Passenger (Copenhagen, Denmark to Hamburg, Germany)

Today, dear reader, we set out for Hamburg. The route we mapped to Copenhagen Central proved a winner, although it was Easter Saturday and early by some standards (Jayne's). Still, we made the station, alive with bags intact, with 20 minutes to spare. Warning. This entire post (almost the entire post) covers the train trip. The photos are totally unrelated to the text. They have been included because I like them. Oh, come on, it's my blog.

As a result of the blog being almost totally about train travel, Passenger, by Powderfinger, one of Australia's best ever bands, is the title.

There were still necessities to purchase for the trip, like chocolate, I mean water. Water first. This needed to be a careful choice because last time I accidentally purchased sparkling mineral water and the bottle, when opened, well, you know, excitement for everyone else except the person holding the bottle. 

What? It's spring. I'm building a nest.

Down the escalator to platform 5, as designated by our German tickets. Track numbers are now platforms. We look at the indicator to see where our carriage is situated and there is a red line and an explanatory note saying "Do not board here". Sometimes I wonder why life can't be simple and work the way it is supposed to. Our ticket says carriage 9. Where carriage 9 should be pictured, the screen says, "Do not board here".

When the going gets tough, as the expression goes, the tough get going. So I did. Back up the escalator to the convenience store to buy chocolate. I mean water. And see if someone can explain the apparent contradiction between our tickets and the sign.

Competitive churching: I have golden domes, but the real Dome casts a shadow.

Have you been to Copenhagen central, dear reader? It is large, cavernous even, and there was no information or help desk I could see. The stores closest to platform 5 all had long queues so I went further afield and found  a 7-11, yes they are everywhere, with lesser patronage. Chocolate sorted, well it was an easier purchase than water, I located water, changed my mind and opted for another brand. Safety first.

With 10 minutes before the train is due to depart, everything is fine, except whether our carriage exists. Maybe it's like track 9 at Stockholm? As I reach the escalator, I'm looking for Harry Potter. Instead I see our train. Panic stations. Warning Will Robinson! Danger! Danger! The previously crowded platform is emptying quickly. I know the train won't leave, it's not scheduled to, yet. But my fear is finding a storage place for our large suitcase. We are, big breaths, travelling second class! The horror.

I have no idea. Divers quarters?

Jayne is waiting for me. That's a relief. You can never really be sure, can you? It's like that Tim Winton novel, sorry, I digress.

Carriage 9 is down there, she points towards the front of the train and we begin wheeling the bags to where one of the DB (Deutsche Bahn) employees is directing people onto the mythical carriage 9. Up the steps I lug the big bag to find the lower compartment of the luggage rack occupied by small bags and backpacks that could be stowed above the seats. Typical. I shoulder the 23kg suitcase and stow it on the second shelf. Our smaller bags go above our seats and we settle in, listening to the whining children a few rows in front. It's only 4 hours and 40 minutes to Hamburg ...

Everything seems fine. The bags are stowed, we are settled, I have chocolate, I mean water (hydration is important) and the children aren't too loud. The DB fast train feels fast. Finally, a train on time. Trust the Germans.

So we have yellow ducks; in Denmark they have purple.

I'm not sure where things started to fray, dear reader. Perhaps with my, ultra careful, opening of my water to discover it was, once again, sparkling mineral water as it sprayed all over my hand and the table. Seriously. What is wrong with these people? Why can't they drink plain bloody water? They have 70 flavours of sparkling rubbish and I choose the only bottle that states "100% original" and it is still sparkling bloody mineral water. That bit was in fine print on the side of the bottle, in German. Thankfully I had a Kit Kat to cheer me up.

Then the announcements and unscheduled stops began. From, "We are 1 minute late," to "The train in front has a medical emergency, we will now be 10-15 minutes late." The next announcement pronounced that our lack of progress against our lateness was due to a signal failure, maybe 20-30 minutes.

Daffodils were everywhere. Potted. The ground was too cold.

During each stop, the air conditioning stopped functioning. The noise of the train decreased in commensurate proportions to the increase in squawking of the children and the propensity to notice those people too ignorant to purchase headphones for their iPads/computers.

Twenty minutes from Hamburg they announced we were back on time. That saw movement throughout the entire carriage. People started donning their coats, shouldering their backpacks and tying their children down. "It must be a long lead in to the station," I remarked.

 Rosenborg castle grounds.

As we crawled to a slow stop, the station in sight, the next announcement came: "Sorry, we do not have a platform at the station." OK, I get the issue with planes and slots at airports, but trains? We are on a track. Anyway, we sat and waited and finally made Hamburg station 20 minutes late. So much for German scheduling.

From the station it was the usual trauma. Which exit do we take? Which way do we go? That was after battling up the stairs because the escalator was not working. The down escalator worked fine. Wouldn't you swap it over?

Dans means dance.

Up the stairs, out into the world of daylight and warmth. It was 20°. We haven't experienced temperatures like this since we left Australia. To ensure there were no mistakes this time, I programmed the address into Apple maps and Google. And the winner was ... us. It was a fairly straightforward route from the station to our accommodation, with precious few cobblestones.

Despite my sensible clothing, no thermals, I was still sweating when we reached our destination. It is a beautiful one bedroom apartment in Hafencity with views of the Elbe River. Chrissy, our host was on hand to show us through the apartment and answer any questions. And also to remind us that the next two days are public holidays and if we wanted to shop, it needed to be today.

Seagull, I guess.

Once we were established in the apartment, we walked the few minutes to a choice of stores. Food and wine purchased, we returned to the apartment to stow the food and go wandering. There is a Vietnamese restaurant in the building, dinner is sorted.

What happens if you come home during changing of the guard? You wait.

Transit days are always stressful and eventful. This one was no different. A good Vietnamese meal and a couple of Saigon beers relaxed us. The welcome pack of Kinder Surprise chocolates and a couple of Hamburg specialty ales when we returned home didn't hurt either.

Until next time.

Waiting for the sun (Copenhagen, Denmark part 2)

Hello again dear reader, today's title might be somewhat of a give away. After yesterday's beautiful sunny afternoon we returned to more familiar patterns of grey cloud and drizzle. Well, following a brief burst of morning sunshine. Once again we were left waiting for the sun, a classic from one of the best bands to come out of America, The Doors.

Our discovery of Copenhagen continues. There is so much to do here, museums, galleries, historic buildings and statues, of course. Being here over Easter has limited our options due to public holidays so we have decided we will definitely return in their summer next year. Although our accommodation is spacious and very central, we hope to stay in the same building but on the ground floor.

Our second full day was also affected by the weather. The cold has really not been an issue for us. Thermals, a warm coat and gloves and a beanie work wonders. Even the rain hasn't been such a problem. Drizzle is never far away and mostly is just an inconvenience since it is so light. Not today. Rain is predicted.

Our place through the Rosenborg gate.

At breakfast we returned to Buka to sample different pastries but still with a double espresso. It was reasonably cool, but not cold. We returned home to rescue the washing and place it in the drier.

Reffen

Initially our intention was to go to Reffen in the morning before the rain set in. Despite Easter, Reffen was open and had a number of events happening to attract the holiday crowd. There's food, alcohol, music and dancing. Some Christian religions would be appalled.

Reffen is a street food market where you can buy street food, obvious, but also fresh food to take home and cook. It was a 30 minute bus ride and given the weather and the need to check out the station for our impending departure, Reffen got the flick. Until next time.

Central Station

The bag-drag to our accommodation was defined by crowds, cobblestones and misdirection. Walking 2 km with a wheelie bag is OK if the conditions are kind. I was determined to arrive at the station on Saturday, not stressed or tired or sweating profusely. Searching for the route that would deliver this was problematic because a lot of it was similar to the reason why the LNP elected Dutton as leader, a mystery.

The back of the Church of the Trinity.

We set the GPS which immediately redirected us to the path we had trodden a couple of days before. Useless. With a rough map in my head, we continued on regardless until Google caught up with us. I ditched Declan for this excursion. It proved to be an interesting morning. We finally found the Roundtower which is part of the Church of the Trinity. There was quite a queue to walk up the spiral ramp. The line moved slowly and we had other plans.

The Roundtower.

A little further along our chosen path, we came across two armed soldiers patrolling a section of road that had been closed to cars by the installation of metal swing gates at either end. Interesting. On the fence protecting the building from the street and passing traffic were laminated photographs each captioned "bring them home". It was outside the Great Synagogue. No photos.

The spire of St Peter's.

The rest of the walk was unremarkable. Cafés, restaurants, shops of various descriptions, the usual medley of buildings and businesses. The cobblestones still made their presence felt but not to the extent of our previous trek.

We arrived at the station in 35 minutes, including time for me stop and take photographs, found the required platform and returned home before the drizzle turned to rain. And to see if the washing was dry. Navigating washing machines and dryers is a little challenging when all the controls are marked in Danish or German.

Part of the bike storage at Copenhagen Central Station.

The rain increased in intensity and kept us indoors for the afternoon. Once it cleared, we ventured out in search of dinner.

Bistro 23

The rain had gone but the wind had picked up and it was certainly like a slap in the face if you turned into it. Jayne's coat has a hood and I wore a beanie as we set out to find a restaurant that served steak. That was the easy part. The French influence ensured there were many offerings of steak et frites. The problem was in the size of the offering.

Bistro 23 from across the water.

The first restaurant had the steak but not anything for Jayne. The next offered a 300g steak, way too much for me. And so we kept wandering and reading menus, passing many, many pizza places until we were back at Kongens Nytorv, a stone's throw from Nyhavn.

As I said in the last post, Nyhavn is lined with restaurants but we were uncertain whether they offered seating inside. All the action on a sunny day was outside. As we walked alongside the King's New Square where yesterday we sat in the sun and sipped beer, Jayne quipped, "I'll bet there is no problem getting a seat over there now." A particularly icy blast send my hands deeper into my pockets. She was right, there were plenty of seats available, but amazingly there were also some hardy souls sitting at tables drinking cocktails. And smoking of course.

Flowering bulbs hanging outside a florist.

We soldiered on until we stumbled across Bistro 23 in Nyhavn. A French Bistro with the right dishes, a waiter with a good sense of humour and most importantly, tables inside out of the wind. We may have left the Arctic circle but tonight it hadn't left us.

We had a delightful meal accompanied by a silky, smooth French red. My steak was perfectly cooked and Jayne's lamb chops turned out to be a rack of lamb. No complaints here. We were warm and comfortable and outside the smokers, rugged up like Kenny from Southpark, we're enduring freezing winds so they could feed their habit. Brave? Determined? Stupid? Addicted? I'm not judging, just smirking with a kind of Scott Morrison smugness.

Caspar, our waiter, gave us his card. We told him we'd see him in the summer next year. He thought national service might intervene on our rendezvous. He had not been required this year because there were too many candidates. I guess we'll see. I've written his name on the card so we won't forget.

It was a 10 minute stroll home. We really are in a central location.

Until next time.

Good Day Sunshine (Copenhagen, Denmark, part 1)

During our exploration of our local area yesterday, dear reader, we came across Taste, a French patisserie not far from home. The wheelie bag drag from the station took us through the Latin Quarter and it appears we live near the French Quarter. Why is there never an Australian Quarter? Good taste perhaps?

I digress. Taste was the destination for breakfast not just because of the mouth watering pecan pie Jayne saw in the window. It was also next door to Marmorkirken, our first tourist stop for the day. Alas and alack, Taste had done the French thing with a random bridge day closure. The public holidays actually commence tomorrow (Thursday). Taste has gone next level though and is closed for 7 days.

An act of defiance.

Fortunately there was another bakery about 100 metres back down the road, Baku. A quick about face had us seated and enjoying good coffee and excellent Danish pastries. Who needs the French? We also purchased a baguette because they looked so good. As we were leaving, we enquired about their holiday hours. "No change," was the reply. "We have usual hours of operation." Breakfast over the Easter period is solved.

Marmorkirken

Rather than turn our dinner baguette into a tourist, we returned home, left it in the kitchen and traced our steps back to Marmorkirken. The French influence is obvious throughout Scandinavia in many ways. Take the best view of a significant landmark or other tourist attraction and destroy it by parking trucks in front, or turning the plaza into a Metro station. The Danes did both with Marmorkirken.

Marmorkirken.

It has an absolutely magnificent, sky dominating dome that can be seen from many different points around the city. When there are not major refurbishment programs occuring, like now, the view from the Opera House back through the square that houses the four palaces to the church is simply awe inspiring.

The size of the dome and the church underneath made it difficult to take a photograph that captured it all. Especially one that didn't include a parking area or passing traffic. But I tried.

One of the identical palaces.

Amalienborg Slot

This is an area just beyond Marmorkirken. It is a huge cobblestoned square (not really) that contains four identical palaces that face the equestrian statue in the centre. In one of these places reside the Danish royals and our Mary of course. It is here that the changing of the guard occurs everyday at noon. And do the people turn out to watch? Oh, yes, in big numbers.

A guard that required changing.

Prior to the changing of the guard, we visited the one palace open to tourists. There were two floors open to the public. On one floor there was a look back at recent Danish kings including a timeline that traced the current royals. The rooms were filled with memorabilia from earlier reigns. There were photos, books, swords, riding paraphernalia and pipes. Lots of pipes. The Danes love a smoke. Quite a curiosity for us as smoking is not such a thing in Australia.

A champagne cooler, not a baby bath. They must drink more than us.

The other floor was pretty much devoted to the new king, Frederik X with lots of photos and video presentations of the royal wedding, his pre-nuptial life and the coronation.

Our Mary and some guy she meet in a bar.

Tour complete, we joined the ever growing crowd for the changing of the guard. Suddenly at 11:45am people began running to get into position. No ropes and barriers like we experienced in Sweden. Hence we found ourselves at the rear of the crowd, no matter where we tried to position ourselves. I gave up and moved away from the throng and left Jayne to try to spectate. From what we could see, not much was going on, so we departed the square, somewhat disappointed.

The crowd watching the changing of the guard.

Nyhavn

We discovered we weren't far from Nyhavn (new port) and wanted to have a look at this part of town because our canal cruise leaves from there on Friday. The walk would also take us along the waterfront and hopefully to an area where I could get a clear shot of the Opera House without the fencing and construction works in the way.

It did. There is a vast wharf area called Ofelia Plads near the Skuespilhuset which appears to be an entertainment centre of sorts; currently featuring Madame Butterfly. Not sure why this wasn't at the Opera House. From there, we could see a bridge crossing the canal to what looked like markets. So over we went.

The Opera House across the water.

There appeared to be an inordinate number of couples kissing on the bridge (bikes and pedestrian traffic only). Ever the romantic, I asked Jayne if she wanted me to kiss her. You know what the reply was, dear reader. Later I discovered this is the 'kissing bridge'. And the markets on the other side turned out to be a street food area.

No hot dogs.

Excellent we thought, we can get a Danish hot dog. It's a thing one must do, apparently. We circled the area checking out each food stall. No deal. You can get pasta, Mexican, Vietnamese, fish and chips, and more, but no Danish hot dog. Back across the bridge (still no kiss) to Nyhavn.

Nyhavn.

This is an area similar to Bryggen in Bergen but with life and lots of people. The sun was out and people were enjoying it. One side of the canal is lined with bars and restaurants. Hopefully the forecast rain will clear quickly and we will get to eat here later in the week. 

We found where our cruise will commence on Friday and turned towards home. We wandered looking for a restaurant last night and one turn in a different direction would have led us down here where the options were too numerous to count.

Kongens Nytorv

It was less than 10 minutes walk home and just out of Nyhavn, we stumbled on Kongens Nytorv, a huge cobblestoned square constructed in 1907. Translated it is the king's new square. Near one side of it was a small pavillion surrounded by deck chairs and small tables. We had walked a long way and had been on our feet for a while so it was time for a Carlsberg, the local beer, and to enjoy the first extended sunshine we'd seen since home. And today's title, Good Day Sunshine by the best ever band The Beatles from their 1966 Revolver album.

It was a great place to people watch and 'enjoy' the second hand cigarette and cigar smoke of the locals who haven't heard that smoking is not good for your health. It would appear that the Danes have yet to decide that vaping is a preferable alternative - we haven't seen one vaper since we arrived here. We did, however, see some other interesting sights. People certainly get dressed up to go on a tour of the city. A very sparkly skirt and matching sneakers. Her friend was wearing full length fur. Not quite appropriate unless you're wanting to demonstrate how much money you have.

Overdressed yes?

After the beer, it was time to wander home or rather, to another tourist destination.

Rosenborg Slot

The Rosenborg castle is in Kongens Have (the king's haven), the park directly across the street from our accommodation  and we visited it in the afternoon, post grocery shopping. We're not really sure what will be open tomorrow given the holiday period is commencing.

Rosenborg Slot.

The park itself, the oldest in Copenhagen, is well utilised by people walking dogs and tourists checking out the sights. The flowers are beginning to bloom and the trees are coming back into leaf. The sun was still shining so there were a lot of people out and about, including bus trips visiting the castle.

There were soldiers everywhere around the castle. Jayne was singularly unimpressed by their marching. I was equally amazed at how they held their rifles. We watched some of them practising, badly, before we turned for home.

What a rabble.

Dinner tonight was the delightful baguette purchased from Buka earlier in the day with ham, cheese and tomato accompanied by a French Sauvignon.

The dome is visible everywhere.

Sadly the sun has gone down and rain is predicted.

Until next time.

Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen (Gothenburg, Sweden to Copenhagen, Denmark)

The excitement of Gothenburg became too much for one post, dear reader, so here we are. And yes, we do get to Copenhagen and today's title. I know, an early reveal. Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen by Danny Kaye from the 1952 musical Hans Christian Andersen. It's time to a rekindle memory or just to be appalled by the music of the '50s. Your call, but listen here. Given the trend to 'revive' musicals I am mystified as to why this one hasn't hit the stage again.

Flowers are beginning to emerge.

Day 3

Monday (time is fluid). The systembolaget would be open today. Super excitement. On the way to find food to start the day Jayne reported our room hadn't been serviced. The response was underwhelming and the woman at the desk began making excuses. "Maybe you sent them away." No. "Maybe you had 'do not disturb' on the door." No. "I'll have it attended to immediately." she said as we left for breakfast in Haga. 

In case you don't know there is a sign: HAGA.

We had deliberately delayed our arrival at Haga to ensure there were more stores open. In reality it is one long street of timber fronted stores. It is like Berry in NSW stretched along one street with little car traffic. There are a number of antique stores, cafés, clothing, souvenir and quirky gift shops.

The Skansen Kronan. Not a great photo.

We selected a different café for breakfast. In an unexpected move that Jayne said would only disappoint, I swapped my double espresso for a double shot Americano. She was right. It was a disappointment. But the pastry that accompanied it was spot on.

Fish Church

Following breakfast, we walked down towards the river and the fish market which has been dubbed the fish church because of the building's resemblance to a church. It has been undergoing renovation and was due to open in 2023, according to the official Gothenburg tourist booklet. As you can see from the photo, like SJ trains, they are running behind schedule.

Pray to the seafood.

The walk along the waterfront was not as scenic as we had hoped and we deviated back along the canal, towards the hotel and what I thought was a church. It had a clock in the steeple we noted from a distance. Clearly not a church. As we got closer we could see crosses on the lower roof line. A church with a clock in the main steeple. That's something we've never seen before.

Christchurch, Gothenburg.

Back to the hotel to change bags and grab the backpack, to find our room was still unclean. Hmmm. It was still early.

Lunch

Wine supply secured, we returned to the market hall in search of Swedish meatballs. The food in the market looked amazing, but the restaurants mostly had bar type tables. Not what we were looking for. The problem we realised, once outside, was that if the restaurant did not feature an English menu we had no idea what Swedish meatballs were called in Swedish. Thankfully Google translator did: Kötbullar.

Fortunately the restaurant across the road served Kötbullar so in we went. The staff were lovely and produced an English menu for us. The starter was free as was the bread, salad, biscuits and brewed coffee. We were amused by one of the wines on offer, a shiraz from Australia called Don't tell Gary. It's McPhersons wines in Victoria. No we didn't drink it; we opted for an Italian red to go with our Swedish meatballs.

Yeah, I had to Google it. It's a sculpture of a girl in a green dress riding a mythical animal.

Everything was going well until ... I placed my knife on the side of my plate and was reaching for my phone when the knife slipped. Not wanting it to fall on the floor, I pushed on it with my free hand. It stopped the slide to the ground, but in doing so, created a force that transferred up the handle to the blade. The blade was covered in thick, luscious, dark gravy. I may as well have picked up a spoon full of gravy and flicked it over myself. And over my shoulder. Fortunately, or unfortunately for the comic aspect of this catastrophe, there was no one sitting behind me. Gravy, spotted from right shoulder to cuff and one lone heart shot. Cruel. And on a clean shirt.

The Final Afternoon

Despite the desecration of my shirt, we went to the shopping mall to purchase a few requisites for tomorrow's travel. We opted for Lidl, another discount German chain similar to Aldi. It's a cheap option but I'm still  not sure about some of the product we purchased.

As we were leaving, the drizzle re-commenced so we went straight back to the hotel. Would our room finally have made the service list? I mean we were promised immediate action this morning and that hadn't happened on our pre-lunch visit.

A children's play area in Haga. We'll discuss later.

We opened the door to find ... the room exactly as we had left it. So, we dropped our bags, grabbed the computer and went to reception. This time we spoke with the concierge. Before he knew our room number, he said someone had been sent to clean it after we complained that morning. I don't think so. Then he asked for our room number so he could send someone there immediately.

The robot was cleaning the hallways - maybe we should have sent it to our room.

We adjourned to the bar and blogged. No drinks. they didn't deserve our money. After an hour, we went to the room to find it had been cursorily cleaned. The bed looked like it had been made by a teenager. The floor hadn't been vacuumed but we had clean glasses (we hope).

That night we switched on the TV and came across an English program called Shetland. Two episodes in. We're addicted.  It's like the Australian show Dead Loch without the humour. I'll be chasing that when we get home.

Leaving Gothenburg

At check out the next day, the woman on reception did the usual, "How was your stay?" So, Jayne told her. The result of the non-housekeeping was she removed the charge for the bottle of wine we had one evening. Cool. Still won't be going back to Radisson Blu anytime soon.

Across the cobbled pavers into the station. Bags stowed. Seats facing the direction of travel. The train left on time. Everything was looking good. Our connecting train that we were picking up at Malmö was 20 minutes late leaving Stockholm, but by the time it reached Malmö it was only 5 minutes behind schedule.

Copenhagen or København

We arrived close enough to the scheduled time. The difficulty was, as always, getting form the station to the accommodation. It was supposed to be a 30 minute walk. The part walk/part train journey was still a 750m walk and involved navigating a train system of which we had absolutely no knowledge.

It was a nice day. The sun was shining, something we hadn't seen for a while. We decided to trust Declan and typed the address into the phone. I must say, we were a little bit disappointed that Mary hadn't sent someone to meet us at the station, given we are almost family, (we've been to Tasmania and we have also walked past the Slipp Inn at Darling Harbour, as opposed to the Ship Inn at the Quay).

Anyway after dragging the bags about 400 metres we decided we were headed in the wrong direction and returned to our point of origin and started over. What followed was a fun filled 30 minutes or so of dragging our bags across Denmark's quaintly paved footpaths. They are all partly solid, the other section is cobbled. Not really designed for wheelie bags, but so cool for tourists.

As a result of Declan's penchant for zigzagging through streets, we saw much of the Latin quarter before we reached our accommodation. It was Tuesday afternoon but the streets were very crowded. Jayne was navigating so the fact we walked past the Pandora shop was, I'm absolutely certain, coincidental.

And then ...

Accommodation discovered. Eventually. It's never as easy as it is supposed to be. Sadly it was on the second floor, up three flights of stairs. Equally sadly, there were four different digital locks to negotiate before we could get in. That's more security than we have at home. There was, of course, a trick to mastering the digital locks but we got there, thankfully still in daylight.

The apartment is everything we need and is extremely well situated. Bags unpacked, we went in search of a supermarket and some wine. As it turned out, they were one and the same since Denmark, for some reason, has not subscribed to the rest of Scandinavia's prohibitive approach to the sale of alcohol. Our shopping done, we turned our attention to dinner. Given how well located we are, how difficult could that be?

This is our place. Well, the entry.

Not so simple if you don't know where things are. We wandered for a while and stumbled across the Pandora store again.  Time was on our side. In we went, Danish charm, a crown in honour of our Mary, Queen of Denmark purchased, dinner then moved to top priority.

It was no easy task, dear reader, but you have suffered enough for one blog so I shall end this forthwith. We found a tiny Italian restaurant in a cellar. Great food and wine and, as we settled in for our meal, the people kept coming and coming. Some were turned away. Others were more defiant and stood and waited in the tiny area near the entry stairs.

We didn't linger over dinner and relinquished our table to those so desperate as to stand and wait.

Until next time. 

London Calling (Sydney, Australia and the search for the northern lights)

Have you missed me dear reader? Certainly I have missed travelling and it was quite unusual for me to shelter at home during the humid months. I detest Sydney in February, you can break into a sweat just getting out of bed. Now the the time has arrived for us to chase a cooler clime. It's off to the northern hemisphere, this time in search of those elusive northern lights, followed by a meandering wander through Scandinavia, Germany, Czechia, Austria and finally France. Yes, yes I know we've been to France on multiple occasions, but Paris. Swoon. We love it.

Sorry, there are no photos of interest in this post, but I promise to make amends as our journey unfolds.

The more intricate details of where we are going will be revealed as the blog posts are published. Suffice to say this journey begins in earnest in ... wait for it ... London. Ah, the city I most love to hate. I have tried to like it, really I have, but it's just ... without. Without what you ask? Lots of things really. It's just a passive aggressive version of Melbourne with worse weather (the forecast is for rain every day we are there). We begin in London because there was no choice. More on that later.

Qantas

Let's talk flights. My relationship with Qantas has soured and the resentment lingers. It's like a teenage love affair and being dropped by the person you love. Well, so I've been told. I've been stood up but never dropped. As I was putting together this trip, the airfares Qantas wanted for 2 return Business Class seats was well north of $20K. Even my bad back couldn't stomach (see what I did there?) Business Class at those prices.

Not to be deterred, I phoned; as a platinum frequent flyer, I thought I'd request the release of the required seats. After all, they were being discounted for sale on their website. The response, "Sorry sir, we are not releasing any seats on the requested flights." "But, they are on sale," say I. Same response. Cheers Qantas. So what is the point of being a Qantas FF with the lauded platinum status? Three parts of bugger all, I would suggest.

Once again I resorted to Fly Business For Less as I did some years back. Their service is first class. The result is outbound flights with Vietnam Air into my 'beloved' London and inbound with Qatar from Paris - largely to avoid the ridiculous charges applied at Heathrow. And because of London. The price? Around half what Qantas was asking for seats at the pointy end of the aircraft. We have flown internationally with both airlines before without issue, so this was really a no brainer.

Grudgingly. I admit that I will miss the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney. It is unlikely that we will see it again because my platinum status will dissolve at my next anniversary, largely because I've flown with every other airline but them. It is like being a teenager again and I'm just seeing what is out there. On the plus side, our last two international trips will have netted savings around $14k because we chose not to fly with Qantas. That buys a lot of fancy meals and champagne and we still have lounge access with the other airlines.

Packing

Ah, the perennial issue, compounded by the fact that we are cruising with Viking, chasing the northern lights and then travelling by train across Scandinavia and Europe. Space is a premium. We don't want to be lugging huge bags around the train stations. One remedy was to purchase a vacuum pump and a couple of bags to try and reduce bulk. Our -20°c parkas are, unsurprisingly, extremely bulky. This has proven to be quite effective.

It doesn't look like much, but then it's not all there yet. A mixture of packing cells and vacuum bags to make the best use of space. Despite my best effort, another suitcase was required, although it is carry-on size. For two months of travel from the frozen Arctic to Paris in Spring, we have managed to contain all our clothes in one large suitcase, 2 carry-on cases and our backpacks. Pretty happy with that.

My vacuum packed snow jacket. Gloves for size comparison.

All ready to go.

Chasing the lights

The northern lights or Aurora Borealis have been on my list for quite some time. The quandary was how to see them? We spoke with some Swedes we met in Budapest a few years back and they recommended a place in Sweden, naturally. The concept of hanging around the frozen wastelands of anywhere for an indeterminate length of time did not set my heart a flutter. And the cold is most definitely not on Jayne's list of things to get excited about.

Then my travel agent (yes, dear reader, I do use one sporadically) suggested a Viking cruise up the coast of Norway. I had already checked out Hurtigruten but the level of comfort and cabin space did not live up to Jayne's exacting standards. So Viking it is. Tragically, the cruise leaves from London. Hence the title, that 1980 classic from the Clash. You can relive your memories here. The only plus side to this is that we get spend to spend some time with Zoë before we sail away on our quest.

Traps for young players

Ok, Ok, I'm not young, nor am I an inexperienced traveller, but that didn't stop me making a rookie error. Accommodation, as you will discover in subsequent posts, is a mixture of hotel and AirBnB. In London I opted for a hotel that was in proximity to Fenchurch Street Station because that is where we board the train for Tilbury which is where the ship departs.

Ever mindful that London is ridiculously expensive, I decided to use some accrued Accor points to defray the cost of our stay. There is a Novotel within walking distance of Fenchurch Street Station. Excellent. I had multiple tabs open in my attempt to find the best accommodation. I jumped from maps to the hotel sites to the Accor site to make the booking. No Booking.Com problems for this traveller.

Hotel booked. The spreadsheet that covers the trip, our accommodation, mode of travel, places of interest has been slowly populated over the months preceding our departure. As February 24 drew closer, I explored how to get from the despised Heathrow to our hotel. And that is when I discovered it.

The Novotel near Fenchurch Street Station is Novotel London Tower Bridge and the hotel I booked is the Novotel London Bridge. What's in a word? About 2km in distance, 20 minutes on a bus or 30 minutes on foot and a river crossing. The names are so similar. Ah well. We still have a bed.

Sydney to London

The usual quandary of how to get to the airport was solved when Uber sent me a 50% off your next ride voucher. Pick up booked for 11:30am, for a 3:15pm flight. From our door to the SkyTeam Lounge in a under an hour.

We arrived at our hotel in London after over 30 hours in transit. Vietnam Airlines weren't faultless, but they were very good. The staff were lovely and attentive, the food was excellent, the flights were on time and (as a tier 2 airline as I've seen them described) Business still comes with a lie flat bed. The down side? Well, first world problems. The Lounge in Sydney is pretty average, the one in Hà Nôi is better. There is a limited selection of wine available in the lounge or on the aircraft. And the staff don't offer re-fills as attentively as say Singapore or Qantas. A small price to pay for a flat bed that allows me to walk pain-free after a long flight.

Heathrow. Really what is there to say? If you know, you know. It's like covid. Best avoided. The disembarkation process and baggage collection went quickly and smoothly. Surprisingly. No doubt the e-passports have streamlined the process. The baggage collection area was a seething, heaving mass of humanity. And their over-sized bags and squealing, crying children. All that was required to create hell was the sound of leaf blower in the background. 

The signage to get to the train was inadequate, at one point we were directed into a blank wall. The staff, posted at regular intervals to be of assistance, weren't really. Unless you cornered them. Despite it all we made the train.

And then London. The city I love to hate. Where to start today? In an attempt to make us feel at home, there was track work on the Underground and the line we had decided to use to get to the hotel was closed. It wasn't a huge inconvenience except to use the Elizabeth line cost almost 3 times as much. Almost £14 compared to just over £5. The benefit? None really. It's 10 minutes faster than the Piccadilly line. However, it does beat the estimated $400 + for a cab! Does anyone actually catch A cab to London from Heathrow?

The good bit? It's not raining so the 10 minute walk to the hotel from the tube was easily negotiated. We had arranged for an early check-in at the hotel because we landed at 7:30am. However, the hotel has a midday check-out time and was fully booked. Why would you offer an early check-in, for a fee, if you can't deliver?

The result: we are sitting in the hotel bar drinking very bad coffee, well it is London, charging our phones, sorting the e-sim and finishing this blog before we finally get to shower, change and go hang with Zoë.

And so we are back. I will blog frequently but I'm not guaranteeing a daily dose.

Until next time.