Zesty Mumma's Words

A life lived without passion is a life half lived

Archive for the tag “observation”

12 Jul 2016

What do Christopher Columbus and Berries Have in Common, You’ll be Surprised!

The actual town I have based myself in for most of my stay in Spain is called Palos De La Frontera, which apparently is the berry capital of the world. If you take a look on google maps and change the setting to satellite what you notice is fields on fields of white. Before you start thinking that you are witnessing some sort of new hybrid berry crop let me tell that it is actually field on field of plastic covered green houses, mono culture at its zenith.

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Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries ( sounding a tad like Forrest Gumps friend Bubba at this moment I’m sure  – “pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup” etc) but the queen is definitely the strawberry. Just in case an uneducated person like myself failed to recognise this fact we have a giant strawberry planted in the middle of the roundabout not 250mtrs from my house. Coming from the land of big things (think big pineapple, big cow, big prawn, big banana and oh so many more biggn’s) you might think I’m not impressed, well you couldn’t be further from the truth. The fact that they chose to put a mammoth strawberry in the middle of the roundabout instead of the other most important connection to Palos De La Frontera, the one and only Christopher Columbus, shows the importance of the industry to the town.

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Palos, much to my surprise when I arrived is the place of Columbus first voyage to the Americas. In fact many of the sailors on the expedition were pressed into service from Palos and the two smaller caravels ( La Niña and Pinto) were owned by the Pinzon brothers from Moguer, the next village down the road. They set sail from the Palos dock near the Monastery of La Rabida on 3rd August 1492 and change the world forever.

The village, while playing a huge roll in the  exploration of the globe is often forgotten entirely in any discussion of Columbus’s journeys. On the plus side it remains a sleepy village to this day. The white washed houses with terracotta roofs externally are probably very similar to the homes occupied by the residents of that time. Its one moment of fame over Palos settled back into obscurity and the never ending sun of southern Spain. Far more cataclysmic to the history of the town, even more than Columbus and berries was the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. This devistating natural ddisasters destroyedmost of Lisbon and changed the geography of the coastline of southern Spain so much that Palos is now an inland town on a river rather than a sea port.

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Back to the present day and how is my Spanish going I hear you ask?  Gracias, for asking, it’s ok. I managed to buy shampoo and conditioner by my self the other day and have perfected the purchase of “cafe Americano”. That’s a long black a bit larger than a Spanish black coffee but still only about 150mls and not the humungous sizes drank in Australia and the US. Thankfully that’s how I drink my coffee so it is “perfecto” ( just slipping in a bit more Spanish to impress you) for me.

The Spanish food however is taking a little more time to get used to and trust me I’m not a person who is scared to try new things. There are a few secrets about Spanish cooking that surprised me completely and  I think I should tell you. The first is that other than garlic and salt they don’t use herbs and spices very much and they definitely hate chilli. Another secret is the lack of vegetables used, most dishes lean heavily on meat, however they do incorporate legumes and rice into many dishes. Generally if you ask for “ensalada” or salad it will consist of tomatoes lettuce and onion, sometimes tuna as well. Very different to the extravagant creations from home

The Spanish however have a love affair with potatoes which rivals that of the Irish, bet you didn’t know that. They have no hesitation with eating potatoes for breakfast, lunch and tea; and as a snack in between. There is no shame in chowing down on Tortilla (potato and egg pie) for breakfast, potato salad swimming in mayonnaise for lunch and chips with tapas in the evening.  I have seen the light and been released, my long suppressed yearning for potatoes has been fed and I feel fine. No fear of the dreaded carbohydrate in Spain, no  irrational all consuming phobia about bread either. One thing I have noticed, the Spanish for the most part don’t eat much western styled fast food, don’t get me wrong it’s here just not as much. Also the bars that people mostly eat at prepare there own food and don’t buy in frozen pre prepared. Surprise, surprise Spanish women don’t have big butts!

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My tourist destination of the week is Córdoba, a beautiful inland city  of about 350,000 and has the second largest urban area in the world deemed world heritage by UNESCO. Córdoba was at one time the capital of the Roman region of  Hispania Ulteria and later the capital of the Moorish state Al-Andalus. The many existing examples of architecture, including the remnants of its Jewish history make this a must see destination.

Tips

  •  enjoy your holiday  – eat freshly prepared food, not processed food and don’t worry about theories that have only been around for a relatively short time.

 

 

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04 Jul 2016

Cadiz – City of the Ancients, Sunbaking Cats and Smooth Talking Old Spaniards!

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Cadiz, Cadiz, the city of the ancients, what can I say that hasn’t been said before. With a history dating back to the Phonecians it holds the title of the oldest occupied city in Spain and one of the 10 ancient cities of Europe. Sparkling like a gem in the summer sun for thousands of years, the Romans obviously knew a great holiday destination when they saw one and occupied the city from 200 BC, leaving their own unique mark. Cadiz is surrounded by water on all sides, except for a narrow spit of land, running for a few kilometres, that joins it to the mainland.

As you enter the city through the massive gates that form part of the fortification built centuries ago ( once again primarily to keep out the English) you can’t help being drawn back to a time when running battles between Sir Francis Drake’s ( or  El Draque  – the Dragon, as the Spanish so affectionately like to call him) English Navy and the Spanish Armada were a common occurance. From 1586, thanks to the first of El Draques attacks, a series of “bastions” were built. These forts, eventually saved Cadiz from English invasion and for travellers 500 years later gave some of the best photo opportunities in all of Spain.

However, like all Spanish cities the never ending rows of high rise apartment blocks lie between the main road and the beach front as you head to its heart. Some time ago I watched a documentary showing the amazing ruins of the early incarnations of these blocks of flats in Rome. They were called “Insulae” or islands and due to the staggering population growth the Romans built thousands of them, today surviving examples still stand up to five storeys. It seems that the Italians had a fascination with concrete even then.  Take the New York skyline as an example and how can we forget the “concrete boots” favoured by the Maffia. My point in all this is that the Romans occupied Spain for more than 700 years and the Spanish didn’t complain much, so it’s not surprising that a lot of habits rubbed off.

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Closer to the Old City the architecture changes, the ever present cobble stone lanes, wrought iron and narrow alley’s return. What Cadiz has, that the other old places I have up visited up till now haven’t had, is the ocean and a brilliant blue Atlantic it is. The sea wall that protects the city from the ever present surging ocean almost surrounds its entire circumference. Gigantic concrete blocks big enough to with stand the lashing storms of an Atlantic winter not only protect the inhabitants but also offer a home for the scores of feral feline Cadizians.

These cats I must tell you are quite well cared for by their human neighbours with food left at feeding points and bedding for them placed deep inside the blocks. One this hot June day they are sprawled out on the baking concrete, a gentle breeze wafting over them, oblivious to the interest of passerby’s. On the cold winter days when icy gales from the southern Atlantic close in they burrow deep into the walls cavities, warm and dry.

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Walking further along the wall you come upon a Roman Ampitheatre not 40 mtrs from the water. It is not hard to imagine the ancients lounging like the cats enjoying a sort cultural programme.  What can I say but “everything old is new again” and the present cult of summer festivals was old 2000 years ago. I’m sure I could just make out a poster on the wall advertising the “Summer Sun and Sea festival 100BC” (that is if my primary school Latin was correct). All joking aside it would have been an awesome spot for a concert.

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The highlight of the day was the Castillo de Santa Catalina and a little inlet that runs underneath the causeway joining it to the mainland. Built in the early 1600’s it forms part of the fortifications I mentioned earlier. Pitted by sand laden winds from North Africa ( the Moroccan coastline is only about 100 kmtrs away) the Castillo sits perch on a narrow isthmus, it’s low hexagonal shape giving it an appearance of solid security.

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The inlet running under an arched section of the causeway is purposely designed to allow water to flow from one side to the other in order to relieve any pressure than could create cracks  and therefore damage the wall. What it  has created over time is a clear, deep swimming hole; that on this melting day is enjoyed by groups of teenage boys showing off their diving skills and flexing their muscles to the ever present groups of teenage girls and of course  I went swimming too.

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On the walk back to the car I was approached by a lovely elderly man, who appeared to be in his seventies. Quite well dress and clean, with a present smiling face and a slightly lyrical voice, I didn’t hesitate when he held out his hand to me and automatically extended mine back to him. He grasped my hand firmly and continued smiling and talking to me in Spanish. I was becoming quite confused, especially when he wouldn’t let go of my hand.

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Thankfully my friend,who was walking with his wife a little way in front turned around and came to see what was happening. The two men then engaged in a brief conversation and I heard the mention of money at one stage but couldn’t understand anything else. I had been just able to extract my hand by this time, so when my friend flick his hand in a sign of rejection and walked away I scurried after him.

When I asked him what the old guy wanted, “oh he was just asking for money” Victor said. I told him I was relieved cause I thought he was asking if he could buy me and thought they might have been sick of me by now and actually considered his offer!

Tips

  •  Makesure you bring a hat – with 300 days of sunshine it’s always need it!
  • have lunch at the small cafe at the causeway entrance of the Castillo
  • never extend your hand to old men – you might just have to cut it off to get away!

 

 

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21 Jun 2016
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“Puedo Usar El Servicios Por Favor” – Ladies You Need to Remember this in Spain!

The yellow sun baked country of Huelva stretches before you on the motorway trip from Seville. It is a scene unchanged in many ways from the time of Don Quijote; rolling hills dotted with whitewashed villages, olive and citrus groves and abandoned haciendas.

The soil is old soil, washed and drained by rains and droughts through the milleniums to become  a sandy loam that cracks and crumbles with your touch, not unlike Australia.  The summer grass, quickly drying in the ever present, baking sun, shows no variance in colour from dirt in which it grows.  Native trees ( that’s if you don’t count the olive) seems to be limited, with the main example a type of conifer that takes the shape of a slightly flattened lollipop. This natural topiary I am told can also be quite tall but the ones I am seeing aren’t.

I will be based in Huelva province for the next couple of months and the main city only  10km’s away. From a distance Huelva city resembles an industrial boil on the delicate ecological skin of the earth. Huge silos and smoking chimneys dominate your sight. Set at the delta of the Rio Tinto river it is also a major port and the closest to the trade routes of the Atlantic Ocean. The vast river flats a haven in days gone by for multitudes of wading birds.

Multi storey apartment blocks which are the other dominant feature of the urban landscape, show signs of aging in the relentless Spanish sun without the benefit of the cosmetic surgery ever present in more affluent tourist areas. Did I mention that Huelva is the most untouristy place in the whole of Spain ( and there isn’t many of them). They even demolished their only surviving Roman dwelling some years ago to build a carpark!

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Huelva has one welcoming and totally unexpected surprise for this Australian traveller, Gum or Eucalyptus trees ( to everyone else in the world). I’m not talking about one or two, I’m mean forests of them. They are everywhere, beside river banks, around paddocks. Up in the hills there are huge plantations, which have resulted in self seeding populations almost rivalling the farmed variety. Originally  grown for wood pulp to feed the voracious appetite of the paper mills, they have spread to such an extend that they are a real threat to native flora. I reckon let a few koalas loose and you have an instant tourist industry, food for thought for those in power in Huelva, don’t you think?

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I read that around the world there is a love hate relationship with gums. They are on one hand lauded for there quick growing, usefulness and on the other hand despised as water guzzling ( they can drain a swamp as quick as look at it) , native vegetation stranglers (the Eucalyptus oil gets into the soil and inhibits all other plants). All I can say is Huelva Provence is little Australia!

I know that I have just spoken disparagingly about Huelva City and now I will make amends. The proverbial ugly duckling comes close to becoming a swan when you actually enter into its heart, nothing as spactacular as the old Jewish Quarter of Seville but nice enough. Narrow cobble stone lanes, black wrought iron and the occasional geranium lined balcony.

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Two friends of mine

The predominantly Spanish population of Huelva coexists with a generous number of Africans, some from Spanish speaking Equatorial Guinea, others speaking French from Malle, Senegal and Cameroon; still others speaking English from Gambia, Nigeria and Ghana all in the elusive search for better economic conditions. Unfortunating because they are here illegally they have no papers and the only work they can get is fruit picking. Hot, hard and long, most are forced to live in Charbolas ( make shift huts in camps that line the bush between farms made of cardboard, old wooden pallets and plastic sheeting) without proper sanitation or garbage disposal and yet they provide a work force that has allowed the huge berry industry in Huelva to flourish.

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There are also European escaping, not from poor economies but rather poor weather. They inhabit mostly the coastal areas and the large urbanisations that exist in Spain. Then there is the English; I noticed at the beach the other day a crumbled watchtower from approximately 1500. I could imagine some lonely, Spanish sailor watching night after night for the menacing English frigates that might appear. Five hundred or so years later all I can say is they shouldn’t have bothered cause they came anyway!

At Mazagon the  river flows into the Atlantic. A small coastal town where in winter you could literally let off a shot gun off in the Main Street without a chance of hitting anyone. In summer the story is completely different. The population explodes for a relatively brief period before reverting to its ghost town existance.

Spain has one big problem and the numerous pieces of tissue I saw blown the around low dunes on the 100 mtr or so boardwalk to the beach shows how bad it is. They have almost NO public toilets. On my first dip in the Atlantic since I was a child there were a couple of hundred beach goers at Mazagon beach and the only public toilet that the council provided ( believe me when I say that the fact there were some to begin with is very unusual) were locked.  Apparently they are only opened for special occasions, like the school summer holidays and they weren’t scheduled for another two weeks!

Which brings me back to Huelva city and the Africans. When the seasonal picking work runs out they are forced to do one of two things, other than travel to another part of the country which is hard if you have a family with kids. The first is to out right beg in the city. This option is usually only taken up by women and the occasional Romanian. A nice thing about the Spanish is that most seem to understand that they without social security the women are reliant on their donations and are generally willing to drop a few cents into the tin. One great thing about Huelva is that you can live quite cheaply, not the Hilton by any means but safe and dry. €100 a week will give you a room in a shared apartment and enough money to feed yourself and a child.

The African men however have actually developed a whole industry for the time of the year when there is no picking to be done. They sell tissues at the traffic lights. Why you ask, because as I said before there are few public toilets so you are forced to ask at a bar to use their toilet. Thankfully they are usually kind enough to let you, but often fail to provide toilet roll!

Tips

  • Always carry a packet of tissues – you know why
  • memorise this phrase ladies – “puedo usar el sevicios por favor ” – you know what it means!

 

 

 

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13 Jun 2016

How To Make It To SevilleWithout A Complete Meltdown – A Sangria or Two Helps

 

The air is surprising when I wheel my bags out into the street on my first day in Spain, clear and cool but with the hint of what is to come. Like a tap you turn on that first runs cold but slowly you feel warm water mixing with the cool, till finally all you have is hot.

My 500mtr walk to the metro is not uncomfortable, with the help of a couple of passerby’s, a little English and a bit of sign language, what I already knew was confirmed (the metro was straight down the street). I really didn’t need to ask I think it was more just for reassurance.

Once I had taken the escalator to the first level of the Metro it was another thing, no ticket office, no one to try and speak to, only machines, but thankfully a large map and three really lovely Canadian boys. You really don’t want me to bore you with the details of how I manage to hold on to all my bags, get my money out and pay for my ticket, lets just say it was hard. Getting through the turnstiles was just as difficult but thankfully Spanish men are really helpful as well.

Intercity trains are run by Renfe, which is situated at  Atoche, the largest of Madrid’s stations, the old terminal having been transformed into a tropical covered garden.  It was easy to find the customer service to enquire about tickets, but as it turned out, not quite so to buy one. After being directed to an office and a machine that spat out tickets notifying you of your place in the queue,  I realise in horror that my ticket said A244 when the LED display notifying the next customer to be served was only saying A103. With a single customer service representative working I quickly realised my dream of getting to Seville by lunch time was out the window.

During the next hour and a half I noted with perverse glee the many travellers that walked into the office and looked around in confusion, only to be told by another customer about the machine. Once they’d taken their ticket I waited for the inevitable series of reactions. Firstly a quick glance down at their number, then a corresponding glance at the flashing display for the current ticket to be called, followed by one of two actions when they realised how long the wait would be. The first was horrified disbelief, really entertaining. The best however, were the people that nervously scanned the seated customers with a half smile on their lips, certain that someone was playing a huge joke on them and they were about to “get punked”.

To be honest I’m really not that sure there wasn’t some comedy show being secretly filmed for Spanish television cause here is the rub, when I finally arrived at the glorious moment of my ticket being called, feeling like I had won the lottery, I was told ” sorry but this office is for pre booked tickets, you have to go to another ticket office to purchase tickets for travel today!”

All I want to say is I arrived in Seville at 4.30, took me longer than it should have, cost more than it would if I had booked and paid before I left Australia and it is my own fault. Train travel in Spain is actually brilliant, fast and clean and once you get the hang of it, very easy.

Seville is a seriously beautiful city, particularly the old Jewish quarter, which really is the only place to stay. There are far too many awesome sites to visit that I won’t mention them here, just google images and research them, totally worth it. The train station was relatively close to my hotel according to the map, so once again McDonalds, their black tea and free wi fi was greatly appreciated. I sat down drank my tea, had a wrap and sent a few messages to assure friends and family that I was still alive.  Unfortunately the last message to my son finally depleted my iPad battery and I realised with horror that my phone had died as well. Aargh!

I almost crumbled into pure panic at that moment because I hadn’t written the address of my pension down on paper and had no  idea of the name. However, just before I opened my mouth to scream I realised I had actually printed out the booking form, handing it to a taxi driver I sank with relief into the seat. Again as much as it pains my to say it, without a charged phone to follow google maps, there was no way I would have found the hotel if I had taken the bus. The taxi took me straight there and only cost €8. The narrow rabbit warren of streets and lanes in the old city was too hard to navigate on your own.

I had chosen La Montorena because of the position and price of course but also because of the mosaic lined foyer and roof top terrace and it turned out to be a good one. My single room was a shoe box but the bed was fine and the small bathroom opposite was mainly used by me alone. Again it may only have been €26 a night but the cleanliness was remarkable.

As I mentioned before but my trip to Spain is an extended one, nearly three three months in total then a month in England, so my bags are heavy. The narrow marble staircase up to the first and second floors made it impossible to drag up my huge rolling backpack. I had actually anticipated this and packed everything I thought I might need for the weekend into my  overnight bag, so I store the big one downstairs.

Seville was my first taste of the heat of summer in southern Spain and it is strong, but being dry it is bearable at the same time, not the sticky ever present humidity of the tropics. Walking around the scenic sites is therefore a mostly comfortable experience. Bars are abundant, food is cheap and beverages (alcohol included) is even cheaper so once the heat drains you a little it is easy to recover your strength. Sangria in particular is an effective medicine.

Low cost accommodation can have a bad reputation for many reason, noisy young travellers for one thing. Not that they weren’t present at La Montorena but they weren’t that noisy. These days however, you are just as likely to find older travellers, just like yourself, they love to talk and the roof top terrace was the perfect place meet the other guests.  I met a lovely Danish couple who had just arrived and were making a return visit. There is a definite comoraderie that you don’t get in resorts and upmarket hotels,  maybe a sense of shared experience!

Tips

  • Work out your metro train trip prior to taking it – mine involve taking 3 different train lines to the main station which I do think is weird when I was actually on the airport line to begin with but hey it’s Spain. And write it down – you will not remember!
  • Book and pay for your intercity train ticket before you leave home – you do not want to star in Spanish Candid Camera!
  • Buy a power  converter also before you leave home – we rely so much on technology today you CANNOT be stuck without your device, that is unless you want to have a nervous breakdown!
  • cafe/bars are cheap but even cheaper is grocery stores, the small corner store variety no exception. So if you are really trying to live cheaply  a knife, rice wafers, avocado, tomato and some smoked salmon under a roof top cabana, with a €2.99 2011 bottle of red is fabulous ( just make sure the wafers you buy don’t have some sickly sweet creamy substance inside because you couldn’t read the label otherwise your eating with your fingers)

 

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07 Jun 2016

From Lunar Landscapes to Patchwork Quilt Cultivation

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Never, never, never book a long haul flight from Australia to Europe without at least one night stopover somewhere, that is unless you have the luck of travelling first class and that probably isn’t likely for most of us. This is my first piece of advice, it just isn’t worth the stress on your body.

Flying out of Brisbane at 5.00 am having not slept for twenty four hours seemed Like a good idea. My reasoning being that I would be able to sleep longer  and better on the flight if I was tired, but no this didn’t happen! I did manage an hour or so as we flew over Australia, then woke up only to find we were still hadn’t  even left the Northern Territory. It was then another hour till we exited via the coast of Western Australia.

You cannot help but be impressed by the enormous oasis in the middle of the desert that is Dubai and the airport a fitting match. Dubai Airport is enormous, so big that it takes a train to move you speedily for some distance to your departure gate. Like many of the other man made structures that appear in that part of the world it is a vast spiralling monument to those in power at the time of construction.

Peering down on the gulf states from thirty two thousand feet as we headed out of Dubai exposes the true expanse of the lunar landscape. No trees, water or seemingly vegetation of any sort (I know there really is some I just can’t see it ). I can’t help thinking in wonder at the resilience of the people that have called the region home for much of human history. Tankers, too numerous to even mention, steam back and forward, filling man’s insatiable appetite for petroleum products.

I handled the long, long trip from Australia to Dubai quite well really but the next leg of my trip however, was a different story. About half way over the Mediterranean I was ready to jump out of the plane. Again, not that it was a bad trip, it was just doing my head in being cooped up, too, too long! Even the magnificence of eastern Spain from the air wasn’t enough to totally dispel this feeling, and magnificent it is! A patchwork of gigantic proportions, laid out as intricately as any of their famous mosaic murals; fields under cultivation producing varying colours and textures, with small nutmeg kernel hills popping up here and there dotty the tableau.

Madrid Barajas Airport is a giant mausoleum on this Friday evening at 8.00 pm but later discovered that we had actually arrived at the newest and as yet under utilised runway. This also turned out to be another very fast, few kilometre train trip away from the main airport, it being much busier and just a little scarier.

There is a smell in the air that I can’t explain, I won’t call it a scent because that would elude to something pleasant. Not that it was offensive either, although I think it could be, if a little stronger. My nostrils tingled but realised that I better get used to it since it wasn’t  going away anytime soon!

My hotel booking was supposed to be very close to the airport, walking distance even, but I quickly felt like someone standing on one side of a raging river needing to get to the other side without a bridge.  After twenty three and a half hours travelling and a couple of failed attempts to find a shuttle bus I opted for a taxi. What I would have found if I had researched the transportation options better was that the train from the airport would take me one stop and  cost under €2.00. I then had to only walk 500 mtrs in a straight line to my hotel instead of costing €20.00 by taxi. Then again, as I said I’d had it and all I wanted to do was arrive at my hotel.

There have only been two times in my life where I have been genuinely happy to find a McDonalds (I haven’t and never will be a regular consumer of fast food) and both occasions involved an overwhelming desire for a cup of tea. The first after a long and uncomfortable bus trip from the middle of Laos to Bangkok, a city that never seems to close, except for a two hour window between about 4.00 and 6.00 in the morning, unhappily coinciding with our bus arrival. The only thing open in the whole of Khao San Rd was Uncle Ronald’s restaurant and those Giant  arches gleamed like the gold of El Dorado and made my heart happy as I sipped my “Lipton”.

The second was my exhausted 9.00pm Friday night arrival at the Hostel Aeropuerto, made even more euphoric by the unexpected discovering of the same gleaming arches directly across the road, calling me to my pot of gold (a cup of black tea and a garden salad), bliss!

My Tips

  •  Never book a long haul flight from Australia without an over night stop over.
  • Always research transportation option – including key words if not in English speaking countries e.g tickets – billetes (Spanish)
  • Sometimes it’s just worth it to pay a little extra to get where you are going
  • As much as it pains my to say it but MacDonalds can be a saviour.
  • Hostel Aeropuerto – immaculately clean, great staff,  comfortable, only €30 single room or €35 double
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07 Feb 2016

Andy Deagon Blah Blah Blah

Cover 3 (low)

Below is the cover blurb for my new book – available through smashwords and kindle/amazon. Very proud of it.

Andy Deagon Blah Blah Blah is a story of summer, surfing and freedom. It will draw you in, make you laugh and sometimes make you cringe with embarrassment, but most of all it will simply make you happy

ANDY is angry, her last year of state school hasn’t gone well, definitely not what she had planned and the looming prospect of High School has her almost paralysed with fear. She hasn’t grown, in any way, the whole year, unlike most of the other girls in her class. Her sister Emma is her worst nightmare and out to ruin her life every chance she gets, while her mother just doesn’t seem to understand how desperate Andy’s predicament is.

After an excruciating road trip to the small town of Commerong, Andy’s plan for the holidays is also dashed. Her long-term friend Laura deserts her for two new friends. Andy’s insecurities and fears seems to have become reality. While Emma, who doesn’t like Laura, makes matters worst by hitting her in the head with a ball covered in water and dog slobber. In a state of pure anger Andy accuses Emma of intentionally creating havoc. Andy and Emma’s relationship sinks to its lowest point with a huge fight, leaving Mum no choice but to ground the two girls and force them to spend their whole time together.

The first day at the beach however, is nearly the last for the family, when Andy, Emma, their dad and twin brothers are swept out to sea. Andy is force to keep Emma calm during the ordeal as the situation escalates to a frightening level. Much to Andy’s surprise Emma’s gratitude sees the beginning of a thaw between the two girls.

A chance opportunity to explore Commerong leads to a meeting with a local boy, Pat, a boy the same age as Andy. At first Andy mistakes his quiet manner and she thinks he doesn’t want to be friends, but Pat has a secret that has almost destroyed his family,

Thanks to Pat, Andy learns to surf and her joy helps her forget all about her worries. Much to Andy’s surprise, Emma feels the same way and the girls bond over their shared love of surfing. But will this new found peace last? Not if Laura can help it!

Below are the links to smashwords and Amazon

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/612806

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01BEPM6JM?keywords=andy%20dragon%20blah%20blah%20blah&qid=1454839674&ref_=sr_1_fkmr0_1&sr=8-1-fkmr0

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30 Nov 2015

Gardening – Monica Style

Monica, a seventy seven year old who just happens to be my mother, is unique in oh so many ways. Up until two months ago when she had knee replacement surgery she was still playing tennis three times a week, riding and walking kilometres a day as well. There is so much more I can tell you about her exercise obsession, needless to say though you now see why a knee replacement was necessary.  As you will see not all excersise was welcomed by my mother.

When our family home was sold fourteen years ago Monica chose to down size and purchased a unit. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms plenty of room for all the kids, grandkids and great grandkids to visit. Like many retirees of her generation she had absolutely had enough of gardening.  Our particular property was approximately half an acre in size and other than the percentage of land used by the house and shed, most of it was lush green lawn. All of which was mown by Monica, in her gum boots and lycra leggings. She could be observed most weeks pushing that lawn mower up and down the length of the yard cause she couldn’t bare to have a blade of grass out of place.

When Monica finally moved into her new unit the first thing she did was rip out any blade of grass or garden that existed in her long “L” shaped court yard, replacing the offending greenery with terracotta paving stones. No living thing was spared, never more was she going to be tied to the upkeep of a garden and the regular mowing it required.

There was however one aspect of gardening that she did actually like,  Monica really loved her strawberry plants and thanks to the horses that lived in the paddock beside our house, were the biggest, juiciest and sweetest strawberries that anyone had ever tried. Monica perfected the art of composting horse poo so that the stimulating effect on the strawberry plants had to be seen to be believed. There was no match for her strawberries, they were legendary.lawn-mower_17497_600x450.jpg

When she took her one year old lawn mower back to the shop for repairs, they mower mechanic was stunned at the poor condition of the machine. He had never seen a lawn mower disintegrate the way hers had or as quickly. He said he simply didn’t have an explanation for the state the mower was in.

He may not have know how it had happened but my mother certainly did. She never actually admitted to the mechanic but every week she ran over piles of manure collected from the paddock. Back and forth, breaking up every last nugget of horse poo gold to spread on her beloved strawberry plants.

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25 Oct 2014
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The Great Ocean Road – A Road Well Visited But Always Surprising

Thirty years ago I drove a quiet back road from Port McDonald in South Australia over the Victorian Border to Port Campbell and on through to Torquay so we could be on hand to watch the Bells 25th Anniversary surf comp. By the way when I say I drove that wasn’t exactly the case, Craig my ex did all the driving, I didn’t get my license for another decade, but I’ll leave that  story till later.

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So back to the story, I called it a back road but it was in fact the Princess Highway and  the Great Ocean Road, which most people have heard of even if you don’t live in Australia. In those days it was little more than a country road but the scenery was no less amazing.

On that occasion we got to the Twelve Apostles (now it is 8 ½ Apostles) late in the day then drove on through the night, only stopping somewhere near Lorne because we sadly hit a Tawney Frogmouth Owl. Sleeping in the back of our 1968 Holden Kingswood Station wagon with stainless steel mud flaps and white metal venetian blinds was very squishy. We had a cat, my brother, surfboards and luggage but when you’re young you just handled it.

What I didn’t I didn’t realise until I recently travelled the same road with two friends (but from the opposite direction) was that because it was night on my previous trip I had missed out on so much.

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The Torquay stretch is actually a well worn path for me. When we arrived thirty years ago our stay extended to about three months so I got to know the area quite well. Since then I have travelled back on a few occasions, my son was a pro junior surfer so surfing comps at Bells were a part of my life. It hasn’t changed a lot in all those years. A few more shops, but not as many as you would think, more houses but not much else.

Bells Beach however was as mesmerising as ever, the pure power of the waves demands respect. On the day we were there a rescue helicopter had landed on the beach just before we pulled up in the carpark, I never found out why but I can only imagine. Standing at the lookout staring out to the horizon you can’t help thinking about the massive waves that are generated in the Southern Ocean and propelled at the Australian coastline. Dark and ominous it is easy to feel the icy embrace of water that originates in the Antarctic.

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The trip from Torquay to Lorne along a road that hugs impossible cliffs and runs beside exquisite sandy beaches  is only about an hour drive in distance. However, there are numerous places you will want to stop so it should take you  quite a bit longer. We stopped for a late lunch in Lorne, very pretty  but I found it a bit too commercial.

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Our next two nights were spent in Apollo Bay and gladly a lot different to Lorne. It is a lovely little town, with beautiful beaches, a great boat harbour and amazing pub meals, really huge. Most importantly it is a perfect distance from the Apostles. Stay the night, then make your way to the apostles the next day. On the way back visit The Otway Lightstation and get more that you bargain for. The road to the lightstation is about 12 kilometres and the only place in Australia I have found that seems to be riddled with Koalas, no joking. They were hanging out of the trees everywhere along the road. The koala in the picture is literally only two metres above the ground.

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The light station itself is fantastic and full of history. The most famous of the light house keepers had an amazing wife that cared for shipwrecked people and others in wretched situations. Commended for her spirit, she was described as being the “nicest of all women having only nine children” beat that all you earth mothers, lol. Who would ever describe someone as ONLY having nine children. Times were definitely different one hundred and thirty years ago.

 

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12 Oct 2014

Dunedin is Not a Sunny Place – But Who Needs Sunshine for an Interesting Holiday

Dunedin is not a sunny place, but having said that, it is quite possible that the Scottish Farmers that were the founding fathers of the city probably thought it was in comparison to what they left behind in Britain. To put this in perspective when you are planning your trip, the average maximum temperature in January is 18.9 degrees Celsius where as Sydney (also in the Southern Hemisphere) has an average maximum of 25.9 for January. Trust me, this is not a place you plan on visiting for a beach holiday

But here in lies a certain amount of contradiction. The photo below is taken at a beach on the eastern side of the Otago Peninsular. During my first visit I sat on a log eating my lunch, the warm sunshine super heating me through my jeans (it was November and the only sunny day during my three days in Dunedin (the other two being drizzly and cool) and I was overwhelmed, as I often am, by the desire to swim. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t been in the ocean for a few weeks or the beach looked so much like home that I just had to try it.

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After changing in to my swimmers I made my way down to the shore, the squeaky alabaster sand ran through my toes as I walked. The same clear blue Pacific Ocean water that I had known for most of my life rolled in lovely shore breakers towards me, I was feeling very positive.

When the first wave touched my toes it was a bit of a shock. Like little needles really and very, very, sharp ones at that. By the time the water had reached my calves I think my legs were about to change from fire red to vivid purple and I ran from the water just like all the “cold-a-phobes” I’d always bemoaned. I did eventually manage to get to the point of lying in the water, but the moment the wave rolled over my back I was out of there, never to return.

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But the Otago Peninsular is a visually splendid place. The road hugs high cliffs most of the way around and presents amazing, “to die for”views, which doesn’t take too much imagination to believe to be quite possible. Such is the height of the hills on the peninsular, one minute you can be driving along admiring the view and the next thing you are driving through low-lying cloud as thick as any London pea soup fog.

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Things were no different on my second visit to Dunedin. The gothic nature of many of the churches and other buildings seems extremely fitting in respect to the weather. Otago stone is a renowned building material in New Zealand and has been used extensively in and around Dunedin giving the entire city a solid, stoic feeling. One of the best things to do really is looking at the architecture, built on incredibly steep hills this can be quite a physically demanding thing to do, but fantastic “old everything” is everywhere.

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If you like good food, make sure your visit includes a Saturday. The farmers market held at the world famous train station (also made out of Otago stone) is an awesome place for breakfast. You also have the chance to wander round the station, which really does deserve its notoriety. My second visit also coincided with the Thieves Alley Market, which sees the Octagon (centre of the Dunedin CBD) and surrounding streets closed for the day. On this particular day many of the Artisans from Christchurch were there and it made a fabulous market.

I stayed in the Manor House Backpackers on my first visit and it was fine, great old house close to the Octagon. Unlike the place I am too embarrassed to mention (Penny Backpackers) on my second trip and would advise you to avoid like the plague.  One of my fondest moments for the first trip was watching “500 Days of Summer” with an American Girl, two German Girls and a Chinese Student at The Manor House. The American and I may have been the only ones laughing but you knew the other girls got it they just weren’t as loud as us.

I have watched that movie many times since then and I always think of Dunedin. It helped me realise that a good chick flick can break down even the biggest language barrier.

Tips and Extras

• Port Chalmers, where the cruise boats dock has some interesting quirky shops and is a nice drive, well worth the trip, and good coffee.

• Also visit the entrance to Port Otago

• The Otago Gallery in the Octagon is great art gallery.

• Dunedin has the best op shops

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02 Sep 2014

The Catlins – Home of Elephant Seals, Waterfalls and Kind People who Know How To Dance

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Alex Mclean was an hard working, yet interesting man who loved music and dancing. Extremely generous to his family, donating a whole farm to a brother that had been badly injured during wartime.  He lived a quiet rural life tending for his animals and farm during the day. At night he read and created exquisite handmade violins. He never married but cared for his sister who lived alone on an adjoining property. It was noted at his death that he was ” a kind man who danced a mean jig.”

So said the plaque dedicated to Alex McLean at the entry to the waterfall named for him, Mclean Falls, in the hinterland of the Catlins. PI knew I’d like the  Catlins long before I went there or heard about Alex Mclean,  but I didn’t know why.  I knew the beaches were white sand, I knew it was south of Dunedin and North of  Invercargill but that was all I knew. What we found was an unspoiled, beautiful, wild and windswept land, way off most tourist maps but well worth the little bit of effort to get there.

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After leaving Queenstown we headed south to Invercargill, a large sprawling town at the bottom of the island. It reminded me of an old gold town, wide streets and impressive stone buildings, but it was obvious it’s heyday was long past. It took approximately two hours to make the trip to Invercargill but we chose to stop another half hour further further on at Bluff.  Many of you may not have heard of Bluff or the famed Bluff Oyster, I hadn’t until I went to NZ the first time. Unfortunately I can’t tell you if they are as good as legend has it cause their season only runs for a brief few months from about late March and as it was mid February I was a little early.

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We  only had an overnight stay in the area but if you had the time could easily stay a  longer stay. The beaches are great with some long stretches, perfect for walking and two lighthouses worth viewing. There are also lovely rainforest tracks leading to magical waterfalls and breath taking views.

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 At Papatowai  Beach we even found a great vegetable garden in  someones front yard with a sign offering free veggies to pick. Unfortunately we didn’t see any Elephant Seals on the beach, only this sign.

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I fell in love with the Catlins and I think Alex Mclean as well (unfortunately he died in the 1940’s).

Off to Dunedin

Tips

* go to the antique shop in Bluff – really good value

* Stay at the McLean Falls Holiday Park

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