Category Archives: Travel

Pre flight checklist..

I’ve just been doing my pre flight checklist.
The bags have been packed, weighed, repacked and reweighed and are now sitting on the doorstep ready to go.
There’s a few meals in the freezer for the IT Geek for those nights when the days have been too busy.
I’ve visited Mum and had a good long dose of her loveliness.
I’ve planned The Writers funeral in the wee hours of the morning ( should I bring his body home or just scatter his ashes in France where he so loves to be?)
The sheets are washed and in the dryer ready to make up a fresh new bed for the first night home.
The list of phone numbers is safely installed on the phone and the in laws have been rung for a goodbye.(managed not to seek their opinion on where The Writer should be scattered)
I’ve made and scheduled 6 videos for release on You Tube every Monday we’re away so as not to disappoint my die hard fans.
The “Closed for holidays” sign is in my Etsy shop window.
Only one last thing to check……
The cat was definitely out of the bag before I locked it wasn’t she?

A change is as good as a holiday…

I decided to test the old adage that a change is as good as a holiday so I changed my blog theme and I’ll tell you  when I get back from my upcoming Europe holiday if it was as good as 6 weeks of culture, food, art, landscapes, coastlines and general hedonistic holiday revelry.

Sorry to keep you on tenterhooks for the next few weeks but it’s anyones guess how this little experiment will turn out.

The last summer day trip.

Saturday was a blue sky day and heralded the last weekend of summer. We’re into rain and colder weather this week so the pool cover will be going on and the ugg boots coming out. Yes – I do have that most ugly of Australian footwear but they are just so toasty warm I gave in and gratefully accepted some Mother’s Day ugg slippers a few years ago.My feet have never stopped thanking me. Anyway , I digress as I often do.What I started out writing about was the blue sky day and here I am blathering on about toasty feet, winter rain and ugg boots!

So, back to the blue sky day. As  previously mentioned the sky was a startling blue, not a cloud in sight, just a vast canvas of cerulean blue. It was too beautiful and inviting to resist so the Writer made curried egg sandwiches ( his current obsession) I grabbed the snorkles and we both picked up our cameras as we headed out the door. The plan was a day trip down the Tasman Peninsula with a spot of swimming if the water was still warm enough.Down south the water temp starts dropping pretty quickly at the end of summer so I wasn’t about to commit until I’d dipped my toes in the water.

Toe dipping went fine and we swam at Safety Cove amongst schools of salmon and dancing gardens of seaweed with the sun casting golden ribbons of light over the sandy seabed. It was joyous! Later we dipped in again at the Tesselated Pavements. In between we drove around the Peninsula stopping so often for photos of the coast that it may have been quicker to walk! A splendiferous end to summer.

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Tesselated Pavenment and Pirates Bay
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Tesselated Pavement reflections
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Emerald Water
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Safety Cove
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Great roost for a seagull
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Whitecaps and fields of gold
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Ripple reflections

Travel collections

Last night I came home from work to find the house filled with flowers from our garden. The Writer had been putting down the mulch all day and celebrated by filling almost every vase we have with casual bunches of blooms. It looked so lovely after a slog of a day!

When we travel The Writer and I are always on the look out for an artsy find to add to our travel collection. We both love vases of flowers scattered around the house and since there’s not a lot of wall space left we often choose a unique vase to bring home.

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This is one of the first vases we bought. We’d just made the walk up to the stunningly situated abbey of ST Martin Du Canigou ( The Writer almost broke his face smiling when we finally got there as it had been on his list for a very long time!) On the way home we stopped to explore Villefranche-de-Conflent and found it full of art galleries and ceramic shops.We loved the colours which reflect our own house palette and the black lettering was so graceful we couldn’t help ourselves. I remember packing it in trepidation- lots of jumpers wrapped around it and hoping for the best. We still love this piece and use it often.

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If not a vase then it’s likely to be a useable piece of kitchen art in the form of a bowl or platter.Every time I use these ceramics I’m transported back to sunny holidays. Even the simplest meal eaten off the red, yellow and black plates I bought in Bolseno at a tiny ceramic studio in a back street becomes a feast. The vivid red broken by the abstract yellow lines just sings to me. I loved these small plates so much that the next time we were in Tuscany we made a special detour to Bolseno to visit the studio and I saw some similar larger dinner plates – but there were only three. So… I asked could she make a fourth and we would come back again in a week to pick it up. Yes- she could! Over the course of 4 or 5 trips we gathered a collection of pasta bowls, small and large dinner plates, 2 serving bowls and a large platter and I absolutely love using them.

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We couldn’t choose between the plate and the bowl with this lovely kaleidoscope pattern of coloured glazes . So we didn’t choose – we just bought them both and now we can’t remember who preferred which! We found them in a the Worthington Gallery in Springdale , Utah when we were visiting Zion National Park.

 

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Not every piece is functional. I fell in love with this earthy , desert coloured pot with it’s leather bound wooden handle by K.Rasmussen simply because the colours were so evocative of the Utah desert landscape. It wasn’t cheap but I love it more each day and The Writer appreciates that I insisted on this one as he had his eye on another – he says the colours remind him of that great desert national parks holiday every day. I was so scared about getting this safely home I spent 2 hours in Santa Barbara shopping for a carry on bag big enough to hold the box it was packed in. Finally found a $15 dollar beach bag that fitted it perfectly!

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Sometimes it’s a simple design that grabs my attention and this small, blue vase was a very inexspensive find in a small Spanish town neat the Pyrennes. The simple geometric pattern adds real interest and it’s one of The Writers favourites.

 

Ceramic treasures
Ceramic cat and vase- treasured memories

The Second Son bought this little ceramic cat home on a trip to Europe where he befriended every stray cat or kitten he could find. He lured them into our apartments with offerings of ham and bowls of milk, he spend hours playing with the landlords kittens and couldn’t resist feeding strays with titbits from the alfresco restaurant meals. A purrfect souvenir. We found the slab built vase in the artist village of Rousillon in Provence. The earthy colours are a reflection of the ochre cliffs in the area.

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This grouping of holiday memories inclueds a trio of vases from  Tournus , France , a large pot from Springdale, Utah and a photo taken in St Guillem de Desert, france. I love the earthy colours!

So there you have it – a peek into our collection of holiday ceramics. What do you like to collect on your travels?

 

 

Capo Testa Sardinia- the next painting

Had a clear weekend so gessoed up a canvas and did my second painting in the Sardinia series. Capo Testa is  a wonderful area on the north-west coast of Sardinia. There’s a maze of walking tracks amongst the huge boulders and so many  wildflowers it’s like a series of rock gardens. There’s the mild scent of curry wafting over the cape from the yellow curry plants and the stunning blue of the Mediterranean in the background. Hope I managed to capture just a little of this amazing place which I hope to get back to some day.

Acrylic painting Capo Testa Sardinia
Capo Testa Sardinia. Acrylic painting
Sardinia Capo Testo 3
Capo Testa Sardinia Acrylic Painitng
Sardinia Capo Testo 4
Capo Testa – wildflowers
Sardinia Capo Testo 2
Capo Testa Sardinia

Steinbock stalking in the Gran Paradiso…

I was driving along in the glorious, summer sunshine when a glimpse of light bouncing off something caused me to suddenly swerve onto the verge of the road and come to a spine jolting halt. The Writer craned his whip lashed neck in all directions looking for whatever it was that had caused this aberration in my usually impeccable ability to get us from A to B without running off the road.I waved my hand in the general direction of a pile of boulders excitedly yelling “horns- I’m sure I saw horns”.

We were  heading up the Valsavarenche, one of three valleys that make up the Gran Paradiso National Park in Northern Italy, and we were steinbock hunting!

Grabbing the cameras we stealthily sidled out of the car – I’m no sure why ,since any animal in the vicinity had surely heard the gravel flying as I skidded to a stop. Anyway , sidle we did, pointing and whispering as we tried to catch a glimpse of anything moving on the rocks above us. It wasn’t long before  The Writer began to mutter in a rather scathing manner something along the lines of  ” wishful thinking…”

Just as the muttering started to gain momentum I shouted “over there!” and pointed ( in what I hoped was a “I told you so” sort of way) at a lone steinbock leaping over the rocks just metres away. His long, curled horns quickly vanished from sight as we started clicking away. I back tracked down the road following the line of the rocks and as I rounded the corner so did the steinbock. He politely posed , nibbling first on a patch of grass , then on the low branches of a pine tree, twisting and turning his handsome head as if to show off his sweeping, serrated horns.

Steinbock. Gran Paradiso
Steinbock – heading off over the rocks.
Steinbock lunching. Italy
Head down – munching lunch. Steinbock.
Steinbock. Gran Paradiso.
Just a little lunch. Steinbock.

The Writer was still hanging round the car hoping for a return of the steinbock so I headed back and nudged him in the general direction of the photo worthy horns. We spent a happy 20 minutes tracking  and shooting stills and video and came across a couple of other young bucks frolicking over the rocks and alpine meadows.

Feeling very blessed to have had such luck we happily mooched on back to the car and decided we still had time for a quick walk  in this beautiful valley.

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Waterfall. Valsavarenche
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Gran Paradiso. Valsavarenche
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Valsavarenche. Rain coming.

 

There were a few cars in the carpark and as we hoofed it up the track we met a couple heading back with cameras and tripods slung across their shoulders. The Writer, deciding they were kindred spirits, regaled them with tales of our successful steinbocks potting advising them to head on back down the road where, if they were lucky, they might find a one with enormous horns posing on the rocks. They thanked us politely but not with what you would call effusiveness. I did think I caught “30 something” in amongst their rapid fire Italian and assumed they where asking how far to the big horns. “No,no – it’s only 5 minutes from the carpark ” I assured them.

We felt a little silly a few minutes later as we rounded the corner to find a herd of 30 something big horned steinbock grazing in the meadows!! They obligingly munched away as we clicked away. They waited while The Writer set up his tripod, they arranged themselves in picturesque groupings, draped themselves on the nearby rocks and generally behaved as any well educated model might. They knew the moves, they could hold the pose and they were politely disinterested in the photographers.

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Steinbock herd
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Posing Steinbock

On the way home, we passed the rocky slope where we’d seen our first steinbock earlier in the day. In unison we turned to each other and said “ours was better!”

Looking back at our photos from the comfort of our living room several weeks later we’re still in agreement. It was a thrill to catch a glimpse of horns , see them disappear and then track silently until we came across a proud and majestic wild animal , alone on the rocks. The herd seemed altogether a more domesticated group!

What do you think?

The Italian Paintings

I’ve unpacked the suitcase, done the laundry and distributed the gifts. I’ve settled back into work reacquainting myself with the myriad small disasters of the working day. I’ve rearranged the studio and tidied up a bit. So now there’s so more excuses for putting off starting on the post holiday paintings.

It might surprise you to know that as much as I love painting there’s something a bit daunting about sorting through my memories, masses of photos and all those small sketches I did and trying to distill the essence of the holiday that I now want to capture in larger pastel paintings.

Sometimes I absolutely know what I’m interested in. One holiday it was patterns- roof tiles, fields of different crops, rows of lavender, five metal jugs on a wall, bicycle wheels- stone fences-the list went on. Other times it takes a while for a them to emerge and this last Italian holiday was one of those.

When that happens sometimes I just decide to jump in and start painting whatever and see what develops. So here are my first three paintings and I think what might be developing is a visual essay on the varied landscapes of Italy.

When you live as far “down under” as we do, in southern Tasmania, it’s a long way to Europe and our usual approach is to whittle away at our wish list across 2 or 3 countries each trip. This holiday we spent 5 weeks in Italy instead of our usual 1-2 weeks and it really made a difference. We were able to stay a week each in four very different  regions and explore a bit more in depth than we usually have time for and I think the vastly different landscapes, architecture and traditional work is what captured our interest. Of course this variety shouldn’t be a surprise given that the Italy we know today is a very recent entity .

A gentle morning landscape with mist rising over the Tuscan wheatfields, the emerald waters of Sardinia and snowcapped mountains reflected in Lake Arpy in the northern Italian alps – the start of a series celebrating the diverse landscapes of Italy.

Tuscan wheatfields
Morning wheatfields. Tuscany

 

Capo di Cavello. Sardinia
Capo di Cavello. Sardinia

 

Lake Arpy. Italy
Lake Arpy reflections. Italy

A working theory on holiday disasters.

For quite some time The Writer and I have been testing the theory that a little bit of disaster punctuating a holiday just makes the good bits better. You might have read about the border incident which showcased a classic example where stress and imminent starvation resulted in a bog standard schnitzel consumed an hour later tasting like something a team of Michelin starred chefs had dreamed up for the culmination of the final dinner at a gourmet retreat.

You might be surprised to learn  we’ve amassed a fairly hefty set of data to support our working theory over the years. Indeed, The Writer has already published some early data based on a single holiday with five subjects participating in the field experiment-me ,The Writer, MIL and the two offspring.He has a perky little writing style and many a reader has commented along the lines of : “I bust a gut laughing at the antics of the Whitton family on holiday”. If you think you might enjoy a bust gut you can join the gang down at the hospital after reading Bon Voyage.

Sometimes the geek in me wins out so I decided to create an equation to express the working theory and here it is:

(Within the confines of H) D  followed by  NPE = HSH

where

H= a holiday from the usual place of residence ( preferably overseas with limited local language skills)

D= any event that precipitates pain, stress, financial loss, misery, tears, shouting or actual bodily harm

NHP= any normal happy event such as a dinner that is edible, a car that gets you from A to B without breaking down, a mobile phone that has signal when you want to use it or a swimming pool that is full of water on a hot day.

and

HSH = a heightened state of happiness.

I plan to post a few examples of D followed by NPE = HSH over the next little while so get your inner geek on, set up a journal club and join in the evaluation of the working theory.

A funny thing happened on the way to the border.

I was reading the daily prompt tonight and it reminded me of a funny little episode one holiday several years ago ( that’s code for- my mind is going and I  can’t remember when).

Anyway we’d spent a pretty good day nipping over the border from Germany into the Czech Republic and planned to stay the night in a wonderful little hotel in Cesky Krumlov that we’d come across 2 years earlier on another trip. Another thing I can’t remember is why we hadn’t actually booked it – The Writer is a very avid booker- so maybe it was just a spur of the moment decision to slip into the CR. I do remember it was a sublime holiday with no children ( sorry kids!) to consider so we did a bit of ad libbing along the way. You can obviously tell where this is going- we turned up around 5pm and the hotel was fully booked. The Writer did the rounds of the town but there was no room at the inn for us!

After a bit of grumpiness and pouting we consulted the map and found a border crossing fairly near in a bit of a hole and corner area with nothing else much around. Over the border was a very picturesque and desirable bit of Germany so we took a vote and headed south!

We’d cheered up quite a bit by the time we reached the “Border” which turned out to be a lake! Did we give up? Not on your life! Spurred on by the lack of comfy beds and the looming evening we dived into the nearby cafe to ask a few searching questions in our non existent Czech. Result! The cook happened to have a little side business in ferrying people and their cars across the lake to the actual border. We followed  a German family in their 4WD onto the ferry. This helped to silence the tiny voice suggesting we where mugs and the cook’s ferry was just a scam – if the local Germans were using the ferry it must be a legit border crossing.

The ride across was beautiful, a calm lake in the early evening light with a few well disposed fishing boats and the ferry quietly chugging through the still waters. We were a bit subdued by the German’s asking us if this was the way to the border- we’d kind of been relying on them knowing it was the way.

We drove off the other side waving goodbye to the cook/ferry master and on down a bumpy dirt track past the rickety wooden sign with a mobile number for calling the ferry if you wanted to cross the other way. I reassured The Writer it was just for those wanting to cross from Germany to Czech but secretly I thought back to the cafe in the middle of nowhere and wondered if it might have been funded by duped tourists crossing and then having to pay to cross back again when no border was found.

Anyway , onward to the border! There were no signs pointing the way but there was only one road so we figured it should be easy to find the border. I hit the accelerator and powered after the dust trail of the  4WD as dusk descended. A hundred meters up the road there was a fork and no sign! Which way to go? We followed the Germans! Fifteen minutes later with the road narrowing we came upon the Germans backing out, so we too reversed. Well – it must be the other road – we all agreed ,and the Germans followed us this time.

It was getting a bit tense in the Whitton’s car at this point as we’d just taken an inventory of food supplies and realised we had half a bar of Lindt for dinner. If we didn’t make it out they’d surely find our corpses in the car clutching the silver foil wrapper. It was only 7pm and you might ask why we were bothered still plenty of time to find the border I hear you say. Ah, but this was a tiny rural crossing and the border closed at 8pm according to the cook. We weren’t the only ones worried , the German’s had made some telling comments about bratwurst and sauerkraut earlier.

Of course we came across another fork, made an arbitrary decision that Germany looked like it was “that way” on the map and barreled down another tiny laneway . Ten minutes on we came across some hikers who said it was just a dead-end . Go on- ask them where the border is – I hear you say. So we did and they didn’t ( know,  that is). Blimey it must be tiny , or a long way off, or non-existent, we thought – but there was the map with an official border crossing marked.

Off we went again with the clock ticking and third time lucky! We could see the border boom gate just round the corner. We stopped , the Germans stopped and we all got out to examine the padlocked boomgate, the empty guard box and the battered sign informing as that this border was officially closed. The German male and The Writer formed a “let’s just jemmy the padlock and drive through” lobby group while me and the German female formed the”how do you know there isn’t a video feed and we’ll all be nabbed in no man’s land” opposition. The paranoid party won the day and we all piled into the cars and cursing in varied languages rally drove down winding woody lanes with 10 minutes left on the clock.

With his head in the map The Writer missed the deer leaping across the road and fortunately the deer just missed the car ! We turned left and right and left again , rounding the last corner on 2 wheels and with seconds to spare screamed to a halt beside the  border crossing booth closely followed by the Germans. The border guard didn’t even glance up as he lazily waved us through.

I was perversely annoyed that he didn’t bother to come out of his booth and check my passport and the boot- what if I’d smuggled out that deer I nearly hit? I guess what I really wanted was some sort of acknowledgement for finding the border, for talking down the border ramming party and avoiding the ignonimity of having to use the return ferry crossing mobile number.

My chagrin didn’t last long as we rolled through the manicured German countryside and within an hour we were well fed on schnitzel and tucked up under a feather doona in an unassuming but cosy little gasthaus.

Sometimes I miss the old days before the EU when border crossings were always a bit of an adventure!

End of holiday blues.

It’s always hard coming back after a holiday. Holidays mean the freedom of unscheduled days, hours of sunshine when I don’t have to be cooped up inside, an unspoken agreement that it’s OK to eat all those forbidden foods I usually ration out and a winding down from months of stressful work. It’s no surprise that I’m  grumpy and out of sorts when it all ends!

Heading off I feel it will all be worth the 26 hours of  airports and flights . I pack and repack happily, weighing suitcases to calculate how much I’ve left for the all important holiday buys. Do I really need those black sandals? Surely it won’t be cold enough for a jumper? I carefully choose a lightweight read and  even look forward to watching a few movies on the longhaul flight. I stock up on chocolate and nuts at the airport and look forward to 5 weeks of blissful sun, sea, culture and good food.

It’s a different story on the way home! I curse the extra sandals as I try to crush in the last of the gifts. I decide I’ll have to carry the thick and weighty jacket I had to buy because it did get cold enough for the jumper I didn’t pack – and it annoys me all the way home as I haul it in and out of overhead lockers. The movies are rubbish and I the books I chose is dull. I don’t have any chocolate because I couldn’t face the queue to buy it but that’s OK since I feel sick as a dog.

I can’t wait to be back in my own home but once I am there’s all that unpacking and washing and sorting of clothes . The piles of gifts sit and look at me accusingly as I try and work out when I’m going to get to see all the people I want to visit now that I’m not on holidays anymore. The rain pours down and my nose streams as I hack and splutter with a welcome home cold. Jet lag kicks in and I can’t sleep for nights on end – the days at work are a blur as I try and act professional through gritty eyes and gritted teeth. I almost resign on the first day back but manage to keep my mouth shut and get on with it.

A week later and sleep returns and the very next day I find myself planning next years holiday. After all there’s only 11 months to go!