Unfortunately I've not had much time (or the inspiration) to post in the last few weeks. We have a houseguest at the moment but after she leaves, I hope to have more time to spend hunched over the computer posting photos and writing words.
Lately we've had a long weekend in Paris, and visited my ex-choir friend Andy while he was house-sitting in Lansdown, near/part of (I'm not sure - it's certainly very close) Bath. Photos of both trips will be posted on flickr eventually. We've also visited other Australian friends who live in Snaresbrook, east London, for a Saturday afternoon barbeque in some very welcome and unusual sunny weather. That was rather short-lived - this last couple of weeks have been an absolutely dismal mix of overcast skies, chilly winds, and drizzle. Paris was also quite rainy so I'm glad we got some Vitamin D during the barbeque while we had the chance.
It worries me vaguely that I've made so few English friends here. If any. I'm sure the reason for this is combination of many things: natural reserve (both me and the English), the fact that we have so many Australian friends living here anyway, and the fact that the only English people I really meet regularly are at work. My work colleagues have not made me feel overwhelmingly welcomed by any means, and it's a rather alpha-type, heavily ambitious collection of individuals anyway... not a prime environment for casual conversation or my usual MO: sarcasm. However, I've certainly met some lovely Brits at parties and I probably should have made more effort to see them again, or something. We've booked tickets home though, so it hardly seems worth it to start now.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Friday, 1 August 2008
Espana
Photos of Barcelona are up here, and photos of the festival in Benicassim (and a few shots around and outside the town) are up here.
Both places were great: lots to see and do and eat and drink. A lot of the festival photos are just a stage in the distance but they mean something to me. Also the video screens made it easier to capture some close-ups. (This is David Johansen of the New York Dolls.)
We also managed to drive out of Benicassim a few times during the four days of the festival to see some of the mountains and villages, so that explains all the Stanthorpe-esque landscapey shots.
Probably the most interesting story from the whole trip was that one time, ha!, when The Boyfriend and our friend C and I were driving along the motorway to visit some friends staying in the next town. So there we were, speeding along in our unfamiliar rental car, with me in the back and The Boyfriend and C up front arguing about something pointless as usual. Then C decided it might be wise to fill up on petrol in preparation for the drive back to Barcelona the following morning. She pulls in to a small BP station and slows next to a bowser, and then asks in a troubled voice which side the petrol cap is on. I obligingly get out to check, tell her it's on the other side from which she's parked, and - thinking I'll fill the car up once she moves to the other side - shut the door and move away from the car. The car drives slowly forward and then... accelerates and drives on to the motorway. While I am still standing at the petrol station.
So I should just say that The Boyfriend and C are not at all malicious and this was a not a practical joke. This was truly a case of general absent-mindedness, not being helped by the fact that we'd all just completed four nights of festival gaeity, much past our usual bedtimes.
The funniest bit was that they got all the way to Orpesa del Mar, about 15 km away, and parked the car at the beach where they thought my friends lived, before turning to the back seat and realising I wasn't there. Apparently, as I found out when they made it back more than an hour later, this was my fault for being too quiet in the backseat. Frankly, I would have said something nasty in return about the quality of the conversation if I hadn't been so glad to get in the car when they finally arrived. I was very happy to no longer be standing at a busy service station in coastal Spain wearing only a bikini and sundress, with no money, phone or ID. Plus The Boyfriend's usually unflappable demeanour had totally eroded during the trip back to find me in his distress at leaving me behind (and while they got lost several times attempting to take short cuts), so that was certainly gratifying. In future I'll at least strap a book to my person. It was very dull standing there for an hour.
The day didn't really pick up from there. We decided to push on and head back to Orpesa del Mar to meet my friends, several hours later than originally planned. We parked at what we thought was the correct beach, and started following the signs to "Marina d'Or", the hotel they were staying at.
Unbeknownst to us, Marina d'Or is the name of a massive development including hotels, private accommodation and shopping precincts, AND we were actually about 2km away. But because the signs didn't say anything other than "Marina d'Or, -->" we kept following them on... and on up the coast.
On the bright side we got to see some beaches and people and Spain and stuff but it really wasn't ideal. At least we found a nice pizza place selling my new favourite wine, blanc pescador in the end.
Both places were great: lots to see and do and eat and drink. A lot of the festival photos are just a stage in the distance but they mean something to me. Also the video screens made it easier to capture some close-ups. (This is David Johansen of the New York Dolls.)
We also managed to drive out of Benicassim a few times during the four days of the festival to see some of the mountains and villages, so that explains all the Stanthorpe-esque landscapey shots.
Probably the most interesting story from the whole trip was that one time, ha!, when The Boyfriend and our friend C and I were driving along the motorway to visit some friends staying in the next town. So there we were, speeding along in our unfamiliar rental car, with me in the back and The Boyfriend and C up front arguing about something pointless as usual. Then C decided it might be wise to fill up on petrol in preparation for the drive back to Barcelona the following morning. She pulls in to a small BP station and slows next to a bowser, and then asks in a troubled voice which side the petrol cap is on. I obligingly get out to check, tell her it's on the other side from which she's parked, and - thinking I'll fill the car up once she moves to the other side - shut the door and move away from the car. The car drives slowly forward and then... accelerates and drives on to the motorway. While I am still standing at the petrol station.
So I should just say that The Boyfriend and C are not at all malicious and this was a not a practical joke. This was truly a case of general absent-mindedness, not being helped by the fact that we'd all just completed four nights of festival gaeity, much past our usual bedtimes.
The funniest bit was that they got all the way to Orpesa del Mar, about 15 km away, and parked the car at the beach where they thought my friends lived, before turning to the back seat and realising I wasn't there. Apparently, as I found out when they made it back more than an hour later, this was my fault for being too quiet in the backseat. Frankly, I would have said something nasty in return about the quality of the conversation if I hadn't been so glad to get in the car when they finally arrived. I was very happy to no longer be standing at a busy service station in coastal Spain wearing only a bikini and sundress, with no money, phone or ID. Plus The Boyfriend's usually unflappable demeanour had totally eroded during the trip back to find me in his distress at leaving me behind (and while they got lost several times attempting to take short cuts), so that was certainly gratifying. In future I'll at least strap a book to my person. It was very dull standing there for an hour.
The day didn't really pick up from there. We decided to push on and head back to Orpesa del Mar to meet my friends, several hours later than originally planned. We parked at what we thought was the correct beach, and started following the signs to "Marina d'Or", the hotel they were staying at.
Unbeknownst to us, Marina d'Or is the name of a massive development including hotels, private accommodation and shopping precincts, AND we were actually about 2km away. But because the signs didn't say anything other than "Marina d'Or, -->" we kept following them on... and on up the coast.
On the bright side we got to see some beaches and people and Spain and stuff but it really wasn't ideal. At least we found a nice pizza place selling my new favourite wine, blanc pescador in the end.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
More London
I've added yet more photos to my Around London set on flickr but they're nothing too exciting -- just some shots from a day several weeks ago when I found myself released from the office shackles to attend an all-day training conference in Bloomsbury. Unlike work, training conferences tend to involve a full hour or more of lunch break - no eating at your desk - so I got to spend a pleasant afternoon wandering the Bloomsbury streets, primarily in the Tavistock Square and Gordon Square areas.
These squares are (what seems to me to be) those very London-specific spaces, the urban common gardens. They're surrounded by rows of terrace houses and were originally for the private use of the residents. Now they're open to the public and at lunchtimes they accommodate lazy streams of office workers, tourists, and students looking for a park bench or patch of grass on which to eat their sandwiches. (I actually had a jacket potato nestled in environmentally unsound polystyrene - very difficult to eat on your lap, FYI.)
In terms of the actual gardens, Tavistock Square is relatively sparse. However, it's home to monuments to Virginia Woolf (who lived in one of the neighbouring houses), Louisa Aldrich-Blake (one of Britain's first female surgeons), a very prominent and life-like Mahatma Gandhi, and a stone commemorating the conscientious objectors of the world.
Less happily, it is also the spot on which the bus exploded on the 7 July 2005 bombings of London's transport system. (There is small memorial to the dead on the fence across the street from the Square.)
Gordon Square in contrast, is much more lush and ornate (plant-wise), but without the obvious political and literary dedications. Some of the Bloomsbury Group did live on the Square though.
My photos also include several shots of what probably look like fairly average buildings/houses in the area. I bothered to post them to flickr because it seemed there were so many different styles of architecture in such a small area, from Georgian terraces to some sort of gothic revival to a brand new wood and steel creation that would look more at home in Brisbane. Hmmmm. Perhaps it was my near-euphoria at not having to be in the office that day that made it all seem so interesting.
We're back in the real world today after a week away for the Festival Internacionale de Benicassim, a music festival in coastal Spain. More on that next post!
These squares are (what seems to me to be) those very London-specific spaces, the urban common gardens. They're surrounded by rows of terrace houses and were originally for the private use of the residents. Now they're open to the public and at lunchtimes they accommodate lazy streams of office workers, tourists, and students looking for a park bench or patch of grass on which to eat their sandwiches. (I actually had a jacket potato nestled in environmentally unsound polystyrene - very difficult to eat on your lap, FYI.)
In terms of the actual gardens, Tavistock Square is relatively sparse. However, it's home to monuments to Virginia Woolf (who lived in one of the neighbouring houses), Louisa Aldrich-Blake (one of Britain's first female surgeons), a very prominent and life-like Mahatma Gandhi, and a stone commemorating the conscientious objectors of the world.
Less happily, it is also the spot on which the bus exploded on the 7 July 2005 bombings of London's transport system. (There is small memorial to the dead on the fence across the street from the Square.)
Gordon Square in contrast, is much more lush and ornate (plant-wise), but without the obvious political and literary dedications. Some of the Bloomsbury Group did live on the Square though.
My photos also include several shots of what probably look like fairly average buildings/houses in the area. I bothered to post them to flickr because it seemed there were so many different styles of architecture in such a small area, from Georgian terraces to some sort of gothic revival to a brand new wood and steel creation that would look more at home in Brisbane. Hmmmm. Perhaps it was my near-euphoria at not having to be in the office that day that made it all seem so interesting.
We're back in the real world today after a week away for the Festival Internacionale de Benicassim, a music festival in coastal Spain. More on that next post!
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