When I'm 64 (Sal Salis, Cape Range National Park)

The night was calmer, although colder until the early morning when the wind whipped up again. No drama. The tent stayed anchored to the ground. We heard the sound of distant voices heading off to early morning adventures and dozed on. 

Those voices became the soundtrack to our week. We heard them on the plane up from Perth, on the shuttle to Sal Salis, in the morning as they went on their dawn walk, in the Lodge. I named them Tinnitus because they were always in my head.

Today is Jayne’s birthday (August 19 if you’re reading this out of sync) and the intention is to be as relaxed as possible and just go with whatever takes us. It is also responsible for today's title, When I'm 64 by the best band ever, The Beatles. 

Breakfast was the usual offerings, although this morning we tried the coffee machine. I know, dear reader, there are multitudes of people who believe the new-age machine does good coffee, but I am not among their number. What appeared in a cup this morning, masquerading as an espresso, did little to alter my perspective. I drank it and then opted for a cup of tea.

Stunning every morning.

Following breakfast, we were fitted out for our snorkelling gear, sans wetsuits. The water temperature is remarkably warm and we felt we wouldn’t require them. Back to the tent to change and then it was straight across the sand dune to the water. The reef is less than 10 metres away but the south-north current ensures you need to walk many metres down the beach to allow your snorkel to bring you home. Otherwise, it’s Mauritius or Madagascar, as I’ve heard the guides say.

We walked maybe 500 metres up the beach and then it was into the gutter between the shore and the coral. Mask adjusted, flippers on, into the current, over the coral and let the ocean do the rest. Visibility was still not as good as we’d hoped. The fringing coral was in various states of life or death; it wasn’t easy to tell the difference at times. It’s a spectrum I guess and the opposite ends share some similarities. The coral closest to the shore was covered in sediment which was unsurprising given the current and the nature of the reef.

There was a variety of coral but the abundance and diversity of fish life was astounding. Regardless of whether we were over sand or coral, there were fish. All shapes and sizes and colours. Large schooling fish I would have liked to have taken home for dinner. Trumpeter fish with their oversized beaks. Leather jacket, angel fish, Nemo (well, his relatives) and so many more I didn’t recognise. Magic.

Pretty and  slightly over-exposed.

Back on shore, we retired to our tent for showers and a spot of reading on the verandah. The sun and the breeze ensured our gear dried quickly. The only disturbance was the aircraft. Planes heading out to the reef whale spotting or just sight-seeing and the jets. I assume they were heading for Learmonth which is, after all, a Defence base. And Tinnitus droning away in their tent.

A Nankeen Kestrel falcon.

Sal Salis is one of those resorts where everything is included in the price. Unlike some cruises we’ve been on that profess the same, Sal Salis is the real deal, we paid for nothing after we arrived. An ordinary day offered breakfast, lunch, canapes and dinner with the alcohol cupboard being freely accessed whenever you like. It being Jayne’s birthday, we thought lunch might be nice. The choice was burrata and whatever or bugs and a capsicum (muhammara style) sauce.

Bugs. Wow. Two full bugs with the capsicum sauce and a baguette. I didn’t need to eat that much, but it would have been wasteful not to finish. Absolutely delicious. Even the two corellas that wanted to share my lunch could not distract me. Corellas and bugs despatched, we repaired to the Lodge interior to avoid the sun and consume some more Chardy.

He was uninvited.

Horror of horrors. I pulled the wine bottle from the fridge and commenced to pour. The pour was terminated abruptly with a gasp loud enough for Jayne to hear 15 metres away. Some philistine had returned a red wine bottle to the row of chardonnay and I had inadvertently poured red wine into Jayne’s glass. In my defence, the bottles were similar. And who expects to find a red in the fridge? Even up here.

Lunch done, it was back to the tent for a rest before our next meal. It’s a tough life. OK, maybe I spent time writing this blog and reading. What am I reading you enquire? Evie Wyld’s latest, The Echoes. I wanted to dislike it because I haven’t forgiven the Miles Franklin judges for awarding her the Miles over Flanagan’s Narrow Road to the Deep North. The latter did go on to win the Booker so my judgement was vindicated. Quite like the new book though. About half way through. We’ll see. The ending may disappoint, like that of Immaculate By Anna McGahan. Discuss.

A wine induced afternoon snooze followed (for me) before we raised ourselves and changed for dinner. Another excellent three courses: scallops for entrée, rib eye for main and a white chocolate mousse for dessert. As it was Jayne’s birthday, her mousse came resplendent with a ‘happy birthday’ chocolate disc. And a rousing version of ‘happy birthday’, kicked off by the staff and taken up by the guests.

A starry night.

Back at the tent I attempted some night photography. “Attempted” is the correct verb, dear reader. Over exposed. I blame the full moon and will try again tomorrow night. At least I know how to shoot the stars now, Dave. Sadly, they are not as impressive as the night sky on the Larapinta. There is potential, but not with a full moon.

Too much light from the moon.

Until tomorrow.

In My Life (Hamburg, Germany, part 3)

Our last full day in Hamburg, dear reader, and the weather has promised to be ... as fickle as it has been every other day. Drizzle has been forecast. Again. What is it with drizzle? If you want to rain, then rain. Drizzle is like one eye crying, or a drippy nostril, or Melbourne. It's just not OK. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, we set out for our last tour of Hamburg. Today the Reeperbahn and surrounding area of St Pauli.

First, to cleanse the soul, there will be culture and religion. Well, a church and a recital hall. Not in that order.

It reflects the surroundings. On a good day.

There were patches of blue as we left the apartment and our planned route had us walk past the Elphi. A photo opportunity that was hampered by the weather the last time we were there. We didn't go inside, I just wanted a couple of photos of the outside from an angle different to that of looking straight down our street. That achieved, we continued towards St  Michaelis.

The spire we later ascended.

In what I have come to expect in Hamburg, the spire was visible from a distance. Another church with a massive heaven-reaching spire. How many churches does one city need? We approached from the side and entered the door to the ubiquitous ticket office. I don't remember the cost of admission, nor do I care. It was totally worth it.

The lady who sold us our ticket enthused about the midday organ recital. Apparently there are five organs. Yep. If you've ever wondered how many organs one church needs, the answer is obviously five. St Michaelis has a huge spire too, not as big as St Nikolai so, to make up for inadequacy in that area, they have five organs. And one of them is HUGE.

The view back to Elphi.

But first, the spire. Unlike St Nikolai, the lift was accessed a couple of stories above ground. Stairs were involved. Also unlike St Nikolai, the viewing platform provided a more expansive view unhindered by barricades or grills. Although there was no sun, there was also no rain, so the view was better than yesterday.

Is that a patch of blue sky?

Then it was down into the dungeon. I mean crypt. A low ceiling and mood lighting contributed to the atmosphere. The constant reminder that you were walking on the tombs of dead people didn't hurt either. The crypt is now used as a regular place to conduct services since it is more intimate for a dwindling congregation than the cavernous space of the main church upstairs. It also houses the 5th "hidden organ" whereas the other four are on display on the mezzanine level upstairs.

The crypt. Keep down low.

Up into the church proper for the organ recital. There was a long introduction (in German) and perhaps some prayers. I stood with everyone else and sat when they did. The first few numbers (that sounds wrong) were played on one of the smaller organs to one side. Ok, the acoustics were good, but I still don't get organ music, except for Ray Manzarek's work with The Doors. And maybe Rick Wakeman.

Johann Bach's son's resting place.

Anyway, after another crafty prayer interlude, our organist swapped machines and sides of the church. The organ on the port side (that's the left facing the front) was larger but still nothing compared to the one that graced the back wall above the entrance. The first time his fingers touched the keys, however, it was apparent the keyboard he was manipulating was for the major organ above the entrance/exit door. The sound reverberated through the building and vibrated through the floor. After the usual churchy dirgey stuff, he let loose with some more upbeat Hollywood musical style number. People's toes were tapping in a very irreverent way. I liked it. Jayne was waiting for the Monty Python crew to soft shoe their way across the apse.

A bigger organ you won't see at the Reeperbahn.

After the recital was over, we were able to fully appreciate the church. The Lutherans split from the Catholic church for a lot of reasons; one was for a more simple form of worship. While I've seen that in evidence elsewhere, this place was next level and could have easily passed as a Catholic church. The soaring white interior, the gold rail around the altar, the pulpit ... for a specifically built protestant church, there didn't seem much to protest about.

The altar. Nothing over the top here.

The pulpit. Or chariot. I'm not sure.

After the soul cleansing, it was time to head off to the Reeperbahn, Hamburg's red light district which is apparently a mecca for hen's parties from across Europe. Having wandered through Amsterdam's equivalent quarter, we were rather underwhelmed by the journey along this supposedly iconic strip. Admittedly, it was rather early in the day for a neighbourhood that does not start to wake up till mid afternoon. Actually it looked pretty seedy and tired and is probably not somewhere we would like to find ourselves after dark.

Classy stuff. Not sure how you join that club.

I've never been a fan of Kings Cross at home, day or night, and the Reeperbahn in daylight is best avoided. There were more homeless men on the street than there were tourists and while we didn't walk the main sidestreet 'where anything goes but beastiality', I don't feel I missed out. The whole experience, like that of finally discovering Beatles Platz, was entirely underwhelming. Maybe it's an age thing. Perhaps I should have come here 45 years ago. Not that I could have afforded the plane fare, let alone the extras offered at the Reeperbahn. And I don't mean a set of steak knives.

Um ... yeah, no comment.

It took a while, but we found the Beatles Platz, unsurprisingly right next to the Beatles Platz Hotel. It was billed as a tribute to the Fab Four with statues positioned on a circular area that is paved to resemble a vinyl record. Words fail me momentarily so, dear reader,  I'll leave you to look at the picture to make your own judgement on whether it was worth the effort. We elected not to go down the side street to the club where it all happened - the Star Club in 1962. Just as well since it has been demolished and replaced by a Thai restaurant and a commemorative wall plaque... disappointing.

WTAF. Stu Sutcliffe out of picture.

After this anti-climax, (see what I did there?) we headed across the Reeperbahn and over to the Police Station, Davidwache, which houses, in an apparently distinctively ceramic tiled building that features frequently in European films and TV series, the constabulary who keep the Reeperbahn inhabitants and visitors under control when they eventually crawl out onto the street. 

Statues in the Fischmarkt area. At least they had fish.

We then walked down towards the waterfront and turned towards the FischMarkt in the hope that it would be operating in some capacity that might yield us a lovely seafood lunch. No such luck - the building was totally devoid of life (sea or land) so we turned and walked back towards our beacon, the Elphi that was shimmering in the distance. On the way, we passed the pier and the entrance to the Elbe Tunnel, a walkway that goes under the water from the mainland to one of the islands, (not ours).

Further along on the pier, we passed a pub and a beer beckoned. After being chided for walking to the bar to order, "What are you doing? We come to the table," we settled in for a schnitzel lunch which happily coincided with the next downpour. A seriously heavy one that saw many passersby join us, although we were dry and they were not. Once the rain had passed, we headed home to plan our transit day. Not the day of sightseeing that we had envisaged.

The guiding light for the walk home.

Ok, title explanation. It had to be a Beatles song given we are in Hamburg and we visited Beatles Platz, as sad as it was. Stu Sutcliffe, the original bass player, was with them in Hamburg and left the band there to pursue art school. In My Life is song of remembrance and an acceptance of change. A lot has changed since The Beatles performed here.

Tomorrow we transit to Berlin. A short train journey in comparison with other trips. Two and half hours doesn't really rate.

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.

I'm So Tired (London)

Hello dear reader. Today's title is another Beatles classic, I'm so tired from the celebrated The Beatles album, popularly referred to as the White Album. The explanation later. For the song, not why the album is not called by its name.

First, I have a confession to make. Suddenly I feel like a character in a sitcom or a B grade movie. You know the storyline, where the two characters despise each other and suddenly realise there is an attraction to the other. Cue the inevitable sexual tension and growing awkwardness of the situation. So here am I not hating London so much. It is an unsettling feeling. Perhaps being squired around town and being provided with an insider's view is what I needed all along. Perhaps.

Greenwich

Breakfast today was in Greenwich. We ditched the Borough market and will explore it tomorrow morning. There are multiple ways to get to Greenwich. The Uber ferry being the most expensive and various iterations of the Underground and Light Rail being more acceptable options. As usual the day began with a walk. Today, across the London Bridge to Bank Station to catch the light rail to Cutty Sark station which, in reality, is Greenwich.

The trip was uneventful and we were at the Greenwich Market searching for food about 30 minutes after opening time. Alleged opening time. Much like Shoreditch yesterday there was a lot of space to erect stalls and the Antique Market down the road was not open at all.

Being peckish, we made our way to the very limited food offerings, none of them appealing. Back out onto Church Street in search of a place that offered good food, passable coffee and warmth. There were numerous options but Peyton & Byrne, the modern British Bakery, was the winner. No dabbling with potentially weak coffee today - it was double espresso. An excellent choice. Accompanied by a three cheese toasty to warm the soul.

Not much to look at from the outside.

Body restored, we ventured back out into the cold and popped into the nearest church. Come now dear reader. You know me better than that, it's a local attraction. St Alfege's - King Henry VIII was baptised here. I don't think it influenced his later behaviour. Then again ... 

The church itself has quite a history, collapsing on itself after a decision to allow the crypt to be open for all burials, thus undermining the foundations. It was also destroyed, desecrated was the term used, by the "enemy" during WWII. The latest iteration sports a massive organ. Now dear reader, don't be like that, a pipe organ. There is also the obligatory stained glass window and unusually, a chandelier.

Leaving the church, we saw the antique market was completely closed, gated and padlocked. Disappointing. So it was back to the markets. More shops and stalls had opened but it was clearly a shadow of what it would be on weekends. Still, the crocheted flowers grabbed my attention. In 2024 do we really need crocheted flowers? I think not.

What visionary came up with this concept?

From the markets, we walked a short way to where the Cutty Sark sits atop a wooden frame a long way from the water. Curious behaviour to spend £25M to restore a ship and then encase it in plastic and glass. It would have been a better attraction floating in the Thames. No, we did not venture inside.

Looks longingly towards the Thames.

Following the Thames is the Greenwich Walk, a 1 mile (1.6 km) path that traverses the Old Royal Naval College, a rather impressive looking building with expansive grounds. The first statue I came across was Sir Walter Raleigh. He gets a mention in the song of today's post,

"I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset

Although I'm so tired, I'll have another cigarette

And curse Sir Walter Raleigh

He was such a stupid git"

Spare a cigarette?

Raleigh of course introduced tobacco to England in 1586. Its effect still lingers today given the number of smokers encountered. Have they missed the health messages over here? Obviously in 1968, John Lennon wasn't thrilled about it either. We shall return to Sir Walter later.

Do they serve flag ale? Yeah, a joke from the '70s.

The path continued past an interesting pub, The Trafalgar, that had adorned itself and the neighbouring area with the Union Jack and maritime signal flags.

Well placed bins for a photo opportunity.

A wall of street art. No Banksy.

It ended as abruptly as a bike path in Sydney, at a point of no particular interest, another pub, the Cutty Sark Inn. We turned and strolled back to the light rail station, passing the same route but out on the street rather than along the river path. This took us past the Queen's House, the Royal Observatory, Greenwich University and the Naval Museum.

The Queen's House. Really? How many does she need? She's not even alive.

The Naval Museum.

Had we explored the multiple museums in Greenwich, we would have been there for days. Instead we jumped the light rail for a more problematic return journey due to disruptions on the line. This was exacerbated by the pathetic signage at Canary Wharf while transiting from the light rail to the underground. The navigation skills of Sir Walter were required, not to mention fortitude to fight our way through the lunchtime crowds where no quarter is given. We were back at the hotel mid afternoon to enjoy our complimentary drink and chat with some of the staff. It was a slow day in the bar.

So, controversial, but extremely funny.

Pizza

Yes pizza, my dear reader. In my quest to be disappointed around the world, I make every attempt to sample pizza in each country I visit. Armed with two recommendations, Pizza Pilgrims and Giuseppe's Ristorante Italiano and Pizzeria, there was a choice to be made. Giuseppe's was the winner because it is a restaurant and offers a variety of food. Not that I was eating anything but pizza.

Giuseppe's is about a 10 minute walk from the hotel and directly opposite the Borough Markets. Through an old archway on the main street there is a non-descript door that opens on to a landing and another door and down the stairs to the restaurant. It is like entering a dungeon. The restaurant itself is quite cosy, tables are very close, but today, we were the only customers. It was mid-afternoon and we hadn't booked, getting a table wasn't a problem but would the pizza oven be hot enough?

The answer to that question is, not quite. The garlic bread was very good as was the pizza. It would have benefited from a slightly hotter oven to char the dough a little more. Otherwise, no complaints. I could be a regular if I lived here.

Back to the hotel for a nightcap and some blogging before bed.

Borough Market

A bit obvious.

Our breakfast destination today is the Borough Market. After a quick catch up with one of the children and two of the grandchildren this morning, we wrapped ourselves in scarves and coats, walked out into the grey 7° morning and turned towards the market. Unlike Shoreditch and Greenwich, Borough was fully operational and pumping.

That is a mountain of comté.

This place is just amazing. If I lived in the area, I doubt I would ever cook. No that's wrong, I would cook because of all the fresh produce available. Had we been staying in an AirBnB we would have been purchasing all our food requirements here. Cheeses, fruit, vegetables, breads, pastries, meat, seafood, pasta, cured meats, spices, olive oils, pies, the list and the stalls go on. There were also restaurants surrounding the markets and an area out the back where stalls served hot food from a variety of cuisines.

The picture does not do this justice. OMG!

Bread Ahead provided our croissant, pain au chocolat and spinach feta pastry for sustenance and Colombia Coffee provided the liquid gold. No pretending this morning, espresso and double espresso. The only downside is that there are not a lot of casual seating options. What is available serves a purpose, but a few café style areas with heaters would be excellent.

Turkish delight anyone? So much choice.

After several traverses of the market, we went to explore Southwark Cathedral. On the way, a short deviation from the market to the cathedral found us outside the renowned dark blue front door of Bridget Jones (of diary fame). Sadly no Colin Firth (says Jayne) loitering around so after the photo of the house front façade, we headed around the corner to take a tour of the Cathedral.

Another great pun.

Southwark Cathedral

The Cathedral is surrounded by the markets, London high rise offices and a school. To gain entrance we had to almost circumnavigate the building. In doing so, we discovered a small viewing area that looked across the Thames. Inscribed on the wall was a quote from Sir Walter Raleigh. No, it wasn't "spark up boys, let's hear it for big tobacco". It was, "There are two things scarce matched in the universe, the sun in heaven and the Thames on earth". And that from an explorer.  Perhaps he explored the wrong areas. Perhaps he had a boy look. Perhaps he had no imagination. Perhaps Lennon was right, he really is a "stupid git". The Thames is just a larger version of the Yarra in Melbourne, or the Brisbane in, you guessed it, Brisbane. A boiling mass of brown water. Unattractive and uninviting. Although the colour suits the grey of London.

The Thames on earth. Um, yeah, why not.

Another confession, dear reader. While I struggle with the excess of religion and its wanton waste, I am fascinated by the beauty of the churches that were built and adorned while people died of starvation and plague. Of course the historical aspect is always a drawcard too.

They love a big organ. Who doesn't?

Given the age of the Cathedral, there were many tombstones embedded in the floor but many were almost smooth from passing foot traffic. There was also a memorial to Shakespeare inside the Cathedral and a statue in the grounds. Apparently he was a local parishioner back in the day.

The Shakespeare memorial.

The garden outside, where Will was sitting on a bench contemplating life, revealed a robin not far away. That was exciting for a bird nerd, although I'm not sure you could call the breast red. 

Orange?

There was also a cheeky fox who cared not a jot that there were people around. He garnered much excitement from within the garden area and without. Cameras were thrust through the iron fence to capture its image. Meanwhile the mangy creature sat and scratched at his fleas, totally unconcerned.

A bit too comfortable for mine.

The Cathedral also has a cat, Doorkins Magnificat (mark 2 - the original having met his maker in 2020), that may or may not have been responsible for the dead rat in the garden. We spotted him lying comfortably behind the baptismal font. The cat, not the rat. His importance to the Cathedral community is made abundantly clear from both the tour guide brochure and also the vast array of cat themed merch that adorns the ubiquitous gift shop on the way out. Indeed, two other visitors asked the guides where Doorkins might be found. We happily assisted them.

Will watches it all and records it for later.

It is apparent, in London at least, that when school is in, it is actually out. We came across school groups in Greenwich yesterday. Today there were school groups at the markets. Not just one, but many and also inside the Cathedral.

The Southwark Tavern

On our last day on the ground in London we thought we would eat at an old school London pub. The Southwark fit the bill. It was 10 minutes walk from the hotel, had original stained glass windows, served 'traditional fish and chips' (which we didn't eat) and had Guinness on tap (which we did drink).

In the early part of this century when we first visited London, the menu at the pub was fish and chips, chicken tikka and butter chicken. How the world has changed. No chicken tikka or butter chicken on the menu anywhere I looked. Pubs now consider themselves 'gastro'. This apparently is a good thing and not related to gastroenteritis which is not a good thing comes from eating bad food.

We had a Guinness and breaded halloumi chips while we decided what to eat for the main meal of the day. How have I not experienced breaded halloumi chips before? Amazing.

The food was good. The wine list was smaller than Peter Dutton's popularity rating, although unlike Dutton's rating, it was adequate. The only drawback was the intimate nature of the space. This is normally a good thing. Unless there are people who feel the need to talk at the TOP OF THEIR VOICES. Everytime they contribute to a conversation. And it is always (generalised statement) young women. When she was participating in the talk at her table I couldn't hear the music.

Another box ticked. It was back to the hotel.

And that's enough for now. The next post will be from the Viking Venus. I'm so tired.

Until then.