we walked through the mall, we caught sight of a woman in a very tight micro-mini hitched to her navel and her arse cheeks hanging out the back. We chuckled to ourselves as she tried to hitch it back down. But not before another Welsh couple walking towards us also saw and started to laugh.
After exploring the city centre, we turned our attentions to seeking out the Torchwood and Dr Who film locations. We headed to Cardiff Bay, a 25-minute walk from Cardiff city centre. Somehow we went a little off course and ended up in a housing estate. We stumbled upon three seventeen year old Welsh kids: Jennifer, Mulan and Will. Jennifer was born in Yemen but migrated with her family when she was a child. None of them had ever met an Aussie before, so Jason became very ocker, channelling all of the cringe-worthy Aussie icons. They got such a kick out of it, and eventually after some banter helped us to navigate to our desired destination.
We finally arrived at Cardiff Bay, where we wandered around and sat with the locals eating ice cream. I'm fairly certain I murdered the Welsh language when I ordered the Welsh-named dessert. But the woman was polite enough to say I was doing a good job ... of murdering her mother tongue.
We spent the evening searching for food to replenish the calories we’d expended to get to Cardiff Bay. We ended up at a Welsh pub listening to a guy murdering the guitar. Exit stage left.
Despite the cold, most of the youth were wearing next to nothing. A few straps and pins holding the material together. At one stage, Jason whispers to me: “do you feel like corned brisket?” I turned to see a girl wearing string material wrapped around her body with flesh bulging through the openings. She must have been freezing or so numb she couldn't feel a thing.
The following day was a bank holiday so most things were closed. What better way to spend our last day in Cardiff than to spend it searching for “treasure” at Poundland (Aussies, think Crazy Clark’s or Bargain City). Now I have my Finnish-inspired outfit for the Eurovision final: lime green crop top and black leggings!
Next stop: Liverpool.Read more
EnglandLiverpoolLiverpool Lime Street Railway Station53°24’28” N 2°58’53” W
May 8, 2023 in England ⋅ 🌧 17 °C
From Cardiff, we set out on an almost 4-hour journey by train to Liverpool via Chester. As we were about to pull into Chester station, we struck up a conversation with a guy getting off at the station. It turns out that he was a Brazilian artist who was a little unsure of where he needed to be. We were all going to Liverpool, so he tagged along.
We arrived at Liverpool Lime Street station and ordered an Uber. It had our pickup point miles away - yes the Brits still use miles! Jason couldn't understand the Uber driver’s accent and after several minutes of repetition with no end in sight, the Uber driver gave up and cancelled the booking. Take two!
We eventually arrived at our accommodation, 15 minutes outside of Liverpool city centre. Immediately we realised that we were staying in a rough area, with lots of seedy looking characters. I lost count of the people, seemingly under the influence or recently under the influence of meth amphetamine, with the telltale signs of scabs and sores on their meth face.
Near where we were staying, there was a beggar who stood at the traffic lights asking for spare change. With each set of lights, he would race towards each car. In the distance, another guy, hunched over wearing a zip-up cardigan, quickly paced up and down the street, muttering the same phrase over and over: “you shouldn’t have been born”. We saw him later on and the only thing that had changed was his catchcry.
It wasn’t long before another episode of Jason's Lost World was in production. This time, it was his wallet that was the focus of the episode. No doubt this episode will be on repeat over the next few weeks. It already feels like the same episode has been on a perpetual loop.
With his wallet found and not lost, we set out to purchase some provisions for the week. The reviews of the corner store near our AirBnB were not good but there wasn’t much option. Whilst the caged counter was a further sign we were in a dodgy area, we frequented the shop many times throughout our stay with no issue. We did have our first interaction with a Scouser – the local term for someone from Liverpool - and her daughter who wanted a chocolate. But her mother wasn’t paying one pound nine for it. The little girl kept saying in a strong Scouse accent “yes, you will”. No, she didn’t.
We’ve fallen in love with the Scouse accent. They drop the H at the front of words and Ds and Ts at the end of words. Their Es and As are different too. Before long I’ll be a Scouser too.
Our first taste of Eurovision was at the Euro Village with a performance by Go_A, a Ukrainian band who participated in 2021. They had the crowd bopping and even had the entire crowd dancing is a giant circle. While technically Eurovision is apolitical, Kateryna Pavlenko, the lead singer, shouted to the audience: “Russia is a terrorist state”. There were also merchandise that said “food is cool but Putin’s death is better”. With Russia banned from the competition, there was definitely an anti-Russian sentiment.
That night as we got ready to go to the Euro Fan Club to see the Roop, the Lithuanian entrant from 2020 and 2021, it was time for Jason to have a meltdown about his outfits. He'd bought nothing to wear, despite the weeks of planning, packing and repacking.
The next day, we met up with others from the Australian Eurovision Fanclub, Trish, Paul and Kerryn Murray, before heading to the first Eurovision semi-final, and playing wingmen to Trish Can Fish. The 2-hour show treated us to a spectacular display of Eurovision’s finest. We’ll be back to do it all over again on Thursday for semi-final 2.
All the excitement made us work up an appetite. It was as if we’d been out drinking all night as we stumbled into the local pizza and kebab shop. As I walked into the shop, a guy in the street asked why I was covered in glitter and eye makeup. I simply replied with: “it’s Eurovision, mate'. That seemed to satisfy him and he went on his merry way. I did feel as though I'd been transported onto a British soap opera TV film set, with endless terrace houses lining the Liverpool streets.
On day 3, we headed into the Euro Village to see Käärijä from Finland. On the way, Jason asked a Scouse couple for directions to the Brian Epstein statue. Beatles memorabilia is everywhere in Liverpool city centre! They became our tour guides for the next half hour, going out of their way to show us local attractions.
The thing that has endeared us to the city of Liverpool is the people, so friendly and welcoming. We had one woman stop to ask us if we needed help. She said we looked lost. She also said it was strange to see so many tourists in Liverpool. The people genuinely seem to be proud of their city and willing to embrace Eurovision. Another woman stopped In her tracks so that I could get video footage of the city. She didn't want to get in the way. Anywhere else in the world, people would have continued to walk in front of the camera. Even the pizza guy was interested in what we thought of the city.
On our third night, we went to the Euro Club to see Conchita Wurst and Tina Carol. Rumours had it that Dannii Minogue was in attendance in the VIP section. But alas there was no Dannii to be seen. She was probably in the bathroom powdering her nose 😉. As we left the main venue, we ran into one half of the 2011 Eurovision Song Contest winner Ell & Nikki. Jason ran over to Eldar Gasimov (Ell) like a teenage school girl who got to meet her rock idol.
The following day was a late start. We needed a little recovery time before heading out for an even bigger night for semi-final 2, where Australia battled it out for a place in the Final. We also had a night out at Euro Club to see Jedward and Nicki French.
As we entered the arena complex, there were TV presenters scattered around the entrance. Dressed in white and with the Australian flag wrapped around me like a sarong dress, I tried to photo bomb the interviews. Who knows which European TV station I was broadcast on! In the arena itself, we vyed to get the best position to maximise our chances of getting on camera. Look out for two Aussie guys in fluro-coloured LED glasses!
Just before the show started, we ran into other Aussies in the audience, including two-time Australian Survivor contestant, King George, who gave his seal of approval for our LED glasses. We even got a “well played” by the notorious game player. I guess we can only take that as a compliment.
We had worked up a hunger, so, after the show, we stumbled into KFC, nano-seconds before they closed the doors on the hords that were descending upon the establishment. It gave us enough sustenance to get us through the next few hours at the Euro Club. We sat and ate next to two British guys who were commenting on the weather – as the Brits do – saying it was almost like a summer evening. It didn't feel like summer to us at ten degrees as we sat in puffer jackets.
As we lined up outside the Euro Club, some British boys commented on our glasses and asked where we got them from. I replied that we bought them in Australia. The Brit looked at the flag I had draped around me and said “oh, and you’re supporting the UK”. No, unfortunately the Union Jack remains a reminder of our colonialist past. I'm not sure that they were familiar with our flag, they had to ask if King Charles was still head of State. This sparked off a tirade about how they could have their monarchy back and how the monarchy should return the blood diamonds and everything else the Brits have stolen from others. If that happened, it probably wouldn't leave much left in the country.
It was inevitable that Jason's Lost World syndrome would catch on. It took a hold of me, not once but twice. The first time, I couldn't find my LED glasses, which were integral to our Eurovision outfits; how else are we supposed to get noticed on TV? The second involved a much greater search party. I almost needed to call state emergency services to assist. I methodically upturned the entire room trying to find my dental retainer. Jason had great joy in passing on his disease, as the smugness began to grow on this face: “there’s one for your blog!”. I still say my lost world is a much calmer and rational one 🤣🤣.
One of the Australian guys from our a Eurovision fanclub who has been dressing as Finnish entrant, Käärijä, has found his fifteen minutes of fame when a BBC mistook him for the real deal. They went to air with the story, only later to be corrected . Viral like a rash!
On our penultimate day, we decided to spend the day exploring our local neighbourhood. We had recognised that there were an eclectic group of people living in the area. It seems like a working class area with little pretence. Later in the evening, our suspicions were confirmed by another Scouser who admitted that they wouldn’t venture into this area themselves. They seemed truly amazed that we felt safe walking around decked out in glitter and all things Eurovision.
During our travels around our neighbourhood, we stumbled upon a community bakery selling homemade goods. It was a temptation we couldn't resist and downed the Scouse cuisine in minutes. Insatiable Jason was like Oliver Twist begging for more, but if he's to fit into his Eurovision Final outfit some sacrifices need to be made.
After a quick nap and before we knew it, we were back on our daily routine to catch the bus from Tue Brook to Queen’s Square in the city centre and then a brisk walk to the Euro Village in Pier Head. Although this time, it wasn't meant to be. Signs indicated that the entry wait time was more than an hour. We could see from afar that the venue was at capacity. Instead we trotted off in search of more food.
Our third night in a row at the Euro Club included performances from Jemini, who are infamous for receiving zero points and coming last in the 2003 Eurovision Song Contest. With twenty years of practice, there was some improvement. But they were clearly outdone by the Swedes, Cornelia Jakobs from last year and Charlotte Perrelli, winner of the 1999 contest.
As we waited in the bitter cold for our Uber, two young scousers stumbled by and stopped us to adjudicate their dispute. Something about a jumper being offered to the friend but he didn’t take it and the other accused him of renigging. The one thing we all agreed upon was that it was bloody cold.
The anticipation of the final of Eurovision had been building all week and now it was upon us. The preparations for the big night started early. I mean time is needed to look Eurovision spectacular. Dressed in a green crop-top and matching green make-up, this was my homage to the Finnish entrant, the crowd favourite for this year. Jason went a bit more industrial goth, with a black mesh shirt.
For some reason wherever we are in the world, we are mistaken for Germans. I really think that we should be given honorary German citizenship. Australia just never seems to cross their minds. Maybe we’re too far away to even contemplate.
We arrived around 5:30pm at the M&S Arena in Pier Head and had an hour to wait until the gates opened. There was already a buzz in the air: Eurovision fever! As we waited, we struck up a conversation with two Greek girls who live in Bristol. They thought having to drive three hours was a pilgrimage and a half. That was nothing to our 30 hours. They were disappointed with Greece not qualifying for the finals but understood the reasons. It was a lacklustre song with rather drab costume and stage design.
As soon as the gates opened, we did an Olympic 100-metre dash, sprinting to the standing entrance of the arena to get prime position on the barrier. Everyone had been comparing the shape of the stage to a penis. For the Finals, we positioned ourselves to the left side of the head, but not as far as the shaft. We stood bopping to the Eurovision songs of yesteryears, along with our Eurovision partner in crime, Trish.
The tension of the contest came to a head in the final televote counting. Sweden was the jury favourite and had been picked by the bookmarkers to win. It became a showdown between Sweden and Finland. Käärijä from Finland had won the hearts of the public, but this was not enough to get him over the line. Throughout the voting the crowd were chanting “cha, cha, cha “, the Finnish song for this year. I thought a riot might break out if Finland didn't win. The uproar is still continuing for some.
With the show over, we moseyed to Euro Club for one final night of Eurovision dancing and frolicking. Again, we ran into King George from Australian Survivor again, draped in the Aussie flag. We bopped about until it was time to take Jason home for some well-needed rest before heading to our next destination.
Next stop: Dublin.Read more
IrelandLeinsterDublin CityTemple BarTemple Bar food Market53°20’44” N 6°15’54” W
May 14, 2023 in Ireland ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
After all the excitement of Eurovision in Liverpool, it was time to move onto our next destination. We took a 1pm flight from Dublin travelling Aer Lingus, or as we fondling called it Air Cunnilingus. I don’t know if lingus has a different meaning in Irish Gaelic but who calls an airline Aer Lingus. The plane was the size of a mini cooper and the airline hostess had left her fake tan on for way too long – think Donald Trump oompa loompa – with drawn on eye brows that look like she had used a whiteboard marker.
Yet another episode of Lost World played out before we had even left Liverpool. This time it was a double episode. Jason was convinced he’d lost his lock for his backpack and now he was going to be the next Schapelle Corby with drugs planted in his bag by baggage handlers. Except it was attached to his bag, hidden inside. It was my turn to enter the lost world at Dublin airport, when I tried to find my wallet. Thankfully it was buried deep inside my bag. Crisis averted.
We arrived in the city centre of Dublin and blindly followed Google Map’s directions. With no numbers on the buildings it was a stab in the dark; but, where we were just didn't look right. As we backtracked, a guy in a car stopped and asked if we needed directions. When we said we were looking for our Airbnb, he said that we were definitely in the wrong area, unless public housing started to advertise on the app.
We walked further along the street still unable to locate the correct building. Another guy stopped his car in the middle of the road and asked if we needed help. They pointed us in the right direction. When we eventually found the correct building, there were so many key safes we don't know which to check. And they all had the same pin code. Then the door game begins. Wherever we stay, the doors are always a challenge. Hold the handle at a 45 degree angle, turn left and right while standing on one foot. It usually only takes until our final day, and many days of fumbling around, to figure it out.
Immediately I noticed that the area seemed to be populated with people doing drug deals and doing drugs in the street. The streets are lined with people huddled together exchanging things from their pockets. As we were wandering through the city centre, we heard a woman yelling and screaming. We took a wide berth as we passed her. But that didn’t stop her screaming at us: “and what are you looking at?”. We had been looking at the street exhibition showcasing Irish oddballs and oddities who became synonymous with Dublin. She probably will make it to the wall one day ... maybe. Connor, the friendly Irish boy who gave us directions, warned us to be careful, that gangs operated in the area and that people would rob you for €20. The only rock available in Ireland isn’t emerald but crystal meth!
Dublin's footpaths are littered with dog shit but there were no dogs to be seen. Maybe it wasn't dog shit. Dublin is also a lot more cosmopolitan than we had expected. I mean we weren’t exactly expecting leprechauns and a city of gingers. Despite being multicultural, we stood out as foreigners. I'm sure it's because we weren't wearing track suits. Ninety percent of men in Dublin wear track suits, or just track pants – trackie dacks – without any underwear. You know we can see your religion!
The next day, we visited Dublin Castle, a former Motte-and-bailey castle that now serves as the current Irish government complex and conference centre. Most of the buildings date from the 18th century. It’s difficult to reconcile the opulence of the castle when there is still poverty and homelessness in the streets. We have been indoctrinated to believe that the historical buildings of Europe are symbols of glory and pride; but, all of this was achieved through colonial violence and theft. We need to continue to decolonise ourselves and remember that many others have had to suffer (and continue to suffer) from our colonialist past.
After our tour of Dublin Castle, we wandered through the Temple Bar district. As we walked through the streets, a guy came towards us with a clipboard and blurted something out. Was it English or Irish Gaelic? I think it was something about signing something. Who knows but we quickly changed direction.
The Irish continue to remind us of the famine that they experienced in the 19th century, worsened by the British colonists, and the reason many Irish migrated to Australia and the US. Two Aussie boys may experience famine because the prices of food is so high! A potatoes-only diet for us for the next few days.
Wandering the streets for hours on end always ends up in a search for a toilet. One of our pet peeves about many countries is charging to go to the toilet. I mean it’s a basic need for all of us. And if they want to stop people going in the streets then provide public accessible toilets. In Dublin, the toilets even have tap-and-pay facilities to pay the 25 cents (about 50 Australian cents).
On our third day in Dublin, we headed to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, an 8th-century illuminated manuscript of the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Afterwards we wandered the campus taking in more colonialist propaganda.
It wouldn't be a trip to Ireland without tasting guinness, even though I despise the taste. The half pint didn’t change my opinion. We followed the guinness with an Irish stew and Irish whiskey at O’Shea’s pub. On the way to the pub, we saw the Gardai (police) about to raid a house, with battering rams, while drug dealers continued to deal on the street corners. It might be time to move on.
Next destination: Belfast.Read more
Northern IrelandBelfastBelfast City Centre54°35’50” N 5°55’47” W
May 17, 2023 in Northern Ireland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
After a short stay in Dublin, we took a tram to Connolly station to get the 2-hour train to Belfast. For some reason Google maps took us on a wild goose chase to get to the Smithfield tram stop. After days of tracking around Dublin and carrying 17 kilograms on our backs like pack mules, we really didn’t need the extra steps. We boarded the train and shared the ride with a rabble of American boomers and private school kids on an excursion. Thankfully they've invented noise-cancelling headphones.
We traipsed through Belfast to get to our accommodation, about a 1.5 kilometre walk. We checked into our hotel that overlooked Buoy Park. We both looked at the bed then looked at each other. How the hell are we going to fit in this bed! If we were the size of leprechauns it would be fine, but both being 6 feet + in the old imperial system, it was going to be a squeeze. We checked and we had reserved a queen bed. When we asked reception, they tried to convince us that this was a UK queen bed. I’d call it a king single at best, and hate to think how small a double bed would be. The other thing we’ve noticed in all of our accommodations is that British and Irish don’t believe in bed sheets. There's a bottom sheet and a doona but nothing else. Maybe it’s cost saving because no-one offers daily cleaning or anything, supposedly to save the environment – more like a way to save more money to pay the CEO wages. Damn capitalism!
Yet another episode of Jason’s Lost World started filming before we could thaw out from the cold. Jason was convinced his wallet had been stolen. Clothes were being thrown around the room like he was a stripper performing at a nightclub. Eventually he found his wallet buried deep in the abyss of his bag.
We had little time to waste so we set out to explore the city centre of Belfast. It wasn't long before we spotted some Derry girls, girls with fake tans and lashes that they'd stolen from dressage horses. The sellers of fake eye lashes and tanning salons must do a roaring trade in Belfast. As we stood in line at the supermarket, we spotted a woman with a-week-old-fake tan that looked like a patchwork quilt of oompa loompa and pasty white skin.
We also noticed that the uniform for men was not as strict as in Belfast compared to Dublin; not all men wore trackie dacks, but those that did still didn’t wear underwear. Maybe they spent too much on the tracksuit. There didn't seem to be as many people affected by drugs either. But maybe it was just the area we were staying in.
The following day, we took off on our march across Belfast as we traversed from the city centre through to the West and North then back home. Our first stop was the Solidarity wall, political murals about the civil conflict in Northern Ireland. Our next stop was one of the many supposed peace walls that still segregate Protestants and Catholics. The government was supposed to remove them all by 2023, but very few have been taken down.
As we entered West Belfast, there was a different atmosphere. It had a much more British feel with King Charles III coronation decorations still hanging from houses. The Troubles, a thirty-year conflict involving republican and loyalist paramilitaries and state forces, still seemed current rather than a thing of the past. And all this conflict in the name of religion; it seems crazy to this atheist how two very similar denominations of the same religion could create such hate, which seemingly goes against their religious tenets. Signs in the street claimed that as long as a single person in the area remained there would not be a united Ireland. They even seemed to avoid the term Irish and seemed to consider themselves British. Even the stew wasn't called Irish Stew but just a stew. Irish Gaelic was nowhere near as prevalent in Belfast compared to Dublin.
Moving along, we headed to the infamous Crumlin Road goal, the last Victorian era goal built between 1843 and 1845 at a cost of £60,000. The goal was originally built to house about 500 prisoners, but by the early 70s, during the period of the Trouble, there were nearly three times this amount when the International Red Cross inspected the premises. The cramped conditions meant that there were three people to each cell rather than one as originally intended. Many sad stories haunt the goal, including the suicide of a thirteen year old boy.
On our way home from the goal on day release, we overheard a group of Aussies (with their Northern Irish partners) commenting on the dog shit in the streets. But Belfast had nothing on the dog shit cess pool of Dublin. Maybe it's time to move on to greener pastures with less dog shit.
Next stop: Glasgow.Read more
ScotlandGlasgow55°51’46” N 4°15’28” W
May 19, 2023 in Scotland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
From Belfast, we caught the 45-minute flight to Glasgow, flying budget EasyJet. As we went through security Jason got hauled aside to go through additional security measures. He obviously looked like a dodgy sod. They made him do a river dance inside a foot scanner. You put your left leg in, your left leg out, and shake it all about. We had no sooner taken off and we heard the pilot say: “cabin crew, prepare for landing”. We’ve taken longer bus journeys across Brisbane.
Initially, we were going to catch the express airport bus from Glasgow Airport, but realised that an Uber was going to about the same price. Well, that is if the end price was the same as the original quoted price. With traffic, it ended up a little bit more than expected. We did get the lowdown on Glasgow from the Uber driver. Even though he's a native, he wasn't too keen on the place. Before we even got out of the airport, we got to experience the fiery Scottish temper. A man in a car at the airport carpark boom gate was obviously taking too long for the driver behind him, who got out of the car and started yelling at him. Don't cross a Scotsman! The Uber driver said the nation was at an all time high during the 2014 Commonwealth Games, but within four months, the people were ready to kill each other.
It felt like groundhog day when we arrived at our apartment to see the tiniest bed, amongst a studio cluttered with knick knacks. The owner had left a manifesto on the apartment with an itemised list of objects in the apartment. No shoes in the apartment, no this or that, turn off this, don't turn on that. I'm not sure exactly what they're trying to protect; it certainly isn't the Hilton.
But I’m sure the Hilton doesn’t have a pop-up drug den in the stair well of their hotel. Well, in our apartment complex, someone had set up a bottle with alfoil around the top and left their silver spoon next to it. Discarded alfoil with a brown substance was strewn around the staircase. Next to the drug den, there was a sign saying that drugs were not tolerated in the building. The pop-up den remained there for our entire stay. It doesn’t look like the complex is cleaned on a regular basis!
This same policy seemed to apply to the apartment that we were staying in. It seemed the cleaner was a little eager to finish up her work and forget to take away the bloodied and soiled towels. In the apartment manifesto, there was explicit mention of blood stains on towels and a payment required for cleaning. So, Jason advised the owner, who became very apologetic and even offered a partial refund on the accommodation. She obviously didn't want to get a bad review. Oh and the provided clean towels would have fit a six-month old child.
Once we settled in, we wandered around Glasgow City Centre, admiring the architecture. There’s definitely not as much dog shit as Ireland or Northern Ireland but still the streets are a little bit littered with garbage. The result of Council cost cutting and the removal of bins ... no doubt. Jason also made the observation that there weren’t as many oompa loompas in Glasgow, although I did see one woman who had matched her skin tone with her red hair.
As we walked taking in the scenery, the rain began to sprinkle enough to be annoying but not really significant enough to go to the effort of pulling out the umbrella. With an average of 170 days of rainfall a year, it was inevitable that we would experience some of the pleasure and pain (rain). The Eurythmics song “Here comes the rain again” became our anthem. We got out of the rain for a bit to visit the Kelvingrove art gallery and museum. Although we had already clocked up a lot of steps, we punished ourselves more with a walking tour through the West End of Glasgow.
The following morning, before heading to our next destination, we took a hike up to the Glasgow Necropolis. It was interesting to see the differences between the social (and religious) classes in how they honoured their dead. There were some extravagant temples built for some, while others were simple headstones, which were no longer legible.
Oh, and by the way, the filming of Lost World has gone on hiatus, but I’m sure the season will resume soon.
Next stop: Edinburgh.Read more
ScotlandEdinburghPrinces Street Gardens55°57’10” N 3°11’48” W
May 21, 2023 in Scotland ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C
We travelled 50 minutes by “long-distance” train from Glasgow to Edinburgh. Jason was appalled by the price of the train ticket: £14 (AU$28) one-way! But it’s a 68km journey explained the Train Guard. Jason's reply: “ that's a suburban train trip in Australia, mate, and would cost about 5 quid”.
We arrived at Edinburgh Waverley station and embarked on our 15-minute walk to our accommodation. A constant theme when we’re travelling is getting lost or going off course because we put too much faith in Google maps. For some reason, the satellites in the UK can't seem to pin point our position with precision and sends us off in the wrong direction. With a few expletives, we were back on track and arrived within the vicinity of where we needed to be. Then we did the block trying to find the exact location, whilst lugging around 17kgs each on our backs. Soon we realised that the houses are numbered in blocks and the name of the street covers the entire block. Unlike in most other cities where generally the house fronts that share the same street belong to that street with odd numbers on one side and even numbers on the other side, this area was different. Each side belonged to a different street name. We thought we were in the wrong area until we worked out the system.
It’s customary for us to offload our bags and then explore the area, often to find provisions for our stay. We headed out on our expedition around the neighbourhood when all of a sudden it was if the switch to the Artic winds was flicked to the high setting. It was as cold as a witch's teat and a cold that we’ve not felt in a long time, and I certainly wasn’t dressed in the appropriate attire to deal with these conditions. I started blowing “smoke” from my mouth and blowing it towards Jason. He looked at me like a circus freak, thinking what is he on, until he realised. We couldn't handle the conditions and quickly retreated. We even ran part of the way home just to warm up our bodies.
Later in the evening, we met up with a Scottish girl, Amber Cornell, that we met in Ibiza about six months ago. She invited us to dinner and cocktails at Tigerlily, an upmarket restaurant on George Street in Edinburgh New Town. She then took us on a tour of Edinburgh as we slightly staggered to Habana nightclub where we were joined by Tricia, another Scottish girl who we met in Ibiza at Ushuaia nightclub. The stagger was mainly due to the number of steps we had clocked up rather than too much booze. After a drink and a dance, we continued onto CC Booms for some more drinks. Thankfully we got a lift home from Tricia, otherwise it probably would have been a stagger home.
The next morning, we got up early and walked to the Old Town of Edinburgh. We don’t normally do tours but we made an exception on this occasion so that we could explore Mary King’s Close, a small laneway lined with late Sixteenth century houses that is now hidden beneath other buildings. The Close was named after a merchant woman who made a good fortune from sewing garments and selling fine cloths from a shop on the High Street called a laich forebooth, or a low stall. Mary King was a burgess, which meant that she had voting rights, an uncommon thing for a woman of her time. She was a widow with four children. In 1753 the burgh council decided to erect a new building, the Royal Exchange (now the City Chambers) on top of the Close. Even Jason enjoyed the tour with its interactive and mixed media approach to presenting the history of the time.
We also got to learn about other characters who lived in the Close and how life may have been in the late Sixteenth and early Seventeenth century. One of the houses that remains in its original condition showed the roofing technique of the late Sixteenth century, which used horse hair to cover the ceiling, adding some insulation to the room. The poor couldn't afford wall paper so some made their own using vegetable stamps, like a Sixteenth century Tonia Todman or Martha Stewart. The Victorian era rooms included wall paper with arsenic and a toilet with running water. Apparently the owners were so proud of their thunder box that they used it with their front door wide open so they could lord it over their neighbours. Maybe they were just exhibitionists.
We also paid a visit to the Edinburgh cemetery. In the centre of the cemetery stands a guard tower that once had a permanent guard to deter grave robbers. Grave robbers stole dead bodies to get money from scholars who used them to study human anatomy. All in the name of survival and scholarship.
We were staying in a bed and breakfast in Abbeyhill, a short distance from the city centre. Another Scottish guy was staying in the accommodation, and together with the owner of the B&B would trap us to talk about all kinds of crap. Somehow I let my guard down and was forced to hear random stories that went on forever but went nowhere until I found an opportunity to escape. Then it was Jason’s turn. The B&B owner had the ability to talk under water and on every single topic you could imagine. He knew it all, had done it all. Been there done that.
In one conversation, the English B&B owner revealed he thought Kath and Kim was a fly-on-the-wall documentary, a real housewives of Australia. We set him straight – well, we corrected his understanding of the show. No, it is a satirical comedy. It kind of showed what he thought of Australians: boorish and uncultured people. But I can tell you the British aren’t all Lords and Dames, and even those that are aren’t exactly role models: think Prince Andrew.
On our third day, we visited the Edinburgh Castle, the birthplace of King James VI of Scotland and King James I of England, as well as the royal residence of Mary Queen of Scots. Afterwards we visited Mary Queen of Scots’ Bath House. But historians are unsure if there was actually a bath in the room. At any rate, the royal family used the building as a place to relax and rest. It gave us a glimpse of life in the late Sixteenth century.
Later in the day, we met up with Kylie (a.k.a Trixie O'Connor), the remainder of the Scottish trio from Ibiza. After clocking up 20,000 steps each day, our bodies were craving calories and what better way to make up the deficit but with chocolate fondue and white chocolate milkshakes followed by a IRN Bru, the Scottish national soft drink. The bru kind of tastes like a creamy soda with a twist of something else. For lunch we had to try a Scottish pie and Bridie, a kind of Scottish pasty. But we couldn't bring ourselves to try haggis.
We had a few hours to kill before heading to our next destination, so we wandered the streets in search of one more little Scottish treat. We stumbled upon a bakery and had to sample their goodies. Two beef sausage rolls and two fudge doughnuts later and we were ready to get back to our accommodation to continue on our onward journey. The owner of the B&B was still at the house on our return despite saying he wouldn’t be; I mean he didn’t want to be tied to the house. Apparently he lived somewhere else but he seemed to be at the house every single minute of the day. I'm fairly certain he was glad to get rid of us. He certainly didn't offer to have us back again.
You’d also be glad to know that the Lost World is no longer in hiatus; it has taken a hold of me this time, not once, not twice but thrice. It got me real good this time. Of course, the sympathetic Jason remarked with “I bet this doesn’t make it to the blog”, and then threatened to commence this own blog to provide his perspective (known as Jason’s World). I blame this triple episode on Cyclone Jason who ripped through the room, which created mess and disorder.
Next stop: Copenhagen.Read more
DenmarkCapital RegionCopenhagen55°40’37” N 12°34’3” E
May 24, 2023 in Denmark ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C
As we got ready to move onto our next destination, I was suddenly transported into the Lost World yet again. I was convinced that the lost item was in the room but it was difficult to tell after a category seven cyclone had hit the room, which I’ve named Cyclone Jason. After the cyclone had passed and it was safe to start the clean up and rescue operations, the said lost item was found again, buried almost the rubble.
From our B&B in Abbeyhill, Edinburgh, we walked, loaded with backpacks, to the city centre. I mean we were saving the bus fare and getting a leg/glutes workout for free. But about 15-20 minutes into the journey, Jason had had enough and couldn’t get to our destination quick enough. He was like a child going on holidays, repeatedly asking “are we there yet?”. No was always the answer.
We arrived at the airport and checked in. All was in order. Then, we boarded the Norwegian Air plane, where Jason had conveniently assigned me to the middle seat, next to an older gentleman. Still all good. That is until I took a whiff in the air. The guy smelt like he hadn’t bathed this century. As I sat down he struck up a conversation in Danish until he realised I had not the foggiest idea what he was saying. Breathing in the body odour, I needed oxygen. Pretty certain this isn't the kind of emergency that will activate the airbags. I was like a dog with its head out the car window, except all that I had was a gentle stream of air coming from the vents above us. I spent the entire 1 hr 45 mins trying to breathe in the fresh air in between waves of body odour.
I ended up feeling sorry for the guy after he told me his whole life story. His father and brother had recently passed away within a month of each other. He had taken a holiday to Edinburgh to get away from it all. And it turns out he was actually born in New Zealand and his parents immigrated back to Denmark when he was ten. As we flew over Denmark, he proudly pointed out all the different landmarks. As we circled around in a holding pattern, he remarked that, if we were going to land in Malmö (Sweden), he wouldn't be getting off the plane: so much for the neighbourly love. I thought he may need a priest for the landing as he crossed himself ready to face death as we hit the tarmac.
Copenhagen is located on the islands of Zealand and Amager, separated from Malmö by the Øresund strait. We were located in the city centre, not far from Rådhuapladsen metro. We were also close to the bells of Rådhuspladsen, which at first reminded us of the church bells in Amsterdam. Soon we realised that the bells chimed every fifteen minutes between 8am and midnight. At each quarter of the hour, it plays a little bit more of the diddy until the whole tune is played on the hour, followed by a chime for each hour. Thankfully we didn't have the church bells chiming in unison. But it was enough to send a person crazy. Haven’t the Danes realised that we have watches and mobile phones that have alarms! Between the chiming of the bells and the squeaking of the floor boards of our apartment, a full symphony could have been orchestrated.
After settling into our apartment on the fourth floor, we set out to explore the city centre, taking in the sights that Copenhagen had to offer. After a huge fire in the 18th century, much of the medieval buildings have not survived. Instead what survives are the redeveloped buildings from the 18th century, particularly the royal palaces. We wandered around Copenhagen’s main tourist attractions, such as Tivoli Gardens, The Little Mermaid statue, the Amalienborg and Christiansborg palaces, Rosenborg Castle, Frederik’s Church and Børsen. We stumbled upon the changing of the guard, which seemed to go on forever and for which most of the crowd lost interest.
While Copenhagen is disbursed across a large area, it is easily traversed by foot. There are no hills; everything is flat, which makes cycling easy and the main form of transport for the natives. We probably should have followed their lead instead of clocking up almost 50,000 steps over the three nights, two days that we were there.
By this stage, I started to get sick with the flu (it couldn't be the thing that shall not be named ... no!!!). In Edinburgh, I began to get a sore throat, which turned into a runny nose by the time we got to Copenhagen. Sympathetic Jason believes it's all my own fault; apparently I'm not as OCD/vigilant with my hand washing as him. Except influenza is an airborne virus spread through droplets from someone sneezing or coughing. It is what it is. There was that guy on the bus from Belfast to the airport that Jason overheard talking about the Rona (COVID). Of course, I'm also to blame for passing it on. I should learn that I can never win 🤣
The following day, we explored Christiania, a small island connected to the main island of Zealand in Copenhagen. In the middle of Christiania is the Free Town, an intentional community, commune and micronation in the Christianshavn neighbourhood. Think Nimbin but a little less hippie where police are forbidden to enter. It began in 1971 as a squatted military base and has had a colourful past with some violence and protests between the inhabitants and authorities. It’s famous with tourists for it’s Pusher Street, named after the open trade of cannabis. There have been attempts to get rid of the commune but these have not been successful. It probably has something to do with the fact that it's the fourth most popular tourist destination, attracting more than half a million visitors each year. We were on alert and ready to evacuate at any moment if there were any signs of an uprising.
Next destination: Gothenburg / Göteborg / Go:teborg
Danish: Hej (hello), Tak (thank you), Hvordan har du det? (how are you?)Read more
May 27, 2023 in Sweden ⋅ ☀️ 13 °C
To break up our journey from Copenhagen to Oslo, we decided to do a stopover in Gothenburg, about 4 hours by train. Luckily Scoorge McScoorge (aka Jason McDonald) was letting the purse string loose a little and opted for the first class train ticket. Lucky because it was a full train headed to Gothenburg and we probably would have had to stand for some of the journey. McScoorge turned into the train inspector, interrogating whether each individual should be in first class or if they were plebs trying to live it up. I tried for the entire journey not to cough and bark like a dog. In this post(?)-Rona world, you can't sneeze or cough without getting treated like a leper. It's probably more socially acceptable to fart in public these days.
Fart became the first Swedish word that we learnt. It doesn't mean the same as in English. That was evident with the 5g fart (speed) mobile phone sale. Jason suddenly turned into the Swedish chef as we walked around Gothenburg, which in Sweden is actually the Finnish Chef (the Muppets changed it for the Swedish audience). They obviously can't understand the Finnish either! We even got to see IKEA in its native habitat. And how Swedish could it get, there was an ABBA special on TV. Swedish meatballs would have been the trifecta.
Gothenburg is the second largest city in Sweden, with a population of around 1.1 million, mostly students studying at the University of Gothenburg and Chalmers University of Technology. It seems to have a great public transport system with trams, trains and buses. Surprisingly, there are few traffic lights, and the car drivers seem quite relaxed. There wasn’t a fear of being run down by a speeding Sven in his Volvo, which was founded in the city in 1927.
With the presence of university students, there is a hip atmosphere, as Jason would like to call it. But the only thing hip is the hip replacement that we both will need after more than 20,000 steps. Book us in now! And I'm certain Jason is trying to stave me to death. Only dust and air is allowed. I mean the Scandinavian prices are criminal but a person needs to eat. Maybe just a little kebab will suffice to give us enough energy to stumble back to our hotel room.
When we got back to our room, we turned on the lights then all of a sudden we were sent into darkness. “what have you pressed, Jason?”, I yelled from the bathroom. Nothing was the reply. Yes, Touchy McTouchy had gone around touching all the buttons in the room. Normally, I’m accused of being Touchy McTouchy. Great, now we don't have power. So we called reception, and a few minutes later a Swedish Bob the Builder, Byggare Bob, or Sven with a Screwdriver as I called him, appeared at our door, chirping away in Swedish. He flicked a switch, which had been turned off, that controls the power. But McTouchy denies touching the button. It just miraculously turned off by itself when he flicked the light switch. To be sure that we knew how to turn on the lights, Sven/Bob gave us a tutorial. Now we’re certified to use the lights. Pity we're only staying one night.
Next destination: Oslo.
Swedish: Hej (Hello), Tack så mycket (Thanks so much), Hur mår du? (How are you?), Kyckling (Chicken), Skinka (Ham).Read more
