Archive for the ‘Travels’ Category

Low tech

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

I’m in Port Vincent for New Year’s. It’s a great place to be. On New Year’s Day there is a Gala Day, with street markets, lots of really shitty but tasty food, a big bouncy castle for the kidlets and really really bad entertainment played over an ancient PA.

It’s brilliant.

We’re staying with friends who live on the main street. Which is nice.

Anyway, around this time of year, what with all the colour and summerness of the place, I like to whack a colour film in my Holga and set out to take that quintessential summer photo.

I took the kids to the beach this morning: my two and our friends’ son. He saw the Holga and wanted to know if it was a real camera. My eldest explained to him that it was a Toy Camera that took real photos.

The boy was trying to look at the back of it. I could tell why.

“Doesn’t it have a screen?” he asked.

“A screen?” I said. “It doesn’t even have batteries.”

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Posted in Bairn, Ma vie, Photography, Travels | 1 Comment »

It ain’t broke (but it ain’t fixed either)

Saturday, September 26th, 2009

This week marked my auspicious return to the volleyball court. I had forgotten which year it was that I last slipped on the knee pads but due to the magic of putting a lot of work into writing a blog since 2003, I can simply go back in time and see that my operation was in December 2005.

Footballers have whole knee reconstructions and are on the field again after six weeks. You’d think that after nearly four years, I might be able to have a bit of a runaround, whack a few balls about the place and generally enjoy myself doing what I love.

And, as things went, I did have a pretty good time. I was very rusty and very out of shape but the rest of the team I was on was just as rusty or maybe less experienced, so I found myself compensating for some of them; encroaching on their space a bit when the other team’s best server came on (well, someone had to get a dig up).

I was really unfit though, and my legs’ transformation to jelly began somewhere around the end of the first set.

But wow. It was really good. The game wasn’t of the best standard but I got a few good hits in, set up a few good points, saved a few points and even blocked on or two.

After the game though, I knew I wasn’t going to be jumping about the place the next day. I even stopped at the supermarket on the way home for a bag of frozen peas: they make great ice packs.

I had taped the ankle, wrapped it in a bandage and put the whole lot in a lace-up brace. I didn’t land on it funny, twist it, roll it or even give it a dirty look all game.

It wasn’t swollen or damaged. But it was angry.

Next day, I couldn’t walk on it. I worked from home but had to go into town for a meeting and had to grab my trusty old walking stick.

There I was with my stubble, untucked shirt and pack of painkillers. If I’d suddenly amassed an incredible knowledge of diagnostic medicine I could have passed for Doctor House. I had the odd urge to send random strangers for a liver biopsy. I even thought of taking all my painkillers out of the blister pack and putting them in one of those little yellowy-orange plastic bottles.

Anyway, long story short, it’s Saturday morning and I still can’t walk properly. The ankle is just too weak. I’ve told the guy who got me on the team that it’s not looking too good. He’s hoping it’ll come good; so am I, of course.

But the writing’s on the wall and the writing says ‘Whatever you do, don’t even think about setting foot on a volleyball court ever again unless you want a life of pain and resemblance to a certain fictional crippled TV doctor’.

In other news

We’re going away today, back Tuesday. Off to the Yorke Peninsula. We usually get out for a drive or other such fun but the weather’s looking like crap for at least the rest of the weekend. I’ll be voting for sticking the kids in front of a DVD, sitting on the verandah with a glass of wine and a good book.

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Posted in Ma vie, Sport, Travels | 1 Comment »

People see what they want to see

Monday, June 23rd, 2008

Just remembered I wrote this coming back from Melbourne last month

At checkin, the lady asked me if I’d be willing to sit in an Emergency Exit seat. If the plane crashes they need someone who can open the door and heave it out of the aircraft. They’re looking for people who are a fit, unencumbered and maybe a bit responsible.

I said fine.

Then, after going through the x-ray, being male, alone, slightly unshaven and carrying a backpack, the security guard picked me for a random explosives check.

Posted in Idea v. Reality, Travels | 3 Comments »

Sunbus

Thursday, May 8th, 2008

It’s not often I feel compelled to devote a post to a bus journey but the trip from Avalon airport into the city was an absolute doozie.

I’ve long had some kind of weird fascination for bus drivers, specifically coach drivers. On every school trip we went on, we’d call our bus driver Barry. The name just seemed to fit. I think we actually surprised a few of them by getting it right. But growing up in the 80s, when plane travel was still very much the domain of the elite, and living in a town that had its only rail service suspended, coach travel was in its heyday, with reclining seats, curtains and, on very special coaches, a VCR on which you may have been lucky enough to see such gems as Splash, Mr Mom or something equally as sanitised starring Robin Williams or Michael Douglas (of course, you’d see them on a television which was invariably attached with some kind of RF lead to said VCR; I can’t imagine a load of coach travellers being excited by watching the heads of a top-loading VCR spin around through that little translucent window. “Oooh, Tom Hanks is in there!”).

Back then, coach drivers had that air of professionalism; they were, after all, ‘Captains’ of their roadcraft (as opposed to aircraft or seacraft). They had the tanned skin, the winning smile, the carefully blow-dried hair, the neatly pressed and over-starched shirt, and yet, like their truckie cousins, they still wore shorts to work.

I think our driver from Avalon to Melbourne must have been one of those shiny Coach Captains of the 80s as he was eager to point out some of the places of interest between the airport and the city, along the lines of:

“Out here at Avalon, some of the scenes from Mad Max were shot.

“We’re currently travelling on Highway 1, which circumnavigates Austraya. Out to the right is Point Wilson, where they test all the ammunition.

“We’re now passing by the town of Little River, pop-y’lation of about 6000. This is where the famous Little River Band originated.

“We’re now passing the Werribee sewerage farm: 10,000 hectares that services the water treatment of Melbourne and the western suburbs. The farm is made up of 10 ponds, one to two hectares each. The first pond is covered and that supplies all the methane that is needed to power the plant.”
[I'll leave that quote there, partly because he went on so long about it and partly because I'm having trouble reading my shorthand]

“We’ll shortly be passing under Point Cook Road. At the end of Point Cook Road is Point Cook Airforce Base, which is now turned into a museum. If you ever get down to have a loogedit, it’s free admission to get in.”

Gold… all of it.

Thanks, Baz.

Posted in Australia, Featured, Travels | No Comments »

Is this working? (Melbourne edition)

Thursday, May 8th, 2008

Why can’t I post from my phone?

Later…So after typing a whole post in the departure lounge at Adl airport on my tiny tiny phone keypad in Opera mini, and trying to save it about 20 times and trying to publish it about 20 times and nothing happening, the above was what I actually managed to post in desperation just as my row was being called to board.The gist of the now-forever-gone-into-the-phonoshpere post was that I was nipping over (here) to Melbourne for a few days to attend my brother’s 40th celebrations. I made a joke about the fact that the party was in Melbourne while he lives in Modbury (très rigole, non?) but I’ll never be able to recapture the magic now.

It’s funny how travel helps you mark time in your life. Being at the airport reminded me of the last time I was at the airport, then I got to thinking of all the variations on ‘The last time I…’

  • When was the last time I was at the airport
  • When was the last time I was at the airport to meet someone (because my last time (see above) was for a photo shoot).
  • When was the last time I was at the airport to catch a plane?
  • When was the last time I was at the airport to catch a plane by myself?
  • When was the last time I caught a flight to Melbourne?
  • When was the last time I caught a flight to Melbourne and actually ended up going to Melbourne?

The possibilities are endless.

But I must say that having spent a good deal of my 20-somethingityness coming and going from all sorts of airports, rail stations and bus termini, I’m not half bad at it by now. I had everything timed to perfection. The J1 passes right outside my work building. I was there waiting for it five minutes early. It dropped us at the airport and I was straight into the check-in line. I had no luggage to check in, so that was a breeze. I got through the X-rays and had 20 minutes to kill before I had to be at the departure gate and I thought “Shit, I’m good at this.”

Cos, I am.

Posted in Adelaide, Travels | No Comments »