Kodachrome (Madrid - Hong Kong - Sydney)

After a few early mornings, we finally had a later start. Our tickets for the Prado listed an 11:15am entrance but before that, we had to download the audio guide. Of course, dear reader, this meant downloading another app with which to listen to the guide. Do you see where this is going? Have you been with me since the Gaudi Park in Barcelona? Correct. I was duped into purchasing tickets from a third-party web site. Again. That was not evident until we arrived at the museum, so as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself.

We left with enough time to arrive at the Prado at our appointed time, but not with enough leeway to stop for breakfast. Hardly an unusual occurrence for us when we travel. Had we not experienced the indulgence of the APT cruise and the Matt’s Produce food and wine tour, we would have come home significantly lighter.

We made it.

As expected, the line to purchase tickets for immediate entrance, stretched from the ticket office around the side of the museum building. A smug smile as we strolled past, around the corner to the entrance for ticket holders where there was no queue. To be fair, we did have to ask where the entry was - Spanish signage, as I have mentioned, is structured for the intuitive only. If you need a sign, it is invariably not there. I’m sure there is a philosophical discussion to be had around this. I think therefore I am. Do I need a sign of there is one present?

No queue for us.

Through security, I grabbed my camera and an extra battery just in case there was an issue like I had at San Lorenzo. Headphones on and map in hand we tried to decipher how the museum was laid out. I’m sure someone believes it was logical. My perspective? It was designed by a committee after a long lunch and several bottles of Pedro Ximénez.

We found the first headphone symbol with a number and went to our audio guides. No deal, as they say. Back out to the foyer area and a quick chat with one of the helpers made me realise I had been sucked in again. Our audio guide was not their official audio guide although the tickets were good.

One thing I have learnt about the major tourist attractions in Spain is that there are many, many sites that masquerade as the genuine site. We ended up with a guide that probably had notes on less than a third of the artworks when compared to the official guide. Not happy Jan. To exacerbate the problem, there were two voice overs, both British, who couldn’t pronounce simple words like ‘annunciation’ or ‘Titian’ or ‘typified’. The male couldn’t even follow the punctuated script in front of him.

The next shattering realisation was that there was a strict, enforced, absolute rule of no photography. I spent the whole day with my camera slung over my shoulder, as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. Which of course is the tenuous link to today's title, Kodachrome by Paul Simon from 1973.

The only photo I was allowed to take inside the museum - inside the museum cafe.

Nonetheless, we had an audio guide and three floors to cover. The no photos rule turned out to be a bonus. It meant no endless selfies, so some tour groups moved on faster than others. For you, dear reader, it means a shorter post than usual because I have no photos to illustrate our experiences.

The short story is that the Prado houses a wonderful collection of European art from the 12th century through to more contemporary pieces. There is one solitary painting of Picasso's from 1943 that sits uncomfortably in contrast with the works around it. Perhaps the pained look on some of the saints' faces is because they have to look at Picasso's Buste de Femme all day.

Goya before his depressing 'black' stage.

Around 2 pm, the constant standing and walking on an empty stomach was taking its toll and we hadn’t even completed the first floor. A quick espresso and something to pump up the blood sugar levels saw us back on the circuit in no time, realising that we needed to pick up the pace if we were going to make it home that night.

We walked from the Prado to head for dinner just after 6pm. We had been on our feet for almost 7 hours with an audio guide that was clearly deficient. If we’d used the official audio we might still be there. There was still a queue at the ticket office, a longer one than in the morning; it snaked all the way down the side of the museum.

A queue as far as the eye cold see.

My Amex card regularly delivers little presents to us (unpaid advertisement) like $200 off a meal while you’re travelling overseas. Happily one of the listed restaurants was less than a 10 minute walk from the museum. We were seated, perusing the menu in no time.

It was a seafood restaurant so we ordered prawns and octopus, a side of asparagus and a bottle of Albariño. Sadly the octopus was overcooked and Jayne left it all to me. Since Amex was picking up the bulk of the bill, we also ordered dessert and my favourite Spanish accompaniment, two glasses of that thick, luscious Pedro Ximénez. Aside from breakfast, it was the cheapest meal we had at $74 AUD including tip, after the Amex contribution.

The streets were coming alive as we walked back to the hotel to pack for the long trip home.

Titian's Last Supper from San Lorenzo.

The night was punctuated, as usual, by the comings and goings and discussions of the other residents on the floor of our hotel. The number of people who conduct all their conversations with outside voices is amazing. Anyway, there would be payback tomorrow morning as we dragged our suitcases down to the foyer at 8am before the sun rose.

The guy at reception unlocked the car park lift for us and the first step in a very long journey was taken. The drive to the exit was negotiated safely and then the exit door creaked and groaned after I pushed the exit button and stuttered to a stop. Here we go, I thought, transit day drama. I leant out and pushed the clearly signposted exit button again and the door miraculously opened - we were free. It would have been nice if the entry to the car park had been as clearly marked quipped Jayne.

Titian's St Jerome in Penitence from San Lorenzo.

Our route to the airport was a circuitous one because we needed to fill up the tank of the hire car. How many petrol stations are there on the lead in roads to the airport in Madrid, dear reader? None, actually. Why? Spain. Things are not what you might think they should be at times.

Anyway, tank full, we set off again into the Madrid morning peak. We had programmed Google to take us to the rental car return as Google suggested. Except it listed Terminal 1 and we were departing from Terminal 4. The journey to this point had been punctuated by the usual trauma of driving on unfamiliar roads in heavy traffic. As we neared the turn off I had cold feet and headed for Terminal 4 instead of the mapped route to Terminal 1.

A marigold to break up the text.

As we approached Terminal 4, it was again decision time. Do I take the road to arrivals or departures? Rental car return was at arrivals. I chose departures because we were leaving the country. Incorrect! It was a drop-off area only. A quick trip around the area and its numerous round-a-bouts had us shortly driving into a car spot at the Europcar rental, just prior to the 9:00am deadline. Key handed over, mobile phone signed, I’ll never get used to the lack of paperwork, and we headed for the terminal to check in.

This would be the next test. I couldn’t check in online because some of Jayne’s details were missing. This is not usually a problem, but booking through a third-party agency to get cheap Business Class flights meant I didn’t have the details. We were third in line when the desks opened and they called all the Business Class ticket holders straight to the attendants. Nice. We were sitting in the lounge in no time. It seemed an easy transit but we were both on edge and keen for a glass of cava. Not today, they had red or white wine or beer. Coffee and croissants it was; the bubbles would have to wait until we were on the plane.

Boarding happened on time and we left as scheduled. Double thumbs up to Cathay Pacific. The champagne was delightful and the meals okay. The plan was to sleep on this leg and stay awake on the next so when we arrived home, we would be ready to sleep. No, it didn’t happen. Jayne binged movies and I wrote the blog posts.

Another text breaker.

We landed in Hong Kong on time but the process through security was ludicrous. The queue stretched almost as far as the line to get into the Prado. We were directed to another area, about 500 metres away where at least there was no queue. 

Drappier champagne in the Cathay Business Lounge helped calm the nerves. Once again, comparisons with our national carrier are not flattering. The food offerings here were amazing but we did not have the time to explore them. Separate breakfast bar, noodle bar, teahouse and a bar for alcoholic beverages.

We were late leaving for reasons that weren't explained. The flight was uneventful except for a few minor bumps and the fact that Jayne did not receive her selected main meal again. Not what we'd been told to expect with Cathay.

Almost nine hours of flight time with minimal sleep again. In Sydney we were forced to wait 20 minutes for our disembarkation bay because it was blocked by an Emirates A380. Our bags were out early, well done Cathay, and customs was a breeze. Can anyone tell me why, in Sydney, we still need to fill in those ridiculous 'arrival cards' when everything should be available in digital format?

Our pick-up was a few minutes later than expected but we were at home by 10:30pm. All up, door-to-door we spent 32 hours in transit with less than an hour's sleep.

And that, dear reader, is a wrap. There will be another blog in March when Dave and I tackle the Tarkine again. The big trip in '26 will be a return to Europe, Tuscany with Matt's Produce and a cruise down the Nile on the way back to Australia. I still need to fill in the bit in between. Stay tuned.

Until next time.

The Lighthouse Song (Oslo, Norway part 1)

The morning arrived with the expected grey clouds and snow. Lots of snow. It snowed all day in fact. Our guide in Bergen made fun of the meteorologists but it appears they have refined and perfected their craft in Oslo.

Despite now being firm believers in the adage “there is no such as bad weather, just inappropriate clothes”, dear reader, the snow and minus temperatures influenced our choice of activities for the day.

The National Museum

Thankfully the National Museum was a mere 5 minute walk from the hotel. Following breakfast and a couple of double espressos and possibly the best croissant I’ve had outside of France, we went back to our room to put on our thermals and snow jackets. The wind had picked up significantly and snow flurries were being whipped in every direction.

The temperature had dropped to -7° and, appropriately dressed, we stepped out into the snow. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t excited. Not even the blustery conditions dampened my enthusiasm. However, the unexpected areas of ice tempered my mood. While we had the right clothes and waterproof footwear, we didn’t get ice shoes with the metal sprigs. Therefore, we needed to tread carefully.

A sculpture in the courtyard.

We successfully negotiated the icy steps down towards the museum entrance and joined the queue inside to buy our tickets. The museum was a popular destination today. It is Saturday although I imagine the weather also boosted patronage.

The audio guide needed to be connected to your iPhone. This presented a number of issues. Firstly, they provided a headset not earbuds, so we couldn’t share and we only had my phone. Secondly, the battery on my phone is starting show its age and they do run down more quickly in the cold weather. The advice was just listen to your phone on a low volume - it won't bother others.

Down to the cloak room we went to remove our jackets, scarves and gloves. I was expecting someone behind a desk to take our gear and provide us with a tag or receipt. None of that, for obvious reasons dear reader. You would spend more time checking your gear in and out than you would visiting the exhibits. What we found was a vast space with numbered coat rack after numbered coat rack and lockers for backpacks and bags. We hung our jackets on Number 5 and hoped they would be there on our return.

Interesting design.

Finding the correct ‘tour’ amongst all the options proved to be more difficult than it should have been and I gave up until I accidently stumbled across a method of inputting a number that was tagged with a headset. We turned the volume down on the phone and listened to number of the explanations. Despite the earlier advice, we were concerned about disturbing other patrons by listening without a headset. Given the excessively loud conversations occurring around us, I doubt anyone would have noticed.

The ground floor of the museum is all about design elements and placing things in the context of time, over the centuries. Children were catered for very well (unfortunately) with their own guides, activities and areas to sketch varying exhibits. To create the timeline, they used copies of artefacts from other museums. Bad copies. You could see the joins. There was the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory as well as an oversized Mona Lisa. I understand the concept but it was just wrong.

I can see the joins.

The second floor was art. They had all usual the suspects, Cezanne, van Gogh, Gaugin, Degar, Rodin, Monet, Manet, Picasso and of course, Münch and other Norwegian artists and sculptors. There was one iteration of ‘The Scream’ on display. Much like Starry Night by van Gogh, there are numerous versions.

The Scream

Apparently while examining The Scream, I inadvertently became part of a selfie. I didn’t realise. The person in question was facing away from the painting. Jayne alerted me to the fact. I cared not. This culture of needing to have your face in every photo is bizarre. The painting in question is what is important, not that you can ‘self-document these locations’. And that, dear reader, is the link to today’s title. It is a lyric from Josh Pyke’s The Lighthouse Song from his 2008 album Chimney’s Afire.

In real life.

There were, all up, 87 rooms to visit and we covered them all in a 4 and a half hour stint. That is dedication. In reality, we probably could have been there longer but we were mindful of the exhibition closing time and so we actually sped up our rate of perusal for about the last 20 rooms.

Another of his self portraits.

We returned to the cloak room to find our coats exactly where we had left them. After close to five hours on our feet, we walked through the much deeper snow back to the hotel. Just before we reached the door an avalanche of snow feel from the parapet above me. We had strayed too close to the shopfront in order to avoid the iced pavement and paid the price. We brushed off the snow and stored our coats and freshened up for dinner.

The youth.

Theatercaféen

We had booked dinner at the café attached to the hotel, Theatercaféen. In part, because it was easy and in part, to spend the $100USD voucher. Café? Not so much. My jeans did not match the many suits and ties I passed as we were shown to our table. It appears to be the spot to dine pre-theatre. That said, we welcomed by the staff and did not feel we were disrespecting their work. Yes, you are right dear reader it’s time to move on.

Our waiter was delightful and helpful and chose my meal because I was undecided. The food was superb as was the service, in contrast to the previous night. Focaccia came with muhammara and a garlic dip. Very nice. We both had the turbot baked with cucumber and risoni in a butter sauce for a main. Perfectly cooked and full of flavour.

It was also a great place for people watching. The two women at the table next to us ordered a bowl of ice with their white wine. Yes, they did it. The unthinkable, They put ice cubes in their wine. I would have made them go and stand outside. That would have chilled the wine for them.

Day 3

Vigeland

The next day was sunshine and blue skies. It was still very cold -9° and Jayne required her snow jacket. I opted for gloves, beanie and Macpac zip up jumper. We decided to make the most of the weather, and St Patrick's Day, and we mapped our course to Vigeland. It is a huge park that contains many sculptures by the artist of the same name, some of which had featured in the National Museum that day before.

The sight is quite spectacular. A tree lined boulevard leads down to a bridge that is lined, on both sides, with sculptures of the human form in a variety of poses. These lead through a rose garden that had been bagged to protect the roses from the snow and ice, up to a giant obelisk of human shapes rising to its zenith.

The park and Vigeland's works continue down the other side of the obelisk.

The roses.

It was quite crowded. again, I'm uncertain if this was due to the beautiful day - it has apparently been a long winter, or the fact that it was Sunday. Locals could be seen out walking their children and their dogs. Or jogging. What is it with jogging? It's dangerous on slippery, icy surfaces. There were also numerous bus tours ensuring my photos are far too populated by people.

The circle of life.

Grünerløkka

With so much of the day in front of us we decided to do a loop walk back to the hotel and headed for Grünerløkka. We didn't really know what was there aside from some quirky shops, markets and bars and a waterfall. It sounded a bit like Surry Hills at home, minus the waterfall. 

Another Great Tit.

The address was typed into the phone and up came the map and estimated time of arrival. Off we set. The walk was not exactly picturesque and was made all the more difficult by the periodically icy footpath. It was not easy going and was clearly going to take longer than expected.

No idea, but it was by the river.

By the time we arrived at our destination, according to Apple Maps, we were standing on a street corner surrounded by housing developments with  no amenities. Nothing quirky or interesting in sight; in fact hardly a living soul, except the occasional jogger. Jayne by her own admission was "over it". It had been a long, sometimes stressful walk to find, well nothing.

We headed down the street in the direction of home and stumbled upon an Irish Pub. They appear to be everywhere in Norway. It was St Patrick's Day, so in we go, Jayne greets the barman with "Happy St Patrick's Day!" "Sorry, what"? was the reply, and then the slow dawning realisation, "Oh, yes," he said. There were balloons and bunting all around the bar. Obviously a man committed to his work. His attitude was not going to spoil our Guinness.

The weir/waterfall.

One pint later, we were on our way again, much refreshed. However, a fast fading phone battery meant there was little time to lose. We could see a little further afield crowds and what could have been a market, but we were done and we needed what was left of the battery to find our way home. On the way, we did find the 'waterfall'. It was a weir. Unimpressed. The walk home continued, being careful to avoid, as much as possible, the icy segments of footpath that appeared randomly and unannounced.

Egon

One curiosity we have found time and again is that the more we walk while on holiday, the less we want to eat. Our breakfasts have been close to usual size but by the time dinner rolls around we aren't that interested.

Tonight we dined at Egon. It is a chain that offers more variety in a menu than should be allowed. They do pizza, pasta, asian and a variety of light meals. As expected, our meal and a bottle of wine came in around the $150 mark. It is expensive to eat here, or drink wine. I'm not sure which.

We walked over 13km throughout the day and certainly earned our rest.

Until next time.