I am indeed fortunate to have two grandchildren. The first one arrived in 2010. We were at the hospital when she was born and I held her in my arms shortly after delivery. What an exciting time! Not so much for her mother, left alone in recovery.
Grandchild number one
After twelve months my daughter went back to work. We agreed to babysit one day a fortnight while the other grandparents did one day in the other week. The rest of the time she went to a long day childcare centre.
Babysitting this one kept us busy
It was an early start for us, getting up in the dark, driving to Sydney to arrive by 7.30am so the parents could head off to work. Memories of my own children came back as we settled into the routine of bathing, changing, feeding, sleeping and going for walks. We would drive back home around six o’clock at night and collapse exhausted from the effort. How do parents do that every day?
Two years after the birth of our granddaughter a baby boy arrived. Now our visits were to help our daughter where we could as she was at home for another year. She moved houses several times and I recall my husband saying more than once “this is the last move where I’m helping.”
Grandchild number 2
Then she was back at work and we were babysitting two little ones once a fortnight. I remember the double pram she bought so we could explore the streets of her suburb.
Taking two for a walk
Eventually the eldest was at school and after seven years they both were. The early morning trek to Sydney was no more although we still visited. Seeing the children regularly in their first five years was a privilege that many grandparents don’t have for various reasons.
Now that the children were older they came to visit us in the school holidays while their parents worked. The younger one especially, missed his parents and had trouble sleeping. I would end up in his bed or he would be in ours and we would all be walking around, eyes propped open with matchsticks the next day.
It was extremely fortunate that the Early Start Centre was constructed at the University of Wollongong just when we needed it. It was a magical place to take the children so I bought an annual membership for us all for several years.
Drama at an early age. Performing at the Early Start Centre
There was a pirate ship where they could climb the rigging, a grocery store where they could shop, a café where they could make pretend food and coffee for their grandparents, a craft area, a reading room, a Lego room, an outdoor play area, a construction site with bricks and tiles, an archaeological dig, a dress up area with lights and backdrops, a puppet show stage and most challenging of all, a digestive system where children climbed in the mouth and came out the other end. My grandson took a few visits to pluck up the courage to try that one!
Dressed up as archaeologists, UOW Early Start Centre
As I type I am looking at a photo on the wall of the grandchildren at the Botanic Gardens near our home. They are surrounded by teddy bears. We used to take a picnic lunch and have a Teddy Bears’ Picnic. I would hide the bears in the bushes and they would spend ages trying to find them. I don’t think we ever left one behind.
Teddy Bears’ Picnic at the Botanic Gardens
The other picture on the wall is of the two of them playing in shallow water at the beach. Whenever the weather was fine we would take them down to the rockpools and sheltered sandy spots to splash in the water and build sand castles.
Playing at the beach
Now the eldest is a teenager. This week the three girls (my daughter, my granddaughter and I) are going to see Julia, a play about the first woman Prime Minister of Australia. An ardent feminist, my granddaughter is looking forward to hearing the famous misogyny speech. She loves drama in all its forms, enjoys debating and performing.
My grandson is also a great lover of drama, watching and performing. He sings in the State Public School choir. Like his sister before him, he is school captain and relishes getting up on stage to make speeches. Such self-confidence is amazing in one so young but a lot of it has to do with the constant support of his parents. I’m looking forward to seeing how these young people develop and grow over the next few years. I hope that life treats them well and they are happy in whatever they choose to do.
I may have given the impression we are always travelling, camping or boating. That is far from the truth as we spend a lot of time at home. I have always been interested in family history and being retired has given me time to pursue that hobby with renewed vigour.
Most Australians come from somewhere else a few generations back. Because the first British settlement in Sydney Cove was in 1788 it is fairly easy for people to find where they came from, especially with modern DNA technology to help .
As an only child with two grandmothers, I absorbed their stories of life in the outback and of the ancestors who came before them to Australia in the 19th Century. Both my parents were only children so there were no aunts, uncles or cousins to talk to. After my father died when I was 10, from a heart attack, it was just my mother and me, two grandmothers and a great uncle. I worshipped my mother as she turned my father’s failing business around and succeeded in a man’s world of steel and piping. To me she seemed invincible.
I did ask her how I came to be born fifteen years after she was married but she calmly told me she had used contraception until the time was right.
My parents had a difficult life with one failing business after another, so I accepted what she told me. In Mildura, where I was born, they had a successful business selling irrigation equipment to soldier settlers after WW2. My mother was happy there, she said, so that when I came along, she was in a position to enjoy having a child.
I was so involved in family history research that I based some of my A to Z’s on it. In 2017 I wrote “Fact or Fiction-Family Stories”, investigating all those tales I had been told, to see if they stood up to proper genealogical research. During that time I found out considerably more about my father’s paternal side of the family, hailing from Fermanagh in Ireland. All were involved in the railways and a shocking number of them died early from heart disease.
The father I grew up with (a rare photo)
Late in 2017 my husband and I decided to do Ancestry DNA tests to help with our research. When John received a match to his cousin we marvelled at the accuracy of the test. When I received a very close match to an unknown person alarm bells rang. Funnily enough, I knew straight away that my father wasn’t my father.
Not that he had ever indicated I wasn’t his. In fact he spent a lot of time with me so that I missed a considerable amount of school travelling around the country as his “Shiralee”.
The person who matched as a possible cousin came from Mildura, the town where I was born. Her mother’s maiden name was familiar. I had a faded brown newspaper cutting from my deceased mother’s possessions. It was an obituary for someone with that name, written in 1952, the year after I was born.
At first I thought this man could not be my father. He would have been 60 when I was born. My mother was 33. You can imagine my brain has been very active ever since my discovery, vainly trying to piece together what happened. I wrote a whole A to Z based on my search in 2018. It is called “A is for Ancestry” and tells the whole story in detail. My “cousin” and I were very excited about our discovery, of course. She refused to believe that her grandfather could be my father as she wasn’t that much younger than I was. (At the time I was 66). Maybe it was his son or one of his younger brothers.
Could this man be my father?
I was so keen to meet a living relative we drove a thousand kilometres to meet up at her place. Her cousin was a genetic scientist working in the United States so she sent all the information to him. He replied shortly after with the conclusion that her grandfather was without doubt my father! That made her my half-niece.
That also made her mother my half-sister. My newfound father Bert had married and had four children before I appeared. Now they were all in their nineties, except one who had died in her eighties. The family wanted to keep it a secret from the remaining sisters, so I had to meet them without telling them of our relationship.
The young Bert around 1915
I did meet my half-brother who was told of the discovery because his son was the genetic scientist in America. He remembered meeting my mother in 1952 after coming back from a trip to Europe. He even bounced me on his knee, not knowing our relationship! His father at that time was very sick and died shortly after. He could not tell me much about my BCF (Birth Certificate Father) that I grew up with, but I sensed he hadn’t liked him and he felt my mother was “under his thrall” which maybe means he bullied her or did not allow her to participate in decision making. I certainly saw plenty of evidence of that in my childhood.
I’ll never know what really happened. My mother always came across as a devoted, dutiful wife but she really blossomed after my father’s death. Free to make her own decisions at last, she built up a very successful business, retired and lived in relative comfort in a seaside suburb in Sydney.
From what I have read, Bert was a very charismatic man. He had been lucky, surviving Gallipoli with a shoulder wound and returning from Europe after WW1 to take up land in Mildura under the Soldier Settlers Scheme. Finding that grape growing was never going to provide more than subsistence on a small block he organised a packing shed and devised marketing strategies for distribution of the grapes. This led to a career as a real estate agent and auctioneer and a stint as a recruiting officer for the Air Force in WW2. In the post-war years he suffered from a mystery illness and was semi-retired which is when he somehow became involved with my father in the irrigation equipment business venture.
Bert heading off to WW1
This is where I just can’t decide what happened. I assume my father was unable to have children because after fifteen years of marriage nothing had happened. Note that my mother didn’t have any more children after I was born. Maybe the doctor organised a sperm donation. Maybe Bert and my mother had a relationship. Whatever happened, she did it to bring me into the world, and for that I will always be grateful.
It was a relief I no longer carried the genetic heart disease of my BCF and it seemed I had inherited some long-life genes if my sisters and brother were anything to go by. However, my biological father died at 61 and I’m still not sure of the whole story. The family said he died from cancer caused by a war wound in WW1. At the end of WW2 he had to retire early as he was diagnosed with cancer and given only a few years to live. His death certificate from 1952 says he died from a fibrosarcoma of the left axilla, diagnosed only 18 months earlier. His WW1 war wound was to the right upper arm and shrapnel had remained in his body. Maybe someone got the arms mixed up when transcribing the information.
Sadly my half-brother and two half-sisters have all passed on. One sister celebrated her 100th birthday last year. I was lucky to meet them all before it was too late. I also met a cousin (daughter of my new father’s sister) who was very much into family research and died two years ago. I keep in contact with my half nieces and nephews, some of whom are about my age. They are a very friendly bunch and have included me in a family reunion and the memorial service for my half-brother. I have been able to watch the other funerals online.
As for origins, I have English and Scottish heritage but have lost my Irish connection. On Bert’s side, his paternal grandparents came from London and Essex in England. His maternal grandparents came from London and Hampshire. They all emigrated to Victoria in the 1860s. On my mother’s side, her paternal grandparents came from Warwickshire and Sussex and on her maternal side they came from Norfolk, England and Aberdeen, Scotland. They too, all arrived in Victoria in the 1850s and 1860s.
So much for my origins. That I exist at all is a quirk of fate. That I grew up in a home full of love I am extremely thankful. I have indeed had a fortunate life and owe much of my happiness to my mother Elsa who devoted her life to my upbringing.
In Joanna Lumley’s series “Japan” she travels to the Kiso Valley to walk part of the Nakasendo Way. When I watched this on television I dreamed of doing the same. It is an old travellers’ road from the Edo period (which lasted from 1603 to 1868). Nakasendo literally means “Central Mountain Road” or “Inner Mountain Path” and is a trail that once connected a string of villages that provided lodging and sustenance for shoguns, retainers, samurai and daimyo (feudal lords).
Walking the Nakasendo Way
The trail and its villages were largely abandoned in the 19th Century but fortunately a campaign to remove all the modern buildings and restore those left from the Edo period began in the 1960s. Streets were repaved with original stone and period-correct food and shelter was once again available to walkers.
Traditional village on the Nakasendo Way
We felt a bit overwhelmed at the idea of finding our own way around Japan so utilised the services of “Inside Japan”. We looked at their suggested itineraries, picked out the parts that appealed to us and added a bit of our own (a visit to the Toyota factory for John). They booked the hotels, organised transport (trains and buses) and gave us a daily outline of where to go and when.
Matsumoto Castle
From Matsumoto we were to catch the train to Nagiso and then hop on a bus to Magobe. There was a brief period of time in the morning to see Matsumoto Castle. I left John at the hotel and promised to be back in time to catch the train. It was quite exhilarating to be on my own. I paid the entrance fee and climbed to the top of the castle, each floor accessed by steep steps until I breathlessly reached the top. Back in the grounds I posed with some Samurai warriors before finding my way back to the hotel. John was relieved to see me as it was time to head down to the railway station. It took one and a quarter hours to reach Nakatsugawa by train and then another 20 minutes by bus along a winding road to reach Magobe.
We walked uphill to the tourist information office and on through the ancient village to a vantage point overlooking the town. The trail starts in Magome at an altitude of 600 metres, rises up to 801 metres and then descends to 420 metres in Tsumago.
Climbing the hill in Magome
We headed off downhill again, skirting through a small wood to cross the road which appears regularly along the way. It is a very quiet road, but a reminder that a modern world exists outside of our ancient path. At the entrance to the wood is a static bear bell. Our information told us to give it a good yank and scare off the bears. We didn’t see any, but found a bell in each wooded area. I think the bears left the area long ago.
Beware of bears
We walked past waterfalls, bamboo groves, terraced rice paddies and a working water wheel.
At around the halfway point there was a rest stop within a traditional-style tea house. Inside the old building is a traditional Japanese irori fire pit, and we had snacks and Japanese tea served by a local man in traditional costume.
Traditional tea house on the Nakasendo Way
All up it was 7.7 kilometres to Tsumago, so we were pleased to arrive at our minshuku and view our room. It was almost totally bare but we were shown our beds and yukatas so we set about preparing for the evening. A minshuku differs from a ryokan in that it is a smaller family run operation. The rooms have basic amenities and beds often have to be prepared by the guests.
Our bedroom in the minshuku
The correct way to wear a yukata is to place the left side against your body, then fold the right side over it. Then, take the belt (called an obi), wrap it around your waist one or two times and tie it in a bow knot. Finally, twist the obi around so the bow goes in the back. We removed the futons from the cupboard and laid them out.
Once we were dressed we checked out our wooden bath. The local Hinoki cypress is turned into tubs for bathing and is fragrant when it heats up. Although it was at the end of the corridor we were told if we locked the door we would have it to ourselves. First we had to wash our bodies with a bucket of warm water and soap. When we were clean we stepped into the hot spring water and soothed away all the aches and pains resulting from our walk.
Our tub is ready
At 6 o’clock dinner was served in the dining room at low tables. Everything was delicious but most memorable were the grasshoppers and raw horse meat sashimi. I can tick that off my list and never need to eat either again.
Amazing meal at our Minshuku
We retired early after a strenuous and exciting day. The beds were comfortable but I did record in my diary that they were the hardest pillows I had ever experienced.
Breakfast was another hearty meal, farewells were made to the friendly family and we were on our way to Nagiso Station, another 3.5 kilometres.
Leaving our minshuku
This section leads through more populated areas and does not feature any preserved pavements, but it still offers a pleasant, rural atmosphere and a shorter walk than the day before. We came across some intriguing statues with red knitted bonnets on their heads.
Jizo statues, guardian deity of children and travellers, made out of stone, which is said to have a spiritual power for protection and longevity that predates Buddhist beliefs.
We had some time to fill before our train arrived so walked over the Momosuke Bridge, a wooden suspension bridge crossing the Kiso River. The bridge was built in 1922 to facilitate the construction of the nearby Yomikaki hydroelectric plant. The bridge is one of the longest of its kind in Japan.
A park beside the Momosuke Bridge
Our holiday was drawing to a close as our train raced towards Tokyo. Snow capped mountains could be seen from our window. One moment in time we were in ancient Japan and now we were speeding headlong to the modern capital.
Back in a time when taking a cruise was not a guaranteed way to contract Covid, we booked a dream holiday on the Celebrity Equinox. We had enjoyed our experience on the Pride of America around Hawaii so much we thought we would try cruising again. My theory is if you can get off the ship most days it is nice to have a cabin and a meal to come home to. We left from Rome (Civitavecchia) and returned ten days later.
Here are some highlights (and lowlights) of our 2011 cruise.
Santorini
The first port of call was Santorini. After studying Trip Adviser and the Cruise Forum we decided to catch a bus from Fira to Eai and explore some of the island. We were still confident even after receiving a warning.
We sat at a table with a couple from Colorado called Rick and Sue. They are taking an organized tour on Santorini and wished us luck on our self-guided tour. The biggest obstacle will be getting a bus from Fira as there could be nine ships in port.
That morning I picked up our tender boat passes which had number 9 on them meaning Groups 1-8 would leave before us. Of course all the people on organized tours were leaving first.
We waited until 2.00 pm when we expected to go ashore, then it became 2.30, then 3.00. A Latin American musician kept people entertained but by 3.00 we were wondering if we would ever get off. About 3.10 our group was called and we climbed into our tender. The ship’s lifeboats were not used as there is an agreement to use the boats from Santorini. Once ashore we had the option of a one and a half hour wait for the cable car, a ride on a mule or a walk up 600 steps. Thinking we were in good shape we opted for the walk but didn’t count on sharing it with 600 mules, or the overpowering smell of their dung and urine in 30+ degrees Celsius heat.
About halfway up we watched horrified as we spied a large man walking down the hill with two riderless mules coming down behind him. We yelled but it was too late. He was pushed forward and as a result was running faster and faster. John heroically grabbed him by the arm and swung him to the side of the path. I had an image of them both rolling down the steep steps. He was very thankful, but I don’t think he realized how bad the situation could have been. I think we were conned by the 600 steps as each step was three paces deep.
Once at the top we found a café with a beautiful view but I headed straight to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face until I felt human again. We drank cold sparkling water and beer and at last took in the view. Fira is on the edge of a caldera. The crater is now filled with water and is reputed to have once been the site of the lost city of Atlantis. The houses and buildings are nearly all white with occasional splashes of pink and cream.
We could see four large ships and two smaller ones in the harbour. That could mean 8000 visitors ashore at one time which is an awful lot for a small village. We had planned to catch a bus to Eai but with the late arrival on the island and the heat we opted to look around Fira instead. Once away from the crowds in the town we had a pleasant walk along the cliff edge admiring the views of white-washed houses and blue domed churches. I vowed I wasn’t going down the track with all the mules but the line for the cable car was snaking along the street and into the distance so we reluctantly started downhill. The trip back wasn’t so bad once we squeezed past all the mules who were patiently waiting at the top. I went for a slide when I stepped on a patch of mule dung so walked very carefully from then on. John beat me but saved a place in the line for the return tender. We were so glad to get back to our cabin and a hot shower.
Athens
At breakfast we sat next to some sisters from Glasgow who were heading off on an organized tour of Athens. I was a bit apprehensive about our “do it yourself” tour in an unknown city and briefly wished we were on a tour as well. Not for long. Back in the room the safe refused to open. Imagine if we were supposed to get on a tour bus and couldn’t access our money or IDs! We spoke to Joel who rang the person in charge of opening safes. Two frantic phone calls from John and a man arrived, plugged a contraption like a large mobile phone into the safe and was able to open it. We hurried off the ship, jumped onto a transfer bus from Terminal B to Terminal A and then began walking to the train station. There were lines of taxis, all trying to get our business. One driver said E20? so John said OK and soon we were sitting in air conditioning with a cheerful driver telling us about the things we should see. For E85 he was prepared to be our tour guide for the day but although tempted we bid goodbye at the foot of the Acropolis.
The first glimpse of the Acropolis, so close to the city, was awe inspiring. Ever since reading my Primary School Social Studies textbooks I had wanted to see the Parthenon and now at 60 I had finally made it!
We used our Rick Steve audio guides as we wandered around the Propylaea, the Erechtheion and of course the Parthenon. John was amazed at the amount of restoration since he was there in 1969. It is partly funded by the EU and will take forever to restore. We enjoyed hearing a couple of stories about the site include the man who was asked to raise the Nazi flag on the hilltop, but as he lowered the Greek flag he wrapped himself in it and threw himself off the cliff, and the two Greek boys who scaled the wall and removed the Nazi flag. What happened to them I don’t know.
After leaving the Acropolis we started looking for the Plaka where we had cold drinks in a shady bar. We still wanted to see the smaller Parthenon like building we had spotted from the Acropolis on the plain below. It looked to be in excellent repair and was surrounded by trees and gardens. With John’s good map reading skills we arrived at the Temple of Thesseion, entry to which was included on our Acropolis ticket. We also walked between the columns of the Stoa of Attalos which I identified as Ionic and Doric. It has been fully restored and is now a museum.
Outside Parliament House there were many protesters demonstrating against the spending cuts being voted on in Parliament. There was some doubt as to whether the trains would be running because of the strike but to our relief there was a train to Piraeus and then a shuttle to the ship.
Istanbul
I woke up just before seven feeling as though I had the flu but the view as we came into port at Istanbul was enough to get me out of bed. We saw a row of famous buildings visible from the waterfront. The Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia and the Tekpaki Palace. At 8.30 precisely we walked down to our shuttle bus and were on our way to the Bazaar in Istanbul. First stop for us was the Underground Cistern (Yerebatan). Apparently it was used in a scene from “From Russia with Love”, a James Bond movie. We were lucky to be there before the crowds and we enjoyed the strange music playing as we walked along the boardwalks. It was used as a water storage facility from 532 AD until the 16th Century and restored in the mid 20th Century. The columns come from different Roman structures. There are two Medusa heads used as column bases, one upside down and the other sideways. Whether this has any significance or was just a useful bit of stone is unclear.
Across the road was the Hagia Sophia. I learnt about this building in art history at high school and to actually see it was exciting. It was constructed in 537 AD and was a Christian church for 916 years. When the Ottomans conquered Constantinople, the church became a Muslim mosque for 481 years. Now it is a museum, opened in 1935 after extensive restoration ordered by the enlightened leader Mustafa Attaturk. The lime covering on the Christian mosaics was removed so once again they could be viewed. (Note: Since 2020 it is once again a mosque.)
While waiting in line we were approached by a carpet seller. This was a common occurrence throughout the day. They were invariably cheerful and all seemed to have an Australian wife and a cousin in Wollongong. In the Hagia Sophia we walked up to the top gallery and looked down below. This area was reserved for women during services as a Muslim Mosque and maybe when it was a Roman Christian church as well.
The Blue Mosque, although free, took a while to access because of the long queue. I had taken the scarf off John’s suitcase so I could wear it over my head but found the majority of people had no scarf or if they did just draped it around their shoulders. I got that wrong (or did they?). The ceiling was amazing but the crowd was dense so we didn’t stay long. The mosque was constructed in 1609-1616. It has 21,042 blue, green and white tiles in the interior and six minarets.
The Topkapi Palace was last on our list and I was really looking forward to it. Begun in 1475 it was extended and extended until it was abandoned in the 19th Century. It is twice the area of the Vatican but has been constructed around large squares and gardens so has a lot of open space. The Imperial Treasury houses consist of four rooms in all with a decorated throne at the entrance to each one. Some of the exhibits included the Topkapi Dagger and the Spoon Maker’s Diamond.
Next Day
With half a day to see more of Istanbul we opted to walk around the port area and explore. We saw a sign which said “Tunnel’ but as it had trains we didn’t go in. John was keen to see the fishermen on the Galata Bridge so we watched them pulling in heaps of tiny fish which they put in jars and containers. There were also some larger mullet. There would have been 200 people fishing on the bridge with a gap in the middle to let boats through. The Galata Tower was my object as it was visible from most vantage points. We walked up steps and down hills and up more hills until finally we found it. Had we taken the Tunnel we would have been there in minutes. It connects the district of Galata with the district of Beyoglu. The subway is the shortest in the world and is only 750 metres long.
The Galata Tower is 61 metres tall but is also on top of a hill. There are supposed to be 143 steps or a lift but we used the lift and I counted 60 steps on top of that. At the top we had quite a good view of the Bosphorus, the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmara. Its claim to fame was when a scientist named Celebi jumped from the top and flew to the other side of the Bosphorus Strait, using the wings he had invented.
After an expensive coffee outside the tower we continued to walk until we reached Istiklal Street. We came to this via the Jewish Quarter which had security guards at each end and made us a little nervous. The Tunnel came out here and was met by an old-fashioned tram which was full of people so we didn’t get on. The street was lined with embassies, Russian, Swedish and Danish, a number of Christian churches and luxury hotels.
Ephesus
We woke up today feeling confident as we had a pre-booked tour with Ephesis Shuttle. Our guide Melissa was holding a sign that read “John Curry”. It was certainly nice to get into our air conditioned Mercedes Benz van and be whisked off to Ephesis in comfort. Once there Melissa stayed with us and talked about the various sites as we walked. The highlight for us was the Terrace Houses which are now under permanent cover and have been unearthed from the hillside. The walls are covered with frescoes which were being revealed as we watched. It was quite thrilling to see people in action working on the walls.
On the way back we visited the Temple of Artemis which is only a column but was once one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
Behind it is a monastery which used the Temple of Artemis as a source of building materials. I was excited to see it because I had read about it as a child. This is what it once looked like. It was more than twice the size of the Parthenon.
Attribution: Zee Prime at cs.wikipedia.
Mikonos
Today was a beautiful blue and white day. Blue sky, blue sea and white buildings. A blast from the past for John. From the time we pulled into the pier which did not exist in ’69 John was comparing and noting changes. He didn’t recognize anything until the shuttle bus took us around to the drop off point, a five-minutes walk from the town. He was pleased to see the toilet block over the water was still there although now it has flush toilets which no longer empty into the sea and the little old lady no longer stands there collecting money from the visitors.
After a walk through the maze of streets we passed through to the other side of the town where we saw a row of windmills. Now no longer in use as windmills, some are private residences and shops. John was surprised at all the shops and cafes. They were all private homes with families when he was here last. In the past some had rooms to rent but the ubiquitous display of postcards, souvenirs and T-shirts showed how much the island had changed.
Past the windmills we finally came to John’s beach where he slept on the sand in his sleeping bag in 1969. The taverna where he ate was still there although the staff were new and young. We had two capucchinos and two enormous pieces of baklava.The beach had a few pebbles but the water looked inviting so we took turns to have a swim. We were able to change in the Taverna and use their day beds and umbrellas.
Herculaneum
This morning we spent packing as we did not have to leave the ship until 12.45. The ship was very quiet as most people had gone ashore on the long trips to Sorrento and Capri. We finally gathered in the Equinox theatre before going ashore on one of the ship’s life boats. Then it was into a bus and off to shock, horror, a cameo factory. Once back on the bus we were held up for another half hour!!!! There were three American ladies who must have been buying out the shop. They finally appeared looking quite unperturbed. A few people were muttering that they had spent an hour and a half seeing nothing but finally we were on our way and pulled into a carpark shortly after, at the foot of Mt Vesuvius.
As the day progressed the mountain became clearer and the huge crater in the middle of it became apparent. We looked down on Herculaneum from ground level. The city was covered with molten pyroclastic rock to an average thickness of 16 metres. Unlike Pompeii, wooden and other organic based materials were carbonized and preserved. There are a number of two-storey buildings and vivid mosaics. Much of it is still buried below the modern town of Ercolano.
As Vesuvius erupted people rushed to the shoreline on the edge of the city to escape in boats but they were killed by the high temperature of the blazing clouds exploding from the volcano. Their remains have been found in the boathouses along what was the water’s edge, now about a kilometre from the sea.
Having visited Pompeii in 1998 I enjoyed seeing Herculaneum even more, but then I am absolutely fascinated by the whole story of the eruption of Mt Vesuvius in 79 AD.
Our voyage had come to an end and lived up to all expectations. We would definitely go on another cruise.
An annual event which we rarely miss is the Caravan Camping Holiday Supershow at Rosehill Gardens Racecourse in Sydney. In 2009 it attracted 80,000 visitors and displayed the latest caravans, motorhomes, camper trailers and accessories. Included in the 400 exhibition stands was information on destinations and holiday parks around Australia.
Our aim was to buy a caravan. We were selling our A’van, also inspired by the same show nine years earlier and moving on to something more comfortable. Our requirements were simple, we thought. It should be no more than 20 feet long as it had to fit in a small space in our back yard. As an aside, we seem to talk about caravan length in feet, even though we have been metric for nearly fifty years. It had to be light enough to be towed by our Toyota Prado. It also had to be self-contained, with its own bathroom, so that we could free camp when necessary. We also thought semi-offroad would be desirable for gravel and dirt roads.
We visited all the well-known caravans on display and found to our annoyance that not one caravan fitted the bill. The biggest problem was weight. The heavier suspension required to make a van even semi-offroad took it over the 2.5 tonne limit when fully loaded.
After a day of looking inside and under vans our heads were spinning. We were going to give up and go home when my husband said, “Let’s go and have another look at the Lotus.”
I must admit we were both smitten by the way it was decorated and that is what drew us back. The only downside was the conventional leaf spring suspension. However, we could have the van raised 2 inches in the build and larger tyres added so that we had extra clearance.
The van was beautiful. It was called an Uptown because it was just that bit more luxurious than most vans. It was only 19 feet long but in that space was a shower, sink, toilet and washing machine across the back. Café seating in leather and a fold-out table on one side faced a sink, gas stove and row of cupboards on the other. A full-sized fridge with separate freezer stood opposite the door and finally at the front a queen-sized bed sported a striking duvet cover. Presentation certainly sells a van. The windows were large and used a system of fly-screens attached to block-out shutters covered by slimline venetian blinds. The cupboards were light honey coloured, smooth and curved, reminiscent of a past era and yet looking surprisingly modern.
The show van that captured our attention
There were three points to attach a TV, including one outside, an air conditioner in the ceiling, a Four Seasons hatch and a Heki hatch. The bed lifted up with gas struts to reveal a large storage area underneath. Outside, at the front, was a tunnel boot which meant the overall length of the van was kept to a minimum.
So many choices to make
We found ourselves signing the paperwork at the end of a long day, just as everything was closing. Had we made the right decision?
We were in for a long wait of five months while our caravan was built. The Lotus factory is in Campbellfield in Victoria, 800 km south of our home. However, the caravan dealer at the show was in Tweed Heads, 900 km to the north. We could have cancelled the order and reordered it in Victoria, but decided it would still be chilly when the caravan was ready so heading north was a better option.
Five months later we loaded the Prado with everything we thought we needed for the van and drove north. The first night we stopped at a motel in Coffs Harbour. The following night we settled into a cabin at a caravan park in Tweed Heads. A quick visit to the dealer to check on our new purchase before handover the next day rang some alarm bells.
The checker plate along the side was a narrow strip instead of the wide strip we had ordered.
The dealer was all concern. “I’m sure we can get that changed.”
The outside door kept sticking and finally a piece broke off the top.
“We’ll put another door on before tomorrow!”
John was disgruntled about the checker plate but it didn’t worry me at all. I was nervous about remembering all there was to know about the new van as it was much more complex than our little old A’van.
Next morning we turned up with the Prado for its introduction to the Uptown. We would be using Hayman Reece Weight Distribution Hitches which required a special towbar. The car also had to have an electric brake controller added. We also bought a Trail-a-Mate jack to support the van when not attached to the car.
Off we went to the caravan park. John expertly manoeuvred it into its space and we attached power cords, water hoses, drain hoses, wound down the supports and extended the awning. I made up the bed and filled the fridge and the cupboards. As I turned some lights on we decided to have a celebratory drink before preparing dinner on our first night.
That’s funny. The lights are getting dimmer. Oh no! There are no lights at all!
Fortunately we had the phone number of the dealer, who by now was at home. He promised to come around early in the morning. In the meantime, the thought of cooking in the dark was not appealing as our spirits were by now very low, so we put the fridge on gas and went out to a club for dinner.
The next day the dealer replaced the battery charger and all was well. I had learnt something new. Even if we were plugged into electricity, the lights would not work if the battery was flat.
Our woes were not over yet. Later that same day I found water leaking under the sink. The drain hose had a hole in it. Another phone call to the dealer and he was there within minutes. Apparently, the drain had been tied too tightly and split the pipe.
What else could go wrong, we wondered? Another few days and we started to relax. So much so that we took off for new pastures without any more mishaps.
On the road at last
Over the years we have made a few changes to the van, just as you might to a house and its contents. We always found the bed a bit short and a bit hard. We had the bed base extended so that we can add a piece of foam when it is pulled out. We also bought a foam overlay so now it is as comfortable as the bed at home.
A very comfy bed
Driving out to Lawn Hill we encountered a corrugated road which shook us pieces so we wondered what would greet us when we opened the door. The fold up table had come away from the wall but otherwise nothing was damaged.
Over time we have changed most of the lights to LED. The microwave and washing machine were both replaced in the last five years. We had a scare with the gas stove which had exploded in a couple of other vans. We were told not to use it and turn the gas off. Then we were told we could use it except for the front left burner. Finally, we were told we were OK. The ban did not affect our model.
Cooking with gas
A recent improvement was the addition of a diesel heater. Some people install their own but as we are retired schoolteachers, not engineers, we preferred to leave it to the experts. Now, with our movable solar panels, gas fridge and hot water and diesel heater we are equipped to camp away from civilization, electricity and amenities. It is also useful when a caravan park is fully booked but may have some unpowered sites. No more cold nights, shivering and unable to get warm.
When is a van too old? Uptown Girl is now 14. She has been well maintained so hopefully has a few years in her yet. We certainly don’t plan to buy another van or a motorhome so she will have to last as long as we do. I wonder what happens to old caravans? I know some end up on properties, covered with a tarp and providing accommodation for itinerant workers. There must be caravan graveyards where it would be possible to find spare parts. Most caravans in Australia use a lot of the same products for windows, doors, air conditioners, stoves, hatches etc. In the end, it is the plastic parts that go. They just start to crumble from too much sun. I’m thinking of the exhaust hatches in the bathroom which must be cleaned very gently.
At the moment there are 109 Aussie built brands and six imported. How they can all stay in business beats me but in 2017 there were 20,000 caravans a year being built and now it could be more. The waiting time for a new van can be over a year and the difficulty acquiring imported parts has everyone longing for the days when everything was made in Australia.
Lotus are now known for their rugged off road vans which are bigger, heavier and more expensive than ours. They have an annual get together in Queensland where they all camp for a week and share ideas and the latest developments. It’s not really our thing but I like to keep in touch with their Facebook page and monitor the questions and answers posed by other owners. It has a policy of no undue criticism of the brand to avoid becoming a whinge fest. Instead owners talk about their experiences, give travellers tips and offer advice when asked.
It’s hard to keep us away from boats. Back in 2005 we were impressed by a kayak called a Hobie Outfitter with a Mirage Drive. Instead of paddling with oars the boat was propelled using pedals. We tried a tandem kayak on the water and next thing we knew we were the proud owners of this amazing vessel. Hebe 2, as we called it, travelled on the roof of our car as far as Airlie Beach before powering through the choppy waters of the Whitsundays. We caught fish from it off the Town of 1770 and pedalled up the Maroochydore River. On the South Coast of NSW our favourite kayaking spot was Lake Conjola but we also put it in on the Upper Shoalhaven at Coolendel.
There were a couple of problems. First of all it was quite heavy and lifting it onto the roof of the car required considerable effort from the two of us. One of the pedals was tricky to fit and one of the seats refused to stay in place. After ten years we hadn’t used it for a while so we advertised it and shortly after waved goodbye.
Exploring the Shoalhaven River
So we were without a boat but it wasn’t until Covid lockdowns limited our lives that we really missed it. I saw a small, single version of a Hobie called a Mirage Passport for sale at the local BCF and snapped it up.
Lake Illawarra, NSW
We also bought a regular kayak off our son so one of us paddles and the other one pedals. We had to buy an extra roof rack to hold the second kayak but as they are both lighter than the original Hobie they are easier to transport.
Carrying two kayaks
We have only kayaked once overseas and the purpose of the exercise was not so much to experience a paddle on the water, but to get to a particular place. John has always been a fan of Captain James Cook, visiting his school near Great Ayton, the town where he first worked (Staithes) and Whitby, where he was apprenticed to a ship owner. We knew when going ashore from the Pride of America in Kailua Kona on the island of Hawaii (Big Island), that we would be close to the place of his death so we thought it would be a perfect opportunity to visit the site.
Once on the jetty we asked the woman at the Information booth how to go about seeing the Captain Cook Memorial. She said there was no easy way to get there except by boat. Road access is a poor option as it involves a long, hot and difficult walk at the end. There were boat tours but they were expensive and designed for snorkelling, not to see the memorial. She suggested we go with a private tour and pointed to a man in a blue shirt called Ken. Shortly after his wife Marylou arrived and between them they said we could do a tour and go on a kayak ride to the memorial. They just needed two more people.
We tried to convince a few people but most of them said they were not interested in kayaking. Finally a young couple from Florida, Chris and Tammy, agreed to go. They weren’t sure if they wanted to kayak but Marylou said they could go on to The Place of Refuge National Park while we were paddling. First stop was the Kona Joe Coffee Plantation. The coffee is grown on trellises and the setting was wonderful up in the hills. We could see our ship in the far distance. We drank coffee samples and tried chocolate coated coffee beans. The two went very well together.
The kayaks, owned by a woman called Regina, were rather old and faded. So were the lifejackets. We had the seats changed for some more comfortable ones that actually had a seat in them, put on our swimmers in the change sheds, and soon were on the water of Kealakekua Bay. We both laughed at the bung in the bow made of a piece of rolled up paper. We were told it would take 45 minutes to reach the memorial so we paddled hard, knowing that the other couple might be waiting for us. They hired a kayak too but went to an area not far from where we launched to watch the spinning dolphins.
Us climbing awkwardly into the kayak
The paddle went well and we arrived in a rocky area surrounded by a number of other much newer kayaks belonging to a snorkelling group. We asked a few people how to get to the memorial but most didn’t know it was there. We had to climb through some bushes before we found the path and from then on it was straight forward. The memorial was erected 100 years after Cook’s demise, by the British. I stood there and tried to imagine what took place, two hundred and thirty-two years before.
It was an unfortunate series of events that led to a very grisly end for the famous navigator. Many local inhabitants rue the day Cook set foot in Hawaii as their way of life was changed forever, which is maybe why his memorial is so isolated.
Cook’s Memorial. Photos attributed to nein09
There are various versions of what happened but the following account is generally accepted. When the two ships of Cook’s expedition returned to Kealakekua Bay after a mishap at sea, they were not greeted with enthusiasm as they had worn out their welcome on their first visit. For whatever reason, one of the longboats was stolen from the Resolution. To try and get it back Cook attempted to kidnap the ali’l nui (supreme ruler) of the island. One of the chiefs angrily approached Cook, who reacted by striking him with the broad flat side of his sword. The chief grabbed him and hit him with a shark-toothed club. Cook fell to the sand and was stabbed in the chest with a metal dagger by the personal attendant of the ali’l nui.
The water was clear and clean in 2010, and there was time for a short swim in amongst the yellow fish before we started paddling back. The others had been amongst the dolphins and watched us return so they too paddled back to the launching spot.
We thought our tour was over but more was to come. We were driven to The Place of Refuge, a National Park called Pu’uhonua o Konaunau. This is where the ali’i established a residence and also where people could seek refuge or absolution. It was a lovely setting right on the sea with clean blue water, sand and black lava. Massive dry stone walls had been built across the area, separating the royal grounds from the Place of Refuge.
The Place of Refuge
We had started the day with only a vague idea of what we wanted to do but we ended up doing so much more.
Do you recall the scene in the Steven Spielberg movie “Jurassic Park” where a helicopter lands beside a waterfall on Isla Noblar? In the background, John William’s upbeat, brassy fanfare fills the viewer with a sense of awe and anticipation.
I can still feel the excitement the day we disembarked from the “Pride of America” to take our own helicopter flight over the fabled “Jurassic Falls” in Kauai.
We had been told to look for a white Ford van. Our driver was standing at the entrance to the shed with an Island Helicopters sign.
Once at the airfield we met the other people who were to fly. There was one Englishman from Milton Keynes, newlyweds from Texas and another man on his own from somewhere in the USA.
I was so excited!
It was a small helicopter with no spare room but I had a big window beside me all the way to the floor. We had uninflated lifejackets around our middle ready for the unthinkable and were given noise cancelling Bose headphones to wear. Lift off was quiet and gentle.
As we flew over Hanapepe Valley, classical music, although surprisingly not the Jurassic Park theme, played in the headphones and I just sat there with my mouth open in amazement as I looked at the serrated ridges below me.
Jurassic Park Falls came into view (correctly known as Mana Waiapuna) and I wished I’d paid the extra $100 to land there and walk around.
Canyon after canyon appeared. First Olokele and then Waimea Canyon, named the Grand Canyon of the Pacific by Mark Twain.
We were all oohing and aahing but then the Na’pali Coast came into view. The pilot choreographed the flight so that each scene opened up before us like a slide show. Curving, white, perfect beaches with no access other than by water were sometimes joined by rock tunnels to the next beach. We could see small flotillas of kayaks gathered in the ocean. We flew over Hanalei Bay which made me wonder if that is where Puff the Magic Dragon came from.
By this time I thought the best must be over but we had even more spectacular sights to come. The crowning glory was Mt Waialeale (try to pronounce that!), the wettest spot on earth with 450 to 500 inches of rain a year. Fortunately it wasn’t raining when we were there. We hovered in the centre of a crater with 5000 foot walls and 3000 foot waterfalls. This was a time when the word awesome was just right.
It wasn’t all over yet. We flew over Wailna Falls which apparently has been used in a TV show called Mystery Island. I didn’t want it to stop but after an hour’s flying we gently landed at the airfield.
I may never travel in a helicopter again but I think if you are going to do it once this is the place to do it. We were lucky we had fine weather, especially around Mt Waialeale. It was a magnificent end to our seven day Pride of America cruise around Hawaii.
We have been fortunate that we have been able to travel extensively since retirement, so choosing one place that stands out above all others is hard. I think my choice of Provence is a combination of ancient buildings, beautiful scenery, fascinating history, perfect weather and wonderful food and wine. What more could you ask for? Oh, and staying for a whole week in an amazing 300 year old house!
Imagine a long train journey across France, arriving at Avignon in pouring rain on a Sunday afternoon, picking up a rental car and driving on the “wrong” side of the road to nearby St Remy. Feel the relief mixed with alarm when we are ushered into a very old building with a strange musty smell, the water dripping off our clothes onto the blue and white tiled floor.
Our host leaves us with a bottle of wine, milk and a stack of fuel beside a wood burning stove. Soon we have the fire going and are making inroads into the bottle of wine. However, we have no food, so, seeing that the rain has eased we venture out into the street. Alas, every store appears to be shut. Finally, we find a charcuterie where we can buy terrine, pate, smoked salmon, tiny tomatoes, cheese and crispbreads. Oh, and a bottle of Minervois red wine.
Back at the house, with our feast laid out and a roaring fire, we suddenly feel our spirits rise.
The room was amazing, with a huge stone fireplace above which hung a large bull’s head. A corridor led to a windowless kitchen, lined with stone walls and filled with a huge green dresser and a large dining table. Worn stone steps with a rope railing led to the bedroom with a four-poster bed complete with a roof and curtains. On one wall was huge bookcase, the contents of which I studied carefully. Many of the books were in French or German but I found one in English called “Birdsong” by Sebastian Faulks, which was set around the time of World War One. How appropriate, I thought, as we had just been on a tour of the WW1 Battlefields in France and Belgium. Imagine my surprise when I found the characters Stephen and Isabella actually ran away to St Remy! When we left, the owner kindly gifted me the book as I hadn’t finished it.
Staying in St Remy was like living in a picture book. The grey stone houses with blue shutters were adorned with flowering purple wisteria. Bright pink Judas Trees added colour to the light green spring leaves behind which loomed the barren rocks of the Alpilles.
Nearby at the Monastere St Paul de Mausoleum where Vincent Van Gogh spent some time undergoing psychiatric treatment, masses of purple irises were blooming alongside reproductions of his paintings.
Roman ruins from before and after the birth of Christ stood largely intact. The Glanum Archaeological site was occupied from the 6th or 7th Centuries BC and became a Roman colony around the birth of Christ until 260 AD when Alamannic invasions forced the inhabitants to move to what is now the town of St Remy.
Wednesday was market day so we were up early to see the stalls being set up. The specialties of the region were lavender products, colourful ceramics, white asparagus which is in season and of course the local cheese, processed meat and pink rose wine. As the stores opened we tasted cheese and savoury things on bread and pieces of cake until we had filled our basket with goodies for lunch.
It was such a lovely sunny day that we didn’t fancy eating in our “cave”. The square opposite our front door was used as a car park but it had trees and was surrounded by ancient buildings so what better place to have a picnic. We dragged three chairs outside, brought out the baguette, the jars of pistou rouge and creme d’Ail, the olives and the cheese, two bottles of 1664 and two quiches warmed up in the oven.
I related to a quote in a newspaper article left by one of the previous visitors in our house.
It said, “One of the great pleasures of the siesta is that you wake up twice in the same day, and if it’s a good day and everything’s going right, then you get double the pleasure.”
Well, we enjoyed a nap after our busy morning, in our big, comfy four poster bed, looking through the open window at blue sky, stone buildings and fresh, spring green leaves on the trees before “a brief stretch of blessed afternoon oblivion”. (Thanks to Chris Stewart, The Mail on Sunday)
Tearing ourselves away from St Remy we drove to the villages of Gordes and Roussilon, perched on the top of steep hills and overlooking the valleys below. The Luberon is to the North East of St Remy in the Vaucluse area. After driving through green fields and about 400 roundabouts we began to climb steeply to the village of Gordes. Unexpectedly there was a huge crane in the middle of the medieval village. It was lowering rocks onto a building site which was most probably a renovation or repair. A number of trucks were parked in the street making it difficult to pass even on foot but despite all this the views were breathtaking between the stone houses and the castle built on the rock. The outlook would have been useful for spotting approaching armies or people up to no good.
The next perched village was quite different. Situated near ochre pits, Roissillon has a decided orange glow about it. Again it was high on a mountain top and we had to park before walking up the hill.
Our final town for the day, Goult, had been recommended by Stu Dudley on Trip Advisor, whose notes I was following. He said if he had to live in the Luberon that is the town he would choose. It is far from being touristy and had a calm and peaceful air. It was not as high as the other towns which is why it was probably in better condition. Here we had dessert and coffee before walking around the village and finding a windmill.
Although I had plans to continue the journey to Bonnieux (where Peter Mayle lived, of “A Year in Provence” fame), John said, “let’s call it a day.” He was probably right as trying to visit too many places at once means the last ones are not enjoyed.
Another day and another drive, we were at the Des Baux de Provence, a craggy, ruined castle atop a rugged cliff. The views from the fortification were impressive over beautiful Provence countryside. We climbed some very worn steps to the top after reading warnings to do this at our own risk. From imagining ourselves in Roman times at Glanum we now were in the 16th Century being attacked by Louis XIII because we dared to become Protestants. Huge catapults flung rocks against the stone walls of the castle until they crumbled and we were forced to surrender and flee to the marshy lands of the Camargue.
A longer drive to Longuedoc brought us to the 2000 year old UNESCO World Heritage Site of the Pont du Gard. It is surprisingly intact and even more surprisingly we were allowed to walk across it. Apparently by the 1990s it was full of tourist shops and rather tacky, but now it has been redeveloped, removing vehicular traffic and adding a museum. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Our week was nearly at an end but we had one more thing to look forward to, dinner at Maison Drouot. It was a ten minute walk from home out past the ring road. The building is an 1887 flour mill which used to have a water wheel and still features a rushing stream.
We decided on the Degustation with matching wines. We hadn’t eaten out in St Remy, choosing to cook in our rustic kitchen, so this was going to be a test of the best the town could offer.
Immediately after our arrival we ordered the champagne and almond cocktail. Olives and little loaves of bread appeared. With the same solemnity as if it were wine we were shown a bottle of some local olive oil which was ceremoniously poured in small plates and accompanied by delicious bread. Then came the amuse-bouche. On a bed of asparagus mousse lay raw fish, some roe and oyster flavoured mayonnaise.
Next a leek appeared, grilled to perfection with delicious little spots of sauce and a small pile of very strongly flavoured pasta. However, my favourite dish was asparagus, sweetbreads, onions and almond flakes with a scrumptious sauce. This was followed by tasty fish (halibut I think) with little shellfish. Finally a piece of guinea fowl appeared, accompanied by asparagus, artichoke, artichoke mousse, a cheese wafer and some delicious indescribable sauce.
Dessert was less memorable but the espresso coffee came with little egg like creations which were very tasty.
I won’t tell you what it cost but it met all expectations and we decided we could eat baguettes, pate and cheese for the next week to compensate.
What was it about this restaurant that made it so different to any others we have visited? It was the little dog nearby, perched on its owner’s knees, delicately eating from its own plate at the dining table. Only in France!
One of my favourite activities each year used to be planning an overseas holiday. I say used to be because I no longer have the confidence to risk such an undertaking. As “Novids” my husband and I expect any day to come down with the dreaded disease and can’t understand why we are in the 10% of the Australian population that hasn’t had it.
Not going overseas is definitely a First World problem. When I think of people in countries where bombs are raining down, or earthquakes are burying loved ones under rubble I feel ashamed for complaining. In my own country I look at people who have been flooded or burnt out in bushfires and think how lucky I am. So I’m not too bitter about not going … but it would have been a great trip.
The year of 2020 was to include a visit to Sicily followed by a gulet cruise (traditional small cruise ship) among the picturesque Croatian coastal islands.
Our ship the Anna Marija
In October of 2019 I paid the deposit on our seven day voyage from Dubrovnik to Split. The next step was to book a flight so I chose Qantas, with a two night stop in Dubai and a change of airline in Rome to fly to Catania in Sicily.
Once flights were booked I took out insurance in case the unthinkable happened and we couldn’t go.
How to get from Sicily to Dubrovnic? Further research found a bus we could take from Taorima to Bari on the mainland. From here we could sleep on an overnight ferry to Croatia. Over the next weeks I booked two nights in Catania, a week in Ortigia, three nights in Taorima and individual nights in Agrigento and Piazza Amorina. We would travel light and catch buses between the towns. By December I had booked two nights in Split for the end of our boat trip and two nights in Zagreb from where we would fly out to Dubai and finally back to Sydney.
A week in Ortigia was planned
Meanwhile the outside world had other plans. The 31 December 2019 was one of those days where the word “unprecedented” became part of the language. From across the Victorian border in Mallacoota all the way up the NSW coast bushfires destroyed people, towns, vegetation and wildlife.
Firefighters at work on the Currowan fire between Batemans Bay and Ulladulla (AAP Dean Lewins)
It seemed like it would never rain again. The air was thick with smoke.
Ovation of the Seas in New Zealand
On the 16th January we left Sydney Harbour with our daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren on the ship Ovation of the Seas. We were glad to escape the smoky air of coastal NSW and explore a tiny bit of New Zealand from the ports of Dunedin, Picton and Wellington and view the Sounds. We returned to the still smoky Sydney on the 24th January. The next day the first confirmed case of Corona Virus in Australia was identified in Victoria in a man recently returned from Guandong, China
On Feb 5 I wrote the Corona Virus is spreading. I hope it has settled down by June. There are people stuck on a Princess ship off Japan as there is Corona Virus on board. Imagine being trapped on a ship in a cabin, especially one without a porthole!
From the 7th February the word unprecedented no longer applied to bush fires. Now it was floods and storms. Dams were overflowing, people were being evacuated from flooded houses, powerlines were down. The word catastrophic was used regularly. At least the bushfires were well and truly out.
On 17th Feb we heard the people on the ship off Japan were being evacuated. The Australians coming home would be in quarantine in Darwin for two weeks. Our daughter was worried about her proposed trip to Thailand. For the first time it occurred to us it could even affect our trip to Europe. Maybe it would be all over by June?
John’s brother and his wife were to fly to Africa in two weeks to begin a cruise through the Suez Canal and Mediterranean. On the 1st March John rang his brother to see if he was still going. We began to wonder if we would ever see them again as they were determined not to cancel. The cruise was to finish in Venice which was by now a hotbed of Coronavirus.
A week later we made a decision. It looked like our plans were scuttled as Corona Virus spread far and wide. I checked to see what could be cancelled and found some accommodation was refundable. I wasn’t sure about the flights. They were bought on sale so I had my doubts.
On the 8th March I wrote I’m feeling sad about the European holiday but resigned as well. Tomorrow I will ring Qantas. I will try to get a refund on the airfares. Then I will do the accommodation. There is also the flight from Rome and the ferry trip to Dubrovnik…
That same day the ship, Ruby Princess, left Sydney for New Zealand. On the 19th March it returned, disgorging its 2,600 passengers into taxis, trains and airport buses. They were infected with Covid and spread it far and wide as some returned to homes interstate and overseas.
Italy imposed a lockdown March 9. On 11th March I wrote, Italy is now closed off to tourists because of the Virus. It is estimated to hit Australia with a vengeance in a week.
My daughter and son-in-law celebrated their 40th birthdays at the Rose Hotel in Chippendale. It was to be our last family gathering for many months.
The government announced on 15th March that everyone returning from overseas would have to do two weeks quarantine. John’s brother and his wife had flown to Mauritius, decided against boarding the cruise ship and flown home again, just in time to avoid quarantine. They decided to lie low at home for a couple of weeks as a precaution.
All school excursions have been cancelled as well as after school activities. There is even talk that school might be cancelled too!
Then on 16th March something happened that was completely unexpected. John woke with numb fingers and was diagnosed with a transient ischemic attack (TIA). It was a mini stroke, in his case leaving no permanent damage.
The ## March was my daughter’s birthday. It was also the day of her father’s carotid endarterectomy (removal of plaque from the carotid artery) and the first day of home schooling. Just as well she had celebrated her 40th earlier in the month.
John recalls looking out the hospital window at the Ruby Princess tied up at Port Kembla. It was just marking time with its 1400 strong crew stranded in limbo.
At the hospital the medical staff were busy preparing John’s ICU for the expected influx of Corona Virus patients. They were stressed and distracted by the enormity of what lay ahead. He was glad to get out of there.
When we arrived home we heard our son (a computer programmer in Canberra) was in one half of the building that was sent home indefinitely. Presumably the other half were expected to spread out in the extra space. The grandchildren had their last day at school as it was optional but highly recommended to stay home if possible.
That afternoon the Aqua Joggers linked up on Zoom in preparation for an 8 o’clock exercise class three times a week. We all had fun talking to each other. It helped us survive several lockdowns and adjust to a limited lifestyle.
That all seems so long ago. We were able to get refunds from some of our accommodation and the ferry trip. Qantas eventually refunded most of our airfares. Our insurance covered the rest except for the gulet. Every year Goolets Yacht Charters asks if we are ready to rebook our boat trip in Croatia. They wouldn’t refund us our deposit so it is still there waiting for us. At first the thought of catching Covid while overseas was the biggest deterrent but now the long uncomfortable flights in economy class and the possibility of illness in a foreign country are enough to convince us “there’s no place like home”. That’s not to say we won’t change our minds. Never say never.
When I was still teaching and my husband was retired, we referred to ourselves as “the Grey Nomad and the Brown Worker”. A Grey Nomad is the term used to describe someone, usually with a caravan, camper or motorhome, who travels around Australia with the purpose of finding new places, meeting new people and generally leaving the worries and cares of home behind. As a teacher, I was limited to school holidays, generous as they are, but towards the end was able to take advantage of that wonderful invention, Long Service Leave.
It was only with my retirement, however, that we could contemplate spending months at a time away from home.
Lawn Hill, Queensland
In the USA there is a term “Snow Birds” describing the habit of people in the cold north descending on Florida during the winter. We have something similar, with hordes of caravanners heading north from Victoria and NSW to the sunshine state of Queensland. They are sometimes known as “Mexicans” because they cross the border and stay for months at a time once they are warm enough. Some occupy the same spot in the same caravan park year after year, meeting up with friends and warming their aging bones in the sun.
Bitter Springs, Northern Territory
Where we live in Wollongong is not cold compared to Britain, Northern Europe or North America but because of our in-between climate our older houses are not as well insulated or heated as our Northern Hemisphere counterparts. The attraction of warmer weather calls us north every winter with the proviso that we want to experience something new every time.
That might mean doing “The Big Lap”, driving 15,000 kilometres around Australia and stopping to experience all that is interesting along the way. This requires a bit of juggling to find the best time of the year for each part of the country. No-one in their right mind would head to the “Top End” in the summer, but a winter start means waiting until spring before heading south down the West Australian coast, not only to see the wildflowers but to avoid the wintry weather in Perth and crossing the Nullarbor. Since we experienced cold nights while free camping in the last part of our “Big Lap” we have installed a diesel heater. Now we can go anywhere at any time, regardless of the weather. Except where it’s too hot, of course!
Champagne Pools, K’gari, Queensland
Even staying close to the Queensland Coast can be varied year by year. I’ll never forget staying in Hervey Bay and taking a day trip to K’gari (also known as Fraser Island). The four-wheel drive held six people and roared along the beaches, depositing us in the magical Champagne Pools and pristine perched lakes. Or there was the day trip we took last year to Lady Musgrave Island where we snorkelled with turtles and investigated the habitat of shearwaters and boobies. One year we stayed in Finch Hatton, driving into Eungella National Park and spotting a live platypus in the Broken River. It was the first time I had seen one in the wild as they are notoriously hard to find. Sometimes we have taken the kayak on the roof and explored the waterways at the Town of 1770 or paddled off Airlie Beach.
Maroochydore, Queensland
Turning in the other direction, to the south, we once crossed Bass Strait in the Spirit of Tasmania, boat and van snugly stowed below decks, to explore the small but fascinating island.
“Only a month!” cried fellow vanners. “You need two or three to see it properly!”
Alas, our first grandchild was expected within weeks and we weren’t missing out on that!
Southern Tasmania
Travelling through the centre of Australia is the other extreme. You can drive for hours and see very little change in the landscape. To become excited at the sight of a service station or country pub shows how little there is to see. But then you come across something wonderful. It might be Uluru (Ayers Rock), Kata Tjuta, Kings Canyon or the West McDonnell Ranges. The majesty and beauty of these places has to be seen to be believed.
West McDonnell Ranges, Northern Territory
Travelling such long distances requires the right frame of mind. Some people find it boring. We tried listening to audio books but find them hard to hear with all the road noise. I usually plan the day and night stops, the coffee and lunch breaks, and John decides just how far he can drive. I have only driven with the van in tow a few times. Dealing with fast travelling road trains and bad roads, with over two tonnes on the back, is a job I gladly hand over to my husband. In the case of an emergency I would unhook the van and leave it for the insurance company to look after.
As we get older the driving becomes more tiring. Last year I planned a trip north with less than 200 kilometres a day of driving and stops of four or five days in each place. Turning around after a week in Townsville my husband broke all distance records as he sensed home was within reach. So much for not being able to handle long distances!
Sir Leo Hielscher Bridge or Gateway Bridge, Brisbane, Queensland
Some Grey Nomads sell their home to fund their van or motorhome, expecting to live on the road for the rest of their lives. This can be a problem if and when ill health arrives. I would want some land, or maybe a small unit as a base for medical treatment if needed. It could be making an income for you while travelling.
Owning a caravan is not necessarily the cheapest way to holiday. Apart from the purchase price there is maintenance of car and van, registration, insurance and annual service and inspections. As a van gets older there is usually something to repair, just as in a house. As for tyres, the car and van total 10! Caravan Park fees are going up, especially in desirable beachside locations in peak season. The price of petrol and diesel has gone up enormously since we drove all the way around the country in 2015. The number of vans on the road has increased since Covid kept people from flying overseas and consequently caravan parks are often booked out. Free camping where one is completely self-contained and self-sufficient can be aided by the used of an online app called WikiCamps Australia and the free campers bible Camps 12 (each new version has a number). This is an increasingly popular option but as people search for more out of the way places to camp they require off-road caravans, which in turn require sturdier suspension, weigh more and cost more. The towing vehicle needs to be upgraded to a larger, heavier more expensive vehicle.
Or you could do what we did in the Kimberley, Western Australia. Leaving the van in Kununurra at a caravan park we took our camping fridge and a two man tent to explore some of the Gibb River Road and camp at El Questro Station. That was an experience!
Camping at El Questro, Western Australia
Just writing about the nomad life makes me keen to work on our next trip. So far we have booked some van parks on the Queensland coast but then we will head inland, go to places where we’ve never been and who knows what we will find?
The Curry Apple Orchard 