Up in the air I fly...

I’m not sure if this is technically an addendum to my last post or a pre-emptive strike at the next, but either way, I couldn’t wait to write again.

As those who know me would be aware, I’m quite seriously afraid of heights. I believe there is a good reason I don’t reach much over 5’ - any taller and I’d be afraid to stand up. But today, I put on some serious brave pants and managed to keep from soiling them. Today, I went up in a hot air balloon. Yep, I swallowed some serious fear and I spent the morning floating up above the earth something resembling an over-sized knitting basket, held up by a large version of a children’s party decoration, slightly fearful my hair might combust as the naked flame roared above me. It was freaky but what a great way to see the Loire!

Our peak was 1000 metres, which was well above the clouds. While very serene when the hot air wasn’t being pumped, I found the ascent very alarming. Thankfully, as he has on other occasions, Chris de Burgh helped me out by singing Lady in Red in my head. Something about that song is very soothing when I’m high above the ground and feeling a little like I may lose control of my bodily functions. Thankfully, we descended back below the cloud cover before I could do any serious damage to my under things and we were able to observe the valley from a rather special vantage point.

Hot air ballooning is a very tranquil way to travel and gives you lovely bird’s eye views as you waft serenely through the air. As you can imagine, doing so over the very charming Loire valley was another one of those eye-wateringly beautiful moments. My eyes seem to be watering a lot on this trip.

Quite apart from the views and the thrill of wafting, the entire ballooning experience is really very interesting. They pulled the balloon out of a bag that was probably around 1 cubic metre or so in size. Once they began stretching it out, I wondered when it would end. And then when they started blowing it up, two things were surprising - (1) the size (wow, it’s really big) and (2) how quickly it was blown up (I’ve taken longer to blow up decorative ones). After they fired a few rounds of hot air into it and it stood to attention, we all hopped into the basket and before I could steel myself properly, we were up, up and away!

The rise was fast. Quite frighteningly so. But Mr de Burgh chimed in and before long I could pry my fingers away from the handles long enough to take a few snaps. Looking down was not a favourable activity yet, but I could relax long enough to appreciate the stillness of the sky all the way up there and other-worldliness of the experience.

The descent and subsequent wafting were much more to my liking. How funny that going down is better than coming up. Er, perhaps not. Arguably that applies to many other things in life, innuendous or not. But I digress. Just for a bit of fun, our Balloon Captain took us down to the Loire River for a water landing. For several minutes, we floated on the current as he kept us just touching the river’s surface. It’s remarkable how precisely the balloon can be controlled.

After another burst up into the air and some more frightful rising, we eventually had to come down in a field and be collected. But not before we were able to help with the packing up. Packing up takes longer than unpacking (how true that is of traveling too...) but both were done in fairly short order. Once we started squeezing the air out of the balloon and putting it back in its carry bag, I was dubious about whether we’d be successful. It was hard to believe the little bag we were stuffing it in would every close. But after a lot of stuffing and a bit of sitting and jumping up and down on it, we managed to get it all in and shut (definitely reminds me of my suitcase).

So there you go, another activity ticked off the bucket list. I’m very glad I did it, although I must say I would take a lot of convincing to do it again. While the fairly low-level wafting was sheer delight, the ascent was frightening enough that I’m happy to keep it as a memory of fear conquered. Enjoy the photos!

France. It’s very French

France, as everyone knows, is beautiful. It’s just one of those indisputable facts like the fact that the Earth goes around the sun, which will rise in the morning. As emphasis for my point and to limit the need to go on about just how beautiful, I threw in two facts.

Nevertheless, I probably will go on because it’s an important fact and quite integral to why France is even worth visiting at all. Goodness knows it’s not because it’s easy to get around. Or is tourist friendly. Or is well priced. Or many other things that might influence you to choose a holiday destination.

I flew into Paris, Charles de Gaulle, on Saturday morning. Those who know me well know my feelings about CDG Airport for I cannot keep them contained. Nary a travel story goes by without a dishonorable mention of that mess. Indeed, not a mention of Europe, even in the most general and unrelated terms, can be made without tears welling in my eyes as I recall my previous visits to CDG. We are not friends. Imagine my surprise then when I rolled in on Saturday morning and emerged into the frigid Parisian air 10 minutes before my plane had been scheduled to land. A miracle officially happened. Someone call the German in charge of the big Italian Prayer House with the pretty ceiling. Someone needs to fire somebody out of a cannon (er, that is what being cannonized means, right?) in celebration of an impossible scenario coming true.

Not long thereafter, I met Simone at the hotel and we spent a fabulous day walking around beautiful Paris, drinking tea, then champagne and catching up on the last six months apart. By midnight Sunday, we’d covered week 1 of our separation. By the next morning, I had tonsillitis. I was displeased. Nevertheless, I ignored the affliction and carried on. We wanted to see the Musee d’Orsay but in typical French style, the museum staff were striking. Indefinitely. So instead, we went to the Musee de L’erotisme. As you’d expect from the French, this one wasn’t on strike and it only closes for about 5 hours in any 24 hour period. It was an interesting place. I think both Simone and I learned about things we wish we now didn’t know about. Amongst the less seedy things we discovered is that vintage pornographers apparently didn’t much care what their subjects (or is that objects?) looked like and that people’s kissing and other love skills have improved immeasurably over the years. As has personal grooming. At least in the porn industry. It was quite an education. On that highlight, we had to leave beautiful Paris for our next stop: the equally beautiful Loire Valley.

For those non Frenchly-inclined, the Loire Valley is chateaux country. It was the playground of French kings and nobility for quite a few centuries before they all got their heads chopped off by that short fellow with the bad temper. And because they all had an over-developed sense of entitlement and were big on demonstrations of their importance and prestige, the shacks they built along this beautiful river valley are quite spectacular. It has been on my bucket list for a long time to cycle through the Loire Valley, chateaux hopping with a couple of baguettes bouncing in my basket and a beret set at a jaunty angle atop my head. Alas, my bucket list dreams did not account for autumnal weather and my beret is less jaunty and more limp due to rain or at least the constant threat thereof. Undaunted by such trials, we have chateauxed on, but from the comfort of buses and trains rather than velos.

The first stop was Blois Castle, conveniently located in the town we’re staying in. It’s impressive on the outside and has some very interesting architectural styles mixed together, dating from between the 13th and 17th centuries. Vital statistics: it was the residence of several French kings and it is the place where Joan of Arc went in 1429 to be blessed by the Archbishop of Reims before departing with her army to drive the English from Orléans (go Joanie). It has 564 rooms and 75 staircases, although only 23 were used frequently. The other staircases became jealous and mounted an uprising. Just checking if you’re reading carefully. There is a fireplace in each room. There are 100 bedrooms - ie, it’s just a small weekender. I give Blois 6/10. Convenience was a high score, first impressions scored high, external appearance scored high. Interior renovations let it down. The man who went nuts with gilding in the 1800s needs a stern talking to. And the 70s-like floor tiles were very distracting. Simone was unhappy with what she describes as “fake renno” and also gives it a 6/10.

Second stop was a chateaux long held on my list of places I had to see or else feel incomplete for eternity - Chambord. Not just because of the liqueur either. Chambord appeared in my coffee table book of Chateaux of the Loire Valley like an apparition. I had never seen anything as eye-wateringly beautiful as this castle. It looked just as pretty in real life. Construction of this little hunting lodge began in 1519. No one knows who the architect was but there is speculation that it could have been someone as exciting as Leonardo da Vinci himself. The double-helix staircase that forms the central point of the chateaux keep certainly looks like something Leo might design. Poor King Francis who commissioned the build never got to see it finished. Indeed, stop-start building due to wars and such meant that it took over 100 years before it was re-loved enough to be completed. Some argue it is still not complete. It doesn’t have an altogether happy history as a home, truth be told. Over the course of it’s almost 500 year old life, it’s probably been lived in for a total of around 50-odd years. I give it 8/10. It’s beautiful, there are quite a few tastefully appointed rooms to visit, the audio tour is comprehensive and the AV explanation of the castle’s history and archictecture was excellent. I deduct a couple of marks because there were no pretty pottager or flower gardens to go wandering in and because the on-site food offering was of disappointing quality. Simone concurs with the mark.

Next stop was the very charming and comparatively compact Cheverny. It was built in the Louis XIII classical style and has very symmetrical architecture. Built in the first part of the 17th Century, it has belonged to the Hurault family for more than six centuries and the modern-day Marquis and his family still live in it. It’s most famous for being the model upon which the chateaux in Tin-Tin comics was based but it deserves more cred than that. I gave it 7.5/10 because it was charmingly presented, had a pack of puppies and a tour of the grounds included both a boat and golf-cart ride. Simone gave it 8/10 because the grounds were nicer than the other two and because it had a boat ride and a family living in it.

The last castle on our tour was Chenonceau, which has become our undisputed favourite. Firstly, it has a moat. Well, actually, it’s built spanning a river so it’s probably not technically a moat, but it looks like one. It’s looks like something straight out of a fairy tale, which a Rapunzel tower and a Sleeping Beauty quality to the location. It’s on the site of an old mill, which became a fortress but the currently standing building was built between 1515 and 1521, which a range of later additions. It’s referred to as a manor house, but it looks pretty castle-like to me. It was the beloved house of Henri II’s favourite mistress but when he died, his queen got a bit shirty and took it off her, deciding to live there herself. Who says mistresses were acceptable back then? Katie De Medici obviously didn’t think so. The gardens are beautiful, the design is lovely, the internal displays are fabulous (including a rare glimpse at the kitchens and staff areas), we had fabulous food at the restaurant (including amazing chocolate mousse), there was a big pottager garden to enjoy and to my great delight, there was a small herd of donkeys. Simone was very excited by the labyrinth but it turned out to be far too easy to navigate to really have fun in. It’s easy to see why this is one of the most visited chateaux in France. Simone gives it a 9.5/10 and I give it 9/10. I would have given more if I could have patted the donkeys and we were all given a puppy as a farewell gift.

The Loire Valley has been beautiful indeed and I would highly recommend a visit. While the weather hasn’t been superb, the autumnal tree displays more than make up for the chill in the air. The Loire has, however, continued the very French traditions of poor signage, rest room shortages, hoards of tourists interrupting perfect postcard vistas and a general disregard for efficiency or ease of use.

Tomorrow, we hope to do a balloon tour over the valley, weather permitting. After that, we will be driving the only automatic in France down to Provence and the Cote d’Azur. Since Simone is missing the map-reading gene and we have no GPS, I believe we may be in for an adventure. Stay tuned.

Ania’s Last Stand - Nothing Like Custer’s

Actually, this post has nothing to do with Custer at all - I just wanted to use an American historical reference to appear clever. Now that we've hit the high intellectual point, we can dip into the rest.

I was once told in a performance review at work that I suffer fools badly. Apparently this was feedback for development. I must admit that for a long time I didn’t see what the problem was - fools were, by nature, foolish and therefore ought to have been suffered badly. What can be more irritating that some moron stuffing up something simple and then looking confused about why it happened? Or worse, looking to you to fix it? As life is want to do, eventually I was sent a lesson and did something foolish myself. I was therefore forced to re-evaluate my assumptions about fools and realised that not all fools were created equal. Nevertheless, there are plenty of the common, garden-variety type that still do not deserve much grace. Or perhaps they do because they are fools to begin with and know no better? See, I’m still confused about the subject but never mind that for now. Let’s just say that humans bemuse me more often than not. Let me give you some examples.

An unfortunate bi-product of travel is aeroplanes. While they are a feat of engineering that makes my mind boggle and are a definite improvement on spending months in a leaky boat, they are also sardine cans from hell. Those who design the seating for planes should be forced to fly economy all day every day for their entire lives. It’s no less than they deserve for having developed such an insult to human dignity. But I digress. The curious part of plane travel is people.

Many people these days travel quite frequently and therefore commonly bristle under the abusive minstrations of grumpy airline crew (many of whom should frankly have been retired or at least grounded and given a desk job years ago) who try to enforce the instructions to buckle up, right seat backs, stow tray tables, raise shades and the all-important turn off electronic devices. This last one in particular seems to be particularly challenging for lots of people. You can see them display visible signs of panic as they are forced to momentarily part with their electronic appendage extensions. So many times now I have seen all sorts of surreptitious mis-use of electronic devices well after the request has gone out to turn them off and put them away. Just on that - what part of “turn off” do people have trouble understanding? I wager that blanking the screen or shutting a flap is not “turned off” according to the instruction manuals of most devices yet that seems to be all that people are willing to do. Don’t get me wrong - I am 100% in agreement with dispensing with needless rules and laws. Just like we got rid of “no dancing on a Sunday” from the statute books (presumably thanks to the original Footloose), there are plenty of others I’d like to see stricken from the record. And I’m all for personal responsibility. If you want to drive down the road at a billion miles an hour in the middle of the night when no one else is around, I’m not fussed. Especially if you hit a tree. Then I applaud you for doing mankind a favour by removing yourself from the gene pool. Just don’t do it when others are present and you may hurt them. So what I don’t mind are rules that are there for the safety of all. But I think there is an onus on rule-makers to explain why the rules are there so we can sort the natural-born fools from those having a rare moment and suffer badly (or not) accordingly.

Back to aeroplanes and electronic devices. Do electronic devices really derail the navigation systems? Or is that just a convenient excuse because you want people to watch the safety demonstration rather than play Angry Birds? (What is that about anyway? That’s a whole other blog for another day.) If e-devices are going to cause the big sardine can to fall out of the sky, then I’d like the hosties to make a bit more of a consistent fuss about turning the equipment off, explaining why and then perhaps asking the rest of the plane if they mind that the gentleman in seat 17A is going to cause them to die because he doesn’t want to miss an email from the office. If the devices are harmless, then stop making stupid rules. And to the passengers who think they know better than the airline, feel free to exercise your human right to be stupid on your own time and without risk to me. Also, to the guy across the aisle, if you’re such a frequent flyer that you can’t bear to yet again take instruction from the crew, then why didn’t you do all the stuff you’re supposed to do before they asked you to do it? Why did we take off with your shade down and your armrest up and with your iPad on??? Sir, I demand you explain yourself.

Now back to aeroplane design. Where to begin? The indignity of it all is almost too much to bear, so let me refrain from whining and just ask one question. Can someone explain to me the physics of seat backs? On US aircraft, the seat tilt goes from tipping you forward to allowing you to sit in a very, very upright position. Relaxing, as you can imagine. What I don’t understand is how, when I’m using every muscle in my body to defy gravity and remain upright, is it possible that the chaps in front of me always seem to be lying in my lap? (While still sitting very, very upright and occasionally head-butting the seat in front when they nod off.) I have tried to draw that triangle but the angles just don’t add up. It’s quite perplexing.

Speaking of being perplexed, let me give you another example of the cognitive limitations displayed by some. I recently went to a grocery store and organised a nice stock of wine to purchase. At the checkout, the pimply-faced youth looked confused by my ID and said he’d have to check it with a manger. No problem, said I, and waited patiently for the floor manager to arrive. The floor manager took one look at it and declared that he couldn’t accept it as it was foreign. What the? Having spent almost three months in the US and coming across this attitude for the first time, I was a little taken aback but my good Danish friend instantly spotted a challenged intellect and requested the presence of his manager rather than take up this significant coaching opportunity. The store manager arrived promptly but alas was of the same mind. Apparently, foreigners aren’t supposed to drink in Texas - it’s the law. He helpfully suggested that if we obtained temporary State ID cards, he would be happy to allow us to make the purchase. Given there were tens of other establishments in the area perfectly happy to sell me as much booze as I was willing to buy, I decided not to try to reason with them but instead very loudly declared it was a ridiculous decision and stormed off, frowning sternly. But wait, there’s more. That wasn’t even the height of the imbecilia. I couldn’t storm very far cos the other Dane was still waiting to complete his purchases, so the chap in front of him helpfully waded into the debate while I waited. “Why don’t y’all just use your Texas driver’s licence?” We supplied him with what we thought must be a missing piece of information, namely that we were from out of town but in his mind, that didn’t seem to have any relevance at all to his question. He still looked at us expectantly, awaiting an answer. So, looking confusedly at each other, we explained “er, well, we’re not from Texas so we don’t have a Texas drivers licence.” That didn’t seem to help much either. Thankfully he completed his transaction and left the store before he could ask us how it was that we knew how to drive if we didn’t have licences - that was my bet on what his next thought was. Probably scratched his head all the way into next week about that.

And it doesn’t end there folks. On Monday, the Danes and I went to the Texas State Fair (like the Royal show, but Texas-sized). You’ve seen one agricultural show, you’ve seen them all so I won’t waste valuable blog space with descriptions of the rides, sideshows or livestock (but there were some very cute labrador puppies that deserve a mention). What I will tell you about continues on our theme of stupidity. We know fat is bad for us. We know fat costs the health system huge sums of money. We know governments are rubbish at setting policy signals that encourage markets to respond in ways that encourage public good. We know that Americans in particular hate direct regulations (although Australians aren’t far behind on that one). We also know how rarely people make decisions that are good for them when there are tasty, cheap and easy alternatives. So knowing all that, why on earth would a STATE have a fair that encouraged obesity through an annual “best deep fried new food” competition. Past competitors include fried chocolate bars, fried pineapple upside-down cake, fried cheesecake, fried beer (I kid you not), fried lemonade, fried frozen margharita, fried s’mores (marshmallow-cookie-chocolate sandwich) and ....wait for it...... deep fried butter. Yep, they take a stick of butter (yep, butter comes in sticks here), batter it and deep fry it. Apparently it’s delicious. Well of course it is, it’s deep fried. Most things rolled in batter and fried are tasty but that’s no reason to eat them. And just quietly, what sort of mind woke up one morning and thought they’d try deep-frying animal fat in chemical fat to see how it tasted? And how many serves did they go through before they perfected the recipe? Oh, I just don’t know what else to say. I throw my hands up in defeat.

And so I come to the end of my time in the USA. I have to thank my excellent hosts and friends throughout the country - Nancy in Palm Springs, Laura in Santa Rosa and Adrian and Jo in Dallas (double dose of thanks to A&J for 2 bouts of hosting duties). I also have to thank my travel buddies - Hannah for adding depth and breadth to my New York experience and for sharing my birthday with me at the very cool and iconic Apollo Theatre and to the (great) Danes, Jens and Thomas, for living large in Vegas (via Sunnyvale and Yosemite) and being lovely co-guests in the Big D (thanks especially for looking after me when I became a festering bag of human pestilence).

I am currently in transit through New York, on my way to beautiful Paris to meet the equally beautiful Simone. So the next blog will be from half a world away in the opposite direction (and therefore technically, half-way home). Be good to each other and try not to be foolish. Peace-out. xx

New York - Days 6-8 - and beyond.....

Another eventful few days in New York. I think you could spend years in this city and still not see all it has to offer. Goodness knows, I left after 9 days with a list as long as my arm of places I hadn’t seen and things I hadn’t done. Oh well, I guess it’s always a good idea to leave something to see next time. In the meantime, here are some more things I did manage to get around to doing and seeing.

On Sunday, Hannah and I decided that we wanted to visit High Line Park and spend the day ambling about the West Village/Greenwhich Village/Chelsea/Soho areas, interrupted by a leisurely lunch. High Line Park is so brilliant, I could go on for hours. But I know you don’t have hours, so let me (try to) give you the short version (warming, I was highly excited by the Park so I may go on a bit).

The High Line is an elevated railroad that was built in the 1930s to remove trains from the streets of Manhattan's largest industrial district. The last train ran on the High Line in 1980. The track was then left abandoned and began to fall into disrepair. In the late 90s when the track was threatened with demolition, a community group formed to save the High Line and turn it into a public space. After many negotiations with the City, in 2003 an open ideas competition, "Designing the High Line," solicited proposals for the High Line's reuse. 720 teams from 36 countries entered and hundreds of design entries were displayed at Grand Central Terminal. I’ve always wondered why we go out to tender and pay huge amounts to firms to re-hash the same tired designs they do for other projects. I’m glad to see that someone else thought the idea of open competition was good and tried it out, thereby demonstrating the exceptional things that can be achieved when people do something motivated by passion rather than just the promise of profit. The High Line is, in my view, a roaring success. The first section of the Park was opened to the public in June 2009 with the second section opened in June 2011. It meanders above street level giving a different perspective on the glorious medley of New York’s buildings, while providing a range of different environments - grasslands, woodlands, grassy and paved meeting areas, viewing platforms, benches and glassed amphitheatres where you can observe the streets below (drolly, street theatre). The plantings have been integrated beautifully into the industrial structure and the original railway lines have been left untouched in many places, demonstrating how nature reclaims even our hard, big, impressive feats of engineering. There are also places to stop and enjoy the landscape on the way through the park. The cafe we stopped at serves delicious food and refreshments in 100% compostable (not recyclable, compostable) plates and cups. High Line Park is such a brilliant example of what our urban areas should look like that I just about expired with the excitement of it all. A run-down, ex-industrial eye-sore gets turned into a place of beauty where people can interact and form communities. A linear park that encourages walking and exercise even amongst those that might not be fitness freaks. Snack stops that are landfill-waste free. A place where people can escape to connect with nature even in a densely populated city. An oasis for other creatures (there were some beautiful architecturally designed bird-houses along the way too). And all in a space that is high above the streets so it does not take away space from other needed city paraphernalia. Every city should have a High Line style park - sheer brilliance.

After we got to the end of the park we wandered through the meat-packing district, out through the West Village to Washington Park and Greenwhich Village. One of the things I love, love, love about New York was the same thing I love, love, loved about Paris - people use public spaces. A city park is so much nicer to be in when there are people in it. Even those of us who periodically threaten to become hermits because there are just too many idiots in the world are fundamentally human and therefore, by nature, social creatures. Even if I don’t feel like interacting with others and risking half-witted ingresses in my life, it is still a nice feeling to be around people in general. Being in urban public parks that contain no signs of life is both slightly frightening and somewhat depressing. It’s nice to sit on a bench and listen to a talented busker (Washington Park provided us with a choice of jazz quartet, man with a grand piano playing classical greats and a modern percussion/dance troupe). It’s nice to watch people sketching, playing chess, playing boules, strolling, sunbaking, lolling about on the other benches. It’s nice to be surrounded by the vibrant, pulsing life of a city, while ensconced in a green bubble. And New York is blessed with many such bubbles.

After enjoying the buskers and the lolling, Hannah and I strolled to Greenwich Village to find a place for a leisurely lunch. Just so you understand the magnitude of this task, I have to give you some context about eating out in the USA. Leaving aside the “bigger is better” view of serving sizes, the other maxim prevalent throughout the country’s eateries is “I feel the need, the need for speed”. Fast food is not limited to McDonalds. It’s all about get in, get out. The first time I received my main before I finished my entree, I was prepared to blame that one establishment and write a scathing review of the service. But it’s happened in several places now. Plates get cleared the minute you take your last bite regardless of whether everyone else at the table has finished or not. And if you say “not a the moment” when you are asked about dessert, your bill will arrive promptly thereafter. So, when Hannah and I wanted a leisurely lunch, we knew it was going to be a tall order and both of us were psychologically prepared to do battle over our right to sit at a table for as long as we jolly well wanted. Luckily, our mental loin-girding was unnecessary. We were lucky enough to find the charming ‘Palma’ on Cornelia Street. It had an outdoor courtyard garden, which was a perfect setting for what we wanted. The food was excellent, the cocktails were delicious and the lovely waitress did not make us feel like culinary criminals when we wanted to breathe in between drinks or courses. If you are in New York, don’t miss it. As well as being in a beautiful neighbourhood that alone is worth exploring, the great food, atmosphere and service is worth the trek from wherever you are staying.

After lunch, we dandered around a bit more but in the general direction of mid-town. We took the view that we would find a subway along the way, but once the walking got rolling, we ended up walking the whole 40+ blocks home. So here is a piece of NYC trivia - north-south Manhattan blocks take 1 minute to walk, while the east-west ones take 3 minutes to walk. That’s at NY walking speed of course.

The next day, I met up with Hannah and her up-state NY friend Anthony. We caught the subway out to the very end of Brooklyn: Coney Island. It was, like most amusement parks, well past its glory days but it was nice to see another iconic New York sight and I had a sense of halcyon nostalgia as I imagined the place in its heyday in the 50s. Ah, the good old days!

That night, while Hannah and Anthony were on a harbour evening cruise, I put on my brave pants and went to a zouk lesson. Having not danced for 2 months, I was a bit worried about how I would go - you never know the standard of what you are walking into. Plus I didn’t have my dance shoes, which is always distressing. I felt like a plumber turning up to do a job without a plunger - the plunger might not strictly be needed on every job it but it just doesn’t look right to turn up without one and there are moments when only a plunger can do the job. Nevertheless, I took the class. They called the moves funny names, preferred the faster style of zouk and the standard was quite low (to be fair it was a “pre-intermediate” class) but there were a couple of accomplished dancers and I took them out for a spin after class just to get some fly-by practice. So despite the lack of plunger, I still did the job.

The next day, Hannah, Anthony and I met early in the morning to go get in line for the 9/11 Memorial. Hannah and I had seen the site previously from the outside but we wanted to go in and see the memorial proper. Wow. It was very emotional. The design for the memorial went through quite difficult and extensive public debate but I think it has been worth it for the results are exceptional.

The memorial is actually a remembrance of the almost 3,000 people killed in all the September 11 events as well as those killed in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. The footprints of the original twin towers have been preserved and in place of the buildings are two reflecting pools. The twin pools are each nearly an acre in size and feature the largest manmade waterfalls in the North America. Once again, the design was selected from a global design competition (resulting in more than 5,200 entries from 63 nations). The names of every person who died in the 2001 and 1993 attacks are inscribed into bronze panels edging the memorial pools and the names have been placed next to colleagues, in company groups or however else the families of the deceased have requested. A beautiful place has been created at the scene of a tragedy and it has created a respectful and peaceful place for contemplation. The tactile cut-outs of each name give you a sense of physical connection with those that died. For families who had nothing to bury, no doubt it goes some way to providing a place of comfort and solid place of rest. For those like me who are visiting, as you run your hands over each name, you can’t help but feel the enormity of the loss. For each person lost, there are loved ones who grieve. And there are so many names. This is the way with all tragic losses of human life but perhaps if there were more memorials of this nature, we might not be so gung-ho on warfare and other forms of slaughter. It’s very hard to do anything other than ache for peace when you are in a place like this.

All three of us were very tired and emotional after seeing the memorial. I defy anyone to see it and come away unaffected. My only suggestion for improving the memorial is to have volunteer-staffed hugging stations around the place. The desire to connect with others in a loving way is almost overwhelming in the face of such sadness. I really needed a hug afterwards. So we all retreated to our hotels for a bit of a rest and to allow our moods to mellow for that night, we had to prepare to laugh our asses off.

And that we did. We went to see “The Book of Mormon” on Broadway. It is the first Broadway Musical by Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the creators of South Park. It’s is billed as “God's favorite musical”. To say it was irreverent would be a colossal understatement. What else would you expect from the warped minds of people who create characters such as Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo? Except that unlike South Park (which I personally find crass and irritating rather than funny), this musical was clever. Of course, there was plenty of cussing and poking fun at a group’s religious beliefs but overall it was more witty than disrespectful and more tongue-in-cheek than vilifying. Not being a fan of South Park or musicals, I was surprised to find that I enjoyed it. It was such a thorough parody of musicals and other broadway productions and itself, that I think it might have been impossible to be offended. And it also contained some very sharp social commentary. Little wonder it is one of the hottest shows on Broadway at the moment. I’m seeing Messers Stone and Parker in a whole new (grudgingly impressed) light. After returning to Brooklyn diner for an unnecessary and overly-large dessert, Hannah, Anthony and I bid our farewells.

But before I left New York, I had one stop left. The Natural History Museum. Crickey! I’ve already mentioned the epic galleries of New York. The NHM took epic to whole new levels. I had 4 hours and managed to get an ice-cube-sized experience off an iceberg-sized museum. It was fascinating. Apart from the taxi-dermied animals, although I do have to admit their stuffed animal exhibits were better than most.

The cultural exhibitions (even though I only got as far as sub-Saharan Africa) were excellent and actually contextualised a lot of the artifacts they displayed. Museums normally have cases of crusty-looking artifacts with very literal, wholly useless descriptions. For example, a case of “spear points, various locations”. You can’t help wanting to choke the curator while asking how they can expect anybody to get excited about a bunch of triangular rocks with no context about the people who used them or why it is necessary to have a whole case-load of them displayed as opposed to one fine example. Not so at the Natural History Museum - there were exhibits containing models of people, shown in various situations. Useful descriptions of items along with the context of their use and the reasons why they are significant - brilliant!!!

The biodiversity exhibit was particularly excellent, and included the best explanation for why humanity needs to change its ways that I have ever seen. A succinct, 5 or so minute video explained what biodiversity is and does and showed how human activity is impacting on it. It also showed us what we are losing in the process. The fossil exhibits were also exceptional - as well as having lots of high-impact, very large dinosaur exhibits, there were also brilliant descriptions of what science does not know. It was the first time I saw the extent of the gaps in our scientific knowledge about the natural world and its history. It made me think about this in the context of climate change and snort slightly at the irony that people want 100% certainty in predictions about climate change before they will agree to do anything differently, while they are quite happy to teach a whole bunch of stuff about our past as indisputable fact when we know there are mammoth (no pun intended) gaps in our knowledge. In relation to our past, the fact that our knowledge has more holes than swiss cheese and the adjustments made to previously held facts are enormous, this doesn’t shake their faith in science one iota, but if we’re talking about our future, we have to be able to predict with 100% accuracy every single possible variable before making a decision and if one tiny aspect doesn’t come to be 100% as we expected it, we question the entire premise. Puh-lease!

As the coup de grace, I saw “Journey to the Stars” at the museum’s planetarium. Squeal!!!!! It was so amazing, I haven’t the words. Apart from occasionally having to close my eyes to overcome motion sickness (apparently my brain is easily tricked into believing it is in motion, even when it is firmly ensconced on a seat bolted to a non-moving floor...), it was sooooooo cool to be flying throughout the universe. Whoopi Goldberg narrated a whole heap of facts about stars, how they work, how they are born and die etc, which was all very interesting but the thing that was beyond imagination was the visuals. A 180 degree domed screen above our heads turned into a 3-d experience of space travel. It was quite possibly the coolest thing I’ve seen to date. Avatar had nothing on this and that won Oscars. Pffffffff....... this was way better, even if there weren’t any blue people in it. And best of all, once the nausea subsided, I was left with a warm fuzzy feeling, thinking about how every element in the universe was created within stars, which means we all have an element of the ancient and connected about us and most important, we all have star-quality in us. Boom boom.

Now, I’m back in the Big D (Dallas, Texas) and once again enjoying the delightful company of the (great) Danes and the sublime hospitality of Jo and Adrian. There may not be museums full of Monets or planetariums but since Jo and Adrian are having a pool installed we may see a fossil or two and more importantly, we have been able to enjoy lots of fine wining and dining and lots of sport. Jo and I are now outnumbered by men, which means that the household has regressed to raw competition at every available moment. In other words, sport, sport and more sport. On the bright side, I have now watched the historic moment when the Rangers beat Detroit in game 6 to get into the World Series for the second time. Since the two years that the Rangers have made it into the Series have included my presence in Texas, I am now taking credit for their success. Texas, you may thank me with honorary citizenship.

I can’t talk - my feet hurt. NYC, days 2-5

One thing I didn’t associate with New York in my imagination is sore feet. I always saw this city as a place of traffic mayhem and honking cab rides. While that is a true picture, there is more to it. The most common form of transportation is feet. And New York city has 30% of the USA’s public transport usership on the subway system. So, when in Rome.....

Most of the time I have been walking. On day 2, I walked from my hotel to the Empire State Building then to the edge of Central Park and then back to my hotel before walking back to the subway at Times Square to catch the train out to Harlem for a show at the Apollo Theatre. On day 3, I walked from my hotel to pier 83 for a harbour cruise, then walked to 5th Avenue and then back to my hotel. On day 4, I caught a cab to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, then walked to south Central Park where I went on a horse and carriage ride in the park, then I walked to MoMA, down to Lexington and back to Grand Central Station to catch a train to Harlem to see a play at the National Black Theatre before heading back to my hotel and then being evacuated in the middle of the night because of a fire on my floor. On day 5, I walked down to Lexington for breakfast, caught the subway to Bowling Green, walked up to and along Wall Street, walked to the site of the twin towers, walked to the African Burial Ground and walked through Chinatown and Little Italy before catching the subway to Macy’s and walking back to my hotel. This means I’ve walked well over 20 miles in the last five days, which means I’m conservatively averaging over 7kms a day. That of course doesn’t include the kilometers clocked up within museums, shops and occasional wrong turns. You might be terrified to learn that 7kms does not hit the 10,000 step-mark recommended daily for a healthy life. While I’m probably easily exceeding the 10,000, I can tell you, it’s hard work! And it takes all day. Luckily, I'm seeing interesting stuff along the way. Let me tell you all about it.

New York is a dazzling city. I think the main danger in the city arises from the fact that to see it properly you really have to be walking around looking up the whole time. This not only means you get a crick in the neck but it also significantly increases your chances of injury from collision. The architecture is amazing and so worth the risk. Juxtapositions of old and new are everywhere. From Colonial to Art Deco to modern to a whole heap I can’t name, there is a huge range of architectural styles. There are so many stunning buildings that I could expend gigabytes of interweb space uploading photos. There are so many, I might well crash the interweb entirely. There are stacks and stacks of fantastic urban planning ideas - beautiful and useable public spaces, public art galore, apartment skyscrapers with inbuilt garages and lifts that take your car up to your floor, old elevated railway lines turned into linear parks, precincts that build up cultural identities, pedestrian friendly walkways, efficient and effective public transport.....am I gushing? So I should. There is much to be amazed about.

Not the least amazing things are the museums and art galleries. I think someone bandied about a statistic that claimed New York has the most museums of any American city. I don’t know if that’s verifiably true but I wouldn’t be surprised. So far, I have done only 2 art museums and already I feel somewhat museumed out. They say everything is bigger in America. Well, so are the museums. The Metropolitan Museum of Art (the Met) is so frickin’ huge, it puts the Louvre to shame. And I thought the Louvre was big. Well, it is, but that just makes the Met epic. There are rooms and rooms of just Monets and Van Goughs. There are rooms and rooms of many other artists. There are entire wings devoted to certain periods of art or from certain locations. In one wing, there was a room with some 30+ floor to ceiling double-sided, 20 metre long cases of just furniture. In one wing there were entire rooms constructed demonstrating different architectural periods. Then there is the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) which has more Picassos than you can poke a stick at and a good few Monets (including a huge water lilies tryptic) and Van Goughs of their own. Throw in a few Pollocks and Kandinskys for good measure at MoMA and before you even manage to get down to the design shop or the photography exhibition, your head is exploding.

And there’s your head gone before you even manage to see the city itself. Wait until you get to the top of the Empire State Building and see Manhattan and the other boroughs laid out before you. In case you still have a brain cell not quite pushed into blathering awe, take a cruise and see lady Liberty up close and observe the city from the water. I defy you to not end up jibbering.

Let’s not forget that all of this is just the mainstream tourist stuff. We haven’t even explored the “real” New York (whatever the heck that is). Twice, Hannah and I went out to Harlem to see theatre. It is interesting to be in an English speaking nation and be in a place where you are part of a cultural minority and which is so different to that which you are used to, yet so familiar through TV. One night, we went to see Amateur Night at the Apollo Theatre - an institution within an institution. The Apollo first opened in 1914 and Amateur Night began in the early 1930s. A 15 year old Ella Fitzgerald was one of the first Amateur Night winners and the theatre has hosted more greats over the years than you could believe. The night we went didn’t yield any likely future Ellas but it was a rollicking good time anyway. Yesterday, we returned to Harlem to see a play called “Seed”. Set in Harlem, the play is about a social worker who decides to leave the field on a high note with a book detailing her career but when a gifted young boy from the projects collides into her life, she is forced to confront his circumstances and the shadows of her past. To see such a powerful play in the location in which it is based was an extraordinary privilege - watching the audience react was almost as interesting as the play itself. The actors were brilliant, the play was beautifully written and the production was excellent. If it ever comes to your home town, pull out all the stops to see it. Afterwards we met the director (Niegel Smith) and the playwrite (Radha Blank) so we were able to get some more fascinating insights.

As I already mentioned, today Hannah and I toured lower Manhattan, around the financial district. As you may know, there is some dissatisfaction around the place here about the state of the economy. Nowhere is that more evident than around Wall Street. The New York Stock Exchange Building is now well and truly cordoned off from the public and there is a round the clock, significant police presence. Further up Broadway, the protestors stand with their placards and slogan t-shirts, making their dis-satisfaction with the banks, the government, Wall Street and the financial system clear. (There was a also a guy protesting Monsanto but maybe he just didn’t get the memo that the anti-GM protest was moved to next weekend?) In any case, good on ‘em. I think they have a point. But I wish they’d look less motley and maybe, as a dear friend of mine colourfully described, less like “leftist, latte sipping hairy arm-pitted soft cock pixies from the bottom of the garden”. It hurts the cause when you don’t look like a sensible person who can make a rational or at least cogent argument. It may be superficial but the fact is we humans make visual judgements. However many times our teachers tried to tell us we should not judge a book by its cover, there is a reason why publishers spend billions on marketing and book-cover design.

We were also fortunate enough to see over 1,000 skaters participate in the Broadway Bomb - an 8+ mile skate-board race from one end of Broadway to the other. It was a quite a sight to see a large band of mostly grown men hurtling down the street and in between traffic like kids, and there was a nice sense of brotherhood between the skaters and the protestors with everyone cheering each other on. There was a lot of love on Broadway today.

Two final things need a mention. Firstly, the site of the former twin towers, which has some poignant reminders of the many lives lost. Having been rescued last night by the NY Fire Department after some idiot set the carpet on fire outside my bedroom, I began to appreciate in a very small way the enormity and danger of the job the fire-ies perform in this city. That they lost so many in 9/11 is sad indeed. Sad without even considering the office workers, passers-by, police and many others. As much as America’s reaction at the time may have been questionable in hindsight, when you see the place and the photos of those lost, it is easy to see why this event is still such a tragic scar on the nation.

Speaking of tragic scars, we come to the second thing that needs mentioning. This afternoon, Hannah and I visited the African Burial Ground. The ABG is a spot in lower Manhattan were, during excavation work for a new federal office building in the 1970s, workers discovered the skeletal remains of the first of more than 400 men, women and children. Further investigation revealed that during the 17th and 18th centuries, free and enslaved Africans were buried in a 6.6 acre burial ground. Over the decades, the unmarked cemetery was covered over by development and landfill. Today the site is a National Monument featuring a distinctive memorial that commemorates and communicates the story of the African Burial Ground. This particular Saturday, there was a Native American Indian dance and music performance. It seems that Indigenous people in every nation are still shabbily treated and inadequately recognised and that is as true in the USA as it is in Australia, Brazil and many other places. It is a shame that we can’t seem to resolve these issues but instead leave them festering like a scar on our history. Rather nicely, this group of Indians spoke of the intertwined history of African Americans and American Indians and pointed out that without the two of them, America would not be the nation it is today. The memorial at the Ground is a lovely, peaceful and harmonious setting. The singing and dancing was earthy and grounded and created a sense of belonging and togetherness. A large bunch of visibly ethnically diverse people sat around and enjoyed the performance, no doubt each taking away something different from the experience. See, we can be different and get along anyway. It's perhaps not surprising that this is so visible in New York - a historic and continuous melting pot of immigrants and their cultures. Perhaps that is one of the reasons this city has grown into such an amazing place.

It's hard to believe anything else I see from here on in will match what I've seen already and yet I suspect that NYC will not disappoint. Stay tuned....

New York, New York - First Impressions

Wow, what a city! It’s completely mad. I thought I’ve seen it all by now but you ain’t seen nothing until you’ve seen New York. I landed this afternoon at JFK airport and after a slightly scary taxi ride (the taxi wasn’t a yellow cab (mind you, after watching The Bone Collector, I’m not sure I trust yellow cabs either) - I’d foolishly reacted under pressure and ended up in an un-marked “taxi” who kept ignoring the directions given by the GPS and who periodically spoke on the phone to someone in a low voice in Spanish while going through some decidedly dodgey looking areas), I checked in at the very space-aged Yotel near Times Square.

The Yotel is ultra-modern with self-serve electronic check-in, beds that at the push of a button turn into sofas, and all comforts you could want packed into a teeny-tiny space. Rooms are not rooms but “cabins”, staff are “flight crew” and reception is “mission control”. It’s a hoot! And very well designed to boot.

Once I’d dropped off my bag and explored my cabin, I decided to set off to explore the neighbourhood before it got dark and I lost my nerve. It’s an extraordinary city - the scale is quite astounding and it’s almost surreal to walk down streets that we know so well from television. It’s also quite different to all the cities I’ve seen so far in America. New York has taller buildings, some distinct (and thus-far unseen by me) cultural groups (for example, lots of Jewish gentlemen with side-curls and black hats), is laid out in a very tidy grid pattern and is full of mad traffic of both pedestrian and vehicular types.

Firstly the vehicles - well, gosh. All I can say is I’m glad I’m not driving in New York. I’ve driven around LA and San Fran and Dallas and Portland and many smaller towns in between, so I’m no longer a novice at this ‘wrong side of the road’ business. But New York is something else entirely. Barge and honk seem to be the only two rules. Everyone barges into lanes, through intersections and past each other without much attention to an exit strategy. Which would explain the horrendous traffic jams. As well as traffic lights, there is a policeman at most intersections. As the policeman seems to serve no other purpose other than to confirm the same signals the traffic lights are already giving, one can only assume that New York drivers have a tendency to ignore the lights and therefore police are necessary to enforce them. Wouldn't a flurry of fines by way of red-light cameras might serve just as well? Perhaps it is just that since the crime rates went down there is a huge surplus of police officers and now they are just killing time until retirement by directing traffic. Ugh, what a morbid thought.

Now about the people. I was warned that New Yorkers walk fast. Well then I must walk very fast because when it comes to raw speed, I was out-walking everyone. However, when it came to points of congestion, I was slowed while the locals somehow managed to cut a swathe through the crowds. Therefore, I think it is not speed so much as barge-arsedness that sets New Yorkers apart.

Other than that, I can also report that Times Square is full of neon lights and shiny objects, the bit of 5th Avenue I saw is quite swanky and there is a road between them full of jewelry stores and aforementioned Jewish gentlemen in hats as well as a large number of hawkers wanting to buy your gold and diamond jewelry while standing under signs saying “shoppers - beware of hawkers that offer to buy your gold and diamond jewelry”. No kidding.

The Road Trips Continue

Once I admitted to myself that my dream of writing in the Napa was going to have to be shelved for now, there seemed to be little point in staying in one place. Since I had toothbrush and car, continuous travel seemed the most logical choice.

I left the great Danes at Vegas airport’s car rental center where they were going to continue their trip on to Phoenix. You can follow their travels at: http://danesontour.com/ They are much better at posting regular updates and photos than I am so in case you want to up your arm-chair travel dosage, I recommend their site.

Meanwhile I drove back towards northern California. As we had stumbled back to the hotel rather late ...er...early in the morning on Sunday (we had been at XS in the Wynn Casino complex dancing along with Will.I.AM) I didn’t get all that far. Last time I did Vegas, I made the trip in one hit but this time I had to stop en route for personal safety reasons (to be read falling asleep at the wheel).

In one of his books, Bill Bryson laments the creation of the US highway system and the resultant death of small town, family-run diners and motels. He has a point. The services along the interstates are lamentably cookie-cutter varieties of eateries and sleeperies. The most any of them aspire to is mediocrity, which is lamentable beyond words. That said, there is something comforting about having your expectations, however average, met. While some of those mom-and-pop diners and motels no doubt had their charm, there were also probably some abject disasters along the way run by people who hated guests and didn’t believe in hygiene. As I discovered on my journey, Best Westerns and Holiday Inns may be charm-challenged but at least I know I’m going to get friendly service and a clean bed. And frankly, when you’re tired after a long drive, your needs are very simple. A gourmet dinner and ruffled pillows are not high on the list of priorities. The other thing worthy of mention about the highway services is their abundance. Thankfully, there is no shortage of food and accommodation stops, which is excellent news when you are driving long distances and are not investing a lot in forward planning.

When I returned to Santa Rosa, I had one night to recover before hitting the road again, this time north to Portland, Oregon. My purpose in driving another 12 hours was to deliver a package on behalf of my sister and to see Bobby Long play. I am collecting good karma like its going out of fashion.

The scenery heading north was a lot more interesting than south, although both have their beauty. Down south is desert, while up north are coniferous forests, lakes and snow-capped mountains peppered with pastoral valleys (where you imagine bunnies frolic with butterflies and badgers wear spectacles and smoke pipes while giving out sage advice). There are also some interesting towns along the way - some of which have not seen any contributions of new genetic material for quite a few generations. I thought banjos only dueled out in the wilds of Georgia but some of the places I saw along my northerly route made me wonder.

Portland was a quick stop so I can’t give you much information about the city. It appeared to be a pretty city from what I could see although the one-way streets were doing my head in (and causing the GPS to emit smoke). After another round of 12 hours (which by now was causing serious cabin fever), I arrived back in Santa Rosa where I had one more day to spend in my beloved town of St Helena with my very good friend Laura. On Friday, I drove (sigh, once again) to San Francisco to see a friend I had made in Brazil and then on to the airport to fly back to the welcoming arms of stunningly hospitable friends in Dallas. More to the point, I was heading back to the company of Aussies for that very important sporting fixture - the AFL Grand Final. As it is a Collingwood house, the night did not end as well as it started. Still, over several bottles of red, Adrian and I did manage to solve most of the world's problems and worked out that Collingwood would win the next two flags. I'd love to tell you about all our solutions, but strangely, I seem to have forgotten most of them...

The most interesting thing about these road trips has been to give me a sense of just how big this country is. Of course, I knew it was big but it’s not until you drive and drive and drive and drive that you get a sense of its real size. And the differences in landscapes contained within it are quite extraordinary too. From mega-cities to tiny towns, from deserts to alpine lakes to tropical bayous, the USA has it all.

I pity those who say they don’t want to come to America because it holds nothing of interest - they are either misinformed or they lack the ability to appreciate anything at all. America has long since been accused by other parts of the world of being arrogant and self-absorbed. Well, you know, the more times I visit and the more I see, the more I can see that if they do have a slightly over-developed sense of self-worth, it is not entirely without justification. This country is quite extraordinary in many ways. I recommend you see it for yourself.