As if that wasn’t enough, Australia was then caught up in the global coronavirus pandemic, just as we headed off on one of our regional road trips – a two and a half week visit to Adelaide and fire-affected Kangaroo Island, through regional Victoria and South Australia. When we left home, people were being encouraged to visit fire-ravaged regional centres to help boost local economies. By the time we were on the way back everyone was being urged to stay home to help reduce the spread of pestilence. We made it back to Canberra just as Australia was shutting down.
Knocking the wind out of our sails
Given that at the heart of this story is our first ever cruise – and an ocean-going one at that – it is ironic how just over six months later the pandemic knocked the wind out of the sails of the cruise industry almost instantaneously. Cruising had been exploding, the perfect safe and easy recipe for older people who wanted to see the world without too much risk. Overnight it changed into a nightmare world of disease and death, holiday ships transformed to refugee boats that were no longer welcome anywhere
When my fellow traveller and I were in Scotland in 2017, we became entranced by the centuries of exchange and movement between Northern England and Scotland and Norway. We saw there was a cruise that travelled from Edinburgh to Bergen and became quite excited about the idea. We looked at a couple of options that could take us from Edinburgh to Norway, starting with G Expeditions, a small US expedition company and moving on to Viking Cruises. The main difference between G Expeditions and Viking was size and numbers (134 passengers for G Expeditions, compared to 930 for Viking), which meant the G Expedition ship could get into much smaller places and use its inflatable Zodiacs to land in many more bays. It visited 12 place in Norway compared to the six places visited by Viking.
However I was attracted by the fact we would be on a Norwegian ship rather than an American one. I mainly wanted to see Orkney, Shetland and Norway, without being too worried exactly where in Norway we went. However, while the Viking cruise looked to be far superior for us, we would miss being able to travel up narrow travel fjords that cut deep into Norway, land on beaches in a foot of water and get close to glaciers.
Reading up about the Vikings in preparation for the trip reminded me of what I had heard about Maori history, which holds great interest for Australians. There was the same warrior culture of strong men, solving grievances through violence and the same internecine warfare for generations. The trip would be interesting because we would trace part of the old Hanseatic League networks. Both Bergen and Hamburg were part of this medieval trading bloc.
After the cruise finished in Bergen, we'd take a train to Oslo, get an overnight ferry to Copenhagen, then train through Hamburg to Berlin. We'd finish with almost two weeks there before heading home through Singapore.
Staying in one place, only moving
Crossing the Equator
I always like landing in Singapore, perched barely North of the Equator. For both good and bad it feels like the world would increasingly be in the future. Each time you depart Australia it also acclimatises you to international travel without the shock of a trip more like 14 hours than eight. You ease into it. On the flight I always seem to misplace my headphones and spend the trip peering at what everyone else is watching or scrolling through long lists of South Asian films in every language imaginable.
Across the Indian Ocean
While we were in the air, heading out across the Indian Ocean, on our way to London, I thought about my only other trip there. I hadn't been to London since the first time I ever went there, way back in 1989, after attending the Frankfurt Book Fair as part of my job with a small Australian publishing company. When I knew were were returning here, I looked up my 1989 diary and my photo album from that sole trip to London, 29 years before, to see if I could find where I stayed. In contrast to how much I fill my diaries now, there was no reference.
Portsmouth Naval Dockyards and the resurrected Mary Rose
The next morning we were off to Portsmouth by train. There was industrial action planned, so we needed to get there early. From there we would drive to Dorset and Cornwall. Despite leaving from a large train station, as Waterloo is, with industrial action already underway, it was smooth. The taxi got us from the hotel to the station quickly and cheaply and we ended up on an earlier train that stopped at lots of stations on the way, because our original train seemed to had been cancelled – but we didn’t care. I was reminded of how peaceful train travel could be, especially with a table to write on. The train was mostly empty, which was even better.
I realised that seeing Portsmouth Naval Dockyards had more significance than I thought. Of my war-time uncles, I mainly knew about my uncle Jim, who was a navigator on Lancaster bombers during World War 2. However, the oldest brother was also in the air force, seeing service in the Pacific and three more of my uncles – as outlined in the informative family history my father wrote – joined the Royal Navy. They saw action in the Adriatic on motor torpedo boats and on the ships escorting convoys to Murmansk in far Northern Russia.
In fact, in the middle of our cruise, when we visited North Cape at the top of Norway, we would be at the very spot where the convoys turned towards Russia. I suppose in their youthful enthusiasm my uncles were not that different to young Muslims, drawn to fight in Syria, or the fighters of the Lincoln Brigade, who went to Spain in the 1930s to fight fascism. It seems another universe from our thankfully relatively less troubled times.
Location is everything
Waking up in Bridport on a misty Dorset morning, I was still digesting my five day experience of London. My fellow traveller loved the last day, spending hours in Liberty then Carnaby Street and afterwards in the Bloomsbury environs of the shop of architect and interior designer Ben Pentreath. Coincidentally Bridport is near his rural home in an old parsonage.
They say location is everything and where we were staying was a top floor apartment in an old building above a bookstore, next to the Bridport Art Centre and just near the Bridport Museum and the Bridport Library. This was a very attractive small coastal town, obviously with a lively arts scene. It's well known as Thomas Hardy country. Wandering the streets looking for coffee, I bumped into another Australian, from Castlemaine, and she and I exchanged tips and directions. After this, she was off to Inverness and Orkney.
‘On the way to Bridport the previous day, we unexpectedly
drove past a group of stones, with a large crowd around it holding umbrellas. I
realised that by some weird accident of geography, we had driven past
Stonehenge, a place I would normally never have chosen to visit.’
We had breakfast in our apartment. Buying eggs in the supermarket I was amazed at the variety. In the end I bought free range Burford Browns, with a dark brown egg shell and, after the superb strawberries we bought the previous day, had boiled eggs and ham. The taste of the strawberries reminded me of our garden in Tasmania when we were children. Dogs rule in England – everywhere were the signs of just how true this was.
Wars and dubious alliances
On our second – and at the same time, second last – day in Bridport we went to see what is supposedly the UK's finest manor house, Mapperton House and garden at Beaminster, just up the road. It was used a few years back to shoot Hardy's ‘Far from the Madding Crowd' and is likely to be used again. It has had a chequered history, affected by wars and dubious alliances, gambling habits and the shifting shape of class and privilege, from Tudor to Georgian to modern times.
As we drove my fellow traveller made a few observations about life in England. Firstly the seagulls are massive, rivalling our cockatoos, appropriate for birdlife on the Jurassic Coast – presumably directly descended from dinosaurs. One newspaper here reported that two elderly pensioners had been trapped in their home for a week by two seagulls. People also constantly apologise about the weather and make wry comments about the rain – though that day and the day before had been much sunnier – mild and warm.
The Fish Coast
We were shocked earlier in the day to see how much the tide had gone out, but before long, it was creeping back in again. There was steady passing traffic, often with kayaks, but it was nothing like other busier places on this coast. There seemed to be regular kayak groups going into the water there but even though it got busy, especially on the weekend, it was nothing like Port Isaac.
Sitting high in the water, right in the heart of London
On the walls of the stairwells in the ship they had blown up replicas of scenes from the Bayeux tapestry. It was highly appropriate, given William the Conqueror was of Viking descent. It reminded me how when I was young I embroidered a panel from the Tapestry on a large stretch of hessian. We were surrounded by Americans, many of them much older than us. They all seemed very nice but it was a bit like a mass breakout from a nursing home.
I suspected the trip could be the adventure of a lifetime – we'd certainly crammed many different (and new, for us) things into it. The only issue was the vast quantities of excellent food – the challenge was to focus on quality not quantity and know when to stop. Before I came on this cruise I jokingly asked if someone could live on smoked salmon and boiled eggs for two weeks – after my first breakfast on board, I knew the answer was yes.
Going nowhere, sitting quietly on a river
Given that earlier that year another new Viking cruise ship had nearly been wrecked on the Norwegian coast when one of its engines failed in a huge storm, it was probably better to find this problem early on – and in the mild waters of the Thames. After our crowded drive across London to drop off the car, at least it was good to be sitting quietly on a river. The problem was that, while this was very relaxing, I don't think the being on a ship aspect of cruising excited me much without the aspect that involves going somewhere interesting – and at that point that was not happening.
I also liked the way our compact but very well-designed cabin was right up the top of the ship, in a very short row of cabins running back from the bow of the ship. Every cabin on the ship has a balcony and both it and the bathroom were bigger than I expected. In virtually every respect we found Viking to be ideal – excellent food and drink, first rate staff and a well-designed and stylish ship.
To help fill in our wait while the engines were repaired, Viking quickly, efficiently and thoughtfully threw together a series of shore excursions. Luckily we managed to squeeze onto a tour to the iconic garden of the marvellous author Vita Sackville-West at Sissinghurst. It was a five hour excursion, including an hour and a half bus trip into the depths of Kent, but it was stunning – I could almost forget the engine failure. When we got back – the last passengers to board – there was good news.
We finally heard we were definitely going to miss Orkney and Shetland, including the two paid shore excursions we had booked, which were of important archaeological sites. They could have trimmed the Norwegian end of the cruise without much impact on our plans, but it was simpler and easier to cut out the two islands. Instead of a day in Orkney and a day in Shetland, we'd spent two days stranded in the Thames – on top of the two days already scheduled there. For over a fifth of our 14 nights on the ship, we hadn't even left London. At least we were on our way and we would stop in Edinburgh, so the whole point of the journey from Scotland to Norway wouldn't be lost. This was especially important because this was our first cruise and we'd always been aware that it might be the only one we took. Not only was it our first, but it might have been our last. The thing was to get on with enjoying the reshaped cruise – it still promised to be very exciting.
A day later we arrived in Edinburgh – how exciting, our first real port arrival, given Tilbury was more an unexpected standby stop. We anchored off the port at Newhaven, getting ashore using the ship's tenders. This was only our second time in Edinburgh – the last time had been at the tail end of the Edinburgh Festival, when supposedly the city swells to four times its usual size. From Australia we had booked tickets to see the Royal Yacht Britannia, which had been permanently docked in Leith Harbour since it was decommissioned in 1997. It was surprisingly modest and reminded me of Old Parliament House in Canberra, with its tiny cramped offices and bathrooms. Built in the 1950s, it reflected that more straitened era, especially the conditions for crew, depending on where you were in the heavily hierarchical structure.
As we bypassed Shetland I had been checking how else we could get there on some subsequent visit. An expensive twelve and a half hour ferry trip from Aberdeen seemed to be the way, unless we wanted to fly. I suspected we might have missed our chance. Two years before in Scotland we started to think about a trip by ship from Edinburgh to Norway. At that stage, while we were interested in Orkney and Shetland, there was no connection to a cruise. Then we saw the Viking cruise, which seemed to pack all our interests into one trip, and soon after booked it. Without Orkney and Shetland, we wouldn't have been on the cruise, let alone any cruise. As the departure date approached, we had booked and paid for extra shore excursions on both islands that reflected our interest in neolithic archaeology, fuelled by numerous documentaries. Perhaps we'd have to make do with Skye and the Western Isles.
There were a reasonable number of Australians on the ship – along with a few British, Canadians and New Zealanders. However, it was mostly Americans. While there was an attempt to cater for everyone, the preponderance of Americans had its impact. Both Fahrenheit and Celsius were usually used, but in some cases it was only Fahrenheit, which could make it hard to judge temperatures for the coming day. The food and drink also was skewed towards American tastes – luckily balanced by the variety on offer. The onboard currency was American dollars, not that anyone used cash, but all prices were in US dollars. Most of the Americans we had met were interesting and charming but such a large number so close and in such concentrations could be disconcerting – especially when some displayed their unlimited sense of entitlement and started whingeing. I was trapped in a lift for ten minutes with a bunch of them and it was too much.
In another day we would be in Honningsvåg above the Arctic Circle, as far north as this trip went, before we turned south for Tromsø, the Lofoten Islands, Geiranger and Bergen. I was sure there were amazing sights to be seen yet before we departed the ship. One morning we crossed the Arctic Circle. From our balcony the weather was fine and sunny, but very fresh. The sky was intensely blue and the ultra violet was extreme. We spent the morning in the spa, which as you'd expect on a Scandinavian ship was superb. It even had a snow room, like a giant walk in fridge full of snow drifts.
At that time of the year it seemed to be light 24 hours a day, so you could look at the views around the clock. At times it could seem like being on another planet. The closest I had seen in Australia was some of the austere country in the Snowy Mountains. Our images of the Viking homelands are of snowy mountains and intense cold – it’s no wonder the Viking thought of hell as being icy and frozen rather than hot and fiery. You might expect that so far North would be almost uninhabitable, but because the warm waters of the Gulf Stream pass by, it was quite mild in summer, even if very fresh. We might have been well above the Arctic Circle but it would have been colder at home in Canberra at the time than where we were.
The day before we had struck up conversation with a couple of Canadians from Vancouver when they suddenly pointed out a whale surfacing in front of the ship, spouting water into the air. Tomorrow we would be in Tromsø, as we fjord hopped our way down the Norwegian coast towards Bergen. The town is a centre for two of three major Norwegian industries – tourism and fishing. The steady stream of traffic of every variety to North Cape underlined the importance of tourism. The racks of cod drying in the cool dry air showed the importance of fishing.
The photographs I was taking didn't even begin to do justice to the natural beauty. The landscapes all around the ship were so stunning that at a certain point you simply had to stop looking, because you needed to eat or sleep. On one occasion as we were leaving Honningsvåg, we sat down to dinner in the Italian restaurant on the ship – which was excellent, thinking that even though the ship would be leaving port during the meal, we would have already seen everything on the way in. However, to our consternation, we realised that the ship was leaving by a different route. It was even more stunning than on the way in.
Gateway to the Arctic
We kept seeing the Hurtigruten (fast route) ferries, established in 1893, which service the coastal traffic. A couple of people had mentioned them. They reminded me of the Scottish island ferries we used two years before. They would be a great option for any future visits.
Totally seductive
While we had been having an ongoing discussion about whether we are really cut out for cruising, I have to say that the cruise was totally seductive. The food was exceptional, tremendously diverse and constantly changing. One day I had a bagel with laks, cheese and capers as I raced off the ship for an early tour, then, on my return, roasted Norwegian salmon in puff pastry and veal scallopine for lunch, and, for dinner, a cheese platter followed by scallops with pesto and haddock fish cakes, finally wrapping up with noodles with minced pork and dumplings with chilli oil. I was trying to eat a little of a lot, rather than a lot of anything.
During our time on the ship, we (well, my fellow traveller) slipped into intermittent binge-watching of Downton Abbey (which I called Downtown Abbey). We'd never seen it before but I found the dynamics of masters and servants, upstairs and downstairs, highly relevant to life on a cruise ship. We were even graced with a lecture on the ship by Lady Carnarvon, the wife of the current heir to Highclere, the setting for the television series. Viking has a connection to Highclere, hence the presence of the series on their viewing menu.
Choppy seas on a feared stretch of coastline
We were getting ever closer to the end of our cruise, as we prepared to arrive in Geiranger the next day. During the night as we sailed towards Geiranger we went through the feared 19 kilometer stretch of coastline known as Hustadvika. I was well aware that earlier that year another new Viking cruise ship was nearly wrecked when one of its engines failed in a huge storm and passengers had to be lifted off by helicopter above raging seas. Unlike most of the Norwegian coast, there are no larger islands sheltering passerbys from the waves here. The area is shallow and has many little islands and reefs, so ships had to go outside into the open ocean. This is considered one of the most dangerous parts of the Norwegian coast, and many ships had been wrecked along it. In the end Hustadvika was not an issue. I noticed the sea was choppier than usual, but that was it.
Geiranger sits at the head of a narrow fjord which is on the UNESCO World Heritage register – which as expected was utterly amazing – the most stunning landscape on the cruise so far, amongst endless stunning landscapes. Visually Norway beats you into submission. Of course, because of its iconic status, Geiranger was also very crowded – it gets 221 cruise ships a year, about the same number as its permanent inhabitants. We spent the morning on a bus tour way up into the mountains and the afternoon kayaking in the fjord. It was bright and sunny, but only days before it had snowed. No rose without a thorn, though – because of the deep valleys, it is in continuous shadow from November to February.
We kept finding out novel information about Norway: 1. it is the second largest exporter of seafood in the world – which begged the question ‘which country is the largest?’; 2. after the Irish, Norwegians were the largest immigrant group in the US; 3. Norwegian waters had some of the largest coral reefs in the world.
The next morning we arrived in beautiful Bergen, which coincidentally was the home port of our ship. After a final night aboard in port we disembarked. We were staying in Bergen itself for only one night. On our final night on board, we had dinner with a couple of Americans from New York state who we met on the cruise. We found we got on extremely well and we'd caught up with them quite a bit over the trip. The final night was a good way to round off the cruise.
It was ironic that we were in Bergen. Decades before, when I lived in Adelaide and was the Arts Officer for the Trades and Labour Council, I had a brief intensely passionate affair with an Australian who had lived in Bergen. I saw her in Australia a couple of times afterwards but then we lost contact. She went on to become a Professor at the University of Bergen in the very area in which I ended up working – museums, heritage and culture. Bergen seemed somewhere far away and I often wondered what the city would be like.
It turned out to be a very beautiful city. We were staying in a hotel right on the waterfront, which used to be the Bergen stock exchange. It was cool and overcast while we were there after a clear sunny day on the day we arrived. We walked around admiring the city, though most things were closed on a Sunday. We wanted to see the Hanseatic Museum, because along with Hamburg, Bergen was an important member of the powerful Hanseatic League of trading nations in the Middle Ages, but it was closed for several years for renovation.
Bergen was highly enjoyable and we could have easily stayed longer. We walked through the city centre and the grounds of the University, including its botanic garden. We arrived at one of the University museums at 3.50 pm, just as it was about to close. but at least got a taste of it. Given Bergen is one of the wettest cities in Europe, we had very good weather, ideal for walking in a very walkable city.
One of the most beautiful train trips in the world
Early the following morning we caught the train to Oslo – one of the most beautiful train trips in the world. We’d rehearsed the route to the train station, so we could avoid the cobbled streets with our luggage. On the train from Bergen to Oslo, we wound through spectacular gorges, lakes, rivers and valleys beneath snow-capped peaks. It reminded me of Canada. We could see people camping along the way, part of the Norwegian ‘right to roam’ philosophy.
In parts Oslo is a very cool city. Where we were staying was fairly drab, full of cheaply built apartments filled with students, travellers and immigrants. It's great virtue was that it was centrally located and with Oslo's excellent public transport, getting around was easy. As usual with a short visit, we had only worked out the good places to go by the time we left, but at least in Oslo we did see some interesting – and some amazing – things.
Three surviving Viking ships
We caught the ferry to Bygoy Island to see the Viking Ship Museum, which has three surviving Viking long boats on display, all recovered from burial sites, along with the artefacts that hadn't been looted by grave robbers. It's easy to see how the Vikings made it to America – Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland and they were there. We watched a couple of videos built around the museum collection and weren't surprised to see that one of the sponsors was Viking Cruises.
Finally we caught a bus to groovy Grunerlokka for lunch and I walked along the river harnessed for its hydro power during Oslo's industrial revolution to the tiny Labour Museum. Though part of the Museum of Oslo, the museum was disappointing and all the factories are now apartments – once again I realised that travel is all about discovering both swings and roundabouts.
I didn't ask Norwegians if they spoke English since I discovered they all study English at school. It seemed to be only the travellers who don't speak English – and the migrants and refugees because they're too busy learning Norwegian. There seemed to be a strong sense of Norwegian identity. It had been a separate country only since 1905, even later than the federation of states created the new nation of Australia. On top of this it had been invaded and occupied during World War Two – an event that was certain to strengthen the sense of national identity.
Before we left Oslo we managed to slip in a visit to the Akershus Fortress, the old castle that defended Oslo for centuries. We also visited the Norwegian Resistance Museum, which documents the one time Norwegian defence failed, when Nazi Germany invaded and occupied the country. It's a very comprehensive and, at times, moving exhibition, made more compelling by the fact that a group of Resistance fighters was executed on the terrace just outside. On the ferry out through Oslofjord on the way to Copenhagen we passed the huge guns of the Oscarsborg Fortress, which sank a massive German battle cruiser when the Germans launched their surprise invasion in 1940. This gave the Norwegian government and royalty time to escape into exile.
Lager lout heaven revelation
The ferry from Oslo to Copenhagen was a revelation. It was the other end of the spectrum from our genteel and luxurious Viking cruise. As we pulled away from shore the party started. Everyone headed down to the back of the ship to the Sky Bar to rock and roll and booze and smoke for the next 16 hours. It was lager lout heaven. Then the next morning, as we crawled towards Copenhagen, the duty free shopping opened. It was like the Boxing Day sales – stand clear or die. In contrast to this, the Italian restaurant where we ate the evening before was really good, despite being full of feral children and indulgent parents. It reminded me of the days of wine and song during my misspent youth in Adelaide – though those times were far more stylish.
The ship was like a combination of beer barn and floating nursery, with frantic children running everywhere. The morning we docked there were dozens of smokers on deck sitting puffing desperately beneath Do Not Smoke signs and the bar out the back was open, with at least one desperado sipping an early morning beer. I found out that the way these ships work is that people get on a mini-cruise from Oslo to Copenhagen and do the round trip. The main scenic attraction seems to be the bar and the duty free shop. Despite this we enjoyed the trip – though disembarking was like being in a large cattle yard. It was a good way to travel between Norway and Denmark – between two countries we had never visited before. We had a smooth voyage but I gather in winter it could be a rough crossing and even a ship this large (it could take over 1,700 passengers) could find the going unsettling.
The coolest city on the planet
Once we reached Denmark, we were staying in what is supposedly the coolest city on the planet, staying in the University District and we quickly checked out the coolest market in the world, Torvehallerne. We'd travelled from the Viking city to the biking city and we were loving it – plus it was Viking, too. Equipped with some excellent advice from a friend who knew Copenhagen well about which districts were the best to stay in, somehow I managed to book one of the most charming and stylish hotels I had stayed in, Ibsens Hotel in the University District.
Copenhagen was very expensive but through sheer chance we had managed to find a great rate, the sort we'd expect to pay on a visit to Sydney. We even had an extra large room in a location, where an extra large room was probably just a normal sized room. We had an airy, light room at the top of the hotel, which looked out over the neighbouring rooftops. We were used to life up in the roof, it was how we lived at home, so we enjoyed our five day stay in such a refuge.
My impression of this precinct was that it was as if someone had vacuumed up all the hipsters in the world, removed any of the affectation while keeping all the good bits, and then dropped them there. The focus on high quality was impressive, whether in food or products generally. We went back to Torvehallerne frequently, since it was at the end of our street. The Danes had certainly carved out their own niche – and it was a pretty big one. I felt very much at home there. Still, being there made me realise how few Australians still smoke – I suppose it just lets us focus on other ways of killing ourselves.
Memories of a right royal bar
My fellow traveller and I realised that we had something in common with Crown Prince Frederick and Princess Mary – we also met in Sydney. The fact that several million other people did as well doesn't invalidate this experience. In fact when I worked at the Powerhouse Museum and lived in Balmain, I used to drink at the very bar where the future royal couple met.
On our first day or two we were tinkering at the edges. Then we started to seriously explore Copenhagen. For a start we bought Copenhagen Cards, which give us discounted access to transport and museums. Then we headed off on the Metro to the Museum of Design, which featured a fabulous exhibition on the Bauhaus to recognise the 100th anniversary of its founding. Everyone who was anyone at the time featured – Gropius, Mies van der Rohe, Klee, Kandinsky, Einstein, Mondrian, Malevich, Moholy-Nagy, Schoenberg, Chagall.
In Copenhagen, the greatest risks to life and limb were being hit by a bike, passive smoking and museum overdose. There were also sprawling tour groups everywhere, looking like desultory demonstrations for some random cause or other. The method we use to select what to see in museums is the exhaustion principle – when we are exhausted we stop. I found myself sitting in the foyer of the National Museum of Denmark, having met both the Vikings and the Romans. The Museum had a huge collection – sometimes it felt like too much to take in.
Miracle bequest unchanged for a century
We also went on a small group tour of a large private apartment near the Museum. It was a miracle bequest from two elderly sisters who lived there, initially with their parents, and then by themselves, for most of their lives. It was as if they walked out and shut the door in 1890, leaving everything unchanged since.
Then we went to the Glyptoteket, a museum based on the vast collection of the man who owned the Carlsberg Brewery, which had room after room of ancient sculptures from Greece, Rome and Egypt. When I first saw the Musee Insel in Berlin I was astounded to see whole Greek temples and Babylonian city gates reassembled inside the museums. In this museum the scale was even more breath-taking – it was possible to imagine how it would have felt to have walked amongst these stones.
As we travelled, we'd been watching replays of the Apollo 11 mission – surely one of the great voyages of all time – as the 50th anniversary was recognised. It was greatness from doing great things, rather than from talking about greatness.
One morning we headed into Norrebro, for breakfast at Mirabelle bakery, skirted the edges of Osterbro and checked out the central shopping strip. I managed to slip away after a serious deluge of Danish design. It's good that the Danes had an Australian Crown Princess, but at the same time a Tasmanian one. In recognition, we describe Danish products as ‘princess-powered’.
On one of our final days in Copenhagen we went on a canal cruise, which was well worth it – except that for what seems like the first time on our trip, it rained. I was determined both to see everything and to take photographs, so I stayed outside on the deck. This meant I had to sit down regularly as we passed beneath the very low bridges. As a result I was soaked from effectively sitting repeatedly in a puddle of water. The rain coats we had bought for the Arctic Circle especially for such moments were back at the hotel.
Everything seemed to be on some waterfront
After that, on the recommendation of our hotel, we went to our first ever Michelin-starred restaurant for our wedding anniversary. Michelin doesn't produce listings for Australia, though there would obviously be restaurants that would be included if they did. The restaurant, Kanalen, was on the waterfront at Christianshavn (in Copenhagen, everything seemed to be on some waterfront) and it was exceptional. There was a lot of beautifully prepared seafood, with some excellent glasses of wine. We had grilled plaice with black garlic and monkfish. We popped into a funky little bar beforehand and I had a glass of Danish aquavit to help warm my soggy self after the rain.
On our last day in Copenhagen, we did the royals – the Amalienborg Palaces, where Frederick and our Mary live, and the much older Rosenborg Palace, where only the crown jewels live. It was busy and I was a bit over the bling. I know the craft skills are extraordinary, but it reminded me of a comment by Harry M. Miller at an exhibition of Faberge jewellery from the Kremlin, exhibited at the Powerhouse Museum in my time there. He said it was good that the Bolsheviks got rid of the Romanovs, before they could produce any more of the shit on display.
We saw a lot of Copenhagen but in the end, ran out of time. Both Copenhagen and our hotel were charming and we knew we’d have to come back. By our first night in Hamburg – our next stop – we would have been 43 nights on the road, with 18 to go, less than a third left.
It was good to be in Germany. We weren't originally going to go there, but then we realised that we hadn't been for ages – and yet we both really liked the country. Adding two weeks in Berlin was one of the reasons our trip was two months long, rather than our usual six weeks. We were originally going to visit Germany two years before, but at the last minute, flew on to Manchester when my fellow traveller’s aunt died.
Facing up to the past – and the future
When my fellow traveller and I got married, one of the things we mentioned in our ceremony was travelling together. Today I got to use the words from that event way back in 2000 – ‘heute gehen wir nach Berlin’. Germany is always such a complex place, with such a dark recent history. As someone who grew up in the shadow of World War 2, I was conscious of it everywhere. Yet it is also a fabulous country with such a bright future, one that faces up to its history and, because of that, can move forward.
When we checked into our apartment hotel, in the old dock area of Hamburg, the Tour de France was on the television and it was going through the stunning wooded mountainous area of Northern Provence, near where we had stayed the previous year. We went to the Alsterhaus, a grand dame of department stores, that is like a heavenly version of the Elizabeth Street, Sydney David Jones store. It was the favourite store of my fellow traveller’s aunt, so we had a glass of champagne in her memory.
We were staying on the edge of Speicherstadt, the UNESCO-listed old port area of Hamburg, and it was an excellent decision. Often new hotels are built in refurbished port areas, because land is cheaper than in the centre of cities. The disadvantage is that you can find yourself staying in a vast, sprawling wasteland of road and railways, with a long walk to anywhere. I’d had some trepidation when I booked it online, but in this case, everything was reasonably close and it was one of the best places we stayed in during the whole trip.
Seriously hot in Berlin
By the time we arrived in Berlin, luckily the temperature was starting to drop, but it has been seriously hot, at times reminding me of Sydney – or, shock, horror, Adelaide. When I told people that I had lived in cities in Australia where temperatures reached 45 degrees, they just shook their heads.
We were navigating the city well, but there was no way we could approach such a sprawling metropolis in any kind of systematic way. We just went where fate took us. In some ways it was about ending our European trip with a relatively extended experience of Berlin, rather than any particular aspect of it.
We were slightly taken aback to see that the Adina apartment hotel where we are staying was flying both the German and Australian flags and has prints of Australian wildlife road signs in its room – it's a German company that operates in Northern Europe, but also Australia and New Zealand. At one stage we were watching a travel program about Mongolia and were reminded that Mongolian Airlines staff stayed at the hotel, because we kept encountering them arriving and leaving in buses. Even though my fellow traveller had issues with our accommodation in Berlin, in terms of both locality and facilities, it was better than where we stayed in London – and for half the price. It did have an air of a backpacker hangout, though. One morning we saw a middle-aged couple pushing their bikes through the foyer, as they were setting off to ride to Copenhagen.
We had a comforting morning routine. I would get up and make a cup of tea. Then I would go out to get coffee and then make breakfast in our room. Starting our day with coffee in our room became easier once I had identified an excellent nearby coffee place, Ben Rahim. Then we walked north to Zeit fur Brot, a fabulous bakery next to Rosa Luxembourg Plaza, that made the best cinnamon scroll I've ever had (and I've had more than could ever be counted). It came with its own queue that stretched out the door.
Since we were in an apartment hotel it was easy to have breakfast and some meals in our room. One day was so oppressively hot and humid, with many museums closed, that we headed for the cool of mega emporium KaDeWa (Kaufhaus des Westens – emporium of the West), that old icon of Western consumption designed to show the commies what's what. We both wanted to see it, since we enjoyed it so much when we were in Berlin last, in 2005. We did all our grocery shopping there.
The vast grandeur of Potsdam
We took the train to the city of Potsdam for the day, making use of the Berlin passes we bought, which enabled us to travel to the furthest reaches of the city. We passed through Wansee, where the Nazis planned the Final Solution, and Babelsberg, home of the German film industry since the 1920s – Fritz Lang's film ‘Metropolis’ was made there.
We managed to distract ourselves by commenting on how, with such extensive heritage to protect, security in museums becomes a maintenance issue. Passing through Potsdam, my fellow traveller was cheered to see a Farrow and Ball shop, just like the one we had seen in Bergen. Farrow and Ball is a renowned British paint manufacturer, which produces exceptional heritage colours. The company had obviously made it mark in Europe – how it would be affected by Brexit was an interesting thought.
By the time we arrived back in Berlin, tea time had well and truly turned into g&t time, so we headed to the G&T bar round the corner from our hotel. There the only consolation for our exhausting day was a dry martini, made with orange bitters and decorated with slivers of orange rind you could smell from across the bar. In a repeat of my experience in Scotland two years ago, for a moment I thought perhaps I needed to swear off all these old palaces – there were just too many, with their crowded guided tours and clumsy audio-visual aids.
Combination of tip and building site
Near where we were staying we found some excellent small cafes and restaurants tucked away in odd corners, but it was hard to get away from the fact that, at times, Berlin looked like a combination of a tip and a building site. This was compounded by the fact that the area around Hackescher Markt where we were staying, was turning rapidly into commercial generica. I like Uniglo and Muji but when they appear, it usually means the suburb has become one big shopping centre. As it turned out, Hakescher Markt also had lots of hostels, attracting many backpackers.
Hackescher Markt is the old centre of German Jewish culture in Berlin. It was quite shocking – there were tiny brass plaques in the footpaths dotted everywhere across the suburb. They recorded the people – often whole families – who were deported to the death camps in the East and never returned. It made me realise just how big an impact out of control politicians could have on people's everyday lives – and how simplistic populism has to be stamped out before the democratic freedoms we take for granted are eroded inch by inch. The threat of vandalism by neo-Nazis meant that there were police guards on most of the Jewish buildings nearby. If it hadn't been for the hatred of communism and the desire to turn against the Soviet Union after World War Two, there would had been much more systematic rooting out and punishment of the Nazis.
There were lots of quirky moments in Berlin. As with all big cities, the challenge was cutting through the dross to find the truly interesting aspects of daily life. We watched the German news, which looked pretty boring – with ‘cat stuck up a tree’ sort of items – but I had a nagging suspicion that if I understood German better, it would be even more boring.
From time to time we had reminders of home, which we had now been away from for almost two months. We keep seeing images of the Sydney Opera House. The building must had earned Australia so much that we should not only knight the designer, but deify him. I saw that the dollar had dropped – the bananas from the banana republic were worth even less it appeared.
I thought at one stage our stay in Berlin must be nearing its end but then realised that we still had six nights left – a reasonable length. Our whole stay on Copenhagen, which we loved, was less than that. As we got closer to the end of our two month trip, I was starting to think back to the start and our fantastic stay in Cornwall. It seemed such a long time ago. I think we would probably have enjoyed all the stages more if they had been experienced separately, rather than as a whole string. Perhaps it was really two holidays, but the cruise shaped the planning. I certainly was starting to think that we wouldn't be going away for more than six weeks again, perhaps four to six weeks was more likely.
In Germany in that era there was a lot of work for craftspeople – Frederick regularly melted down his silver to finance his wars, then recommissioned them when the war was over. One massive set of dinnerware was designed for for 50 people, with 2,200 pieces.
Following our mixed success in San Souci, we ventured into the world of palaces once again. We headed to Charlottenburg, one of the many summer palaces of the Prussian kings. With numerous alliances and strategic marriages Prussia became an influential European power, whereas the larger German Empire which succeeded it – until it died in World War 1 – lasted a mere 45 years. What's hard to grasp is that almost two thirds of the old palace and ninety per cent of the new were destroyed by bombing during World War 2. While the interiors are stunning, most of the ornate ceilings had been reconstructed as blank white surfaces, as there were no photos or drawings of them. These are almost totally reconstructed palaces in a reconstructed city. This wholesale reconstruction of complete palaces destroyed during the War once again reminded me of my fellow traveller’s trümmerfrau aunt.
We then jumped on trains and buses for a long-established booking to see the Boros Collection, modern visual art in a massive five level bunker in Mitte. It had been built in the 1940s as a civilian shelter against Allied bombing. It was the only modern relic we had encountered with walls thicker than the castles and palaces we had visited.
To finish a long day, we went to long-established Berlin institution, Borchardt, for a schnitzel as large as those in Vienna. Just down the road from the Brandenburger Tor, this restaurant has hosted the likes of George Clooney and Barack Obama – and now us. Like the Boros Collection, it has a policy of no photos. While I enjoyed the food, I have to note that in the variable world of German cuisine, my mother in law remains the benchmark to aspire to.
The public transport in Berlin was excellent, with the S-Bahn (train), U-Bahn (underground), tram and bus networks all complementing and criss-crossing each other. If anything, it was too complicated, like working out the visitor discount cards or scheduling multiple museum visits.
The next day we went further out into the spreading suburbs of Berlin, to Friedrichshain, to the Stasi Museum. A few days back we had foolishly ventured into the DDR Museum. It's right on the Spree, in the heart of the part of Mitte most crammed with tourists, rows of huge sprawling restaurants and generic retail brands. The ‘museum’ is really a theme park, which makes East Germany a form of entertainment, and it was crammed with visitors and stampeding children.
A warning about the future
The Stasi Museum is a different thing entirely. It's part of a serious research and archive centre which grew out of a popular movement for human rights and democracy. It was quite a profound experience, because in a world where governments everywhere are trying to rule using control of data, and privacy is a nostalgic idea, this record of the Stasi universe is not just a history, but also a warning about the future. Going there with an archivist who understands the power of records was very interesting. Going as a former public servant, who has experienced the potential of government for both good and evil, was even more of an insight.
The Stasi was just another government bureaucracy – though the largest organisation in East Germany – with familiar career paths and enticements, though much more extreme punishments. At its height in relation to the population of the country, it was the largest security agency in the world. Part of the research work of the museum echoes the rubble women who rebuilt bombed Germany cities, as the puzzle women try to reconstruct the huge volume of records the Stasi attempted to destroy.
Make every day a lovely day
After this very intense and long morning we went to Princess Cheesecake, a terrific cake shop in Linienstrasse, which we had been trying to get back to since we first discovered it. It's motto is ‘Make every day a lovely day’ – which definitely sounds as though it has been translated from the German. Unfortunately on the way there, it started to pour and pour and pour and we spent half an hour or more huddling in doorways as we tried to get only slightly drenched. Afterwards we were happy to head home for a quiet night.
It is said that the Germans are great travellers, but it seems clear that Australians are too. There seemed to be lots of them about. As you travel you realise that language is a strange thing. You inhabit your own language so thoroughly, like an old familiar set of clothes or a room that you know well. When you have to operate in another language, things get trickier. Between us we had been able to manage quite well with French and German (my companion had been speaking German like a pro) and elsewhere most people had spoken at least some English, and often a lot. I don't know how we'd go where no-one spoke English at all. Colloquialisms also sneak in. I don't know how many times I had said ‘no worries’ and had someone reply ‘ah, an Aussie’, always very cheerily. The other realisation I had, speaking to Australians we encountered while we were travelling, is how distinct the Australian accent is – we must sound the same but because we are used to it we don’t normally notice as much.
The idea of a border
We went to the German Historical Museum on Unter den Linden – partly so my fellow traveller could further understand the heritage of one side of her family. It underlined that when we are younger we have no questions and, as a result, when we are older we have no answers – because no-one is left to ask.
The Museum makes you realise the importance of geography – the Central European Plain meant army after army could sweep across whole countries. After the massive statues in the foyer, the first thing you encounter is a display about the very idea of what a border is – it's a relatively recent idea. In a country like Germany, that's not all that old, where frontiers have shifted constantly, it's obviously highly relevant. It's even more relevant to the people affected. Imagine being the politicians and public servants who oversaw the reunification of Germany – now that would be a career-defining achievement.
My fellow traveller’s father came from the edges of Austria, where it was often hard to tell whether you were actually in Slovenia. Her mother came from East Prussia, where borders were so fluid that her homeland even ceased to exist after World War Two. It's a long way from the Holy Roman Empire to modern Germany – what we know as Germany has existed for barely a moment. The question of borders is a pressing question for all modern states – which they all deal with badly. I keep being reminded of how two years ago in Scotland we drove past the castle from an ancient kingdom that encompassed the West coast of Scotland and Northern Ireland – in those days the sea was a highway connecting places, not a barrier separating them.
It made me think about the increasing globalisation of the world and the restless talent that globalisation depended upon. I could see that what was forming in the creative and cultural sector I inhabited was a creative version of Marx’s aristocracy of labour. In Denmark, Princess Mary was an example of the contemporary aristocracy of the world of ideas. Her parents were Scots who moved to settle in Tasmania on the opposite of the world and belonged in a university milieu. Her domain was an ideal resource for refreshing the ageing and outdated world of monarchy. That internationally roaming talent that was driving world economies could make or break local economies and cities. Singapore – like Canberra – used to be daggy and became cool, it only took youthful talent, a local creative scene, educational precincts and some elements of visionary government to make it work.
In the Europe of the Middle Ages, it was more brutal. Armour was the order of the day, as wars raged across the continent. During the Thirty Years War in the early 1600s only a third of the population in some regions survived. During this period the total population was reduced from 17 to 10 million.
We visited the memorial to the dead of all kind from wars. The memorial is a sculpture of a mother with child by Kath Kollwitz. The remains of an unknown soldier and an unknown concentration camp inmate are buried there. In the days of the DDR it used to be a monument against fascism and militarism. Ironically my fellow traveller could remember 30 years before East German soldiers goosestepping outside it – hardly a symbol of anti-militarism. It's hard to imagine a greater contrast.
We ended the day with a quiet half carafe of French rose from Aix-en-Provence at local delicatessen and wine bar, Von und Zu Tisch. We were finally getting the hang of the geography of where we were staying. We were walking a lot but my fellow traveller had invented a new form of water torture – she insisted we buy giant bottles of mineral water every time we halted and made me drink half.
I had realised something about German cakes – they are much larger in the wild than in captivity. Behind the counter they look harmless. This morning we walked through almost totally deserted streets at 7.30 am on a Sunday morning to the Reichstag for a visit to the dome. Designed by English architect, Norman Foster, the dome relaced the one destroyed when the Reichstag was mysteriously burned in 1933. Unten den Linden was full of dross. As soon as you walked through the Brandenburger Tor, you saw a Starbucks and a Dunkin Donuts and then it continued. I kept asking myself if this was why the crowds threw out the Stasi?
Before we headed overseas I bought a powerbank and it had been invaluable. I lost the first one because we'd been using it to power a fading tablet running Google maps as we navigated across London and must had left it under the seat when we dropped off the car. I bought a replacement on the cruise with our refunds for missing Orkney and Shetland and it had been a useful backup when we were out and about.
During our travels we've encountered many different kinds of taps and had to work out how to operate them – I'm convinced it was an intelligence test by aliens, to see if we were worth abducting. German doors are built so solidly that you need to be a weight lifter to open them. At least they had signs saying push or pull, because European doors open differently to ours.
There were also the local customs, like walking on the right. There are so many tourists that even though we endeavoured to walk like the locals, it quickly degenerated into chaos. It reminded me of a volcanic park we visited in New Zealand in 2016. It was packed with tourists from every country, so the rules of the footpath went out the window and collisions were only narrowly averted.
We felt like a dry martini and discovered a bar near us that made an excellent one. Unfortunately they only made it when it rained, because when the weather was dry, they closed the ground floor bar and opened the rooftop one – it had none of the apparatus needed for martinis. Hence we could only have dry martinis in wet weather.
After what seemed like a surfeit of museums, we turned our attention to more contemporary creativity, training and tramming to Rummelsburg south east of the city to see the Berlin Funkhaus, sited on the banks of the Spree. This complex was once the DDR's main broadcasting centre and it includes the largest recording studio in the world – designed to record symphony concerts. The foyer of this studio is filled with acres of marble, salvaged from the Reich Chancellery of the defeated Nazi regime. We were here to see a cutting edge studio which is taking audio from the long-established stereo format into a multi-dimensional universe, where fully rounded sculpting in sound becomes possible. It was pretty exciting and a wee bit freaky. Australian musician, William Russell, the son our one of our Sydney friends, generously showed us the ropes, before pedalling off into the distance.
You can’t visit Berlin without thinking about the Nazis. While the nasty neo-Nazis of today aren't the same as the Nazis of the 1930s, the loony right are doing their best to reinvent Hitler and his vile cronies almost everywhere. The threat of vandalism by neo-Nazis in Berlin means that there are permanent police guards on most of the Jewish buildings near where we stayed. The Nazis and their ilk were so bad (and so personably detestable), why would we ever want to endure them again? Let's hope Australia could avoid the trap so other many countries are falling into.
Time to go home
It was time to go home. We were nearing the end of our two months of travel and were ready to return. We had three days in Singapore to break up our flight and to let us wind down in our own ‘hood. We intended to take it easy but we did have a list – there was plenty in Singapore we wanted to see. Because we had cut our stay short the previous year after my mother died while we were in France, there were places we had planned to go then that we intended to try to see this time. Our big underlying fear on this trip had been that we might have had to cut it short again, if something happened to my fellow traveller’s mother, but she continued to be hale and hearty – long may she remain so.
Flying from Tegel Airport was like departing a regional city. In comparison Munich was very large and very modern. Unlike Tegel, where the only facilities once through security was a tiny pretzel stand, in Munich the set up behind security was so extensive that we initially thought we had yet to pass through all the checks again. On the almost 12 hour flight from Munich to Singapore, as usuaI I couldn't settle to a movie, so I played with a Berlitz language app. I now finally know my German numbers perfectly, so I could tell the difference between dreizehn and dreizig.
Celebrating National Day
We managed – finally – to be in Singapore on Singapore National Day, which is celebrated with enthusiasm and excitement. When you first encounter it, the humidity there was like a punch in the face. Luckily the heat in Berlin when we first arrived had helped prepare us. We walked slowly to Chinatown for noodles and dumplings at one of the more than twenty Din Tai Fung outlets in Singapore. This Taiwanese chain is everywhere – there was even one in London. It was like rediscovering heaven. I took no photos because how many photos of Din Tai Fung food could one person post?
I wasn’t sure if the second day in Singapore was cooler or if I was simply getting used to it, but I was out and about in no time. When I worked in the Australian Government Indigenous cultural programs – six years before – I used to travel to Cairns often and the climate in Singapore was just like Cairns. It was not really my cup of tea but I could see how you could take to it.
While my fellow traveller checked out the fabled shopping scene of Orchard Road, I walked through Fort Canning Park (Fort Canning Park hill I discovered, as I climbed in the humidity) to the National Museum of Singapore. Fort Canning Park was well worth the exertion, because it is the old centre of Singapore, rising above the port island which is visited by over 120,000 ships each year. It is covered in gardens, including Asian spice plants. It was the right day to visit, on Singapore's National Day and the museum was crowded. Then I had lunch – again – in a Din Tai Fung restaurant I was walking past.
That night we went to Candlenut, the world's first Michelin-starred Peranakan (Straits Chinese) restaurant, in the Como complex at Dempsey Road up past the UNESCO-listed Singapore Botanic Gardens. The food was outstanding, particularly my barbecued red snapper fillet with sambal. The real highlight was a side dish, the home-made belacan (fermented shrimp paste). In Australia I was used to it as an unappealing grey block, but this was fresh and pungent, with a baby lime to squeeze over it. The complex is a former army barracks, now filled with amazing restaurants, bars and shopping – it was very impressive. It was no surprise the Australian High Commission was just down the road.
We finally made it to the Singapore Botanic Gardens. They are listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site and were very impressive – and popular. It made me think of the way we were trying to get Canberra listed as a UNESCO City of Design. I would had visited the Botanic Gardens because of their reputation, but I think the fact they had a UNESCO listing made it many times more likely that I would go there.
The Economic Gardens
I was particularly struck with the information about the Economic Gardens, which pioneered crops such as rubber, that transformed the economy of the whole region. When I visited the Adelaide Botanic Gardens several years back I was equally impressed with their Economic Gardens. It's a particular interest of the 19th Century English. Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore, was especially interested in it. The fascination with the economic implications of botany parallels my own interest in the creative economy and the economic importance of arts and culture.
It was good to get a bit further out from the city centre and to finally see areas like Chinatown and the Botanic Gardens. There were apartments everywhere, many rising high above the island. The closest to it in Australia is the area in Sydney around Waterloo, but in Singapore there are many more apartments and the variety and quality of the architecture is far better than Sydney.
The following day we were flying home, possibly to snow and certainly to chilly conditions. There was lots to remember and lots to think about. Having recently been in the UK, we were very interested in the train wreck called Brexit and had been following developments with some horror. Simon Jenkins had written about the question of independence for Scotland and compared it to Denmark (same population, resources), saying that Scotland could easily go the same route as Denmark, which has never looked back from splitting with Norway. It made me think of Singapore, another small nation which has made its own way in the world.
Coming home in the dead of winter
It was a strange feeling to be coming home in the dead of winter from our longest trip away ever. The previous year, we returned early because my mother had died and this year there was always the looming possibility it could happen again.
It would be interesting to see how the garden looked. I felt both great happiness to be going home and sadness to be coming back to daily reality. Generally I enjoy travelling on planes, but I find two things really irritate me – people who fling their seats back without any consideration for the person behind them and those who climb on board with vast quantities of hand luggage and then proceed to fill every overhead locker they can find. Generally, though, what can you fault? It’s a bit cramped but once you are on board, you spend anywhere between nine and 23 hours dozing, being fed food and wine and all the while, thinking quietly to yourself about whatever you want – where you have come from, where you are going and what all this means.
On the plane I got up to stretch my legs and saw on one of the screens that we were already over Australia. I peered out through one of the windows that had its shade up and saw vast red landscapes and mountains and what looked like mining operations. Everybody in the window seats either had their blinds down, were asleep or were watching the usual dross on their video screens. When we landed in Canberra, the temperature was five degrees Celsius. Ironically in our luggage we had clothing designed for such a temperature – colder than anything we encountered far North of the Arctic Circle.
The crazy business of travelling
Watching other people who are on cruises makes you think more about cruises. The problem with a cruise is that you spend one day only in each place – usually not even a night. The tour on offer is the most superficial available – generally a bus trip or walking tour, both problematical, to the most shallow and stereotypical ‘attraction’ available, usually a view of something. It’s never a visit to a museum, rarely a visit to a market. One cruise went to Crete for a day and if I was in Crete, I wouldn’t want to spend only one day there. While it’s a good way to get a taster of lots of different place, it’s the essence of skimming the surface.
Our cruise had included beer and wine with lunch and dinner – as much as we wanted. On top of this we could also purchase a drinks package for $55 Australian a day for the two of us which provided drinks at all other times and gave access to a wider range of drinks. We considered this but thought it was excessive. We got by quite nicely on the house wines and beers, purchasing any extra drinks, like pre-dinner drinks or a nightcap, as we went – and ended up savings heaps. The ‘all you could eat’ – and drink – model of cruising required some discipline. I enjoyed trying out the aquavit, the Norwegian spirit, though.
The universe of cruising
In our new COVID-19 world, cruising is being seen in a new, less attractive light. There has been considerable coverage of how so many cruise lines register their ships in ports of convenience – in order to avoid tax and the need to abide by health and safety and labour requirements. Cruise ships have always had a bad reputation with doctors because of the high risk of gastroenteritis. Ironically I checked out Viking Cruises and was pleasantly surprised to find that all of the Viking fleet were registered either in Norway or, if they were river cruise vessels, in the country in which they sailed. This fitted with what we had observed and heard when we were on the cruise ship. There was constant cleaning underway and wash basins in the entrances to the larger buffet areas. Crew we talked to seemed to be happy with the jobs they had – they all seemed to be employees of Viking, rather than contractors.
A cascade of bikes in first time places
We'd been struck by how much was moved by bike in some of the places we visited. First time places – like Copenhagen – really impressed us. Connections with Australia were also illuminating. For example, when he visited Australia, Rene Redzepi from Noma restaurant in Copenhagen – once touted as the best restaurant in the world – hung out with James Viles, the chef and owner from Biota Dining in tiny NSW regional centre Bowral. We'd eaten at Biota many times.
A tour of selfie sticks
In Singapore I passed a tour made up entirely of people carrying iPhones with selfie sticks. We learned to dodge the tour buses as they suddenly arrived and disgorged their passengers for the mandatory ten minute tour and photo opportunity – as we found at the Viking Museum in Oslo. Standing at the wall of the Akershus Fortress that overlooks the harbour in Oslo, I was almost knocked over by a couple of people from a tour group who rushed past me to the wall to take a quick photo before vanishing. I also think I've sworn off guided tours and audio-visual aids – it's just too much packaged content, which blocks you from the experience, rather than illuminating it. When it's good, it's great – but it usually isn't.
Looking back at the trip, I could think of many interesting things we did in London, Norway and Berlin, but it’s probably only Cornwall and Copenhagen where I remember the whole place – including the accommodation – fondly. Did I enjoy Berlin? Overall I wasn’t sure. I certainly enjoyed many of the things I did there. We hadn't been there for a long time, not since 2005. Perhaps this time the first trip was to reconnoitre, the second would be to see properly.
The two month trip confirmed and strengthened our view that we should undertake shorter trips – it was the longest trip I'd ever done and it verged on being too long. This meant travel to less places for longer times. It probably also meant less time in cities and even more avoidance of crowds and generica. Big cities are expensive, but some much more than others. There are plenty of expensive things in Berlin, but in Copenhagen and Oslo even inexpensive things are expensive.
Each element of this trip – London, Dorset and the Cornwall coast, the Midnight Sun cruise, Scandinavia, Germany, Singapore – would have been impressive on its own. Together they made for a comprehensive (and exhausting) travel experience. The trick was to pace it all. It was too soon to tell what this trip had meant for us – it would only become apparent in the coming months, perhaps even years. We'd gone from tiny abandoned fishing villages in Cornwall, to people-sized cities, like Copenhagen, to vast ones, like Berlin. Meanwhile our garden had continued to grow on the opposite side of the world.
My fellow traveller and I were weighing up the trip and I commented that there were lots of places in France we’d never been, but I didn’t necessarily want to go somewhere new, because the reality was that we could never visit them all. Like the plan we’ve had for the last few years to stay for a couple of weeks in the one place, sometimes its about going back where you had already been to get a greater appreciation of the place – depth rather than breadth.
Moving about on a crowded planet
In my younger years I didn’t travel internationally at all. I didn’t travel overseas until 1989 (when I was 37) when McCulloch Publishing, the small Australian publishing company I worked for at the time, sent me to the Frankfurt Book Fair. Then I didn’t go again until December 1994 (when I was 42), when I went to Canada and the US. The next time was in 2005 and then 2006 (when I was 53 and 54), when my fellow traveller and I went to Europe. Then in 2014 (eight years later) we went to Tahiti and New Zealand. That’s four trips in a period of 20 years, in the first 62 years of my life.
After that the travel began in earnest – late 2016 New Zealand, 2017 UK, 2018 France, 2019 Norway, Germany and Cornwall – and yet to come, originally scheduled for late 2020, was to be the Netherlands, Germany and France, subsequently derailed and postponed by the global coronavirus pandemic. Over the previous three years I’d been making up for all those years where I hardly travelled overseas at all. To balance that we liked to intersperse the long haul trips with our much loved regional road trips – the previous one was to the island of my birth, Tasmania, in February 2019 and the next was to be through NSW and Victoria to Adelaide and Kangaroo Island in March 2020.
The final feeling was that it was strange coming home. Previously I would had rung my mother, and before that both my mother and father, to check in and tell them about our travels. Now, there were no parents left to hear our stories of life on the wing and the wave.
© Stephen Cassidy 2024
See also
‘Travel during the global pandemic had become an artform. After our first ever cruise, from London to Bergen, via North Cape, way above the Artic Circle, in 2019, we decided to try something very different – a river cruise. We chose a short week-long one from Amsterdam up the Rhine to Basel in Switzerland. Due to the pandemic, this was postponed several times and then finally converted to a cruise in local waters, when Viking started to operate from Australia. It was then postponed again, before we finally sailed. Apart from the many attractions of travelling the length of the Rhine, the trip meant that I saw two cities in two countries I had never seen before – Amsterdam in the Netherlands and Basel in Switzerland’, Travelling light–along the Rhine and beyond.
‘I’ve been to New Zealand only twice – once on a brief stop in Auckland on the way to Tahiti in 2014 and then on a longer trip around the North Island at the end of 2016. On the first trip my fellow traveller was in New Zealand because she wanted to visit Tahiti, whereas I was in Tahiti because I wanted to visit New Zealand - though, mmm, as everyone commented, Tahiti was nice. On the second visit, we had planned to continue on to the South Island – till it became clear this would be biting off more than we could chew. Then, finally, six and a half years later, we were going back to New Zealand – and this time we would visit the South Island. We had sold our house after 12 years and we were on the road again. We were on the train to Sydney. On Tuesday we would board a Viking ship for a two week cruise down the East coast of Australia, across to New Zealand, finishing in Auckland. Then it would be four weeks of trains, ferries and hire cars as we got to know one of our favourite countries even better’, Travelling light-The largest islands in the Pacific.
All aboard – travelling with the descendants of the Vikings
‘Once I had never been on a cruise and never imagined I would ever go on a cruise. That all changed when I visited Scotland in 2017. I became fascinated by the degree to which Scotland and Northern England were connected to Norway. A cruise to Norway on a Norwegian ship seemed highly appropriate. When I saw Viking Jupiter sitting high on the Thames, waiting for us to board I knew I had to come to the right place. The year before last, in September 2023, having recently returned from what was only my second journey with Viking Cruises, with another one planned the following year, I wanted to send the company some feedback about our experience. This is an expanded version of what I sent them back then, with another cruise under our belt since and a further one booked for 2026’, All aboard – travelling with the descendants of the Vikings.
‘Having largely, though not completely, abandoned the world of work, my fellow traveller and I decided to make the most of the opportunity to travel while we could. After our regional road tour through Victoria to Adelaide for my mother’s 90th birthday,and a brief jaunt to Sydney and the Southern Highlands, we embarked on the next big excursion – our trip to the Northern part of the South of France. It was to be our very own contribution to the long tradition of the Grand Tour’, Travelling light – La Belle France: Paris, Lyon and Provence 2018.
‘As we prepare to visit France yet again later this year, I had to ask myself why I find it so fascinating. Part of the reason is the influence French culture has had in so many areas. Part of the reason concerns a story told about Zhou Enlai, the former Premier of China. Asked by Kissinger what he thought were the long term effects of the French Revolution, he replied ‘it’s too soon to tell’. Even though it seems he was referring to the student uprising of May 1968, the truth is his answer could more accurately be a reference to the original French Revolution. I am very fond of a long term view – which seems particularly Chinese’. Returning to France – liberté, égalité, fraternité.
Travelling light–Journey to the North Country: Scotland and Northern England 2017
‘Our trip to Scotland and Northern England in 2017 was our first serious international foray in eleven years – trips in our own backyard, to New Zealand and Tahiti, don’t really count. We flew to Singapore – my first night ever in an Asian city – and then to mega airline hub Frankfurt and on to Manchester, followed by a drive through the Scottish Midlands – Glasgow and Edinburgh – and then Durham and York and back through Manchester to Singapore. Somewhere in there we ended up in a stone cottage for a week on a peninsula with the Isle of Islay on one side and the Isle of Arran on the other. Of course it all involved more Roman ruins than you could count because my fellow traveller is both a complete Anglophile and a Roman tragic – possibly, though inexplicably, due to her Austrian and German ancestry. All in all, it was a recipe for lots of fun’, Travelling light – Journey to the North Country: Scotland and Northern England 2017.
Travelling light–Island on fire: Tasmania 2019
‘On an island you’re never far from the sea – that is unless the island is huge, like Australia. In tiny Tasmania, perched like an afterthought at the foot of Australia, even the mountains in the centre are not far from the ocean raging around them – just as in the distant homeland from which those who settled it came. On the main island, though, everywhere is a long way from everywhere else. Two islands, very different in size, in many ways with both similar and different histories. Both on fire. But this not just about the fires – it’s about what happened in front of the fire, the life lived in a time of warming and burning, even if it sometimes felt like a rehearsal for the end of the world’, Island on fire.
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