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Come with me to Koh Phangan, Thailand

July 22, 2018 by Fran 2 Comments

The flight from Bangkok (BKK) to Koh Samui (USM), only a short hop of just over an hour, was uneventful but for one thing. Following the serving of a snack, I erroneously accepted the offer of a coffee. Well, I say “coffee”. As it was passed to me I immediately realised the gravity of my mistake, as the unmistakable aroma of instant coffee hit my nostrils. Instant coffee, people! What was I thinking? That I was back in Business Class? This was economy. I wasn’t flying flat. It was cattle class. On Bangkok Airways. What did I think? That I was going to be served a cup of Toby’s Estate Single Origin? Oh lord, what was I to do now? Drink it I suppose. I even tried the first sip without holding my nose. It was like a challenge on that turgid tv show, set in the jungle somewhere, where z list “celebrities” are asked to eat a kangaroo scrotum. In fact, I’d posit my challenge was even worse. I had a whole cup of instant coffee to contend with. I doubt that I’ll ever be the same again. Possibly the worst 15 minutes of my life. (I could be exaggerating a little here, but this is how I felt in the moment.)

The last time I had visited the island of Koh Phangan was back on that round the world backpacking trip in 1999. Travelling overland, from Bangkok, and south through Thailand, I visited Koh Samui, Koh Phangan and Koh Tao, three islands in the Gulf of Thailand, that get smaller in that order. That original trip, almost 20 years earlier, had me docking at Thong Sala pier on the west coast of Koh Phangan. This was pre the internet, pre mobile phones. Can any of my younger readers even understand that. That we lived in a world where we weren’t just a couple of clicks from everything. In the days when you lived and died by the Lonely Planet (other guide books are available) that you carried everywhere. Clambering off the boat, slightly seasick from the choppy crossing, with lots of other unwashed, and dirty looking backpackers, to be greeted by hordes of ute driving bungalow owners. Jumping in one that at least looked trustworthy, although from my rather hazy memory, they all looked as untrustworthy as each other. It is fair to say I was a very inexperienced traveller in those days. Very wet behind the ears. I had a brand new, too big, backpack from the local Eurohike store in Halifax, and a pocketful of travellers cheques. Yeah, you heard that right. I had actual travellers cheques. My god, I AM old.

This was the year that I realised that in general, people of the world can be trusted. All they wanted was the same as we all want. Enough money to be able to put food on the table and provide for their loved ones. This was the year I realised we are all the same, regardless of race, or background. In all the years I have travelled, both then, and subsequently, I have to say that I have not suffered anything worse than a bit of scamming. The usual taxi ride, or tuk tuk ride, that you work out cost you the price of a week’s accommodation. Yes, there was that time in the jungle in Colombia, when I was marched off a bus at gun point, and interrogated by the side of the road in Spanish by around four heavily armed, fatigue clad army officers. But apart from my bad Spanish being my only offence, after lots of frantic discussions between the soldiers, on the fact that I didn’t have an identity card, like everybody else on the bus, but solo un pasaporte, I was free to go.

Thai Beachside restaurant — Typical island beachside restaurant

No such excitement on that first trip, and I can’t remember too much, other than the accommodation, which was a very basic wood and bamboo bungalow. And please understand me when I say basic. The shower was a pipe outside, out of which dripped some cold water. But, like all the best bungalows in Thailand, it was right on the beach. Serenaded to sleep by the sound of crashing waves. A bungalow “resort” that was powered by a generator, meaning the only light beyond 9pm was that coming out of my head torch. Which usually meant that this became the enforced bedtime. Well, I had to save the head torch batteries for an emergency. Or in case I ever had to go mining.

As the island was very undeveloped in those days, it was a lazy stay. Moving between the bungalow, the beach, and the only restaurant, which had a very limited menu. The only dish I can remember having was crab fried rice. And I had a lot of it. Perhaps that was the only dish. And this was before I had discovered e-readers. Meaning the only reading material I had were the left over books at the bungalows. Would I have ever picked up “Memoirs of a Geisha” otherwise? For the record, it is a good read.

Fast forward to 2018, and another very peaceful stay by the water. Panviman Resort advertises itself as “paradise”. And it was. For the first week. All I had to worry about was had I put enough sunscreen on, and was it 1pm yet? I had quickly developed a pavlovian response to the clock ticking over to the magic hour. Happy hour. Cold beer, good book, and relax. You don’t realise how quiet it is. Quite how peaceful. Until a family of 4 turn up and start splashing in the pool like a herd of elephants at feeding time. Then another family. And another. I came to the dreaded realisation that we seemed to have crossed over with the school holidays of some country. Our peaceful paradise had become infested with little brats intent on making as much noise as possible. If I heard “Marco Polo” one more time I was in danger of throwing an alligator into the pool to make light of them.

Thankfully, I had the refuge of the spa, and my facial to look forward to. To maintain my zen. I would also mention the excellent, if somewhat painful Thai massage I got, but the memory of those disposable, fishnet like string undies I was given to wear, still brings me out in cold shivers.

This 2018 trip was a little different from that much earlier one. Greeted at the airport by an air-conditioned minibus, with a direct transfer to the pier in Fisherman’s Wharf in Koh Samui. Home for the next 8 nights was to be the Panviman resort, located on the north-east side of Koh Phangan, reached by direct speedboat from Koh Samui. With around 8 other guests we were whisked across the Gulf of Thailand, a short 40 minute boat ride, to be greeted by the banging of a Thai drum, and the many smiling faces of the very obliging hotel staff. Not for nothing is Thailand known as “the land of smiles”.

Over the course of the intervening 20 years I had upgraded from that tiny fan “cooled”, gecko, and ant infested bungalow, to an air conditioned hotel room, with spacious balcony, and a large tv on which to watch the World Cup. I did get a taste of that original trip, one day hiring a scooter to tour the island. Only 250 baht for the whole day, approx $10AUD, we visited the stretch of coastline I had previously stayed at. As was to be expected, I recognised nothing. The coastline remains the same, but development in the years since means that it is in effect a different place altogether.

We visited Secret Beach, Thong Sala, and had a beer at Freeway Bar, perhaps one of the most chilled bars you could visit. Being the only visitors we had to break up an animated discussion amongst the staff (well, I assumed they were staff as they were all just lounging around) to check the bar was actually open, and request our first cold Singha of the day. I don’t remember distinctly checking, but I am pretty sure it was 5 o’clock somewhere.

Negotiating the very steep hills on our return to Thong Nai Pan Noi beach, we called in at the Than Sadet waterfalls. I say “waterfalls”, but having been to Iguazu Falls, what we saw this day was probably better described as a small stream.

The beaches and coastline of Koh Phangan are just as you would picture them. Wide swathes of beach. Water as warm as an evening bath that is just starting to lose its heat. And green as far as the eye can see. All development is low-rise, so as you look out, across the island, you see nothing spoiling the natural beauty. The blue of both the sea and the sky, forming a green sandwich of the hills and trees in between.

People come to Thailand for many different reasons. Many different reasons. I come for the amazing natural beauty. The smiles from the locals. And the excellent food. Our hotel was a short walk from the village of Thong Nai Pan Noi, where we spent each evening, trying out somewhere new for dinner. Half of the places look as though they have never had a hygiene inspection. And they probably haven’t. But the many busy tables every night tell you something about the food they are pumping out. All your favourite Thai dishes from home are here, at a fraction of the cost. We had fabulous massamans. Excellent penangs. Delicious green curries. And from a roadside vendor, serving up food from the side of his scooter, an amazing banana roti. At the hotel we even got a serving of a very large fly, wok fried in the middle of our fried rice. I am not sure he was supposed to be there, although the eating of insects is nothing new amongst the cuisine of South East Asia.

Buggy rice aside, Thailand is a place that I could keep returning to. But then again, don’t I say that about most places I go?

Bangkok – The City of Angels

June 30, 2018 by Fran 4 Comments

He wasn’t sure what caused him to look up. A noise perhaps. A light. It wasn’t the evening symphony of cicadas. Or the regular chorus of the boats coming into, and out of, the nearby jetty. “Oriental pier…Oriental pier. This stop, Oriental pier”. He had become immune to these noises by now. As unobtrusive as having The Archers on the radio in the background. No, this was something different.

He screwed the lid of his pen back on, and gently laid it down on the desk. He walked slowly, barefoot, on to the balcony. There was the unmistakable whiff of citronella in the still night air. A smell as associated with Thailand as lemongrass. The citronella being part of the futile attempt to ward off the army of mosquitoes that descend when the sun goes down. He looked out across the Chao Phraya river. Watched the boats put putting up and down. It was too dark to see, but he knew from the smell that they were pumping out diesel fumes.

Bangkok Mandarin Oriental — The Mandarin Oriental

This is how I imagined Graham Greene, or maybe Somerset Maugham would spend their evenings, on the deck of the Mandarin Oriental. Midway through their latest creation. Using the solitude to help shape their stories. A haven of calm, in the fast and frenetic city of Bangkok, The Mandarin Oriental has long since had an association with writers, even having its own “Authors Wing”. Since 1876, the hotel has graced the shores of the dark brown river that snakes through Bangkok, the Chao Phraya.

Banyan Tree - Bangkok — Cocktails in the sky – Vertigo and Moon Bar

I was last in Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, in 1999, some 5 years after my first ever visit. With each visit the city skyline gets ever more dramatic. The hotels vie for the title of the highest, and most vertiginous rooftop bar. We had cocktails at the aptly named Vertigo, at the Banyan Tree hotel. 61 floors up, and totally exposed to the outside world, Vertigo claims a place amongst the highest outdoor bars in the world. I had to remain firmly seated, and only tentatively glance over the edge. The edge that was only protected by a waist-high barrier. You know that feeling when you are at the edge of something very high, such as on top of a 61 floor hotel, or in a hot air balloon over the vineyards of the Hunter Valley, when, inextricably, your only thought is throwing yourself over the edge? Yeah, I was getting these thoughts again. That I was sat on flight QF23, 21.10 from Singapore to Sydney, at the time of writing is proof that I resisted this self-destructive urge. And also proof that we survived a tuk tuk ride through the scary Bangkok traffic. Going at breakneck speed, for a tuk tuk, we had to ensure we made our dinner reservation at the excellent Scarlett Restaurant (where I had the BEST. APPLE. PIE. EVER), in the Hotel Pullman G. For the uninitiated, a tuk tuk is a converted scooter, with a seat behind the driver, that zips in and out of traffic. The most fun you can have for a few dollars.

Bangkok is a very large, sprawling city, dissected by the Chao Phraya river. The very brown, and very murky looking river that carries locals and tourists up and down its length all day long. Serviced by a number of boats, with their distinctive ragged flags flying behind them in the wind, denoting which boat service is which. A flash of blue, or orange catches the eye as they go past. And then there is the “tourist boat”, of the hop-on, hop-off variety, easily identified by having no locals aboard. Just a mix of holiday makers and travellers. Themselves easily identified by what they carry and wear. Those with money had their big cameras. Those without, in their “Beer Chang” vests, recently bought close by on Khao San Road. A long time favourite haunt of backpackers.

Hop on Hop off boat on Chao Phraya — All aboard

Chao Phraya river boat stops — All the stops

The boats are the easiest, and most convenient way to get to all the must see sights in Bangkok. Jumping on and off the boats, at the pier that is closest to where you need to be, a day is easily filled with visits to places such as The Grand Temple and Wat Arun. Across the water to Wat Pho, a cheap 4 baht (17 cents) ferry, with hordes of overheating tourists, the Reclining Buddha has to be seen to be believed. 15 metres high, and 46 metres long, it is one of the largest Buddha statues in Thailand.

Back on the river, waiting for the next boat, watching the pigeons perched atop the piers. Piers that creak and crack in the water like the legs of an old man getting out of bed in the morning. The detritus of this mornings flower market, that started at 2am, swirling around, back and forth in the foamy wash from the boats. Large fish, dancing in the water, putting on a show for the tourists who delight in throwing them bread.

Grand Palace - Bangkok — Guarding the Grand Palace

A sensory overload, Bangkok continually assaults all of them. At times all at once. The smells are unavoidable. And can be ranked in the order that you would prefer to have to endure them. All you can hope for is to have a day when you get more of the sizzling satays from the street stalls, than the fetid fish laid out to dry in the oppressive Bangkok sun. When it is not food, it is the pungent cigarettes everyone in Asia seems to smoke. Even that is better than the ineffectual drains that cause you to get a very unpleasant whiff of the sewerage from deep below you as you negotiate the crowded sidewalks. Such as the sidewalks in Chinatown that are barely wide enough for pedestrians, let alone the many stalls crowded onto every available inch of pathway, causing unending bottlenecks with the continuous foot traffic. On the street, with the hundreds of scooters and tuk tuks, your ears are continually besieged with a constant cacophony of honking horns. And on the river, with boats of all shapes and sizes, you can’t escape the smell of petrol and diesel. It permeates everything, and clings to you until you wash it all away with your evening shower.

Walking is something you will do a lot of in Bangkok. We were walking off a lunch we had just eaten at a restaurant in Chinatown. Not really sure what we were getting, but deducing from the pictures we pointed to that we were getting the best of what liked a very dodgy offering. That definitely looks like rice. And that looked like duck. I wasn’t sure what was covering the duck, but hey, I was hungry.

As we walked, the afternoon heat dissipated slowly. The sun was long since gone, now hidden behind a curtain of clouds. This gives Bangkok the colour that paints the city in the late afternoon. Between the bright morning sun, and the neon lit nights, everything turns a dull beige. Like a thin blanket that mutes everything. Making all your photographs look aged. Slightly sepia tinged.

Bangkok SkyTrain — The SkyTrain at Phrom Phong

Sights having been seen, we made our way to the Skytrain. Another development since my last visit. Rising above the clogged city traffic, like the monorail of my childhood at Butlins theme parks, the Skytrain is the easiest way of crossing the vast expanse of the city. There is even a link to the airport, if your budget won’t stretch to a taxi. Several lines intersect, and like an above ground London tube, you just need to work out where to change stations. Having a station at the end of the road where we were staying was very convenient. I said it earlier, but it is worth emphasising, Bangkok is a big city. And it takes time to get anywhere across city. But when you do, it is worth it.

Making the trip home on the Skytrain, and taking a slight detour on foot back to the hotel, we innocuously found ourselves on a street that, at first, looked like a row of restaurants and bars. Upon closer inspection there are few restaurants. There are no bars. What there is are many massage parlours. Walking past a few of them, (well, it was on the WAY home, don’t judge me) what I could see through the window was lines of girls parading before a prospective customer. I suspected exactly what kind of massage was on offer. The last time I had a massage the masseuse wasn’t in her best underwear and 8 inch heels. Honest.

City lights of Bangkok — Bangkok by night

At night Bangkok feels a different place again. Transformed. Leaving behind the chaos of the daytime. When the sun goes down, the chilled music starts. And the rooftop bars open. Sat up there, feeling as high as the planes in the sky, you look across the city, and it is as though there is a sea of red lights dancing. The top of every building appears to be blinking red, warning anybody that flies too close, that a city lies below. A city waking from the slumber of the late afternoon, ready to party long into the night. Happy hours everywhere offering great deals on cocktails and beer. A few pina coladas in and you feel like everything has slowed down, and the pace of life is exactly where you want it to be.

Bangkok is a great city. The only disappointment was that we didn’t have longer. But now it was time to slow things down. It was time for the island of Koh Phangan. First we had to get to the airport in Bangkok. Alive. Our taxi driver had either a personal best to achieve, or the hotel had told him we were in a rush. I suspected the latter, even though we had plenty of time. The supposed 45 minute journey was done in little over 30 minutes. Most of it with my heart in my mouth. Sat in the back, with no seatbelt fitted on my side of the car, we lane swapped at great speed. We tailgated in a way that I have only ever seen in Formula 1. And all this whilst the roads seemed to be patrolled by lots of police.

Arriving with very sweaty palms, and shaking legs, I have never been so happy to see an airport terminal. And the bar!

Byron Bay

March 8, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

It is no secret that I like to step off the hamster wheel of city life now and again, even if only just a few days. My trips to Mudgee will attest to this. The 3 and half hour drive leaves enough distance between me, and the madness that is the Sydney CBD. As we come up through the mountains, pausing in Bilpin for a slice of home made apple pie, then drop down into Lithgow, and onto the final stretch into central New South Wales, I feel an immediate sense of zen. Something not even daily sessions of meditation with “Calm” can replicate.

The latest decompression trip was a return to beautiful Byron Bay, last visited in 2015 at the back end of our East Coast road trip. Memories of that last visit, those that I still have – post the marathon Sunday session we had, remain stuck in the mind as “that time in Byron we woke up amongst the detritus of the previous night’s kebab takeaway.”

This trip was to be much more civilised. I had promised myself. In January 2015 we had just finished a long road trip, with long stretches of driving each day. We couldn’t allow ourselves to over indulge on the evenings before. For what I would hope are obvious reasons, we moderated our alcohol intake. This was, until we dropped off the campervan on the outskirts of Brisbane, on New Years Eve, and proceeded to spend the next couple of weeks rampaging through Brisbane, Surfers Paradise, and then Byron Bay, like teenagers on spring break.

To reinforce the fact that this trip was to be more sedate, we booked Airbnb accommodation in the village of Suffolk Park, some 6kms south of central Byron, and a short 25 minute mini bus transit from Ballina airport with Easy Bus Byron. The selling points were the proximity to a wide stretch of beach, Tallows, the fact the village had a pub, a cafe with great coffee, and a couple of push bikes giving us easy access into Byron.

We were dropped off along Broken Head Road, and being a little early to check in, we crossed the road with our hand luggage, to the pub, the Park Hotel. Being in this part of the world, a lot of the pubs are similar, in that they are mainly outdoors. Fully covered, as it does rain a lot, not just here, but in the whole of Australia, but the rest of the pub is open. Byron Bay is only about 70 kilometres from Queensland, and this tells in the humidity. Byron feels tropical. The day we arrived felt particularly humid, and the best solution for this is always an ice cold Stone & Wood Pacific Ale. I was now definitely on “Byron time”, and ready to kick back.

Our accommodation was just what I had pictured, a small, self contained cabin, up a short drive way off the main road. The only clue we were in the right place was the number 244, stencilled into the white, metal post box by the side of the road. Up a steep incline, seemingly into the wilderness, we came across Quambi, our home for the next 2 nights. We were met by Subi, a very friendly Staffordshire Bull Terrier, who often popped in to see us through our stay.

Byron is almost at the most northern part of New South Wales, and Cape Byron, hosting a wonderful lighthouse, is the most easterly point of Australia. And over the years it has become a haven for visitors. It started off as a place the attracted those seeking an “alternative” lifestyle. What you might call hippies. People who chose to drop out of conventional life and live differently. Nearby Nimbin has been described as lots of things, including “an escapist sub culture”, and has always been closely associated with cannabis, which is openly traded, despite being illegal. If Nimbim is the young upstart, Byron is the big sister. Slightly more grown up, but still rebellious.

My impressions are that, reassuringly, not too much has changed on the surface of Byron since my first ever visit in 1994. Cheeky Monkeys still regularly entertains drunken backpackers late into the evening. The Beach Hotel still holds its piece of prime real estate, over looking, yes, you guessed it, the beach. And walking down Johnson Street, you can still get your cold beers from the Northern, and the Friendly Railway Hotel, pubs which don’t seem to have changed with the years. Byron still feels like Byron. People care about each other. Hitchhiking is still a thing. I saw a few by the side of the road, thumb stuck out, successfully getting rides. And I was given a guilt trip in the pub when I had the temerity to ask for a plastic bottle of water. Byron has been waging a war on plastic well before the current global push to minimise our use of it. And rightfully so.

But what is obvious, is that there is now a lot more money in Byron. It no longer caters just to hippies. With local residents such as the actor Chris Hemsworth, his reported new neighbour Matt Damon, and Aussie singer Natalie Imbruglia, all calling Byron home, the bars and restaurants have had to up their game. Porsches and Audis share the streets with decades old campervans. Boutique hotels rub shoulders with the many backpacker hostels. And the Balcony Bar does a “Bottomless Bellini Breakfast”. A far cry from the vegemite on toast of my backpacking days.

Beautiful Byron is a place where you can’t fail to immediately relax. You sense the slower pace of life as soon as you disembark the plane. The three days we had there felt like much longer. We packed our days with long bikes rides, along the many, flat, bike lanes in and around Byron. We had some great food out at The Three Blue Ducks, on The Farm. Cycling the 13kms back we called into the excellent Stone & Wood brewery, sharing a paddle of their finest beers. To walk off the excellent lunch we had at Mez Club, the margaritas, mai tais, and mango pina coladas, we took longs walks on the amazing, wide expanses of beaches that line the northern, and eastern coast of the town.

Waking on the third day, to the sound of tropical rain pattering on the roof of cabin, we looked at each other and said, “shall we just stay”.

Road trip continues to Esperance, on the South Coast, WA

February 18, 2018 by Fran 3 Comments

The last time we spoke, a couple of weeks ago, it was to run you through our Melbourne trip. Where might you wonder is the rest of the Xmas Western Australia road trip? Well, rewinding back to December, and Xmas, part of it is here.

Now that we don’t have to talk about malfunctioning Fitbits, and quibble about how many ghost steps the aforementioned Fitbit was creating, we can focus once again on the beautiful part of the world that is WA. For the record, my Fitbit was accurate. Just saying.

Rising early, with the morning sun, and battling very persistent flies, that seem determined to either fly directly into your mouth, eyes, or ears, we took the short bush walk to Wave Rock. We could hardly drive 4 hours, through the middle of nowhere, no disrespect to the many small “towns” we passed on the way through, and not get at least one picture of Wave Rock.

Picture taken, we left the hustle and bustle of Hyden, and it’s 400 hundred population (it may have increased by a couple by now), and hit the dry, dusty, open road once more. Hyden is about half way to Esperance, our next destination, and the second 4 hours of the journey mirrored the first. If I only glanced very quickly at the names of the towns, they could have even all been the same, save for a couple of different consonants.

Last nights roadkill, freshly oozing scarlet blood on the side of the highway. Signs reminding you of the Fire Danger level. Nothing much else to break up the monotony. Thank god for music playlists, and my excellent signing voice, to while away some of the time. Munglinup Roadhouse told me it was now only 1 hour to Esperance.

Enjoying one of the many beautiful beaches of the south coast

Whilst Esperance undoubtedly has some amazing beaches, the town leaves a little to be desired. Not one of the picture postcard places we were yet to experience. The town had the look and feel of somewhere that had fallen on hard times. A little shabby around the edges. We also nicknamed it the “town of myths”. Why? Well, the pictures below give you an idea. Researching our stay in Esperance we had a list that included, “visit the Pink Lake”, and also, “see kangaroos on the beach at Lucky Bay”. Maybe we just weren’t lucky. These are the “tourist brochure vs reality” images. Guess which is which…

Pink Lake takes it’s name from the beta carotene, as found in carrots. The carrots must not have been working on the days we visited. Still, the lake is on the Great Ocean Drive, leading to 10 Mile Lagoon, and Twilight Beach. Oh my!

Each of the beaches we visited took my breath away. The amount of times the only word I had was “wow”. Just wow. Nothing else. I immediately knew I had found the best beaches in Australia. In my opinion. I don’t anybody trolling me on the virtues of the respective beaches in the many beautiful parts of Australia. We can all have our own opinion people, and this is mine.

On another scorcher of a day, who could resist?

A great aspect of road tripping is the serendipitous nature of it. The things you come across, that you weren’t looking for. Such as the Lucky Bay brewery. Spotting the roadside sign, we followed the road and found a tiny little micro brewery, brewing, and serving up some great ales. The amount of microbreweries in Australia, as I imagine in other parts of the world, have exploded in recent years. And beer drinking is much the better for it.

With hindsight, it was a master stroke buying a very large tinnie of ice cold Sandy Hook pale ale, poured, and canned right in front of me as I waited. You see, we were very happy to make use of the BBQ at the Pink Lake Tourist Park, but less happy with our choice of burgers from Woollies. Once cooked, it looked like, and had the consistency of a breeze block. Note to self, don’t buy the cheapest burgers in the whole supermarket tomorrow night.

Our last full day in Esperance saw us having a drive out to Cape Le Grande National Park. Incongruously this had us driving past “Stonehenge”. A full size replica, in a field, in the middle of nowhere. One of those moments when all you can do is scratch your head, take a photo, and move on.

One of the many “wow” moments in Esperance

After being woken by our neighbours on the camp site at 5am, they no doubt had a very long drive ahead of them, we were on the road ourselves by 7.30am, after coffee, breakfast, and ablutions.

Starting the day with my priorities right

Saturday December 23rd, and we had a 4 and half hour drive to our next stop, Albany. Cue, more long, dusty, roadkill filled roads. And dodgy singing.

See you in a few hours…

The Melbourne Open and the Yarra Valley

February 6, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

Having been two years since our last visit to Melbourne, we thought it long overdue that we visit again. And what better time to go, apart perhaps than for the Formula 1 grand prix in March, but at the end of January for the Australian Open, which is exactly what we did last time. It has to be said our previous semi final lasted longer than this one proved to be, but more on that later.

Leaving a day later than our previous visit, this time flying on Australia Day (January 26th), coinciding with my first anniversary of being an Australian citizen, we set our alarms and made sure there were no hiccups as we negotiated first the big yellow bus, then train, to Sydney Domestic airport for our 7.55am flight. Flying with JetStar, the antipodean equivalent of Ryanair, you are never quite sure what to expect. On this occasion our short flight, under 2 hours, was on time and very painless. However, unlike last time when we flew into Tullamarine, today’s flight on the big orange airline had us landing at Avalon, some 60kms from Melbourne CBD.

From the big orange plane, onto the big red Skybus (I’m sensing a colour theme), and for $42 each for a round trip, we were transported the 45 minutes in to town. Transferring to a cab by Southern Cross Station, I was glad the ride was short, as we had Walter Mitty driving us. Not only did he provide free advice on how much I had been ripped off by the Skybus, but also regaled us with tales of him being very senior in the Israeli military, how he was the most senior person, and therefore in charge, of the planes he flies on, and also that he was a life saving paramedic. I tried telling him I was an agent of Mossad, but this cut no ice with Walter.

Our accommodation, in South Melbourne, was a fantastic apartment booked via Airbnb. Twelve floors up, a few wines were drunk on the balcony that had sweeping city views. The Eureka building dominates the city skyline in the CBD, and across to the right, the magnificent Melbourne Cricket Ground dominates. If I had to gripe about one thing, it would be advertising a coffee “pod” machine, as a prominent selling point on your Airbnb listing, then only providing 2 pods. 2 pods! For 4 people, for 2 nights. Are we on rations? If any landlord, in any city knew how important coffee is, surely a landlord from Melbourne would know more than most.

We were lucky that the weather improved from the cold, grey skies that greeted us on arrival. In fact, there was a bit of a heatwave whilst we were there, and judging by colour of some people’s skin, present company included, more sunscreen would have been a good idea.

Unlike Sydney, Melbourne really knows how to put on a sporting event. The Open is so well organised, you could easily spend a full day just soaking up the atmosphere, and enjoying the entertainment outside the actual stadiums. With hindsight, maybe we should have done that. From the off it was obvious that it was going to be a routine win for Federer. From entering the big blue, very blue, court, there is that colour theme again, the speed with which he dispatched the first set was pure Roger. What we, or the rest of the Rod Laver arena, didn’t expect was the match to be over before all the sets were played. When Chung pulled up, and retired, there were audible gasps all around the stadium. Gasps were replaced by expletives by one of our party. Understandably upset, the booing wasn’t appreciated by the lady in the row in front. Oops.

We resolved to make up for the disappointment by getting suitably inebriated on the wine tour of the Yarra Valley the day after. If you fancy doing something similar I would highly recommend Chill Out Wine Tours. Starting the day with a typical Melbourne breakfast, well, one of us did, at Bowery to Williamsburg, we then met the bus at 9.25am, by the side of St Paul’s cathedral, opposite Federation Square in the city. A quick roll call and we were soon on our way for the short 1 hour trip to the valley. As always with these trips, the driver does a great job in getting everybody talking. At the start of a wine tasting day, most people are very quiet. They either haven’t woken up yet, the caffeine hasn’t kicked in, or are displaying natural shy tendencies. I fall firmly into the second camp. Or maybe the third! No such issue on the way home, when everybody was best friends forever, and were getting invited to a pool party! Yes, you had a very “interesting” job, of designing door handles. In fact, you were probably the first designer of door handles that I had met. But do I want to sit in your hot tub with you, in your bathers? That’s another question.

Our first stop on the trip was at Domaine Chandon, which turns out to be a sister vineyard of Moët (yes, it is pronounced with a hard t, with name being of Dutch origin, and not French), one of several around the world. Part of the global holding company LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy). The famous Moët is not made here. As you know champagne can only be produced in the Champagne region of France. What they do produce at Domaine Chandon is some very good sparkling wines. The vineyard, as you would expect, is somewhat of a commercial behemoth, so it was refreshing to move onto Soumah wines.

Named as a derivative of South of the Maroondah highway, this is a boutique winery, one of those that seem to produce a full range of excellent wines. The question that always makes me smile when wine tasting is “so, what wines do you like?” My answer is the same every time. All of them. Which is 97% true. Soumah was one of those special wineries where I enjoyed every wine on the testing menu. White, red, and dessert wines. All excellent. It is these type of tastings that I blame for me having more wine at home than I have books. Yeah, I know, hard to believe right?

After an excellent lunch at Soumah, a pasta dish that is possibly in my top 5 ever, and I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy, we moved on to Di Bertoli for another great tasting. The day was finished at Yering Farm, probably my least favorite wines of the day. It is not often I meet a wine list that I wouldn’t buy from. I did that day. A very pleasant tasting, with a very knowledgeable lovely old mature lady, but the wines did not match my palate. As rare as that it, it happens.

Skipping the pool party, we had our final night in Melbourne, starting with drinks at Pony Fish Island. A great little bar, in the Yarra River, that was first discovered by us on Instagram. Don’t all the best bar / brunch / dinner recommendations come from your Insta feed? Drinking as the sun set, we weren’t in the mood to explore much further afield, so we had a very good dinner at Teatro, on the river, eating, drinking, and chatting about the great weekend we had.

We were a little blue, to be leaving on the red bus, to catch the orange airplane. A red wine on the plane, and a commitment to return capped off a great weekend.

Hello readers, welcome to something new!

January 20, 2018 by Fran 1 Comment

A new year, a new start. After being on the basic Blogger platform for a number of years, I am moving to WordPress in the hope that I can start polishing my content, and who knows, maybe even look a little more professional.

Watch this space my friends.