I've been working my way through all my photos of Germany, and have gradually been adding them to my Germany folder. I've finished now, so if you haven't clicked that link below for a while, there might be some new things in there.
On to Bruges, next. It's a bit slow going, I admit, but I've been trying to work on some articles as well.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday, January 04, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Lack of Evidence
Yes, I know. After five weeks I've still not posted any photos. Rest assured, they're coming; I've been working on it. I needed first to nail down the software for my photography workflow, since the digital darkroom requires a lot of organisation. I decided on Adobe Lightroom. I also have been trying to recover the shots of the bullfight from the corrupted card; unfortunately, no luck as yet.
Once my additional 1GB RAM and new solid state, lightning fast hard drive arrive, progress should also be faster.
I have selected several favourite shots, so will post something shortly to keep the bored amused.
Once my additional 1GB RAM and new solid state, lightning fast hard drive arrive, progress should also be faster.
I have selected several favourite shots, so will post something shortly to keep the bored amused.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The End
And now, the end of the 2009 European odyssey.
I am expecting the inevitable question: “Happy to be home?” If it has to be yes or no, then it’s no. I could keep going. I would love to keep going. Constant travelling is a little taxing, but I haven’t reached exhaustion.
Nevertheless, it will be a relief not to think about language anymore, to speak fluently and be understood.
All things end. But this is only the end of the second chapter. Good travel has three phases: the first is planning, when the possibilities excite and the anticipation builds; the second is execution, the trip itself, when plans come to fruition or lead in unexpected directions.
Now begins the synopsis. Trawling through nine thousand photographs. Developing. Discarding. Revisiting notes and blog entries, and assembling articles. Digging out an old brochure to check the name of that church in Portugal, or a receipt to report the cost of a beer in Seville. And beginning work on my next book of photography.
Over the coming months, as I select and develop my best photos, I will post them online. Updates to this blog will be less frequent than they have been during the trip, but check back now and again to see what new photos are available.
Language
In major cities, it’s easy to get by with English. Too easy. Speaking foreign languages is one of the joys of travel. Too many English-speaking tourists turn up in Venice or Paris and speak English. You can't. That's cheating. Aussies are as guilty of this as Americans or the Brits. You’ve got to make an effort.
But the effort does become draining, and the language barrier is isolating. Spaniards are reticent to speak anything other than Spanish, and in provincial Andalucía you won’t get much else. Luckily, my basis in French gets me by with Spanish, and it is probably my favourite language to try to speak.
In Bruges, English is so widely spoken it could be considered a second language after their Flemish Dutch (the national language of French is equally well-spoken, though pride is at stake due to wars with France).
Portugal and England share the oldest alliance in history, and English is widespread in urban areas of Portugal. It is sporadic in rural areas. The elderly, urban or rural, don't speak it at all.
My biggest surprise was Croatia, which easily has the most widespread English of all the countries I toured. It is taught to children in school from young, and the standard is high. This was a bit of a relief, because I have no knowledge of any Slavic language. I was out of luck when I found that just over the border in Montenegro, English is not spoken at all, and I had to depend on my Croatian phrase book (for sensitive cultural and political reasons, Croatian, Montenegrin and Serbian are all officially different languages, but linguistically they are close dialects of the same language).
When I reached France, it was with a mixture of comfort and trepidation. I actually speak a little bit of French, so I could have simple conversations. But I also know enough grammar to know I’m getting my conjugation wrong or that I don’t know which participle to use.
Remembrance Day at Villers-Bretonneux
On 25 April 1918, at a cost of over 1,200 of their lives, Australian soldiers repulsed a German force apparently ten times their number at Villers-Bretonneux, the last point of defence before Paris on the Western Front. The citizens of this little town declared their eternal gratitude to these men in a moving speech by the mayor. The primary school, rebuilt with money raised by schoolchildren from Victoria—called the Victorian School—has emblazoned above its blackboards, “N’oublions jamais l’Australie”—we will never forget Australia. And they never have; ANZAC Day is observed religiously to this day. They dub the town l’Australie en Picardie, and it has been called by Australians the Gallipoli of the Western Front.
Remembrance Day, once known as Armistice Day, the last day of “the Great War,” is a national holiday in France. This and the last day of The Second World War are of great importance to the French, as so much of their soil was battleground. On November 11th, we visited the Australian National Memorial outside Villers-Bretonneux. Several groups of Aussies trod softly past the sombre rows of graves either side of the French and Australian flags to reach the tall, white tower flanked by two chapels and a memorial wall engraved with the names of the Australian fallen in the battles of the First World War. While we were there a French family with three young ones also paid their respects, the parents gently reprimanding the children when they became too boisterous. We gave them little koala bears.
Remembrance Day, once known as Armistice Day, the last day of “the Great War,” is a national holiday in France. This and the last day of The Second World War are of great importance to the French, as so much of their soil was battleground. On November 11th, we visited the Australian National Memorial outside Villers-Bretonneux. Several groups of Aussies trod softly past the sombre rows of graves either side of the French and Australian flags to reach the tall, white tower flanked by two chapels and a memorial wall engraved with the names of the Australian fallen in the battles of the First World War. While we were there a French family with three young ones also paid their respects, the parents gently reprimanding the children when they became too boisterous. We gave them little koala bears.
Parisian Cinemas
One of the things I really like about Paris is the number of little cinemas, mostly in the Latin Quarter, which play classic films. Just around the corner from our hotel were playing two films by Sergio Leone, one of my favourite directors: the well-known Clint Eastwood flick “For a Few Dollars More,” and the not-so-well-known “A Fistful of Dynamite” (a.k.a. “Duck, You Sucker,” and a few other confusing titles).
It was very cool to immerse myself in a late screening of “Dollars” on the big screen. Another cinema was playing several Hitchcock films. In 1998, I came across one filmhouse which had been playing Casablanca continuously for many years, but I wasn’t able to find it this time.
It was very cool to immerse myself in a late screening of “Dollars” on the big screen. Another cinema was playing several Hitchcock films. In 1998, I came across one filmhouse which had been playing Casablanca continuously for many years, but I wasn’t able to find it this time.
Paris
Mai Li and I spent the final week of my trip in Paris, where it was averaging 8° or 9° Celsius. It seems such a short time since I was being scorched by the 40°C Andalusian sun.
We kept warm with plenty of walking. Paris is made for it. The famed city planner Baron Haussman laid out broad boulevardes in the 19th century, though not for the enjoyment by the pedestrian masses but rather to suppress them; the narrow medieval bottlenecks they replaced prevented soldiers from effectively responding to the riots which led to the French Revolution.
The Promenade Plantée, a garden footpath slicing through the Bastille elevated on arches, was originally a railway after Napoleon III approved a right of way through the city. Today it is a favourite spot for locals to jog or stroll. We walked half of its four-kilometre length.
Another transformed right of way is the Canal Saint-Martin, controlled by a series of locks and once a highway for transporting food and other goods on barges. It is now used for tourist boats. A long stretch of it has been enclosed and covered with gardens, and a film on the history of the canal is projected onto the brick walls of the tunnel from the boat. This and one or two locks are the most interesting; the rest of the two-and-a-half hour trip is frankly a little boring.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Gouffre de Padirac
The Gouffre de Padirac (Padirac Chasm) is a navigable underground river in the Lot départment, east of the Dordogne. It begins at the bottom of a a 75-metre deep sinkhole, a huge cylindrical shaft which was once a cave before the ceiling fell in eons ago to leave a massive lightwell almost half its height across. Three separate lifts and a scaffolding of metal stairs have been built against the walls to reach the floor of the chasm.
It was drizzling on the drive there. It had been raining for days, so we were carrying umbrellas and rain jackets. By the time we parked the car the rain stopped , but Mai Li asked if we should bring the umbrellas.
"Pff," I mocked. "We're going underground. It doesn't rain underground."
Indeed it does.
After wending us through corridors of limestone on a subterranean passage of water coloured jade with silt, our guide moored the flat-bottomed boat and led us up the corkscrewing ballroom stairway of the enormous Grand Dôme. Water fell more heavily than the showers outside from the nearly 100-metre ceiling into the Lac de la Pluie, the Lake of Rain, below us, soaking us on the way down.
The 60-metre tall stalactite called the Grande Pendoloque, the Great Pendant, dips down to just two metres above the surface of the lake. Limestone formations congealed over millennia on the cavern’s tiers look genuinely organic, like broad mushrooms or a Chinese Juniper bonsai, and in the pools that collect on the cascading plateaux smooth natural weirs form, curving so artistically that we debated over whether it was man-made.
The cave complex is vast. Two journeys by boat, long passages by foot and hundreds of stairs represent only a tiny fraction which is open to the public.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Transportation
After a month of ferries, trains and buses through Italy, Croatia and Montenegro, it was nice to pick up a car again upon reaching France – happily another diesel, though unluckily another Ford. Cars offer freedom and comfort, and are essential for visiting small towns. The downside is driving in European cities. It is a trial. They are also the most expensive travel option, though there are some ways to mitigate the cost. Diesel is a cheaper fuel than petrol and more economical. You'll fill the tank less frequently, and for less. Pre-booked packages through travel agencies will always be a better deal than a walk-in rental, which is extortion (I don't even want to admit how much it cost me to rent that car in Andalucia). A good, cheap agency I used several times is Holiday Autos. Driveaway Holidays was also good. And I never buy the additional insurance. The rental companies just sell this to make money, and there is already sufficient coverage on the car.
Trains are great no-brainers—you get on, you get off, and in between you read, nap, and stroll around while somebody else does all the driving. European trains are comfortable, the system is efficient, and the high speed network is growing all the time. Overnight trains are even better if you're travelling a long enough distance; the extra cost for a cabin is comparable to a hotel room you'd have to rent anyway, and you save time travelling while you're asleep. But outside the more major destinations the regional lines can be time-consuming and tedious.
Intercity buses are often fast, frequent, and potentially the cheapest option, but are my least favoured because, like a plane, you’re restricted to your seat. More than three hours sitting in one place gets uncomfortable, especially if the passenger beside you hasn't showered.
Ferries are a novelty and have even more space to walk around than trains, but are slow, can be pricey, and make limited stops. And, of course, you need a great bloody body of water. But again, they make good travelling hotel rooms.
Any metro within a European city is often cheap and convenient. I love Madrid's modern and extensive network. The Paris and London metros are also justifiably well-regarded. And the aged but character-filled Budapest metro also deserves mention.
Trams are even better because you can sightsee en route. Both Prague's and Lisbon's excellent and extensive tram systems are over a hundred years old, but run both modern rolling stock as well as older, charming carriages. Meanwhile, Seville’s brand new tram "network" is so limited with its single line that it almost makes the Sydney monorail look useful (almost).
My favourite method of transportation? Hands down, on foot. I am a walker. While transport is slow, you are always in control, never miss a stop, and see more of the city than any other way. It's also free.
Trains are great no-brainers—you get on, you get off, and in between you read, nap, and stroll around while somebody else does all the driving. European trains are comfortable, the system is efficient, and the high speed network is growing all the time. Overnight trains are even better if you're travelling a long enough distance; the extra cost for a cabin is comparable to a hotel room you'd have to rent anyway, and you save time travelling while you're asleep. But outside the more major destinations the regional lines can be time-consuming and tedious.
Intercity buses are often fast, frequent, and potentially the cheapest option, but are my least favoured because, like a plane, you’re restricted to your seat. More than three hours sitting in one place gets uncomfortable, especially if the passenger beside you hasn't showered.
Ferries are a novelty and have even more space to walk around than trains, but are slow, can be pricey, and make limited stops. And, of course, you need a great bloody body of water. But again, they make good travelling hotel rooms.
Any metro within a European city is often cheap and convenient. I love Madrid's modern and extensive network. The Paris and London metros are also justifiably well-regarded. And the aged but character-filled Budapest metro also deserves mention.
Trams are even better because you can sightsee en route. Both Prague's and Lisbon's excellent and extensive tram systems are over a hundred years old, but run both modern rolling stock as well as older, charming carriages. Meanwhile, Seville’s brand new tram "network" is so limited with its single line that it almost makes the Sydney monorail look useful (almost).
My favourite method of transportation? Hands down, on foot. I am a walker. While transport is slow, you are always in control, never miss a stop, and see more of the city than any other way. It's also free.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)