Innocent (Rome - Florence)

What wonders a good night's sleep can accomplish, dear reader. Generally, I judge the time by the light, but in a different country, it's not so easy. What I thought was around 6am, judging by the light creeping under the curtains, was actually 8am and it would be another hour before Jayne stirred. When I pulled back the blockout curtains the light was devastatingly, eye-shielding bright.

The view from balcony by day.

Our two nights in Rome were meant as a recovery period from the flights. Transit time from Sydney to Rome was about 40 hours. As a result we had planned only one excursion, a visit to the Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a palace about a 20 minute walk from the hotel. It is still a family 'home' as such but they have opened the gardens and some of the rooms to the public. It has a interesting history dating back to the days of Pope Innocent X, one of the Pamphilj family members whose power and position cemented the family's place in the Roman aristocracy well beyond his death in 1655.

And that brings us to today's title dear reader, Innocent by Taylor Swift from her 2010 album Speak Now.

Armed with her trusty paper map, Jayne steered us there through the hoards of people. Apparently shoulder season doesn't exist anymore and I am beginning to question if there are any Americans left in the US. I mean, I get why they would want to be anywhere else, but still.

A random church doorway.

The idea was to find somewhere to have a coffee and a pastry on the way to the Palace. Great theory. Possibly the roads we travelled were well worn tourists paths but there were precious few cafés that weren't in the full blast of the Roman sun. Before we realised, we were standing outside the gates of the palace, an hour early. Plan adjusted, we would eat afterwards, something light and have dinner near the hotel in a trattoria.

The courtyard.

We wandered through a courtyard garden, past an elegant (read expensive) eatery and along a corridor to ascend a flight of stairs. Here we found a turnstile which marked the entrance to the palazzo proper. We checked if our entry, an hour early, was permissible - it was. So in we went, armed with our audioguides to tour the palazzo. 

A door latch on the velvet wall paper.

Since the palace is still a family home, only particular sections are open to the public. A walk through the rooms reveals of the opulence and wealth of the ruling classes from the 1600s through till today. The ballroom with the parquetry floor and orchestra stand, the chandeliers, the velvet wallpaper, the frescos on the ceilings, leave you in doubt about the wealth of this family.

The ballroom looking towards the art wings.

The four wings of the private art collection are the crowning glory. They have works of Titian, Caravaggio, Garofalo, and Lavinia Fontana the first self-funded female artist in Europe. Her biggest claim to fame was painting the first female nude.

Each wing had a ceiling fresco and there was a hall of mirrors wing, like a mini Versailles. Pretty cool to have in a family home.

The hall of mirrors.

There were numerous paintings and busts of Pope Innocent X. The most remarkable was by Velázquez and is famous not for the subject matter, but for the realism of the portrait. It went against the usual stylised portraiture of the period. And it is a cracker, capturing the sneering arrogance and impatience of man of power, privilege and position. If looks could kill. Apparently the Pope did not like his portrait, remarking, "it's too real".

Pope (not so) Innocent X

There were so many artworks and fortunately only a few had corresponding information on the audio guide, otherwise we would still be there. The halls were decorated with marble busts and sculptures as well. In the centre was a typical Roman courtyard resplendent with orange trees and cooled by a fountain. A lovely respite from the outside world today, let alone the politics of the Renaissance period.

Beyond the art wings was a museum style hall with more art work, marble sarcophagi and other object d'art collected by family members. It is was well worth the visit for the art works alone, but to put it into perspective in terms of position, privilege and power.

The chapel.

I'm sure the proximity of the palace to the Trevi Fountain was of some use 500 years ago. Not so much today. The crowds! The narrow pavement. It was not fun dodging people and mindless sheep following a rag on a stick. 

We had spent over two hours in the palace. It was beer o'clock and time for a light snack before we went back to the hotel. There were plenty of places and most of them were busy or were serving bain marie food. No, no, no. This is Italy. I wanted proper food. Fortunately we stumbled across a small café with tables in a side street in the shade. In the end we sat inside and had a pizza and a beer. I ordered 'grande' for the bira because we'd been walking all morning and on our feet in the palace, expecting a 500cl glass of Moretti. Instead we scored 1 litre. My bad. Or good. it's a perspective thing.

Refreshing.

The capricciosa pizza was very tasty, but lacking olives and artichoke. I know these things are regional, but the olives are a must. Also, I'm a purist. There is only one true style of pizza, Napoli. If you have an hour to kill, I'll bore you with the stylistic differences.

Someone is getting married.

On the way back to the hotel we checked out Roma Termini for a café for breakfast in the morning while we await the train to Florence. As the afternoon disappeared, we contemplated a trattoria for dinner, but ultimately found it unnecessary. We adjourned to the bar for a glass of wine. It was happy hour (of course it goes for two hours) and it was quiet. The staff decided we should eat the bruschetta and pizza slices that would normally be shared with the other patrons. Dinner sorted!

Another day ends.

Early to bed to pack and be fully rested for a transit day.

Roma - Firenze

Once again I slept late. I'll blame the time change. We were packed and out of the hotel by 10:30am for a train at 12:10pm. The walk to Termini is about 5 minutes and when we arrived, we were shocked. There were people everywhere. It was a seething mass of humanity, some of it more seething than others. We witnessed a number of frayed tempers in the heat and chaos (no, it wasn't Brad).

The pre-chosen café was a zoo. There were people and bags jumbled everywhere - no vacant tables and people occupying tables that hadn't been cleaned for a while. The queue to order food for take-away was out the door. Hmmm. Not such a good choice, like thinking Pauline Hanson is the answer.

Downstairs we went because there were other options there. None, however, offered anywhere to sit and eat. In an effort to gouge every cent out of the real estate, available space was given to stores like Sephora and Mango. There were no seats or benches anywhere. The result was hundreds of people, milling around with luggage, hoping to find some respite.

The take away shop we selected had bench space and six stools and we scored. So we sat there and had a light brunch before we ascended to the departure level and waited for our train. PSA: do not turn up to the station more than 20 minutes before your train is due to arrive.

In an interesting manoeuvre, our train was arriving early and departing 5 minutes earlier than our ticketed time. Cheeky. We made it on board, stowed our suitcase above our seats and Jayne was almost wiped out by an ignorant American woman who couldn't wait and pushed past her while she trying to put her backpack in the rack. I mumbled words of insult loud enough for her husband to hear as he followed her down the aisle. Something I'm sure he regrets now.

The Frecciarossa move at speed. The fastest I noted was 248kmh and we were in Firenze at the scheduled time of 1:46pm. Santa Maria Novella was also crowded but not like Rome. We wheeled our bags down the platform, I lost another tyre, and then we were out into the Firenze sunshine.

The hotel is a mere 4 minute walk from the station on via Nazionale. With a grand name like that, you'd think the footpath would be wide, but no. Barely enough room for two people. Tour groups with their long straggling lines made it difficult to get into (and later out of) the hotel.

At check-in, they apologised for not upgrading me but assured me they had provided some extras. Whatever. The room is plenty large enough with a lounge area and desk. We unpacked as much as we intended; living out of packing cells, as I have often remarked, is a game changer. After a brief rest, it was time to brave again the Florentine sun and reacquaint ourselves with the local area. We are not far from where we stayed last time we visited, almost 10 years ago.

Where we stayed last visit is circled.

Jayne had researched places to eat so we went for a wander around to see where the Medici Palazzo was located so we could go straight there after breakfast tomorrow. The restaurants are all very close by, one that is famed for its paninis. I'm not sure I'll be attempting their signature Florentine panini. The 'hero' of the roll is meat. Allegedly. The second stomach of the cow.

It was still warm and we hadn't had a hydrating beer so we did the Florentine thing and opted for a limoncello spritz in the shade.

Limoncello spritz anyone?

After that, it was back to the hotel and then off to dinner, 300 metres away at Osteria Dei Medici, where we dined al fresco on bruschetta, topped with creamy burrata, followed by pici cacio e pepe. It's a hard life but someone has to live it ...

Alla prossima.

Man Oh Man (Manila-Muscat-Rome)

Let's begin with today's title, Man Oh Man by Amma. We are trying to be contemporary. And no, dear reader, you are correct - I have no idea who Amma is. It's Jayne's sense of humour: we are flying to Oman, like in the title, O(h) Man. Like an ICAC witness in Operation Rosny, I have no further comment. Except there are a couple of random photos to break up the text.

It was a fitful night’s sleep. Who sleeps well when you know you have to wake to an alarm at a ridiculous time. Jayne often remarks that the best thing about retirement is not having an alarm to control our sleep. Not sure I agree but I was well awake before the 4am alarm. Mind you, at home that is the time I often get up to go for a ride. The world slumbers, the traffic is minimal and the early morning cyclists and joggers inhabit the streets.

Mark, our driver on Grab, arrived at 4:15am. Unlike Uber at home, they are not permitted to wait for you. Jayne headed to the car as I returned our door swipes and checked out. The roads were deserted by comparison with the previous evening and it had been raining again. The temperature was already in the high 20s with humidity at 91%, not a lot of difference from when we arrived.

Despite the early hour, we were at the terminal just after 4:30am, and it was very crowded. We were directed to the Oman Air counter. The queue snaked through the sheep-run from the desks to the very end of the barriers. My heart sank until I spotted one lane that was devoid of life: the Business Class line. I could feel the eyes of those in the endless queue as we walked straight to the desk to check in. Five minutes later we were negotiating the much calmer security clearance and immigration. Another bonus, an exit stamp to partner the arrival one. Still no request to see the QR code. Also, as expected, our Qantas issued boarding passes were taken and new Oman Air passes were provided for the next two legs of the journey.

A Seal Rocks, NSW, sunrise.

The Lounge was crowded initially but soon thinned and we organised some seats and food. There was no time for breakfast at the hotel for obvious reasons, although they do offer a ‘grab and go’ service for the crazies like us who fly at ludicrous hours. The airport is obviously 24/7 as I heard planes a number of times over night when I should have been sleeping.

Boarding was listed a full hour before departure. Interesting. As is the case with many airports in Asia, the gate is merely a doorway to another waiting room. Down the stairs we went into a very crowded waiting room. We were ushered into the Business Class waiting area. We looked here, we looked there, not many seats available and certainly not adjacent seats without having to climb over the ignorant who blocked access to seats not on the aisle. It’s the age old ‘gate lice’ story. Some have a need to be first in line to stand and wait. I watched as other people came in and looked desperately for a place to rest, those stopping their access and guarding their space, not interested in moving themselves or their bags.

It became obvious quite quickly that this area had to house more than Business passengers. Here we waited to see what would eventuate when they commenced calling the boarding zones. The 6:45am boarding time came and went. At 7:10 we got the call, Zone 1. This time I was rather smug as I walked toward the gates, watching those spread across the seats, unmoving in their occupied territory. Not seated in Business then? Enjoy the cramped confines of Economy. Karma.

There are two obvious differences between Oman Air and Qantas, the first being the lack of a champagne welcome. It’s tough, dear reader, but I had to be content with orange juice and given the hour, that was fine. Although it wouldn’t be have been the first time I’ve had bubbles for breakfast. Or before breakfast. The other distinction is the temperature of the plane. With Qantas, I had my jumper and blanket on me all the way to Manila. Indeed, the lounge here and in Sydney was also very cold, but the Oman cabin was warm. Jumpers off, no blanket required for this leg of the trip.

We pushed back about 20 minutes late. Breakfast orders were taken and we surveyed the entertainment system. Limited would be a good description. The music selection was curated by the BBC, not a lot of content beyond Britain, under the ‘western music’ rock or pop labels. A Bowie concert from 1996 was enjoyable. As I write this, I’ve just finished my second movie, The Bride. Curiously weird with lots of intertextuality. As is the norm, I can’t remember the preceding film.

Breakfast was passable although my preferred option of muesli was already exhausted. I assume the food was loaded in Oman and we have what is left from the flight over. Bravely I ordered a double shot espresso. I’ve had worse. Actually, I’ve had a lot worse.

One for the bird nerds. An Eastern Yellow Robin.

Given the price differential Oman Air is a most cost effective way to get to Europe in the pointy end of the plane. There are some trade-offs. On this flight alcohol is available but you need to request it. I didn’t bother. The headset plug is different to any other plane I’ve travelled on, so I was forced to use the supplied earphones. They worked well. And I’ve commented on the entertainment offerings. The service is fine, but again, if you want something you’ll need to ask.

Jayne was fascinated by the view of Muscat as we came into land. There was blue sky but it was kept at bay by the wall of dust. Looking down, the city resembled a cemetery. The buildings were all white, like tomb stones bleached in the sun and separated by strips of sand. There were a couple of green patches and the odd swimming pool. It looked anything other than welcoming or hospitable.

There was little sign of movement. There were a few cars on the elaborate highways, but not enough to justify the grandeur of the road system itself. And the round-a-bouts. They were bigger than principalities in Europe. If they appeared large from up in the air, imagine reality at ground level.

I am unsure how close we were to being on time in Muscat because time zones confuse me. The point is, we arrived. Safely. Once disembarked, we went in search of the Lounge. It was found easily enough and most of the people in our cabin turned up there at some point as well.

In contrast to Manila, Oman airport was almost deserted. The expansive runways told a story of future expansion, but today was quiet.

The lounge area was deceptively large and it had a bar area. This we discovered only after eating. We  had decided to move to allow others to have our table and the place filled up. Our reward was finding the area where alcohol was served. A couple of champagnes helped us relax into the afternoon.

The flight to Rome was, unhappily, scheduled in a 737. I know we are in Business and it was superior to any other 737 Business Class, but 7 hours not being able to lie flat. I'm too old for that - hence one of the main reasons why we fly Business. Otherwise the food was great and there was a wine service, the staff were efficient, but again, after the initial service if you wanted something, you had to request it. 

Who'd have thought it?

We actually opted for the set Omani dinner menu which had a selection of small traditional dishes as entrees and two options for mains. It seemed like a lot of food but we were assured the components were all little - they weren't and we couldn't eat it all.  We really liked some of the dishes; a couple of others weren't to our taste but we are happy to experiment because we don't see any point in going overseas and wanting it to be like Australia.

The flight map showed that the Mango Mussolini (thank you Rosie O'Donnell) has not yet renamed the Sea of Oman. It also had our flight heading up the Strait of Hormuz. It's OK, we survived and landed in Rome on time.

Trouble with the new immigration system that is supposed to cause major issues getting into Europe? No idea. We have electronic passports already and were directed into a different line that had us exiting through electronic gates like at home. We were at the baggage carousel in 5 minutes. Believe it or not our bags were there before us. Seriously, it has taken us longer to get back into Australia! Now we have been inside the Schengen Area, hopefully we are set for the next 3 years.

Then into more unknown territory to get the train to Roma Termini. As usual, signage was a little patchy but we followed the signs we could, purchased tickets and boarded the Leonardo Express train for the 30 minute journey to Rome. We were at the hotel check-in by 9:30pm. Another long day, but we have arrived.

Sunset as we arrive.

We're here for two nights to break up the travel and get into the time zone. But first, a shower and sleep.

Towards Republica.

The party people across the road. Love double glazed windows.

Alla prosssima.

Reflections of My Life (Sydney-Manila)

Hello, dear reader. Let's deal with the title of the today's post. While not the original, Reflections of My Life was a single released by Australian band Flake in 1967. I woke up after a very restless night last week with it in my head. I have no idea why. Jayne does have it on a compilation album but we haven't played it in years. Today's text breaks are courtesy of my last bushwalk, Starlight's Trail. Enjoy.

And so the journey commences. Transit day as we say. The Uber was on time. The queue at the check-in desk was interesting. Gate C. We didn't know it existed - it was behind the bag drop for Gates B and D (no jokes please - oh, OK, flying with Qantas is sometimes like S and M) and was tagged for flights to the USA and Norfolk Island. Neither is our destination. There were none of the usual lines: online check-in, Business, Economy. Just two lines, one for crew and the other for the unwashed masses. We arrived at just the right time and the line grew long behind us as we waited for our turn.

Raphael, from Qantas ground staff asked if we wanted our bags checked through to Rome. Given we are overnighting in Manila I questioned if this was possible. He assured me it was and then had second thoughts, (after Jayne said she would hold him personally responsible if the bags disappeared) and checked again. No deal, as they say in TV land. Unsurprising. Although he did provide boarding passes for the entire trip. It will be interesting to see if Oman Air re-issue these tomorrow morning in Manila.

Bushfire impact still evident.

Security and passport check went efficiently and we were soon on the happy side of the barrier searching for the Qantas Business Lounge. It has moved due to the fact that they are refurbing the 1st class Lounge which has taken over the former Business space. The 'new' lounge is near gate 24 and was previously the staff lounge. Not sure where they've been moved to. It is a small space and it was crowded, but we secured a table and some morning tea and waited patiently for boarding.

Sydney-Manila

As we headed for our gate, Jayne saw Pat Rafter. This doesn’t count as meeting someone we know. It’s a competition. Walking around the one of the eateries, a woman pops up with “Hello, hello”. It was Julia, a former colleague of Jayne’s. She gets the points and the mythology of ‘always’ seeing someone we know at the airport lives on.

Boarding was efficient and a much-improved experience, now that Qantas has adopted boarding zones. We pushed back about 5 minutes late but landed 10 minutes early. No complaints there. The welcome champagne was, well, always welcome and uncharacteristically, I declined a second glass.

The Nattai River early morning.

Our steward, Steven, was charming and cheerful and topped up glasses without being prompted. The food was excellent. Satay skewers, ginger chicken and noodles, prawn dumplings and a delightful Mencía from McLaren Vale. A red grape from Spain, finding a place in Australia.

The movie selection on Qantas is always expansive and this flight was no different. It can only set us up for disappointment on the other legs. I watched The Hail Mary Project which was quite amusing and endearing. Ryan Gosling at his best. The second movie was a commentary on race relations in the 1920s with David Gulpilil and Gary Sweet. Finally, I endured The Thing with Feathers with Benedict Cumberbatch. We saw the stage version at Belvoir last year with the excellent Toby Schmidt. The film was not far removed from the play and given its harrowing, dark, depressing subject matter, I wonder why I put myself through it again. What’s that, dear reader? I was a captive in a metal tube in the sky and needed to kill time. Yes, of course.

Manila airport, Ninoy Aquino, was manic, as expected. We were among the first off the plane, Immigration was a breeze and the mandated, essential QR code was not requested. But we had our passports stamped! Exciting. Unhappily, digital passports and electronic processing are making stamps redundant.

Our bags appeared promptly on the carousel. We were overnighting here only, so no time for sight-seeing and the hotel, Holiday Inn was about 10 a minute walk from the terminal. If you could survive the taxi touts. And there were many. “Cheapest taxi. We take card. This way sir”. When I declined, it was assumed I was heading for currency exchange and remained shadowed, until I explained I was walking to the hotel. The incredulous look said it all. Walk? He questioned, but it will take 20 minutes.

It was closer to 15 minutes than 10 because, in what is becoming a recurring problem, one of my bags was damaged. Specifically a wheel. The rubber tyre has been torn off, revealing the hard plastic wheel beneath, destroying any ability to move smoothly across the tiled floor. The other issue was construction work which reduced the footpath to narrow patches of damaged concrete with the occasional puddle into which a small child could fall and drown. It was also 26° and around 90% humidity. No, seriously, and the rain had just stopped.

A reflective moment. Title link.

We arrived safely, although, in an Oscar Piastri moment, I had blown another tyre. It now makes a really cool sound when being wheeled across the tiles and doesn’t lurch like a three-legged dog. As the sweat slowly trickled down my back, a shower and bed were in sight. Not so fast. To access a hotel in the Philippines, well certainly in Manila, your bags must be security x-rayed. In all my travels, I have never seen this before. Backpack and suit case into the machine, I walked through the metal detector to be asked if I had a knife in my bag. In my backpack? I questioned, pointing to it. No, he gestured to my case. No, I replied again. Then it dawned on me. We carry a set of cheese knives. You never know when you might be assailed by a soft brie or we need to attack a tough pecorino. A proper cheese knife is the only defence. We also travel with our own wine glasses. If you ever doubted that we are snobbish wankers, these revelations should assail any qualms. Bag opened, knife set inspected, conference among security staff, knives returned and we were zipping to reception.

Check-in was fast and the hotel is gratis because I used points we accrued in Spain last year. Bargain. We discussed getting to the airport tomorrow morning. Terminal 1, not Terminal 3 where we arrived. It is the furthest from the hotel and requires transport. The hotel shuttle doesn’t commence until 6am. We need to be at the airport around 4:45am. Taxi is the answer and they only accept cash. Around 1,000 pesos should do it, about $22AUD. We needed to find an ATM or head to the currency exchange across the plaza, but first it was time to rehydrate, aqua only and drop the bags in our room.

The room aircon was set to Arctic. Unsurprisingly. It’s the same in Singapore and KL. We then headed down and spoke to some other security staff about the way forward. I didn’t really want to get the local currency. Do you have Grab? She enquired. Grab is the Malaysian and Philippine version of Uber. And yes, I do, courtesy of my working days with UNSW Global. A credit card update and we ordered a ride for 4:15am. No cash required.

We lost 2 hours in the time change from Sydney to Manila, so it was definitely time for a shower and bed.

Alla prossima.

Sunsets (Sydney - Manila - Muscat - Rome)

It's that time of the year again, my dear reader. Time to pack our bags and head overseas. So, this post is mostly text with a few local Redfern photos added for colour. The destination of choice this year? Well, it's a little bit of this and a little bit of that. First to Italy via an overnight stop in Manila and then onto Egypt to check out the tetrahedrons and cruise the Nile.

In order to fly Business Class and not spend a fortune, there are some tricks. By comparison, current flights from Sydney to Rome return, with the national carrier, cost around $19k each. However, by flying with a tier 2 airline that is a part of One World, you can still score Qantas points and in some case status credits. We are flying with Qantas to Manila and staying overnight, using accrued points at hotel in walking distance of the airport terminal. From there, we fly with Oman Air to Rome via Muscat. These flights are listed as First Class, but according to a seat tracker I use, they are actually Business Class. Cheers to the US where Business Class is not understood.

The complicating factor is the return flight because of the side trip to Egypt. Again with Oman Air, we fly from Cairo to Muscat and then Kuala Lumpur, connecting with a Malaysian Airlines flight to Sydney. The cost, you enquire? Just over $6.5k. The cost of both our fares is less than our 'beloved national carrier' charges for one. Booking flights from a hub in South East Asia significantly reduces flight costs and allows you to fly in comfort at the pointy end of the plane. Don't say you weren't told. And while I organise much of our travel, I leave the flights to my wonderful agent, Luvena at Enperso Leisure Travel (luvena@enperso.com).

A random Redfern sunset across the train station.

As is our custom, most of the trip is self-organised and built around some group tours. We have about 7 weeks in Italy, including a food and wine tour of Tuscany with the marvellous Matt Dillow of the Deck Café and Gartelmann Wines in the Hunter. He operates Matt's Food and Produce Tours. We had such an excellent time with Matt on the Catalonia tour last year, we are backing up for a week in Tuscany (and next year, we will be joining him in Malta).

Aside from that, we are visiting Rome (obviously), Florence (just because), and places we have not previously been: the Lakes District, Milan, Bologna, Bari, Lecce, Matera and finally the Amalfi coast, basing ourselves in Sorrento. It is a slower journey than usual except for airport transit stops like Rome, with a minimum of 4 nights anywhere and a maximum of 9 in Sorrento.

Another Redfern sunset. Eat your heart out Santorini.

The visit to Egypt and the pyramids is not something I thought possible for us until TravelMarvel decided to offer a Nile River cruise with time in Cairo. We thought the pricing was reasonable so we added it as a side trip on the way home from Italy.

I write this a week before we fly out and already we are experiencing some challenges. We have pre-booked a number of tours and visits to places that require tickets well in advance, while still leaving time to immerse ourselves in the locales where we have chosen to stay.

An early morning from the hill top, Moore Park.

Airline ticketing has proven to be the biggest hurdle. Re-scheduling meant changing our original journey home from flying through Jakarta to KL instead. Then Malaysian decided to swap us onto another flight home, forcing us to stay in KL for the night. Finally that flight disappeared altogether and our trip was going to finish in Kuala Lumpur. Thankfully Luvena was onto it and all has been rectified. The benefit of using a travel agent for complex flights is obvious. I am now checking the Qantas website daily.

As we prepare to depart our homeland (4 big sleeps to go) I often reflect on how, in Australia, we consider ourselves to be international players, or wish to be. Then I watch the news and despair. Today, aside from real estate prices, the big story was the official opposition in Australia wants to make burning the national flag a crime. Seriously! In a time when there is a cost of living crisis, rampant homelessness and devastation related to climate change is out of control, those who aspire to lead the country wish to start yet another culture war. FML. 

Check out the vibrancy.

And then there is the new addition to Moore Park. The Lord Mayor of Sydney and the populist State Government decided it would be an excellent idea to rip off 6 holes from the public golf course and make it public parkland. Apparently it's a new "vibrant addition" to the precinct. I'm pretty sure there would have been more golfers using it than the average punter. I had it all to myself this morning. More serenity than vibrancy.

Anyway, we're leaving the back country politics and mindless culture wars behind very soon. My next post will probably be from Italy.

Today's title is linked to my sunset photos. Hyperlinking the song is experimental. I had issues last trip with "community standards" which I assume was to do with copyright. Therefore, if the Sunsets by Powderfinger isn't hyperlinked you know that is what the problem was.

Alla prossima.

A Tasmanian Requiem (the north Tarkine to Penguin and Launceston)

It was a pity we didn’t have more time to spend in such an idyllic place dear reader. It was also a pity that we didn’t sleep better because we were up at 5:00am to commence the tent pack down before breakfast at 5:30am and a scheduled walk out of camp at 7:00am.

The good news was our guides eased up on the breakfast this morning and Dave and I passed on the porridge. We made good with a cup of tea and our last bite-sized cherry ripe and a muesli bar. After all we were only walking 8km today. Too easy.

Available in green.

Everyone was ready to depart camp at 7:00am however the sun was still not up and it would not be a great idea to ford Eastons Creek in the semi darkness. While we waited for the light our guides talked to us about the Palawa people and their enduring connection to the land. They also spoke of the ‘black wars’ in Tasmania. Like most other parts of the country, the black wars and fightback of the first inhabitants was down played and often dismissed as myth. And like other parts of the country, this is absolutely untrue

Also in purple.

The local aboriginals fought hard for their land and the battles are chronicled in The Black War by Nicholas Clements. It saddens me that in 2026, Australia as a country still cannot own its past. Today’s title represents a 2018 musical piece composed by Tasmanian Helen Thomson. The piece features nine movements telling the story of Tasmania’s past and the fifth movement, The Black War, features Palawa voices crying “Parrawa! Parrawa!” (“Go away! Go away!”).

The Eastons Creek ford.

By 7:30am, the light was strong enough for our first of three water crossings for the day, thankfully with boots on since the ford at Eastons Creek was only metres from our camp. The track winding back to forestry trail where we would meet the bus was, as usual, fundulating and mostly on tracks wide enough to walk two abreast. Of course, there were the usual obstacles of fallen trees and some parts of the track were severely overgrown. At one point we followed a Bastian Thrush up the road. The wildlife increased the further we were from the rainforest.

The second river crossing was at the Lyons River. While all of us ditched boots for our sandals and reef shoes, Lani suddenly appeared on the other side of the waterway fully booted having found an easier section to cross further upstream.

Upskirting was sanctioned in the Tarkine.

Once we had dried and reassembled our footwear we walked for another hour along the same kind of undulating track before hitting the final river crossing of the trip. Here, we recrossed the Arthur – the same river we had crossed on our first day. While we had been spared the rain, the upper limits of the river had not. It was wide and flowing much faster than when we crossed it on the first day. Definitely boots off. Again.

The final crossing.

As we crossed the river, three wedge-tailed eagles could be seen circling and climbing ever higher in on air currents. Usually only seen hunting in pairs, we assumed the third was a young bird being trained by its parents. Shortly after, a small flock of yellow tailed black cockatoos, Mangana, made an appearance. They greeted Dave and I on our first morning and were now bidding us farewell. This was goodbye from Palawa elders who had looked after us throughout the week and gifted us a wonderful experience.

Boots back on, we walked the remaining 500m to the waiting bus. Lunch today would be at the Penguin Tap House. Beer and burgers in the perfect sunshine. What an excellent way to finish our trip.

About to head to Penguin for lunch (and a beer).

It was a 2 hour drive back to Launnie to our hotel where a hot shower awaited. We did a couple of loads of washing and headed down stairs to the restaurant for dinner. A comfortable bed and crisp white sheets ensured we slept well. Not even the bells on the nearby church could keep us awake.

The flight home was uneventful, except for the trackwork in Sydney which forced Dave to take not one, not two, but three trains, once we were back in Sydney.

Another trekking adventure over, we are already planning for next year.

Weather: blue skies and sunshine.

Distance covered: 7.9km.

Total distance: 63.6km

Until next time.

Heaven (somewhere in the north Tarkine)

It was another standard morning, dear reader. Up at 6:00am to pack down as much of the tent as possible before a 6:30am breakfast. Yep, you guessed it, porridge and tea. Dave was done with eating glue (porridge) by this stage. Much like his youth at home he simply said he had eaten when really he had not. Then packs on at 8:00am for what was billed as the hardest walk of the trek. In retrospect, I beg to differ. The first two were by far harder. Those walks were long, steep and it was humid.

We back-tracked to the wooden signpost, directing us to heaven. I was glad we were going there; it would probably be my only opportunity. It was the usual undulating walk, or ‘fundulating’ as the guides referred to it, dodging fallen trees, crossing creeks and searching for the disappearing pink tape on a negligible track.

Off to heaven we go.

The forest was, as expected, quiet. The scenery consistent with what we’d experienced. That said, I’d never tire of it and there was always some surprising burst of colourful fungi, or a patch of moss, sunlit and sparkling with water droplets. The challenge here was to be able to get low enough to get a photograph, without the weight of the back toppling me over. Sometimes I was successful, other times gravity was the winner.

We reached heaven mid-morning. Reached? Attained? Achieved? Maybe ascended is the correct term. Regardless, it is the inspiration for today’s title by the Eurhythmics from 1987. We were greeted with clouds of lichen as we walked towards a clear patch of rock to drop packs and soak up the sun. Beyond the clouds of lichen was a pool, held in place by some very large boulders. Beyond that a waterfall. The warmth of the sun made it idyllic.

Clouds of lichen.

The idea of a swim was tempting, but not overly so, given the change of clothes required. Only one of our group decided a swim in heaven was on her 'to do' list. The rest of us turned spectator.

The heavenly cascade.

Back on the track after a peaceful break, we commenced climbing to the top of the nearest ridge. It would have been a relatively simple task if we could have walked in a straight line. However, the climb was steep and involved a number of switch backs, not to mention the usual issues of trees down and disappearing pink track markers. Our lunch site finally came complete with a tarp which was handy as the wind speed increased, the temperature decreased and the racing clouds attempted to make life a little more difficult, dropping light rain on us. The space, with its rotting tarp, was originally a camp site for the expedition under the previous owners. But when Trek took over they opted to abandon the site and push on to where we would eventually stop to ensure a lighter period of walking on the final day. A most intelligent move.

Our final lunch on the track.

The wind kept the temperature down and returned the humid air to the north where it belonged. After pushing on from lunch we wound our way through the forest before emerging onto an old logging road. Although sections of the track were tough, it made walking much more pleasant. The appearance of the logging road signalled the end of our meandering through unmarked forest and, while the odd pink tape was still necessary, they were few and far between now as we moved along an obvious path. The rainforest started to give way to wet sclerophyll once again as Bauera and cutting grass became more frequent. As we closed in our camp site, the track completely disappeared beneath an apocalypse of fallen trees. Lish and Lani headed off in different directions to navigate a path around the destruction that had been caused months ago by a violent storm.

Time to relax.

A way forward was revealed and the track was rediscovered and we arrived at the camp site on schedule. We dropped packs and went in search of a space to pitch our tent. The site, although beautiful, picturesque and tranquil was small and quite tight. The area we selected just housed our two-person tent but it meant we would be sleeping on a slight slope.

A most reflective spot.

The camping area was on the bend of Eastons Creek. There was a pool, obvious platypus country, and a series of cascades. It would have a been a great place to set up and kick back to contemplate the world. Being close to the river made water collection easy but meant the toilet trench was way back up the hill away from the river to avoid any contamination. The beauty of the site was worth the trade-off.

Dinner was rice and Dahl curry, an interesting choice given the limited toileting options.

While sleep was not so forthcoming, the sound of the cascades and the zipper noises of the ring-tailed possums in the bush was some compensation.

Dave communing with god in heaven.

Weather: windy, some cloud, clear afternoon.

Distance covered: 11.9km.

Total distance: 55.7km

Until tomorrow.

 

So Many Paths (somewhere in the north Tarkine)

Today’s title, dear reader, is a classic by the Little River Band from 1978. Although there may have been many paths up the mountain, our single path was overgrown and problematic and the view from the top? Not, as the song states, still the same but quite changeable. More on that later.

The day began in a more leisurely fashion because there was no requirement to break camp. We were up at 6:45am for a 7:00am breakfast to leave to climb the mountain at 8:00am. Today it was an out and back walk, from the camp site to a trig station above the canopy that promised views of where we had meandered to date.

Light filtering through the canopy.

As seemed to be the fashion, the first direction was up through the still dripping scrub. The forecast for today was for serious rain and possible thunderstorms. To date the weather had been very kind and there was only a brief shower overnight, which did not amount to much.

The “track” snaked its way through the forest, undulating up and down the hill side, as we negotiated fallen trees. We followed the magic pink tags when they could be seen. It was easy to wander off if you allowed your attention to drift - the track was indistinct, even non-existent in sections, because so few humans pass through the area. Tracks were easily swallowed by a sea of leatherwood petals, falling leaves or rapidly growing mosses and lichens. We are the last group of the year to walk through this section of the Tarkine, the next people to come through, won’t arrive until November, eight months away.

A steep bit.

Despite the relatively short distance we needed to cover, progress was slow at times. We clambered up hills littered with the fallen giants of the forest. We splashed through creeks, across muddy areas and through fern gullies and groves. It was difficult but the mist, which showed no signs of dissipating, made it ethereal. The grey sky above suggested rain was still a real possibility.

There were plenty of fungi.

After a morning of dips and climbs, we were suddenly heading steeply downhill to a creek crossing. The climb up the other side was like nothing I’d ever experienced. There was a narrow track that could only been seen when deliberately searching for it. The scrub had encroached from both sides. Bauera, two metres tall and dense, completely enclosed the way forward and could only be negotiated by force. The track was incredibly steep and very slippery underfoot and the Bauera attempted to thwart any progress at every tiny step. Slip back, fall to the side, lunge forward. The person in front of you might be only two steps away but they could not be seen. I have bush-bashed before but nothing in this league. It was exhausting, but the view from the top drew me forward. Sorry, no photos, I didn’t dare stop to unclip the camera.

Button grass, heath and mist.

Suddenly the Bauera was gone and button grass was in its place. While it grabbed at your boots and tried to trip you, the going was much easier. The danger on the track was now the occasional jack jumper nest. It eventuated that there were four nests between the end of the Bauera and the trig station. The ants looked angry, I didn’t stop to find out as the call “jack jumper nest” was passed down the line to alert the unsuspecting.

The button grass signalled the final climb to the summit. The mist was still rolling across the valley although the cloud had started to thin. Would the promised view be waiting for us?

The summit.

That became a secondary concern after we hit the top of the mountain. Our first actions were to drop the daypacks and check for leeches. I had two. One was just beginning to sup on my knee before its meal was terminated. There was another attempting to traverse my boot.

The literal high point of the day.

De-leeched and re-energised by chocolate (thanks Dave), we explored our surroundings and looked out across the top of the Tarkine. The mist was rolling away, the clouds, although moving very fast, were clearing and there were brief patches of sun. Worth the struggle? I remain unconvinced.

The view as the mist cleared.

The return trip was so much easier that I began to wonder if I had exaggerated the experience on the way there. We moved quickly toward camp, stopping only to de-leech once again. This time I had three of the little critters, inching their way up my boots and gaiters. None made their target. We were back at camp for lunch.

These did not make dinner.

Once again, Dave volunteered to be the water carrier as we made our way down to the creek and up to the Tarkine Falls. I tried some fancy shots of the falls but without a tripod and stable surface it proved nearly impossible.

The falls.

The afternoon was quite restful and we whiled the day away playing cards and chatting. Dave was introduced to Monopoly Deal, the card game version of iconic board game. He lost. Multiple times. A fact Lani was prone to remind him about for the remainder of the trek. Lucky Dave isn’t competitive (LOL. Much). He totally didn’t vow to buy Monopoly Deal when he got home, master the craft and request Lani as the guide for our next adventure so sweet revenge could be extracted (he did). The wind continued to blow from the south which kept the humidity at bay and the sun continued to shine. 

Arty shot of the falls.

Dinner was mushroom and pea risotto. The guides continue to surprise by pulling fresh food from their large backpacks and challenging David’s palate.

A riff on the 'boots and view' shot.

Weather: misty and cloudy before a clear afternoon.

Distance covered: 11.1km.

Total distance: 43.8km

Until tomorrow.