Flashduck 2009

Observations from the Old Dart

2010-10-03T14:44:00.000-07:00

I have been compiling a long, long list ever since arriving in England about the quirks and alternative behaviours among the locals which strike me as being so different to home (home being the relatively affluent and educated Canberra).

Of course, here in DCH (Dorset County Hospital), I don't have the list with me, but I do have some time now. So where do I begin to begin?

Food

Basically, terrible.

Fish & Chips

In London, it seemed that every pub and cafe promoted the "Best Fish & Chips". Along the channel-front communities around here in Weymouth, one can't go 10 metres without coming across a vendor, either in a beach shed on the sand, a kiosk on the promenade, or a cafe or shopfront.

And people eat them, at all times of day, for the sole reason that one must have fish and chips, and for no reason at all.

Even the pubs have an afternoon tea special of fish and chips with a cup of tea.

Newspaper articles laud the news that a social service of mobile fish and chipperies to travel to those poor souls who are unfortunate enough not to have a shop in their village, and for the disabled and elderly who can't get out. This is regarded as a great social service.

In Cornwall, despite being a coastal county with the best surf in England, Fish and Chips were rare, with three Cornish Pasty shops on ever block.

Side orders for your fish & chips go beyond the lemon, vinegar, pepper and salt. The ubiquitous brown (HP) sauce, ketchup (I still can't fathom why they don't call it Tomato sauce), Gravy, and Gherkins, Pickled Eggs and Faggots.

Faggots

The appearance of "faggots, chips and gravy" on a fish and chip shop menu rather took me aback when I first saw it. Thanks to Bev, I found out that this was a type of fat-ladden, round sausage.


Faggots with peas and gravy

Since then faggots seem to be popping up everywhere; where we went for my birthday dinner out at Portland (L'n'O's Bistro); cold in Deli's for further deep frying at home; and, disturbingly even on the hospital menu. The contents have very little meat, and vast quantities of pork fat in various guises. Of course, they are probably a good match for potato crisps.

Crisps

Potato crisps are the snack of choice between breakfast and the mid-morning fish and chip fix; the afternoon snack; and really for any time one has a spare hand to hold a bag.

Marmite Flavoured Crisp

It is not usual for people to order their coffee with crisps, their tea with crisps and tragically, to see babies barely old enough to be on solid food to be bundled with a pack in their prams. Despite a larger range of flavours (even out of the World Cup Fever period when a range was released to match most of the countries taking part), the standard offerings go well beyond the salt & vinegar / chicken / barbeque offered in the standard range in Australia.

Of course, next to the crisps one can find Pork Scratchings, not just extruded, fluffed up pork flavoured snacks, but heavy duty pork rind (crackling) that has been deep fried and dried for high cholesterol snacking at any time.

Chips

English Chips are very, very good. Where the menu offered options of a potato or chips, I used to order the healthier option of a potato and carefully remove the more fibrous skin, potatoes being about the only vegetable which agreed with me.

Then I nicked one or three of Bob's chips, and found out what I was missing. Chips, pommes frites, patatas fritas, are on most menu's worldwide, but I must admit that the pommy chips are fabulous. Even my sister when she visited had initially, if unintentionally, followed my precedent by ordering the healthier potato option. The taste test of a couple from another plate was enough to change her opinion and orders for the her stay in England. At least she could eat one vegetable a day.

Vegetables

What vegetables? Apart from chips, usually the only option (often at additional cost), is peas, or mushy peas. Where there are other vegetables (very rare), they are tiny serves of rather anaemic looking specimens that are looked boiled and unadorned.

"Garnish" is always optional, as most people don't want the sprig of herbs or side of mixed lettuce leaves on the side.

Apart from the excellent chips, this invariably means that meat is the star of the meal.

Meat

There is a huge disparity in the price of meat in Butchers (although they are rare, as is increasingly the case in Australia) and Supermarkets. Pork is undeniably the star in the economic stakes in all its forms. Bacon is available in dozens of forms; smoked, unsmoked, streaky, back and many more varieties I can't recall. It is a staple, and a cooked breakfast is frequently the norm.

Note the chips and peas

Gammon steaks appear on most bistro and pub menu's and are very popular within the supermarkets to buy. Think 'Ham Steak and Pineapple' from the 1970's. Then there is pork in all its forms; chops (curiously without bones?); fillets; lots of spare ribs; roasts; rolls and cuts I don't recognise.

It is at least half the price of other types of meat. Of course, all sausages are made from pork, unless they are the super premium range in a specialist sausage shop (where they are rare). You could buy sausages and cook them yourself, or buy cooked sausages in a Ready Meal.

Ready Meals

I heard about these being popular from TV shows but I hadn't realised how they dominated the market. Maybe as part of a marketing ploy to indicate freshness, or perhaps because there are so few full sized freezers around, these are in the chilled food section and are not frozen. The length and number of aisles they use in the larger supermarkets often exceed that for fresh vegetables and dairy combined; in smaller outlets, usually far more.

The description on the packets is usually quite attractive; of the Lamb Shanks with shallots in Red Wine Jus kind of way. No vegetables are usually included. One can buy Ready Meal side dishes (the stores would only recommend one, why go overboard). Mashed potatoes; (pre-boiled) baby potatoes; potato gratin; and even a mix of green beans and peas (peas again!), are among the few offerings.

Along with the Gastro Pub style offerings, the sausages and gravy, and braised liver and gravy selections are very popular, as are the two pack of cheeseburgers you just pop in the microwave. These have the same sort of anonymous cheese of any bland American fast food (just by looking!!!!!), but that is not typical of other English Cheeses.

Cheese
Along with the chips, the artisan cheeses of England are good, even if the French would rubbish them. Local cheesemakers are all around this district of clotted cream and lanquid cows.

Up north, travelling between the Lake District and Yorkshire with my sister, we had to stop in to Wensleydale, home to Wallace (and Gromit's) favourite cheese. The cheese factory and room here, was playing a bit to the Wallace and Gromit notariaty, but once one tasted the cheese and saw it being made it was made clear that this was a serious and long lived blessed cheese making operation. Among the three of us, we bought far more than was necessary, luckily we ate in over the next 3 nights at our great National Trust property.

We are not too far from Cheddar, and the good matured cheddars are stunning. Stilton, goats cheeses, Win Green, a Gold medal winning soft cheese named after the highest point in Dorset; Dorset Blue, and all the wonderful other cheeses around are taken seriously, as are the cheese platters in restaurants.

Once in Hospital

2010-09-28T11:24:00.000-07:00

After the doctor assisted me into the consulting room, things started to happen. My blood pressure, when they were able to find one was 70/40. Pulse sky-high. Not looking well. Ambulances were called, Hospital rung to make sure there was a bed for me, and provisions made. I still thought that a good IV drip for re hydration would do the trick.

Ambulance (para-medics are so nice); A&E; ?High Dependency unit, then everything is a blur, or worse, some sort of paranoid nightmare.

Apparently Bob caught a train back from Edinburgh early, visited me and collected both sets of car keys from my bag (it seemed sensible at the time that he didn't take them to Scotland to lose), collected the car (don't know how he got from Weymouth rail to Dorchester (only about 10 miles away, but with the roadworks from hell on every exit out of town, and especially the one access road to Dorchester, which often takes in excess of an hour), and back to the little Citroen in the Weymouth community hospital carpark. Days later (I assume), miraculously, there were no tickets (I think).

I was in a haze for a good while ~ I don't know how long ~ maybe a week, maybe less. When I was compess, I found myself in "Lulworth Ward" in the north wing of this rather nice, modern looking hospital servicing the County of Dorset.

There were 6 beds in the room, it seemed loud and so different to what I was used to in my Frequent Patient Club at John James. After a short time, the value of the much maligned NHS (National Health Service) became apparent. The staffing levels, and quality and dedication of care surpassed anything I had experienced before.

Three weeks on (or 24 days if you are being picky); things are clearer, although I am still regarded as being very complicated.

I have a melon sized abscess around the back of my Liver which is making me very unwell. It seems to have firm or hard patches rather than the usual pus and is not draining. Surgery may be the option, more CT Scans and a teleconference at the Wednesday "liver' pow wow with the big teaching hospitals seems to be likely to decide this.

I have ulcerative colitis; however biopsies taken indicate something strange.

Seven units of blood have helped my anaemia, and lots and lots of antibiotics have helped too. I think that I had 15 litres of fluid infused on the first day too.

Fairly significant surgery down my middle, with more staples than I could count, has limited my movement greatly, although I have progressed from not being able to wiggle my toes and looking green, to being mainly able to get out of bed if it is high enough, although not get out of a chair. Reaching for things beyond the length of my arms is still, well, out of reach.

I'm improving all the time, however 'my' Consultant, Mr Watson seems to think that I shall be here for some time. I assume that is if surgery is deemed necessary. A PICC line for antibiotics will need to be inserted for maybe six weeks.

So, all in all, we don't know what is happening, but I couldn't receive better care. More medical attention; more tests, scans and pathology one could imagine in a year of high dependency medical care at home; fabulous staff and food I actually look forward to now (but that might just be me being warped and - in the last few days - a tad bored).

I have time between being the human pincushion, and being tested and poked and prodded to write a bit now, so hold off on the gruesome updates to actually report on some of the news from the last few months, especially our observations of Weymouth.

She Posts!

2010-09-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

It's been a tough, if enjoyable last couple of months, as I grew increasingly weak and unable to do much other than head down into Weymouth Town (across the opening Town Bridge), and struggle somewhat up the not-really-so-steep hill on the way home.

Once I'd cooked dinner for Bob, that basically was it for my day.

Thinking it was just a bit of tiredness, I encouraged Bob to head off to London for a trip we had both booked for, I was looking forward to actually seeing a bit more of London than the Kensington Gardens-Hyde Park corridor, and was looking forward to being a tourist for a few days, while Bob buried his nose in dusty archives doing some family history research.

He later went to Cambridge for the same reason, to do family history research (with great success), a little touristing, while I explored this University City I had always wanted to spend time in this place.

One of our immuteable plans was to attend the World Duathlon Championships in Edinburgh at the beginning of September. We planned and were looking forward to the long drive together, stopping en route near Manchester, and allowing us plenty of time to talk and enjoy each others company.

Barely staying awake, and feeling weak (but not much else, apart from some strange right shoulder pain that could hurt a lot, but I couldn't remember relating to any injury), I thought that the best thing was that Bob went on his own (we checked and the apartment accomodation we had paid for was non-refundable). Instead of driving, we booked Bob on a train from Weymouth to Edinburgh, which was a good and efficient way to travel, with the only difficulty changing between Waterloo and Kings Cross Stations.

I think that he left on the Thursday, and I veged supreme (no extra cheese) in bed that day and Friday. Realising that something was really requiring attention, mainly dehydration I thought as I was too weak to roll over in bed, I planned my plan of action for the next morning.

There was a walk in clinic and GP-clinic at the local Weymouth Community Hospital, and I considered at I lay in bed, the easiest clothes to put on which were at hand, the easiest shoes, what was essential to take, and to keep reminding myself that early Saturday traffic was nearly non-existant, so the earlier I leave the better.

I had concerns about driving the car, especially as to get in reverse at the best of time, I needed to use both hands. It took me hours to walk the metre or two to the underwear, then lie back down for a good rest. Gradually, put on one item, an collapse on the bed again.

I took the minimum, and managed to reverse in the driveway to slowly make my way down the gravel path. I had learned in the past, how much one can drive in second gear. This didn't work everywhere, but served me well for the slow journey on largely deserted roads. I wasn't going to be intimidated by anyone.

After bumping into the end of the nearest parking spot to the long walk (it seemed to me), to the entrance at an embarressing angle, I ignored the Pay and Display sign (I wasn't going to go any further), and struggled into door of the clinic and slumped in a seat. The receptionist beckoned, then came over to me and my world as I knew it changed from then

Irish sea

2010-08-09T09:47:00.001-07:00

My health continues to wax and wane, although life in Weymouth has been kind. With a paucity of good food available at a reasonable price, I have been cooking a great deal (for Bob – restricted as I am to the lowest of fibre meat, rice and liquid type of diet still). This takes much of my energy, however and my time spent walking and exercising has been significantly reduced ~ usually restricted to our morning excursion down to Costa Coffee for our double espresso, and an occasional early morning (faster and free) WiFi and discounted English breakfast at the Wetherspoon pub. It's extremely congenial in the morning (it opens at 7am), with many regulars having their morning coffee (regular size 49p before 9am) or breakfast. Although I haven't been there too frequently, I am greeted by some, including Old Al on his walking frame for whom someone always seeks to search and buy and carry his latte from the bar.

Bob has succeeded in doing a race / fun run on average each week since he has been here. The size of the fields is very high, and the overall standard generally very, very good; especially in the older age groups that Bob has been competing in. Last Sunday he travelled down to Sidmouth on the Devon coast for the Sidmouth Festival Run. It was estimated to be approximately 10km – which from experience here could be running all manner of distances ±2k, however it came in at 9.96k on his Garmin, and started with a climb that would do John Harding's Mountain Running Association proud.

Starting with a climb up to Cliff hill from the beautiful Connaught Gardens, it had an average grade of 15%, and had a number of styles and gates to traverse en route. Needless to say, his kilometre rate was rather slow, although he was stronger than many.

The previous weekend saw him travel to the eponymous 'Harlow 10', the flagship ten mile event held in the Essex town of (new) Harlow, north of London. Again the field was almost 600, with fast times recorded all around.

We had planned to both go, however it was a spend the weekend asleep in bed weekend for me, allowing a good recovery, (and a chance for a two early morning pub visits when I felt a little better). Following the race and the following days, Bob was able to catch a high speed train from the pub in Harlow – which cost less than a quarter of that in London and we had found to be very comfortable in the past – to London for family history research in the Guild Hall and the London Archives, and exploration of the East End.

I haven't posted for how long?

2010-07-26T01:43:00.000-07:00

OK, I've been a bit slack, a bit busy and quite a bit crook.

Pub in the morning

Incredibly (for me), I am writing this sitting in the local pub, at 7:30 in the morning, eating a full traditional English breakfast (hold any vegetable / fibre matter for my delicate tum, please). The atmosphere is nice (and very, very quiet), the coffee good, and very cheap, (especially before 9am). The free WiFi is also so much faster than I have access to at home with my Vodafone dongle.

That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Big Sister

My big sister was at a conference in Paris recently and popped over the channel to visit the old dart, Bob and I. Unable to fit people, luggage or any weight into our clapped out Citroen, we hired a car and picked her up from friends of hers in Hampshire she was visiting, and headed north to the Lake District in the North West county of Cumbria. The drive, mostly along anonymous motorways was boring and uneventful, apart from the constant chatter. Last time we caught up properly was in Hanoi - it seems as though we need to travel thousands, rather than hundreds of kilometres to do this (she lives in Sydney).

Arriving in the village of Windermere, we checked into our apartment in a street of charming drystone buildings. At a latitude almost 4 degrees farther north than our home base in Weymouth, the days were even longer, and we wandered around, exploring and looking for a place to eat. We settled on a restaurant attached to a pub (the default!), The Lamplighter, which was already quite full at the unfashionably early hour of 6:30pm. A blackboard menu focused on fish, and this was reflected in the specials of the day.

The service was probably the best we had yet encountered in England, outside of Rick Stein's restaurant, and it augured well for Bob's selection of Grilled local trout with herb butter and Binki's Pan-fried Plaice. Each serving was ample - drooping over the side of the plates, and served with a surprisingly good selection of vegetables. Both were judged excellent, as was my Braised local beef in Guinness. (As much as I adore and prefer fish, at the moment, it doesn't prefer me).

The only downside was that Binki would get a distorted view of what English food (under high end and overly priced establishments) and service was like! Typically dodging the intermittent sprinkles and showers, we donned our Oh-so-British hooded anoraks and jackets (now I know why everyone wears them, as everyone does) and walked the short distance home.

With the district renowned for it's beauty and walking, I had researched many in the area of varying distances and difficulties. It was first necessary to kit BInki out in some walking shoes that were more suitable than her spiffy red leather lace-ups that were fine for walking the Left Bank, but would leave her slip sliding away on the trails. We sought coffee at the most promising looking place in town, with a pleasant atmosphere and pretty ordinary (at best) coffee. Their recommendation to go to the nearby town of Grasmere to get outdoor gear proved to be a winner, and although it was (literally) impossible to park (Bob had to do so in a standing zone outside a church and stay with the car), the Mountain Warehouse was a winner, with their own branded boots and shoes at a fraction (a third to a quarter) of the price of similar quality gear at home. With other gear on sale, we also picked up some technical t-shirts for around $10 AUD and some Zip off hiking trousers shorts for a little over $20.

Castle Kendal - 12th Century

It rained. And continued to rain, albeit intermittently, it was heavy enough (and there was no where to park!!!) to head over to the local administrative centre of Kendal, where I had read about an ancient castle. Once again donning our hooded coats to protect us, we attempted to follow the route that I had from a guide leading to the castle along a scenic river path. This was not as straight forward as it should have been, although it did lead us to cross a foot bridge where there was clear evidence of ancient paving underneath for crossing the River Kent, reportedly the fastest flowing in England.

Heading up a suburban street, we stopped a local girl to ask directions. All three of us attempted to maintain our composure as she opened her mouth and spoke with the most amazing local accent we had heard, even broader than our now-beloved Somerset West Country vowels. Whilst her directions were clear, we couldn't understand more than one or two words that she spoke, and Bob was keen to keep her talking just to hear the turn of speech.

The pointing back down the road and up the path did give us the pointers we needed however, and we chortled and guffawed in unintelligible disbelief as soon as she was out of earshot. It was a treat.

Heading up stairs and a hill, the castle loomed before us, derelict since the 16th Century, it was a great surprise and well worth visiting and exploring. From watch towers, drop toilets into the moats below were a surprise, as was the relatively modest size. Given that it had been in a state of ruin for around 500 years, it was in good nick and well supported by explanatory notices provided by the National Lottery Heritage Fund. Your gambling dollars at work. They helped to build the Opera House in Sydney after all.

It was late, and easy to decide to head back to the same hotel for dinner, with the I-can-eat-fishers opting for the special of Cod with butter, brandy and cream sauce (on the side please, not on the plate), while I lashed out on the Rack of Cumbrian Lamb with roasted vegetables and mint gravy. Whilst in other places we have been, lamb is universally very expensive, both in restraurants and in butchers, and comes from New Zealand. This dish was sublime. I'm not a fan of lamb, it is usually too 'lamby' - the fattiness or something. Maybe the age? However this was taken to another level and we all enjoyed it.

Best laid plans of flooding rains

We planned for the next day. Returning along the beautiful road winding around the lakes to Grasmere, where we would (now kitted out in good new walking clobber), climb a mountain and take in the view. We found a lone parking spot. We sat in the car as the rain came down. We hadn't paid out 'Park and Pay' fee as the deluge came, breaking the (relative) drought in the area in a few minutes of tropical cloud burst. The only problems were, it didn't stop after a few minutes, but continued endlessly, ensuring that paths and trails already rated as difficult and slippery would be impassable. We learned later that walkers were rescued by helicopter.

My health and stamina was failing, so after lunch in the apartment, I stayed at home and rested. We had bought some local lamb at a great looking, old fashioned butcher across the road from the espresso bar, where we had now vowed not to return for the coffee, as it really was pretty bad (and life is too short to drink bad coffee).

While BInki and Bob headed off to visit a local National Trust property and garden (Sizergh Castle and Gardens), where the rain was't nearly so bad, I rested, slept and prepared a rack of lamb with smashed potatoes and vegetables. Despite the limited ingredients that inevitably occur with travel cooking, the kitchen facilites were good, and (even if I do say so myself) the food was a triumph. Goodness, the local Cumbrian lamb here is fabulous.

L & O’s Bistro

2010-07-07T13:44:00.001-07:00

Seafood Curry with Rice

It must be one of the most unimaginative and boring names (Lin and Ozzie's would sound better, but then again . . .), but this place was recommended to us by the young chap who sold the 800 quid Citroen as a good place to eat. On the island of Portland, connected to Weymouth by an Isthmus and two lane road, it forms one end of Chesil Beach, a dramatic and strange land feature, almost 30 kilometres long and running parallel to the mainland with an ancient history.

At LnO's, On the night of an England World Cup match, the restaurant was deserted, even though we were once again early at 6:30pm for the locals. A printed menu was supplemented with a blackboard listing some specials, and more interestingly, the fish available for the night. The fish was interesting as it was never listed on the menu, always determined by the what was available that day from a local trawler and fishmonger. Alongside the species and style of cooking, the number of possible servings were also listed and scratch off as sales were made.

The menu had some interesting options too – including many good vegetarian options. While they would have been my choice, my how-low-can-you-go-with-fibre diet precluded these. Eventually, I forwent the spicy squash, nettle and ricotta tortellini, the Somerset Brie filled Beefsteak tomato, and was convinced by Bob to opt for the Thai Seafood Curry with Sticky Rice. Bob chose Fresh local Asparagus with Duck egg from the blackboard.

I was a little disappointed that I had the seafood (suggested as Bob couldn't eat the prawns and shellfish, and I couldn't share his fibrous asparagus), the seafood was fine, better than fine, although curry was typically mild, even for an English interpretation of a mild Thai curry, and the sticky rice as promised was merely jasmine rice, and not glutinous as I had hoped.

Bob enjoyed his Duck Egg and Asparagus concoction, and more people started to drift in, also seeking to escape some of the World Cup madness.

The Duck

Our main courses surprisingly ignored the fish today as well; Twice Cooked Cajun Pork Belly (Slow cooked in a stock of onion, peppers & celery the Holy trinity of Cajun cuisine, we then cool, press & cut the belly before coating in a hot Cajun spice mix of paprika, cayenne, cumin, chillies, dried onion & garlic. The pork is then flash fried in a very hot pan to blacken the spices, finished in the oven & served with Maque choux sauce a Cajun classic of onion, peppers, tomato & puréed sweetcorn. £12.85) and Zesty Ginger Duck with Rhubarb (Pan fried slices of duck breast marinated in soy, ginger, juniper, orange zest & juice with a duck croquette & confit drumstick. Served with a rhubarb & orange compote & a jus of the marinade. £12.95) eventually won out
.

These were fabulous. Neither of us were keen to share (our long and regularly practiced tradition of carefully dividing the plate into strict halves and then transferring with my plate under and Bob's overhead, quite seamlessly and almost undetectably. We had carefully divided our dishes exactly down the middle, and couldn't decide between the dishes, they were both fabulous. Again, no room for anything more. We drove home, somewhat in danger from the mad drivers racing between venues, off licences and chip runs at Half time of the match at least at double the slated speed.

We arrived home in one piece, slightly larger pieces than when we left. England didn't win.

Ancient churches along woodland trails

2010-07-02T12:44:00.001-07:00

Through the woods

The Bellfry

Following our lovely day exploring the anonymous fields of northern Cornwall, the mythical fort town of Tintagel, and the spectacular coastal scenery and headlands on the trail back to Boscastle, we wandered off along a gentle trail which ran along a small, babbling river. It was delightful, gentle English ramble, past 900 year old cottages which sat in the middle of the woods, old slate gate posts, and stiles.

We reached the parish church of St Juliot, which has a long association with Thomas Hardy and the courtship of his (first) wife. Walking back alongside a herd of cattle who were strangely enticed by Bob, we crossed the river and walked up a hill covered in the sort of virgin forest that would have covered much of Britain in the past. We then reached the parish church of Minster, well off the road and surrounded by a stunning graveyard. A sign indicated that it was home to large colonies of bats, with the greatest number of species in the United Kingdom.

The heavy gates and doors to the church were firmly shut, but unlocked. Creeping down the stairs into the sunken area, this was, unbelievably, more interesting than the last, and a great find. Another active parish community, childrens colouring pens and papers littered one corner, along with the personalised kneelers at the pews.

After a simple lunch of bread and cheese, we decided to drive up to Lanhydrock, a substantial country home, now managed by the National Trust. The story of the recent family was fascinating, and the rebuilding of the south wing following a fire rebuilt the most amazing kitchen complex which would dwarf any Michelin starred restaurant's set-up.


Lanhydrock

Lanhydrock

The Rotisserie Oven

Part of one of the kitchen rooms

Minster church

The Riverhouse Inn

2010-07-01T01:02:00.000-07:00

When we first arrived in London, The Times had a promotion which gave one two-for-one meals at a range of gastro pubs throughout Britain. We collected our vouchers, and kept the list of hotels, divided into umpteen unknown counties, in our knapsack (thanks for loaning that to us, Alexander), and planned to use it –'ron.

Time slipped, we enjoyed eating real food, with real vegetables. Outside of the house, except at the very high end places, vegetables usually consist of Peas. Or 'served with garnish' (if required). Most people opt for no garnish, and the peas frequently go uneaten.

Aware of our time to use the voucher was running out, we looked at the list to find the most local to Weymouth was The Riverhouse Inn, in the village of Upwey. The nature of the communities here, mean that one enters a village before one could cross Yamba Drive, so the drive was less than 15 minutes from home.

I'd looked on the website (before making the decision to select Riverhouse), and found that the standard menu was pretty boring, stock-standard pub grub. The antecedence of the chef, and examples of their specials however inspired me rather more to encourage a booking on Monday night before Bob headed up to Bristol do some family history research the next morning.

We booked for the unfashionably early time of 6:30pm (as usual), somewhat odd, especially when the sun doesn't start to set until 9:30pm. The garden outside was charming, and the small bar area certainly didn't yell 'Pub'. A cursory glance of the printed menu didn't inspire any more than what I had seen on line. The blackboard however was a different matter.

It was an uncommon occurrence for us to select the same dish and not opt to share – for both courses. The Barbary Duck with local picked walnuts and onions was too good to pass up. And with the number and quality of the local crabs, the Crab cakes with spicy sauce were impossible to pass up. Neither of us wanted to share. Bob found an old bottle of shiraz hiding behind the bar, and as an alternative to plain soda water today I asked for a soda with elderflower presse. This was regarded as rather odd, but as they sold an elderflower spritzer with white wine, it seemed like a good idea to me at the time. It was. I really enjoyed it, and ordered another during the evening.

To the meal: The crab cakes didn't look exciting from their exterior, however the 'garnish' was more than the optional sprig of parsley or limp lettuce leaf that is usually offered. The taste was fabulous, the crab fresh and tender, not diluted with too many carbo fillers, and the promised spicy sauce actually did have a frision of a kick in it – uncommon where items marked with five chilli symbols and described as extremely hot are indistinguishable from Heinz tomato sauce.

All local duck, walnuts and Vegetables

Our main course of Barbarie (sic) Duck with pearl onions and pickled walnuts was sourced from all local ingredients – local meaning in the tree in paddock across the road, or Daisy in the pond next door. The black pickled walnuts were a perfect foil for the rich jus surrounding the duck, with it's generous meaty portion. The serve of vegetables and potatoes were well cooked and a very good foil (I enjoyed my permitted potatoes, as I eyed Bob eating my serve). The only criticism was that the sauce was a tad vinegary at the end, a combination of the walnuts and onions, but this barely detracted.

Too stuffed for desert, I was nevertheless tempted, as there were interesting and imaginative options, again relatively unusual.

With our discount, the bill was 32.95, with drinks. Still quite light outside when I drove the short distance home, we were well fed and happy.

Better late than never

2010-06-30T05:05:00.000-07:00

I have spent my life in a constant internal dialogue of 'Oh! I must include this in my blog'. That is the blog that never is.

However, while the drake is away, the duck shall play (with her blog at least).

Bob has motored up to Bristol to do some further family history research, and then heading on to Gloucester. This gives me a couple of short days to catch up (hopefully) on all those things I have been intending to do, yet seem to get caught up with otherwise. It wasn't helped by me locking myself out of the house last night after he had left, leaving me a bit of time to contemplate my possible options, while climbing over the fence into our overgrown garden to dead-head the hydrangeas while I thunk.

Luckily, the lovely guy James who we displace to the upstairs flat (and the former nephew-in-law of the owner) had a set of keys when he got home from his 2 hour commute, and my planned early night, turned into a late night, but in my own bed.

Last things first, as I shall never catch up.

Bob and I bought a old Citroen Saxo car, (a small black 3 door hatchback like 80% of the vehicles here for some reason), for a couple of hundred quid to enable us to get to runs and such like around the country-side. Only through Bob's new Weymouth friend (another Dave McKenzie), did we find out that our tax and rego, did not mean any insurance, and we were driving around for a few days with full liability (and illegally). It is a pretty basic machine, and lacking in power, but has been a godsend in the week or so we have had it.

On Sunday we went to our first Dorset race, in Blandford Forum, a(nother) charming town in the region - East Dorset rather than West Dorset. It was fairly large and well organised, however my fitness did not auger well for completing the 10k and I pulled out. This is probably the first time I have DNF'ed not due to injury (knee or ankle), and quite unlike me. Although I felt 'OK', I made a call and was quite proud of myself, as well as very disappointed.

Bob, after a series of 2nd's, 3rd's and 5th's was quite optimistic about his chances of taking out the finely engraved glass goblet for the 1st M60 with a very good run under his belt, perhaps his best 10k time since entering the age group. Unfortunately, the culture of racing and athletics clubs here is extremely strong and developed, and with 19 in his age group, he only managed to come second - again.

As usual, the people were extremely friendly and helpful, and I have come to adore the West Country accent which seemed so quaint and amusing at first.

Cornwell Jaunt

Bob turned 63 on June 23, and we headed down to Cornwell for a couple of days. With luck and perseverance, we were able to secure a spot at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant in Padstow for lunch on his birthday. The town was very touristy with day trippers, and I fully comprehend why it has been christened 'Padstein', with the (fancy) restaurant; a bistro; a cafe; and fish & chip shop in the town, supplemented by a Deli;Patisserie; restaurant and fish and chippery nearby; Gift shop; and Gastro Pub. Steinway accommodation is available in a number of places I haven't had time to count.

Mango salad with Smoked Mackeral

Despite the corporate nature of the place, the restaurant, meal and service lived up to all of our high expectations. Bookings are carefully staggered to ensure that the kitchen and staff can cope effectively with each guest, and this worked very well (we were advised to be there NO LATER than 12 noon). The al a'carte menu for lunch (changed daily) was interesting and well balanced, although I found that the entrees were more interesting than the mains, or certainly were given my lowest-possible fibre regime I am required to follow.

Lobster & Fennel Risotto

We thus ended up both opting for the special 35 quid Lunch Menu for 3 courses. This was supplemented with a bottle of French white for Bob, and some Hampshire sparkling mineral water for me.

Bob's entree of Green Mango salad with crisp Smoked Mackerel was good, however my (low fibre) choice of Risotto with Lobster and Fennel with Lemon Oil was a standout, and the best dish of the meal. I would gladly travel to have it again and again.

Halibut (top) & Sea Bass

The Grilled Sea Bass for Bob was very good, although the sauce more buttery than expected, while I had a dish of Halibut which was good, but not up to the otherwise fine standard. It is interesting to see that a week later it does not appear on the set lunch menu.

Lemon Posset & Chocolate Mouse Cake

Desserts were included, so we went the whole hog, despite being well and truly replete as it was. My baked chocolate mousse cake was a tad dry, and needed the accompanying Raspberry Sorbet which was spectacular. The Lemon Posset with grilled figs was my first choice, yet I knew that figs (which I love) were a big no-no and would be hard to resist. Tasting the 'posset' (served in a little pot) of Bob's I was disappointed that I didn't also choose it, and relinquish my figs at the beginning. It was rich and complex, without being too heavy or cloying.

After investigating the details of the Camel Trail, a 17 mile rail-to trail route along the river. It was very popular, but looked very interesting for future investigation.

Boscastle Harbour

We then headed around the bay to our National Trust accommodation at Boscastle, a small, picturesque fishing village in North Cornwell. Although relatively pricey, it was fabulous, in an old pilchards house, we could have stayed there for months and were disappointed to leave (apart from Bob having to suffer my snoring).

North Cornwell Coastal Path

The usual mad English obsession with the World Cup was in evidence even in this small village, with the match against Algeria being shown on an outdoor screen. The cries, groans and cheers gave a full indication of the status of the match.

The next day we tackled a walk to Tintagel via woods and fields, and back via the South West coastal path. The book we were using as a guide we found in the apartment, and we were to realise that it's reprint in the year 2000 may not have been completely clear for us across the overgrown fields and paths ten years plus after wards. A few wrong turns, and searching for styes in the blackberry bushes and 4 metre high hedgerows was interesting to say the least.

Thirsty and a bit grubby by the time we reached Tintagel, we had hit the usual 'lunchtime rush' of daytrippers, and used our National Trust membership to investigate the old post office, a 17th Century building used for many other things.

Unlike this part of the Jurassic coast, where one needn't travel more than a few metres for those all important between meal fish and chip top-ups, in Cornwell Pasties are ubiquitous and as frequent, along with Cornish Ice Creams. Everyone seems to live on the Ice Cream.

Tintagel exploits it's supposed links to the legend of King Arthur and a his castle. After a surprisingly good espresso at the pub, and a pasty for Bob, we headed back along the South West Coastal path to Boscastle. This was fabulous, and I look forward to posting some photos soon. A good, simple meal in the Cobweb pub rounded out a fabulous day.

Settling in to the heart of Wessex

2010-06-09T12:31:00.001-07:00

It has been rather hectic over the last week or so ~ after spending our time in London, waiting for Real Estate agents to call back (having taken our deposit), we were gazumped a couple of times. Weymouth, in the heart of Wessex (think the 'Victor of Dibley' for the rural Somerset-type accents), is an English beachside community dating back for many centauries (one of its claims to infamy was that the Black Death entered through its port in 1348), which was a favourite summer resort for King George III.

During the Half Term school holidays last week (thankfully for only a week), the community was transformed to epitomise all that one would have imagined an English seaside holiday to be about – 50 years or so ago. Punch and Judy shows were set up on the sand, this is one of the few places with sand, rather than stones, which form the very long Chesil Beach just to the south); Fish and Chip vendors at intervals of a few metres were doing a roaring trade at all hours for those all important mid-afternoon tea to pre-dinner snack; Large displays of purulent white flesh were on show as shirts were whipped off to enjoy the balmy 16˚ weather; Striped deck chairs were lined up in rows along the promenade for hire; and Donkey rides were taking place on the sand.

It isn't just different to an Australian beach, it was a different planet.

Through a lot of luck and the assistance of the many incredibly friendly local residents, we were able to negotiate to rent the bottom storey of an old Victorian house (c. 1870 or 1840?) in a very pleasant and affluent section of town, just up the hill (and away from the madding holiday crowds when in town). It had been empty for two years following the death of the owners mother and the resultant delay in probate, and was full of 'stuff' which needs to be sorted out from each of the three (or two and a half) levels. He had rented the second floor to a couple who were working in a scientific capacity at the local fishery research centre, and the bottom level ('Flat 1'), was therefore available furnished with all the kitchen bibs and bobs (and loads of junk) in place. It suited us just fine, and as luck would have it, we also saw another furnished flat on the same day, nowhere near as palatial, which would have done us fine and was immediately available.

It took a couple of days to clear out some the major mess and get in a new washing machine, but we moved in on Friday, 4 June. Years of dust and dirt still need to be cleaned from skirting boards and so on, however we have set up the kitchen (with a big walk in and get lost in larder).

The kitchen and bathroom are old and basic, however there is an 'wet' entrance area (remove your coats, boots etc), a small-ish reception room, a bedroom which would dwarf most in Australia; a large room with Bay windows which we are currently using as a bedroom study area; another 'reception' (Living Room) which looks over a pleasant hedged garden; a conservatory – where we are finding that we are spending most of our time, (although is in dire need of a good scrub); another room (possibly for dining in the past?) where the Baby Grand lives (with much room to spare); and the kitchen, bathroom, and an utility room.

With high ceilings and thick walls for insulation, it is difficult for the two of us to communicate in the house unless we happen to be passing by the same area. It soon became apparent that we should be wearing pedometers inside the house, as we would be racking up considerable distance in walking from one room to another, especially the kitchen which is at the far end of the house, and far away from wherever we are likely to be.

Despite the need to do a bit of work to make it more comfortable for a prolonged 4 month stay, we are absolutely delighted to be here, it is fabulous, and it works out with the owner having a bit of breathing space before finalising things for this flat during the period we are here. We are about a kilometre from the River Wey, where the opening bridge marks the start of the 'pedestrian zoned' town centre.

England, England, England (with apologies to Little Britain)

2010-05-29T00:09:00.001-07:00

We have been in England since Tuesday, the 18^th of May and it has been a hectic round of flat hunting with great relieved highs as we found a place and paid our (substantial) deposit, before waiting by the phone for a few days only to find we were gazumped, inducing intense melancholy.

As this was repeated (with variations) for not one, but 3½ properties, it has been both a incredibly frustrating, and time consuming exercise. No time for any else, and certainly no other use of the computer for blogging nor any other activities other than flat hunting.

We rented a car and headed out of London to salve our battered spirits and regroup our thoughts. Getting away from the bustle of the city was a relief; once we had negotiated the roads to leave the Greater London area to get out of the most built up areas.

With no great rationale or reason, we headed to Hastings (1066 and all that) on the South East Coast in the county of East Sussex. Being near the seaside was a lovely change, although I burst into laughter as I emerged from a pedestrian subway to be confronted by the sight of a beach of purulent white skin sun baking on a pile of round pebbles. As much as I had heard and expected to see the stony English beaches, the reality of my first vision was far funnier than I had imagined.

A couple of nights in Hastings included a few pleasant walks, as well as continuing on the computer searching for a place to live, before we hit the road for the next pin point on the map – Weymouth in Dorset on the South West Coast. Stopping for a diversion at the fabulous old market town of Winborne Minster en route, with was turned a diversion of driving through a village into a great exploration of a fabulous, 12^th Century church which included one of the few 'chained libraries' in the world.

We continued on our drive into Weymouth, chosen as a destination by Bob as it looked like a 'nice little town' on the map and not too big. Entering the main esplanade, this seemed like we rather underestimated the place by looking at it's size relative to other towns on the coast. Finding accommodation late in the day was more difficult than we imagined, and eventually found a Guest House adjacent to the beachfront, The Wilton.

After a couple of truly appalling meals in Hastings (we have mainly eaten Asian – Malay Straits, Vietnamese – since arriving in the UK as the rest of the food has been pretty rough), we went to a new Indian place where our request for hot food was respected and we had some flavour for the first time since in ages.

Wandering through the pedestrian streets of the old market area of Weymouth, the town really grew on us, and we popped into a couple of real estate agents along the way. With no luck there, we were directed to the Tourist Information Centre, and from there to a holiday letting agency next to an old brewery site which had been turned into a bland, could be the rocks or anywhere in the world, tourist trap selling crappy stuff.

The holiday letting agent, was however somewhat more optimistic – although a very popular seaside holiday town with school holidays around the corner with rents for short term rentals prohibitively high, the very helpful residential letting agent did think that our four month requirement might be able to be accommodated.

2010-05-14T05:13:00.001-07:00

We're sick. Or at least, sick-sh.

The cold, damp and sometimes raining weather has taken its toll when we have insufficient clothes for the conditions, despite buying hats and a scarf for Bob.

13 May – Ascension Day

2010-05-14T05:12:00.001-07:00

We had it all planned; an early start to beat the crowds at Versailles, taking plenty of warm clothes and not too much else. However at 5:00 am it was obvious that Bob had picked up a cold in the chill single digit air, and would need to take it very easily in the morning. I thought I would leave him to convalesce, after a morning café at the local bar at the end of the street and hit some of the sights with a visit to one of the recommended markets on the way back for Chacuterie and things for dinner.

Good plan – although when I went down for the morning's demi-baguette I hadn't tweaked that the streets were uncharacteristically quiet, as the Boulangerie was shuttered at the time when I thought that all good Parisians would be anxious for their morning bread. Another trip out reinforced this eerie silence, with the metro quiet, and no school children gathering outside the gates of the local college Montgolfier.

Eventually it dawned on me that it was a public holiday, and not just 'any' public holiday, but that of Ascension Day which meant that the city streets were as quiet as Good Friday in Australia a few decades ago. Or longer.

Bob had found some records of his ancestors in the archives offices over the last few days, and we wandered off for a short walk to see if the streets and addresses given at the time of their marriage still existed. Rugged up against the cold with every piece of emergency clothing we could muster – skins, arm warmers, thermals, hats, gloves, scarves and every warmish top we had – we headed off. Although it was probably as high as 6° or 7° degrees, it was a damp, chill cold, and the air cut through like ice.

Walking down empty streets though was a strange experience and certainly provided an unexpected way to view this city that (almost) never sleeps. Despite the metal roller shutters being drawn as usual robbing us of the sense of what was within many of the businesses that lined the route, it was a quiet a magical time. The street sweepers and washers had been out in force, meaning that the gutters were clean and flowing with water, and there was a glistening sense in the air as fat pigeons waddled and cooed.

With some excitement, Bob found the Rue du Mail, the street in which his great, great grandfather Louis Harleux was living when he married his wife Adel in 1843. We then looked carefully for number 7, hoping that it wouldn't be a 1970's monstrosity (there really weren't any here that were that bad of any age), walking past multiple numismatic shops, which fitted in with the role of Louis H. being a goldsmith during the nineteenth century. We found No. 7, quite a grand looking building, although the age and antecedents of it was uncertain, especially as it became apparent that some places were of fairly new construction, yet had retained the original decorative elements of previous buildings and were designed in sympathy with those surrounding and what it replaced, a variation of building a new building around an old façade.

Looking for his brides address in the adjacent Rue Notre Dame du Victoraire was not so successful – the stress was there, however the numbering did not reflect that of the period. As we neared the Palais Royale, more people emerged, and there were signs of life. In the courtyards and garden of the Palais, we were struck by the number of fathers who were out with their young sons kicking balls around, chasing among the stones and gardens, and playing with the ever popular razor scooters that are used as a legitimate form of transport here by a surprising number of people including many adults.

10 May – The Sewers of Paris

2010-05-12T02:40:00.001-07:00

We were both really tired today, and with increasingly poor weather predicted for Tuesday headed down to "Les Egouts" or the Sewers of Paris.

We are getting to the use of the Metro down pat, and quickly and easily found our way there. Trains are constantly arriving, meaning there is no need to even think about waiting or travelling time.

School groups of small children were in front of us, however they did not cause any great disruption and were generally quiet and certainly well behaved. The exhibition / tour was fascinating, dating back to the earliest Roman times, when the system was typically sophisticated with a series of aqueducts, to the present period where the large and complex labyrinth under the city also supports the conduit of power, phone and optical fibre networks.

Walking over the large channels that ran beneath the streets (helpfully labelled with the street signs of those on ground level above), odour was certainly present, in some places more than others, and was whooshing down in great wide torrents in places. It was interesting to see the franco-pride in this great engineering from early days, where the architect of the system was recognised and lauded in the broader community.

Of course mention had to be made of Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables" and his accurate portrayal of the sewer system of the time. Hugo, was in fact, a god friend of the engineer who modernised it and knew the sewers well.

9 May - Sights

2010-05-12T02:38:00.001-07:00

The weather is looking decidedly dodgy for Tuesday when we were planning on going to Versaille, so we looked at what activities we could do today when the weather was the best it had been since our arrival in Paris.

The Pantheon

The decision was to head first to The Pantheon; recommended highly to us by Richard and Pam. A dramatic structure supported by massive Corinthian columns, the building had had a fascinating history, passing from religious to secular use many times. However impressive from the outside, it could not match the unexpected scale of the interior. The motif of the columns continued no doubt as an important structural support, each topped by elaborate carving on their scrolls.

Most renowned was the giant dome that soared overhead, from which was suspended Foccault's Pendulum on an almost invisible wire.

Murals around the walls and the alcoves depicted religious scenes, with twentieth century sculptures commemorating French resistance and those who had died fighting for the country. Down the winding stone staircase in the crypt, the great cavern of stone which mirrored the elegant shape of the soaring building upstairs. Without the religious motifs, it presented the sense as a revered, secular space. Here, great writers and intellectuals were interred and respected, such as Moiliere, Hugo and Voltaire.

Access to the upper galleries and level was only on a tour which left as designated intervals; with half an hour before the next departure, and our museum pass permitting unlimited entry we left in search of our first coffee for the day. I was initially reluctant to go to a nearby café where the waiters wore what seemed to be tourist friendly aprons and looked almost too-French.

Our two espresso's arrived quickly, with water this time without asking, and it was very good by local standards. The chit for 4€ for the two was most reasonable as we sat, side by side facing the street, and saw quite a few (very casual) joggers go past. As we were in the district of the Sorbonne, I expect that many were students, and as I have observed so far most wear long skins and sleeves when out even now, in the middle of the day when it was as warm as it's been all week.

Picked up by our first caffeine, we scoffed down another before hotfooting it back across the plaza join the tour. It turned out to be a pleasantly casual affair, where a guide provided access to the locked areas and led us to the appropriate section as we climbed. The view from the gallery was good, looking down upon the interior of the Pantheon; as we climbed further though and headed to the parapets that looked outwards, the views of the surroundings were great and well worth the short climb.

More stairs led up farther, and despite considerable haze, we were able to see many of the significant sights of Paris in an interesting and new context. It was easily evident why people couldn't come up unaccompanied; graffiti was scratched into the stone over many years, some readable from the nineteenth century, although some certainly pre-dating this.

To the Arc de Triomphe

By now Bob was particularly hungry (as Bob's get), and his first priority was getting something to eat. Just off the main drag of St. Michel a not-a-subway sandwich and crepe shop was doing a brisk Sunday afternoon trade. After much cogitation, we finally decided independently on the same baguette with chevre, crudités and prosciutto. In the style of formulae or the later coke-sponsored meal deals, we also chose a sparkling water and a berry tarte: strawberry for Bob and Raspberry for me.

It was delicious, but too filling. We waddled like ducks down to the Metro for our next destination, the Arc de Triomphe.

There was a slight delay in accessing the stairs to climb to the summit of the Arc, as a small boy was convinced to divest himself of his blue helium filled balloon in order to be allowed up. The bag guard was very considerate and found a space inside a glassed in cubby hole to tie it up until the child's return.

Passing through a small gallery on the way up, once on the roof there were, predictably, crowds of people and I was tickled to see the international signs of forbidding (no smoking; no tripods; no mobile phones) was supplemented here by a depiction of a figure in underpants – clearly it meant no sunbathing either! As I walked around, one could see that this could be a problem at times.

The view was better in parts than from the Pantheon due to the clearing of the haze in many directions. Once we descended, we saw the flame guarded by four military officers, standing stock still with a giant tri-colour flying overhead. I hoped that the officers assigned to this task received a special allowance for being gawked at and photographed by dorks allowance. It certainly was a thankless task, and they had to remain still and stony faced.

The Pompidou Centre

Last brief stop for the day was the Pompidou Centre, a place we had already dipped into many times being on the way from our apartment in the 3^rd Arrondisement to the River Seine. We were keen to make our way up the futuristic external escalator tubes, which gave terrific views of the surrounding plazas and buildings, although it's modernist inside-out architecture had cause considerable controversy.

I was amused to see another variation on the international "Do Not" symbol; no children under the age of 13 were allowed (they must use the lift), but if you are travelling with a dog, it must be carried. On the top level, there was no place to sunbake except for a very pricey Restaurant (eg: €40, or $58 AUD for a Risotto). They probably didn't need a sign, as the entrances were well manned to keep out the riff-raff.

There were police and gendarmes everywhere today, with regular demonstrations seeming to be the norm. We couldn't see what the large contingent of men in riot gear were waiting for as we were close on this occasion, although yesterday on our way back from the Pere Lachaise Cemetery, more police were in attendance than would be on ACT duties in the whole of Canberra, as a "No Sarkozy Day" was gathering in the Place de Republique. While we were there it seemed quite low key, with a few socialist action types, purple "No Sarkozy" T-shirts for sale for €5, and a sausage sizzle. Obviously something more was expected.

8 May – Lachaise Cemetery

2010-05-12T02:36:00.001-07:00

From the markets we metro-ed it to Pere Lachaise station (line 3), and bought an excellent guide map at entrance for 2€. We would recommend that this is essential for any visit to navigate the labyrinth of cobbled avenues and paths. On our first steps were stunned at the style and nature of 'simple' family crypts; as we made our way along the elegant tree lined cobbled avenue to the final bed of Jim Morrison from The Doors, we were further amazed by the wonderful sculptural nature of many of the monuments, some with amusing or grotesque touches such as demonic rats, or grinning skulls. All set in an environment that was, still, after centuries, more wooded with trees than a concrete jungle, and constantly accompanied by the sound of birdsong.

Fredrick Chopin was one of the first graves to have a conspicuous presence of floral tributes and an Austrian flag. Alongside him however lay a wonderful grave topped with a representation of an oversized violin made in copper and now covered in a rich green patina.

Nearing Morrison's grave we were effectively pushed aside by a rabble of loud, smoking, 20-something youth. It was distressing, though of little surprise to see them at Morrison's small gravesite acting every inch of the ugliest football hooligan.

Loud, yelling in an eastern european language, they clambered over the fence to have their photos taken sitting, reclining and standing on the grave - oblivious to the many others around.

The grave itself was very simple; tributes had been left of album covers, a t-shirt, photos and flowers. Jim Morrison committed suicide in Paris in 197.

Edith Piaf (the little sparrow) grave was shared with other family members and could not have been more unassuming. As the most popular and iconic singer of her generation and beyond, this was a surprise.

Sprinkled throughout the cemetery were stark and sobering monuments to all those who had died in defending the "republique", or in concentration camps during the Nazi years. Some, such as that for Auschwitz, were supplemented by fabulous gaunt sculptures in metal to capture the twisted, hungry agony of their plight.

Monuments for others within the cemetery were frequently equally imaginative and a work of art in their own right, making this park-like environment a complete experience for the senses, combining art, nature and history.

One large stone pyramidal structure descended down underneath in the manner of the pharaohs for family (or dynastic) burial. Nearby however lay one of the finest; as if breaking through the stone slabs covering the grave, a tortured figure emerged, his face turned and twisted in a desperate attempt to escape.

There was so much more, and our fairly simple circuit covered more than 4 kilometres, with most treasures left yet to discover.

Highly recommended for any visit to Paris.

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

Menilmontant Avenue, 75020 Paris

Metro Station: Pere Lachaise on line3

48° 51' 45" N, 02° 23' 16" E

8 May – The Street Markets

2010-05-12T02:35:00.001-07:00

Attempt to visit Catacombs

We caught the train to Denfert-Rocherereau (line 6) Metro station, to view the catacombs however found it was shut for a public holiday (Victory in Europe day).

When searching for coffee nearby we found a fascinating street of Saturday morning fresh market stalls (48° 49.498 N, 002° 19.887 E), with a great selection of food.

I could have stayed here all day, and rued that I wasn't living in Paris to shop and buy such fabulous fresh produce. Some stores had prepared coq au vin, paella and fish dishes, among their myriad of offerings for sale by the kilo.

The poultry store also made me swoon, with intensely coloured chicken, duck, quail and game birds for sale, many with more than a remnant of feathers left unplucked, and their heads and feet left attached, great for stock.

A 'simple' greengrocer (compared to some) still had fabulous grapefruit sized tight heads of radicchio; beetroot already cooked and peeled; tiny new potatoes that were size of lychee's; and a range of 'heritage' tomatoes such as the ugly ridged beefsteak, and the tiger-striped yellow and green variety.

The poissoniere - fish monger - was perhaps the greatest visual feast; giant red prawns (they were described thus) from Madagascar were easily loner than an outstretched hand each. Langoustines shared the limelight with the other prawns and giant pink crab claws the size of a child's arm. The fish were impossibly fresh - bright eyed and smelling of nothing other than the sea.

We had an espresso sitting in the French manner on the pavement with our chairs carefully lined up outward to face the passing parade rather than each other. I was a tad disappointed that Bob in his eagerness to keep moving meant that we did not linger longer and were conspicuously the first to leave and the last to sit.

Unable to see the remains of 6,000 bodies today under the streets of Paris, we had a cemetery to visit.

6 May

2010-05-12T02:33:00.003-07:00

Having gone our separate ways for the day's activities, it turned out that each of us opted for simple (but delicious!) filled baguette, or baguette and spectacular cheese for lunch. That evening we had bookings for a restaurant we had read a review of in a travel supplement in an Australian newspaper. Obtaining a table before 10:30 pm was difficult; however we all headed down on the Metro to Fish la Boissonnerie (69 rue de Seine, 75006 Paris 48° 51.258 N, 02° 20.212 E) for our "ridiculously" early 7:00 am reservation. Being turned away for arriving a few minutes before seven, we went to an adjacent bar which was hopping with a young, hip crowd. A glass of wine later, we were permitted to enter la Boissonnerie, and were seated by a French-speaking Californian. The menu was most inspiring: a fixed price of 31,50€ for two courses, and 35,00€ for three. For some special dishes a moderate supplement was payable.

The decision was difficult for us all; eventually the boys opted for an entrée of foie gras avec sauce Banylus (+3€), a slab of foie gras with good bread; Pam for salade de mozzarella di buffalo, fenouil et pignons, a delicious looking salad with buffalo mozzarella, fennel and pinenuts; whilst I chose the anguille fume avec carotte marine et ene crème de Raifort (smoked eel on a bed of marinated, finely grated carrot with a crème fraiche). The main courses were equally difficult; once again the boys both chose the same dish – filet de bar à ligne, sauté d'épinard, oeuf poché et sauce au paprika (+3€), a white fish sautéed with spinacha dn a poached egg and paprika sauce; and I opted for filet de racasse, risotto aux pistaches (+3€), another variety of white fish on a bed of a delicious pistachio risotto. The restaurant was linked to a Cave, or wine shop of some exceptional quality, and the selection of a 2006 St Peray prestige Tunnel (50€) (a spectacular Marsanne) certainly assisted the enjoyment of the fabulous food, which was light, yet complex. Satisfied with the great meal, only Bob and Richard decided on dessert, a shared Tarte au citron et orange, "façon brûlee", an intense orange and lemon tart. Dessert wines were listed as stickies (something I had thought was a purely Australian description), and a 2003 Savennieres Coulaine Pier (7€), a honey scented stickie and 2008 Anjou Reau (7,70€), a wine with big citrus and orange overtones, were chosen.

The total bill of 210,20€ for such food and wine was good value, and the room crowded to overflowing, with the bar area packed three deep with people seeking a meal, but enjoying a glass of wine and an upmarket bar snack was testament to this.

To state the saying on the menu: "L'Alcohol est notre pire enemi, fuir serait lâche" or
"If alcohol were our worst enemy . . . to run, would be cowardice".

5 May

2010-05-12T02:33:00.001-07:00

We did not sleep in after the long flight, and our second day beckoned with more coffee to sip and food to try. I had found Bob some gluten free muesli the first day, (why waste eating wheat in his standard breakfast-around-the-world, when there is so much excellent bread with which to do that). So after breakfast we met Richard and Pam again, and sought coffee. Heading back down Rue du to where we saw a specialist tea and coffee roasting place, once again, the street seemed dead and not nearly as exciting as the previous day, bereft of the smells of cooking meats on the streets, shops and providores shuttered, and little life other than the stream of scooters heading to work and to the boulangeries for the essential morning baguette.

The coffee roaster was open, although sadly only had two small tables on the street, and as the icy wind whipped through our layers of clothes, this was not an option. A small patisserie next door hid a bar at the back near the kitchen where we saw two people eating brioche and drinking their morning coffee and went in out of the wind. Once again, despite good equipment, the coffee was not up to scratch. Indeed, it was probably the worst of the bunch we had yet encountered. I'm sure that we shall find better as we go, and I thought that perhaps in our group of 4 anglophiles, we were served a weaker, American style in a nod to assumed tastes.

Unable to obtain a table in our first choice of restaurant, we retired to a wine bar across the street. Le verre vole, (67 rue de Lancry, 75010 Paris), which had a wonderful atmosphere and a great selection of cured meats hanging over the bar. We shared a plate of cheese and chatuterie (14€) between us while enjoying a drink, and almost didn't see the need to have more for dinner. We nevertheless headed down to Chez Alain (9 rue du Vertbois, 75003 Paris; www.chezalalain.com), a few doors from our apartments. Although specialising in couscous, Bob and I are seeking to avoid unnecessary wheat on doctors orders (we are making exceptions given the quality and variety of breads and pasteries). Another fixed price menu was our selection (18,50€ for two courses), accompanied by a Bordeaux. I feel that my choice of frogs legs and Steak Tartare were the picks, however the Scallops St Jaques were chosen by all of the others for their main course, and there were cries of rapture for the Pastisserie Orientale, a choice of two rich Algerian-inspired sweets, and the crème bruleé also got the stamp of approval. The total bill for four with wine and water was 105,00€.

4 May

2010-05-12T02:32:00.001-07:00

4 May

Meeting our friends, Pam and Richard Faulks that evening, we enjoyed some wine, bread and cheese in their spitting-distance apartment, before wandering off to find somewhere local to eat. Some of those we saw, many of whom were doing a roaring trade at lunch, were closed and not open until much later. After a long flight, early morning arrival in Paris and no sleep, we were not keen to have a late night, so entered a place that was a cross between a cafeteria and a café/bar and shared a booth. The menu, was not so cafeteria, with the cheery, overworked middle aged waitress working overtime to ensure that there were enough snails for each of our entrée, we were provided with our water and wine. My first selection of Andouille sausages were not available, however we all opted for variations of steak, which looked and tasted very good, and I was delighted to see that the option of request for medium was distinctly a shade down the colour scale in comparison to Australian (and American) standards of cooking meat. As one who enjoys meat rare (or raw) this gladdened my heart.

Dessert (all for a fixed price of €20 each), was Tarte aux Pommes (apple) for Richard and I, and Fraises (strawberries for Pam and Bob). Bob and Pam were still talking about the strawberries the next day.

Walking home, we saw that many more places to eat had emerged in the evening, some indiscernible before as they were behind anonymous solid shutters on our previous stroll. Just near our apartments, an interesting place called Chez Alain, looked worthwhile exploring at a later time.

Food, Tres bon, Food

2010-05-07T02:57:00.000-07:00

Blog – Food, tres bon, food
As expected, the food options are fabulous, with Chacuterie and Boulangerie causing stride stopping interruptions at frequent intervals. Staying on the edge of the 3rd and the 10th Arrondisement, heading in one direction (down rue du Faulboug St Denis) we find ourselves in a quarter full of Turkish and Halal restaurants and providores, generously dotted with local café’s.

The duopoly of Woolworths and Coles Supermarkets has not caught on in France, with the Fresh Food people selling the most amazing array of Fruit and Vegetables in dramatic displays. Despite seeking to assure Bob that it was too early in the season for strawberries, there are large (500g) punnets and spectacular specimens sold loose by the kilo. Among those that impress me most at the moment, are the piles of thick white asparagus that one only hears of in Australia, and tiny, sweet elongated radish.

Our first foray into local Parisian food culture was a local café at the end of the street, where we sought shelter from the icy wind and huddled behind the thick plastic sheet which was set to give protection from the street. Our order of two espresso was in keeping with that that the others in the café were drinking (it being after 10am), and although OK, lacked the body and strength that we are so used to at our good café’s at home. The price wasn’t too rude though, around €2.20 each at the table (like in most civilised places in Europe, it is much cheaper standing and scoffing at the bar). I enjoyed the atmosphere, however was keen to find a better coffee.

After exploring on food, at lunch time we found ourselves across the road from the café at a popular bar/café/eatery which we had seen earlier and was now buzzing to the lunchtime crowd which only allowed us the smallest table in a nook. Selecting from the daily lunch menu – or formule – which provides two courses for a fixed price, rather cheaper than ordering each dish individually. We each chose from the day’s specials, which were fine, although on inspecting what others were eating around us, may not have been the best selections. The cheese plate was particularly impressive, and under the fabulous feathered lightshades (adorned with white or vivid red feathers), none of the crowd of locals of all ages and genders were restricting themselves in either their enjoyment or quantity of food, nor the enjoyment of a glass of wine early in the day.

We did really enjoy it.

Some cheese winked at Bob later that first day as we wandered past a store selling wine, cheese and a small, but spectacular selection of cures hams. At a Patisserie nearby, so too, did a Tarte au Citron, which was intense in flavour and satisfying all the senses. (3€).

Meeting our friends, Pam and Richard Faulks that evening, we enjoyed some wine, bread and cheese in their spitting-distance apartment, before wandering off to find somewhere local to eat. Some of those we saw, many of whom were doing a roaring trade at lunch, were closed and not open until much later. After a long flight, early morning arrival in Paris and no sleep, we were not keen to have a late night, so entered a place that was a cross between a cafeteria and a café/bar and shared a booth. The menu, was not so cafeteria, with the cheery, overworked middle aged waitress working overtime to ensure that there were enough snails for each of our entrée, we were provided with our water and wine. My first selection of Andouille sausages were not available, however we all opted for variations of steak, which looked and tasted very good, and I was delighted to see that the option of request for medium was distinctly a shade down the colour scale in comparison to Australian (and American) standards of cooking meat. As one who enjoys meat rare (or raw) this gladdened my heart.

Dessert (all for a fixed price of €20 each), was Tarte aux Pommes (apple) for Richard and I, and Fraises (strawberries for Pam and Bob). Bob and Pam were still talking about the strawberries the next day.

Walking home, we saw that many more places to eat had emerged in the evening, some indiscernible before as they were behind anonymous solid shutters on our previous stroll. Just near our apartments, an interesting place called Chez Alain, looked worthwhile exploring at a later time.

We did not sleep in after the long flight, and our second day beckoned with more coffee to sip and food to try. I had found Bob some gluten free muesli the first day, (why waste eating wheat in his standard breakfast-around-the-world, when there is so much excellent bread with which to do that). So after breakfast we met Richard and Pam again, and sought coffee. Heading back down Rue du to where we saw a specialist tea and coffee roasting place, once again, the street seemed dead and not nearly as exciting as the previous day, bereft of the smells of cooking meats on the streets, shops and providores shuttered, and little life other than the stream of scooters heading to work and to the boulangeries for the essential morning baguette.

The coffee roaster was open, although sadly only had two small tables on the street, and as the icy wind whipped through our layers of clothes, this was not an option. A small patisserie next door hid a bar at the back near the kitchen where we saw two people eating brioche and drinking their morning coffee and went in out of the wind. Once again, despite good equipment, the coffee was not up to scratch. Indeed, it was probably the worst of the bunch we had yet encountered. I’m sure that we shall find better as we go, and I thought that perhaps in our group of 4 anglophiles, we were served a weaker, American style in a nod to assumed tastes.

Unable to obtain a table in our first choice of restaurant, we retired to a wine bar across the street. Le verre vole, (67 rue de Lancry, 75010 Paris), which had a wonderful atmosphere and a great selection of cured meats hanging over the bar. We shared a plate of cheese and chatuterie (14€) between us while enjoying a drink, and almost didn’t see the need to have more for dinner. We nevertheless headed down to Chez Alain (9 rue du Vertbois, 75003 Paris; www.chezalalain.com), a few doors from our apartments. Although specialising in couscous, Bob and I are seeking to avoid unnecessary wheat on doctors orders (we are making exceptions given the quality and variety of breads and pasteries). Another fixed price menu was our selection (18,50€ for two courses), accompanied by a Bordeaux. I feel that my choice of frogs legs and Steak Tartare were the picks, however the Scallops St Jaques were chosen by all of the others for their main course, and there were cries of rapture for the Pastisserie Orientale, a choice of two rich Algerian-inspired sweets, and the crème bruleé also got the stamp of approval. The total bill for four with wine and water was 105,00€.

Having gone our separate ways for the day’s activities, it turned out that each of us opted for simple (but delicious!) filled baguette, or baguette and spectacular cheese for lunch. That evening we had bookings for a restaurant we had read a review of in a travel supplement in an Australian newspaper. Obtaining a table before 10:30 pm was difficult; however we all headed down on the Metro to Fish la Boissonnerie (69 rue de Seine, 75006 Paris 48° 51.258 N, 02° 20.212 E) for our “ridiculously” early 7:00 am reservation. Being turned away for arriving a few minutes before seven, we went to an adjacent bar which was hopping with a young, hip crowd. A glass of wine later, we were permitted to enter la Boissonnerie, and were seated by a French-speaking Californian. The menu was most inspiring: a fixed price of 31,50€ for two courses, and 35,00€ for three. For some special dishes a moderate supplement was payable.

The decision was difficult for us all; eventually the boys opted for an entrée of foie gras avec sauce Banylus (+3€), a slab of foie gras with good bread; Pam for salade de mozzarella di buffalo, fenouil et pignons, a delicious looking salad with buffalo mozzarella, fennel and pinenuts; whilst I chose the anguille fume avec carotte marine et ene crème de Raifort (smoked eel on a bed of marinated, finely grated carrot with a crème fraiche). The main courses were equally difficult; once again the boys both chose the same dish – filet de bar à ligne, sauté d’épinard, oeuf poché et sauce au paprika (+3€), a white fish sautéed with spinacha dn a poached egg and paprika sauce; and I opted for filet de racasse, risotto aux pistaches (+3€), another variety of white fish on a bed of a delicious pistachio risotto. The restaurant was linked to a Cave, or wine shop of some exceptional quality, and the selection of a 2006 St Peray prestige Tunnel (50€) (a spectacular Marsanne) certainly assisted the enjoyment of the fabulous food, which was light, yet complex. Satisfied with the great meal, only Bob and Richard decided on dessert, a shared Tarte au citron et orange, “façon brûlee”, an intense orange and lemon tart. Dessert wines were listed as stickies (something I had thought was a purely Australian description), and a 2003 Savennieres Coulaine Pier (7€), a honey scented stickie and 2008 Anjou Reau (7,70€), a wine with big citrus and orange overtones, were chosen.

The total bill of 210,20€ for such food and wine was good value, and the room crowded to overflowing, with the bar area packed three deep with people seeking a meal, but enjoying a glass of wine and an upmarket bar snack was testament to this.

To state the saying on the menu: “L’Alcohol est notre pire enemi, fuir serait lâche” or
“If alcohol were our worst enemy . . . to run, would be cowardice”.

I haven't completely disapeared off the face of the earth . . . .

2010-04-01T03:57:00.000-07:00

Not yet, anyway.

I had an operation for a femoral hernia at the beginning of February, which had prevented me from running since the ill-fated attempt at the Tour de Mountain in December.

I would like to have set that the operation 'set off' a flare up, however if I am honest with myself there was considerable evidence before hand which I had chosen to ignore. As the time to resume running grew closer and I was going stir crazy in anticipation, it became obvious that something other than a groin injury was affecting me. A visit to our GP (with Bob in tow), confirmed this, despite her being relatively unaware of my previous medical history and treatment having only the scantest access to records from our fairly recently deceased (and much loved) family practitioner.

To her surprise, and my ill-concealed delight, I readily jumped at the chance to go back on Oral Prednisolone, a corticoid steroid, and an anti-convulsant. This is treatment which has worked so well for me in the past, and I was keen, although Bob and the good doc. were concerned about the side effects, especially given the massive doses I have taken over the previous 15 years. The doc assured Bob that it would only be for a short time to get me over the crisis (what crisis?), and required a battery of tests to check on my pathological status. I was to return in five days.

I started taking the prednisolone immediately, and within a day had become to notice considerable, positive affects. Whoopee! By the fifth day, Bob and I walked to the Botanic Gardens through the bushland in Black Mountain for a coffee, making a return journey of around 11kms. Having not been able to do any exercise for quite some time, this was pretty damn exciting. Our return visit to the doctor that afternoon had mixed results. Whilst the efficacy of the medications were obvious, (although the anti-convulsants weren't expected to kick in for a couple of weeks at least), I was to only to remain on the higher dose for another 9 days, and then to reduce the dose incrementally each five days. The dose of anti-convulsant (to amend the brain-nerve electrical impulses) was to be doubled.

I wasn't so great the next day ~ in retrospect this was from the walk the day before. I picked up though, and monitored my peaks and troughs, being conscious of the need to not over ire myself. It was a different matter as the titre of the dose decreased, albeit gradually. I had to resume a clear fluid / low residue diet once more (in the absence of a supply of the much loved and despised FortiJuice on which I relied for many years). This certainly helped, although I was readily bored, and craved fruit with a passion. As I had been 'prescribed' fresh pineapple, dried apricots and bananas to counteract my low potassium levels, this was even more unbearable. However, consumption of fruit and vegetables was far too much for my gut, and broth and a bit of well cooked, non grisley meat (for my anemia) was essential.

By the time I saw the doctor again, symptoms were better than they had been a month earlier, however had deteriorated considerably since the last visit to the doc. A decision was made to return to another 2 weeks of the high dose of steroid (yay), and another doubling (to the maximum dose) of the anti-convulsant. This is (again) only for two weeks, more blood work, and an appointment to the doctor.

The good news is that the beneficial effects of the higher dose were readily apparent. Both Bob and I are a little nervous of the inevitable need to wean myself off the medication to permit my own adrenal system to function, and how this may affect me. We are proceeding with our plans to visit Europe in four and a half weeks for an extended Kramar-Harlow winter escape, basing ourselves in one place to allow me to have an easy base for my bad days/weeks. When we asked the doc for her opinion, the best response she could come up with was 'Don't Know', which I was relatively happy with. She was keen for me to see a specialist, however with Easter, Anzac Day and all, getting in at such short notice was all but impossible. The combination of a new-ish GP, the retirement of my specialists, and my reluctance to push for an special favour and then skiving off overseas (against advice? I don't really want to ask too fervently, as the answer may offend).

However, I am now (kinda) fighting fit, and am keen to even try another walk soon (tomorrow?), with the prospect of a short, slow jog not too far down the track. I must remind myself to manage my fatigue though, and watch my exposure to bugs, as I have been taking a whack of immune suppresants and know how susceptible I can be.

At the moment, I'll take the upswing in health gladly, and continue to be amazed at achieving more in half a day than I have been able to do in a week at other times.

Life is good.

Home from Hospital

2010-02-11T00:05:00.000-08:00

Back home from hospital, a little soreer and grumpier than before, but pleased to have this femoral hernia (ouch) thing fixed up. Walking is OK, but no running or cycling :(

OK, I'm not up to walking at the moment, nor can I drive a car (or Denny, the wonder scooter) for about a week either, but it will help me when I can run again. Did I say how much I love running (even if I do it so slowly theses days, I still get that buzz out of it that nothing else can replicate).

It would help if I could use the computer, but since Telstra upgraded us to ADSL 2+, I have had, at best, an intermiitant connection, but generally nothing at all. Bob is using a 3G dongle (which I am using briefly), but the Telstra people have been very helpful, I'm just not up to making another phone call at the moment. It's amazing how much we rely on it for, well, everything.

Chinese marathon athletes run into trouble

2010-01-21T20:04:00.000-08:00

Chinese marathon athletes run into trouble

More than 30 male competitors at a Chinese marathon were reportedly disqualified after organisers discovered they had cheated during the race.

Organisers of the Xiamen International marathon, held in the south east of the country, found some runners had carried time-recording microchips of more than one competitor, registering two or more results after crossing the finishing line.

Meanwhile, others had hired imposters or used transport to navigate part of the way around the course, according to the Jiefang Daily, a newspaper endorsed by the Shanghai Communist Party.

The vast majority of the disqualified runners had registered times of two hours and 34 minutes or below, the minimum standard for high school students to attain extra credits for China's ultra-competitive college entrance examinations.

Story from BBC SPORT:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/sport2/hi/athletics/8471892.stm

Published: 2010/01/21 10:06:14 GMT

© BBC MMX

and the date for the operation is . . . .

2010-01-21T02:08:00.000-08:00

drumroll, please. Tuesday 9 February.

Actually, I could have opted for next Wednesday, the day after Australia Day, but I have committed myself to the most important task of cat sitting the delightful Tim from Monday to Friday.

So, whilst I shall cheer Rad and Bob on in the Canberra Capital Triathlon on Sunday, I'll scoot on up to Sydney on Monday morning. Hopefully, I'll get to the cricket, a Sheffield Shield Match, at the SCG on Friday before scooting back.

This is great for a number of reasons, including that I'll be free to attend the PM's XI match at Manuka on the 4th without worrying about getting thouse with me to fetch and carry everything. I'll also be able to sneak in another run in the Tuggeranong Stakes, the BBQ Stakes and Customs.

Yes, run!

Well, run-ish. Better than a jog/walk.

On the advice of my GP, I procured a scary-looking truss to hold things in place before the surgery. It provided relief almost immediately, once the complicated adjustment of straps, pulleys, tension coils and counter weights were precisely fixed.

Whereas standing in the kitchen was painful, and going to the supermarket was agony, the 'device' made all the difference. After an exploratory walk, and a walk with intermittent jogging, I went along to Customs last week early, hoping to jog / walk the course. After I started, I felt pretty good and was able to jog most of the way (apart from tying up my shoelaces).

Much to my shock (and delight) my time was not much slower than it has been of late. I couldn't work it out, as I was keeping the intensity really low the whole way (OK, until the last bit down the hill, then I didn't care) and it was around the same time. Barely a warm up, chatting to the world kind of jog.

I was enthused.

On Tuesday, I made it to Lake Tuggeranong for the 6k Stakes, intending to do the same thing. Unfortunately, a few phone calls and the roadworks on the GDE made me rather later than I expected. I left a few minutes early, and jogged surprisingly well at the start. I kept expecting to see those off earlier handicaps whizz past. Still alone at the one kilometre mark, I began to realise how pleasant it was run (or a facsimilie of it) without pain. Or much pain. It was so nice!!!

Just before the 3km turnaround point, Lloyd (the organiser, who leaves as early as he can to 'hold the watch' at the finish) raced past. I was surprised at how far along I was. On the return leg, I saw the other 11 runners, yet was still aware that I was able to move pretty well.

I kept looking behind me, and still no familiar faces. I became unpleasantly aware of a small gnawing pain in my gut which was far too central to the naval for a stitch, and frankly didn't feel like it. It didn't diminish, and perhaps with too much caution I stopped and walked for a while at the 4 1/2 km mark. I would jog a bit, then walk, unsure what to do.

I ran most of the last 700 metres or so home, with a bevy of runners overtaking me on the final hill climbing to the bridge. Once again I was overjoyed, and a somewhat in awe at my time - better than 7 minute pace, and close to (and in same cases, faster) than previous recent runs on the same course. Running (largely) without pain certainly had a lot going for it. I had kept the intensity low, and it was infinity easier than previous runs.

Pleased, I was now a little annoyed about the walking involved in both the Customs and Tuggeranong runs. I vowed to go along and do the BBQ Stakes on Wednesday, and try to not walk. I knew that this would be a much harder task, as the hills were my bete noir, and running in the Tour de Mountain had precipitated this last hernia.

I arrived early enough, left later than I planned due to chatting at the start, and was feeling pretty comfortable on the long, slow climb over the first kilometre. I wasn't concerned about my time, just about continuing for as long as I could without stopping. The sharper ascent up Waldock Street was a challenge and at snails pace, but the groin held up (supported as it was by so much hardware). The naval region pain was recurring though, and on my own fire trails, I had to concentrate on NOT concentrating on the middle pain and to think of something else. Anything else.

I got through 3k, and set my mind on making (at least) as far as I did at Tuggeranong. Or further. Or the whole way.

At the 4km mark, it is largely downhill, so the 4 1/2km point was passed with little thought. No one had passed me, nor was in sight, so if I was going to come in first, having left before scratch I wanted to do so honestly. And I did.

The net time of 41 minutes (42 seconds?) wasn't going to break any records, but given the nature of the course I didn't think it was humanly possible given my difficulty with hilly terrrain.

Woo Hoo. Not comfortable, but happy.

So, it appears as though I shall need to spend far too long recuperating from the operation than I had hoped, but I'll have a week of 'truss' running in Canberra before going under the knife.

Can't complain about that.

Yes, I know that it's 2010 already

2010-01-14T02:39:00.000-08:00

Life has been getting in the way lately, despite my best intentions.

Mexican Fiesta Christmas was a blast, but the doctor confirmed that, yes, I did have a bloody big hernia (reinforced by an ultrasound), and I have an early appointment with 'my' surgeon as soon as he is back to work. (at the end of January).

In the meantime, nothing that hurts (which includes running and walking). :(

My big sister visited last week, and we spent some time doing the galleries - Canberra in summer can be a blast. We joined the queues for The Paris exhibition early on Friday morning, but it was worthwhile, and Bob and I shall certainly be returning a number of times before it concludes.

We also popped into the Portrait Gallery, the National Library, the Botanic Gardens and the Bonsai Exhibition that I've run past countless times. The national Bonsai exhibition in Commonwealth Park is exceptional, including a fabulous collection of natives.

Riverhouse Inn, Upwey

2010-01-07T12:42:00.000-08:00

When we first arrived in London, The Times had a promotion which gave one two-for-one main course at a range of gastro pubs throughout Britain. We collected our vouchers, and kept the list of hotels, divided into umpteen unknown counties, in our knapsack (thanks for loaning that to us, Alexander), and planned to use it –'ron.

Local Duck, walnuts, onions and vegetables

Too stuffed for desert, I was nevertheless tempted, as there were interesting and imaginative options, again relatively unusual.

With our discount, the bill was 32.95, with drinks. Still quite light outside when I drove the short distance home, we were well fed and happy.

A Mexican Fiesta Christmas

2010-01-03T18:33:00.001-08:00

I had been looking forward to ridding Denny (the wonder scooter) up to Sydney all year, and finally Christmas provided the reason, the opportunity and the weather to do just that. A small, early family Christmas was to be spent in Sydney with Bob and I, my sister and her two daughters in their 20's. As Number 1 daughter and boyfriend were heading off for a Christmas at his family's place at lunchtime, it was early and low key.

The Theme – a Mexican Fiesta!

With Red Hot Chilli patterned serviettes, a bright yellow tablecloth and Sombreros for all, the scene was set for qa fabulous celebration. No.1 and boyfriend arrived in good style, Mexican blankets and ponchos at the ready, and homemade Zappata moustaches on sticks for us all to 'wear'. Ye Olde Traditional Christmas morning snack of cornchips and salsa accompanied the frenzied present opening, (you are NEVER too old for a stocking), before a feast of spicy prawns with nectarine salsa, Crab tortillas, New World Salad, Taco's and range of fresh salsa. Good fun! Ariba, Ariba!

In what is threatening to become a Kramar Christmas Tradition, a break in the proceedings was held in the 'Grand children's Cage' in the top garden, for the piñata bashing. I had been endevouring to make piñata's for the previous week or two, and, despite discovering that I had failed papier mache 101, and then my freshly painted attempts were chewed by noisy possums at 3am one morning. It had taken much effort to get that far, to see the paint and paper mess did not endear me to this 45^th generation of shed dwellers.

No. 2 daughter displayed a fierce tenacity in piñata whacking to empty the contents far and wide, and ensure that we stayed well away from her in future, especially if she were armed with a whacking stick.

Despite being still mid morning, a birthday/Christmas cake was presented ~ a chocolate chilli cake (with marzipan chilli decoration).

Return to running?

2010-01-03T18:31:00.001-08:00

The Gastroenterologist wasn't able to do much for Bob and I with our ongoing infection ~ it seemed as though a 'wait and see' approach was going to be the bet for the next month or two. Bob was was to cut out the minimal amount of dairy products he ate for a couple of weeks to see if that made any difference. With no milk in our diet, only an occasional ice cream if we were out and feeling like living dangerously once or twice a year, and a little hard cheese a couple of times a week, this left him to contemplate his morning museli sans yoghurt each day.

We each had some expectations which left us feeling a bit flat by the end of the day.

On our 17^th Wedding anniversary however, (20 December) was the Tour de Mountain, another excellently organized event by the mountain running association which has been going for yonks. A testament to how long since I have participated, the location of the start and finish has moved in the intervening period, and the course is now run in the reverse direction, allowing for greater options, including a 9km ('Sprint') event up over Mount Taylor; a 17km ('Vegie') walk and run course, taking in Farrer Ridge, Mt Wanniassa and Isaac's Ridge; and the 25km Main Event (the 'Tour') adding Mt Taylor to the shorter 17km course.

Despite being held so close to Christmas in the height of summer, the early start conspired with unseasonably cool weather for were the only ones to turn pleasant running conditions. I entered as a 'runner' (a very generous term at the moment) in the 17km event, although arranged to leave at the ungodly hour of am with the walkers and main event runners to give me a bit more wiggle room. I jogged along amiably with Geoff Barker to the Mt Taylor turnoff (he was walking, and walking fast), where we two to turn left onto Farrer Ridge and beign the 17km course. As this started to rise uphill, I was unable to keep up with him. The distance between us grew greater and greater as the slope of the incline grew, and my puff deteriorated rapidly.

As steps cut into the side of the hill came into view, another problem reared itself, more ominous than my lack of mountain running fitness. A sharp, acute pain in my groin made itself known with a vengeance, and didn't want to dissipate. As is in sympathy, other niggly aches and pains in the abdomen and pelvis also chimed in, to ensure that the ascent was as unpleasant as possible. Geoff and his trademark pink singlet was becoming a smaller and smaller target in the distance of the descending trail, at least ensuring that I had a good marker to keep me on the right track in addition to the heavy flour arrows marked on the ground, and the black on fluorescent red arrows tie to trees and at junctions.

A heavily overcast sky had meant that my garmin did not pickup a satellite before the start of the event, and I had no good idea of how far I had come. With my sluggish crawl up the hill would I have cracked 10 min/kilometer? Probably not. As I entered the underpass to give access to Wanniassa Hills I started to calculate what would be the best way to get back to stop the pain. All too soon, just as I crossed Long Gully Way, the first fo the speedy 25km runners overtook me. Walking didn't seem to be too bad, although running was very painful, and so too, I found that walking quickly also aggravated the pelvic pain

At an aid station on Isaacs Ridge, where a lap of around 3km headed off to the right, and the fast runners were now on their second lap and turned left of the trail for home, I too turned left, ensuring a DNF, and sought the shortest route home. I decided not to cut across the suburb of Isaacs and back to Southlands, although it was patently shorter on a map, these were not streets I was familiar with, and sticking the trails seemed a much better option. The pain was so acute as I went through the underpass of Yamba Drive, that my earlier pan to go back the shorter route to Mawson didn't seem so sensible. Sticking to the trails of the TdM course might be a tad longer, but I was not entirely confident that I would make it back comfortably.. At least of the marked route, there would be prople coming through for a good time yet, and I wouldn't be curled up in a suburban street on my own without a phone or method of making contact.

I slowed my pace right down at this point, and found a sense of equilibrium. It still hurt, but I no longer had screwed my face up to grimace from the pain, and could give a cheery – or intendedly cheery – call to the string of runners that started to trot past. At the end, I walked parallel to the finishing shute just as Geoff Barker strode in, the first walker, and faster than me 'running' over at least 3 hilly kilometers more.

I slept as soon as I got home, around 9am, and well into the afternoon.

The pain continued on walking upstairs, or moving quickly for a couple of days and I started to be concerned that I had sprung another hernia. It was only last February that I had the last one operated upon, and I reflected on how similar this pain was. I was not overjoyed.

and the verdict is . . ..

2009-11-30T01:57:00.000-08:00

we do have giardia still.

Next plan is to go to the Gastroentologist, before the Professor of Infectious Diseases.

No antibiotics yet (this week). Bob can finish his bottle of wine.

The good news, and the anticipatory bad

2009-11-26T20:06:00.000-08:00

I ran at Customs today, and was very happy with a comfortable, and little faster run.

But it seems as though Bob and I have 'failed' our test for giardia infection (again). We are summons to see the doc at 2:00pm on Monday. This has flattened our mood somewhat, after a lovely week and a bit blunderbuss anti-biotic free, which has given us more energy and 'oomph' in general. Of course, the prospect of Bob spending another, festive month alcohol free is particularly gnarling, and it is quite possible that we shall have to do a round of immunologists and tropical medicine specialists as well to find a solution to this intractable infection.

Bugger.

I think that I've matured in my running.

2009-11-25T02:31:00.000-08:00

Which must means that I'm not getting any faster, but instead of being frustrated and surprised at this I (now) (kinda) accept it, and look at how I am compared to my (approximately) 6:30 minute / kilometre pace, the weather, and perceived exertion.

I would much prefer that this was 5:00 minute pace instead, the maths is much easier. And it is SO SLOW! But I will try to not complain (too much).

It was a slow old run on Friday at Customs in a small, hardy group who braved the extreme old-century skimming mark in the middle of the day. I tried hard - I really did, but it was a slow old run with me doing 35:17 for the 5km, with my heart rate hanging around the 176 bpm mark.

Bob, although a bit slower than normal, won as everybody was affected by the heat.

On Tuesday, we headed down to the Lake Ginninderra for the monthly ABS handicap run. I couldn't work out what I should run off, being a bit brain-dead, and the cold snap had numbed my brain and I was reluctant to even go and start. I braved the 'cold' (16 degrees), and started, among the last three groups of tiny St Monica's Primary School kids on a Walkathon. I felt good, and worked hard. I finished well through the field, but managed to equal my time of the previous run (43:12), and managed to maintain a 175 bpm heartrate for the last km.

I was very pleased, although was concerned when I didn't see Bob. Everyone finished, the presentations started and still no Bob. Right up the rear, a bloodied Bob stumbled into view. He had fallen on a piece of concrete on the path, about half a kilometre from the finish. He was very sore, very sorry, and in quite a bit of pain.

At home., his knees were evidently very swollen, and after a shower to clean them off, spent his time with his knees locked and them elevated with ice. He made an appointment for a sports med doc for 9am the next morning.

Despite fearing the worse, a torn ligament for sure, the doc thought that under the deep bruising and swelling, Bob's 'sturdy' (bomb proof) knees (which look like tree trunks) are unlikely to have tissue damage. It was found that he had sprained his wrist in the fall though.

I headed off to the BBQ Stakes on my own today, revelling in the warmer weather, although it did make it hot for running. I felt good, mainly because I was able to continue to run, when the four or five around me, frequently stopped to walk up the steepest sections. That their walking was no slower than my continued steady shuffle, or that they could glide past or away from me as soon as they resumed running was of no ~ well, little ~consequence. I felt strong.

It was alas, a little slower than last weeks' slow, and even hotter, run, but this was mitigated by my good run at Lake Ginninderra. I'm happy to run. I'm happy that the warm weather has returned.

10 injured in Vadodara Marathon

2009-11-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

10 injured in Vadodara Marathon

Confusion, chaos marred the much-hyped event on Sunday

By Sunil Mohanty

Posted On Monday, November 23, 2009

A runner falls down as athletes jostle for space in Vadodara Marathon

In Vadodara: The Vadodara Marathon, hyped as an event that promised to put that city on the international athletic map, turned out to be a huge embarrassment for the organisers on Sunday.

Around 10 participants were injured in the chaos as the organisers couldn’t handle the crowds.

Around 32,000 people participated in the marathon that was flagged off by Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi. The organisers had promised that vehicles will be blocked during the course of the marathon but that was not the case, forcing the participants to run through traffic.

The chaos on the Vadodara roads ensured a number of athletes were hit by the vehicles, but there were no first-aid facilities available.

One of the athletes, Vipul Saharia from Hyderabad, said: “I am a regular at marathons in India. I have never seen a marathon as worse as this. There was no water for athletes, forget about first-aid kit. I had to push people around in the last 2-km stretch. The joke is, we didn’t even know where the finishing line was.”

The organisers had roped in the likes of Milkha Singh, Kapil Dev, Kiran More, Irfan Pathan and Yusuf Pathan to take part in the ‘celebrity run’ but that had to be called off as the celebrities simply refused to run in the chaos.

I promise to do better next time, Miss.

2009-11-22T23:59:00.000-08:00

OK. So, I have not been exactly reliable in my blogging of late (to wit, the last few years), but I promise to try and do better from now on. Really I do.

(stop sniggling Rudi)

My best current excuse is that Bob and I picked up a case of rather intractable giardia in Jaipur, Rajasthan, just before my birthday this year in mid June. Although Bob was largely asymptomatic, after my rather unpleasant symptoms failed to respond to multiple courses of unpleasant antibiotics, we found that Bob was also carrying the nasty little critter. A one week course failed to clear him, so we have been on a tough monthly regime of nasty big bomb tablets three times a day. We finally finished the course on Monday, and that means that as of Today, three days later, Bob can now have a drink. We think that we have started to feel a bit better since stopping the antibiotics.

So that's my exuses all done. All that we now need to wait for is the results of a test to check for infection early next week. All fingers and toes are crossed.

So what are we up to?

We are both capable of running and cycling (and theorically, swimming). We ran the BBQ Stakes yesterday, being mad ducks, although the temperature was a relatively mild 31 degrees; today we achieved quite a lot at home, attending doctors appointments and so on, but no exercise in the 38 degree heat.

(Balham) Albany, Jewel of the South

2009-11-04T19:42:00.001-08:00

Looking on the internet before we left Canberra for running options while we were over in the west, a fun run in Margaret River popped up as a lovely option, but unfortunately it was the day of the triathlon in Perth.

Further searching came up with another run to the south, the Port to Point in Albany. I knew nothing much about Albany, other than it was near Denmark which was meant to be quite beautiful. Still, although a little further along than we had (kind of) anticipated heading, a run is a run, and some of our best experiences had been by following our noses to join community runs in northern Spain, Austria, or anywhere in the US.

We had a wonderful time in Busselton, although it was rather more sedate than we would have liked given the wild weather. Our walk in the woods, on the rail trail and along the edge of a babbling brook was fabulous and we looked into accommodation options if we returned.

Driving down to Albany was glorious through majestic forests of tall, straight trees which seemed to soar to the gods. The lush understory was a constant delight, with thick bushes and flowering shrubs massed on all sides. We stopped for coffee at Nannup on the way through, and were delighted to find a quirky little cafe where the coffee was good.

The run along the coast was about 15kms and there was a great network of bays and inlets, surrounded by giant gums, lush pastures and wild coastlines. Albany loomed as a giant complex of silo's which dominated part of the harbour, from which a street rose with terraced properties and churches stretching up the hill which dated from the late nineteenth century.

A quick visit to the information centre provided us with a few maps, and we made our way to our accommodation. The drive took us up and around a high headland and we concerned about entering the never never out of town, however a further settlement and good beach came into view along with the bike path on which the fun run on Sunday was to take.

Our accommodation was a little dated, but clean. Inspecting the beachfront and local cafes, we drove up to Emu Point where the run was to finish. This was a jewel, with a boat harbour on one side and a fabulous collection of bays, harbours and islands. The only downside was the weather which was decidedly cool and windy as the dark clouds gathered. Seeking to escape Canberra for warmer weather, not cooler, this is not what was on the plan. Normally, having me shivering and Bob and I rugged up in our only warm clothes packed for days on end would normally have us hotfooting it to another, warmer destination. Perth for example is quite warm at the moment, which would only be half a day's drive away.

However, this is such a fabulous part of the world, with so many places and things to explore both within and out of the town, especially with a good network of multiuse bike and running tracks, and such spectacular natural beauty we contemplated staying longer (subject to the weather forecast).

Saturday only confirmed our views of the town, where we had excellent coffee at a fancy-scmhanz providores only a few metres from our apartment, which seemed to be the Saturday morning gathering point for every lycra-clad cyclist in the district, where an impressive display of road bikes such as a Campy Record equipped Colnago C-50 jostled for unlocked space.

The coffee was good too – it sold newspapers, and would be the perfect 'local' in which to spend time.

We then headed to the Saturday Morning Farmers Markets, and although my expectations weren't high, thought that it had to be checked out. I was wrong . . . my expectations were exceeded by fabulous, often innovative produce, and it was evident why Vogue Entertaining had awarded it the Best Farmers Market award. Yes, there was baby asparagus; tight, bright green broccoli; snow-white cauliflowers and local fruit and dairy. There were organic chooks, fresh fish from the cold waters of the sound, and old fashioned cuts of beef and game. Lobster pies, smoked fish, Marron Rolls and ginger honey nudged stalls with a surprising away of baked biodynamic breads and baked goods, many using Spelt flour (yay! Gluten free), which was also grown and milled locally. It was a small market, but very, very good, and was obviously a weekly fixture for good reason as people continued to roll up with their reusable bags (not evident in supermarkets here in the west with the frequency of Canberra), despite many of the fish and other items already having been sold out.

It was too cold to do much cycling with our inadequate clothes, so after lunch we drove out to the peninsula around Princess Royal Bay, where an old whaling station lay at the end of the road, and then a good collection of diversionary tracks with great assortments of large boulders, munitions' placements from earlier wars to protect this large protected harbour, and a blowhole, which, although it was not blowing up water in the sea conditions at the time, created a vortex of the greatest pressure one could imagine and was quite frightening. Further along, a natural bridge of rock and a 'Gap' over a raging torrent edged by sheer, vertical cliffs completed a tremendous part of Australia's coast.

A Lovely Day in the Margaret River Region

2009-11-01T03:46:00.001-08:00

After our morning coffee at The Goose, Bob and I surveyed the options; walking (as per the plan yesterday), driving down to Margaret River township, or hiring a bike. The weather was still decidedly iffy – although the gale force winds had abated, and it was pleasant in the sun, it was certainly cool and we did not have ideal clothes for a serious hike in these conditions.

Looking at the map, I came up with Plan 2B: drive to the Margaret River region and undertake some of the walks in the region of the township. Bob readily agreed, and we grabbed some picnic supplies for lunch (with the horrid tasting antibiotics), and headed down the Bussel highway.

Port to Point 10k Fun Run

2009-11-01T03:07:00.000-08:00

Garmin Connect - Activity Details for Port to Point 10k Fun Run

Busso, Day 2 (acting like a salty sea dog)

2009-10-28T06:33:00.001-07:00

Blog: 2009-10-28 Busselton, day 2

The weather today is spectacular, lashing winds, a dark and stormy day of light and growling dark flannel clouds, horizontal rain, and patches of blue flashing past like sheets of lightening.

This was not, however, conducive to our planned days activity of hiking from Cape Naturaliste along the western cape to Yallingup taking in part of the route of the 135km long Cape to Cape coastal walk which looks most inspiring. Looking through the local rag revealed that the inaugural four day Cape to Cape MTB race was held recently (won by a Canberran), going in the opposite direction, with an intermediate special stage in Margaret River.

Having bought some dried fruit-type supplies and so on at the early closing local shops (a constant cause of contention here in WA), we were all set; but it was obvious to all that it would not be an option today.

After breakfast and picking up the newspapers, we made our way to "The Goose", a cafe / restaurant on the waterfront that had been closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. The few metres to the cafe's door was quite an adventure, with us nearly being blown into the roaring surf, and the door banging behind us reminiscent of a thunderclap.

The coffee-coffee (as described by the rather good looking barista), was good, if a bit pricey, and with free wifi, The Australian, and The Financial Review, we were wiling captives along with the other patrons in the restaurant. Nobody was, nor could, go anywhere. We lingered, gazed out at the sea which constantly changed, and turned this port to a dangerous surf beach.

We ordered another coffee (a single this time).

The wind swung around and the rain eased, and we made our move. In the afternoon we did rounds of the cheese factories in the region. It had frustrated Bob that the cheeses that were available were predominately Tasmanian or 'national' brands. Even in the rather splendid David Jones Food Hall off Murray St Mall in Perth had a great selection of Tasmanian cheeses, along with a large specialty selection of French and Italian fromage. One lone West Australian made up the selection.

A local place, the old Cheddar Cheese Factory was kinda homely, with many flavoured creamy cheddar varieties. 'Creamy' wasn't instantly appealing to me, with my preference for sharp, crumbling cheddars (ideally with a slice of apple). They were surprising good though (chilli, truffle, fig, muscatel). The semi-matured, matured and vintage were still creamier than I would have liked.

Next stop was the Margaret River Cheese Company, a part stop, the first more touristy with a small busload of ancient citizens arriving just after us. As luck would have it, Bob ran into a fellow Canberra sometimes-triathlete in the carpark. The cheeses here were predominantly cheddars, less creamy, sometimes soapy, and of more commercial appeal. The busload of pensioners tasted a lot, bought little and fluffed about.

Further up the road, a smaller enterprise of the cheese company had a selection of their soft cheeses, double cream brie, triple cream camembert, feta and 'farmhouse' cheeses. These were good, decadent, and definitely not low fat. Bob is still suffering from his antibiotic –induced alcohol holiday while we are over here in such a renowned wine region. Buying small quantities of high fat cheese is a small price to pay. I am still in the midst of my doctor imposed wheat free diet, which she thought would 'rest' my gut after it suffered from the (then) giardia infection. Of course, it has turned out that both Bob and I have a remarkably antibiotic resistant form of giardia which we probably picked up in Jaipur, Rajasthan.

Although Bob doesn't display any symptoms, and was only tested after I continued to be symptomatic and positive after a number of courses of all the standard treatments. The doc did use the term "public health risk" and "Mr Harlow" (she is very formal) in the same sentence though. And the symptoms (what I do have), aren't pleasant at all. So after calls between medicos, public health officials and professors of pathology and immunology, Bob and I are (back) on an extended course of ghastly tasting antibiotics, three times a day, for four weeks.

Avoiding all wheat products whilst travelling is interesting, and a little difficult. Risotto and salads are usually available (and are in), while things that are mostly available and junky (which we try to avoid anyway) are out. I've discovered that gluten free pasta ain't really worth eating, although corn thins are pretty damn good.

Living it up in the South West corner

2009-10-27T06:43:00.000-07:00

Bob had been entered in the World Championship Long Course Triathlon which was to be held in Perth on the weekend of the 25th October. Unfortunately, a torn intercostal muscle after the worlds on the Gold Coast five weeks before, minimized his training in the lead-up to almost nothing, although he was still hopeful until he came off his bike going too fast around a corner close to home the week before. He lost a lot of skin, but was essentially unhurt.

The loss of skin did completely rule him out though, and nearly two weeks later, he is still a bit of a mess.

Though we he (Freudian slip that one, for sure) didn't race in Perth, we did catch up with friends and family and had a great time. It was especially fortunate that our friends from Cairns, Rob and Ceila, were staying in the same hotel. I remember each time we catch up, how much I miss Ceils and wish I were closer than 3,000km away.

I was pretty proud of how Bob coped with not doing the race, and he was an excellent cheerer and photographer, although really anxious to get out of the city once it was over.

So, first thing Monday morning, we picked up the car and headed off to Busselton. Bob was here earlier in the year for the half ironman and was keen to share the experience of the area with me. A freeway extended out of the CBD a long way, making the journey very quick, if a little anonymous in a divided-six-lane-highway kind of way.

We hit the town, and managed to get a cute little 'beach house' a block or two back from the pier. It was well renovated, with spectacular jarrah floors and high ceilings. The weather is pretty ordinary, although this area of the Australian coast is fabulous. Today, we drove up to the town of Dunsborough, where we had the best coffee we've found in the west, at a local coffee roasters. Excellent! We stayed for two, before dragging ourselves away and explored the Meelup Regional Park, Eagle Bay and Cape Naturaliste.

The bushland around the lighthouse at Cape Naturaliste was largely burnt out on 7 February (the same day as Black Saturday in Victoria), but it still had a stark beauty with the evident regrowth of a huge array of wildflowers.

Rescuers save duck after nail gun attack

2009-10-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

Rescuers save duck after nail gun attack

By Kate Horvath

Posted Thu Oct 1, 2009 1:42pm AEST
Updated Thu Oct 1, 2009 5:18pm AEST

Slideshow: Photo 1 of 2

Rescue operation: The duck had a 7.6cm nail protruding through its head. (ABC TV)

A duck with a 7.6-centimetre nail protruding through its head was captured and successfully operated on last night, after a three-day rescue attempt in Melbourne's east.

Nigel Williamson from Australian Animal Rescue Inc received a call on Monday about a wood duck that had a nail in its head at the Tallyho Business Park in Burwood.

Mr Williamson spent six-and-a-half hours trying to capture the wild duck but was unsuccessful.

Returning on Tuesday to resume the rescue, Mr Williamson was unable to find the duck, however in a case of third time lucky, the duck was found and captured late on Wednesday night.

Mr Williamson says the rescue team was lucky to capture the duck.

"It certainly was a difficult rescue, to lure a wild duck into a particular area to be able to capture it, but I'm just so glad that we got him this afternoon so that he is not suffering any longer," he said.

Mr Williamson says it was a cruel act.

"It's very obvious that someone has fired a nail gun at the duck and unfortunately it's penetrated through the duck's head, narrowly missing the duck's eye, so it is very lucky that the duck is still alive."

When the duck was captured, it was taken to the Green Cross Veterinary Clinic in Rowville, where veterinary doctors stayed after hours to save its life.

Veterinary doctor Prue Stanley was involved in the delicate procedure and says she can not believe people could be involved in an act so cruel.

"It's horrible to think that people would go out of their way to hurt defenceless animals or that they would find this as a source of entertainment," she said.

"We spend our days trying to help animals and people obviously spend some of their days trying to hurt animals, which is just unthinkable."

The surgery involved sedating the duck before removing the nail from its head.

Ms Stanley says the procedure went well and the wood duck should make a full recovery.

"The duck had been flying around well and eating like a normal bird previous to the procedure which would suggest that he has no serious injuries to his vital structures."

Tags: animals, animal-welfare, birds, vic, burwood-3125, melbourne-3000

Canberra, again

2009-09-30T04:24:00.000-07:00

We have been back in Canberra for quite a while now, although the sun, sea and surf failed to really pick me up, and I continued to deteriorate on our return to Canberra. The two day drive back, although through beautiful countryside was tough going with nausea, vomitting, crippling headaches and excrutiating gut pains.

Eventually, we managed pointment with our doctor - and it turns out that the Giardia infection never fully went away (despite three course of s of treatment and an apparently clear test), an now ha have two ancillery infections which are really knocking me arou A phonhone call from her surgery first thing on Monday morning brought Bob and I in for further treatment, in case he is a 'silent' carrier - or in her words, "a Public Health Menance". I think that she is also fed up with the puc healtalth authorities calling her up to make sure that I was being treated and not infecting all the primary schools in the north canberra region.

This means that Bob is unable toink alcolcohol for ten days. He has been steeling himself to the task (without much enthusiasm).

The funny thing, is, although I had an absolutely shocking weekend in crippling pain, the blunderbuss treatment that I had seems to have helped immediately.

To that end, I was able to run in the Lake Ginniderra Stakes (just) starting a little late, and taking off chase Rad ad down. It was harder than I thought, although I'd narrowed it down to around 15 seconds until the (albeit, small) hill at the start of the eastern bridge where my legs died once again and he stretched his lead to over a minute. About 500 metres from the finish I caught up with him, however spurring each other on, he was stronger and finished in front by a couple of seconds. Nevertheless, it was the most satisfying (and one of the rare) runs I have had in recent months and was very happy (despite the time of 43:21).

Lobbed up to the BBQ Stakes today, and had another good, if slower paced, run on the hillier course. Very happy. I hope that things continue to improve, and plan to go for a cycle tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed.

2009-09-09T18:27:00.000-07:00

Still on the Gold Coast, and enjoying - in a manner - the great view from the balcony and windows, although that is as far as I have been getting.

I have been feeling increasingly poorly, with noticable swelling of my face, feet and hands, extensive nausea leading to retching, and a whole lot of spinning loss of balance experiences which makes any position other than lying down a bit too much of a risk of falling over and hitting my head on something on the way down.

I tried to watch tv yesterday afternoon lying on the couch, but even this was little too much, and dragged my bloated body to the bed where it was safer. My glands have swollen as well, those under my jaw adding to a sore throat which makes talking difficult, whereas those under my arms makes everything else awkward.

Grumble Grumble Grumble.

Actually, it's nice to have a change of scenery, and despite missing Rudi the wonder pup (he certainly doesn't regard himself as a cat), it's not a bad life, and I'd be up to no more at home. I'm not looking forward to the drive back, but that's half a lifetime away (five days by reckoning), so I might be fighting fit by then!

Gold Coast musings

2009-09-07T17:54:00.000-07:00

There aren't many ducks up here on the Gold Coast, where Bob and I are staying in preparation for his competing in the World Triathlon Championships this coming weekend.

We drove up over two days, stopping at Kempsey on the way and have very comfortable accomodation at Broadbeach, a few kilometres south of the madness at Surfers Paradise. I must admit, I had not been looking forward in many ways to coming here, as I had been to the Gold Coast only twice previously, for the half marathons, many, many moons ago, and found the white shoe, frentic drinking pace of the main strip an anathema to everything I liked. Yet, staying here, with endless views of the waves rolling across the beach, in a comfortable apartment where the dominant footwear is jogging shoes and the promenade along the beach attracts the once a week cyclists and walkers, residences abound and cafe's cluster on the shopping strip.

I can do without the bars and palours for body piercing and tatoos.

Unfortunately, although the warmer weather and sea air certainly is a pleasant change, I am still far from bursting with health. It has been a quiet time, and I am a long way from being well enough to go for the much anticipated run along the coast, or a swim in the surf. Nausea is the overwhelming ailment which has wiped me out with it's attendant spinning vertigo which knocks me off balance and sends me wobbling into a wall or nearby peice of furniture.

We have caught up with Rad and his lovely lady, enjoying a particularly nice Thai meal at a restaurant near his hotel in the Main Beach area. Later in the week many friends from around the country will arrive, from Wagga, and Adelaide, and Cairns and Gladstone, and no doubt, many other points of the Australian compass.

Bob is developing his training regime, although it is threatened by the pleasant tasks of having coffee (Piccolo adjacent to the Miami Surf Club is highly recommended), and gazing at the waves rolling across the beach or the spectacular thunder and lightening show last night.

Until

Great British Duck race breaks world record

2009-09-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

A record breaking 205,000 plastic ducks floated down the Thames yesterday as part of the third annual Great British Duck Race

Published: 3:54PM BST 07 Sep 2009

A canoeist paddles among some 205,000 blue rubber ducks floating in Molesey Lock on the River Thames during The Great British Duck Race... Photo: GETTY

The event took place near Hampton Court Palace and raised over £100,000 for a range of charities, including the NSPCC. Each blue duck cost £2 to enter the 1km race with the owner of the first past the finishing post receiving a prize of £10,000.

It earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records after surpassing the 175,000 ducks competing in a similar event in China earlier this year.

Mike Scott, the event's managing director, said, “The duck race is a fantastic opportunity to have some fun, raise some serious money for a range of good causes and have the chance to win £10,000, as well as take part in a Guinness World Record Attempt.”

The blue ducks will now be recycled at a plant in North Shropshire. Meanwhile, the owner of the winning duck – number 023871 – has yet to contact event organisers.

A step in the right direction for Lucky duck

2009-08-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

A step in the right direction for Lucky duck

A SPECIALLY-MADE shoe has been created to save a duck’s life.

Lucky the Muscovy duck had been left with one foot pointing in the wrong direction and was set to be put down before owner Allison Morgan came up with a solution.

The 44-year-old from Lliswerry, Newport, enlisted the help of a cobbler, Kelvin Redcliffe, who created a sandal that takes the pressure off her wrong-facing right web and prevents it becoming too sore.

Lucky is also now receiving physiotherapy from her owner “two or three times a day” to keep her ligaments stretched.

Mrs Morgan, a mother of one, said: “When she is walking, because of the position that the leg is fixed to the side, she is walking on the outer part of her toes.

“The two outer toes get really sore so I thought of something to protect those toes while we are waiting for the next stage.

“It does not do anything for the feet but it does protect her toes.”

Mr Reddicliffe, 54 said it was the first time he had been asked to make a shoe for a duck after 39 years in the trade.

“I was asked if I could do the impossible and make an orthopaedic shoe for a duck. I was not sure if it was something I could help with but then I had a lightbulb moment to base the shoe around a Roman sandal,” he said.

Mrs Morgan said she rescued the duck after hearing of its plight. She believes the leg was injured when she was dropped. She said: “She is a very lucky ducky.”

She is now trying to raise £500 for an operation for the duck.

Old Duck celebrates Birthday

2009-07-30T02:26:00.000-07:00

'Oldest duck' celebrates birthday

A couple from Hampshire are celebrating the 22nd birthday of their tea-drinking pet duck - thought to be one of the oldest mallards ever recorded.

Edwina was almost pecked to death by her family before Ian Knight and Christine Christopher rescued her.

The couple, from Ringwood, initially called her Edward but quickly changed her name once she started laying eggs.

The British Trust for Ornithology (BTO) said the oldest known wild mallard in the UK is 20 years and five months.

The oldest known wigeon stands at 34 years, the oldest gadwall at 21 and the oldest teal at just over 18 years.

'Drinks tea'
But the oldest wild duck on record is a sea-duck called Eider at 35 years and six months.
The birds' ages have been calculated through the BTO's ringing scheme.
Mr Knight said of the rescue two decades ago: "It was one Sunday and the mother duck had about six or seven ducklings and, who we now know as Edwina, was the runt of the pack and was being attacked.

"We tried to help but the mother didn't want to know, so there was this duckling looking the worse for wear on the bank.
"The children were getting distressed so we put her in a box
and brought her home and tried to revive her.
"As a child you hear the story about if you find a bird out of the nest you put it in a box with a blanket and the next day they are usually dead - but not with Ed, she got stronger and stronger."
Mr Knight released Edwina back into the wild but she followed him back home and has been living with the family ever since.
Miss Christopher added: "Her first bath was taken in the sink, then she progressed to the bath upstairs.
"She is quite a character. She attacks Ian every now and again but with me she doesn't seem to peck me at all.
"She also drinks tea, she loves it."

Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/uk_news/england/hampshire/8175652.stm

Published: 2009/07/29 19:57:57 GMT

© BBC MMIX

From the Wall Street Journal

2009-07-08T03:48:00.000-07:00

JULY 8, 2009, 6:41 A.M. ET

Fast Times for Jobless Runners

As Unemployed Amp Up Their Training, Marathon Results and Participation Rise

By REED ALBERGOTTI

Longtime runner Ray Gobis posted a 3:09 at the Boston Marathon in April—his personal best. The cause wasn’t a new training technique or the perfect weather. It was because Mr. Gobis got laid off.

“Other people might go into a cocoon or something. Me, I’ve done the opposite,” says the 47-year-old Mr. Gobis, who lost his job in November as director of operations for a printing company. With his new-found leisure time, he has amped up his regimen to 60 miles a week and joined a competitive running group.

Americans might be poorer, but they certainly aren’t slower. With the economy in the doldrums, more people are discovering that without those 12-hour workdays, they’re able to pursue fitness goals like never before. Marathons, triathlons and road races are filling up in record time.

Some evidence suggests that laid-off marathon runners are actually helping push up the level of competition within their age groups. Olympic-level competition could even go up because more elite athletes coming out of college are opting to pursue their athletic goals rather than look for work in a dismal job market.

View Full Image

Getty Images

Runners in the 2008 Boston Marathon, which like other endurance races, has seen the number of entries increase since the recession.

The effect on races around the country is difficult to quantify. But by one benchmark, marathoners have gotten faster. Athlinks.com, a Web site that tracks millions of race results, says 2009 has seen marathon times improve in nearly every age category. Using the 2010 Boston Marathon qualifying times as a baseline, the site looked at marathon results to see how many runners would qualify today based on previous races. The conclusion: This year alone, 4.6% of marathoners have run times that would make them eligible for Boston—a 39% increase over 2008.

Curiously, performance times in the past six years peaked in 2006, then slipped in 2007 and 2008. Troy Busot, who runs Athlinks, says that could be because the job market was bad enough in 2007 and 2008 that people had less time to train and were under more stress. “I think quality started to drop when people were like, ‘Uh oh,’ and had a little bit of anxiety,” says Mr. Busot.

Then in late ’08 and into 2009, extensive layoffs gave runners more time to train and, in some cases, less stress. “I guess the ones who don’t have a job will get faster and the ones who are desperately clinging to a job will get slower,” he says.

Adding to the significance of the speedier marathon times is the fact that 2009 has seen a big jump in participation, up 5.1% this year, according to Athlinks. More participation means more beginners, and slower times. Simply speaking, times should be slowing down, not speeding up.

Participation in marathons and triathlons can be costly, too. The New York City Triathlon, which costs $225 to enter, filled up in 22 minutes this year, compared to eight hours last year.

“People need structure in their lives,” says John Korff, director of the race. “They can’t just sit around all day.”

Zach Goldman, a triathlete from San Diego, describes himself as “funemployed.” Mr. Goldman, who was recently laid off from his high-paying commercial real-estate job, says he has enough time to train nearly full time and enough money saved up to travel the world racing and figuring out what he wants to do with his life–which is probably not commercial real estate. “That wasn’t all that fulfilling,” he says. “I’d like to do something more meaningful with my life,” he says—ideally in a career that will allow him to train longer hours. Mr. Goldman is currently in Israel, competing in the Maccabi Games, an international competition for Jewish athletes.

Rob Vermillion, executive director of the Oregon Track Club Elite, which trains Olympic hopefuls, says elite track-and-field athletes coming out of college these days are more likely to pursue their athletic careers because the job market is so slow.

“The economy is so terrible that they might as well run,” he says. As a result, Mr. Vermillion says the team, which caps membership at 20 people, has had to cut world-class runners who would in all other years make the cut with no problem.

To Mr. Vermillion, the economy may be a good problem. Track events in the Oregon area have become much more competitive because of the economy, he says. “I would be willing to go out on a limb and say the overall quality nationwide has improved,” he says, “and naturally, increased competition increases performance.”

When Chris Bennett was training as a runner, living in Palo Alto, Calif., in 1999, he had to make a tough decision: Live the life of a pauper to continue training and have a shot at one day winning a gold medal, or go into business during the IPO craze of the late 1990s. “You were giving up millions in stock options to chase the Olympic dream,” says Mr. Bennett, who eventually gave up his running career for a big paycheck in finance. Nowadays, he says, the decision is a lot easier–young athletes should just go for it, he says. “You’re not giving up as much because the economy is so bad,” he says.

Of course the full effects of the economy on amateur athletics are still a bit murky. And if the hiring outlook improves, the high participation levels could be just a small blip on the radar screen.

But the changing economic landscape could forever alter the way Americans view recreational and competitive athletics, as more people discover the joys of training and competing.

IDEA Health and Fitness, a fitness-industry association, says average gym membership went up 18% this year, to 3,394 from 2,866 last year, at the group’s member clubs.

Even in Michigan, where the economy has been particularly harsh, a new business promoting multisport events is holding its own. Eva Solomon says she thought she was “an idiot” to leave her stable job as a grade-school teacher to start a company, EST Events, during the worst economic crisis in a generation. But she figured things like triathlons were “recession proof.”

The first event she and her business partner put on, the “She Rocks” women’s triathlon, nearly filled up, with more than 400 women participating.

“I was blown away when I got home from the race and within two hours, I was getting letters from people thanking me for asking them to pay $80 to swim, bike and run,” she says. For the company’s next event, Ms. Solomon is considering offering a discount for people who can prove they’ve been laid off in the past six months.

Claudia Becque was distraught when she was laid off in January. Then she ran a 2:44 marathon time, slashing 14 minutes off her previous personal record—and close to Olympic level.

She’s now employed as a clinical research specialist for a medical devices company in Chicago. But her month of rest, relaxation and hard training have gotten her thinking: Maybe she should stay unemployed. She’s considering moving to a part-time job with her company, and all her friends are pushing her to do it. “Claudia, this is a sign. You need to just run.”

Ducks in Ladakh

2009-06-21T03:06:00.000-07:00

Having an absolutely Fabulous time - almost to a degree of guilt.

However, Ladakh, up in the the north western Indian Himalayans, is a wonderful place, although has intermittant (at abest) power supplies, and less in the way of internet connections available. As we have also been off on some tours of monastries and the like, (and our mobile phones don't work here either) there has been no chance to blog, or even write off-line. After dinner with a local Tibetan/Ladakhi family tonight, we are back to Delhi tomorrow mornng for the final few day s of our trip. More then,

Quack

(Two happy ducks)

Ladakh Magic

2009-06-15T12:58:00.000-07:00

Where do I begin?

Our week in Ladakh was magical, and far too brief. We vowed to go back to this Himalayan region which has such an interesting cultural identity, so influenced by the Tibetan refugees and the indiginous mountain population.

Flying into Leh airport, at 3,500m from Delhi was an adventure in itself, as the dry plains made way for the increasing peaks of the Himalaya's, rising in sharp peaks with dramatic gorges, then troughs which sunk from view. At first they too were barren, an extension of the desert and plains, echolng the rich red and russett browns of the surrounding soil. As the height of the peaks rose, they became more numerous and flashes of snow were visible. Flying well above the usual altitude at around 13,000m, the snow became thicker and more prevalent, and a fabulous sight from within the plane.

As we neared our destination, a thin ribbon of sealed road marked its way across the floor of the valley, clearly deliniated from the parched earth of the narrow ground. In the river valley an narrow strip of lush green sprung from where the summer remains of the Indus river wended its way past tiny allotments and mud brick huts. In most places this verdent ribbon was less than 100m wide, sharply ending in a clear line to the surrounding alpine desert.

Ladakh is the driest place in India, despite the snow melt from Himalayan mountains and it's height. Winters are bitterely cold ~ -30°C ~ but water is the most precious resource.

More beaurocracy at the airport was the norm, more forms to fill out (carbon paper!) and an umpteenth security check. We then headed up to the township of Leh a few hundred metres further up the road, in both distance and elevation. Our hotel, the Singge Palace was tucked away off the 'main' Old Leh Road down a laneway, and we received a warm welcome, as prayer shawls were placed around our necks.   Still only about 7:30am in the morning, we were shown to the inner courtyard where people were dotted about on wickerwork chairs under green and white striped umbrellas having breakfast as we were offered coffee and tea, and completed more of the ubiquitous paperwork (more carbon paper).

The edges of the sitting areas were fringed with the purple crowns of flowering chives and the staff couldn't have been more helpful. The manager of the hotel (with whom we booked directly via the internet) came over to discuss what we should do during our booked stay in the hotel, which included a number of tours. The 'tours' looked fascinating, however I was dreading the thought of being stuck to a schedule with other tourists, inflexible schedules and early starts.

That day we were advised to take it very easy to adjust to the altitude and aclimatise. Much information had been handed to us as at the airport, including the names and numbers of doctors and sheets detailing symptoms and the need to rapidly seek help if affected by Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). We were tired, desperately weery and lacking in sleep from a barely adequate hotel in a tourist districk in Delhi and unbelievably early start. Sleeping however is specifically frowned on as an aclimatisation method, as the shallowness of breathing is counter productive to becoming acustomised to the new level of oxygen saturation.

Our room was good, and after slowly unpacking and getting the lay of the land, we eventually headed off to look at the township, needing to return to the hotel for lunch, as all meals were included in our (modest) tarriff.First stop was one of the Tibetan markets that are scattered around the town. Selling a collection of new and second hand goods, nothing was of particular interest, except that it was established to assist the Tibetan refugees who had settled in Leh after many fled around the time of the chinese crackdown in 1959.

Wandering up the sharply ascending street, where plump docile cattle had right of way, a number of Tibetan restaurants became apparent. Local dress was diverse, and the features of many in the street was distinctly Himalayan - a trans Nepalese / Tibetan appearance that was obviously so different to other parts in the country. As a sensative border region adjoining Tibet (China) and Pakistan, security here was paramount, and the role of the military was omnipresent.   Ethnic diverseity was most apparent in the forces in uniform, with the proud tall bearing of many Sikhs with their dark beards and colour coded tubans forming a striking image. Buddist monks in their burgandy coloured robes strolled the streets, backpacks slung over their shoulders, and school children all wore grey flannel trousers, with V-neck jumpers over shirts and ties that were strikingly reminiscent of my own wintery school days - although even the girls wore the flannel trousers, with long braided hair, or their heads covered with a muslim hajib.

At first I was on my by now practised guard to avoid eye contact with items on display expecting an assault from harranging shopkeepers, and with most on the street lest we be targeted for begging. It took nearly a day for me to realise that it wasn't like this here. Being able to look, and smile and make eye contact normally was like taking a breath for the first time.    Another thing that soon became apparent was the relative cleaniness of the place. It wasn't litter free, but it was like a 'normal' township - one that wasn't in India.

On the first level of the mudbrick buildings that lined the main bazaar and the adjoining streets, was a proliferation of touring and trekking companies,   Posts and walls frequently had hand printed notices seeking people to share a taxi to destinations for day trips or longer treks. Western tourists were certainly evident in this area, many northern Europeans, some on touring Royal Enfield motorcycles, and many obviously there for a long stay in the region, most wearing a version of local clothes.

Lunch and dinner at the hotel was a surprise and excellent, with a great deal of variety and enormous servings. The staff were increasingly friendly and helpful. We thought that we were going to enjoy our time here.

Monastries Tour

The first of our tours on the package was one which included "The Hall of Fame; Magnetic Hill & Liker Monastry". Discussion with the manager the day before meant that we agreed to extend this to Alchi further down the valley, an 1,000 year old monastry. With some trepedation I awaited our 'tour' (I'm an independant kind of spirit), only to find that my concerns were hugley unfounded; Bob and I were introduced to our driver, Karma (what a cool name!), whom we had to ourselves in an older, but nevertheless comfortable Toyota 4WD. The Hall of Fame was adjacent to the airfield and across from one of the many military bases. Unpresupposing from the outside, on entering large portraits of Indian military heroes dominated the the small room. Other rooms to the side displayed an amauterish, but interesting range of muscuts, guns and swords, and descriptions of the brave Indian forces who protection this region from a bevy of attacks from the late nineteenth century, though to the Pakistan incursion soon after partition in 1948, and the Chinese invasion of 1962.

Once again we were embarrassed by our nationality as a Sikh soldier (AK47 slung over his shoulder) asked where we were from, and the instant recognition related to how poorly Indian students are being treated in Australia. While I'm sure that the reporting in India has been very biased and one sided, it is the impression that almost all Indians have of Australia, which can make it very hard to rationalise that this is not indicative of the majority, and only a small thuggish minority.

Other galleries marked an attempt to document Ladakhi culture through a series of dolls, traditional dress and instruments. Photos of workers constructing and maintaining the high mountain roads were evident, as were the clothes and rations of soldiers sent to work in this terrain.

We could stay as long as we liked and it was of interest - although we were keen to get on to our next destination. Past a progression of military encampments we came to the stark beauty that characterised the Ladakh region.   With sharp mountains rising along the narrow and twisting road, the surroundings were like a moonscape incongruously planted on earth. Vivid russett rock walls dropped down to deep gorges or stretched in impossibly flat plateaus between jagged boulders rising on either side.   The thin, glacial green of a shallow trickle from the Indus river that came from the east joined its confluence in a majestic fashion.

Jaipur, Rajasthan

2009-06-14T06:09:00.000-07:00

Blog 2009-06-13
Saturday, 13 June 2009

Leaving Jaipur for Delhi

Bob and I arrived in Jaipur ("the pink city") very early on Monday morning, and were collected from the train station by a driver from the hotel, only around 2kms away. We had booked a 'suite' - such things never well described - however that it had a bath was the selling point for me.

The 'ManhuBan Heritage Home" was a magnificent venue - an old home with a range of rooms linked by marble courtyards and stairwells. Our room was indeed a suite - not one for chinz, the decoration could have bordered upon that, however stopped short sufficiently to be pleasant and not at all overbearing. The bathroom, did indeed have a bath (yay), and there were chairs and a day bed adjacent to the tv and coffee table, another day bed under the window near a small desk and chair, as well as a bar fridge, good wardrobe and dressing table in an alcove leading to the bathroom. We were sure that we would be very comfortable there.

For the first time we also had breakfast in house - a small, but well tended garden surrounded by trees and bushes was the setting, accompanied by a wide vairety of birdlife, many squirrels, a caged white rabbit, and at least one of the homes three aging dogs. Breakfast choices were limited, and I had toast for the first time in many years, made especially palatable by the travel-essential tube of vegemite brought from Australia. Unlike the United States, where all foods, especially those available at the (hotel inclusive) breakfasts are unbearably sweet, The chance for some less-sweetened yoghurt or salty vegemite to put on the sickly sweet bread was a godsend. Bob had been generally been joining the locals in a marsala omlette most mornings, a spicy egg concoctionour with vegetables.

Although tired after an interupted night on the train and our 5:00am arrival, we headed out after unpacking and breakfast to get a feel for the city, the capital of Rajasthan. The streets were typically dirty and dusty, wih persistant pedal and auto rickshaw drivers vying for attention and business. We managed to ignore them and found our way to the old city via a fascinating adjacent area which was a Muslim enclave, with many goats, distinctly arabic music and women in full hajib dress. One street consisted exclusively of hesian bags; over it's length sat men sorting, stacking and repairing what was probably hundreds of thousands of hessian bags. Camels were used to cart them from one area to another.

Through a Dr Who style portal of the space time continuum (and a hole in the fence), we entered the old city, which was indeed, bathed in a sea of pink.   We were walking along one of the main bazaar's (shopping roads) of the town. Seeking to find the promised land - or the 'barista' espresso coffee shop listed in the lonely planet just outside the southeast corner of the old town, we were joined by a young man who offered to show us the way. Unfortuanately we had become increasingly sceptical and suspicious of Indians offering to help us in out travels, as elaborate schemes for touting business seem to be very common. The young man insisted to take us to the coffee shop / bookshop (which according to the lonely planet guide was in the same buiding), and according to the basic mapping facility on my garmin (forerunner 305) we were heading in the correct direction, through the labrinthyne maze of narrow lanes. Unfortunately, it was another (and not desired) Indian style coffee house, near a bookshop to which we had been brought, and after too many wonderful, but uncaffinated days in Jaisalmer, the call of espresso was great.

After finding our barista, and having a welcoming (and very un-Indian) double espresso, we made our way back to the old city, roughly following the walking route as laid out in the lonely planet, from the new gate, and around in an anti-clockwise route back to the old gate to the city. Despite the temperature hovering above the 40°C mark, the wide collenades provided shade, and the humidity was low meaning that we were not uncomforttble, despite it being the heat of the day. Along one stretch, shopfront after shopfront sold salwar kameez and shoes and sandals designed for tourists. We learnt to avert our eyes from everything on display to avoid our path being unnecssarily blocked.   A hole in the wall sold fresh juices and we sat at one of their tiny tables to have a glass, with Bob weakening and joining the others in a samosa with dipping sauce on a plate. The two fresh juices, one large bottle of water (it didn't hit the sides) and the samosa cost just over a dollar Australian.

Continuing along the route, a bevy of jewellery stores afonted us, further reinforcing the need to glance only the briefest of glances, before averting our eyes and repeating a mantra of "no thank you" to the ineviatable request to "come in and have a look, just a look madam". Women were obvioulsy the main target, although if there were T-Shirts for sale then Bob would be harranged unmercilously also.

Our strength to keep looking was fading at time wore on, and the need for sleep or at least a good rest took hold. Fabulous mounds of aromatic spices in brillient hues were formed into tall conical mounds, and a tourist hotel, the LMB, halfway down the street, drew us inside as a tall, be-turbaned and elaborately moustachioed doorman ushered us inside (and kept out the urchins and riff-raff). Inside was a carnival of an Indian sweet shop, with potato chips, nuts, and elaborate sweet concoctions and silver leaf wrapped sugary treats for sale by the kilogram.   With a number of tables for standing up and consuming the snacks, and a dedicated drink counter, the staff to possible customer ratio was truely amazing. Behind the counters was a wall of uniformed staff, all waiting to serve. A more exclusive restaurant lay beyond further glass doors with further doormen, and an even greater number of waiting staff visible within.

We did actually end up eating here a couple of days later, anxious to find somewhere cool, quiet and relaxing to sit after a long morning. The food (and drinks) were uniformly very expensive, although this did not deter many middle class and wealthy locals from dining here. The service was fabulous, but I did not count fewer than 18 in the small room at any one time, and sometimes there were considerably more.

Back into the fray of traffic, the main drag was a complicated jam of horse drawn traps, camels hauling high loaded carts, cyclos, auto rickshaws (tuk tuks), cars, battered lorrys and buses, and a constant weaving stream of pedal cyclists and motor bikes.   Added to the mix were heavy hand carts being pushed, or pulled, with unbelievable loads, and cattle and the odd water buffulo strolling at will. About half way along I faded, and we negotiated with a tuk tuk driver to get us back to our hotel. We had walked close to a half marathon already that morning and it was time to rest. Normally I would like to walk, however the filth in the streets with road works and heavy traffic was not so appealing. That night we went around the corner to a local vegetarian place, where the Thali (set meal of different dishes) was very good.

On Tuesday, we repeated our leisurely breakfast routine in the garden (more toast), we repeated our walk to the Barista cafe, this time by a more direct route. The coffee was excellent once again, and we sought this time to walk the same walking trail as yesterday in the old city, but in reverse direction, starting with those areas we hadn't seen on the first lap. More sights and incrediable smells asailed us; the overwhelming noisome odour of urine that had seemed to signify the very essence of Inida to us in many ways, would occaisionally be replaced by the heady, sweet aromatics of spices, or jasmine flower wreaths, or the scent of sandalwood and musk. Incense, so evocative of a spirtitual offering in Vietnam was altogether different here - used around where fresh fruit was cut for snacks to keep insects at bay, it was always a fabulous and welcome repreive.

Iswai Mimar Swarda Sal, a heaven piecing minaret, soaring above the royal gate to the City Palace called to be climbed, and eventually we found our way to it's entrance, where we made our way up to the top, stopping at the two 'floors' on the way up, which was ingeniously designed with a graduated ramp winding it's way around the tight, narrow course - far easier than the steep, narrow steps that otherwise would have been required. The view from the top was fabulous - great sweeping vistas to the fort on a nearby hill, a gymkana oval (being used for some informal games of cricket of course), where the elephants procession was held each year (and elephant polo); The city palace; and in the near distance just to the north, a magnificent structure that turned out to be a giant sundial in an observatory built in 1718.

We were both enchanted by the prospect of visiting such a structure.

That night, we dined at a place we had spied on our journey to the cafe, Moti Mahal Delux (Tandoori Trail). It turned out to be a branch of a restaurant that had opened in Delhi in 1920, and Bob was quite excited at the prospect of having meat for a change. Apart from the fresh (illegal) deer in the desert at midnight, meat had been rare or non-existant as the vast majority of eateries were "pure Veg", "100% Veg" or "Jain meals available" (no eggs, nor root vegetables including onion and garlic). The restaurant was a fine dining establishment, quite swish, with a modern and attractive decor, and the Twenty 20 cricket unobtrusively, but welcomingly, on a plasma screen in the corner.

It was an expensive menu, with the drinks especially costly by other standards. Unbeknown to us, Bob ordered the very first beer in the place - and photos were taken of us dining and we were offered Indian sweets to celebrate. Being unable to guage the size of dishes from the menu we opted for a mixed tandoori platter of meats (goat,lamb, chicken, fish, and sausagey things); Jeera Rice, Garlic Naan, Potatoes stuffed with paneer and cooked in the tandoor, and a spicy mixed vegetable dish. There was a mountain of food, and the wonderful tastes merely encouraged us to keep eating. The garlic naan was the only low point, possibly because it ws a tad cold, but every other dish exceeded expectations and was delicious.

With a second beer to quench Bob's thirst, the bill was a high 1,400 rupees, about five times what we were used to paying.

The following days were spent very quietly, with Bob decidedly under the weather on Thursday (I was just tired, but very tired), and then me succumbing to the same malaise on Friday, my 45th birthday. Sensibly, but most unfairly, Bob insisted that I didn't eat, or ate very little. Having only had a packet of crisps (marsala magic) all day previously in solidarity with Bob I found this a tad unfair. I had been excited earlier at the prospect of popping down to the local vegetarian restaurant, however as all meals everywhere in India are prepared freshly, the prospect of sitting in the basic restaurant for 40 minutes while it was cooked just made me too tired to act on.

Rad rang on my birthday, and I calculated that of the last 10 years, I have celebrated six of them overseas. My 35th in Bechyne, Czechland with my Uncle Zdenek in 1999. In 2000 I was in Steamboat Springs, Colarado with my friend LIsa (where I had my half marathon PB). I think that in 2001, 2002 and 2003 I was in Cairns (Canberra winters really aren't my thing). Bob took me to Hong Kong, where we hiked Lantau Island for my 40th in 2004, then Vienna in 2007, Hanoi last year, and Jaipur, India for my entry into a new age group (Yay - F45) this year.

Jaipur, Rajasthan

2009-06-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

Blog 2009-06-10 10 June 2009

Jaipur

It was a bit of a rough journey on the overnight train from Jaisalmer to Jaipur with interlopers in our railway sleeper carriage (class 2A, which only has curtains for partitions). Once we arrived in Jaipur after the 12 hour journey and were met and taken to our nearby guest house, things improved however: I had talked Bob into springing for a suite (only a few rupees more) as it had a bathtub, and the room was a welcome, and cool delight as a respite to the already hot and dusty streets of Jaipur outside the stately old house's boundaries.

ManhuBan is a large, stately old home with many of the flourishes typical of architecture of the region. The cool marble floors seperate desk and daybeds by the window and more formal furniture near the entrance and tv would make for a very comfortable stay. Once we worked out the electrical switches, three individually controlled overhead fans supplemented the airconditioner. and a bar fridge (complete with overpriced mini bar - all soft drink - contents) was the first we hadr seen in India and a welcome option to store our water and Bob's beer (if he could find a place to buy it).

Perhaps foolishly, we didn't rest up straight away, but had breakfast in the garden - a small, but lush patch of well tended and frequently swept lawn lined with sorry little rose bushes and more appropriate local plants. A white rabbit was in a hutch to one side, and the squirrels scampered across from one side of the lawn to the other, climbing trees and roof lines in a constant frenetci display of energy.

Sadly leaving Jaisalmer

2009-06-05T20:23:00.000-07:00

Sadly leaving Jaisalmer

Bob and I arrived in Jaisalmer, a western town of 60,000 on the edge of the Thar Desert near the border with Pakistan on an overnight train from Jodhpur on Thursday, 3 June. We flipped through Jodhpur to the east between trains, having an excellent meal at the Midtown near the railway station after walking around the narrow streets for some time. We were collected by the Shahi Palace hotel jeep when our train arrived before dawn, and drove the short distance to the hotel in relative cool of the predawn air.

The hotel was charming, cool and empty in the hot summer off season. We had our pick of rooms, the one we were shown initiallly was on the ground level, cool and dark, with a large bed carved from the golden sandstone which makes the town famous. We opted however for the most expensive room in the small establishment, a charming room with metre thick stone walls, carved wooden furniture and only the simplest   decorative motives of   wood and a traditional ethnic dress on the walls.   A lushly cushioned window seat overlooked the 850 year old fort which rose above the flat desert plains on a tabletop hill, all constructed from the same rich golden sandstone, without mortar.

We even had our own Pidgeon in the metre long cavity venting the stone bathroom to the outside, nicknamed Penny, she was nesting on a few hatchlings and was most unconcerned with our presence.

Tired from our journey, we had a welcome shower and changed before walking to the fort early, while people were still buying their early morning food, and the first of many cups of chai for the day. In the early morning air, this old fort was a spectacular sight, and we could walk around the narrow stone paved streets which wove their way through more golden stoned buildings, many ancient, some more recently constructed, most with elaborate carvings around the portals and windows. We could look over the city and the desert beyond from a number of vantage points, where old cannon, and rocks used to roll over the parapets were still in place as if awaiting another invasion from conquerers to the north, south or west.

The following day, we arranged to go on a brief camel trek overnight, about halfway towards the disputed Pakistani border. This made the region around the town an important military centre, the airport had long since been closed to civilian traffic, a large army base provided much life (and no doubt a welcome boost to the economy) to the town, and ensured that the road infrastructure was the best in the country. We visited a centotaph about 5kms from the fort, where memorials to the Maaharaja's of Jaisalmer have been constructed for centuries. Rising from the sand, a lush glade of mango trees and gardens tucked away in a nearby dry watercourse, it was a sobering site, revealing how the simplicity of some of the earliest memorials were of a finer quality and more enduring construction than some of those in recent memory.
The sight of these ancient temples to man were incongrously surrounded by a vast phalanx of wind turbines which stretched over to the horizon to the north and south.   Apparently, the 2,500 turbines supply energy for the military, and light up the fort at night as a side line. Once again, the power of the military industrial complex is in full view.

Another side trip to a Jain Temple was, as always, enjoyable. Each example of Jain architecture we have seen has been a revelation - whilst quite ornate in it's carving and internal structure they reveal a beauty of some simplicity and serenity. It had prompted me to find out a little more about Jainism, the religion which accounts for a tiny 0.42% of India's population but has a disproportionate influence on its economy (a whopping 24% of income tax is paid by Jains), scholerly works and culture.   The practice promotes a vigerous adherance to non-violence in both a physcial and mental sense which I found very attractive.

Internet difficulties in Rajasthan

2009-06-01T22:50:00.000-07:00

It just ain't (readily) available!

I have written a few blogs off-line on my phone, but am unable to upload them (yet), so this will have to do for the time being.

Bob and I are in the hill station resort of Mount Abu in Rajasthan, near the border with Gudjarat. On our third day, we have just seen our second westerner - although the place is packed with tens, or maybe a hundred thousand tourists, they are all Indian family groups or honeymooners. It has all the atmosphere of a carnival seaside town in the old fashioned british model, with lots of pony rides and stalls selling all manner of guffy paraphanelia, balloons and toys, as well as a roaring trade in ice cream and soft serve. At an altitude of around 1,200m it is considerably cooler than the surrounding areas where we have been experiencing temperatures well into the 40's.

Tomorrow (3 June) , we plan to head off to the desert city of Jaisalmer on the edge of the Great Thar desert, not too far from the border with Pakistan. The temperatures here are expected to be much higher, so we hope that we can at least get a discount on accomodation as it will not be the peak tourist season!

Our stay in Udaipur was pleasant, although spoilt a little by the touristy nature of the old town. Food was much more expensive, and unless we remembered to ask for it Indian style - spicy, it was needlessly bland and dumbed down to western tastes, something that we had not experienced prior to landing in that town. The hotel, the Jagat Niwas Palace was stunning. An old havali, terribly atmospheric and dripping in it's heritage status. Our room, with a huge cushioned window seat/day bed overlooked the lake, which was, unfortunately dry awaiting the monsoon.

Admedabad, a day long stop between overnight trains from Mumbai (arrived at 5:40am) and an overnight train to Udaipur (departing at 11:00pm) was a special surprise. We checked into a hotel near the railway station for the day, so we could shower and nap during the heat of the day, and had a wonderful day exploring the city and the old Hindu temple in this city of around 4 million people.

Flying to Mumbai

2009-05-27T02:54:00.000-07:00

Blog Friday, 22 May 2009

Things seem to be going well, although I was really surprised at how much I missed the Rudi Cat last night, when he spent the first night at the Bachelor Pad of the PRB as part of his holiday camp while we are away. He has been given strict instructions to look after Peter and cuddle him constantly. Peter was released from hospital on Tuesday, and although he looks very well I'm concerned that he doesn't appreciate the magnitude of his operation and may well do too much too soon.

Rad collected us from home at 5:30 am this morning and we arrived at the airport in plenty of time for our planned 7:30 am departure. Our first act of fortune was that we were placed on an earlier flight to Sydney, which allowed us to have rather more time between connections which previously had been very tight.

This enabled us to collect back GST tax on the travellers refund scheme which seems so much more effective than purchasing duty free. A short respite in the Qantas Club permitted us just the opportunity make a quick phone call to Peter and Rudi to see how they were getting on.

On to the boarding gate was where the fun really began; we were upgraded to Business Class! Not too shabby - especially as we selected the cheapest possible seats possible, and they were half the price of disounted economy tickets on days either side with the same restrictions on travel.

So, as I've settled into our comfortable air bed for the 13 hour flight to Mumbai, with pre-flight champagne (for Bob); noise cancelling headphones; Morrissy PJ's; and cute little flight pack we decide whether to study the Neil Perry designed menu or the infinate options on the movies on demand. Not too shabby.

So, as Bob settles into his second glass of red and his first viewing of 'Slumdog Millionaire'.

Our trip will be flexible, as always, and will adjust to what we find out along he way; our health and well being (especially mine which has been going south this year, especially since the weather turned cold); and the weather, which may be a significant factor as it is summer (in the desert state of Rajasthan) coming on to the Monsoon. The temperature in some of the areas we are proposing to go is already in the mid to high 40's.

After our arrival in Mumbai (Bombay) tonight around sunset at 6:00 pm (local time), we will go to our hotel / guest house in the Fort district. With a four and a half hour time difference, I expect that I will be completely knackered by the time we clear customs and sort our way out from the airport to South Bombay. The weather forecast there is pretty good - around 28° to 34° with fairly moderate humidity of 60%.

we will spend a couple of days in Bombay before catching our first overnight train on the Gudjarat Express 500kms to Ahmedabad. We plan to spend the day here, catching another overnight train to our main destination of Rajasthan. Although only a 300km journey, this express train also takes eight and a half hours to travel the (nearly) distance. Bob is especially excited about the train travel as he automatically recieves a 30% senior citizen discount. He prpobably shouldn't mention that he would be able to cycle the distance in about the same time as the train though.

s

Lunch at Olympia

2009-05-25T23:00:00.000-07:00

Blog 2009-05-25 Monday, 25 May 2009

Mumbai

We are really getting into the swing of things here, sufficiently to know that it was inappropriate for me to go running this morning on Marine Parade without a loose and baggy top at the very least. I may have to wait until we are not surrounded by so many people. It is only just over a kilometre to the waterfront, however being less than fully covered would not be acceptable.

Many of the apparently strange sights and customs had started to dawn of us as to their meaning. The men, often older and not at all good looking or trendoid, have bright orange tinged hair that looks quite strange. However, it dawned on me that it was henna, even before I saw the bright orange cat (a pale tone underneath). I still don't understand why the cat was given the uneven henna treatment.

We breakfasted again across the road at 'Lalit' and this time had Dahi Prova, yoghurt served with a side dish of what I think is something like orange fried oats. Really good, Bob is keen to have the same again tomorrow. After the essential coffee at 'The Coffee Bean' (which we really enjoyed), we wandered around the touristy Colabar district where I was really tired of the touts, but we did have lunch at a fabulous little local eatery (Muslim, frequented only by men) opposite Cafe Leopold which was the site of a terrorist attack last year. Selecting a mutton dish of the day, a chicken tikka dish of the day and bread, we soon found that the chapatis ordered by all of those around were necessary in abundance. It was a delightfully tasty meal and excellent value. The surroundings were very atmospheric, with many mirrors and shared tables. The name of the restaurant - The Olympia - didn't seem to match the rest of the experience. I kept imagining old greek cafe's in Autralia with laminex tables and steel milkshake cups.

We are certainly getting into the swing of life in India - or as much as a small area of Mumbai can indicate. As in the west, some people are very friendly and helpful, while others, frankly, couldn't give a bugger. It is different to our experience in Vietnam from this, where it was hard to think of any experience where people weren't anxious to help. People walk. On the roads, when the footpaths are too crowded or dirty before they are cleaned in the morning.

Cricket Fever

2009-05-25T22:56:00.000-07:00

Blog 2009-05-24 May 2009

Mumbai

If the roads were quiet on Saturday mornings, they were positively comatose on a Sunday morning. Bob went for a run along Marine Drive, where, even at his modest pace of five and a half minute kilometres, he was by far the fastest along this strip thick with weekend joggers and walkers. We had breakfast at the vegetarian place opposite, forgoing the attempted coffee this time, and instead opting for mango juice and a fresh lemon soda. Great choices! There were probably two mangos in the glass of 'juice' - a glass of thick nectar which Bob required a fork to finish. The fresh lemon soda will become a regular choice for us in future: a glass with a couple of centimetres of - ah, fresh lemon juice - is served with a bottle of iced soda water. It is a great drink and especially refreshing.

Bob had another omlette today, this time described as a tomato omlette served with bread, and a plate sized orbit of egg and vegetables was presented with a slice of white bread (crusts removed), a tomato based sauce and a piquant green salsa which was particulary tasty. He finished his meal with a yoghurt dish with balls as some nut-based 'stuff'' with it. Served with salt and pepper, and dusted with paprika it was good.    I stuck to a dosa, and my only regret was that I wasn't sitting in a way in which I good see how others were eating theirs. Simple, but good.

We hit the streets again in an attempt to caffinate at the promising Coffee Bean spied yesterday. Finding it was no problem, inside a new cinema complex, however passing through the security checks to get into the coffee house was. As usual, there was a guard on the door, however once inside we passed thorugh airport style electronic barriers, had all bags searched and then were checked individually by a guard with an electronic wand.

Once these hoops had been passed through, we made our way to the first floor and the Coffee Bean - which turned out to be a local branch of a Californian chain. It was very Starbucks - squishy couches, range of frappes and flavoured drinks, muffins and sweet cakes. I needed coffee and didn't care. We ordered 2 large espressos and a bottle of water, paying about what we pay in Canberra for the same at Black Pepper (tap water in a bottle being free).

We were happy though. We had our drinks served to our table (despite the Starbucks style signs of 'Order Here' and 'Collect Order Here' signs over the counter), and they gladly responded to our request to turn down the music (which was very pleasant, just loud) which enabled us to make a couple of phone calls. My headache started to diminish almost immediatley.

We planned our day and enjoyed sitting there. Somewhat reluctantly we left, and I was surprised that we had been there less than an hour - it was so good. Back on the increasing heat of the streets, Sunday cricket matches were in full flight, on the streets, in vacant courtyards, and on enormous pitches were dozens of games were in full flight. Very exciting for this little duck.

We found ourselves near the Leopold Cafe, site of terrorist attacks last year, and a vibrant street market hawking all sorts of goods. Another McDonald's along this strip had an additional external kiosk for soft serve ice creams. I looked at the main menu, and was struck by the vegetarian choices, and a variety of chicken (Chicken Maharaja). Bob pointed out that there was no beef (or red meat). It seemed relatively popular.

I looked at some clothes in a local store and tried on a few items until I was too hot and had to retreat to the hotel for a shower and a change of clothes. Bob sought to connect to the internet, a frustrating and fruitless exercise, largely because of security issues once again, while I hit the store once more in an attempt to find something more culturally sensative to wear. Trying on clothes is tiring at the best of times, and in the heat of a fully enclosed change room with concrete floors and ceilings made it particularly hot. I perservered, finding that subtle differences in the collar made an enormous difference to how it sat, and that the chudipur pants (broad at the top and tapered at the calves) are not designed for sturdy runners calves (unless the runner is Rad).

Although I had been looking for something in an orange hue (very commonly seen, and would match my sandals and helmet), they just weren't right on me. I settled on a sleeveless white-ish top and red and white-ish patterned legs for one Salwar Kameez. I wanted another, and this decision was more difficult. The legs on some were too tight.   Or the fabric too coarse. It was difficult, and like comparing apples and rasperries in some cases, but with Bob's help at the end I decided on a rather elaborate green number.

Bob was keen for a beer or three, having had no luck with the internet, and then having to help me decide on the final option.   The first restaurant had beer, but Bob wasn't convinced and we continued on our merry roundabout way back towards the hotel. Wandering down side streets and alleyways along the route, it was a fascinating insight into local street life, and we came across a throng of people gawking at the filming of a Bollywood movie (fat man throwing chicken onto a box) in one of the streets. Eventually ending up at a restaurant where Bob had bought 'take-away' beer previous nights, it seemed relatively deserted and the prices high. However, it was late and we ordered a simple meal of Tandoori chicken, rice, naan and Vegetables. The food and a bottle of water cost far less than than Bob's 3 Kingfisher Beers (650ml), and he opted this time for the 'mild' beer (5%) as opposed to that he had earlier, the 'strong' beer which was a numbing 8%.

Back to the IPL Cricket Final on Indian TV, and the unfortunate early demise of my favourite, Gilly. Although we turned it off before it's end, I heard on the radio during the night progress scores and was delighted with the Gilly's victory. The newspapers were also full of it the next morning.

First Day in Mumbai

2009-05-23T22:54:00.000-07:00

Blog Saturday 23 May 2009

Dateline: Mumbai

After being cossetted in our Business Class Seats/Beds, we felt thoroughly spoilt, and not too bad at the end of a 13 hour non-stop flight. Landing nearly on time, the madness then ensued in an enviornment were queuing was a strange and unnatural concept, as we had our health cards (Swine Flu) cards stamps, then were fast tracked through immigration in the business class line. Our luggage took a little time to arrive however from there on we were home free, simply being waved through customs from that point.

Our trip from the airport to the Hotel in the Fort district of South Mumbai was an eye opener - the Friday evening traffic was choc-a-bloc, and the journey took over two hours.

We woke fairly early on Saturday, no doubt still adjusting to the 4 ½ time zone difference. Hitting the street of South Bombay in search of coffee and breakfast, we were stunned to see how empty the streets were. Despite the wide boulevardes being packed and noisy well into the night, at 7 am they were virtually deserted. Our search of coffee proved fruitless, despite us being excited when I caught sight on the first floor of a building of 'The Coffee Bean and Tea Tree', we were not given access to the building by a security guard, eventually determining that it would open at 10 am. Ten O'Clock! How was one meant to survive until that time without coffee?

On the broad walkway adjacent to Marine Drive there was a good selection of society, including a large contingent of the middle class jogging or walking for exercise. It was good to see that the footpath was marked every 100m and it cried out to be tested.

Back across from the Hotel, we buckled and went into a local corner eatery which at least seemed to be popular. The words 'Two Coffee's" was out of his mouth before I had a chance to remind him that I had read that coffee, like chai (tea) here was invariably served sweet and milky. Sure enough, 2 cups of frothy beverages arrived, probably made so by being poured from one glass into another from a great height. On the 5km walk that morning we had seen a number of roadside carts serving tea in this fashion to grateful patrons.

I drank mine, partly out of a sense of obligation, and was not too surprised that it lacked any sense of coffee-ness, It most closely resembled a somewhat insipid version of those instant hot chocolate drinks that are sometimes in packets in country motels. Not ghastly, but definately not coffee. Bob also had an 'Omlette Sandwich' which was surprisingly tasty with an appropriate chilli bite.

Nothing much happend in the street life before 10am, a huge contrast from Hanoi where life started early and rested well after an early lunch. We sought Indian SIM cards for our phones, and hope that we made the correct decision. Not all firms work throughout the country, and since the terrorist attacks last year, Foreigners need to jump through hoops and a pile of beaurocratic paperwork to purchase one. I think that the beaurocracy is alive and well in India, and unlikely to diminish quickly. They are very good at it!

Poverty, extreme poverty, is visible everywhere and on our 'early' morning wander, the side streets were full of people stretched out on the pavement, some on simple mats, others straight on the ground. An excursion down a deadend to a small bay, was a different world; on one hand there were multistory buildings well fortified by security guards preventing anyone seeking to enter, on the other it was lived lived large and raw - with many cats, sleeping dogs, goats, the odd fly-blown pony, and bullock set among the mix.

One of the good aspects of society is that it seems normal to walk. We walk (and No, Thank You, we don't want a taxi), and local indians walk. This was considered most unusual in VIetnam, land of the scooter, where the thought that one would walk (for transport, as opposed to exercise in the communal morning buzz) when one didn't need to was considered very strange indeed.

Birds, black birds with thick beaks and others with thin hooked beaks, are everywhere. This was quite a surprise on our early morning wander where they dominated the landscape and the soundscape with their raucous crying. When things warmed up and the streets filled with people the birds were unperturbed although now so outnumbered.

Feeling a tad guilty initially, we succumbed to the sign of McDonalds and joined the queue of locals at an external kiosk which was doing a raging trade in soft serve cones for 10 rupees each. Ice creams were very popular.

Near one of the biggest cinemas in Bombay, we found a jewel of a place to eat lunch - relatively fancy by our standards, it was well patronised by middle class locals and had an award from the Times of India on the wall. Service was, as always, solicitous and excellent, and the food excellent. But the feature for me had to be the Garlic Naan, this surely, had to be the best available anywhere.

We returned to our hotel via Crawford Markets and Victoria Terminal, the elaborate nineteenth century railway terminal (now renamed with something I'm not even going to attempt to pronounce). An evening stroll down to the Gate of India had us among the peak of families dressed to the nines in their best Sari's and fancy dress shirts for men. Dinner was at a local vegetarian restaurant on the way back, the only disappointment of which was that the veg. restaurants down serve (or allow) alcohol on the premises. I don't drink, however Bob was keen to have a beer. I had to order the garlic naan as a comparison and found that our lunchtime selection was beyond reproach. I still dream of it.

Overall, a very good day, in which food was a feature, and I was surprised by the overall 'Indian-ness' of the place. We saw fewer than a handful of westerners all day, yet were struck by the ethnic diversity and dominance of local dress and customs. While english was widely understood, it seemed as though Mumbai had not been subject to the cultural imperialism of American trends that has occurred throughout much of the world.

Another part - What I'm up to

2009-05-13T15:17:00.000-07:00

Having updated about Peter, I feel that it's time to actually start posting about what I've been up to.

After a period of not so successful running while Lynne was in hospital and the hospice, and over the period immediately after the funeral, my running has been slowly returning to some sense of normality and is gradually improving from a very low base.

My running is less frequent than I'd like, and has been largely restricted to the weekly triumvirate of the Lake Tuggeranong Stakes (6k) on Tuesdays, the BBQ Stakes (6k) on Wednesdays, and the evergreen Customs run (5k) on Fridays.

I go as hard as I can in these short events, perhaps not the seemingly best idea, however it's what I need to do.

My progression is thus:

Lake Tuggeranong Stakes

14 April 38:18 6:18 pace
21 April 40:24 6:43 pace (post funeral blahs)
28 April DNS
5 May 36:16 6:02 pace
12 May 35:55 6:00 pace

BBQ Stakes hilly 6k

15 April 41:29 6:50 pace (post funeral blahs)
22 April DNS
29 April 38:49 6:24 pace
6 May 39:07 6:25 pace
13 May   38:19 6:22 pace

Customs 5k

17 April 32:35 6:32 pace
24 April 31:23 6:10 pace
1   May   30:18 6:03 pace
8 May   30:53 6:07 pace (started off scratch and had to tie shoelace)

On another, even more exciting note which is likely to bring my steady improvement to a screaming halt, Bob and I are getting out of the chilly Canberra winter, albeit briefly!

After Lynne's death, there were some sensational airfares advertised. We decided to book, and constrained by the need for Bob to resume training for the Triathlon World Championships to be held on the Gold Coast in September (Olympic Distance), and in Perth in October (Long Course), any escape was going to be necessarily short by our standards. With the criteria being for relative cheapness (excluding North America and Europe) and no southern hemisphere winter (excluding Santiago and Jo-berg), the options fell to Colombo and India. With rising tensions in Sri Lanka, we arbitrarily dropped the pin on India.

With fares on the dates suggested half of the discount fares on days either side, the time of our departure was simple. We shall be flying Qantas into Mumbai (Bombay) on Friday next week (!), and leaving New Delhi five weeks later. Neither Bob nor I have been to India before, so this shall be a brief taste taken, literally, in an Indian Summer and growing Monsoon season.

The plan thus far (very flexible) is to stay in Mumbai for a few days to get our bearings, then travel north on the famous Indian Rail system to the state of Rajastan. Known as the desert state, with temperatures at this time of year in the mid-40's, we shall be flexible, but hope to go to the Hill Station Town of Mount Abu for respite, as well as some of Royal Palaces that have been featured so prominantly on the ABC in a number of shows recently such as 'Around the World in 80 Gardens', and 'A Story of India'.

Image via Wikipedia

Predictably, we shall visit and stay in Agra (Taj Mahal) on our way to Dehli, and then (hopefully) fly to the distant north west province of Kashmir and Jammu and the Ladakh region in the Himalayas. After trekking in Nepal last year, Bob is keen to show me the Himalyan region, and this would be a fabuous opportunity if we are able to make it fall into place.

We would then return to Delhi, before flying home via Singapore. Pretty exciting, huh?

We will be backpacking, but taking a small computer with us, so I will be updating as I go.

It is now becoming very exciting, and is very close - there are so many things to do and it will certainly be more challenging for me managing my medical conditions than in Vietnam.

Hopefully I'll finish the post this time!

2009-05-13T02:32:00.000-07:00

I don't know where all the time is going these days, but I had intended to include some other news along the way.

Maybe this time!

Firstly though, an update on Peter.

I visited him this afternoon, and as predicted, he had moved from intensive care to Ward 6B, where he is still being closely monitored, however he is 'only' plugged into a couple of machines, and it doesn't look like a whizz-bang episode of an technology-heavy american hospital drama.

I was delighted, and surprised to see him looking so alert and so frankly, healthy when I arrived. His voice was a little raspy, a result of the many tubes which had been inserted in his throat yesterday, but was otherwise good.

Whilst I was there, the physical therapist returned to assess Peter, and, most importantly got him to sit up, get out of bed, and walk for the first time. All went well, and the physio said that when she had seen him for the first time this morning, he was the "most full of beans she had seen any patient the day after surgery".

So, so far, so good; and things are looking good for his speedy recovery. Visitors are still being limited a little at this stage, and are required to suit-up in paper gowns and latex gloves for infection control.

He is in Room 4, Ward 6B at Canberra Hospital. Visiting hours are restricted, and not permitted between 1pm and 4pm.

Updates of Peter Hogan, Life, the Universe and a few bibs and bobs

2009-05-12T02:50:00.000-07:00

I received an SMS this morning (sent at 5:24 am!) from my Perfect Running Buddy (The PRB) that he as to have surgery within a few hours.

After chatting with him at regular intervals over the course of yesterday to see if the hospital had rung yet - 'just' for a date for his admission this was quite a surprise as he had heard no news.

Since just before Christmas, it was apparent that Peter's ticker wasn't ticking the way it should; a leaky heart valve was diagnosed. Since then. it has been a frustrating waiting game for prelimary tests, and then for a number of pesky, persistant infections to be brought under control.

As soon as I ran the Lake (Tuggeranong) Stakes at lunchtime today, I went to the Canberra Hospital and paid a visit to the Coronary Care Unit on the 3rd level to see what I could find out. Fortunately, I arrived at much the same time as Beryl and her husband Bob, and we went searching together, finding Peter in and Isolation Room within Intensive Care.

We were able to pay brief visits, once suitably gowned and disinfected, however he was still being kept sedated in the immediate post-op phase and it was difficult to assess how he was really going. It is likely that he shall be kept in ICU unit for a liitle while yet.

I shall keep you informed.

I'm moving!

2009-04-01T03:09:00.000-07:00

Not house, but I felt that running is far too generous a term.

In the week since I have started running I have managed to maintain both my enthusiasm and consistancy.

To wit:

Thursday ~ run around Lake Ginninderra 7.o km, 47:22 (6:40 pace) flat on bike paths.
Friday ~ run in Wollongong 5.0 km, 31:59 (6:20 pace), flat on bike paths.
Saturday ~ run in Wollongong 6.6 km, 43:40 (6:35 pace), flat on bike paths, and an off-road section on boardwalk and sandy trails.
Sunday ~ run in Wollongong 9.0 km, 1:01:12 (6:45 pace), as above.
Monday ~ :( travelling, no run
Tuesday ~ run around Lake Ginninderra 7.0 km, 44:28 (6:20 pace), (still) flat on bike paths.
Wednesday ~ BBQ Stakes handicap run 6.0 km, 39:27 (6:29 pace), hilly on bike paths and trails.

OK, so I'm not about to break any land speed records, but this is the better than I could hope for.

Bring it on! Half Marathon in May?

Whoopee!

2009-03-26T00:59:00.000-07:00

It is four weeks today since the hernia operation, which means that I can (as I understood the surgeon) officially run as of today.

Whoopee!

Of course, I may have misunderstood him ( don't run before I see you in 4-6 weeks) but I think it's OK. And it was.

Despite an inauspicious downpour in which I was drenched, I rode the scooter down to Lake Ginninderra for my trial run. It was flat, and difficult to take a shortcut on if I found it hard going. I thought that I would 'cut off' the penninsula, but felt OK and did the entire 7km loop. No problems with the hernia repair this time, and a great relief as it was flaring up most painfully when I was walking prior to the operation.

Now, I just have to maintain my start and build some of that always-hard-to-find consistancy into my schedule. I am greatly enthused and excited by my experience today and hope that it continues.

Now the planning begins! A slow start, but building a base for a cracker of a running year 2010.

Study Of The Efficiency Of Human Running Improves Understanding Of Human Body Form

2009-03-21T23:34:00.000-07:00

Runners, listen up: If your body is telling you that your pace feels a little too fast or a little too slow, it may be right.

A new study, published online March 18 in the Journal of Human Evolution, shows that the efficiency of human running varies with speed and that each individual has an optimal pace at which he or she can cover the greatest distance with the least effort.

The result debunks the long-standing view that running has the same metabolic cost per unit of time no matter the speed - in other words, that the energy needed to run a given distance is the same whether sprinting or jogging. Though sprinting feels more demanding in the short term, the longer time and continued exertion required to cover a set distance at a slower pace were thought to balance out the difference in metabolic cost, says Karen Steudel, a zoology professor at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

However, Steudel and Cara Wall-Scheffler of Seattle Pacific University have now shown that the energetic demands of running change at different speeds. "What that means is that there is an optimal speed that will get you there the cheapest," metabolically speaking, Steudel says.

Peak efficiency was determined by measuring runners' metabolic rates at a range of speeds enforced by a motorized treadmill. Metabolic energy costs increased at both fast and slow speeds and revealed an intermediate pace of maximal efficiency.

The most efficient running speed determined in the study varied between individuals but averaged about 8.3 miles per hour for males and 6.5 miles per hour for females in a group of nine experienced amateur runners. Much of the gender difference may be due to variations in body size and leg length, which have been shown to affect running mechanics, Steudel says. In general, the larger and taller runners had faster optimum speeds.

Interestingly, the slowest speeds - around 4.5 miles per hour, or about a 13-minute mile - were the least metabolically efficient, which Steudel attributes to the gait transition between walking and running. For example, she points out, both a very fast walk and a very slow run can feel physically awkward.

While holding great interest for athletes and trainers, the mechanics of running may also hold clues to the evolution of the modern human body form: tall and long-limbed with broad chests and defined waists.

Modern humans are very efficient walkers and fairly good runners, Steudel says, and efficient locomotion probably provided our ancestors with an advantage for hunting and gathering food. Distant ancestral forms, the australopithecines, had shorter, boxier frames with stubbier legs.

"They wouldn't have had noticeable waists - their torso looked more like the torso of an ape, except they were walking on two legs," Steudel says. "With the genus Homo, you start getting taller individuals, larger individuals, and they started developing a more linear body form" with distinct waists that pivot easily, allowing longer and more efficient strides.

Human walking is also known to have an optimally efficient speed, so the new findings may help researchers determine the relative importance of the different gaits in driving human evolution, Steudel says. "This is a piece in the question of whether walking or running was more important in the evolution of the body form of the genus Homo."

Source: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/143106.php
Karen Steudel
University of Wisconsin-Madison

A difficult month

2009-03-16T02:53:00.000-07:00

Things have been a bit grim around here lately; Bob's sister has been in hospital for the last 10 days - 2 weeks, and is merely waiting for a space in the hospice (Clair Holland House). Visits across town each day and lengthy and emotionally draining on us both. No doubt conected to the stress and sadness of the situation, my glands and health have been reactive to say the least . .. . gradually reducing in response to excessive (sometimes post-op drug induced) sleep, they then inflate to elephantine proportions under my jaw and arms, and make me feel very. very ill indeed.

Then, sleep a couple of days for 22 hours, and, Bingo! I don't quite so bad. And then it starts all over again.

Blue Ducks likely to die out in UK after male birds get together

2009-03-11T03:41:00.000-07:00

Attempts to breed a rare species of duck to avoid extinction in the UK have backfired after the only two remaining males fell for each other.

By Caroline Gammell
Last Updated: 4:43PM GMT 10 Mar 2009

Blue ducks Ben and Jerry at the Arundel Wetland Centre in West Sussex Photo: SOLENT

Keepers at a bird sanctuary in West Sussex hoped that the last remaining female Blue Duck in the country - called Cherry - might mate with either of the drakes, Ben or Jerry.

But neither male duck appeared interested and are now inseparable at the Arundel Wetland Centre, leaving Cherry to her own devices.

Centre warden Paul Stevens said he was disappointed that efforts to produce new Blue Duck offspring had failed but said the two male birds made "a lovely couple".

"They stay together all the time, parading up and down their enclosure and whistling to each other as a male might do with a female he wants to mate with," he said.

"People who visit the centre think they're a fantastic couple, without really coming around to the idea that they are two males.

"They both have very big personalities and people come from all over the country to come and see them.

Cherry doesn't seem bothered by it, she's just happy to keep herself to herself."

Blue ducks originate from New Zealand but there were thought to be just three birds in the UK.

Keepers initially introduced Ben to Cherry, but neither seemed keen. They then brought Jerry down from a sanctuary in London.

Mr Stevens said: "Cherry showed some interest in him. She displayed typical mating behaviour - she approached him and called to him, she even looked like she was nesting.

"We thought it was great and it was all going to happen but nothing ever did."

Mr Stevens said the male ducks were then placed in the same enclosure: "To our surprise the two males really took to each other and it was obvious that they really liked each other.

"It would have been nice to get a last clutch of eggs from Cherry but Ben and Jerry do make a lovely couple."

I'm not well . . .

2009-03-09T02:19:00.000-07:00

probably still not well, rather than not well again.

My lymph nodes, under my arms and the neck are swollen and extrememly painful. They certainly were prior to surgery, and afterwards I was delighted to feel that they had improved when I was sleeping 22 hours a day.

Now, I have recovered suffieciently from the surgery to drive and start walking, however a day of perhaps doing a bit too much (neither driving nor walking, just living) seems to have pushed me over the edge.

Bob and I were planning to enjoy a quick coffee together before he headed up to Cronulla for the Sydney Water Challenge Triathlon, however on attempting to start the car on his delayed departure the battery just lacked enough juice to turn over. He had left the radio on while he had (slowly) packed.

A call to our personal life saver, PJ the PRB, meant that before too long he arrived, jump leads in tow, to rapidly stir the Outback into life. Now many hours after his planned departure, Bob hit the highway, imploring PJ to take me out for a coffee and for me to buy breakfast.

The Computer Fair was on at Woden, so we headed down that way to try an alternative cafe in Phillip, The Chocolate Olive, in Colbee Court. I had been here once before with Bob, after it had recently opened and found the free trade/fair trade coffee very good, but the hard surfaces of the interior so noisy as to be uncomfortable.

It wasn't overly full this late Saturday morning, so the noise level was bearable, and the coffee and service was very good (judging by my caffe dopio, or double short black). No bitterness or aftertaste and quite smooth.

We spent a great deal of time at the Computer Fair, looking at every stand. From there I had hoped to introduce PJ to the vegetarian delights at the Hindu Canberra Saiva Temple in Beasley St, where on (most) Saturday lunchtimes, parishioners bring in baskets of freshly prepared vegetarian delights.

Alas, at 2pm it was too late for a good selection, so I got PJ to take me to hospital to visit my sister-in-law before we turned to thoughts of our stomachs. She had improved quite a bit from the previous day, although was still very weak, and it was quite late by the time we left.

Decidieng to forego lunch and concentrate on an early dinner instead, I attended to some medical requirements, while PJ and Rudi watched TV upstairs. At 5:15pm, we may have been the first in the doors for dinner at Can Tho Vietnamese Restaurant in Weedon Close, Belconnen however we were going to be leaving a very full restaurant.

PJ left it up to me to order, and with a nod to Hanoi I tried a Goi or vietnamese salad which had prawns, so off the menu when dining with Bob. I then ordered a Lau, or Vietnamese Hot Pot, for us to also share. As usual the servings were dramatically large, and we stuffed ourselves silly, and still left nearly half a pot. Good servings of vegetables and seafood, prawns, fish balls and meat we had a nutritious meal.

Although in bed early, I had shocking night sweats and unrestorative sleep. My lymph nodes became golf balls again, and I spent the day mostly asleep. Today (Monday) I am worse. I will go to a doctor, when I find where to go. It may just be a watchful waiting thing, but I am really knocked around, and need to kickstart my exercise.

The Pride of the Territory

2009-03-03T21:49:00.000-08:00

It's a pretty good way to be happy with one's lot in life when you realise that some of those nearest and dearest to you are such fine people that you swell with proud in being able to count them among your friends.

Increasingly, Bob and I have been aware of an increasing pride in our friendship with Rad; a dynamo of a friend who loves to travel and has incorporated 'doing good deeds' into his everyday life without being aware of it. He will always offer to drive half way across the city in order to pick someone up for an event 'on his way'; and arrives in plenty of time, plastic bag in hand to collect rubbish in his own, unsung daily version of 'Clean Up Australia'.

He missed the formal Clean Up Australia Day activities this weekend, as he flew to Brisbane to compete in the Masters Athletics Decathlon Championships. Yep, that's right. Decathlon. That rarely seen athletic event consisting of 2 Full on days of competition without respite:

Day 1




Day 2

Just reading through the list is enough to make this little duck tired, combining sprint and endurance events with an assortment of field jumps and throws.

A recent profile of him outlined exactly what makes us feel the way we do about our favourite Rad.

ATHLETE PROFILE
Rad Leovic
Date of Birth: August 29, 1927
Lives: Canberra
Height: 174cm
Weight: 62kg
Coach: Mark Moerman

Hobbies: Track and field, mountain running and cross country. I also like reading about history, politics and geography because I don’t have deep roots in Australia and want to know what makes this country tick.

How did you get into triathlon? I lived next to two stadiums with cinder tracks in Belgrade, so I started running. Later, in Australia, I started biking and I’d always swum a bit. About 18 years ago someone suggested I try a triathlon . . . and I’ve been doing them ever since.

Training tips? I don’t train much because I compete almost every day: gym or pool on Monday; four races to choose from on Tuesday; a 6km mountain run on Wednesday; track and field on Thursday; a run with the Customs Department on Friday; and any number of events on the weekend.

Nutrition tips? No tea or coffee, no sugar, no sweets, I avoid salt, eat lots of fruit and carbohydrates. I haven’t touched alcohol since 1978.

Most embarrassing moment? In the World Duathlon Championships in Newfoundland I passed a guy 50 mtrs from the finish, then I slackened off too early and he got me on the line. But that’s OK, we’re all friends because we see the same faces at each event. Once you’re over 70, you don’t ask, “Is he coming?” you ask, “Is he alive?”

What are your goals for the future? I’d like to run the City to Surf when I’m 100. In the short term, I want to go to the World Masters Athletics Championships in Finland, the Gold Coast Worlds and the Duathlon World Championships in North Carolina.

Why do you love sport so much? I’ve never been a champion but, to be honest, I got into sport because I wanted to get out of Yugoslavia. If you were good at something like sport, ballet or theatre you led a more privelleged life, came under less surveillance from the secret police and could make comments that normal people were not allowed to make.

Tell us the story about how you fled the county? It was 1951 and a big bike race was going through the city. A friend got me a uniform of the national cycling team and I had an old bike, so when the peleton came close to the border I ducked out from a bush and joined the back of it and rode across the border into Austria. It was the 14th of May, 1951 – probably the most important day of my life.

If you weren’t a triathlete what would you be? I’d start all over again and become one!

TA Profile on Rad Page 10

Back home

2009-02-26T20:25:00.000-08:00

I didn't get taken down to theatre until after 6pm, and was particularly thirsty by that time - especially as they delivered my light meal (sandwiches!) and drinks to my bedside over an hour earlier which was a little unfair. Especially as there was nothing to eat when I was returned to the ward after eight that night.

Anaesthsia is great in ameliorating pain, it's when it wears off that the PCA (patient controlled anaesthesia) comes into it's own. I had fentanyl for pain, which was reasonable, although not morphine, and I had a pretty uncomfortable night and the cool night nurse was somewhat concerned at how I looked (although I no complain).

Still, I was discharged this morning, despite vomiting copiously, and not being able to keep my modest breakfast down. Slept until now (early afternoon), and know that it will take a while before I am back in one piece for a while. Still, although relatively small holes, the surgeon confirmed that there was a lot of intestinal matter caught up in it explaining the degree of pain and limitation is running and walking. Fixing it sooner rather than later does mean that strangulation is less likely.

As you can see, I'm still having problems with posting my blog (don't know what happend to get the random coloured words and boxes yesterday. No running for a month, no driving for a week. No lifting or carrying heavy objects. Rudi had better not put on any more weight!