Neither I nor my fellow traveller had been on a cruise before, but suddenly we were sailing from London to Bergen, retracing the steps of the ancient Vikings. When we were in Scotland in 2017, we became entranced by the centuries of exchange and movement between Northern England and Scotland and Norway. We saw a cruise that travelled from Edinburgh to Bergen and became quite excited about the idea. Before you knew it, we were booked to sail from London to Edinburgh, then across the Norwegian Sea far above the Arctic Circle to the Northern-most tip of Norway before working out way down through the fjords and passages of the Norway coast to Bergen, the second largest city in Norway. We hadn't even been discouraged by the fact that earlier that year another 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.
‘How’, I asked myself, ‘ did I find myself on the deck of a Viking ship at midnight cruising silently through the night between the towering cliffs of Norwegian fjords? I am still amazed that my fellow traveller and I sailed on our first (hopefully not last) cruise only two years ago – in a very different world to the one we inhabit today, just before world cruising shut down indefinitely. Ironically our first ever cruise was barely six months before the whole cruising universe was turned on its head by the global coronavirus pandemic. Overnight the holiday ships of the cruise industry were transformed into refugee boats that were no longer welcome anywhere.
Singapore - view of the Chijmes centre (former Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus) from the Carlton Hotel opposite, where we stayed.
‘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.’
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
Some of the many bridges that span The River Thames.
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.
The reused concrete fuel tanks at Tate Modern store a different kind of energy.
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.
‘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.’
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.
The British Museum - far too much to see. Sending some of the collection back to its homes would make it easier to take in what was left.
In April 2018 we went from thinking about a Norway cruise to
booking one in the space of a day. Before you knew it, we were booked on a
Viking Cruises ship sailing from London to Edinburgh, Orkney and Shetland, then
across the Norwegian Sea to the Arctic circle and back down the Norwegian
coast to Bergen, the second largest city
in Norway. I could hardly wait. I
often feel a little bit anxious about our overseas travel, but as with the
Scotland trip, once I started to get into the detail of the arrangements, it
seemed more everyday and I started to enjoy it.
St Paul's Cathedral from bridge crossing the Thames.
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.
‘We went from thinking about a Norway cruise to booking
one in the space of a day. Before you knew it, we were booked on a Viking
Cruises ship sailing from London to Edinburgh, Orkney and Shetland, then across
the Norwegian Sea to the Arctic circle and back down the Norwegian coast to Bergen, the second largest city in Norway.’
I thought a
cruise holiday would allow us to have a longer holiday overall, because we would
have a two week rest on the boat in the middle of the trip, with no travelling involved
on our part. Each of the three segments of our trip were going to be extremely
different. Except for the four nights in Saddell on the Kintyre Peninsula on
the West Coast of Scotland (very short in the scheme of things), our UK holiday
in 2017 involved lots of moving around and the complication of two
supplementary flights (because of late changes to our plans, so not a usual
inclusion).
A muffled minority - or perhaps a majority, who didn't vote in referendums - expressed their opposition to Brexit, clearly ineffectively. Suddnely the British had to queue to get into Europe - just like Australians.
In contrast our French holiday was in a single country (apart from
Singapore), and was much cheaper because it applied our long term travel model
of flying into a city (preferably a secondary one, though unavoidably not in the case of France) for a short stay, followed by several weeks in the countryside, with day trips around where we were staying.
Staying in one place, only moving
Staying in one place, only moving
The cruise was a whole different thing. The overall trip involved quite a bit of the running around of the UK holiday, but the two weeks on the cruise would be the equivalent of our stay in the villa – though that was almost three weeks. It would be like
staying in one place, it’s just that it would be moving. The difference to the
French holiday was that it would not be a cheap holiday – but that’s the price
we would pay for something special like a high quality cruise, with all meals
and other costs covered. How else could we had seen Orkney and Shetland and Norway in one trip, while also
stopping in London and Edinburgh? As that was the connection that first attracted
me to the idea of a cruise and, unlike other potential cruises, was highly
appropriate because the link between Scotland and the islands and Norway was
always a deep one and a maritime one, we needed to include these locations.
This would take our earlier Scotland trip to the next level.
Amongst the serious sights, some iconic tourist ones were everywhere.
In a way the UK
trip and the Norway cruise would book end the French trip, with two wildly
different types of holidays. We made the most of the French holiday because it was
cheaper and simpler, as we stayed in the countryside for almost three weeks –
and in a regional city for quite a while as well. It was unique – at least for a
while – because the holiday after that was going to be radically different.
After the cruise, I thought we would go back to the model of the French trip
but who could tell – I couldn’t have predicted the Norway cruise 12 months before
we suddenly booked it.
‘Having said that I would never go on a cruise – because
that’s what old people did – I realised that we were old people. I was also
very taken by the comments of a travel writer who, like me, thought he would
never go on a cruise – until he realised that you only unpack once.’
At eight weeks and
five days, the trip would be very long for us. The longest I’d ever travelled
overseas previously had been five and a half weeks. However, I thought the 14
day cruise in the middle would change everything, since we would have a calm
period. There were also two long periods of 10-11 days, one before the cruise
(in Southern England) and one after (in Berlin), where I thought we could
carefully apply our lessons from France and stay in one place for the whole
time. We thought that would make the whole trip less daunting.
On one of our first mornings in London, on a slow ramble to Sir John Soames magnificent if tiny house, we acquired our enduring love of cardamon buns in a top-notch tiny bakery.
Having said
that I would never go on a cruise – because that’s what old people did – I
realised that we were old people. I was also very taken by the comments of a
travel writer who, like me, thought he would never go on a cruise – until he
realised that you only unpack once. I could see why Americans like cruises. It
enables you to see other places without having to spend extended time there,
while remaining in your cocoon. That also is partly why it worked for us.
Following in the steps of forebears
Thinking about it 11 months before we were due to travel, one
of the major attractions of our earlier tour of Scotland and Northern UK was
that we were following in the steps of our forebears – not just the fearless
youngsters who embarked for Australia, often on their own – but also those of
my father who, as part of his dedication to mapping the family tree, was
fascinated by the stories of our ancestors and went back to find where they
came from. The Norway trip would take that even further, linking the country of
their origins to the wider world. We planned to see more of Norway after the
cruise. For us this was to be the holiday of a lifetime.
The reconstructed Globe Theatre on the banks of the Thames packs them in, much like in Shakespeare's day.
I’m still astounded
we managed to book the flights for the Norway trip by the deadline, on top of
everything else happening around my mother’s death and funeral at the end of
2018, after our early return from France. It was absolutely the last thing I
wanted to do after arriving back in Canberra. Luckily I’d done the basic
research before I flew to Adelaide for the funeral.
‘One of the major attractions of our earlier tour of
Scotland and Northern UK was that we were following in the steps of our
forebears – not just the fearless youngsters who embarked for Australia, often
on their own – but also those of my father who, as part of his dedication to
mapping the family tree, was fascinated by the stories of our ancestors and
went back to find where they came from.’
We starting
booking our holiday towards the end of the previous year. We were going to stay
in a National
Trust property in Cornwall and finish up with 12 weeks in
Berlin before flying back to Singapore and home. The good news was that after extensive checking of places I had managed
to book our accommodation in Copenhagen. I'd also booked the overnight ferry
from Oslo to Copenhagen. Apart from trains, which it was too early to book, I
just needed to book Oslo and everything would be sorted and we could focus on
what we actually would do while we were there. I started by knowing zero about
Copenhagen, so the advice I received was invaluable. We are going to be away
for two months on this trip time, so I was confidently expecting to see about
three Prime Ministers in Australia in that time.
London has attracted the best and the brightest, playing many different roles. George Seferis was both diplomat and poet - remembered best for the marvels of his verse and the Nobel Prize in Literature he deservedly won.
As 2019
started, the world seemed to full of one looming disaster after another.
I couldn’t believe it, we were about to go to Tasmania in two weeks time and
where we were going was swept with bushfires. Then we were going to the UK in
only four and a half month and it would possiby be in chaos due to Brexit. All
we needed was to go to New Zealand – as we had originally planned in November –
and find it was hit by an earthquake.
Our experience on the ferry to Tasmania at the start of 2019
in a way was a form of preparation for our cruise to Norway. We had booked a
stateroom as high up as you could get on the ship. I hoped that would turn out
to be a good choice. I wondered if there was more movement in rough seas higher
up, but thought I’d risk it. All the signs pointed to higher level cabins being
more popular. The fact we were on a short corridor, with mainly suites, rather
than just another cabin in a long corridor, appealed to me. Our compact little stateroom
was going to be like being in a caravan at sea.
The steps of St Paul's Cathedral often host weddings and the interior often host musical performances in an incomparable atmosphere.
Before we knew it, our departure was getting closer. I realised that in
just one week we would be sitting at home getting ready to fly out to Singapore
at 11.15 pm that night. On Saturday we went to the Farmers Market for the last
time before we left, the next day to the gym. In some ways I’m not much of a
traveller, in other ways, I love it. I was feeling more excited about a trip
than I ever had – partly because it was such a massive and amazing trip, partly
because I had been slipping into the routine and pleasures of travel. If we
were just going to London, Dorset and Cornwall, that would be a tremendous
trip, if we were just going on the cruise to Norway, that would be a great
trip, or if we were just going to Copenhagen, Hamburg and Berlin, that would be
a trip of its own. So we had managed to roll three fabulous trips into one – no
wonder I was excited.
‘It would be a
bit of a shock because we were leaving a cold Canberra winter which had just
begun to bite and our first stop would be Singapore, where heat and humidity
are the order of the day. Oh, and I saw that the temperature in Berlin had been
in the 30s. Packing had been a challenge – planning for Berlin in the 30s and
Honningsvåg above the Arctic Circle, where the maximum temperature was 8
degrees. I was thinking layers. By Thursday we'd be in London.’
We had booked meals in the restaurants of all our favourite chefs –
Ottolenghi in London, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in Dorset, Rick Stein in
Cornwall, topped off with Kitchin in Edinburgh during the cruise. I announced to all and sundry that in the
words of the 60s song I was ‘Leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be
back again...’ Well, I did, because we had an itinerary, not to mention a
ticket. The itinerary and the ticket told us we were flying out the following
night at 11.15 pm. I repeated the words of the song, ‘My bags are packed, I'm
ready to go’.
It would be a bit
of a shock because we were leaving a cold Canberra winter which had just begun
to bite and our first stop would be Singapore, where heat and humidity are the
order of the day. Oh, and I saw that the temperature in Berlin had been in the
30s. Packing had been a challenge – planning for Berlin in the 30s and Honningsvåg above the Arctic Circle, where the maximum temperature was 8 degrees. I was thinking layers. By Thursday we'd be in London.
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.
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.
Once we had landed – before 5 am, even earlier than expected
– we passed the time before catching a shuttle bus into the city by checking
out Jewel, the newly opened shopping paradise that is part of Changi Airport's
brand new Terminal 4, with its rain vortex and indoor forests.
‘We always go there and wolf down spinach with garlic,
alongside vegetable and pork dumplings, dry noodles wth pickled mustard and
shredded pork, and shrimp and pork wonton soup. We pile it with chilli oil,
black vinegar and soy sauce and go to town.’
Once we were settled in our hotel across the road from
Raffles, we had to have lunch at Din Tai Fung, the Taiwanese noodle and
dumpling chain that we first discovered when it opened in Westfield in Sydney.
According to the restaurant sign, at one point it was rated as one of the top
ten restaurants in the world. Whether true or not, I could believe it. We
always go there and wolf down spinach with garlic, alongside vegetable and pork
dumplings, dry noodles wth pickled mustard and shredded pork, and shrimp and
pork wonton soup. We pile it with chilli oil, black vinegar and soy sauce and
go to town.
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.
On the flight to London, I lined up a string of films to
watch, but in the end went back to one I'd already seen – ‘Cold War’, a Polish
film shot in black and white. It's the most exquisitely filmed movie I've ever
seen – and that's despite having grown up on Jean Luc Godard films. It's based
on the lives of the parents of the director of the film, Pawel Pawlikowski, and
veers between Poland and Paris between 1949 and the late 1950s – amazing times
and a film about them well worth watching more than once.
‘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.’
The passenger in front of me kept bouncing around in his
seat trying to settle to sleep, making it hard to see anything – I wondered how
he'd go on a real night flight. Singapore Airlines had a brilliant safety film,
with the air safety messages all shot as everyday situations on the ground. It
was engaging enough to make you watch it several times. After you've been
flying for a sufficiently lengthy time, it can start to feel a bit unreal. It
was great that we were flying directly to London and, after that trip, wouldn’t
be on a plane again for almost two months. The previous year our flight to
Paris had been the same – though the trip overall was much less ambitious.
The most prominent English architect of his generation
Once in London we organised cards for public transport and
headed off to see Sir John Soane's house. He was the most prominent English
architect of his era, responsible for designing many notable public buildings.
This was a real treat because his terrace house, which seems to go up and up was
jam-packed with his eclectic collection of classical sculptures from Greece and
Rome and paintings. I loved it because it was eccentric and also directly
linked to the history of creative industries, such as architecture and design.
‘He was the most prominent English architect of his era,
responsible for designing many notable public buildings. This was a real treat
because his terrace house, which seems to go up and up was jam-packed with his
eclectic collection of classical sculptures from Greece and Rome and paintings.
I loved it because it was eccentric and also directly linked to the history of
creative industries, such as architecture and design.’
Then we walked over to well and truly exhaust ourselves
roaming the corridors of the British Museum. There is a lot of pressure for the
British to hand back some of the more dodgily acquired objects – which would be
fine with me, because then there would be less to see. In fact, museums had
been consummate corporate raiders and asset strippers in their own way. We
finished the day with a Cabernet Sauvignon from the Ardeche in a crowded, noisy
pub in Pimlico, full of Friday night drinkers. Then we ended with duty free
cognac in our tiny room, far too tired and far too late to bother with tea.
Home away from home – the Victoria and Albert Museum
The next morning we walked through Chelsea to the Victoria
and Albert Museum to see the Dior
exhibition. We discovered well before we left Australia that
the exhibition had booked out months before and my fellow traveller was
devastated. However as a former Members Manager at the Powerhouse Museum, I
realised that members get in free, even to sold out exhibitions. I joined her
up, with me as a guest and we were in!
The entrance to the legendary V&A - the Victoria and Albert Museum - no queueing for members (and guests).
I found the exhibition fascinating because my mother was a superb dressmaker, because I'd worked at the Powerhouse Museum, which is as close to the Victoria and Albert and its collections as Australia gets, and because creative industries is my thing – plenty of reasons to go.
Beating the crowds - the Members Lounge at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
We arrived early but by the time we had finished going through the exhbition, it was packed – with an audience almost entirely of women. Afterwards we had morning tea in the light-filled Members Room. I wished I'd had a facility like that when I was at the Powerhouse.
‘We discovered well before we left Australia that the exhibition had booked out months before and my fellow traveller was devastated. However as a former Members Manager at the Powerhouse Museum, I realised that members get in free, even to sold out exhibitions. I joined her up, with me as a guest and we were in!’
Afterwards we caught the Tube to see Shakespeare at the Globe Theatre. Coincidentally it was the day that celebrated actor Zoe Wanamaker marked the 100th anniversary of the birth of her father, Sam Wanamaker, the American exile who established the Globe after fleeing blacklisting by the House Committee on Unamerican Activities for his progressive sympathies – talk about echoes of the Trump era.
The Dior exhibition - worth signing up as a member to see it at all, and to skip the queues.
Finally, we were back on the Tube to Fitzrovia for dinner at Yotam Ottolenghi's newest restaurant, Rovi. At home we seemed to have all his cookbooks and the evening confirmed why. We worked our way through wide, flat white and green beans, goat’s cheese, peach and smoked almonds, asparagus with miso bagna cauda, egg yolk bottarga, and rump steak with spring garlic, hispi cabbage and Saamjang sauce, topped off with sides of chick peas and lovage and pita bread with excellent hummus. It was accompanied by a half carafe of French Grenache –just like the South of France the previous year.
Losing track of time in the late evening light
It was a surprise to find in the English summer that it got light very early, before 5 am, and stayed light till late, after 9 pm. Combined with getting over the long distance travel it was easy both to lose track of time and to find yourself having very long days out. While it might have been summer, it was not exactly warm and it had been raining on and off, so we were fairly rugged up. Once you got on the Tube, though, it quickly became very warm. It could also get very crowded. On the way home from dinner I discovered what being packed together like sardines really meant. The Victoria line was so crowded that people were jammed up against each other and my fellow traveller was only moments away from having her hand broken by the door.
‘It was a surprise to find in the English summer that it got light very early, before 5 am, and stayed light till late, after 9 pm. Combined with getting over the long distance travel it was easy to both lose track of time and find yourself having very long days out. While it might have been summer, it was not exactly warm and it had been raining on and off, so we were fairly rugged up.’
I suddenly remembered that in the rush to get away I forgot that in the garden at home the tip of the first tulip of the season had just poked through the ground –hopefully the first of hundreds awaiting us on our return.
No trip to London is complete without a visit to the Liberty store.
On Sunday night after our second visit to the Victoria and Albert, we were back on the bus through Trafalgar Square to St Pauls Cathedral to hear an organ recital beneath the great dome by an Australian-born musician whose last proper job was lecturing in computer studies.
Drawing classes outside the Mary Quant exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
The Victoria and Albert Museum was so good that we went back
again to see the exhibition about 60s designer Mary Quant,
which was completely engrossing. The museum had run a public campaign called
#wewantquant which led to women lending clothes they had treasured since they
were young. Many had commented how much they loved the clothes and often their
daughters had gone on to wear them. This was a fashion exhibition that touched
on some mighty social issues. I of course loved it because it was all about
creative industries.
Tate Modern – massive gallery of modern art
The next day we went shopping – to Liberty, a store which
had coincidentally collaborated with Mary Quant. Then, while my fellow
traveller went on to see the store of her design icon, Ben Pentreath, I trained
and hiked it to the Tate Modern, the former power station, now a massive
gallery of modern art.
Streetscapes everywhere were full of surprises.
After that I could hardly walk, but I made myself go on
to the Museum of London, mainly to present a talk about the Great Exhibition of
1851. The Exhibition, a vast building of steel and glass, became the basis of
the Victoria and Albert Museum. It also inspired a similar massive exhibition
building in the Botanic Gardens in Sydney, which before it burned to the
ground, was the example which led to the Museum of Applied Arts and Science –
the Powerhouse Museum. For me, this visit to London had been all about its
history of innovation and enterprise, which prefigured the whole contemporary
creative industries explosion.
'This part of London is full of fenced private gardens, tucked away in the centre of long rows of terraces. The small hotel in Pimlico where we were staying had keys to the garden opposite and we had hoped to go in but it had all been too busy. London seemed to have a serious garbage issue. There were bags of it everywhere on the footpath, with just a few large bins here and there, such as at the corner of the gardens. It was a bit of a grubby city. However, it was full of unexpected pleasures.'
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.
Admiral Nelson's flagship, 'Victory, at Portsmouth Dockyard.
In Portsmouth we arranged our hire car pick up then went see
the Mary Rose, the flagship of Henry
VIII, which had been rescued from the mud of Portsmouth Harbour 437 years after
unexpectedly capsizing in battle against French invaders. It was a phenomenal
example of the art of conservation in action – a really superb exhibition. I
had originally booked it from Australia, thinking it was in London, so I would
not normally had gone there, but I'm very glad I did. In one day we
successfully got from the hotel to the station, boarded the train to
Portsmouth, picked up the car and made our way to Dorset – a lot of transport transitions
in one day.
‘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.
We had booked to see the Mary Rose, the legendary flagship of Henry VIII, raised from its grave off Plymouth, not realising that it was not in London, but in Portsmouth. It worked well because after a train trip from London we picked up our hire car there away from the big smoke.
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.
Dorset - like all of Britain - is dog-friendly. If you are a refugee, it pays to be a dog.
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.
Driving past stones
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. I must say, it looked
disappointingly unimpressive as we zoomed past. We kept stumbling over places
with familiar names – we passed Tolpuddle, which I presume was the home of the
Tolpuddle Martyrs, transported to Australia for forming a trade union. As an
Australian you couldn't come to England without it ringing bells – that was the
power of culture and heritage.
‘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.
Staying in Bridport gave us access to so many historic locations, such as Mapperton House and Gardens.
The sunken garden at Mapperton House in Dorset.
It had been fairly intense so far, Singapore, London, even Bridport, though it was great to have an apartment to spread out in. After that, with a week in a National Trust cottage on the Cornwall coast, we expected to be able to slow down.
Thatchers at work repairing one of the many thatched house in Dorset.
Visiting England is a bit like visiting New Zealand – at
times you have to remind yourself that you are not in Australia, yet at the
same time it is quite clearly not Australia. There were many obvious layers of
history, unlike Australia where only the recent couple of centuries are
documented in any detail – at one point Churchill lived a few doors up from our
hotel in London. In a different but related way, Bridport was big on recycling,
though its shops seemed more vintage than antique, a bit down at heel and
everyday, rather than slick and expensive like London.
Dorset is a country of thatched roofs
Dorset is a county of thatched roofs – driving to Axminster
for lunch at Hugh Fearnley-Whitingstall's River Cottage we saw recent
replacements looking very pale, and leaving Lyne Regis saw a whole new one
going up. My entire childhood was spent on Axminster carpets, so apart from
being a very impressive town, with a weekly market where we did all our shopping,
it had personal resonance. Lunch was excellent – whole grilled sole with lemon
caper butter and sauted greens and panfried Cornish hake with sauteed potatoes,
spinach and rocket pesto. Since Hugh Fearnley-Whitingstall makes a feature of
his vegetables, we added roasted carrot and beets with nigella and caraway
seeds and coriander. With it we had a glass of Sicilian white – Grillo wine – and
very enjoyable. That night we planned a quiet picnic in our room with produce
from the Axminster markets, watching an episode of ‘Vera’ in her own land.
‘We walked along part of Chesil Beach, trying to steer a
safe path between being crushed by falling rocks and drowned by the incoming
tide.’
After lunch we went through Lyne Regis, location of the most
iconic scene in the film ‘The French Lieutenant's Woman’, trying not to run
over any tourists, and on to the fabled Jurassic Coast. There the tall
crumbling sandstone cliffs are the remnants of a tropical ocean from the
Jurassic period and regularly throw up dinosaurs and the like. My fellow
traveller was in her element. We walked along part of Chesil Beach, trying to
steer a safe path between being crushed by falling rocks and drowned by the
incoming tide.
The harbour on the coast near Bridport.
On our last morning as we left Bridport, we went to the
local museum. Bridport was – and still is – the centre of the rope-making
trade. Houses were narrow but with extremely long yards, to enable long lengths
of hemp and flax to be braided. It was also notable as one of the hotbeds of
the English religious Dissenters. Whether it had translated into views on
Brexit, we could only guess.
‘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.’
En route to Cornwall, we drove through the East Devon
countryside, on narrow lanes like tunnels, with high vegetation on either side –
and often over the top. At one point we had to brake and pull over as two
massive tractors barrelled past, touching both sides of the pathway. We kept
crossing the public walking paths which criss-cross the English countryside,
suddenly appearing next to the road.
The beach of the Jurassic Coast - the coastal cliffs are steadily slipping into the sea.
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.
Even better in real life
Looking for somewhere to stay in Cornwall, we had booked
Carolina Cellar from the other side of the world because it looked terrific – quiet,
a bit remote, loads of history and really striking. When I saw the place, I
knew we had to book it. Online it looked phenomenal and I guessed it would be
something special. When we arrived it was even better in real life.
Carolina Cellars - the National Trust property looked terric from the other side of the world. Close up it was even better.
I really
enjoy staying with organisations like the National Trust, as we were doing there,
or with the Landmark Trust, as we did in Scotland two years before. Their
properties are heritage buildings but always well cared for and well set up. The
cottage was stunning, at the end of a deep slash in the rocky coastline. We could
relax, watching the tide come in and go out from our window, and slipping away
for brief day trips into the countryside around. On the way to Port Quin, we
popped into neighbouring Port Isaac, which was packed, with cars entangled and
queued. It is famous as the place TV series ‘Doc Martin’ is shot – they were
shooting there at the time, just up the road from us.
‘Looking for somewhere to stay in Cornwall, we had booked Carolina Cellar from the other side of the world because it looked terrific – quiet, a bit remote, loads of history and really striking. When I saw the place, I knew we had to book it. Online it looked phenomenal and I guessed it would be something special. When we arrived it was even better in real life.’
It's partly about location – and that was spectacular – but
it was also the sense of history that staying in a National Trust property
provided. This was combined with the fact that the cottages were so well
appointed and cared for – the flowers in the window were a great example, not
to mention many other small thoughtful touches. The huge volumes of local
information, suggestions and directions were tremendous. As part of our stay in
a National Trust cottage we got free entry to all the Trust properties nearby –
and there was a lot. We took the opportunity to explore other nearby Trust
properties and enjoyed them all.
A house of specialist kitchens
We went to see one of the finest houses and
gardens the Trust has in Cornwall – Lanhydrock. The estate covers 90 acres and
there are over 50 rooms in the house. It was amazing. The kitchen area was
especially fascinating because it included five or more specialist rooms – the
tall kitchen with a massive hearth, a dairy room, a confectionary room, a
bakery providing bread daily for some 80 people, a room for meat, fish and game
and more I have forgotten. The property had even twice hosted the series
Antiques Roadshow, which we both watch in Australia.
One of the many specialist kitchens of Lanhydrock - a dairy room, a confectionary room, a bakery, a room for meat, fish and game, and more.
‘Bridport was the transition to a quieter time, because we had room to sprawl and it was quieter than London. Now I felt content, sitting watching the tide come in and go out from our window and slipping away for brief day trips into the countryside around.’
We had no wireless connection in the cottage, which fitted
with the quiet of the remove seaside ravine. I was talking to the young woman
who sold ice cream from a tiny truck (after buying a lemon and meringue ice
cream cone – yum) and she said she liked that – it means she could read her
book in between customers. I asked if the icecream was produced locally. She
replied ‘Sort of, it's made about 15 miles from here’. I said ‘That sounds
pretty local to me’. She said she used to be a cheese monger, so we exchanged
stories about the weird jobs we had had.
The lush grass and plump cows of the National Trust's Lanhydrock estate.
Now we had finally arrived on the North Cornwall coast for a
week, things had settled down. This was just as well because Cornel had come
down with a bad cold. It was very intense getting ready to travel overseas and
organising arrangements for the care of the garden. Then we had the flight to
Singapore, our one night stopover and then the long haul to London. The five
days there were very hectic and we didn't had much room to spread out. Then we
had to get to the train, down to Portsmouth, pick up the car, see the Mary Rose
and get to Bridport. Bridport was the transition to a quieter time, because we had room to sprawl and it was quieter than London. Now I felt content, sitting watching the tide come in and go out from our window and slipping away for brief day trips into the countryside around.
The Fish Coast
The Fish Coast
The produce at the local markets there was impressive, especially the strawberries. This might be the Wrecking Coast and the Tin Coast, but it was also the fish coast. With our cottage accomodation, we were able to cook. We did a bit in Bridport, with breakfast and dinner in our apartment, but it was very simple. We were determined to cook local fish. We bought cod – the fish that made Britain great – and had it pan fried, with asparagus
and boiled potatoes.
‘I had been thinking about my uncles, who came over to England to fight in World War 2 and about my father who followed the family path here looking for history. 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.’
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.
Port Quinn was very small. but still had several buildings dotted around the rocky inlet.
I had been thinking about my uncles, who came over to
England to fight in World War 2 and about my father who followed the family
path here looking for history. I suppose 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.
Purely legend
Visiting those ancient homes – let alone staying in them – underlined
how bitter the lives of those who lived in them were. The population of the
place had steadily declined, from 96 in 1841 to 20 in 1891 to, well, none. They
must have been hard times.But there were earlier shocks. Local legend had it
that in 1697 the local herring fishermen were caught in a disastrous storm and
almost all perished, leaving more than 20 widows in Port Quin. After we came
home we saw a film ‘Fisherman’s Friend’ about a successful sea shanty group
which originated from Port Isaac and went on to play at Glastonbury Festival.
In the film they mentioned this disaster. I was curious, so I checked it out –
to my surprise I discovered it was purely legend, a more romantic explanation
for steady economic decline.
Wine o'clock on th rocky foreshore at Port Quin, below the stone walls and white windows of Carolina Cellars in the far background.
You had to admire the hardiness of the British. Beneath our
window an extended family was having a picnic. It was overcast and there was a
light shower. They had on their wet weather gear as they munched their
sandwiches. When I lived in Melbourne, the Australian city most like British
cities, it used to be said that people there didn't let the weather get in
their way, they just got on with things. What strikes you about Britain is how
many walkers there are. There was also a very active campaign against plastic
waste. This was the country that invented the real ale movement, so it didn't
surprise me at all. How did Brexit ever get over the line?
'You had to admire the hardiness of the British. Beneath our window an extended family was having a picnic. It was overcast and there was a light shower. They had on their wet weather gear as they munched their sandwiches. When I lived in Melbourne, the Australian city most like British cities, it used to be said that people there didn't let the weather get in their way, they just got on with things.'
It was hard to imagine that we were in the UK almost two
years before and that we had managed to slip in a visit to France between then
and our latest visit We'd been watching documentaries on the BBC and I had to
stop to remind myself that we were not at home because we would be watching
exactly the same programs – in fact many of them we'd seen before. During our
stay in Cornwall, we'd been watching a fabulous series on BBC, the Repair Shop,
in which expert craftspeople and conservators brought personally important
objects back to their original state.
Looking along the side of Carolina Cellars you could see the deep, narrow rocky inlet that cut into the coast.
The simplicity and elegance of the English language never
ceased to amaze me. We were near Falmouth, on the coast near Truro and realised we were standing on the banks of the
Fal – hence Falmouth. We caught the ferry across from Rock to Padstow, a
serious tourist hot spot. Definitely never go to Padstow in summer – a charming
fishing village with some fine looking restaurants turns into a packed tawdry
sprawl. In fact the motley crowd of the ageing, overweight, pale and badly
dressed made me think that the EU might had dodged a bullet with Brexit. On top
of that the sheer annoying scale of the dog presence made me think of Sydney
cockroaches.
There for a reason
We were there for a reason, though. Completing our hat trick
of UK dining, we went for lunch to Rick Stein's restaurant, apropriately called
the Seafood Restaurant. I'm still amazed that I could book a restaurant in
Padstow from the other side of the world. The Rick Stein empire is massive – there
must be at least fifteen different businesses, not counting those in Australia,
from food to accommodation to homewares. At lunch we sat under a painting by
Ken Done, whose work I had never liked, but obviously he has his admirers.
Contentment on a plate - eating in Rick Stein's restaurant in Padstow.
The
meal was really good. I had scallops with green pea puree and grilled Serrano
ham and then grilled fillet of hake with spinach and samphire and my fellow
traveller had grilled halibut with crab meat in a lobster sauce. Both dishes
came with a side of minted Cornish potatoes. My companion had a glass of
Chateau Bauduc French sauvignon blanc made by expatriate English wine-makers
and I had a muscadet, tasting a bit like a riesling.
‘We were there for a reason, though. Completing our hat trick of UK dining, we went for lunch to Rick Stein's restaurant, apropriately called The Seafood Restaurant. I'm still amazed that I could book a restaurant in Padstow from the other side of the world. The Rick Stein empire is massive – there must be at least fifteen different businesses, not counting those in Australia, from food to accommodation to homewares.’
The day before, we had started the day with a visit to Royal
Cornwall Hospital near Truro to get my companion’s eye checked, as she has been
having concerns about her vision since London. It looked okay but she had a
follow up appointment with an ophthalmologist for a detailed check. The results
after intense scrutiny were positive, though we needed to monitor it carefully.
It could potentially have been a detached retina. Luckily surgery was not
required. Who would have thought that our visit would have included such close
contact with the National Health Service – which was very impressive and
clearly depended heavily on medical staff from overseas to function. We saw a
Polish nurse and a Spanish doctor, both women. Who knows what would happen
after Brexit. When we came home we discovered why we had been able to so easily
access the medical service, with no charge – reciprocal agreement between
Australia and the UK. This is why international relations are so important.
Padstow harbour. We caught the ferry across the estuary from neighbouring suburb, Rock.
Because of the drops in her eye, which meant she couldn't
see properly, I had to drive the hour-long trip home, along highways and tiny
country lanes, in a manual car after not having driven one for decades. I think
she was almost as stressed by this as by her eye. She had also developed a rash
on her hands and neck from the stress, all on top of the cold she was battling.
Travelling around the small villages in Cornwall a sign for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission on the gate of a small local cemetery caught my eye. The Commission does sterling work caring for the graves of Australian who have fallen and are buried far from home.
My laundry strategy was working as planned, with us being
able to wash in Bridport and then in Port Quin, which had enabled us to travel
with less changes of clothes than we might otherwise had had to.
A trickle of a stream ran through
A little trickle of a stream ran through the middle of Port
Quin, into the sea, and the tinkling noise was very attractive and soothing – just
what we needed after all the upset. We finally did what we had been keen to do
since we arrived – we walked the coastal path from Port Quin to Port Isaac. It
is three miles long and up and down on the very edges of the hills and cliffs
all the way. It took us two and a half hours.
The stunning cliff walk from Port Quin to Port Isaac was challenging but popular - and a definite must.
Almost everyone we encountered on
the walk had walking poles, which we'd had some experience of in the Snowy
Mountains – difficult to squeeze into the luggage but next time, we'd make them
fit. Then, after a welcome – and exhausted – lunch of lobster sandwiches, lemon
drizzle cake and coffee, we caught the bus back and walked down the hill to
Port Quin. In the cafe at the top of the hill where we had lunch we asked if
there was a good bakery in Port Isaac and were told flatly that there was
nothing. The cafe got its bread and other produce, apart from fish, from Rock.
‘We finally did what we had been keen to do since we arrived – we walked the coastal path from Port Quin to Port Isaac. It is three miles long and up and down on the very edges of the hills and cliffs all the way. It took us two and a half hours. Almost everyone we encountered on the walk had walking poles, which we'd had some experience of in the Snowy Mountains – difficult to squeeze into the luggage but next time, we'd make them fit.’
Our week on the North Cornwall coast had been fabulous,
despite the hiccoughs, and unlike anywhere else we had ever been. Next we were
off to two nights in Bath, after which we would drop off the car in London and
join our cruise at Greenwich. As a final treat, we went to our favourite coffee
spot in Rock, Fees Food, for a baguette for dinner and a last coffee. Then we
went back to the pub in St Kew for a light lunch and a moment in the beer
garden. We checked out the ancient church, which had a sign saying it included
Commonwealth war graves. Then we drove to Boscastle, a marvellous harbour North
of where we were staying, before finishing up with a double gin and tonic in
the Longstaff Hotel just up the road.
Looking down on Port Isaac from the last stretch of the cliff top walk from Port Quin.
I'd had hay fever the whole time I'd been
here, which was not surprising given the mass of flowers that were out
everwhere. Over the last couple of days it had also become much hotter, as
superheated air from France – where it was really hot – pushed North. As a
result our deserted retreat was full of people – and their dogs. It could also
get quite windy on the Atlantic Coast and there were wind turbines everywhere
on the rolling hills.
Wallowing in Bath
After checking into our utterly
charming Georgian terrace house where we were staying in Bath,
we followed the recommendation of our hosts and wandered around the corner to a
local pub. I'd originally booked only one night, thinking we'd spend a final
night in London, but then – wisely – decided to stay in Bath for two nights.
Our final night in London would be spent on board the ship, as we were to board
on Sunday afternoon and sail just before midnight on Monday.
Bath was astounding. The Roman baths were very impressive, but the whole city stood out.
In reality we had only one full day in Bath, but originally
we weren't planning to come at all, so I was not complaining. We started early
and were at the Roman baths just after they opened. In one of the many rooms, my
fellow traveller discovered her hypocaust heaven – a whole bath house full of
hypocausts, the hollow channels used to heat beneath baths. We spent an hour
and a half in the baths, then had morning tea in the Pumphouse restaurant
there.
‘Bath was fabulous to walk around, with many shady parks. I could see why someone might want to live there – if they could afford it. I could see why Governor Phillip might choose to retire to here after governing the unruly colony of New South Wales. As we were packing up to leave for London we saw a great cloud of smoke from a passing steam train – a final farewell from a very attractive town.’
Arthur Phillip, the first Governor of New South Wales - and possibly, the last one who wasn't corrupt - had retired here after governing the unruly colony.
Bath was fabulous to walk around, with many shady parks. I could see why someone might want to live there – if they could afford it. I could see why Governor Phillip might choose to retire to here after governing the unruly colony of New South Wales. After a full day of sight-seeing, we retired to the downstairs courtyard of our hotel to sample gin and tonics and dark English beer. The next day, as we were packing up to leave for London, we saw a great cloud of smoke from a passing steam train – a final farewell from a very attractive town.
Bath displayed the same sort of stunning Georgian architecture as the New Town in Scotland.
Sitting high in the water, right in the heart of London
Once we had dropped off the hire car at London City Airport, we caught a cab to Greenwich to rendezvous with our ship. It was strange to see it sitting high in the water, right in the heart of London. As we were walking along, pulling our luggage behind us, Viking staff with red scarves suddenly appeared on either side and took our luggage from us, directing us to the welcoming registration pavilion. It was like some fantastic adventure, being ferried out to the ship on the small tenders, stepping aboard the first cruise ship we had ever been on.
At the rear of the Maritime Museum in Greenwich, I was entranced by this eye-catching sculpture.
Ship figure-heads assembled in the Maritime Museum in Greenwich.
In a wonder of coincidence in a huge world, we subsequently discovered that a friend who used to live just up the road from our home in Canberra was there on exactly the same day – a reminder of the way we kept bumping into a Canberra friend in heavily swollen Edinburgh and later York on our previous trip to Britain two years before.
As befits a public institution, the Maritime Museum presented a wide range of views on Britain's maritime history. I was intrigued by this exhibit, with it's pertinent view of a figure of significance for Australia. Writing this now I was reminded that Bill Bryson, in his superb book, 'At home: a short history of daily life', noted that after his voyage to Australia, Cook won fame less for reaching the Great South Land and more for the fact that not one of his crew died of scurvy - the usual high death toll was a sign of the times, even after a cure had largely been ignored.
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 Conquerer 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.
When we arrived in Greenwich and I looked out and saw our ship riding at anchor in the Thames, it was one of the great experiences of my life.
I thought I’d just try to ignore them and enjoy being on the ship. Cruising – even on a Viking ship – is definitely something for older people. There were obviously people younger than us on the ship, but it was heavily weighted towards the upper end of the age spectrum. We went to a briefing for the forthcoming shore excursions on Orkney and there was a lot of detail about how close rest rooms were and how level the ground was.
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.
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.
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 Tromso, 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.
Offshore about 90 miles south from where we were was the third industry – oil rigs sitting out in the Norwegian sea generating wealth for Norway. With the accelerating demise of the fossil fuel era, this wouldn't last for ever, but unlike Australia, which frittered away the riches of the mining boom on transient tax cuts, Norway had invested in a sovereign wealth fund to secure its future.
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.
We discovered that the shape of the Tromsø waterfront had been changing as water levels rise due to global warming. Even though it was nearly 350 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle and winter snow could sometimes be as much as one meter deep, the warm water of the Gulf Stream kept it clear, so it could continue to function as a working port all year round. I could imagine waking looking at these mountains every morning. Still I wouldn't want to live in a place overrun by tourists – perhaps the ideal place would have no natural attractions, no cultural or heritage values and no decent restaurants. It might be boring but it wouldn't be crowded.
There is famously a variant of Google street view called Google sheep view, which presents images of sheep from across the globe. I'm sure the Google sheep view team would had been there at some point, as at our final stop on the first tour there were unconstrained sheep roaming everywhere. He had to warn her that their interest was the dog.
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.
Then there was the sauna, the elegant cabins, the spacious balconies, the scattered, hidden lounges, the libraries, the excellent crew. It was totally unreal and I could't believe we were really there, gliding through the surreal landscape.
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.
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.
I keep realising that only as you leave a new place, do you finally work out where and how you should had gone while you were there. We'd been walking to and fro between our hotel and funky Auguststrasse and finally discovered that there was a bus that went straight there from our front door. When you first encounter a suburb, you miss lots of small gems and notice the big, noisy generica. Then as you roam increasingly widely, more and more is revealed – the Tunisian-owned coffee shop, the tiny, cluttered wine shop, the artisan belt shop, the hand-made shoe store, the first-rate bakery with the best cinnamon scrolls ever. I know I am far too fascinated with design when I start to judge restaurants by how interesting the font of their signage is.
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 ocal 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.
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 Chancellory 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 enountered 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 gastroentiritis. 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.
While much of the wealth of the countries we visited came from a thriving history of trade and commerce, it was hard to ignore the fact that the lavish palaces and grand streets were paid for by centuries of taxes on the poor, by slavery and by funnelling massive amounts of wealth from the various European colonies.
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. Meawhile 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
‘It was a bit like a mass breakout from a nursing home. I thought I’d just try to ignore them and enjoy being on the ship. Cruising – even on a Viking ship – is definitely something for older people. There were obviously people younger than us on the ship, but it was heavily weighted towards the upper end of the age spectrum.’
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.
I would usually have checked out any spa and sauna within
bubbling distance by now but there'd been so much to take in. I finally visited
– when I saw it I thought I would probably be there every day of the trip. It
even had a snow room, with real snow – shades of growing up in the Central
Highlands of Tasmania. Those Norwegians did good spa.
'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.'
It was strange to think that sitting on the ship moored in
the middle of the Thames, we were in the same city that we had been staying in
less than two weeks before. Even stranger was the fact that as compact as our
cabin was, it was still larger – not to mention far better laid out – than the
room we stayed in when we first came to London. I realised I wouldn’t really
appreciate that we were on a cruise until we had actually sailed. We seemed to
be inhabiting a maritime world that year. We had taken the ferry to Tasmania
four months before our Norway trip, the first major maritime trip since our
honeymoon on the ferry to Tasmania in 2000, and then we were on our first
cruise.
One minute to midnight
At one minute to midnight we slipped away from our moorings
in the Thames, heading to Edinburgh. We felt it move and woke briefly to watch.
Unfortunately when we woke again the next morning it was to discover that an
electrical fault in one of the brand new engines meant we had been anchored in
the Thames estuary, probably for many hours, while they tried to fix it. It was
hard to tell what this meant for our Edinburgh stop, let alone anything else. We
headed back up the Thames to Tilbury, where they would try to keep us
entertained with free shore excursions while we smothered our disappointment
with food and drink. I had notified the Royal Yacht Britannia that we might not
make our tour and cancelled our lunch booking at Michelin-starred restaurant Kitchin
the next day. It was possible we might even miss Edinburgh entirely.
Tied up at Tilbury - from where so many migrants embarked fro Australia and where so many arrived to help rebuild Britain after World War 2, like the Windrush arrival from the Caribbean, whose subsequent treatment turned into a national disgrace.
Three days after departure we were still in the Thames,
docked at Tilbury, an uninspiring estuary town. Hopefully we would soon hear
how this would reshape our cruise. The one redeeming feature was that I was
getting to enjoy seeing a lot of wind turbines – it was the engineer's son
coming out in me. Perhaps the problem with the engines wouldn't had arisen if
the ship hadn't been brand new – it seems to be teething problems withe the new electric engines.
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.
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 had plenty of time to plan. I could't get used to how early it got light – round 4.30 am. This became more acute as we moved further north. I chatted to quite a few fellow cruisers. One was an Australian who found the ship very large – she usually travelled on large sailing yachts. She mentioned she had met someone who found it boring and missed having a casino on board. I wondered if people research their cruise ships The rest of the passengers had mainly been Americans – a great variety of them. The problem with meeting people on the ship was that I was not sure I would recognise any of them if I bumped into them again.
I don't know if other cruise ships are like the one we travelled on, but one aspect I really liked was how much space there was to relax – there were niches and lounges everywhere. These were filled with books – the ship was loaded to the gunwales with books, there were books and places to read them everywhere. It was like travelling in a public library – a very stylish and well-designed one. I knew I was going to enjoy the voyage. Walking past one day I saw a volume of the collected poems of Derek Alcott. I had a book of his poems at home, but who else has heard of him, despite the fact he was a renowned Caribbean writer?
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.
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.
‘I don't know if other cruise ships are like the one we travelled on, but one aspect I really liked was how much space there was to relax – there were niches and lounges everywhere. These were filled with books – the ship was loaded to the gunwales with books, there were books and places to read them everywhere. It was like travelling in a public library – a very stylish and well-designed one. I knew I was going to enjoy the voyage.’
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.
Our tour of Sissinghurst was a marvellous and unexpected bonus, even if it was no substitute for teh much-anticipated landing at Orkney and Shetland - and lunch at Michelin-starred 'Kitchin' restaurant in Edinburgh.
The engine was fixed and was being inspected. If all was well, we would sail late that night or early the next morning and by the end of the week we would be in Edinburgh for our originally scheduled full day of activities. The only question was whether we would lose Orkney or Shetland – or both. I hoped not – we signed onto the cruise so we could sail from Edinburgh to Orkney and Shetland and then to Norway. I didn't care exactly what we saw in Norway – anything would be good, so they could trim that end of the cruise as far as I was concerned.
Wind turbines off the coast of Britain, soon after leaving the Thames.
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.
‘[Britannia]…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.’
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.
Traditional (almost) welcome when we arrived in Edinburgh.
We couldn't rebook the Kitchin restaurant, which I had
booked months before, but instead I picked a place we hung around a lot on our previous
visit in 2017, once we realised that the New Town was our precinct of choice – the
Printing Press Bar and Kitchen.
We caught a bus from Leith to the New Town and went right past Kitchin. Leith
looked interesting and attractive, and was clearly worth further exploration on
later travels.
The itinerary of our trip was full of our own family
histories. My fellow traveller’s parents had quite likely left for Australia
from Tilbury, when they came out as 10 pound Poms. One of my uncles was on the
destroyers escorting convoys to Russia during World War 2. It is likely we would
follow virtually the same route he did as we sailed North. It was once again
cool enough for me to start wearing my Muji jacket, which I had bought for
layering in colder and wetter climes, but which turned out to be the perfect
travel coat. My new camera fitted neatly into its pocket.
Heading rapidly north
It seemed slightly unreal actually to be on the ship. The
disturbance in the universe created by the engine breakdown and its
ramifications made it even more strange. Suddenly we were almost half way
through the cruise, not helped by the fact that we had been becalmed in the
Thames at the start
By now we were heading rapidly north. When I woke up in the
morning we were mid-way between Shetland and Bergen. The sea was a bit choppy
and the previous night the ship had been swaying and rocking. My fellow
traveller slept very badly but she tends to be a nervous traveller – which
means in practice that she is a much braver traveller than I.
‘The itinerary of our trip was full of our own family histories. My fellow traveller’s parents had quite likely left for Australia from Tilbury, when they came out as 10 pound Poms. One of my uncles was on the destroyers escorting convoys to Russia during World War 2. It is likely we would follow virtually the same route he did as we sailed North.’
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.
‘In another day we would be in Honningsvåg in 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.’
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.
Approaching North Cape, far North of the Arctic Circle. It was a huge moment because one of my five uncles had been a decorated anti-aircraft gunner on the destroyers that rounded the Cape, as they escorted the supply convoys to Murmansk to stiffen Russia's war effort on the Eastern front.
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.
I'm still not convinced by the whole idea of cruising, but on a ship this size (with 930 passengers classified as a ‘small ship’ – some large ships could carry almost 7,000 passengers), it was very relaxing. The shipboard staff, who seemed to be from all over the planet, were excellent and the food was fantastic and varied. On Viking it was like travelling in a library – a very stylish and well-designed one. There were lots of places to hide, but when people congregated, it could be a bit overwhelming – all those Americans at once.
We finally stepped onto Norwegian soil for the first time. Honningsvåg was as far North as we came on the journey. We wandered around the tiny town and then we headed on a bus to North Cape, about as far North as you could get in Europe. On the way there were racks of cod drying in the cool dry air and we heard the island we were on had around 5,000 reindeer, together with their Sami minders.
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 landscape all around the ship was so stunning that at a certain point you 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.’
‘I was sure there were amazing sights yet to be seen 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.’
After almost two days out at sea, with no sign of land, we could see the towering, rugged outline of the Norwegian coast from our cabin. Scotland, not to mention Southern England, was far behind us and from now on our journey would be all about Europe – with three days in Singapore at the end to ease us back into Australasia.
Viking Jupiter alongside the wharf at Honningsvåg - far north of the Arctic Circle.
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 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.’
A ship full of books, music and saunas.
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 Tromso, 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.
‘With the accelerating demise of the fossil fuel era, this wouldn't last for ever, but unlike Australia, which frittered away the riches of the mining boom on transient tax cuts, Norway had invested in a sovereign wealth fund to secure its future.’
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.
I would had loved to have taken some photos of the soaring rounded green peaks alongside us, but thought ‘where do you stop?’ The views were unending and just when you thought they were fabulous, something more fabulous appeared. At most destinations, we seemed to leave by a different route than theone we took when we arrived, so I could rarely afford to get complacent about having seen it all on the way in.
Gateway to the Arctic
Tromsø had huge underground tunnels with their own roundabouts. They are a solution to traffic in a snow-covered mountainous country but they also function as bomb shelters in a country in the nuclear firing line between NATO and the former Soviet Union. It wasn't really touched by World War 2 but the massive Nazi battleship, the Tirpitz, was sunk by Lancaster bombers in the waters round Tromsø.
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.
Gateway to the Arctic
Next stop was Tromsø, gateway to the Arctic. It was a very
attractive city, with a clear bright light and the sharp clean air of mountain
regions. Winter might be entirely another case. For two months the sun doesn't
rise at all. As winter settles in, each day becomes ten minutes shorter, over
an hour shorter in a single week. It snows for five months of the year.
However, as our guide noted, winter is a very peaceful time. At the moment we were
in the world of the midnight sun, so it was constantly light, making it very
difficult to sleep at all.
‘We discovered that the shape of the Tromsø waterfront had been changing as water levels rise due to global warming. I could imagine waking looking at these mountains every morning. Still I wouldn't want to live in a place overrun by tourists – perhaps the ideal place would have no natural attractions, no cultural or heritage values and no decent restaurants. It might be boring but it wouldn't be crowded.’
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.
Our cruise included beer and wine with lunch and dinner – as
much as you wanted. On top of this you could also purchase a drinks package
which provided drinks at all other times and gave you access to a wider range
of drinks. We considered this but thought it was excessive. We'd been getting
by quite nicely on the house wines and beers, purchasing any extra drinks like
pre-dinner drinks or a nightcap as we went – at that rate we were well ahead.
The ‘all you could eat’ – and drink – model of cruising required some
discipline. I also enjoyed trying out the aquavit, the Norwegian spirit.
'We discovered that the shape of the Tromsø waterfront had been changing as water levels rise due to global warming. Even though it was nearly 350 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle and winter snow could sometimes be as much as one meter deep, the warm water of the Gulf Stream kept it clear, so it could continue to function as a working port all year round.'
We realised extremely early one morning that the ship fog
horns worked well, as we encountered thick fog on the way to the Lofoten
Islands. During the night we had snaked our way through the intricate fjords of
the Norwegian coast. Upon arrival the Lofoten Islands were laid out before us.
I managed to fit two tours into our stay – a panoramic bus tour and a visit to
their Viking museum, the largest in Europe. On one of the tours we stopped by a
waterfront with a baccalo restaurant, serving the Portuguese signature dish
made from the reconstituted dried cod that Norway is famous for. The bus driver
mentioned that one English visitor who carried her tiny pet dog everywhere with
her had been impressed by the huge sea eagles with their two metre wing span, which
seemed to circle constantly
There is famously a variant of Google street view called Google sheep view, which presents images of sheep from across the globe. I'm sure the Google sheep view team would had been there at some point, as at our final stop on the first tour there were unconstrained sheep roaming everywhere. He had to warn her that their interest was the dog.
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.
Our elegant accommodation in Bergen, the former Stock Exchange. It had the best breakfast smorgosbord I had ever seen - unfortunately we couldn't linger, as we had to walk to catch the train.
‘Then there was the sauna, the elegant cabins, the spacious balconies, the scattered, hidden lounges, the libraries, the excellent crew. It was totally unreal and I could't believe we were really there, gliding through the surreal landscape.’
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.
Viking Jupiter at anchor in the Lofoten Islands off the coast of Norway.
Are we natural cruisers? There are three layers to this – cruising in general, Viking cruises in particular, and our specific interest in the Scotland-Norway connection. What brought us on the cruise initially was the Scottish-Norwegian connection, so the cruise was just a means to an end – and icing on the cake, though very thick icing. It's disadvantage was that you didn't get to spend extended time anywhere – like Tromso, which warranted a longer stay. The converse advantage was that you covered quite a distance easily, while getting a taste of a range of places. Viking devotes a relatively high proportion of its cruising time to port visits, which worked for us – as much as I also appreciated days off at sea, when you could savour shipboard life.
Bergen businesses were't above enlisting Donald Trump to help boost their custom.
We had been incredibly lucky because the weather had been clear and sunny, which meant we could see everything. At North Cape the guide pointed out that the clear vista could just as easily had been wrapped in fog – and that potential sense of disappointment could easily have been repeated elsewhere.
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.
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.
‘We had been incredibly lucky because the weather had been clear and sunny, which meant we could see everything. At North Cape the guide pointed out that the clear vista could just as easily had been wrapped in fog – and that potential sense of disappointment could easily have been repeated elsewhere.’
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.
Bergen – a passionate love affair from afar
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.
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.
‘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.’
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.
The train journey from Bergen to Oslo - claimed as one of of the most spectacular in the world - didn't disappoint.
We were in Oslo for three days, before we were due to catch the overnight ferry to Copenhagen, reputably the coolest – and the most expensive – city on the planet. Luckily Norway was good preparation as it might well be the second most expensive city – everything, particularly alcohol, is about twenty per cent more expensive than Sydney, hardly the budget capital of Australia. Alcohol control in Norway was fascinating. After a serious drinking problem (mainly from spirits) and a brief period of prohibition, Norway used wartime rationing to establish a government monopoly on sales of all alcohol other than beer. To buy wine or spirits you had to go to a vinmonopolet store which has fairly restricted hours. It felt like finding a methadone clinic but I'm sure it saves lives.
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.
‘Alcohol control in Norway was fascinating. After a serious drinking problem (mainly from spirits) and a brief period of prohibition, Norway used wartime rationing to establish a government monopoly on sales of all alcohol other than beer. To buy wine or spirits you had to go to a vinmonopolet store which has fairly restricted hours. It felt like finding a methadone clinic but I'm sure it saves lives.’
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.
Viking Ship Museum, with three surviving Viking long boats, all recovered from burial sites, along with the artefacts that hadn't been looted by grave robbers.
Then we walked to the astounding Norwegian Museum of Cultural History. It has some interesting and detailed exhibits on folk art and craft, especially Norwegian knitting. However what totally amazed us was its collection of over 100 buildings dotted across the extensive grounds. These ranged from ancient log farmhouses and barns to a more recent 19th Century three storey apartment building which displays interiors across the decades – all moved especially there and reassembled. It is the largest outdoor museum in Scandinavia and it was stunning.
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.
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.
‘However what totally amazed us was its collection of over 100 buildings dotted across the extensive grounds. These ranged from ancient log farmhouses and barns to a more recent 19th Century three storey apartment building which displays interiors across the decades – all moved especially there and reassembled. It is the largest outdoor museum in Scandinavia and it was stunning.’
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 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….The ship was like a combination of beer barn and floating nursery.’
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.
‘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.’
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.
Our hotel in the student quarter of Copenhagen was a five minute walk from the fresh food markets. It was hard to imagine ending up a better location.
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.
In Copenhagen, the greatest risks to life and limb were being hit by a bicycle, passive smoking and museum overdose. This bridge is famous for the constant bicycle traffic that passes over it.
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.
The exhibition touched on all the issues DESIGN Canberra was still talking about – redesigning daily life and the world around us to be a better place. No wonder the Nazis hated them. Seeing it made me happy that we would end up with two weeks in Berlin. The objects in the exhibitions are now so much part of our contemporary world that to distinguish exhibition pieces from seats dotted around the museum, they had to use ‘please do not touch’ signs everywhere.
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.
‘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.’
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.
I also wandered through an exhibition called ‘Voices from the colonies’, which was about the story of the Danish colonies in Greenland – but also in the West Indies and India, who'd had known? Denmark was the seventh largest slave trading nation in the world, with forts in West Africa that helped funnel millions of kidnapped Africans to the Americas. The Danes did't pull any punches in the exhibition – it was like a German exhibition about the Nazis, staring the hard truth squarely in the face.
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.
We also managed to find several travelling items we had been searching for. Due to luggage constraints, we had a strict policy that if we bought something it had to replace a worn out item we then threw out. It made me realise how much your work experience colours your view of everyday life – it reminded me of how, when public servants are developing new funding proposals in Government, they have to promise offsets, so there is no new spending. I realised that the new jacket I had bought reminded me of a better version of the loose fitting army surplus jacket I wore constantly throughout my high school years growing up in Devonport, Tasmania. Perhaps I was returning to my youth.
The history of Hamburg is never far away - a surviving U-Boat from World War 2 in the Elbe.
Our last night in Hamburg was a catch up with my fellow traveller’s niece and her partner, at a waterside restaurant near the fish markets, with spectacular views of Hamburg harbour and the Elbe River. We then ambled all the way back to our hotel along the Hamburg wharves and waterways.
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.
The Musee Insel or Museum Island in the middle of the Spree River is packed with museums full of looted artefacts of unimaginable stature, including complete standing city gates from Mesopotamia. The bullet holes from World War 2 are diminishing, but there are still traces.
Once we were back in Germany, my fellow traveller fell straight back into speaking the language, with far more fluency than she or I expected. I was reminded how much I liked the sound of the ‘z’ words in German – Zucker, Zeit, Zeitung.
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.
I could't believe we had just missed the massive Pride demonstration, a major annual event in Berlin, called Christopher Street Day, or Berlin CSD for short. It involves up to 500,000 people and would be an amazing thing to see. The day after we arrived we noticed the streets round were unusually quiet – that's because everyone was at the parade. The next day there were signs everywhere of partying afterwards. Frederick the Great, the leader who built modern Germany, not to mention many of its palaces, and who managed to conceal his sexual orientation throughout his reign, would be amazed to see that while there is still plenty of room for the world to change, it looks nothing like it did in his day.
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.
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 trummerfrauen 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.
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.
‘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.
Visiting Copenhagen without going on a cruise on the canals would be a serious mistake. When you stand to take photographs, you merely have to remember to resume your seat before the boat passes under the next bridge.
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 finally to be in Germany
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.
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.
‘In her younger days, the aunt had been a ‘trummerfrau’, a rubble woman, one of those who rebuilt bombed German cities brick by brick. Ironically she was probably rebuilding a city that one of my uncles – a navigator on a Lancaster bomber – had bombed. Hamburg was particularly badly damaged by the raids.’
In many ways, this was a version of that delayed trip. In her younger days, the aunt had been a ‘trümmerfrau’, a rubble woman, one of those who rebuilt bombed German cities brick by brick. Ironically she was probably rebuilding a city that one of my uncles – a navigator on a Lancaster bomber – had bombed. Hamburg was particularly badly damaged by the raids.
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.
We ambled along the Hamburg wharves and waterways, with spectacular views of Hamburg harbour and the Elbe River.
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.
Our enthusiastic barista opposite the Adina where we stayed on the edge of Speicherstadt, the UNESCO-listed old port area of Hamburg.
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.
‘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.’
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.
‘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.’
Navigating the Spree.
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.
‘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.’
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.
It reminded me of when one of our friends was a busy lawyer in Sydney and used to do all her food shopping at the David Jones Food Hall. I needed morning tea after our trip across town, with our first use of our transport card, so I had a black tea with orange and spices and a mini gugelhupf pastry soaked in some kind of strong liquor. Upstairs I was reminded of the place of outsourcing in Germany – with toilet attendees who care for toilets in public places and are tipped by those who use the facilities.
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 furtherest 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.
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 furtherest 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.
San Souci was a string of massive palaces, on after the other. I was used to the wealthy grandeur of Britain, but this was something else.
Once in Potsdam we tackled San Souci. The scale of the vast complex of palaces, home to Frederick the Great, was beyond belief. It is a UNESCO-listed exceptional rococo wonderland. The park that encompasses the palaces is huge. In the palaces air conditioners were everywhere, trying to cope with the crowds. Without them, the rooms would had been like the underground train stations. In some ways the whole experience felt like a train station, with people rushing to get to their next selfie.
Luckily it was a bit cooler as we trekked from one side of the park to the other. We queued to see the small but impressive San Souci Palace, then walked several kilometers to the massive Neue Palace, which looked like the jewel in the crown. Imagine our dismay to find that it was the only palace in the whole complex that was closed on Tuesdays, the day we were there – we were bitterly disappointed and somewhat astounded at this bizarre time-tabling.
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.
‘The scale of the vast complex of palaces, home to Frederick the Great, was beyond belief. It is a UNESCO-listed exceptional rococo wonderland. The park that encompasses the palaces is huge. In the palaces air conditioners were everywhere, trying to cope with the crowds. Without them, the rooms would had been like the underground train stations. In some ways the whole experience felt like a train station, with people rushing to get to their next selfie.’
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.
In Berlin, as in many other European cities, there were tiny brass plaques in the footpaths dotted everywhere across each suburb. They recorded the people – often whole families – from that address who were deported to the death camps in the East and never returned.’
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.
‘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.’
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.
‘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.’
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 trummerfrauen 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.
Built in the 1940s as a civilian shelter against Allied bombing, the former bunker that housed the Boros Collection 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.
There is so much history in Berlin, that there's always room for commercialisation of the past.
‘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 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.
'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....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.’
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.
One of the vans the Stasi used to transport prisoner, driving around and around to disorient them.
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.
The grand classical architecture of Berlin - so much was rebuilt from the original plans after being devastated during World War 2, that it's hard to know what is original and what is a clever remake, something I explored in my blog article 'Pristine cities'.
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.
‘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.’
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.
The legendary palace of Western commercialism KaDeWe (Kaufhaus des Westens), which served as a beacon of the attractions of capitalist consumption in the heart of the East.
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 ocal creative scene, educational precincts and some elements of visionary government to make it work.
‘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.’
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.
A universe of yeast-based pastries and breads at Zeit fur Brot, a fabulous bakery next to Rosa Luxembourg Plaza, a short walk from our apartment hotel in Hackescher Markt, the old centre of German Jewish culture in Berlin.
Staying in apartments has its downsides. One of them is that all the kitchen knives are always blunt. In Berlin (and, earlier, in Cornwall) I employed an old trick of my mothers – using the back of one knife as a steel to sharpen the others. I was so happy when it worked. My mother lives on in all she taught me.
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?
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?
On the way back to the hotel, alongside the Spree, I heard a musician playing some of my favourite music – Bach for solo violin. I could have kept listening but I had to hurry back to our hotel to meet a friend who had just flown in from Sydney, on her way to the Edinburgh Festival, where we had caught up two years before.
The renewed Reichstag, brought back to life, ironically by a British architect.
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.
‘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.’
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.
Berlin Funkhaus, once East Germany's main broadcasting centre, it includes the largest recording studio in the world, designed to record symphony concerts. Now it hosts much more innovative and cutting edge sound experimentation by contemporary Berlin sound artists - some of whom hail from Australia.
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 Chancellory 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.
In a museum full of confronting images, this one of everyday dress clothing was one of the most powerful - though by no means the worst.
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.’
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.
The Economic Gardens in the UNESCO-listed Singapore Botanic Gardens. I will visit without hesitation any place described as UNESCO-listed.
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.
‘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….The fascination with the economic implications of botany parallels my own interest in the creative economy and the economic importance of arts and culture.’
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.
The Berlin landmark, Brandenburg Gate (Brandenburger Tor) on Unter den Linden, the boulevard named for linden trees.
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 enountered 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 gastroentiritis. 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.
‘It was not difficult to envisage how national budgets everywhere could become dominated by a few large and growing items – maintenance of ageing heritage buildings and of ageing people.’
Just one of the many palaces in the San Souci precinct at Potsdam. Even though we were assured everything was open, the day we visited, the palace we most wanted to see was predictably closed.
It was not difficult to envisage how national budgets everywhere could become dominated by a few large and growing items – maintenance of ageing heritage buildings and of ageing people. When I hear the words ‘one of the most popular’, I cringe because it means the ‘attraction’, the place, the event would be overrun, one more worthwhile thing turned into ‘entertainment’. It means that visiting cultural venues is like being in a crowded railway station, as crowds of people rush from one selfie moment to the next.
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.
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.
A portrait with history - Marx and Engels and I, hanging together in the 'hood.
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. Meawhile our garden had continued to grow on the opposite side of the world.
‘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.’
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
Returning to France – liberté, égalité, fraternité
‘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.
‘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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