Stuff Happens To People With Blogs

… about organising a wedding is that the people involved in the industry are a hilarious parody of their stereotype.

I haven’t ventured into the deep, dark depths of the business as yet but have already been scoulded with a “ohhh but those are Autumn colours”.  I’ve also had the most hideous hot pink “frock” shoved in my face from a woman who could have stood in for Prue or Trude (http://www.kathandkim.com/threw.htm).  The same woman who got very confused when I told her I didn’t want red dresses for my bridesmaids, “But you’re wearing red today?” she said.

There is also the endless clucking, smug smiles and obligatory cooing over my engagement ring (I wonder if that’s a ploy to check if you’re a tyre-kicker).  Jackson is lucky, so far he’s only had to deal with some venue co-ordinators and a couple of photographers … these people tend not to be relatively normal.  Relatively.

… of geckos and I’m not happy!

If you don’t know what a gecko looks like … here’s a couple of the little blitters.

I haven’t minded them too much - they climb along the walls so you only really know they’re there if you see one move out of the corner of your eye, or hear them squwarking, oh, or find their little mouse-like dropping along the window sills.  But tonight that changed.

One crawled across my foot while I was sitting on the couch with my feet on the floor.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a scaredy-cat, just ask Brewy about the “spider in the shower” story but if a Gecko is crawling across my foot, it means they’re taking over.  Soon they’ll be sleeping in our bed and hogging all the hot water.

Any suggestions for getting rid of them?

… and what is the first thing you think of?

It might be the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the list goes on but for me, the first think I think of is *BROADWAY*. Imagine my amusement when the day before I left home to come to the US of A, I discovered that the stagehands union had gone on strike. Oh dear, I thought, I hope that doesn’t last long. I read the NY Times online and discovered that the last such strike lasted only 5 days. Phew! I couldn’t imagine going to New York and not seeing Chicago or 42nd Street or any of the any number of other Broadway musicals. (Well now it’s no longer secret squirrel that I LOVE musicals).

Now, with just 2 days left in the Big Apple, one being Thanksgiving, I am starting to no longer shake my head and smile at the timing. As I walked past the picket lines tonight I was sad - yes, sad that so many people are temporarily out of work and their union is failing to come to an agreement with the theatre heavies - but mostly I’m sad because I want to see a damn Broadway show! Call me selfish, because I am.

… to have cheeseburgers for lunch three days in a row?

I say yes but what do you think? I lunched alone for three days in San Francisco and it seemed that burgers were the easiest meal of all and, when not purchased from a chain restaurant, is actually really nice.

Thank goodness for all of the walking, otherwise I’d have gained about 5 kilos in those three days.

… everything backwards. However, I am not talking politics or religion though I’m sure some topics out of those categories would fit in here quite well.

What I am referring to is that the taps turn the wrong way, the light switches are out at the bottom when on instead of at the top and the toilet bowl is full of water at the start and then empties when you flush. Also they have appetizers and entrees instead of entrees and mains. Some stuff includes tax and some stuff doesn’t so I never know how much something costs until they tell me at the cash register which means I can’t figure out how much money I need to get out.

OK, so perhaps they’re not backwards but is taking some getting used to!

… the “best thing goin’ ’round tonight”. Sure he looked homeless, smelt a bit homeless and was trying to get me to buy a concert ticket that was clearly an old scrunched up ticket that was useless. I decided to take the compliment, keep my hands in my pockets and keep on walkin’.

I am accompanying Jackson on a work trip to San Francisco and we are then shooting over to New York for a few days. Besides being constantly beseeched by the homeless for some spare change San Francisco has been really pleasant. I won’t say it’s been great as for some reason, despite being able to navigate to London Underground, Paris Metro etc with relative ease, I have found San Francisco’s public transport to be somewhat intimidating and inconvenient so I’ve opted to walk. The walking is great as you get to see “people live here” parts of a city, rather than just what the tourism board suggests you should see, but I haven’t really checked out San Francisco’s claims to fame as they’re quite a hike or beyond a hike from our hotel.

However, Americans are very friendly and open people and, although, they’re quite loud, I quite like them. I just have to get used to unintentionally listening to peoples private and personal conversations and then I’d feel quite at home … particularly if people are going to keep saying I’m the “best thing goin’ ’round tonight”!

… is still uncomfortable.

Today my sister and I took our mother and grandmother for High Tea.  Chocolate High Tea to be precise.  The Stamford Plaza in Brisbane holds Chocolate High Tea every Saturday and Sunday from 3pm to 5pm.  The concept is lots of tea and lots of petite, sweet and savoury delights with a high emphasis on chocolate.  Think “Baileys Cheesecake”, “Chocolate and Peanut Caramel Slice”, “Chocolate-dipped Strawberries” and “Mud cupcakes” as well as a smattering of the standard crustless finger sandwiches and too many other petite sweets to mention.

Heaven? Yes.  Filling? Definitely! Almost sickly? For me, yes but for my fellow diners not so much.  I highly recommend the exercise for anyone who has a sweet tooth and is willing to “play ladies” for an afternoon.  The demographic is certainly set for the outing but what could be better than whiling away a couple of hours overlooking the river and stuff your face with chocolate-y delights!

… a 2 year old again!  I’d do anything to be able to eat cake like this!!

… has no synthetic motor oil but a fully automated public toilet?

I had to drive out west today for work and, of course, when I was in the middle of nowhere my car decided to suddenly inform me that it was running on minimum oil.  Now, I don’t know a lot about cars but I know that they like water and there is such a thing as too little and too much oil - both of these latter options have dire consequences.

Thankfully I turned out to be only about 10kms from a place called Oakey - 159kms west of Brisbane, population approx 3,500.  Unfortunately there was only one petrol station and neither of the ladies there could point me in the direction of the synthetic oil.  They did however direct me to ask the Toyota dealer, who read my manual and suggested I got to the Oil and Battery Barn.  They were able to sell me synthetic oil, though I am now the proud owner of 5 litres of the stuff, far more than required!

After this ordeal, I required the public facilities.  The public facility turned out to be automated … fully automated … right down to the electronic toilet paper dispenser and (this is the best bit) the automated soundtrack.  Yep, music to relieve yourself to.  Press the close door button and the music starts, press the open door button and it stops the music and flushes the toilet!  I personally feel that the music was a little uptempo for the occasion but really, what is the precedent for this situation?

… that can’t spell.  But this was worse.  It was a business.

I was grabbing some lunch at a Cairns shopping centre yesterday when I looked over and saw a business displaying the following large sign: “Juices, Shakes, Crapes”.  Now I know there is a word “crape” but who uses that spelling for deliciously light and soft pancakes!

… to fake an accent after a few drinks but without having listened to a real accent before trying.  I was supposed to participate in this challenge Friday night just gone but I decided silence was the best option! 

I went out for a few drinks with my cousin, Keryn, and a couple of her friends. I was going to put a photo here of the two of us but I don’t have one that either of us would appreciate being viewed!

We decided we were in the mood for a bit of a groove but only if it were to some music we knew and could sing along to.  The best spot for this in Brisbane City is apparently the Downunder Bar which is underneath the Palace Backpackers.  I’m only familiar with the place because a few male friends claimed it was THE spot to pick up back in “the day”.  For this very good reason, admittance to the bar is only gained with either a foreign passport, a student ID or a hotel key.  Essentially, you have to prove you are not from these parts or are a student.  Since none of us had the requirements Keryn decided we could all fake an Irish accent.  Well, she convinced the doorman with her accent despite only having a Queensland drivers licence for ID and then Britt did the same. Me?  I just looked at him blankly, flashed my drivers licence and nodded dumbly.  Worked a treat!

We had a great time grooving even if you do have to drink out of plastic cups and Britt realised later that she had a hotel key in her bag so the accents were for nought!

… call, don’t send emails!  I know on occasion I may in my haste type the wrong “their/there/they’re” but in a business email, you need to spell check!

We’ve been trying to get a part on our car fixed and it’s taking ages for the part to come in.  Today I followed them up and received the usual “it’s on backorder” response.  But here’s the kicker … “thanks for your patients”.  I’ve heard of retailers saying “thank you for your custom” but never heard of a doctor or anyone else saying “thank you for your patients”. 

… is the best way to spend an evening.

In my search for a wedding venue I was excited to discover that the Brisbane Powerhouse has just undergone a refurbishment and that one of its re-opening acts was Meshel Laurie.  Sure, I was more excited about Meshel Laurie than the refurbishment but I’m sure you realised that. 

For those who don’t know who Meshel Laurie is, she’s a stand-up comic, TV/Radio personality.  You might remember her from such TV shows as Rove Live, Spicks and Specks, The Glasshouse and she is the current co-host of the Nova breakfast show in Brisbane.  Anyway, I hadn’t been to a stand up show in ages so Jack and I went along to her preview night. 

We were very nervous when we realised that we were in the front row.  Yes, row AA.  Thankfully, Laurie doesn’t tend to isolate and destroy her front row audience, just chat to them, ask them their name and where they’re from and then just make relevant references about them and comments to them throughout the show.  It was a thoroughly enjoyable show about her dealing with her weight throughout her life, doesn’t sound funny I know.  A few topics fell a little flat but I particularly liked her discussions about not wanting to talk about her weight on TV in case people realised she was fat - she particularly didn’t want her husband to find out! 

I strongly recommend that next time you see that a comedian you know is doing a show in your town, you get along.  Maybe not in the front row but get yourself an inconspicuous ticket.  And, if you’re willing to take a chance, the Powerhouse has free local stand up comics and bands every Sunday - Livewired and Livespark - I can’t remember which is which.

… I’m still open to suggestions as to what I can buy Jackson for his birthday.  Sure, it was over a month ago and sure, he’s still angling for a BIIIIIIG television but I think we all know that I’m not going to buy him a TV because he’ll buy himself one and since I have this sparkling thing on my finger now, I’ve got to get him something!!!!

… I give in to the pressure.  For all those people who keep saying, “Emma, when are you going to write a blog about getting engaged”.  Here it is!!

So, for all those people that I haven’t called and who may occasionally stumble across my blog, Jackson asked me to marry him and I said, “Really?”.  Don’t panic, I didn’t leave it at that, I did say yes eventually.  To answer all of the questions that you’re sure to have, refer below:

1. No, he didn’t get down on one knee.  Given the rough terrain of the headland on which we were sitting, chances are he may have toppled down into the sea and, let’s face it, I may not have managed to get the ring off him in time

2. No, we haven’t set a date.  We’ve got a date we’re working with but so far we don’t have a venue so we don’t really have a date.

3. Yes, my engagement ring is beautiful and it’s actually one he picked himself though I’d seen it in the store so he knew I liked it.

4. Yes, I will try very hard to not become a bridezilla, then again, best laid plans

Stay tuned, I’m sure in our adventures of trying to figure out how to get married and organise a wedding I’ll come across some amusing people and situations.

… that stuff happens to people with blogs!  Let’s recap on what I haven’t blogged about …

February - Lots of work including a conference that was insane in Adelaide and a very long drive from Rockhampton to Townsville. A wedding in Canberra in which I drank too much (not my fault of course!). Yep, not much else.

March - Lots of work including a couple of functions at which I drank too much (not my fault of course!). A trip to Sydney for a friends engagement party, a time in which I got to take advantage of being in Sydney to meet up with a few friends I haven’t seen in ages. Plus, quite a bit of badly played netball.

April - My birthday (I got a watch and a mower - every little girls dream no really, I was very excited!).  A few too many drinks with my cousin (you guessed it, not my fault!). Plus, most importantly, the birth of my nephew, Max.  Check him out.

So, next up in the exciting world of Emma is Jackson’s birthday (in 2 days!), any ideas for what I can get him?  Check back here in about 5 minutes to see Jackson tell me he wants a really big TV.

… while I know that it was the Australian Day long weekend and I know that the finals of the Australian Open were on, why oh why, did some fool feel to the need to shout out “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi” during the final match?  He knew that the players were Swiss and Chilean, right?  All I’m saying is that while patriotism is nice (though surely someone can come up with an alternative war cry, because that is getting really old) it really does have it’s place.  During a match in which no Australians are competing is not it’s place and the cry fell dead, deservedly so.

… to be a little drunk on Australia Day, to watch sport, and to listen to the Triple J Hottest 100, but what about sitting on a dunking machine in a white top, with no bra on, in front of a crowd of drunk men shouting “Off, off, off”!  Last time I checked, that was not in my Australia Day agenda.

So I found it surprising that this activity would be in anyone’s agenda on ‘Our National Day’.  We spent the morning listening to the above mentioned music countdown before picking up Kelly and Jaimee and heading for the annual Cockroach races held at the Story Bridge Hotel.  Yes, cockroach races.  You can BYO or purchase a ‘roach imported from Melbourne, why Melbourne I don’t know as there are certainly some ‘roaches to be found here in Queensland.  They have some 15 races with proceeds from entry fees going to the children’s hospital. 

Now the average age of ’roach spectators was about 20 so when you combine youth, alcohol and the 30+ degree temperature, you’ll find that many of the spectators were shirtless. Except for those brave young girlies who decided to do their bit for a childrens hospital and sit on a dunking machine to raise money and … spirits, the wardrobe of those little girlies varied from white tshirt with bra, white tshirt without bra, bikini tops and one little lady who had nothing but shorts and hands to cover the … you get the idea. 

With an expected crowd of 7,000, we only managed to see one ‘roach race but thankfully were near the back of the grandstand so those delightfully squashed creatures being thrown at the crowd post race, didn’t make it back to us.  After that we decided to head to the more sedate Pineapple Hotel where we stumbled into the cool oasis that is the public bar.  Ahh, the public bar, long forgotten by all but the barflys once a trendier terrace area is built.  But after the mayhem of the cockroach races, the icy, empty interior of a public bar with it’s neverending Keno and multiple sports channels, was heaven.  Of course, we only stayed long enough to cool down and get a drink before moving to the trendy new terrace but in our defence it overlooks a park where the pub crowd were taking turns to drink and then run out into the park for a ramshackle cricket match.  Now that’s Ozstraaaalian!

… for other girls like me!

http://www.completeevil.com/geek.html

OK, so Star Trek isn’t an issue thank god but this article, which Jackson has asked me to read, has some very useful tips. Though these days I’m spending almost as much time in front of a computer as he is!!

… a day late.

We thought it was Thursday, but noooo dear readers, Thursday it wasn’t. We told everyone “Home Thursday” and through no fault of ours it just wasn’t Thursday.  It was Friday and parents expecting a visit had another thing coming. It really was their fault - they had a copy of the itinerary, and nobody ever bothered to correct us though everyone knew something just wasn’t quite right.

The Trials of Travel ends here. Until next time, Arrivederci, Au revoir and Auf Wiedersehen.  Should you wish to stay tuned to this blog you’ll have to suffer “Ramblings”.

… to be told, “We changed to a smaller plane, one that doesn’t have enough seats. Sorry, I can’t check you in. But here are two drinks vouchers.”

Unfortunately Cathay Pacific didn’t think that everyone would want the seats they’d paid for, so they changed to a smaller plane. Fortunately for us, some poor sods rocked up a minute late (luckily we didn’t see them), so we got the last seats on the plane. Literally - seats 70H and 70K, right down there in the galley. It was great, right down the end where nobody goes, except for mothers trying to shut the screaming heads on their babies. And the guys who decided to have a chat because they couldn’t sleep.

… of material to make pants, for you sir, we need two. You very large sir, ha ha ha.”

And so it went. “I’m sorry Sir, the Extra-Large belt will not fit you Sir. You are very large. Sir, our shoes we charge by the inch for leather, these will be very expensive.”

Apart from the extreme amusement of trying to find clothes, we caught the ferry across to the island, and the peak tram up to the top. Cool view.

… and slept. All day.

… doesn’t mean you have to eat it.

For once, we listened to common sense and just had muesli and yoghurt.  Yes, just once in four weeks we actually listened.

A fairly uneventful day really.  We found our way back to Frankfurt airport and boarded a plane ready for 13 hours of leg crunching, back spasming, non-sleep.  Of course, first we had to try and check in though for some reason the police had cordoned off all paths leading to the Cathay Pacific check in desk.  So we stood and waited.  Nothing.  I approached a man who was wearing an airport ID badge and gave him a little “Sprechen zie Englisch?”  and was greeted with a “I can’t tell you”, a shake of the hands and he walked off. Charming.

We still don’t know what happened but shortly after that they dropped the ropes and away we went. 

… except if you’re in Frankfurt on a Sunday and desperate.

With Jackson feeling somewhat unwell, we simply left our hotel and headed for the train station where we were catching a three hour train to Frankfurt.  It is quite interesting to see groups of drunken youths being casually eyed off by police, kit out in full riot gear, at 11am on a Sunday morning in a smallish German town.  We figured out that there was a football game on somewhere so I guess it’s just a normal Sunday for the police to wake up strap on their shinpads, helmets, bullet-proof vests and large wackin’ sticks.

The primary task for our day was to check into our hotel and head straight for a laundromat.  Having reached our “alert levels” of clothing, ie, underwear for just the next day we were somewhat dismayed when our concierge said, “The laundromat is over there but I doubt they’ll be open, it’s Sunday”. 

Given the urgency of our situation, we packed a bag of grungy clothes and headed off determined that this laundry would be open.  We quickly realised that our hotel was situated just near a red-light district and the laundromat was smack bang in the middle of it.  Is it wrong to stare at the men who wander out of dodgy den doorways putting their jackets on?  I think not, they deserve my stares.

We found the laundromat … it was closed. 

… of an attendee at the Christmas markets in Trier is a strange but beautiful thing.

Sure, you’re suppose to relax and enjoy yourself when on holidays, have a few more treats than you normally might but this is ridiculous.

Breakfast: muesli, yoghurt, bread, meat, cheese and coffee/hot chocolate

Snack: hot chips loaded with raw onion (ick, I avoided those bits!), ketchup and fat-man’s mayo

Late lunch: Potato and Mushroom soup with bread sticks

Dinner: Deep fried potato cakes with apple sauce, bratwurst and sauerkraut, mushrooms with aioli, steamed yeast pudding with vanilla custard and cherry sauce, and another chocolate coated pineapple kebab (ok, Jack didn’t have the kebab, just me), all obtained from the market stalls.

If after all of this, your body doesn’t disown you, you are lucky - like me - if it does, you are normal - like Jack.

… started with us catching a 6.30am train which, given we’ve taken to 9am starts and it was maybe 5 degrees outside, was a pretty big call. The idea of missing this train and having no accommodation booked for the night put us in a spot of bother so there was no choice but to do it.

To get to Trier, Germany we had to take 3 trains but we’ve become gurus at the train so it was a piece of cake. Next step, somewhere to sleep but thanks to the english speaking lady at the tourist office that was quickly sorted.

Guess what? Trier had christmas markets too and these ones had more food than Reims and we managed to have our entire dinner from market stalls!

Oh yes, Trier is Germany’s oldest city and we saw the ruins of Roman Baths, Ampitheatre and Fort thingy and had a walk along the river Moselle.

… for I have sinned.

It turns out Reims is the capital of the Champagne region of France, and we didn’t do any tasting! Oh, we looked at it, but during winter tasting hours are restricted. And two hours were wasted trying to figure out where the hell we were going to go tomorrow.

The European rail network is so easy to use, as long as point A or point B is a major city, or A and B are in the same country. Otherwise the computer recommends you travel via New Frickin’ Zealand. After Jack gives up on figuring it out himself (he mutters, then goes quiet, then gets loud as he comes to terms with the fact he can’t do it), we headed over to the train station to ask someone how to get to Trier, Germany. First suggestion, via Paris, 90 minutes in the opposite direction. Next option, says the lady proudly, is via Luxembourg. Jack breaks the news, “Our pass doesn’t cover Luxembourg.” Queue audible sigh. Next option via Belgium. “Sorry not Belgium either, can’t we just follow the almost straight line between them on the official Eurail map?” 45 minutes and two international phone calls later and she had us there by lunchtime. The lady did a great job because it really did seem difficult, we didn’t know if we’d ruined her day or made it.

Oh yeah, and Reims has a cathedral that’s almost identical to Notre Dame in Paris. The name? Notre Dame. Homework exercise - figure out who copied who.

… was on a felafel from the Jewish Quarter. The worst 4 Euros ever saved? Not buying one each!

Marais and the Jewish Quarter were areas we wanted to explore before leaving Paris. With our train for Reims leaving after lunch we snuck in a quick visit. Well worth the effort.

A short train ride in the afternoon landed us in Reims at around 5pm, having no idea of what to expect from a French town at the start of winter. As we walked towards the hotel, all we could see were lights! So this is why Christmas is the best time of the year! The Christmas markets that lined the main street, every day and night from late November were a welcome surprise and a great change from Parisian hecticness.

… in the same day is just weird.

I have always wanted to go to Versailles but have never had the time before.  So with three nights in Paris this time I ensured it was on the agenda.  Holy crap.  Talk about extravagance.  Some of the various rooms were closed but I think we saw the best two at the start, the chapel and, best of all, the Opera House. 

We headed out into the gardens and the drizzle and as Jack said, it was just as if ol’ Louis had said, “I want f*** off gardens as far as the eye can see”. Being the start of winter here the gardens weren’t much to look at and the statues all covered but we could use our imaginations.

From the grandeur of Versailles we headed underneath the streets to the catacombs. Basically, there was a graveyard in Paris that was infecting the living … Eww …so they moved them. Check out this link it’s even got a photo showing what’s like.

Catacombs of Paris

… except for dickheads and they have plenty of those.  For that matter they have plenty of those at Notre Dame Cathedral too, which was our first stop after a lazy start to the day.

They use a lot of diagrams here to overcome the multitude of languages but regardless people happily wander around the cathedral chatting, using their cameras with flashes, touching artwork and mind you, this is all while a church service is in progress! 

The same with the Lourve, which by the way is obscenely large and exhausting.  There are no photo/film signs with little diagrams on the doors to certain rooms yet staff still need to rouse on people for filming.  Dickheads!  I’ll stop now, I’m starting to sound like a cranky old lady writing to the editor.

Oh, we saw Mona, she was cool.  So small compared to the rest yet the only one looking mildly amused. 

Final stop in a very big day, up the Eiffel Tower.  Yes Pam, Jack went the entire way up with barely a cold sweat to be seen.

Oh, we went French for dinner and discovered that while Italians know you’re English when you speak, the French know when you look at the menu.  Bon Appetit!

… the city of romance, not!

To fall asleep in Italy and wake up in France is quite an adventure.  New language, new town, new everything.  The language is a problem as we lost our phrasebook somewhere in Italy so I just know how to say, “hello”, “goodbye”, “please”, “thankyou”, and thanks to my brother-in-law Stephane, “I don’t speak French, do you speak English?”

Thanks to a helpful French lady we found our street and got to our hotel about 10am.  We could leave our bags but not check in until 12pm so we wandered up to Montmarte and Sacre Couer.

Some general observations from Jackson’s first experience of Paris:

- He can not use a bathroom that looks like a salad bowl no matter how urgent the need;

- There is a general smell about Paris that indicates no one else is inclined to use a salad bowl.

We eventually checked in and the night train caught up with us in the form of a two hour nanny nap, oops.  We made up for that with a huge walf from the Eiffel Tower to Arc de Triomphe, down the Champ de Elyses to Place de la Concorde and then the metro back to the hotel.

First dinner in France … Indian, sorry but we’d been craving!

… or the bottom? 

The top you might fall out - it is a rocking train after all - but the bottom you might get crushed.  Despite Jackson’s concern that the top bunk of our compartment may not hold and see the entire thing fall on top of me in the middle of the night, we decided that he could also wedge all 6′5″ of himself into the top bunk securely whereas one sharp bump and I may fly out.

If you’ve been on a night train you would be aware that the cabins aren’t exactly spacious and, in fact, we needed one person to sit on a bed for the other to do anything in the floor area.  With lights out on my behalf I slept ok though the beds are so hard I woke every hour with one part of my body or another numb.  Jack however slep quite soundly (and noisly) discovering that reading until 3am like a naughty child renders you practically unconscious by the time you finally turn out the light! 

… when you’ve got a night train to catch.

We started the morning fairly quietly, ie, sleep in, bread roll for breakfast, climb a thousand steps to get to the freakin’ castle (ok, not a thousand but it felt like it!)  The castle overlooks the sea and Vernazza affording a great view of everything.

Next effort was to get to LaSpezia for some serious laundry duty and a little internet time.  The laundry task was accomplished thanks to the sweetest little old lady at the “self service” laundromat - the only self service I’ve seen where she helps you fold your clothes when they’re done!

Our train to Milan left LaSpezia at 6.40pm arriving in Milan at 9.50pm then our overnight train to Paris left at 11.35pm.  With this time line we decided it would be best to have dinner in LaSpezia and buy some snacks for the wait in Milan.  I will confess I made Jack buy me MCDonalds but I just couldn’t face another pizza, pasta or panini!!!

… it will be the hardest mountain track in the Cinque Terre.

Call it laziness but we just didn’t feel like climbing down all 112 stairs then up the hill to the national park office to get the track maps, then back down the hill and up at least 60 steps to where the track from Vernazza led to Cornigulia.  You understand, right?

Cinque Terre is UNESCO heritage listed you can get an idea about it here - http://www.cinqueterre.it/en/vernazza.htm.  So most of the towns are closed to traffic so there are really two ways to go between the towns, train or track, goat track that is.  You pay a fee to use the tracks usually but in winter they are free.  Less tourists, less erosion, less rubbish, less fools hurting themselves I suspect.

So we trundled down some of our stairs turned away from the village and started to climb, and climb and walk and climb.  I officially hate stairs and I thought I may fall over the unfenced cliff but sure enough the estimated 90 minutes later we had finished one of the four tracks.  Of course it seems that it’s the longest and considered the hardest but in hindsight … it wasn’t so bad … but oh my calves hurt!

… and raise you 112 steps!

Today we arrived in Cinque Terre, Vernazza to be exact.  We arrived around three and as directed called our hosts and Joseph and his dog came to collect us from the train station as they know it’s impossible to find the rooms on your own.  He strolled through the narrow street, chatting to this person and that one as he went and then turned a corner and started up the stairs.

112 steps plus several twists, turns and minor episodes of heart failure - you do better with a pack on your back, I dare you! - we arrived at our room.  Cosy and with a view straight over the ocean, nothing between our window and a long fall into the deep blue.  Joseph also showed us the terrace on top of the apartment (yes, more stairs).  Jack asked him if he lived here to which he replied, “No, I live with Mumma, see?”  Sure enough we looked at where he was pointing on the other side of the town and there was Mumma happily waving back at us.

I love Cinque Terre.

… with Italians and hills?

This morning Jack was to make a quick trip to the Colosseum (been there, done that) before we packed up our kit and headed for Florence.  Common sense kicked in and instead we spent the morning booking our accommodation in Florence and searching for accommodation in Paris.

We left Rome for Florence and managed to find our hostel with little trouble.  The owner of Starlight Locanda is amazing.  Passionate about Florence and people making the most of their time there, even if they “stress” her out by only having one afternoon.  She grabbed us a map and drew us a path from one side of the city to the other circling “must sees” as she went.

We rambled our way through street markets, piazzas and the duono, skipped two museums and headed over Ponte Vecchio for Piazza Michaelangelo.  A high point  in the city with a perfect view of the famous skyline.  We should have taken bus 13, it’s a bloody steep climb but well worth it in the end.

We wound our way back through the city to go and see big Dave, the original, at Galleria dell’Accademia.  While we’re pretty over religious paintings by now, Michaelangelo’s David was incredible and worth the effort. 

By the way, have you ever had a knot in your calf muscle … I think my body hates hills.

… sorry I’m so far behind, I realise we’re up to day 17 but the time and access to technology has been limited as expected.

… there will be a varying appreciation of Churches.

Today was Ben & Laura’s last day but luckily they didn’t have to leave until the evening. We set out to do all the things we’d missed so far. Ambitious and doomed to fail? Absolutely.  First up, some lazing around then we met Will & Janie for lunch and headed over to St Peter’s Basilica.  We’d been unable to do this previously as there were some very important people going about very important business and the entire square and basilica had been closed off.

Will, Janie, Jack and I had admired the entire basilica in half an hour (and what a place!) - only to turn around (again!) and ask “Where are the others?”  They’re just inside the front door, of course.  Once we regrouped we ascended the long, winding claustrophobic stairwell to the “cupola” or very top dome thingy. Great view of Jack and Laura being terrified.

This occupied the entire day (rightfully), and we missed out on the rest of the itinerary (despite Jack and Will’s “Take us to the dungeons!” comments) and we headed back to the room to bid Laura and Ben arrivaderci.

Last comment on the night - the final four went out to dinner near the Colloseo, and as the rain started coming down we were treated to watching Jack stand in the rain waiting patiently for the photo of lightning over the giant arena.  (No luck there!)

… sure know how to arrange a nice queue.  Our gang decided to head for the Vatican fairly early, just not early enough.  We arrived around 10.30 and followed the queue down the street, around the corner, down the next street, around the corner and part way down to St Peters square.  It was a nice day to queue, what with the rain and all, so we did it for around an hour all the time having nice men stand in our way saying “umbrelli, umbrelli?”  Apparently the fact I was wearing a raincoat wasn’t sufficient a deterrent to their sales pitch.

Not only did I queue for an hour, I didn’t even go in.  I was having a bit of a been there, done that day so I left the others at the front of the queue and met back up with them when they were ready to drop with exhaustion.

We returned to our apartment to devour the remains of the previous nights cook-up and chatted endlessly with our American flatmates.  With a big day ahead we stupidly hit the hay around 2am.