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Some of the perils of living overseas

May 25, 2019 by Fran 2 Comments

As I countdown to my next trip “home”, the first in two years, I have been thinking about some of the perils of living overseas. Now, when I say perils, fear not. I am not intimating that living in Sydney puts me at risk of anything more dangerous that a high phone bill, but there are a number of things that you learn to adapt to when living overseas.

Keeping in touch with friends and family ‘back home’

Technology is a wonderful thing. How wonderful, most of the younger generation will not really appreciate. When I first came travelling to Australia, in June of 1994, there was no internet. Well, there was, but it wasn’t widely available, and thus not widely used. No mobile phones. No fancy little laptops and tablets to blog about your trip. Just a smattering of Internet cafes, where you could purchase a block of time, join the queue, then furiously type as fast as you could once seated so you didn’t run out of allotted minutes, mid email.

Picture of an old internet cafe — Ever used one of these?

If traditional pen and paper was more your thing, and it was, and remains mine, we had “poste restante”. Yeah, I had never heard of it either, before that first trip to Australia in 1994. A quaint little idea, that served me perfectly well. And has resulted in me having a comprehensive, written, documentary record of my trip, and a collection of letters that I treasure. Who knows, some of the words you sent me may one day end up in my magnus opus. My memoir. But don’t worry, I will change the names to protect the innocent.

“Poste Restante” was (maybe still is?) a service offered by the post offices. You let your friends and family know which town, or city, you were hoping to be in, at a certain time, and they could send a letter addressed to you, care of the said post office. All I had to do was, firstly make sure I was actually in that town, then take my ID and go queue up, with all the other backpackers, and collect my letters. Simple as that. Left town before you got your letter? Then I am afraid you never got to know what important musings you were destined to read. When you think of it, this could actually change the direction of peoples lives. Peril alert. You could have left a loved one, on the other side of the world wondering why you never returned their proclamations of love. We will never know.

Telephoning home was possible, but not from one of those nifty little smart phones that we all now have difficulty in lifting our heads up from. We were some years from that. The iPhone was still 13 years away. You had to use a public phone box, (do we still have them?), and usually through the use of a pre-paid telephone card. Due to the time difference between Australia and the UK, this usually meant that calls were made late at night, on a weekend, after one too many schooners. Drunkenly struggling in a payphone cubicle, scratching off the “PIN” code required to enter into the phone, chatting away as fast as you can before your credit ran out. Which wasn’t very long. I later found out that most of these calls I made consisted of me blathering away incoherently, with my parents just happy that I was obviously alive, in good health, and enjoying life. Hardly in any kind of peril.

Life now for the traveller, or expat, is much easier. I think we often forget how far we have come in terms of technology, allowing us to bridge the gap across countries, and continents. This is the changing face of travel. There are a plethora of instant messaging apps. To the point that it is confusing at times working out which ones people have, what devices support which apps, and whether to do just audio, or video too. Skype. Facetime. Google Duo. What’s App video call. And Google Hangouts. The paradox of choice.

That said, I probably communicated a lot more in the “old days”. Letters and calls were done weekly. And now, I instant message a lot, but only probably speak to family and friends once every few months. Hardly makes sense does it? But I think that because the world now seems so small, I have less of a divide to cross. Less of a bridge to gap. I feel that everybody is right there, at the touch of a button.

All this is making me think that maybe I should make more of an effort. Write more letters. And definitely make more calls. Hmm, I have a new objective.

Language “difficulties”

Apart from deciphering the local lingo, and trying to understand why everything in Australia is suffixed with an “o” (Dave-o, Serv-o, Amb-o, Fire-o, please don’t ask!), I don’t have many language issues in Sydney.

Granted, the Aussies can not work out where different UK accents originate from, as a result of them not having many regional accents themselves. This always results in being asked, “right mate, I’m good at this usually. Irish or Scottish?“. Simply that. When I say English, I get a very disbelieving look. “Nah mate, you can’t be. You don’t sound very English. Not like the lads from Earl’s Court, or Fulham, where I lived for a while.” When I ask how many Irish and Scottish people they have met, I get a blank look.

Cue, me eye rolling. Again. Almost without exception, the question about the accent is the first thing I am asked when meeting people. Apart from the local waiter at The Bather’s Pavilion, who complimented us on our very good English, after previously observing us over lunch chatting away in French to each other. What? French? Mon dieu. Two Yorkshire folk, happily chatting away, in English.

“England”, I say, which results in further blank looks.

“You don’t sound English”. Here we go again, I thought.

“Don’t I? That is odd. I lived there for first 40 years of my life, so I kind of assumed I did”.

“No. Not English, English. You know. Like other English people.”

Yes, it gets weary. Having to explain to almost everyone you meet, that I am indeed English.

Sport (well, football), (REAL football)

In many respects, Australia is much like its colder cousin. But, the longer you live here you start to feel some of the very marked differences in culture. A big one that continues to impact my life is football. And this brings one of the biggest cultural differences. Football was a part of my life in the UK. Not just something I chose to do. But was intrinsically woven through the fabric of my life. From playing in the school football team, and captaining it, through to playing regularly at weekends as an adult. Both full 11 aside, and lots of weekly 5 aside games. It was an ever present.

I had hoped it would be even more. As a school child I had been put forward for trials at county level, for Yorkshire. And in the trials, I was played out of what I thought were my best positions, and I didn’t make the cut. This was hard for a 10 year old. Even more so when I saw local lads from that same weekend going on to become professional footballers, even enjoying stints in the Premier League. Oh what might have been.

And then there was following my own club. Every lover of football has their own team. Something that never changes. Through good times, and bad. And I was lucky enough to have a season ticket for my team, Manchester United. Going to my first game at the age of 7, and then continuing the tradition as I grew older, to the point when I could afford a car, and a season ticket.

Football in England is ingrained in the national culture. In much the same was it is in European, and South American countries. It is a religion. And the stadia are the churches. Here in Australia, I have to adapt to the fact that football is a minority sport. It plays second fiddle to the various codes of rugby, and even bloody cricket. Does a more boring game exist?

I do miss the banter that comes from having a beer with mates, all supporting different teams. It can get quite serious, but then, it is football. Here, I can go through a cup final, a local derby, or even, the height of rivalry, a game against Liverpool, and yet it wouldn’t even make a blip on the radars of my colleagues. Well, there are a few from the UK, and even Europe, who do understand, but to everybody else, football might as well not exist.

The tyranny of distance

Yes, I could live somewhere a lot closer than a 24 hour flight away. Or 17 hours should I move to Perth. But where would the fun in that be? I get amused that some family members still struggle with the time difference, some 7 years after I got here. The other day I awoke to a message that asked, “how happy are you now that it is Friday?“. OK, I was tired. I hadn’t got through my first coffee of the day yet. I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes. But, I was sure that after Wednesday, comes Thursday. Unless I had slept for over 24 hours, which would be welcome, but a first, it was not Friday until tomorrow.

One benefit of being this side of the world though is the opportunity to spend time in places like Ubud in Bali, which is only a 6 hour flight away. Half that if I move to Perth. And Thailand becomes a regular destination, which for those of you that have been there, is the definition of paradise. Fancy a wine tasting trip to New Zealand? Maybe a long weekend in Queenstown? Only a 3 hour flight away. And it has to be said, I do love to travel.

From peril, to positive

For every negative, there is a positive. And with Australia, these positives are massive, and many. Enough to keep me here for what is my 7th year. I often get asked why I moved here, alone. Making what most people see as a big step. Firstly, I didn’t, and don’t see it as big. For me, it was just choosing to live somewhere else for a bit. See how it was. Have a little adventure. Write a new chapter. But also, one of the biggest reasons, was to enjoy a warmer climate. I am not a fan of the harsh European winters. In fact, I am forgetting how harsh they can be, not having endured one for over 6 years now. We are currently one week away from winter, and even at 18 degrees, I am wondering whether I need a light jacket as I walk about the village.

With the weather brings an outdoor lifestyle that is hard not to enjoy. I love cafes, and cafe culture, and most of all, I love coffee. And the coffee here in Australia is amongst the best in the world. Weekends are all about finding your favourite spot, and settling in for an amazing brunch, with sublime coffee. Take a book, do some writing, or just watch the world go by, but this is something I just couldn’t do regularly enough in the UK. The weather is often too cold and unpredictable.

Perils of living overseas. To the positives. — One of life’s pleasures.

The weather also determines your wardrobe for most of the year. And outside of July, which is the coldest winter month, flip flops are de-rigeur. I like that, in Australia, there are no airs and graces when it comes to dress code for all but the most formal occasions. How I hate the stuffiness of formal events. Having to dress a certain way just to go for dinner. Well here in Australia, oftentimes you just wear what you are comfortable in. Shorts at dinner? No problem. Want to head out in your Stan Smiths? Go ahead. That said, I still find it odd that will see many people in the streets with no shoes on. And not just in the beach suburbs like Manly, or Bondi Beach, but also around your local village. Don’t their feet get dirty? Are they not worried about walking in dog poo? (there is enough of it). That is one peril I want to avoid.

For those of you that live overseas, or have in the past, what were your perils? How did you keep in touch with friends and family? What did you miss the most? Let me know in the comments.

7 Must Visit Vineyards in New Zealand

April 23, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

Wine tasting in New Zealand

Classified as a “New World” wine region, New Zealand has an abundance of great wine growing regions, and the climate is perfect for creating some world class Pinot Noir. Yeah, you probably know this already. It is a good drop. There are also bold Bordeaux style reds. Big, robust cabernet grapes. And we couldn’t talk about the wines of New Zealand without mentioning the ubiquitous Sauvignon Blanc of the Marlborough region. The cooler climate helping to create the apple crisp, zesty savs from the South Island that are now found everywhere, with bottle shops and supermarkets worldwide saturated with it. A good wine, but it wasn’t the focus of this trip.

Unlike many wine tasting regions I have visited around the world, wineries in New Zealand tend to charge a “tasting fee”, almost without exception. Some even still insisted on collecting the fee even when we made a purchase at the cellar door, which is something that will not help encourage future, thirsty oenophiles.

New Zealand is a great country to travel around. Small. Outrageously scenic. And whilst you are there, point your campervan, or car in the direction of the following vineyards.*

*I use “winery” and “vineyard” interchangeably. However, they have different meanings. A winery is somewhere that wine is made. A vineyard is somewhere that grapes are grown.

Waiheke Island – Auckland

Known as “wine island”, Waiheke Island is only 40 minutes from Auckland on the Fullers Ferry service, leaving from the downtown ferry terminal. To get in the mood for a day amongst the vines, why not start the journey with a glass of bubbles on the way over. Arriving at the island, the Explorer Hop on-Hop off bus meets you, to transport you around the island. The consistently high temperatures means that the island produces some great red wines.

Batch – our first port of call and where we also had a very good lunch, avoiding the showers that had started to threaten the day. When the skies cleared, we had the best vantage point on the island, with uninterrupted views across to Auckland. For a $12 tasting fee we had the Thomas’s Bach wines tasting flight. It wasn’t until I had been in New Zealand for almost a week that I learnt that “Bach” (pronounced batch) means a small crib, or beach house. Not often the standard way of doing a tasting, the flight is a good idea as it allows you to try your wines side by side, comparing the flavour profiles

Wines of New Zealand, including an excellent Pinot Noir. — Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, Sauvignon Blanc, Rose

https://www.batchwinery.com/our-wine.html

Te Motu – Named for the original Maori name of Waiheke, “island of long shelter”, Te Motu serves up Bordeux style wines, sat overlooking the verdant Onetangi Valley. For a $20 tasting fee (yes, it was getting more expensive) we got a tasting of the premium selection, the Te Motu Heritage Flight. The Dunleavy “The Shed” rose, Merlot based and made in the Provence style. A 2016 Syrah, “The Grafter”, and a 2015 Cabernet Merlot, “The Strip”, named after the old airport runway, preceded our final wine, which was the Te Motu 2009. Good for cellaring up to 2025, this was one that I enjoyed there and then.

Our Wines

Stonyridge Vineyard – Specialising in premium red wine, Stonyridge has been described as :

“The vineyard that caused the wine world to wake up to Waiheke” – Lonely Planet 2015.

Stonyridge is a short 5 minute walk across the fields, and through the vines, from neighbouring Te Motu. So we HAD to visit, didn’t we? Following a brief tasting at the cellar door, we purchased a full glass and took it to sit amongst olive trees, drinking our wine in the courtyard that has a distinctly French flavour. Great wine, great views, and great company. Do days get any better?

The vines of New Zealand, enjoying the glorious sunshine.

http://www.stonyridge.com/

Hawkes Bay – North Island

Nestled on the east coast, and by the city of Hastings, Hawkes Bay is fast becoming a must visit wine destination. The “Bridge Pa triangle”, which is a cluster of conveniently located vineyards and cellar doors, Hawkes Bay is set up to satisfy all your wine needs, whether you want to visit in your campervan, or if you prefer to pick up a bike locally and pedal your way around.

Ngatawara – easier to find, than to pronounce, we had our first tasting here, in the old stables. We had an unstructured tasting, which means there isn’t a set list, but you get to taste whatever takes your fancy. After a rather uninspiring sauvignon blanc, then a Pinot Gris that failed to match the heights of earlier vineyards we decided to move on rather than work further through the wine list. It can be a tough job, this wine tasting lark. Wine is a very subjective thing, and the beauty is that all our palates are different. Good wine, whatever the price, won’t always be to your liking.

Ngatarawa. New Zealand. Hawkes Bay. — Easier to find than pronounce.

http://www.ngatarawa.co.nz/wine/

Oak Estate – conveniently located just next door to Ngatawara, we were back to a structured tasting, for a $5 charge per person. This tasting fee was refunded when we left with a bottle of wine. We needed something to go with our fish and chip dinner later that evening. The wines in the tasting included a Chardonnay, spoilt for many due to the proliferation of mass made, over oaky variations in the 90s. However, this wine is currently undergoing a renaissance in the New World. The one served at Oak Estate was another great example of how good Chardonnay is fighting back. At cellar doors, when asked if I want to try a chardie, no longer do I reply with a screwed up face.

Through the rustic, red cellar door, the courtyard, in amongst the vines, was a perfect spot for us to fill our hungry bellies. The wine tasting was complemented with a very good lunch platter. The Oak Platter, which was more than enough for two. Now, I just needed to find somewhere for an afternoon nap.

The Oak Platter. Oak Estate. Bridge Pa. Hawkes Bay. — Lunch is served. The Oak Platter.

http://oakestatewines.co.nz/

Marlborough – South Island

We travelled through the Marlborough Sounds by ferry across to Picton in the South Island. Despite our earlier decision to bypass the Marlborough region, and head straight down the west coast, the blue sky and the sun glistening on the vines as we drove through proved too strong a temptation. And so we found ourselves swinging the campervan into the car park of the nearest vineyard.

Giesen Wines – Giesen is a wine brand that I am sure I have heard of, but for the life of me can’t remember why. It is a name that I now won’t forget due to the excellent Pinot Gris I tasted. Paired up with another family for the tasting, paying the standard $5 tasting fee, we were taken through the history of the vineyard, which I always find fascinating, and through a structured tasting, sparkling, to white, through to red, and ending on sweet wines if you so wished. I did so wish.

https://giesen.co.nzP

Peregrine Wines, Central Otago – leaving Queenstown was always going to be hard. The ultimate destination, whatever time of year, I am afraid that our 3 days did not do it justice. Mountains. Lakes. Great restaurants. Oh, take me back. What better way to perk ourselves up, as we headed north in the campervan, than to call at the renowned Peregrine Wines vineyard. An architectural wonder that catches the eye as you walk to the cellar door. And the wonders don’t stop there. The wines produced here are nothing short of excellent. Cue, more bottles purchased.

Peregrine Wines. Central Otago. New Zealand. — Central Otago, simply stunning

http://www.peregrinewines.co.nz/

Come to New Zealand for the scenery, and stay for the wine. I challenge you to visit the above vineyards, and not leave with a boot full of wine. What are you waiting for?

Let me know what your favourite vineyards in New Zealand are. What are your go to grapes? What vineyards should I check out on my next visit?

Should I put the iron away and travel?

April 4, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

I have loved travel for most of my life. And when I say travel, I don’t mean holidays. (Although, I do bloody love holidays). I mean what I would call real travel. Not cocooned in some 5 star hotel, plumping my pillows, and bedding down in Egyptian cotton sheets of the highest quality thread count, whilst the locals can’t afford food and drink, let alone shelter. Not soothed by air conditioning when the locals live in temperatures that could cook an egg.

And not visiting a place, to stay imprisoned within the confines of a resort, owned by an overseas conglomerate, never to venture outside, to interact with the locals. No. I want to sample some amazing street food. I want to smell the spices. I want to be visually bombarded with colour, and activity. I want to contribute to the local economy, not the faceless one.

When people tell me they have been to a certain country, when in fact they never left their international hotel resort drives me mad. If you are going to visit a country, visit that country, its people, and its customs. India is not best seen through the windows of your air-conditioned tour bus. You won’t see some of Mexico’s best temples, from early civilisation, from your lounger in a US run holiday resort. And the UK is not best seen from an open top bus in London. Whilst I’m on that point, no open top bus is probably good advice, knowing the English weather.

The amount of people I talk to here who tell me they went to the UK and loved London. The end. The whole of the UK, and they loved London. If I had a Bitcoin for every time somebody here asked me “when do you fly to London” whenever I visit the UK, I still wouldn’t understand Bitcoin. But I would have a lot of them. By the way, I blatantly stole that one, so if you are reading this, over your freshly baked focaccia with smashed avo, I do heartily apologise. The blank stares I get when I ask people what they thought of the Lake District, the beautiful Cornish coastline, or the wonders of Edinburgh and Glasgow, confounds me.

One of the greatest travel writers, Paul Theroux, said “tourists don’t know where they have been, travellers don’t know where they are going.” And that encapsulates the feeling, and the joy of travel. Waking up one day, not knowing where you will be going to bed. The unbridled freedom this gives. Backpacking. Independent travel. Whatever label we want to give to it, it is about immersing yourself in a country, and a culture. Find your favourite local bakery. Your favourite spot for morning coffee. Order it in the local language. OK, I admit this could be difficult in Scotland. Laugh along when you get it completely wrong. Walk the streets, smell the smells. Listen to the cacophony of sounds. See what the locals do. Just sit and people watch. Let your mind wander. A form of meditation. Be present.

This is the travel that I have in my heart. What I yearn for most days. Trapped in an office, earning the money to be able to escape the office, and go off and do these things feels like a Faustian pact. Modern life has a way of keeping you in chains. To enjoy a lot of the things that we want to enjoy, we need money. And so we sell our services, to the highest bidder. A roaming troubadour. A means to an end.

And this is where our life conditioning comes in again. We are told that we need to work hard, save lots of money in our superannuation, or pension, and then, when we reach retirement age, which seems to keep creeping inexorably up, we can take that money and “enjoy” life. And I have seen how that works out for a lot of people. My own father amongst them. His dream was to retire and move to Spain. A very modest dream. And that man worked harder than anybody I have ever known. But he never got to live out his dream. Cancer took his dream away.

I read of people who strive every day, struggle every day, ticking off the days to retirement. Then retirement comes along, and they are suddenly struck down with a fatal heart attack.

OK, OK, I know I have being a little morbid. And a trifle dramatic. I am not naive enough to think this happens everyone. Lots of people do get to retire, and go off and do the things they have dreamt about all their hard-working life. But is it worth taking the chance? Every day I bottle up all these feelings. Keep the lid on them. Do a job that I feel trapped in. Office bound.

That I am doing this until some arbitrary date in the future seems pointless. I have money in the bank. And I have my health and fitness. For now. I have to admit, my knees give me cause for concern most mornings. So why am I not off travelling? Living the life I would prefer to live. Tipping the scales so that the balance is in favour of travel, and less so on work. There are places in the world I am desperate to see. Why am I still ironing shirts for work on Sunday afternoons, and not packing my bags?

Only I can answer that.

A different side to Melbourne

February 25, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

It was probably not the best week to be travelling by plane. Not with the tragic news that was emerging, the discovery of the body of Emiliano Sala, the Argentinian footballer, whose plane disappeared from the screens of radar whilst flying to the UK.

I was thinking of the folly of flying just days later, as we were thrown about inside the plane like the contents of a cocktail shaker. Very shaken. Very stirred. The dips in altitude were so severe it took me right back to being a teenager, and daring to ride the Revolution at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. Losing your stomach for those thrilling few seconds. However, this time, I was less thrilled. I know one or two people who wouldn’t have handled this situation with quite the same sense of decorum.

As we were flying budget, with JetStar (who I still confuse with EasyJet), I suppose that the fact we were now ‘wheels down’, and safely in Melbourne is all I could ask for. That we had to fly into, and out of different airports is another matter altogether. Fans of Ryanair in Europe will no doubt feel my pain.

Once in Melbourne, and until at least we had to fly back, the ambience, and comfort level were ratcheted up a couple of notches. Staying at the Pan Pacific, right on the Yarra River, by the Melbourne Conference Centre, ensured we would get a good nights sleep. And we did. With possibly the world’s best black out blinds. Bearing in mind that at home in Sydney, it is so bright in the mornings that I might as well have a torch trained on me, then anything that blocked out the morning sun was sure to be a winner. With complimentary access to the Pan Pacific Club Lounge, with complimentary hors d’ouerves and wine between 5pm and 7pm, I was in my element.

However, I had to be restrained with the nibbles, as on Saturday night we had a dinner reservation at Donovans, right on the beach at St Kilda. A local institution, for over 22 years, Donovans lived up to, and probably exceeded my already high expectations. Friendly and attentive service, without being over bearing. In restaurants I sometimes get all cranky when I’m left feeling that advice on the wine list starts to feel a little patronising. Not here. If anything was to leave me feeling cranky it would be the fact that I could only choose one entree and one main course. The menu had an excellent selection, and I could happily have gone back the second night.

I landed on the goats cheese souffle with mushroom sauce, and for main, the outstanding seafood linguine, with Moreton Bay bug. In keeping with recent dining experiences, this was the first time I had eaten Moreton Bay bug. The name does nothing to increase my appetite. And they look even worse. But when I tell you this little beauty is like the best lobster tail, you may, like me, find yourself changing your mind. As Victoria was having a meat dish we chose to pair different wines to our dishes. Donovans accommodates this with a very good selection of half bottles, elegantly served in carafes. I went for the Pewsey Vale ‘Block 1961’ Riesling 2017, from Eden Valley, South Australia, whilst Victoria paired an excellent Wilson ‘Stone Craft’ Cabernet Sauvignon 2015 from Clare Valley, also in South Australia, with her Tasmanian grass fed T-bone.

Sunday dawned just a little bit dusty, nothing to do with those whisky nightcaps, and following breakfast in the hotel we had a walk across town to shake off the cobwebs. The Melbourne skyline seems to change every time I am here. The top of town gets more “Manhattan like” with needle style skyscrapers going up in a lot of places. I do worry that there will be a tipping point, beyond which Melbourne will start losing some of its character. It has built a tourist industry out of its lane ways, packing them with great bars and cafes, whilst using the walls as open air art. The more these older buildings are demolished to make way for modernity, the more I worry this great city will lose some of its charm, and character.

Jumping on a number 64 tram, we headed, at least we thought we were, towards Brighton, a suburb that we hadn’t previously visited. After a tram ride that took longer than we expected, probably due to the sheer number of people travelling to the St Kilda music festival, we disembarked at the last stop, only to find ourselves in East Brighton, and still a 45 minute walk away from the beach, through suburbia. Putting our best foot forward, we marched through a very salubrious set of neighbourhoods, before finally smelling the sea, and reaching the famous, and very colourful, bathing boxes of Brighton Beach. As with most “famous” things in this Instagram age, we were not the first there. The beach was packed with selfie stick toting tourists looking for the perfect shot. In amongst this, there were actual locals, owners of these bathing boxes, who were looking to have a quiet Sunday by the beach. Looking around me, I’m sure they haven’t had a quiet Sunday at the beach for quite some years.

Getting back to the city, from Brighton, proved to be even harder than getting there. We took the decision to have lunch in Brighton village, an amazing pizza at Allegro, then jump on a train back to the city. This would be much quicker than the rattling, labouring tram. Well, it would have been, had there been trains that day. Waiting on the platform, with many other unsuspecting travellers, it wasn’t until a few scheduled trains hadn’t arrived that we came to realise it was a day for “train replacement buses”. Oh my. We decided to call up a friendly Uber driver, got back to the city, and helped to shake off the stresses of the day with a couple of cold drinks by the river.

Melbourne is a city we have visited a number of times before. We usually tie it in with a visit to the Australian Open. An event that gets better every single year. This trip was planned around things that we hadn’t previously done. Spending more time in St Kilda. Visiting a new restaurant in this beach side suburb. Making the short (it should have been) trip out to the beach at Brighton, and experiencing a different side to this great city.

Flying home, thankfully with less turbulence, I was again reminiscing on a fabulous weekend, in one of my favourite cities, and my thoughts switched to “when can I come back?”

Having a retrospective on 2018

January 20, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

In keeping with something I try and do each year, I am again reflecting on the year that just passed. And in the spirit of how I have been working in my professional life for much of 2018, I am doing it in the form of a retrospective.

A key event in Scrum* (the office based type, not outdoors on a field type) is the retrospective (retro). Done frequently, giving you and the team the opportunity to look back, to inspect and adapt, reflecting on what went well, and where you think you can improve in the next period. In practice, you should be having a retro at least fortnightly, not yearly, but you get the idea.

When I look back on last year’s post, I had a successful 2017. Areas for improvement in 2018 would have included doing my first yoga class (spoiler: it didn’t happen this year either), and doing more writing, which I am not totally happy with. By this I mean I would like to have done a lot more. And not just blogs, but more travel writing, and more fiction. Also building on my memoir experiment. A constant work in progress.

But, the overarching goal for every year that I am able to, is to learn something new, go somewhere different, and do something that I haven’t done before. I also want to read as many books as is humanly possible. The people who connect with me through the excellent app “Goodreads” will have seen my very ambitious target for 2018 was 120 books. This was a moonshot. And aiming for this allowed me to read a total of 115 books. A great achievement. I have slightly lowered my goal this year to 100. If you have any “must read” recommendations, send them through to me. I will add them to my ever expanding “to be read (tbr) pile”.

As I probably mentioned last year, having a list of goals suits me better than making up “New Year resolutions”. I don’t want the start of the year to be when I suddenly decide to improve myself. I want this to be an ongoing, ever evolving journey. Here is what I wrote as my goals for 2018:

Do a surf lesson – outcome: Is there anything more quintessentially Australian, (other than hugging a koala bear, in your vest and flip flops, whilst cooking a prawn on the BBQ, chugging a coldie), than surfing? So many great ocean beaches. So much surf. And the romance of it all. Who hasn’t watched “Endless Summer”, or sang along to the Beach Boys, and not wanted to just get out there on their board? Well, as it turns out, me actually. I had thought this would be great, but on reflection, the reality of it does match the romance. I would be constantly falling off. I would be in danger of drowning in the swell. I would have salt water up my nose, and I would be choking. Have you even seen me trying to paddle board? ‘Nuff said.
Drop 4kgs – outcome: This didn’t happen. But, the positives I take is that I didn’t put 4kgs on. I have come to the realisation that I love the lifestyle that I have, balancing being a bon vivant, with being mindful of my diet and exercise. I don’t want to be Joe Wicks. I want to be a healthy version of me. And I’m winning. For now. It is a precarious balance, but as I leave 2018 the same weight as I entered it, then I must be doing something right.
Experience my first cold Xmas in 6 years – outcome: I am afraid this was another where the romance of it was driving my thought process. My heart ruling my head. I really did start the year thinking I would be ending it in Canada, wrapped up warm, enveloped in North Face clothing, but revelling in my first cold Xmas since 2011. However, planning the summer holidays, in the depths of a July winters day, I already knew that I would again be having an antipodean Xmas. Prawns, bbqs, and beaches (as per above, minus the koala hugging).
Increase my knowledge of wine – outcome: A success. Any casual observer of this blog, or anybody that knows me, will also know that I am a lover of good wine. Over the years my tastes have developed from drinking wine out of a box on long backpacking trips, to now being picky about exactly what region I want to drink my Cabernet from. A trip to Mudgee, NSW, in January kicked off the wine tasting year, and having the opportunity to taste wines in four completely new wine regions, in New Zealand, ended the year. I am still on my wine journey. I’ll never be a sommelier, but I do like to know my way around a wine list.
Visit somewhere new – outcome: I managed to maintain this tradition, with my first visit to the paradise that is Hamilton Island, off the coast of Queensland, in the Whitsunday Islands. I wrote about this trip in an earlier blog. And just the thought of it brings me out in a beaming smile. I will be back.

In summary, I signed off 2018 in the same way that I started it. Happy. Energised. Positive. Excited and enthusiastic for the challenges and adventures ahead. I know this year will continue in the same vein. It is the year I will need to find a new job, as my current contract is coming to an end. I have thoroughly enjoyed my 2+ years there, but I stick to my motto, “always leave the party whilst you are enjoying it the most.”

This year brings a significant birthday (not mine) to plan for and celebrate, which will be done searching out the “big 5” on safari, with some wine tasting thrown in. There is my first visit back in 2 years to the UK to see my mum. Oh, and my sisters. And all my other family and friends. Part of this trip will see me exploring places I haven’t yet seen. Will I win my fortune in Monte Carlo? Is Nice nice? How many Greek tavernas can i visit whilst in Santorini and Kos?

I will continue with my growth mindset, stretching myself personally, and professionally. On the personal front, doing more writing, even maybe entering a few short story competitions, or submitting a few travel articles. See if this takes me in any new directions. Do more meditation. It works. Trust me. And on the professional front, I will strive to become an even better coach, helping teams and organisations become their best selves.

You see, the possibilities are endless. I can’t wait to get started.

*Scrum – the latest and greatest in the world of software delivery. Move over PRINCE2, you are so passe. This is a job for Scrum, coupled with an “agile mindset”.

Glow worm kayak tour – New Zealand

January 7, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

There are times you find yourself in the middle of something and you think to yourself, now this is a situation I hadn’t planned for. This was one of those times. Kayaking, slowly, in the pitch black, in a torrential downpour, across a lake in Bethlehem. No, not Jerusalem, but a little suburb in the town of Tauranga, in the heart of the Bay of Plenty. Some 200 kms south of Auckland, on New Zealand’s north island. Quite an apt town though, as it was Christmas.

In the almost silence, only punctuated by the rhythmic rowing of the paddles, I thought, “what am I doing here, in the cold, at night, steering a 2 person sea kayak towards a very dark canyon?”

As it happens I was on a glow worm tour with Waimarino Kayak Tours. A tour that I would highly recommend. If you like being out in the heavy rain, in the dark, paddling across a lake into the unknown, hoping you don’t suffer the same fate as our lead guide, who discovered a spider crawling up his leg, which was entombed in his kayak.

Am I selling it to you? Are you on the website right now, booking? In all seriousness, you should be, because the whole experience was excellent.

Nineteen of us left the pick up point in a bus driven by one of the guides, Josh, whose hybrid accent told me he wasn’t a local. The phrase “going oot in a boot” gave it away for me. Originally hailing from Victoria Island in Canada, he is a long way from home, following a time honoured template. Travel. Meet girl. Fall in love. Stay. He is not the first, and he won’t be the last.

After a short 20 minute drive, up through the lush green hills surrounding Bethlehem, we were parked up, and on the shore of Lake McLaren. The first part of the tour was quaffing a selection of local wines and nibbling on delectable cheeses, and fresh fruits. The wines were very good, and from the Mills Reef winery, literally next door to where we were. We were soon joined on the shore of the lake by some very inquisitive ducks, hungrily eyeing up the selection of crackers we had.

I had planned to kayak in just my lightweight hoodie, thinking that as I wasn’t planning on tipping the kayak over then I wouldn’t be getting wet. Yeah, I know. Naive. How thankful was I that I was talked into making full use of the gear provided on the tour! The waterproof jacket and spray deck, that seals you into the kayak, were lifesavers. Between the spray from the paddles, and the deluge of rain, I would have been completely drenched without them.

As dusk turned to dark, we got fitted into our kayaks, told how the feet paddles worked the rudder, and were slid from the launch onto the lake. It couldn’t be easier. Left foot to go left. And right foot….well, you get the picture. That said, I am not sure the mother and daughter team did, watching them paddling around in manic circles. I think they may be confusing their left from right.

Once we were all in, and our guides were strategically placed around us in formation, we slowly made our way up to the canyon. Even on the way there, glancing at the trees around the lake, we could see the unmistakable sights of the glow worms, like a string of fairy lights festooning the trees. But this was nothing compared with what was to come.

Guided by only the red light on the back of the heads of the guides, and the constant tidbits of very useful information, we slowly paddled up the lake, and into the canyon. And what a sight greeted us. Hundreds, nay, thousands of little shimmering lights adorned the walls of the canyon. Across both sides, and seemingly everywhere. A moment to take in. As we all rested in our kayaks, and enjoyed the silence, but for the sounds of birds, and whatever other creatures were out there. This was why I was here.

The interesting thing is, glow worms don’t really exist. Not really. What we were seeing were fungus gnats (arachnocampa luminosa). Don’t sound quite as appealing do they? And so the tour companies rename them as glow worms, knowing that this would sell more tours. The fungus gnats are bioluminescent, which is the blue/green light you can see when it is dark. The brighter the light, the hungrier the glow worm, as this is what they use to attract prey. What you don’t see, thankfully in my opinion, is the sticky webs they create, and drop down like hanging mucus, to catch their food. Fascinatingly, the glow worms can even turn off their light to preserve energy, such as when there is too much light, or if they feel threatened.

As the glow worms are essentially the larval, or maggot stage of the fungus gnat fly, there is a natural lifecycle, which results, after a period of between 9 and 12 months in the fly hatching. The bad news for the fly is that it is born without a mouth, meaning it can not feed, and has a lifespan of only 4 days. The good news is that those 4 days are purely for mating, and producing eggs for the whole cycle to begin again.

In my awe, I had almost forgotten it was raining. That was until we exited the canyon, and had to make our way back to the kayak launch point. Getting a little wet was such a small price to pay to see such a natural wonder. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.