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Beach life and the wonder of Angkor Wat

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Cambodia’s main event

If Phnom Penh and Kampot were the entree, the entry into this fascinating country, then what was to come was surely the main course. Having travelled across countries, on buses, and terrible, unsealed roads, it was time to slow down and relax. In fact, Victoria demanded it, and it turned out to be just the tonic. One of her masterstrokes. I hadn’t realised how much my body and mind needed it.

Skipping Sihanoukville

And so it was that we found ourselves leaving Kampot on a minibus bound for the coastal city of Sihanoukville. Here we would jump straight on a boat across to the island of Koh Roh Sanloem. The smaller of two neighbouring  islands, this is described as the pearl of Cambodia, and we were soon to find out why. I had stayed in the town of Sihanoukville many years ago and it wasn’t somewhere I wanted to linger.

Koh Roh Sanloem, Sara Resort
Arriving on the island

Arriving at the pier to board the boat, I am always amazed at how many people there are. We are not all going to get on this small boat, are we? If we do, there is no way so many bags will be squeezed on with us. Cue, 15 minutes later, we are all onboard, with our bags, and are chugging out to the choppy open sea. Seeking a sense of safety I searched for the life jackets. How curious that they all had different labels in the back, all by Western brands. How often do Converse, or G Star Raw make life jackets, I absent mindedly thought. I just hope we wouldn’t have to use them as I am not sure they would even float by themselves.

Beach life at Koh Rong Sanloem

It was with a sense of relief that we docked at the pier. A pier that appeared to be falling apart, and the same anxiety hit me again. Right at the moment a small boat arrived to transfer us to the resort. Why such a small boat when we have eight people and all their travel luggage waiting? Where was the second boat, I naively thought? Once again, we all piled into the one boat and had a short, and interesting ride to the beachside bungalow resort we would be spending the next few days at. I tried not to focus on the big split in the side of the boat that was letting in water.

Jumping out of the boat in bare feet, as we were in a couple of feet of water, we all shared the task of transporting our bags from the boat to the beach. And once back on dry land, with my feet on the sand, I immediately felt the anxiety drain away. Life just slowed down. Right there in that moment. Checking into our bungalow, set back from the beach, it was going to be “footwear optional” for the next few days. And flopping down on the very comfortable bed, number 73 of the trip, I knew I was in for some stellar sleep.

Lazy on Lazy Beach

Sara Resort was set right on Saracen Bay, with beach stretching left and right, waves lapping the shore. Many mornings we lay on a lounger, reading, and drifting off to the calming sounds of the ocean. For days the most strenuous thing we did was walk for 25 minutes, across the width of the island, to Lazy Beach. And it is called Lazy for a reason. A picture book, isolated beach, with rustic, thatched bungalows and a restaurant to provide travellers with food. Situated on the west of the island it didn’t take long to see why this spot is so popular at sunset.

Lazy Beach, Koh Roh Sanloem, Cambodia
Lazy Beach

Back in Saracen Bay our days passed in a blissful haze. A great breakfast every morning, courtesy of the resort. And dinners were eaten on the beach, the sand between our toes. Each evening there was a great BBQ, happy hour beers, and what island stay is complete without the obligatory “fire show”?

Extending our stay on Koh Rong Sanloem

We were due to stay four nights on the island before heading back to the mainland and flying north to Siem Reap. However, we couldn’t resist staying an extra night. And as luck would have it, it was fortunate that we did. On the day we were due to leave the seas were too rough for the boats from Sihanoukville. It seems that we were to stay stranded on our desert island and witness one last amazing sunset.

Saracen Bay

Leaving the same way we came, I thought the trip couldn’t be any more fraught than when we arrived. I was wrong. Once on the larger boat, the skipper had some kind of record to beat. He hit the accelerator and we bounced across the sea in a way that convinced me I wouldn’t get to see the end of the day. I was sure we would either capsize, or that the boat would split in two. As the water from the sea poured in, I closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Tried. Thankful that I had escaped the water. Then, I looked across to my left and saw Victoria. Who wasn’t quite so fortunate. I fear she may have been drier had she swam to Sihanoukville.

Getting off the boat, relieved, we were in a taxi and off to the airport. This travel day had only just started, and Victoria neeed to dry off. I am glad to report that the rest of the day was drama free, despite Victoria, now dry, looking a little scared when she saw the small propeller plane we would be flying in to Siem Reap.

Siem Reap

It had been some years since I had last been in Siem Reap. We were to spend four nights at Khmer House Boutique. Only opened in November 2022 it was already seeing a steady stream of travellers. And rightly so. Khmer House Boutique is a wonderful hotel and a great base for what was to be a fabulous stay in Siem Reap. A small pool to laze around. Great breakfast options. And very friendly staff.

Breakfast at Khmer House Boutique hotel, Siem Reap
Breakfast is served

Over the years Siem Reap has transformed itself into a wonderful holiday location. Somewhere that has something for every budget. There are luxury resorts and spas that you could lose yourself in for weeks. Mid range options, such as the one we were in that provide everything you need. And lots of budget options. It won’t surprise you to learn that Siem Reap has been firmly on the backpacker trails for decades. There is a reason that a street in Siem Reap has been renamed “Pub Street”. A great place through the day for 75 cent (47p) beers. Less appealing at night when the volume of the music gets cranked up.

Pub Street, Siem Reap
Pub Street, Siem Reap

Finding the perfect brew in Siem Reap

Regular readers will know my love of coffee. And that southeast asia has some of the best coffee in the world. Siem Reap has heaps of very good coffee shops and I may have found the best in The Little Red Fox Espresso. Located in the Kandal district of Siem Reap, Aussie owned, and Cambodian run, The Little Red Fox pours excellent coffee. Aside from great coffee, the food in Siem Reap is as good as you will find anywhere. One of our favourite restaurants was Tevy’s Place. 

Fish Amok at Tevy's Place, Siem Reap
Fish Amok at Tevy’s Place

We met the owner, Tevy, and heard her story. She lost her father and three siblings in the Khmer Rouge atrocities of the 1970s. She now supports her mother, and employs local woman in her little Cambodian restaurant. Her signature dish is the national dish of fish amok. Served in the traditional way, in a banana leaf, we both decided this was one of our best dishes of the travels.

Amazing Angkor Wat

It would be remiss of me to write about Siem Reap and not mention Angkor Wat. Although, what can be said that hasn’t already been? One of the wonders of the world. Awe inspiring. The largest religious monument in the world, Angkor Wat temple complex covers some serious ground. Guide book advice suggests that you spend a few days if you want to see all of it.  It is mighty impressive.

Ready to explore

Built by the Khmer Empire between the 9th and the 15th centuries, it is now a UNESCO world heritage site only some 7kms from the town of Siem Reap. Pause, and take it all in.  We hired a tuk tuk for the day and our driver took us around four of the most popular temples. In one of them we were lucky enough to receive a blessing from one of the monks.

Angkor Wat, Siem Reap
Angkor Wat

Angkor, What?

A less grand, and much newer Angkor Wat is found at Angkor Wat Putt. A mini golf located some 30 minutes out of town. We took a tuk tuk and had a very enjoyable round of golf in the later afternoon heat. The owner advertises that there is a free beer for every hole in one. And would you believe, I sank the little white ball on my first attempt at hole 8. Over on Instagram there was speculation about who won. We both won, in what was a very enjoyable afternoon.

Angkor Putt, Siem Reap
Both, winners

Hole in one. Free beer. And, who wo? What does this matter? We had bigger and better things to consider. Country number 21 was on the horizon. The missing piece in my “South East Asia” jigsaw for many years. Exciting time ahead.

Some of the perils of living overseas

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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.

Maudlin Musings

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Just follow it

When you have everything, yet have nothing.  A lot of people think I fall in to the first part of that statement.  I feel increasingly like I relate more to the second.  On the surface, as outsiders looking in, the life of an expat, especially one lucky enough to be living in Australia seems idyllic.  Like one long holiday.  It’s all sun, sea and BBQs isn’t it? 
Well, no actually.  It’s just the same as living anywhere in the world.  I still have to go to work in an office 5 days a week.  Laundry and the weekly big shop still have to be done.  And my work shirts don’t iron themselves, unfortunately.
So you get the drudgery of everyday life, but without your friends, family, and loved ones around you to make it all worthwhile.  I’m now ten months into this expat experiment and of that, I have only really had one month of pure happiness.  And that was when I had a friend over from the UK at Xmas and I was able to share this beautiful city with somebody.  One month from ten where I have been genuinely happy.  Not a very good return is it?
A close confidante and me often play the “percentages game”.  What percent chance of you being there over 1 year.  Percent chance being there 2 years.  Percent chance of being there forever.  I think we have already ruled out that last one.  And she tells me she suspects I know in my heart already what the answer is.  I’m starting to fear that maybe she is right.  Yet I keep holding off.  Waiting for the switch to come on and for it all to fall into place.  But things are in place.  I’m working, in a good job, decent wage.  I’m managing to play a game of football each week.  I’m progressing well with my Spanish, now on level 3.  And I have friends outside work.  So all the components of a good life are in place.  Yet I feel empty.  Wondering if the switch will ever come on.
So when does perseverance become stubbornness?  How long do you give it?  Do you sit out the months simply because you feel you have to, and one day it will all be worthwhile?  Somebody keeps telling me that life is short.  It is, she is right.  It’s time I stopped running away, and started running towards.  Life dishes out harsh lessons.  I’m starting to learn from them.   At what point do you listen to your heart and follow what it is telling you?
I remember travelling through South America a couple of years ago, having a great time.  But I also distinctly remember when I realized it was time to go home.  I booked my flight and immediately felt a sense of peace, and happiness.  Enjoying the journey, yet counting down the days to being home with close friends I had missed.  I’ll never forget the unadulterated joy I felt at seeing my friends face as she picked me up from the airport.  So with this knowledge, I can’t help but wonder how I would feel if I booked a one way ticket home.  Not quite yet of course, as I am on those shores in just over 8 weeks.  But that trip will be the litmus test for me.  A temperature check on how I really feel.  Will I feel “home”.  Seeing all the friends I have arranged to catch up with, will it feel “right” and something that I no longer want to turn my back on?  Taking into consideration the second half of this year, I have no such plans for friends to visit this xmas and I already know I don’t fancy the prospect of spending my birthday here, alone.  
Just to further complicate matters, I think I could be starting to have my first mid-life crisis, feeling the urge to face my commitment issues head on.  I won’t blame the last book I read, “The Rosie Project” as my thoughts since turning 40 have been quietly bubbling away, but I’m ready to quit putting myself in isolation constantly.  I think my solo travels could be a thing of the past as I look for somebody to share the world with.  My search to find some meaning to the journey that is life is starting to narrow and what I am wanting for the second half (see previous blog on turning 40) is coming sharply into focus.  I’m in danger of allowing alone to morph into lonely.  I won’t allow that to happen.
Look out, the Yorkshire Expat is coming!

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

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John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens whilst you are making plans.”  Man alive, is that ever true!  Probably the only time I have agreed with a scouser.
You trundle along, thinking you are making progress, then life, or more specifically people, throw you a curveball.  I suppose the challenge is in how you react.  I probably threw mum a curveball this week.  By casually dropping into our regular Skype call that she is coming to Australia in March next year.  Yes, I told her, rather than asked.  You see, ever since I was moving out here, and the whole time I have actually been here, she has been saying she will visit.  But she prevaricates.  And she let’s all sorts of stuff run through her head.  About how hard the flight will be.  She will never be able to do it.  Etc etc.  Blah blah blah.
So, I took the proverbial bull by the horns and made the decision for her.  I’m thankful to report that she took it very well.  After a period of going a little dizzy and needing some fresh air, she returned to the little iPod screen they were Skyping on (yeah, seriously!) and said she would love to come. 

She now needs to get her head around it being extremely warm in March, and start picking up summer clothes bargains in the autumn sales in the UK.  
Mum, Mosman awaits.
It is now September.  Which can only mean one thing.  Well, probably a few actually, but only one that I am going to blog about. 
The start of Oktoberfest.  Yes, you read that right.  I’ve never really understood why by the great German beer festival that bears the name of October actually starts in September.  But there you go. It gave us a great excuse to go the Bavarian Beer Cafe in Crows Nest and join in the celebrations. 

And celebrate we did.  I think.  After much strong German beer, and the barmaid rigging the tombola so we got free shots, the night seemed to pass in a little bit of a blur.  Did somebody say mortalled?  
Thank you Victoria, we will be back.  But we probably won’t wait until next September.
In a less inebriated fashion, answer me this.  How often do we praise the tax man?  Not often, right.  
However, I must take my hats off to the good ladies and gentlemen of the Australian Tax Office this month.  Submitting a tax return is mandatory for everybody in Australia.  What a bloody pain I thought.  However, I did the right thing, completed all the necessary forms, and off it went.  Imagine my surprise when some weeks later I got a whopping refund in my bank account!  Those are the kind of curveballs you can throw at me every week.
So, being the prudent Yorkshireman (NOT tight) that I am, the majority got squirrelled away for a rainy day.  And yes, it does rain a lot here.  The remainder I decided to spend on a good old-fashioned shopping trip.  The Xmas booze cupboard got fully stocked, and I even treat myself to a (very) early birthday present.  Bosh!
The question is, will it last??
The other thing of note this month was the pending expiry of my passport.  Something that I couldn’t leave unaddressed.  So having attended my appointment at the post office, and handed over the best part of $300, I was left for a disturbingly worrying period where I was unable to travel anywhere but within the confines of Australia.  Granted, they are very, very big confines, but I still felt like I had a bit of cabin fever coming on until I received a parcel in the post that contained my new, 10 year, electronically chipped UK passport.  How I breathed a sigh of relief.  
I do have a weekend jaunt to Byron Bay next weekend (the long bank holiday) for which I don’t need the passport, but I’m always looking to my next overseas trip.  My passport has turned out to be my most reliable friend.  The one that never lets me down.  I want this relationship to continue.
Have passport, will travel
I should finish this missive on a sporting theme.  But rather than address the recent football scores (or rugby for that matter – bloody South Sydney and the Burgess brothers), I will just touch on the rather excellent news that Fox Sports have just this week announced.  From this weekend, they have signed a deal and will show live games from both the Spanish La Liga and the Italian Serie A.  Could my weekends get any more perfect?  Well, actually, probably.  A little bit.  But, now I can have orgiastic sport filled weekends, the likes of which starts for me in about 30 mins with the Newcastle Knights taking on Sydney Roosters for a place in next weekends Grand Final.
Then we have Chelsea v Spurs, followed quickly by Man Utd’s game versus West Brom.  I will have a little time to sleep, then it is Real Madrid early in the morning.  Oh, and just to finish the weekend, I get to watch the progress of ex United player Paul Pogba in the live Juventus match.

I might be gone for some time…

And so, into year 3…

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Yeah, I had to read that twice as well.  I am actually in year 3 already of my move from sunny Yorkshire, down under to the sun kissed shores of Australia.  To Sydney, to be more specific.
If you have been reading the travails of the Yorkshire Expat from the very beginning, from the embryonic outset of And we are off (a blog from exactly 2 years ago today), you will see that it has been quite a journey so far.

One of the very first pics, August 2012
And this is perhaps not a blog that you, let alone me, maybe envisaged me writing maybe 12 months ago.  The move from familiar surroundings, ones that have cossetted you for the first 40 years of your life, to a land down under, some 11,000kms away, is not one without its ups and downs.
Give it at least 12 months people said.  More seasoned observers advised making that 18 months.  Here I am, 24 months in, and I have to say that they are right.  Not until you have lived through certain milestones, celebrated at least 2 of an annual event, do you really get a sense of “being”.
Having a secure(ish), enjoyable job helps.  I work, and have worked, with some great people, and have made some good friends.  I am settled in my apartment and have been here almost 2 years, in a great suburb, with everything I could ask for.  An amazing beach on my doorstep, great cafes and restaurants, and a choice of commute into the city by bus or ferry.
One of the many friends I have made
I have now gone through 2 winters here, and know how much I appreciate summer.  Readers in the northern hemisphere may scoff when I say this, but in a country where properties don’t have heating, including my apartment, this place feels bloody cold some days, and most nights through winter.
It is now spring and how I yearn for the long summer days of November and December.  Days when I can reacquaint myself with sunscreen, flip flops, and my, currently cast aside like an old lover, BBQ.  Where I can sit on my balcony, with a cold sauvignon blanc, watching the planes fly overhead, piercing the azure sky, on their way to destinations near and far.
The esky needs dusting down and I again start my, now annual, hope that this year is third time lucky.  In that I get sun on my birthday, Christmas Day.  The gods have been against me the last two occasions and I am determined to be quaffing champagne on the beach, with the seas lapping against my feet, come December 25th.
If life is about chapters, I have read of few over the last couple of years.  Chapters about change, and transition.  Chapters about dealing with grief, from a distance, across the lonely seas, as the circle of life marches inexorably on.  People have been taken from me.  And new people have come into the world to replace them.
Xmas 2013, not on the beach

As an expat, it is as though you watch these scenes unfold from behind a pane of glass.  You can see, and hear all that happens, but the main characters are heart breakingly out of reach. 
As I turn yet another page, a new chapter is about to start.  Year 3 brings new beginnings, in economic parlance, “green shoots of recovery”.  An exciting chapter, that in a sense feels like the start of a new book.  A book I don’t know the end of yet.  I don’t even know the next chapter, but I know how the plot goes.  I’m writing that part myself.
A friend once asked me, over a year ago, what the chances were of me remaining in Australia for a full 2 years.  I think I replied “17%”, without skipping a heartbeat.  Obviously a totally arbitrary figure, but one that gave a sense where my head was.  If that same friend was to ask me know, I would need a moments reflection.  However, after that short contemplation, I would say that the chances are considerably greater.
We don’t know where life will take us.  And although we are in charge of our own destinies, life happens whilst you are making plans.  A John Lennon quote that I know I’ve used before.  But it is so true. 
A lot of life’s journey relies on timing.  And sometimes that timing is just not right.  But then, every once in a while, the stars align and the world intervenes.  And this is when you know you have to grab your moment.
So all we can do for now, is keep making those plans, and hope life is kind to us.  And with that in mind, I see no reason why I won’t be writing a similar blog in 2 years time, as a citizen of this great country.  Four years being the qualifying criteria for an Australian passport, something I thought would be out of reach this time last year.
But right now, I may only have a 17% chance of still being here in 2 years.  It could be a 77% chance. 

All I can do is take it one chapter at a time.

2015, end of year wrap up – New Year Evolutions

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Quite pointedly, you will see that I have not referenced “resolutions” in this.  Why is that?  As we all know, resolutions only ever turn out to be a temporary state of affairs.  Very ephemeral.  They don’t even sometimes last beyond the first hangover of the year.  When all you are craving is a bacon, egg, and black pudding butty.

The first time you fall off your own particular wagon, then it is a case of, “oh well, maybe I will try that again next January.”  I am a firm believer in living the very best life you can.  All the time.  Not once a year.  And not as a result of a guilt fueled post December blow out.

I do like to set myself annual goals though.  Things I want to do and achieve.  With my life.  With loved ones.  It’s the truest of truisms that time flies when you are having fun.  And a truth universally acknowledged that it goes even faster the older you get.

This was brought very sharply into focus recently when I happened across a blog post from a chap called Tim Urban (www.waitbutwhy.com).  A posting he wrote about “life in charts”.  When you can see all your life on one chart, it is visually very powerful.  When you can cross off the time you have had, and see the remainder, it reminds us that we are not immortal, and don’t in fact have all the time in the world.

Cross off what you have had, it is powerful

It went something like this, as applied to me.  If I am lucky enough to last to the ripe old age of 90, I have 46 years left.  I currently see my family maybe once a year on average.  If I do nothing to increase that average, I will only get to see them properly again for a maximum of 46 times.  I don’t want to consider what this means to the times I get to see my mum, who, barring a miraculous, medical discovery, won’t be around to see me reach my 90th birthday.

This isn’t supposed to be depressing.  Rather, a reminder that we should make the most of the time we do have.  Use it valuably.  Don’t waste time on arguments or petty grudges.  Because folks, life really is too short

Setting goals for the year motivates me to make sure I am living my life the way I want to.  Filling it with great experiences. So as I look back over the year, at times like these, in the rear view mirror, over my turkey, and pigs in blankets, I do so with satisfaction and not regret.  

Looking back over a list I made myself at the start of 2015, I haven’t done too bad.  Some items will carry over to this year, but isn’t that the idea?  Create an aspirational list, and see where you land.  My one perennial item, that always gets carried over is “lose weight”.  Not because I want to go on some fad diet, and lose lots of weight.  But rather, to maintain the lifestyle I enjoy so much, which includes lots of eating out, and lots of cocktails, then my weight is one thing that keeps me in the gym so many times a week.

Items on my list for last year included:

  • Go and actually see something at the Opera House (rather than just using the toilets) – ticked this off in December, when we went to see the amazing “Sleeping Beauty” ballet.
  • Eat fish and chips in England – ticked off courtesy of the wonderful friend, with whom I had a splendid, boozy, lunch of fabulous fish and chips at the new Catch restaurant in West Vale, Halifax.
  • Visit somewhere new – ticked off with a first visit to Jervis Bay, Huskisson, and Hyam’s beach on the south coast of New South Wales.  What was going to be a quiet night in the famous “Husky” pub turned into a big night after being told we had to “push on”.  So we spent the night listening to a live rendition of such Aussie classics such as Khe San by Cold Chisel. Harper and Tarimo, go and google them.  Obviously not as popular as The Proclaimers in the hot spots of Halifax and Huddersfield.
  • Learn a bit more Spanish, and speak it in Spain – ticked off with a weekend in Marbella, with some of my oldest (and they are quite old) mates.
  • Continue writing – something I have strived to do with regular-ish blog updates.  If I am honest, I would like to write more, but not sure you would all agree that’s such a good idea 🙂
  • Continue finding new places to eat in Sydney – not much of a hardship this one.  And with an exploding, world class dining scene, it is not very hard to achieve either.

And then the year had lots of highlights, and lots of firsts
I attended the world’s largest BBQ with my new friends Pam and Roy.  I’m convinced that they will still be eating the leftovers.  To this very day.  I also attended the world’s slowest BBQ (in fact I must point out that Mr Kent did an admirable job on his first occasion of using a behemoth of a gas BBQ. He wasn’t in fact quite as slow as Miss Harper has painted him out to be).  If only wee Tom could have been there to see him.

At the age of 43 I went ice skating for the very first time…at Bondi Beach.  Yes folks, you read that correctly.  Once a year an ice rink gets put up on the promenade overlooking the world famous beach.  It was great fun, even if I did resemble a drunk Bambi, trying to keep from falling over, as 5 year olds zoomed past me like Torvill and Dean.

Whale watching made the list of firsts, even though it was the second time I had been out on a trip. This was the first time I had actually seen any whales.

Stand Up Paddle boarding was a first that will definitely be repeated.  Despite needing even better balance than when I went ice skating, I surprised myself by being able to stay upright for long periods at a time.  I was even upright for a whole 10 minutes at one point.

Despite living in Sydney now for over 3 years, 2015 was the first time I had been to the “Vivid” light show in Sydney.  An annual lights extravaganza that has to be seen to be believed. www.vividsydney.com

January saw us welcome our first visitors of the year from the UK.  And the first time I had seen a person visibly melt in the sun in front of my eyes, like an ice cream left outside for too long.  A day at cricket at Sydney Cricket Ground saw us battling with the heat in ways not usually experienced in Greetland.

Thailand – and a return to Koh Samui after about 15 years.  Needless to say the place had changed, and in a good way.  We had an excellent time, fueled by cheap beers, pad thai and me discovering piña coladas.  How damn good are those bad boys?!

August saw me bring in my 3 year anniversary, and we finally got to have cocktails (about $1m worth!!!) in the Shanghai bar.  Known to you and me, and the rest of the world, as the Shangri La hotel.  And what a view from the room.  The ultimate staycation.  Matched by a stay later in the year at the wonderful Ovolo hotel down on finger wharf at Woolloomooloo.  Free mini bar, AND free drinks in the bar between 5pm to 7pm.  Beat that.

A trip home to the motherland in September, with Ma Cormack returning with us, for her second visit, bringing Helen in tow.  This was covered in my last posting.  And a holiday back to the wonderful Palm Cove in Far North Queensland over xmas rounded the year off perfectly, before spending NYE down at Sydney Harbour, for a fireworks display that always leaves me breathless.

And so, onto 2016, and all that brings.  Hopefully a good one for you, your family, and all your friends.

p.s. another first – the first blog post I have done on my new toy, the gargantuan iPad Pro.  I also have the “pencil”, and have started sketching, so I may follow Winston Churchill into painting out the later years of my life.