Category Archives: Australian Abroad

My Paris pastiche

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So here we are at the last of my Paris posts. There have been more than I expected to write from a 4 day trip but the juice of the moments – the ones when you breathe a sigh and say to yourself ‘I can’t believe I am here: life is good’ – were far too good (I thought) to squeeze into less.

So how do I sum up such a fantastic trip? A break from the ordinary? Or immersion therapy of sorts?

The word pastiche emerged in French language in the late 19th century as a derivation from the Italian ‘pasticchio’. The Oxford Dictionary defines a pastiche as an artistic work in a style that imitates that of another artist, work or period. Paris is certainly that. But rather than being the imitator, the modern city holds quite a candle to its revolutionary past, the blood of hundreds of generations and thousands of iterations of itself embedded in its cobbled lanes and wide boulevards. So this post is my candle to the City of Lights. My Paris pastiche…

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Double Digits And Drowsy Daffs…

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If you’ve been speaking recently to anyone living in the UK, you will know that we have felt the grip of winter’s chilly fingers well beyond the ‘start’ of Spring. Night-time temperatures have dipped below 0C for far longer than usual and the days have nipped at the noses, fingers and toes of anyone daring venture into the outdoors.

But last weekend, things shifted. The sun appeared, the mercury climbed into the mid-teens and I found myself moving to the patio at Gidday HQ to breakfast, read the paper, paint my paws toenails and anything else I could think to do that meant I could stay in the warm mellow sunshine.

The days are getting longer too (I mean versus the night, not that we are getting more than our requisite 24 hours). In the last week I have walked from the office to the train station three times, a wonderful 15-20 minute respite in the fresh air dividing the frantic busy-ness of the office and the cocooning commute of the train. 

The best bit is that Spring colour is starting emerge. There have been signs of spring here and there but it would seem that the week of double digit temperatures has opened the ‘blooming’ floodgates (geddit? blooming…did you like what I did there?) and the tree out the front of Gidday HQ has burst forth in a riot of delicate pink blossoms.

And the daffodils are out. Their yellow heads have lifted from their winter sleep to bob drowsily in the breeze, lining paths, meadows, gardens and even the main entrance to the office. The Metro has been filled with pictures of Wordsworth’s host stretching across the Lake District in a golden sheet of colour – a sign of lighter, brighter days to come.

I have always loved daffs. They are such joyful, hopeful flowers and nothing makes me happier than a big vase of bobbing sunshine-y blooms. In Australia, they are in season around August and Mum always bought me a humungus bunch for my birthday so for me, there has always been a really strong association with family and happy times.

When I first arrived in the UK I was having a really difficult time, and I remember sitting on the bus, gazing out the window and quietly despairing about how I was going to keep getting up each day and build this ‘new life’ I’d crossed the world for. The bus rumbled over Kew Bridge and suddenly the view was filled with hundreds of dancing yellow daffodils splashed across the Green. My heart lifted, my resolve stiffened and in that moment I felt that somehow, things would all turn out.

So for all of you lovely Gidday-ers who enjoy my expat ramblings here at Gidday from the UK, you have a host of drowsy Spring daffs to thank. 

 

And every year, when those glorious golden trumpets appear again and toss their spritely heads, I remember that moment on the bus nine years ago when an unexpected burst of Spring gave me hope and I found the courage to keep building my dream.

Creative cacophony

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It’s Day 2 of my five day Easter staycation and today I hopped on the tube to spend a couple of hours over lunch at a friend’s new pad in Chalk Farm. Exiting Camden Town Station and turning right for the very first time, I found myself thrust unceremoniously into the throng meandering along Camden High Street. Determined to arrive on time, I hurried along, eyes focused on finding the gaps in the crowd, without much of a sideways glance.

But when lunch was over and we’d said our goodbyes, there was time for a little exploring. Yet after wandering around The Stables section of Camden Market, it left me feeling that I’d barely scratched the surface.

Entrance to The Stables section of Camden Market
The market is filled with figures which pay homage to the area’s equine past.
One of the exits back on to Camden High Road

Alas I’d dressed more for a quick stroll between the warm tube and the cosy climes of Gidday HQ/my friend’s new pad (versus braving the chilly air for an extended period) so after an hour I set my pedestrian compass for a return to the tube station…which took a little longer than I thought.

Here’s why…

3D efforts made a corner interiors store stand out against the grey sky…
…as well as letting passersby get under foot.
Hard to see the detail in this photo but this building is a riot of colour and imagery.
This extraordinary dragon marks the start of a triad of creative retail frontage.

 

Hard to choose a favourite but I loved this frantic kitty best of all.

This riot of colour and expression exists in just a 5 minute walk between Camden Town tube station and Castlehaven Road. And I can’t believe it’s taken me 9 years to get there.

I’ll definitely be back!

A Pinter…Pause

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Last night I went to see Old Times with a couple of friends. The play follows a particular evening in the lives of married couple Kate and Deeley, an evening when Kate’s old friend Anna comes to visit. It’s 80 minutes long and stars Kristin Scott-Thomas, Rufus Sewell and Lia Williams so I was ready for enoyable evening.

I did not factor in that it was a Harold Pinter play.

As we walked back across Leicester Square to the tube station and puzzled over what we’d seen, all I could say was ‘I just don’t get it’.

We debated what we thought it might mean – I had read somewhere that the two female characters actually represent two facets of the same woman’s personality and the play explores Deeley’s interactions with each. We compared notes on restlessness and boredom – both our own and of those around us throughout. We all agreed that it was well-acted but enjoyable? It was thought-provoking – definitely – but I was left feeling a bit ‘so what’ about it all – but not so much that I was sorry I had gone.

It wasn’t until this sharing afterwards that it occurred to me that this had happened before.

I saw my first Pinter – Betrayal – back when I was living in Melbourne. And then it was Old Times last night. A Pinter pas-de-deux so to speak.

And I realised that both times I’d felt the same…incomplete-ness. A kind of bereft-ness, like I’d been on the outskirts of a conversation that I didn’t quite understand and had then been cut loose and left to drift away.

I’m not averse to a challenge but after a couple of similar experiences, I’m starting to think that perhaps Pinter’s just not for me.

Or maybe it’s just that I need another Pinter Pause…

Horses**t…

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If you haven’t heard about the latest scandal here in the UK, you’ve probably been either living under a rock or cryogenically frozen for the last six weeks.

The discovery of horse meat in a high profile brand of frozen burgers back on the 16th of January has led to outrage, a**e-covering and some serious spin doctoring from all quarters and producers and retailers alike are re-examining and re-fortifying their supply chains. Ikea has withdrawn its weiner sausages from sale, Tesco is vowing to back British farmers and only yesterday, the Food Standards Agency revealed horse meat DNA in even more products. 


Needless to say frozen burger sales have plummeted 43% (source: Guardian 26th Feb 2013) and I suspect other family ‘mince-based’ favourites like frozen lasagne and spaghetti bolognese won’t be far behind.

The press are loving it.

But it’s not just sensational headlines that have been shifting papers. Co-op placed a full page ad in last Saturday’s Times newspaper and Tesco have also boosted the media’s advertising coffers by placing full page ads in the Metro newspaper starting with a rapid fire response the day after the scandal broke followed by a double page spread this week.

I’m sure this is all intended to reassure their shoppers. But quite frankly, when I turned the page and saw it, all that registered was ‘blah blah blah’ and rather than being reassured, I was left thinking ‘what a load of s**t’.

How cynical you may be thinking. And you’re right. 

The damage has been done, another dent left in consumers’ waning confidence and with trust at an all time low, it will take more than a couple of ads to restore it. And every subsequent exposé will serve to underscore this deepening lack of faith in the world around us. 

Or will it?

Do you think we can find it within ourselves to trust again?

What is it going to take?

A Symbol Of Freedom And Light…

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Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was great debate about whether Australia should become a republic. A survey was created (called a referendum) and all of the people in the land were invited to participate. The results revealed a nation divided with the vote to maintain Australia’s colonial status quo snatching victory from the republicans  55/45.

But there was outcry. Some of the people suggested that the questions did not really present a clear choice between Republican-ism and Colonial-ism. And so while the Colonialists won the battle in 1999, the undercurrent of discontent around the Great Republican Question bubbled on.

And in the midst of this, there remained another question – the question of the flag and whether it was really fitting for our modern and multicultural nation.

I love the Australian flag.

I love how it celebrates our southern location and open skies with the Southern Cross constellation.

I love how it honours our Federation with the seven pointed Commonwealth Star – with six points representing the six previously self-governing states and one point representing the territories and any future states.

And I love that it also gives a nod to the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788 to make the first modern settlement in Australia, 16 years after pioneering Englishman Captain James Cook sailed along Australia’s eastern coastline.

But like most things in life, this is not a simple fairytale and our nation is still on its journey to find a happy ending. Does our flag reflect the indigenous, the discoveries of the Dutch (through explorers Willem Janszoon and Abel Tasman) and the emergence of a multicultural nation inspired by new horizons, the prospect of success borne of hard work and not least, the hopeful opportunity of the Gold Rush.

Is it really a reflection of our modern nation, whether it be colonial or republic?

And then earlier this week, I opened an email from Mum to find a poem that was given to her in the late 1970s by an ex-servicewoman she knew in Cairns. As I read it, I felt proud that our flag held such patriotism and passion in its thrall and my fierce republican heart couldn’t help but recognise the validity – and poignancy – of her words.

 
KEEP THE FLAG
Our flag bears the stars that blaze at night
In the Southern sky of blue
And a little old flag in the corner
That’s part of our heritage too.
 
It’s for the English, the Scots and the Irish
Who were sent to the ends of the earth.
The rogues and schemers, the doers and dreamers
Who gave modern Australia birth.
 
And you who are shouting to change
You don’t seem to understand
It’s the flag of our law and our language
Not the flag of a faraway land.
 
Though there are plenty of people who’ll tell you
How, when Europe was plunged into night
That little old flag in the corner
Was their symbol of freedom and light.
 
It doesn’t mean we owe allegiance
To a long forgotten imperial dream
We’ve the stars to show where we’re going
And the old flag to show where we’ve been.


Out with the old and in with new? Suddenly it’s not such a simple question.

There’s No Place Like Home…

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I’ve been back from my holiday for a week now. Colleagues have enquired about my Christmas, commented on my relaxed face/glowing tan and shared their own festive family stories. I am starting to sleep through more than 3 hours at a time and feel hungry when I should so am hoping I’m through the worst of the jetlag. And I’m settling back into my cosy routine at Gidday HQ.

After a long week at work, I curled up on the comfy couch on Friday night to watch an old movie favourite, Love Actually. I love the opening scene: the Arrivals Hall at Heathrow crammed with expectant faces and open arms, a testament the narrator says, to the fact love really is all around. And it took me back to my own Arrivals Hall moment just two weeks earlier, walking through the doors to my own sea of expectant faces and finally into the open arms of my loved ones.

As a frequent traveller, I see a lot of Arrivals Halls but there is nothing like searching out the faces that I love in the throng, that moment when I first catch sight of them, when my heart leaps, my step quickens and my travel-weary face beams. And this search was made all the more poignant by an unexpected voice to my right as I headed towards Mum’s smiling face, a soft ‘hello chicky’ which made me swing around with delight and in just two steps, enfold my Lil Chicky in my arms. And yes, there were tears of joy and love and relief that the long wait to see each other was over.

The 12 days in Melbourne flew by. Joined by my itinerant old man and stepmum, there were family days out – like a visit to see the Sand Sculpting and a day trip to Williamstown – and chilling out time with Mum and Lil Chicky – massages, shopping, mani-pedis and many a soy latte. I even managed to squeeze in a couple of old friends (old in the sense that it had been 25 years since we’d been at school together) where conversation flowed between like and open minds as the years between the words simply disappeared. I remember thinking how funny it was that people don’t change. Not really anyway.

So I drank in the magic and nostalgia of Marvellous Melbourne: the people, the food, the weather, the relaxed and cosmopolitan vibe of the city I used to call home. And on a glorious sunny Sunday morning, whilst sipping yet another soy latte, feeling the warmth on my shoulders and the colourful energy of the crowds at Southgate, my heart was assailed by the most overwhelming wave of homesickness. For London. Its damp grittiness, its eclectic colour, its commuting-friendly infrastructure, its mix of cultures. And for my very own Gidday HQ with its cosy warmth, comfy couch and familiar bed. And I felt my divided heart tear – just like last time I visited. And the time before that, and the time before that.

I’m back in Fab Finchley now with my first working week back behind me. All of the washing has been done, the fridge is full and there’s a vase of fresh flowers – purple and white tulips – sitting prettily on the table in the kitchen. Workday routines and weekend rituals are settling in again. And here I am, curled up on the comfy couch on a chilly Sunday night tap-tap-tapping away. The memories are wonderful and will help to sustain me between hugs and lattes.

But there is indeed no place like home.

Everything Old Is New Again…

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Being in Melbourne over these last couple of weeks has given me the opportunity to revisit some of my favourite haunts and one of these is Southgate. This cosmopolitan stretch of shops, restaurants and cafes line the Yarra River between Princess Bridge and the Crown Casino complex and offers wonderful views of the City Centre across the tree-lined river.

This view takes in the ‘expensive end’ of the City – where Victorian Parliament, designer shops and many of the banks’ head offices are located – as well as the spires of Melbourne’s own St Paul’s Cathedral in the foreground.
A great juxtaposition of the elegant clock tower of Flinders Street Station (built in 1910 to replace the previous station built in 1854) against the more modern buildings behind.

The day we were there it was a gloriously sunny Sunday morning and this riverside precinct was buzzing with activity.

Street entertainers attract a fair crowd…
…while quirky sculpture adds local colour.
Crown Towers Hotel offers premier accommodation for both high rollers as well as those wishing to spend just a few dollars.

But being away means that each time I come back, there’s something new in the landscape. Six years ago, Melbourne’s newest tallest building, Eureka Tower, sliced into the skyline.

Eureka Tower is Melbourne’s tallest building…but only since 2006.

This time it was The Docklands that captured my imagination. When I left in 2004, this area of Melbourne was early in its development so I was curious to see how things had turned out.

View of Melbourne from The Docklands with Etihad Stadium (venue for football matches, concerts and the like) in the centre.

The thing that struck me most were the stark and modern shapes…

New ‘rooms with a view’.
This ‘car park in progress’ generated discussion about its interesting facade.
I love the use of adventurous shapes and textures which really typifies iconic Australian architecture for me.


And there’s even a nod to old London Town with Melbourne’s very own ‘Eye’…

Melbourne’s Southern Star awaiting the installation of its viewing pods. Again lots of opinions amongst Family Hamer about its false start (cracks found in the infrastructure apparently) and its location overlooking Melbourne’s Western suburbs.

So whilst my Melbourne meanderings evoked many wonderful memories, I found much to admire about the clever blend of nostalgia and innovation into a spectacular cityscape…

…and it just makes me wonder what I’ll find next time.

Much Ado About (Doing) Nothing…

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By the time you read this, I will have fled the chill in old London Town to sun myself in Langkawi.

For those of you who don’t know, Langkawi is a collection of 99 islands just off the Malaysian Peninsula in the Andaman Sea.

Whilst I’ve been lucky enough to travel a lot this year, exploring new places and reacquainting myself with others, I have not had a ‘do nothing’ beach holiday for about 4 years so back in April, I decided to spend a few pennies and book myself a week in an upmarket pad at the Pelangi Beach Resort and Spa. And after months of waiting for a mere splash of warm sunshine, you can probably imagine that it was with much excitement that I boarded the A380 at Heathrow, especially after a week of sub-zero mornings.

So far I’ve slept (in bed, by the pool), read (in bed, by the pool) and generally moved at a rather lethargic pace. I’ve visited the beach, the bar(s), both resort pools and the spa and my plan is to repeat this pattern for the remainder of my week here. After all, I didn’t pay for a lovely room in an upmarket resort to look around elsewhere or make any more perplexing decisions than which pool vs the beach and which book to read next.

Just in case you were wondering what this level of luscious lethargy looks like, here are a few pics of my inactivity-packed sojourn so far…

DAY1: Arriving in the morning meant my room was not ready so I was forced to wander around and admire the views – this one is just begging for an audience don’t you think?
Once my room was ready, all I had to do was sit on my balcony admiring the view…and wait for my luggage which missed the connecting flight from Kuala Lumpur to Langkawi. No big surprise as I had to sprint down the length of one terminal, get on the train to the other terminal, clear customs and security and run halfway up the other terminal to get said flight. I achieved this, sweating and panting, in 20 minutes. My bag did not.
DAY 2: After an hysterical emotional reunion with my luggage last night and a rather average night’s sleep, I transferred my bikini’ed self to a sun lounge beside the pool for a few hours this morning before heading off to the spa. As it has done each afternoon since I got here, a brief (20 minute-ish) yet heavy shower came down during my walk back, but I just had to stop and snap this allamanda. We had these growing all over our side fence when I lived in Brisbane in the 70s so I had a little moment of childish (and wet) nostalgia.
DAY 3: Time for a proper beach walk so up at 8-ish for a 40 minute stroll. This colourful local is flying a flag close to my heart…
…while this one seemd to have taken a rather long and winding road.
As for my bikini’ed good self, I took my pretty paws (thanks to yesterday’s spa visit) off to the Cascade Pool for the day. (There’s a bar in the pool off to the left of the photo so don’t worry, I didn’t go thirsty.)
DAY 4: Hot and humid again today (surprise!) so it’s back to the Horizons Pool (see DAY 2) for more lying about and reading…
…before a spot of lunch overlooking the beach.
I liked it so much there that I went back that night…
…for a couple of these.

And do you know what? I have plans to simply press repeat and do it all over again. Such are the hardships I must endure.

Sigh…

There Is No Plan…

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I read an interesting piece today called Is ‘Follow Your Passion’ Bad Career Advice? and it gave me pause for thought.

I hear many people bemoan their jobs and wish that they could follow their ‘true passion’. But what is that? Are we sitting around waiting for our passion to ‘arrive’ or do we need to go out and ‘get it’? And how do we know what ‘it’ is anyway?

I am a passionate person. I feel and express things I believe in strongly and can become slightly addictive about the things I love to do. And over the years, I have been surprised to find some of these passions change. Strongly held opinions suddenly seem less important, replaced by some other perspective or tempered by time or a particular experience. Other times, they just drift quietly away.

One of the things I have always believed is that you get one shot at this life – and along the way, stuff happens. The good, the bad and the ugly – relationships and jobs, friends and viewpoints, and even circumstances – arrive and wipe their feet all over my metaphorical welcome mat. Some are polite and considerate, others barrel in with not much more than a cursory stomp on the threshold. And when they leave, it is with alacrity or nonchalance or something in between, leaving their impressions and their impact behind.

So the whole notion of ‘following my passion’…like a well-thought through career plan…feels a bit at odds for me.

I remember being in an organisation in my 20s, formed to promote networking amongst young Australian women embarking on their business careers. One of our founding committee members was telling me about her career plan – to be working for this organisation and to be in this and that role by such and such a time. She was so passionate and unyielding in her commitment to this plan. Part of me admired her conviction. But part of me reeled back in silent disbelief. What about life and all of its unexpected twists and turns, the anomalies it sees fit to deliver?

The article I read speaks specifically about career but for me, career is not something separate. All of the different things I do – work, play, rest, relationships, wellbeing – are intertwined, with yours truly as the common denominator. So I think the lessons quoted in the article apply to life in total. Things like making excellent mistakes, persistence trumping talent and making an imprint.

And the point that rang most truly? That there is no plan.

There is no way of knowing what will really happen so embracing uncertainty and making decisions based on our fundamental beliefs – for me, the opportunity to contribute and make a difference – is likely to stand us in better stead than all of the best laid and well-reasoned plans.

And bringing my passion to the things I do and decide often results in these very same things taking on a surprising meaning for me. So when I stop being vocal, when my passion seems a little dimmed and my natural enthusiasm is on the wane, it usually means that a change is on the way…

…and that the current plan has gone out the window.

So how about you? Do you have a plan?