Author: sandybarker

Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi

sandybarker

My barrista is Slovakian.

I know this, because I went in for coffee today, and I asked where he was from. The Olympics was playing on the huge flatscreen suspended on the wall, and I wanted to know who he was rooting for – so to speak.

“Hey, you guys just won a bunch of medals, didn’t you? In the kayaking?” I have no idea where I pulled that fact from, because I haven’t really watched the kayaking much.

He smiled. “Yeah. Three golds, in the paddling.” We chatted a bit more about that, which was far more interesting than our usual patter about the weather, and I could see that it made him very proud to talk about his country’s success.

I totally understand. Last week, I stood in a crowded classroom at lunchtime, surrounded by students and fellow teachers, and staring up at the giant TV screen on the wall. We were shouting “Come on!” to Stephanie Rice, as she swam half a body length behind the American girl. In that last 20 metres she surged forward and touched first to win her second gold medal and break the world record. The room erupted as we celebrated her win with all the other Aussies around the world who were within sight of a television. I was so proud – of her, and of Australia.

Last night I had tears in my eyes as I heard the Australian anthem yet again. We won gold in the 470 sailing – men’s and women’s – and as the young Perth women stood on the podium, grinning their faces off, I grinned with them – so proud. Then came the women’s triathlon result – Gold and Bronze! Brilliant! And that feeling is compounded as the medals keep coming.

Yes, there is little like the Olympics to inject a shot of national pride in even the hardest of hearts. Having said that, I do have one small confession. On the 18th, when Michael Phelps and the U.S. relay team were competing against us, I quietly hoped that we’d get Silver. I just wanted Michael to get his 8 medals. At any other moment I would have been screaming at the television, willing our guys to win, but the 8 medal thing transcends borders.

And we did win silver in that race, which is still incredible. You see, we are just a tiny country population-wise, so our pool of talent is much smaller than the U.S or even Great Britain. Yet we are hovering between 3rd and 5th on the medal tally. China has 61 times our population, but only twice as many medals. (I did hear yesterday, that if Michael Phelps were a country, he’d be 6th on the medal tally).

Australia has medaled in kayaking, diving, equestrian, sailing, triathlon, track, swimming, shooting and rowing – so far. We have much to be proud of.

So, when I hear the chant “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” coming from the Olympic stands, I can’t help but reply, “Oi, Oi, Oi!” We’re noisy buggers, but it’s ’cause we’re bloody proud to be Aussies.

The Second Drawer

sandybarker

So, here’s the thing. Having made the decision to move to the states at the end of the year, I am kind of already there in my head. I look around my apartment, and mentally take stock: to get rid of, to store, to take with me. The latter of the three lists is growing. “I’m going to have to buy a cheese grater,” I exclaim to a baffled Ben. “You could just bring it with you,” he responds, hoping he is being helpful. Perhaps he is. Perhaps, emptying the second drawer in the kitchen (you know the one – the one with all the utensils and weird kitchen gadgets) into one of the packing cartons I am shipping, is the smart way to go. It might just cost less to ship all those odd little gadgets, than to replace them. And I can hardly expect Ben, who is a self-professed non-cook, to understand my need for a honey drizzler, a citrus reamer, and the little battery operated whizzer that makes hot chocolate in a jiffy. And there is my dilemma: Store or Ship?

Perhaps these frivolities amongst the giants on my ‘to do’ list are merely a distraction. I am obsessing about the citrus reamer, but seem to think that selling my car won’t be a problem at all. Nor will selling, giving away, or lending permanently all my furniture. No, I am up at night wondering which shoes to take, and which to keep here. I informed Ben today that I have ‘quite a few pairs of shoes’. He referenced ‘Sex and the City’ when he asked, “Have you spent $40,000 on shoes?” “No!” He re-phrased the question, “If you had spent $400 on each pair, would you have spent $40,000 on shoes?” I had to think about that for a second, but I was confident when I replied ‘no’ a second time. He is right to be nervous. The stuff from the second drawer here will presumably fit perfectly into the second drawer of our Seattle apartment’s kitchen. The clothes, shoes, coats, bags and accessories currently residing in my 12 foot long closet, I may have to pare back a little.

All of these things, these thoughts, concerns, worries, and reasons to spend hours online researching, are actually an indicator of something bigger, something amazing. I have made a big, happy, wonderful decision, and I am champing at the bit to bring it to fruition.

This is not to say that I do not love those people in my Aussie life. (I am especially enjoying time spent with my Irish friends who have recently moved back to Sydney after two years away – I say that they have moved back ‘home’.) It just means that at the moment, my heart is in two places. I am mindfully enjoying the things (and people) I love about Sydney, while looking ahead to my life in Seattle with Ben.

“We’re going to have to make friends,” he said to me, not long ago. I have thought about that. I would love to pack everyone I love from here into those shipping cartons, to be unpacked into this new life, but…

Instead, we will make new friends, and when they come for dinner I can dazzle them with culinary delights I have whipped up in our new kitchen with my old kitchen gadgets. Yep, I think the second drawer is coming with me.

36 Things

sandybarker

This meme comes from Charlotte’s blog, and Helen’s before her. Helen got it from Lilian, who took it from Jennifer. It had 40 things on it, but Lilian didn’t really like three of them, so then it became 37 things. I could go through Jennifer’s 40 Things and seek out the three that Lilian didn’t like, but 37 is enough. In fact, there was one I didn’t like about paperclips, so now it is 36.

And just so you know, a meme is not ‘cheating’ of ‘slacking off’ for a serious blogger like myself.
It is more like a pianist flexing their fingers before they sit down to play, or a tennis player bouncing the ball a few times before a serve. A meme is a warm up for more strenuous writing; it helps to get the creative juices flowing and sharpens the mind. So there.

1. My uncle once: peed on a giant moth that was sitting on the urinal, and the pee-soaked moth then flew into his face.

2. Never in my life: have I peed on a moth.

3. When I was five: I had a pet chicken called Martha.

4. High school was: where I learned to stand up to bullies.

5. I will never forget: the moment I knew it was love.

6. Once I met: Hugh Jackman.

7. There’s this girl I know: who has beaten cancer, started her own company, is mum to two fabulous girls, and has a great marriage to a great man.

8. Once, at a bar: I sand ‘Mustang Sally’ on stage to a crowd of 500 people.

9. By noon, I’m usually: regretting how thoughtlessly I made my lunch that morning.

10. Last night: I killed a headache with strong medication, made a ‘not-half-bad’ stir-fry, and watched two mediocre dvd’s

11. If only I had: a literary agent – but I am working on that.

12. Next time I go to church: will be later this month with school for the graduation mass.

13. What worries me most: is that I will forget what is really important in life.

14. When I turn my head left I see: a leafy outlook and sunny blue sky.

15. When I turn my head right I see: my pussy cat sleeping in a ray of sun.

16. You know I’m lying when: well, you won’t, because if I need to be, I am a good liar.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: dancing – all the time.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Titania – passionate, magical, and on occasion a little mad.

19. By this time next year: I will living in a new city, with my darling, and I will be a paid writer.

20. A better name for me would be: well, I used to want to be called Felicity, but you want strange things when you’re six. I am happy with my name now.

21. I have a hard time understanding: complacency.

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: spend more time learning about technology, and less time worrying about boys.

23. You know I like you if: I am affectionate with you.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: Mum and Dad, because they constantly encourage me, and always have.

25. Take my advice, never: make decisions without input from your heart.

26. My ideal breakfast is: al fresco with a great view, and has many courses.

27. A song I love but do not have is: hard to answer, because I don’t know its name or who it is by. It is a sexy song, with the chorus, “I need love, love, love, love…” Must track it down for my gym playlist.

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: hop a ferry and spend a few days chilling out on the stunning Rottnest Island.

29. Why won’t people: learn how to merge.

30. If you spend a night at my house: we will eat, drink and laugh ’til it hurts. In the morning, breakfast will be served al fresco and it will have many courses.

31. I’d stop my wedding for: um, tricky, ’cause I have crushes on a celebrity or two (Hayden Christensen), but would only really put off a wedding to have the honeymoon first – a year-long trip around the world to exotic and beautiful locations (of course).

32. The world could do without: drawn out U.S. presidential campaigns.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: spend the night with a spider in my room.

34. My favourite blonde is: my auntie Candyce, who is one of the funniest people I know.

35. If I do anything well it’s: teach.

36. And by the way: I really need to get to the gym.

Words, words, words

sandybarker

I love chocolate. I love good coffee, red wine, and popcorn from the cinema. I love breakfast cereal, more than I could ever express. I so enjoy a good Pad Thai, and I am all about Vietnamese rice paper rolls. However, I can go at least a day without chocolate, cereal and coffee, up to a week without red wine, and even longer without the Pad Thai, rice paper rolls, and popcorn. I cannot, however, live a day without words.

I consume them voraciously, my appetite never sated. I gorge on them verbally, catching snippets of other people’s conversations, following clever talk back arguments on Triple J, laughing out loud at award-winning commercials, and listening to my students whisper about their weekends.

I devour them visually, as words are everywhere I look. I am drawn to them. As I drive I make up words from randomly assigned licence plates: ‘WKD’ becomes ‘wicked’, or even better ‘weekend’. And I am not a word snob. I will read anything, and I will mix ‘n’ match. I will read my cereal packet, a wikipedia page, comments on this blog, someone else’s blog, my horoscope, and the world headlines, all in one breakfast sitting.

If I can linger longer, then there are few greater pleasures than nestling in with a brilliant book. Chick lit, thriller, classic, philosophy, travel biography, Harry Potter, it does not matter what it is, just that it holds onto me until the last page. A mark of a brilliant book, in my book, is when I finish and I feel a loss, because I no longer get to live in the lives of those characters. I miss them even though they are only a collection of words. Such is the power of words; they enchant me.

And of course, there are those words I create myself. I cannot go a day without writing something, even if it is just a list of things I need to write. I write this blog, drafts of my novel, plays for my students, comments on their assignments, and memos, reports and letters at work. I email someone I love, and send a handful of text messages every day. There is even something strangely satisfying about filling in the dense and convoluted forms required to live and work overseas.

I am also a talker (usually – even I have quiet moments). Today I addressed a group of 15 year olds to persuade them to take my subject (Drama) for their senior studies. I had only five minutes, but I talked fast to cram in as many words as I could. I told them about my subject, what they could expect, and what I would expect from them. But my final message, the most important thing I said, was to do what they love, because then they will always be happy with what they are doing.

I do what I love. I consume words; I create words: daily, hourly, minutely. And I am happy with what I am doing.

Red Tape and Pure Hope

sandybarker

I cried at work today.

I hate crying at work. It is worse than crying in front of strangers, and is perhaps exacerbated by the fact that I am a teacher. Kids are sweet and curious creatures, and little distresses them more than a teacher in distress. So, when I showed up for afternoon sport with my tear-stained face and red eyes, concerned students lined up to ask if I was okay. Two even did the ‘Friday Feeling’ dance to cheer me up (this involves a very dorky hip wiggle and some equally dorky arm waving – it makes them laugh, at me, when I do it each Friday). It didn’t work. It just made me cry more.

You see, I heard from the U.S. government today.

They received my application for a green card (good). It is in the queue to receive a green card (pretty good). They are currently processing green card applications prior to March 2002. No, that is not a typo. And yes, that means there is a 6 and a 1/2 year wait list (not good at all).

Suddenly, all the plans that Ben and I are making, including where we will live, seemed to flush themselves down a giant toilet. All I could think was ‘my friends go home to their significant others every night, and I don’t’. The weight of that feeling crashed down on me as I imagined another year or two or three of this long distance arrangement.

I called Ben. He responded as someone does when they are side-swiped. That was 8 hours ago.

Since then I have spoken with my mother (the American – not that the Americans seem to care much about that VERY close family connection) thrice, and she has sent a couple of strongly-worded emails to the American government. I am pretty sure these will not make ANY difference, but I think they made her feel better.

I have also spoken to hopeful friends, and helpful friends (and in times like these, hopeful and helpful are equally welcome). And I got a lovely email from my bestest friend (yes, Ben) also telling me to stay hopeful.

With all this hope and support keeping me buoyant (not to mention two glasses of a very nice Barossa Valley Shiraz), I have searched through website after website trawling for ways to circumnavigate the machinations of a slowly turning government agency. I think I have found my answer.

The E-3 visa is a new kid on the block, and is open only to Australians who have a university degree, AND who have a job offer in the U.S. I have two out of three, so all I need now is someone stateside to take a chance on an Aussie girl who is bright, hard-working, resourceful, and creative. Oh, and the biggest plus: the E-3 takes about 2 days to secure an interview, and about 30 days to process.

So, now I (hopefully) line up interviews for my September/October visit to Seattle. Then, (hopefully) I will find an employer who sees the benefits of hiring a brilliant Aussie woman, who just happens to have some red tape stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Diner’s Regret

sandybarker

This will be short and sweet.  I’ve coined a phrase. 

Yesterday as we left a delicious lunch, my father rubbed his full stomach, and bemoaned finishing both his entree and main.  “I enjoyed it, but I shouldn’t have had the lamb shank and kidney pie.  I should have had something lighter.” 

“Do you have ‘diner’s regret’ Dad?”

“Yes, Darling,” replied my bemused father.

Then we agreed that ‘diner’s regret’ is a perfect phrase to describe a myriad of post-dining states.

‘Diner’s regret’ can refer to those instances where your eyes are bigger than your stomach, but you ignore the groans from down below, and keep eating every tasty morsel.  The regret kicks in about an hour later, when you want to go somewhere private, undo your waistband and loll about until the feeling passes.

‘Diner’s regret’ can also follow ‘menu envy’.  This is where everyone’s food arrives to the table, and you look across with envy.  “Ooh, that looks good,” you say, eyeing off the plate of food opposite you.  From here ‘menu envy’ can dissolve as soon as you take your first bite, and reaffirm your selection despite a brief moment of doubt. 

OR, it can take you to the dark place of ‘diner’s regret’, and you will spend the rest of the evening regretting your stupidity.  You should have known better.  You should have ordered the chicken.

On rarer occasions, ‘diner’s regret’ can just mean that the place sucked, the food sucked, the service sucked, and you were a sucker for paying for that meal.

Yes, ‘diner’s regret’ is a commonality that connects us all.  Next time someone says to you, “I have diner’s regret,” you can nod, and reply, “I feel your pain”.

Green (card) = Red (tape)

sandybarker

I want a green card.

Not a thick piece of paper coloured green, but permission to live and work in the USA indefinitely.

More accurately, I want my third green card, because I have already had two. I got my first when I was ten, because my mother relocated my sister and me to the U.S. I got my second when I was 19, because I relocated myself to the U.S. Within 2 years of getting the second one, I realised that I could not support myself stateside AND attend university, so I returned to Oz and the card expired.

Now I want another one.

Ben has secured a terrific position in his chosen profession, and will be moving to Seattle within the next couple of months. I am completely proud of him, and wholly support his decision to accept the job. And because we are both over the commute (to see each other), I will be joining him in Seattle at the end of the year – green card pending.

Stage One
On arrival to Perth last week, my mum and I sat down and pored over the forms and requirements for the green card application. She will petition on my behalf as she is a U.S. citizen and fortuitously, my mother. We spent the better part of two days filling in forms, assembling documents, making phone calls, and double checking websites to ensure that our delivery of the application to the consulate would go smoothly.

On the third day, armed with a thick folder of every document relating to our family history, and all forms painstakingly completed, we drove into the city. After 35 minutes of searching we opted for a one hour parking space. The consulate only accepts these applications for three hours a day, four days a week, and we didn’t want to miss our window.

We walked briskly to the building and caught the elevator to the fourth floor. We then endured a 15 minute security check, where we were stripped of everything but our clothes and our documents. Into another elevator, we rose to the 13th floor, and went through security again.

We waited in the inner sanctum, and when it was our turn, the woman nodded and smiled as she accepted all our forms. A frown formed on her pleasant face as she read through them. The forms we had filled out in quadruplicate – there was a problem. Yes, each form was identical, except for the 3 letter code on the bottom left. We should not have filled in the first form and printed it four times. She gave us new copies. 4 each. We stood at high benches and used crappy pens – attached with chains to the bench – to fill them out. Again. Our pens, my mum’s glasses, and my sanity were all locked away downstairs.

Just as mum was about to faint and I was about to cry from the cramps in my hands, we finished and returned to the counter. The pleasant lady completed our transaction, and told us that ‘they’ would go through my forms and documents, and then send me the next batch.

The only thing left was to pay for the application. When I was about to sign the credit card slip, I spotted the amount in Australian dollars, and queried it. “Oh, I see,” I said, noticing the incorrect exchange rate, “you have the Aussie dollar at only 85 cents. It’s 96 cents at the moment.”

“Oh,” she said smiling pleasantly, “that is the amount set by our financial manager.”

“But he doesn’t set the exchange rate – the world market does,” I said, laughing incredulously.

She shrugged as pleasantly as she smiled. “That’s the rate he set.” I was dumbstruck, but was not going to labour the point, as ultimately I want ‘them’ to let me in to their country. Mum and I shook our heads as we walked out, amazed at the arrogance.

Wrung out we walked back to the car, knowing we had overstayed our one hour limit. A nice fat $50 ticket sat smugly on the window. I used my millionth expletive for the day as we got into the car.

Stage one was completed.

I have no idea what the next stages will hold, or how many there will be, but I am steeling myself, because I want a green card, and I will do whatever ‘they’ ask to get it.

And I must say that my mum is a champion, because she says she will do whatever ‘they’ ask too.

Thanks, mum.

Window seat

sandybarker

I am not a window seat kind of a girl.

I say this metaphorically, and literally.

In life, I do not like to sit by the window and watch. I like to get out there in it, and invariably I end up a bit mucky for my efforts. But this is my preference. I actually feel for the ‘watchers’, those people who say stuff like, “I wish I could do that” or “If only I had [insert attribute or asset here], I would be happy”. I much prefer being an active participant in life, and sometimes I get injured or have a set back, but I often feel great joy.

I am not a window seat kind of a girl on a plane either. I prefer the aisle – the aisle affords me freedom.

Two days ago, I flew from east to west to visit my family and friends. Still at the terminal, I sat in my aisle seat patiently waiting for those who would be seated next to me. They didn’t come. As the plane pulled back, I realised I had three airline seats to myself, a rare pleasure.

I stayed in the aisle seat for about as long as it took for the young family across the aisle to make more noise than young families should in a confined space. I moved to the window seat, and stretched my legs across the other two. I had appropriated 2 pillows from the overhead locker above my head, so I was as comfortable as a person can be in coach.

My ‘special meal’ came 30 minutes before the meal service started, and I watched a film I had wanted to see for some time. Does airline travel get any better than this? (Well, yes, if you’re Ben who gets upgraded every time he flies, just for showing up.)

I even had a nap. For forty-five minutes!

When we started to make our descent, I lifted the window shade I had lowered for my movie viewing. The sun streamed in, as although it would be raining on landing, we were above the cloud line. We descended through the clouds and I watched as the earth emerged through the wisps of white.

I rarely see this type of view, because I almost always sit on the aisle.

The topography changed several times in as many minutes. It was beautiful, and the best part of a really good flight.

I felt a twinge, because I knew how many times I had missed this exact feeling.

I took shot after shot. The earth was drenched, and the colours vibrant – every shade of green. Then there were scars, great gashes of red earth ripped through the bush. Farms presented a patchwork of neat borders and varying shades and textures. Vineyards appeared, with their perfect rows of vines pointing the way to grand houses and wineries. And then the outskirts of Perth itself, where trees pepper an urban landscape in dark green tufts.

patchwork

earthen scar

Vineyards

Outskirts

It is my home.

I love Sydney, which is why I have lived there nearly eight years. I love other places around the world, and I am sure I will love living in Seattle next year. Western Australia, however, is home. I will always come back here to see it, and my loved ones who live here.

It is so easy to take the familiar for granted, but on Saturday I got to see my homeland through fresh, somewhat misty eyes. I felt pride mostly, because it truly is incredibly beautiful and I cannot wait to show it off to Ben.

And I had this small, but significant joy all because I took a window seat.

Long Distance Relationships

sandybarker

I have said before that no matter where I am in the world, I miss someone I love.  Because I have lived in three countries and have spent my adult life being a traveller, I am fortunate to have forged lasting relationships world over.   Of course, many of those I love are travellers themselves, and are scattered to the winds.  It is somewhat corny, but highly appropriate that the ‘world wide web’ is my primary tool for keeping the threads of these relationships intact.  I may not be able to make last minute dinner plans with these loved ones, but these threads are as important to my life as the relationships with those close by.

First thing every morning, after the wake-up-make-the-bed-visit-the-bathroom thing, I greet my cat, Jessie, and switch on my computer.  Throughout my getting ready routine, I check my inboxes (yes, there are several) to see who on the other side of the world is doing what.  Jessie does her yoga at my feet while I fill her in on the lives of my loved ones.  Sometimes I laugh too loudly for her sensitive ears, and she glares at me and skulks off.

While world news bleat from the television, I flick between several web pages and catch up on the news that matters to me more.

Facebook brings the latest escapades of my American, Canadian and European comrades (plus Geraldine in Peru and Christine in South Africa), pics from my interstate friends, the latest ass-whipping from my Scrabulous opponents, and a poke from Darion.  (I once asked Darion to ‘Quit poking me!’ but soon took it back, because I suspect it is a sign of affection.)

Inboxes bearing emails from far-off loved ones, bring as much happiness as a fruitful mailbox did 20 years ago.  And when I see my mum or sis on IM, I know we can have a quick chat just to touch base.

I love getting an international sms – even those that come at 3 in the morning, as every text I ever get from Sharon, my Irish friend, does.

I indulge in interstate text messages daily.  I will zap a ‘must see’ message to Dad and Gail about a program we all like.  Dad sends me footie scores, or an update on where he and Gail are having a fabulous lunch.   I will tell Mum I hope her day goes well.  And she always replies with an ‘I love you’.

As well as the web and the mobile phone, there is a device that sits in my living room on its very own table, and is connected to the wall by a cord.  It rings from time to time, and the cat and I look at each other and wonder what that sound is.  We then realise it is the telephone, and I rush to answer it, knowing it will be my mum, my dad, my friend Mich (who now lives in OUTER Sydney, and has become one of my long distance loved ones), or Suzi in London.

Actually Suzi called the other night, and although I haven’t seen her since this time last year, and she now lives in London, she still feels close.  She is my doppelganger in life, with parallels and likenesses in numbers too great to name.  Even though she is literally on the other side of the world, when she calls our conversations are like those I have with friends I see all the time.

Threads.

And most importantly, there is the actual ‘long distance relationship’ I have forged with Ben since October ’06.  Because we met overseas and live in different countries, all of these forms of communication have become the lifeblood of our relationship.  We see each other as often and for as long as we can, but when we can’t physically be together, we still feature heavily in each other’s daily life.  Phone calls, emails, sms, IM sustain us as a couple while we’re apart.  We can can fill hours of air time talking about, well, anything and everything.  And nothing.  Sometimes, it is nonsense, which is hellishly fun.

None of this, of course, means that I do not want to defy the laws of the natural world, and move the homes of all these distant loved ones – everyone – into one land mass where we can all live close to each other.  Nothing, nothing (!) beats being able to hug someone you love, or looking into their eyes while they talk to you.  But, we have all these wonderful tools to keep us together when we’re apart.

P.S.  I head west next week for some brilliant face to face time.

P.S.P.S.  Ben and I are working on being on the same land mass.

Travel Meme

sandybarker

Questions and answers about my favourite topic. Play along at home, and drop me a comment if you want to add your own answers.

Where, of all the places you have never been, do you want to go to most?

Southeast Asia – Camobodia, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam. Intrepid Travel has a 4 week tour I really want to do some time in the next year or so. I have only ever been to Indonesia, and I want to see more of Asia. This part of the world intrigues and invites.

Where do you most want to go back to?

Greece. The Islands. Life slows down. Details are everything. I can breathe there. It is where I fell in love.

Favourite City?

This is excruciatingly difficult to choose just one, so I will cheat a bit. Favourite in Europe: Florence. Favourite in Australia: Sydney. Favourite in North America: Vancouver. I will add to this list as I live it.

Least favourite city?

Tijuana. Hell. On. Earth.

Do you speak other languages?

If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it. Too true. At times, in the past, I have had enough of the following to get what I wanted from the locals (take that how you like): French, Italian, Spanish and German. I can brush up pretty quickly, but despite studying French at university I know I will never be fluent (all those bloody verbs!), and I care very little.

How do you get by without being fluent?

Smiling, sign language, and some key phrases. Smiling is the most effective.

Best airport?

Once you’re through security, London Heathrow is like an up market shopping mall. Very posh! You will probably be shuttled from pillar to post, because they’ll change your gate 65 times, but the waiting is as pleasant as it can be in an airport.

Worst airport?

10 years ago it was Johannesburg (smoking inside, hot, stuffy, nowhere to eat and a little scary). Most recently it would have to be LAX (see my post on my last trips through there).

Best travel tips?

Before you fly, order a special meal. It will come about 30 minutes before everyone else’s. Take ear plugs and a sleep mask. Block everyone out.

Biggest travel mistake?

Wearing jeans for a long haul flight. Forgetting to ask for an aisle seat.

Best coffee outside of Australia?

Vancouver: Cafe d’Artigiano. BOWLS of steamy, creamy, strong, but smooth coffee. People line up outside in the snow!

Best meal while travelling?

Indulge me. There are three.

One: On Naxos, in a tiny village clinging to the side of steep hill, we arrived soaking wet, and were clothed and fed by Martina. She served us roasted goat, stuffed peppers, Greek salads topped with her homemade goat’s cheese, and rustic bread fresh from her oven. There was no menu, and it cost us about 10 Euros each. Ridiculously cheap.

Two: Flying Fish in Seattle. Three courses. Sublime food. Wonderful company. I cannot wait to go back.

Three: Somewhere in the heart of the Beaujolais wine region, is a tiny restaurant, whose sign is barely discernible from the road. There are four tables, one of which is on a balcony which overlooks a deep and wide valley. I sat on this balcony with colleagues from my touring days for several hours, and we ate four courses of the most exquisitely presented and tasting food. My dessert was a heart-shaped strawberry mousse sitting on a chocolate shortbread crust. We drank more than a bottle each of the local wine, and did not need any dinner.

Most breathtaking view?

Again, it is difficult to narrow this down, but two stand out.
Machu Picchu in Peru, is incredible. It is literally perched on the top of pointy peaks, and sits amongst clouds.
Classic View

Milford Sound, New Zealand. Ben and I did an overnight cruise, so we slept on the sound and then awoke to these stunning views.
Milford Sound
Sound Boat
Milford Sound

And that is a wonderful note on which to end…

More to come…