Tag: Melbourne

Taking flight

Spontaneity is a dream of mine that never really has a chance to happen. Whether it be money, anxiety or time it always falls by the wayside. 

When visiting Australia in 2013 I picked up a guide to Melbourne at the airport and found several vouchers offering 10% off here and a free gift there. I’ve never really seen the point in free vouchers because they often have a read between the lines agreement. However one stood out to me and we had kept at least half a day free in each place so we could explore. The 2 for 1 voucher was for a Yarra river cruise and I was excited to see the city from the water. I do love boats!

I had already looked into the cruises from home but they didn’t really appeal. Maybe it was the fact it took us off our feet and yet we would still see the city. At $29 for both of us it wasn’t something to sniff at. The boat ride wouldn’t take long and it looked like a great way to while away a few hours. After a pleasant tour down river we docked at Gem Pier in Williamstown; a quaint little village which used to be Melbourne’s main port before its size couldn’t cope with the intake. With a short time to kill we headed into the main street until an enticing sign caught our eye.

Next thing I know we are onboard a four seater seaplane flying over the beaches of St Kilda and Port Phillip. There seemed to be a devil may care attitude on our second day in Australia and the short trip cost us $145 each. Brighton beach had amazingly colourful beach huts which took me back to the seaside boltholes we had back in the UK. Similarly to home, these cost a huge amount of money, some at $400,000!  The views were stunning and the pilot was a hoot. His name was Rodney and I was reminded of the nickname my dad had given Mr W the first time he had met him.  We saw our hotel from the air and the Melbourne Gran Prix track was pointed out. The budget was tight and I knew I’d be on rations for a while but wearing a headset to talk to each other while in flight was brilliant and when the plane turned on its side I felt my cares melt away. The short 10 minute flight was over so fast and soon enough the plane was bumping over the rolling waves. All smiles we walked back into Williamstown and grabbed a quick fish and chip lunch. We sat in a pavilion to avoid the sea birds and took in the scene. 

It is a moment that wasn’t marred by anxiety or questioning. I think of it fondly when I see a plane in the sky and when I see waves lapping against a shore. A moment long ago that gives me promise for spontaneous times ahead. Over and out.  

Man with the big broom

The first time I went abroad I was 5 months old. So for storytelling purposes it is null and void.

But oh, the third time abroad. Well, I was 10 and it was Halkidiki, Greece. My first ever time on a plane. (We were driven to Spain when I was a baby.) It’s funny when I think of the trip I don’t remember the airport. The luggage. The hotel reception. I’ve always thought that I have a weird memory. Ask me who that guy was in that film that one time and I’ll tell you his name, his dog’s name and where he’s from. But ask me about my childhood before the age 11 or 12 and I’m pretty clueless. Maybe when senior school started my brain had to make room and sent in a little man with a big broom and swept most of my childhood memories away!

I remember a lovely evening meal we had. More of the feeling it gave me. It was on an outside terrace with big pagodas on the side of a residential street. The voices were loud. But happy. The streets were musical with the swallows flying overhead. The night was warm in the pathway of the setting sun. All considered I don’t remember being at a table or what I ate, I just remember the huge sense of family and community that I felt. The loveliest part of the memory isn’t what food it was or the view, it was the feeling that has stayed with me all these years.

Thinking about this today has made me realise that you can plan and plan a trip to better your chances to see as much as possible and weaken your anxieties. However you can’t plan for those moments that stick out. That made the whole trip.

In 2019 we rented a villa in Majorca with my dad and his partner. It was planned to be a completely relaxing trip with possible short day trips thrown in. We had meals of simple salads and chicken that everyone had a part in making and serving. Days off were spent by the pool, reading and snoozing. There were a few trips out in the car but mainly it was about a sedentary life with the odd swim and alot of snoozing. And yet in those often viewed as mundane activities the magic happened.

I woke Mr W at 6am one morning and we went up to the rooftop terrace as the sun was coming over the mountains. The whole landscape came alive as the night turned into day. Mr W had complained initially about being woken up. But soon enough we were arm in arm, watching the island wake up. A nearby farm dog started barking, a cockerel crowed and the haze over the fields lifted like a veil.

We took a very brief drive up to Cala San Vicente and had a walk along the small roads that lined the frequent coves. As we approached the top of one road the sea was crashing against the cliffs’ rocks with such force that it sent a huge wall of water droplets 20 or so feet in the air. Being particularly windy here the droplets were caught by the ferocious wind and sent in our direction. It was a brief vacation from the heat of the Spanish sun and it was hysterical. It wasn’t planned. The day trip of course was decided but how do you plan for waves, rocks and wind that work together so succinctly in order to make four people cackle so witch-like? I remember the chill that flooded my body for the briefest of seconds. And the laughter. And the feeling of freedom. That I could jump off that cliff and fly away on the wind and water. It’s something about moments like that that make a trip.

Later that week, Mr W and I introduced Dad and Pat to a drinking game. It involves cards and a lot of drinks. You get drunk very fast. And
gets messy. Was that the plan? No. Did it happen? Yes. But pray tell, can you plan to have someone spit their drink across the table in laughter? Absolutely not. Is it a stand out memory. Abso-freaking-lutely.

I like to think of the beautiful places we are yet to travel to in the world. Of places far and wide on our list. What we’ll see and do. What’s more important lately is how those components become almost secondary memories. It’s the pieces of magic in-between that I treasure.

The time my mum ordered a ‘dirty granny’ cider in Melbourne.

When I cut my brother’s hair in Bulgaria and was doing fine until I had no idea how to frame his face. He was stuck that way for a fortnight.

When Mr W had me splitting firewood on our first camping trip.

When my brothers and I snuck out of our rooms at 2am in Egypt to go swimming. The competitions in the pool and the hilarity that ensued.

If the man in my brain with the broom returns I’d ask him to take out the memories of the Vatican and the Empire state building and leave all the jewels I so treasure.

Penguins and Cockatoos

With the celebratory weekend behind us, I’ve been reminded that the last Jubilee was in 2012. I have been scratching my head in befuddled bemusement as I simply do not remember how or where I was during the event. I’ll let it go as it was a big year for the UK and I’m sure it got caught up in the melee. We hosted the Olympics and the summer was spent fawning over the many medals Great Britain accumulated. It was also the year I booked my huge 2013 trip to Australia and therefore spent the majority of the year crossing off days on every available calendar, bent over a computer researching and planning and squirrelling money away like Scrooge himself.

It’s as I remember Australia that I am drawn back to two particular memorable high points…

I spent the majority of Day 3 in Melbourne soaked with salt water and smelling of sweat and sun cream. Nice image, I know. The sun beat down unforgivingly and if I paused to notice I’m unaware of it now. With 7 stops on our tour around the Melbourne coast we were witness to our first Australian delights. Most of the ‘delights’ were made more so by my forgetting that they were included in the pre-booked tour; the wildlife centre with a $10 cuddle from a huge 9yr old Koala being one of these. As we scoured the scorched bush for Wallabies we were greeted with a chilled out Kangaroo and it slowly dawned on me what we have got ourselves into. Australia had arrived rather under our feet than we had arrived in it! After all, once a wallaby simply hops out of the bush and grabs your extended hand to have his breakfast, of pellets not human flesh, you rapidly forget yourself and drown in all that is Australia. Additional unexpected experiences came in the form of Woolamai Beach and the typical ‘Ozzie surfer’. I didn’t know whether to run into the surf or help them with their surfboards. OKAY OKAY, I ran into the surf, rather a typical Ozzie than an Essex girl any day. Although this Essex girl did stare… only slightly, but overcome by the ‘small’ waves and I was back on track.

The beauty of this place is how dedicated they are to protect their country and all its inhabitants. Witness to this first and foremost during the penguin parade on Phillip Island; we were told to sit, not stand, and to see but not capture (on camera) the unique little penguins that raced up the beach to their nests. This was all to prevent ‘spooking’ the little waddlers and allowing them to live a semi-normal life. Who else can say that on their rat race home there are hundreds of people watching you? Unfortunately, a lot of our fellow tourists didn’t find the same respect for our lil black and white waddlers and stood up, blocking our view and preventing their homecoming, whenever they could. I’m proud to admit that out of anger for lack of viewing space, but more out of respect for the penguins, I told one ‘serial stander’ to SIT DOWN. I realise now it’s my own compulsive need to be a rule follower that gives me the proverbial balls to approach people in this way. ‘Look mate, the penguins are just trying to get home, so sit down, yeah? There’s a good chap.’ Otherwise, I really don’t say boo to even a goose. After a vast majority of the crowds had seen their first glimpse of the lil guys they upped and left, so we were able to move down to the front and witness the amazing spectacle within about a 5 metre distance. It makes me smile even now to remember the extra time we took to drink it all in. Above us the jewels of the Southern hemisphere sparkled and trailed across the sky and in front of us the waters gave birth to these funky little creatures. And I couldn’t stop smiling.

The smiling continued on the next day, so easily you would think it had been pinned to my cheek bones. Set off by the morning sunlight pouring through the surrounding mountain ash trees in the Dandenong Ranges the cockatoos on my arms were a stark white colour that shone as bright as sunlight on snow.  And we were due to feed them their breakfast.  Our coach driver John was kind enough to mention that holding the large, metal feed tray out, up high and level would prevent their sharp beaks from clipping at their favourite part of the human hand. Seeds, food. Hands, not. But what he neglected to say was just how heavy six or SEVEN of these birds could be! With a thick hooded jumper around my shoulders and my backpack straps also acting as a barrier, their claws clung to me as they squawked and shrieked to get at the seeds. It was hard to focus on anything but them once you saw their plumage and sunlight yellow crests up close. Their eyes were constantly on the lookout for more ‘victims’ entering the feeding area with a silver tray held high and glancing around us, I 

remember my mind taking a snapshot. The sun streaming through the giant trees reaching upwards of 75 metres, the birds, the fresh air and the happiness all flooding the space. 

Australia had welcomed me with sunlight, surf, style and a few small scars from my new white and yellow friends.