Perth, Australia

I've specified the country because, when we were listing our itinerary, one friend asked "Perth?" I'm not sure if they thought we might be going to Scotland or just wondering why one would go to Perth. Well, Perth Australia is a very nice place - though hot!

Actually I'm not sure that I shouldn't say "Perth, Western Australia". There is a certain amount of bickering between the tough, hard working, essentially decent, Western Australians and the soft, effete East (i.e. Sydney) where they sit around drinking coffee and being decadent. As a letter writer in The Australian put it "a bunch of politically correct pommo homo como vego bastards". Shouldn't that be "commo"? But I digress.

We stayed with old friends Judith and Ultan and their daughter Aislinn.

Aislinn is "practising to be five", which she will be any day now. So Happy Birthday Aislinn.

We had a relaxing time, sitting in the shade beside the pool which is lined with tropical vegetation. Where we get sparrows, starlings and seagulls, they have cukkaburras (sorry about the spelling) and assorted varieties of parrot.

There is also a lizard (called Coco according to Aislinn). And crows. The crows wake you up in the morning going "ah, ah, ah" which does no justice at all to their call. The first "ah" is a sort of small sound, suggesting "oh well I didn't expect it would work", the second is a "maybe it can be fixed" sort of "ah" and the last is "there you are, I've done it" sort of sound.

The next day we took a trip down the Swann River from Perth to Fremantle ("Freo"). The tour guide hadn't quite got to terms with political correctness: whoever he mentioned (Vlahming?) probably wasn't "the first man to visit the Swan River" - local aboriginal people had been there a while.

Actually the rainbow serpent carved out the river, resting a various spots which became holy places for the local tribes. This caused problems when there were plans to build a casino on what turned out to be one such site. White people didn't know it was a sacred site (it is known only to the local tribe and you don't tell outsiders). This led to a belief among some that aboriginals 'invent' sacred sites in the hope of getting compensation from developers. If true, what a heinous crime! People on the very edge of existence, living in appalling conditions, at way below the poverty line manage to screw some cash out of multi-millionaire property developers who are forced to pass the cost onto their equally wealthy clients. No doubt the entrepreneurs are crying into their champagne. (End of rant.)

Apart from history, the tour guide really specialised in how much various houses cost and who lived in them. Looking at the most expensive, my first thought was that, if it meant living in such a monstrosity, I'd prefer to be poor. Money doesn't buy good taste.

Judith and Ultan had arranged an assortment of outings for us and we had a great time, though as always it is the small things that strike you. We went to an outdoor movie. It was more civilised than the US version: no cars with steamed up windows! It is beautiful to sit out on a warm night watching a film but what really struck me was looking up at the stars and seeing Orion. The wrong way up.

We spent a day at Rottnest Island with Rosemary another friend of J & U from England. It reminded me of Tresco, another small island with wonderful beaches.

Except Tresco doesn't have "quokkas". Opinion is divided about quokkas, to their supporters they are like small kangaroos, about 1ft tall. To their detractors they are just big rats who have learned to look cute from a distance. My heart says kangaroo, my head notes a pointy snout and a hairless tail.

This one was squatting outside the tea room. He didn't look a happy bunny (rat/kangaroo). You are not supposed to feed quokkas but it doesn't take much scavanging to come up with melting ice cream, fried fish, muffins, rotting fruit and a feeling that civilisation has its discontents - and currently they were in this quokka's belly. Hope it's feeling better now!

Had a wonderful fish meal to celebrate the end of our stay and the next day it's time to fly to Sydney. On the last day I was invited into Aislinn's Wendy house. "You can stand up without hitting your head", she told me, correctly. As I straightened up, she added, "You're getting cobwebs in your hair. There might be red back spiders." But I'm still alive so I guess there weren't.

Lots more I could write but I still haven't reached Sydney. So off to the decadent east for the next instalment.

Lost in cybertime

I am adrift in cybertime, my blog talks about Hong Kong when really I'm in Sydney several thousand miles, several days and three hours (changing time zones) away.

First leave Hong Kong - though we're sorry to go. We did lots of things I didn't bore you with but here are a couple of sights I remember, both while wandering around the back streets surronding Nathan Road.

First, down a little alleyway a small group had errected a makesift awning and were performing Cantonese opera. Two very respectable looking ladies were singing and waving fans and a red handkerchief in approriately theatrical gestures. The 'orchestra' were two men on fiddle like instruments with a long necks and bowls the size of a grapefruit; there was a drummer and an elderly man playing a zither like instrument, tapping the wires with sticks. The zither player would have looked at home at a vicarage tea party in the home counties: well shined shoes, grey flannel trousers and a tweed sports jacket. The drummer was, well, like drummers everywhere. You could see he was dying to hurl himself into a frenetic rock solo but had to limit himself to the occasional 'dong' on a temple bell or dramatic 'bong' on a hand drum. Eventually a smartly dressed elderly gentleman passed. After making a donation he walked on to the 'stage' to inspect the sheet music and discuss technical issues (as far as we could judge) with the singers. It all had the air of a scholary recital, but performed in an alley with an audience of about five including a crazy tramp who waved his arms and did dance steps on an adjacent stretch of pavement. We made a small donation and were welcomed with open arms; we were offered the best seats in the house (two small stools) but life is too short to listen to a whole Cantonese opera.

Finally for H-K, the oddest shop we saw. Again down a back street. A small shop selling armour. Not Chinese, not 'antique' but shiny new, Knights of the Round Table suits. The window had the sort of outfit that Prince Hal might have worn ( maybe my dating is out by a couple of hundred years, 100 years war? whatever). Is there a big jousting scene in Hong Kong?

And so to the airport and an overnight flight to Perth. Still Quantas, still the same movies and the same food.

From the Star Ferry

I don't really know what I'm doing here, blogs that is, not Hong Kong. I'm going to try and includes some thumbnails linking to pictures. So, I twist this, press that, type in something else and we have picture of Man Mo temple.












From Kowloon you can take the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island.

Crossing to the Island

Star Ferry is a venerable institution in a community which apparently loves the new above all things. The boats are about 50 years old, two decks with very basic seating and holding, I'd guess, 350 people. So why hasn't Hong Kong replaced them with some hi-tech alternative? Well, they work and efficiency means a lot here. I estimated that a boat load can embark (no pushing or queue jumping, all very orderly), the boat can cross the harbour with just enough time for several hundred Chinese to use their mobiles ("I'm on the ferry, Dear, be home soon") and the the passengers can then disembark (equally well behaved) in about five minutes. About the time it takes ten people to get on a bus in England.

Getting off the ferry on H-K Island is a shock. The percentage of Western faces goes up by a factor of ten. And they aren't the scruffy tourists you see looking for bargains in Kowloon. These are, almost without exception, men in dark suits which probably cost more than our entire trip. This is where money and power live.

Immediately ahead is the HSBC head quarters, designed by Norman Foster. It is surrounded by many other 30-40 storey buildings, some more beautiful, but none which shouts its message quite so clearly. It is like a glass safe bound in steel bands. It says "power" and "wealth" and "permanence". The only remnant of its predecessor are two bronze lions and its one concession to Chinese sensibilities is that it is built on pillars to allow the 'dragon energy' to flow into the sea unhindered (Feng Sui is big here). Of course, a cynic might say that it is on pillars because most big building are built that way in Hong Kong to resist earth quakes.

You can walk under it and look up, a vast space stretches above you giving a sense of reverse vertigo as if you could fall up into it. You have looked into the belly of the beast.

Moving up the hill you come to Hollywood Road which contours slowly upward crossed by incredibly steep roads going up and down. The main shops are either art galleries featuring modern Chinese art or antique shops. No price tags on display. What would you pay for a life size, twelfth century silver Buddha? About a quarter of the antiques shops display Tibetan art, very chic at the moment, the rest Chinese. Of course to the Chinese Goverment, Tibet is part of China. Pity the Tibetans don't agree but how generous of them to allow so many of their most sacred possessions to furnish the homes of rich bankers.

The Man Mo temple marks a break all this. From here on the shops are more traditionally Chinese, selling things which we often don't recognise and sometimes which we wish we didn't.

The temple itself was founded by Sz Man King in the mid 19th century. He seems to have been an early entrepreneur of the hospitality management industry, i.e. he owned brothels, opium dens and illegal gambling houses. The temple however is now very respectable with the great and good very keen to be on its management committee. It does good works, runs it own schools for poor kids, has soup kitchens etc. Entering it is a disorienting experience. It isn't large and consists of three adjacent rooms, the size of a class room for 30 students maybe. The incense smoke hits you like a wall but as you peer through it the scene is unlike any English church. One side is taken up with assorted parcels and packages (content unknown), the other has vast piles of incense sticks. Prices are indicated (in both English and Chinese of course) and there is an honesty box. Visitors buy a big bundle, light them from any of the many candles (this is a major fire hazard) and poke them into bowls of sand. As soon a you leave, a temple official pulls them out and douses them in a bucket of water. After all, you've gained good karma from your pious intention and if they were all left burning the temperature would be unbearable. In addition, every inch of roof space is taken up with hanging incense coils which burn for hours - these are allowed to remain, each with a small message label attached.

Facing you are the statues of the Gods and 'saints'. China is very pragmatic on religion. The statues include local holy men, immortals from Taoism, Buddhist arhats and boddhisatvas and Gods (in this case those of literature and war, seen as a natural pairing). Probably Confucious is there too.

Religious practices are also eclectic. In one room a young woman kneels in the Chritian position of prayer with palms together talking earnestly to a statue. In the next and old lady sits cross legged on a cushion in front of her chosen figure. It is all very individual. There wouldn't be room for 'services' with more than ten people anyway and besides, what are streets for?

From the temple on, the shops change. Slightly down the hill is Cat St. The origin of the name is unknown but none of the proposed explanations suggest it is a place to take a maiden aunt. Think "cat house", "cat burglar", "alley cat". It is where "antique" meets "tatty junk". You can buy old coins, some of which may be genuine, picture post cards of old Hong Kong, plastic Mickey Mouses, plaster models of Marilyn Monroe, Bruce Lee posters, ....

Slightly further down Hollywood Rd, and conveniently placed for the temple, are a coffin seller with stacks of shiney wood samples and a shop selling funery goods. These are designed to be burnt (they are mostly paper) and become real in Heaven, providing for the departed's next life. First, there is a four foot long paper model of a yacht. It has a Blue Peter look to it and isn't exactly professionally finished, but in heaven it could, no doubt, win the Americas' Cup. Parked at the side of the road (nice touch) is a paper sports car. A gust of wind would take it a hundred yards but the absence of a paper engine would seem to limit its usefulness even in Heaven. But if you aren't sure what to buy you can always give money. Great bundles of celestial banknotes can be bought for a few dollars. The exchange rate with heaven seems a bit one sided!

And if that all seems very quaint and odd, imagine explaining to a Chinese person why we give flowers.

Back again down the hill, and into a side street for a posh meal in a restaurant favoured by those with expense accounts (and those who fancy the much much cheaper fixed price lunch). The restaurant is decorated with elegant black wood and primitve antiques in glass fronted cabinets. For about £15 the two of us get soup ("Delightful Vegetable") , four small cold dishes: bamboo shouts with flavoured oil, a sort of coarse duck patee, marinaded aubergine and tofu with 1000 year old egg. The last isn't very nice but then I don't like tofu. 1000 year old egg on the other hand is quite nice, a bit like hardboiled egg yolk in aspic (you probably don't want to know about the colour or taste). A tiny cake filled with pork and spinach is brought as an extra, courtesy of the new chef. For the main course I have "Pomfret fish" and I have no idea what it is except it has scales and tastes like fish. Eleanor has pork served with a delicately honey flavoured sweet and sour sauce. If you are ever in Lam Fong Fai, I'd suggest the pork, a pomfret is a just pomfret ... whatever that is.

And so back to Kowloon. It would be nice to rest for an hour or so to digest the meal but the Start Ferry only gives you five minutes. Efficiency can be a bore sometimes.

Staying at the Sally Ann

Our hotel is at the less fashionable end of Nathan Rd, the 'Golden Mile' is more the cut price clothes, pirated paperbacks, Chinese medicines and assorted naffness mile and a bit by the time you reach Booth Lodge. It's still just at the respectable end and the Sally Ann even has (discreetly, on the next block) a charity shop. A charity shop, in a city where people don't even throw away the head and feet when cooking chicken, is an oddity. I didn't go in because I thought it would make me homesick.

At least two other non-profit making organisations have their own hotels. The YMCA is the posh one. It shares a block with two other hotels in prime position on the sea front. Next to it is the Penininsula which is posher than posh. If you aren't sure whether you can afford to stay there, don't bother - you can't. Beyond that and more down market is the Sheraton. We couldn't even afford the YMCA.

About half way to Booth Lodge is B-P International House, a great chrome and glass palace owned by the Boy Scouts, strictly speaking the "Baden-Powell Boy Scouts". An atrium the size of a football pitch is dominated at one end by a 10ft high portrait of B-P gazing benignly across the lobby to a life size bronze sculpture depicting an adult scout leading two small children by the hand. The scale and decor seem so out of keeping with the idea of scouting as to make the whole thing seem ridiculous.

The Baden-Powell Boy Scouts is not the same as the Boy Scout Association. There was a dividing of the way in the scout fraternity over woggles or the words of the last verse of "She'll be coming round the mountain" or something similar leading to rancour and misuse of the scouts' two fingered salute.

The Salvation Army on the other hand is cosy, you even get breakfast. The favourite with Chinese guests seems to be vermicelli type pasta with a slice of pork luncheon meat on top and some lettuce. I couldn't take it first thing in the morning but at least it's a step up from one traditional Chinese breakfast: gruel made from fish heads. As I say, they don't waste much here.

At the Peak

I'm writing this sitting in a coffee bar on the Peak (the highest spot in Hong Kong}. It is dark and there is a fabulous view of the lights around HK harbour. It is about as beautiful as a city can look at night.

The trip to HK was uneventful (which is a Good Thing on flights as far as I'm concerned). Are plane seats getting narrower or am I getting wider? I used to feel I knew how a sardine felt, now I think they have it easy, at least they have enough room for their knees. I thought including Enduring Love among the in-flight films was an inspired choice (it starts with someone falling to a very nasty death from a hot air balloon).

About dawn we looked out to see a sight like the landscape of Titan: an orange sky illuminating an endless rocky, partly snow covered, mountain range. Mongolia maybe (we were somewhere SE of Ulan Bator). The landscape changed slowly from snow to just rock as we got further soth. Occasionally you could see small towns.

And eventually after 11.5 hours we arrived in HK and got the bus to the hotel. It was, by HK standards, a winter's day but, despite that, all air conditioning (and there is a lot) was on the perma-frost setting. We turned it off and thawed out the room.

The hotel is owned by the Salvation Army (no, it's not a shelter for down and outs) which means no alcohol in the mini-bar but otherwise it's fine.


More later, "good customers use the net for only fifteen minutes at a time" it says here ...

Simon

.... before we go

We are leaving tomorrow evening, but yesterday I put aside the packing and list ticking for a couple of hours and nipped over to Bath. I had the viva for my PhD which lasted about 2.5 hours and was mostly fairly minor questions (why does 'x' on line 3 become 'y' on line 4?). My main response was to feign idiocy ('feign' may not be right word for someone who thinks 1 - (-1) = 1 and includes it in a maths PhD thesis).

Anyway the two examiners, one of whom had almost a question/page and one who had only about four questions in total were very friendly. I left them to their deliberations and when I came back 15 minutes later it was all over bar my correcting about 300 silly mistakes. I shall be ordering a new sign for my office door at UWE. Eleanor says I've had a silly grin ever since.

So back to the packing,

Simon

Our Trip

This January we are off for a long trip. We'll try and use the blog to keep track of where we've got to and to add some pictures.

A rough itinerary of arrivals is:


16th Jan London Heathrow
17th Jan Hong Kong
20th Jan Perth
25th Jan Sydney
6th Feb Christchurch (NZ)
27th Feb Auckland
17th Mar Vancouver (Canada)
22nd Mar London Heathrow

Then a family trip to Suffolk followed by taking our camper van to France/Italy until sometime in May.

...... and then ....