It’s Titanic

I’m now in sunny Ireland. The weather is following me around and I have cemented my prowess as a weather controller. Watch out world, lest I discover other super powers.....

On...um....let’s remember the day now - it’s all mashing together a bit (although that could be the champagne imbibed for today’s Royal Wedding). I think it was Wednesday. Yes, that will do. On Wednesday, Joy and I went to Belfast to do a “Titanic Walking Tour”. Word of warning - this blog needs a ‘nerd alert’ warning. I do get very excited about pump houses and the mechanics of ship-building.

Most people would know that the ill-fated ship and her much more successful Olympic-class sisters were all built in Belfast in the early 1900s, but there’s so much more to the story.

The Olympic class liners were the largest and most technologically advanced moving objects of their time and the most luxurious liners in their class. To get a sense of size, it’s not enough to hear the numbers. 882 feet doesn’t mean much to me other than ‘large’ in an abstract sense, but when you see the size of the dry dock and then see a picture of the ship dwarfing surrounding buildings, you suddenly realise just how large ‘large’ really is. The funnels themselves were 22 feet in diameter. That’s the height of of the building that the ship was designed in. That’s the width of the funnels - the height is 63 feet (so almost 3 times the height of said building) and there were 4 of them. The technology employed within the ship, the way it was designed and built, the pictures, artifacts and the historic remains of the shipyard all combined for a fascinating afternoon.

It’s completely mind boggling. No wonder Belfast was known as ‘the’ go-to place for cutting-edge ship building. No wonder the people of Belfast felt such a sense of pride and achievement at that time in history. And certainly no wonder Titanic’s sinking was an event of such enormity, the city couldn’t bring itself to talk about it for close to 80 years. It’s hard to think of another event in history that had such an impact on the psyche of a city. Our guide compared it to 9/11 and I guess in a sense there are some parallels but at least with 9/11 there was an ‘external’ villain that could be found and united against. In the case of the Titanic, there was no external villain. Thousands of men (pretty sure it was exclusively men) laboured for years to build something the world had never seen before. The largest moving object of the time - just imagine being a part of that! How could you not be proud? She was alright when she left Belfast - the city let her sail, having achieved the almost impossible. How could you not be devastated when the unimaginable happened?

Thankfully, enough time has now past that the tragedy of the sinking can be reconciled with the joy and pride of her creation. A permanent visitors centre is currently being constructed in the precise location the Olympic ships were built. There is already a wealth of interesting history in the area - the design and drawing offices of Harland and Wolff retain a sense of their era, the Thompson dry dock where Titanic had her last stay on dry land defies description, the pump house that pumped water out of the dry dock has been preserved and is extraordinary (the pumps evacuated the dock at a speed of two olympic sized pools every sixty seconds, the entire dock was dry in 100 minutes, the caisson gate at the end had two different methods of opening to cater to both ‘normal’ sized ships and the Olympic class liners, the water could be lowered out of the dock at a precision rate of 1/16th of an inch to ensure the keel of ships wasn’t damaged - this is technology from 100 years ago!!!) The visitors’ centre and the 25 year plan for the Titanic Quarter are impressive, to say the least.

If you’re planning a trip to Ireland and enjoy history, take a walking tour of the Titanic Quarter in Belfast and step back in time to experience a rare set of events.

Climate Change must be a True Story - warm, sunny weather in England in April?!

Sunny, balmy England and it’s only April. But who’s complaining? Everyone except me seems to be truly surprised by the weather. I’m not because in my mind I imagined it thus and it has come to pass exactly as I expected. I love being a weather god.

England is even more picturesque than I remember. I’ll try not to overdo the adjectives but it really is ever so pretty. I caught the bus from Heathrow to Oxford, which was nice and easy. Uncle Mike (avuncular by choice rather than blood) was fetching a paper just as the bus pulled up and we walked around to his house - aka ‘The Cave’. We enjoyed the warm sunshine in the garden for a few hours, catching up on life and the state of the universe over tapas and wine. Very civilized. Then we went for a dander around Oxford and the Thames, stopping off at a river-side pub on the way. Every man, woman, child, tourist, dog, cat and barnyard animal was out and about and we were able to enjoy that uniquely European sight of people sun-bathing in bikinis with no beach in sight.

On Saturday we had an early start and headed off to Devon to UM’s other house - EBG. I’ll refrain from adjective overuse - sufficed to under-state, the drive and the eventual destination was pleasing to the eye. UM ribbed me the entire way about speaking Australian rather than English and it became a game to see how many Australianisms we could locate in any given sentence. Starting all sentences with “look” was a particular favourite. It helped to add gravitas at inappropriate moments.

In Devon we saw the best of the coast, with one of the prettiest surf beaches I’ve seen anywhere and we also found plenty of mythical-type countryside in Exmoor National Park. I’m surprised we didn’t see more elves, hobbits and orcs.

From Devon we returned to Oxford via Dorset (to see Emma, Ed and Thomas - renovators extraordinaire) and Longhanborough (to see the Fletchers). Both charming, picturesque places where we enjoyed amazing hospitality (thank goodness most of the clothes I’m carrying are stretchy).

Sadly, the time past all too quickly and after a quick breakfast meeting on Tuesday morning with the beautiful and charming Sophie in London (half of a delightful couple I met in Bali - hoorah for new friends!), I had to be off to the airport, leaving behind a long list of people I would have loved to see that I did not manage to visit. So what else can I do but start planning a return journey? Perhaps on my way back from the USA.....nothing wrong with going home the long way around is there?

Is this water sanitary?

Here I am at Changi Airport after two and a half days in steamy Singapore. While it is always steamy, the weather was quite tolerable despite the rain and humidity. As Styles put it, the atmosphere created was very "gorillas in the mist" but since I'd long since stopped worrying about crazy hair, I just decided to find it romantic and exotic.

It has been a great couple of days catching up with Rich and Grainne and then with Gale today. It's just plain cool to have friends in foreign countries and meet up with people you know in a-typical locations. Although Singapore for me is hardly a-typical since I think this is my eighth visit to this fine city. Still, it changes rapidly and an enormous amount of construction has been completed since my last visit. A highlight of this latest wave of change is the Marina Sands which was only just under construction when I last visited in 09. To say it is an impressive building is like saying that an Aston Martin is a car: technically true, but missing the point so much as to be pitiable.

The building boats a range of 'firsts' and 'largests' as well as a very impressive range of luxury stores, restaurants (including Ku De Ta in the Sky Park - cheers to Rich for giving me the tip that you can avoid the cost of entry to the Sky Park if you just visit the restaurant/bar) and frankly stunning views of the city and sea. The appearance of the building itself is striking and quite marvellous while the engineering (given the entire area is on reclaimed land) is mind boggling.

Singapore gets a lot of stick for being sanitised, overly rules-based and a nanny state. That may all be true but look at the outcomes:
- clean buildings and streets (no graffiti, no rubbish littering the streets or river)
- effective, efficient, cheap public transport
- excellent public amenities including walking paths, public art, bins on every corner (contrast Bali for anyone who doesn't think public bins rate a mention)
- respectful citizens being courteous to each other
- development, nightlife, general activity and a sense of progress
- safety for citizens and tourists (contrast the stories I'm getting from everyone about Rio)

It may not be the done thing as an adventurer to admit to liking Singapore - it's neither off the beaten track, nor does it require an intrepid spirit but I'm putting my flag in the sand and declaring that I do like it. There is still plenty of cultural contrast, a plethora of exotic food choices, a climate unlike my own, scenery (including people) unlike that which I'm used to, parts of the city where English is not the norm and plenty of Asian-style capitalist growth (ie, shopping) opportunities. And its all clean and safe. What's not to like? I like feeling safe. I like not being surrounded by rubbish. I like seeing public art. I like travelling on trains that are not defaced with sprayed or etched tags from over-stimulated, under-active teenagers. I like seeing interesting architecture. I like shopping. I like not being harassed. I like not having to be on my guard lest someone take advantage. I like trying new food without having to worry about whether the lettuce will give me hepatitis. I like seeing people who look different than me without having to worry about what weapons they are packing. I like brushing my teeth without having to worry about whether the water will kill me. Call me boring if you will, but I defy you to live happily in the opposite of what I have described liking.

And, what's more, I have to say thank you to Singapore's government amusing me with their attempts at more people-friendly signage. It's lame, it's everywhere but it's kind of fun. And if you're going to be a government making rules and giving people instructions on how to do really basic stuff, then why not be friendly about it? It may be patronising but it gives visitors a reason to smirk.

As always, attached are a few photos. There are a lot more stories I'd like to tell and a huge number of photos but I fear the interweb will explode if I try to load them all, so here is just a small selection.

ADDENDUM TO LAST POST: You'll have to wait for the photos. The wifi speed in the QC is akin to a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter and frankly my butt is getting sore from sitting here waiting for the photos to upload. Will try again in the coming days when I find better speed. Love to all.

How’s the Serenity?

Right, I have one more Bali blog entry left in me. Yesterday I started the day with a trek through the rice fields. After a breakfast of green-vegetable soup, I set off with my fellow intrepid guests in pursuit of our guide. One of the things I love about Bali is that it hasn’t yet been OHS&W-ified. Hoorah to risky paths, dodgy stairs and no signage. Was I any more likely to break a leg because there was no sign telling me to beware? I say no. In fact, I say it’s less likely because my mind isn’t at once distracted by the sign while being complacent based on the assumption that if there is a hazard, someone will tell me about it (ergo I’m looking where I’m walking - what a novel concept!) It was a wonderful way to start the day - with great camaraderie amongst our troop and lots of wondrous beauty (sorry about the waxing lyrical but it really is ever so pretty) and interesting insights of another way of life.

After all that strenuous walking, what can a girl do but go lie on the lounger by the terrace? To my credit, I did read so I was at least mentally active. After doing that for a couple of hours, I went off for a mud wrap and massage. I know - its such a tough life here. If it makes you feel any better, the massage did hurt.

In the afternoon, I went out to Ubud village to do some last minute gift hunting, which brings me to referencing the title of this post. After the peace, calm and spaciousness of the resort, Ubud and its market causes sensory overload. People everywhere, noise, heat, smells, noise, smells, cramped spaces, close proximity, noise, noise, noise, noise. Two hours was all I could take and an hour of that was under duress while awaiting the appointed pick up hour.

Anyone that knows me well, knows I love shopping (yes, it is an Olympic sport) and I especially love shopping in Bali where there is tons of ‘stuff’ and its nice and cheap. It always takes me a couple of days to get find my ‘Bali groove’ where I’m comfortable bargaining and feel like I’m actually getting a reasonable price (and more to the point, stop the urge to argue over the equivalent of 50 cents). As a seasoned Bali veteran, I know my pattern, I have a plan and I follow it to get the maximum out of the experience and my rupiah. All this excellent planning fails however, in the face of the Ubud market. Having had the same experience last year, I knew better than to set myself up for an afternoon of window shopping. It was more like a military campaign to secure critical food supplies than a market shopping expedition. A list, a ruthless bargaining mindset, a limited amount of cash in hand and a time limit. I was like a machine.

“How much is this?”
“300,000”
“that’s too much”
“how much you want to pay”
“100,000”
“not enough, 280,000”
“120,000”
“give better price 220,000”
“130,000”
“200,000”
“150,000”
“give a bit better price please, good luck for me 190,000”
“no, 150,000 or nothing. I have no more than that”
“ok, 150,000 - maybe you take more than one?”

I still left feeling like I was taken for a ride - did I really just pay $15 for a dress I wouldn’t have bought at home? Bali is not as cheap as I remember but then it never is. I’m starting to wonder whether it ever was or whether it’s more a case of having a shopping version of maternal amnesia - I have to believe all that crap I bought was cheap otherwise what’s the point of having bought it all? In the end, it all comes down to being in the Bali groove. Frankly, I think I’m lucky that when I stay here at the Como I don’t have time to develop the groove - goodness knows how much excess luggage I’d be paying for.

One final story for today. I was talking to one of the restaurant servers about her life and religion. Yesterday was a full moon, which as with almost all events in Hindu life, warranted a ceremony. She told me that every morning after they wake up, they cook and then they make an offering in all four corners of the house. They do this every day of every year of their entire lives. That’s just the daily morning offering. It doesn’t include all the special ceremonies which require larger offerings and ceremonies such as full moons, dark moons, new moons, weddings, funerals, babies born etc. Just the daily offerings can cost a family up to 1 million rupiah per month to make. That doesn’t include the more elaborate offerings required for special events like moons, weddings and babies. Once born, babies need a schedule of offerings up until they are two and a half years old. And here I was thinking that my life was complicated and that raising babies in Australia was expensive. Clearly I know nothing about either topic (some of you will not be surprised by this and will perhaps want to suggest at this point that there is a lot of other stuff I know nothing about which I really should stop talking about).

After talking to this waitress, I felt a bit sorry for her while at the same time I felt quite grateful that my life was simpler. I thought my lesson ended there - tick for not being trapped by mythology and a reminder to be grateful for what I have. Not bad lessons, but turns out there was more in store. I observed the full moon ceremony last night and noted it’s ritualistic and complex nature. Again, I gave myself a bit of a mental pat on the back (in between swatting mozzies) that I wasn’t held captive by superstitions and mindless rituals. Then this morning, I thought better of my smugness when at breakfast I was talking to the lovely Gail and John from San Fran and she gave me a different insight.

As she put it, all these rituals, the daily offerings, the ceremonies at key intervals connect these people with both the natural world and a deep sense of daily gratitude. Daily gratitude is a way of life for them. It manifests in physical, visible, organised religion-type activities but every day as they make their offerings they connect with a sense of gratitude for all that they have and hope for all that they wish for. Then, at significant events or at important natural events (such as moon changes) they take a step back and get more strategic about both their gratitude and their wishes for the future. How divine. I immediately went from feeling sorry for the waitress to feeling slightly envious that she didn’t have to spend as much money as I have on self development to understand that happiness comes from gratitude. Thank you, Gail, for shining a light from your much more open perspective and hoorah for finding lessons within lessons. More of that please.

Relaxing the days away

It's day...um, I've lost count.  That's the point of a holiday though, isn't it?

Just a couple of quick observations because while I love you all, I'm not convinced anyone is actually reading this.... thanks to Ferg for being quick off the mark and becoming my first follower - I'll buy you a drink or 10 when I get to Vancouver.

So, observations for today include gratitude for speaking English.  I watched a group of Japanese at breakfast this morning as they struggled over the menu and tried to communicate with the servers.  Bless their attempts, I'm sure they ended up with eggs that they didn't really want.  As well as having no trouble with the staff, I'm also easily able to communicate with other guests (except the aforementioned Japanese).    Speaking English is not something I think about often, but there are times when travelling that it is one of the biggest blessings.  We will see whether it is as helpful in Brazil (suspect not, just quietly!)

Second observation is that what goes down, sometimes must come up.  And not just creme de menthe when you're 14 and raiding the liquor cabinet.  I did the Estate Walk today, which revealed even more beautiful places here.  There is a picnic spot by the river, deep in the valley which is so stunning I wanted to cry (not the least because I imagined the poor staff having to bring down a picnic basket just so the fat tourists can get fatter).  Going down to the river was just like being a kid again - the steps were not OHS&W compliant, which gave me back that glorious feeling from childhood where everything had the potential to be fun, largely because nothing was really obvious or expected.  As I puddled down the stairs, I had a constant sense of wonderment as to whether the next one would send me flying down the steep slope on my backside.  Alas, then I had to ascend the mountain to return to my room so I climbed 10,000,000,000,000 (no, I'm not exaggerating at all) steps with only minor deaths along the way.  By the time I got back, so many things were hurting that I forgot that my calves were sore (I'm pretty sure they fell off some time earlier, which is likely why they stop hurting).  At least I was obeying the doctor's edict to sweat but seriously, I could have chosen more fun ways, I'm sure.  So there you go, through all the jealousy, at least you can take comfort in the fact that your legs are not as sore as mine.  And you can learn from my lesson and make sure you have a more viable plan for getting back up, if you go down.

Last but not least, my special insight for today is that sometimes it is enough just to allow.  There are times we have to push through and times when allowing is sufficient.  This is particularly true for colonic irrigation but can also be a very profound thought when talking emotions and thoughts.

I'll leave you with some more photos of the Estate.

xx
A

First Stop Bali

Well, here I am again at the Como Shambhala in Bali.  And trying my hand at blogging.  This is a brave new world for me - will anyone find this interesting or is it just an exercise in self-indulgence?  I guess self-indulgence isn't all that uncommon - Eat, Love, Pray managed to make one woman's pretty boring and meaningless gap-year into a money making fest.  Nothing wrong with that!  And who knows, maybe the things I learn along the way will be useful for more than just my own joy.

But I digress - here I am at the Como Shabhala in beautiful Ubud.  To use the word beautiful is a severe understatement but I don't have a thesaurus handy to find something more dashing.  Unfortunately, I lack the words of poets or writers and sadly also lack the eye of an artist or photographer, so you'll just have to take my word for it (unless I can actually work out how to post pictures and share some images - word of warning, they will be without flair and will not do this place justice but they may be just enough to make you jealous).

I arrived on Wednesday following a non eventful flight from Adelaide, via Sydney.  One thing worth mentioning is that when you next come to Bali, invest in the fast track service if your resort offers it.  Skipping immigration and customs queues is priceless (and you know, helps to reinforce my delusions of grandeur as I (yes, somewhat smugly) watched the great unwashed vying for the shortest line).

Yesterday was an arduous day - woke up around 7 am, had breakfast, went for a walk.  Rested for an hour.  Did a pilates class.  Ate lunch.  Had a consultation with the resident doctor to establish what's broken - only my back after he finished with it (osteopathy my ass, the man is a sadist and heavier than he looks).  Then on to yoga.  Then a massage and scrub with a variety of herbs that made me smell like dinner.  Which then made me hungry so I had dinner.  After that I played with my computer, watched a bit of telly and went to bed.  Holidays are hard work, even when you aren't chasing unicorns.

This morning has been a bit more civilised.  I skipped yoga but as my cleanse has officially commenced, I had to eat soup for breakfast.  The fact that it was delicious did not counteract my inclination to pout and rebel, so in exchange for having to give up breakfast crepes, I decided yoga could go pretzel itself.  I will however go to hydro class shortly and may even go on a bike ride through the rice paddies this afternoon.  But only if the soup for lunch is as tasty as this morning's.  Then I am booked in for an Indonesian massage later this evening.  I think I will once again fall into bed, utterly exhausted.  Healthful living takes enormous energy.  (I'm not sure if I should somehow identify the sarcasm in a different font or something - I wouldn't want you all to think I've fallen off my tree more than usual.)

I'll end this inaugural post with today's thought for the day (courtesy of Kristy Mason's farewell gift):  "The bravest sight in all the world is someone fighting against the odds."  Well, that's true and noble and quite inspiring.  Personally, I think the bravest sight in all the world was me walking into a store to buy a computer, unaided.  But that's just me being self indulgent again.

Peace out, be good to yourselves and each other, etc, etc, etc.

PS,
I have to go to hydro now but will try to up-load some photos later.