Juan dela Cruz

It was past one in the morning in a South Australian countryside, he's alone in the house that's humbly sitting on a sparsely populated street next to a pastureland...  Having spent the whole day reading the examinable materials (wishing that he could finish everything that's covered for the final exam), he was extremely exhausted that minutes after he laid flat on his bed, he seemed to have suddenly fallen on the cuddly arms of Morpheus...  The lights were all turned off, window blinds were shut-- dark and almost muffled that only the ticking clock on his bedroom wall had gone distinctly audible on that wee hours of the night.

It was ten past six in the morning when he gained his consciousness back.  Sunlight had filtered through the thick window drapes and some unseen birds and insects were heard chirping and whirring somewhere outside.  There was, somehow, an indication of gladness! 

He opened the blinds and realised that the sun had risen, the eastern side of the dome was gradually turning blue and was actually almost cloudless!  The fronds of the palms as well as the wilted grass blades were gracefully dancing as the morning breeze was gently blowing from the south.  Then the distinctive scent of early Australian summer wafted through his partially opened window.

A couple of goats was visibly chewing their cud across the paddock, and he heard some laughters of his neighbour's children nearby.  The eucalyptus trees were still standing on the field, and the adjacent houses and sheds still had their roofing securely intact. 

THEN HIS THOUGHTS suddenly took him slightly northwest up the globe-- where ruthless, devastating Haiyan had recently visited.  Brokenhearted and teary eyed, he had helplessly fallen on his knees... and prayed. 

(...my thoughts and prayers to all the victims and family of typhoon Yolanda in the Philippines.  Warm and tight hugs!)         

Madonna and Child

I received an SMS from Nanay yesterday evening telling me that they'd just finished their supper.  She and my younger brother had some fat and fleshy charcoal-grilled tilapia dipped in a traditional tomato-onion-soy sauce-chili combo- eaten with steamed rice, of course!  Nanay proudly added that my brother used a portion from the small amount of cash they've got from selling bags of copra to purchase those locally produced fishes. 

One Saturday afternoon in the early nineties, somewhere in Mindanao, Philippines... there was this public school teacher who was asking her eldest son to stay at home instead of pursuing his teenage mindset of visiting friends and have fun during weekends.  The mother and her son spent the rest of that afternoon until Sunday planting coconut seedlings around their very small property. 

"We are doing it so after I retire from teaching years from now, I have some coconuts to harvest..." 

Her son halfheartedly complied.  

The SON in the story was me.  I was left epiphoric after reading that SMS last night, those words uttered a couple of decades earlier had reverberated; those were, indeed, right! 

I DECIDED TO GIVE UP my livelihood eighteen months ago to pursue my dreams.  Jobless, I'm guilty, somehow, of not 'looking after' my mother especially when she needs it.  This 'note' is not about monetary issues, though, because I can feel that my loved ones back home comfortably find joy out of the modest things in life.  I envy them of their sense of satisfaction as much as I question myself for being too ambitious!

As I continue my journey in finding my personal legend, that message from my mother has prompted me to reflect.  Have I been sowing enough, so far?  Will there be enough for me to reap one day?

Heart Failure

It feels like my heart's been manually squeezed like an orange!  It simply hurts.

It really hurts being ignored but I know I can't even demand for your attention because I don't have the right.  You're not mine.  It has become a sheer stupidity- I have been entertaining these feelings and thoughts for over a year now and haven't done anything to alleviate it.  The management of this case is not just simply taking an anti-adrenergic drug to, at least, control my heart's contractility.  

Jotting it down on this diary is so easy; I have decided to open this journal to let the world know that there's this secret affection that I have been keeping for so long... as if casting all these burdens out of my chest!  Would a letter or a card be enough, or do I need to send you bunches of roses with layers of heart-shaped chocolate cake to let you feel that I truly care?   

I just can't simply do these things right away, though.  There's this thick cloud of doubts that's been hovering over my mind- I'm scared to get rejected, I hate to be embarrassed.

At this stage I can't demand for anything more than your smile or your friendly 'hi!' every time our paths cross.  Please let me feel I'm visible 'cause I know I am... 

An Encounter with My Guardian Angel (a true story)

The bus arrived in Brussels thirty minutes ahead of schedule. It was around 3:30AM on a Thursday- the 24th of January 2013 when a Megabus from Paris dropped us off at the bus stop somewhere in Rue du Cardinal Mercier. Aside from me, there was a young couple who also got off but as the bus left for Amsterdam, the lovers instantly disappeared as they walked through the foggy, dimly-lit lane. The sloped street was lined with reasonably towering buildings but only few had their interior lights on.

I could recall that the bus driver announced earlier that the temperature in Brussels was sitting at around -4'C. Awkwardly wrapped in my modest, layered Australian winter clothes, I had my backpack on... I was alone- a total stranger left standing on a dark, shed-less bus stop with my Beerenberg greenbag (which I had been taking along with me all the way from Adelaide). I looked around... the freshly-fallen snow off-street was ankle-deep. That was my initial experience in Brussels, I was in the middle of the city which, at that moment- appeared exactly like a deserted, ghost town!

I started walking but I didn't know where I was heading. I didn't have a compass. After crossing a few streets downhill, I saw a 5-star hotel across the Brussels Central Railway Station that was not operating that time. I am a student, a budget traveler and can't afford to get a room from that high-end accommodation.

Luckily, in front of that hotel (the name I can't recall) there was a taxi waiting for any potential passenger. I approached and briefly told the young driver about my European adventure. Francisco, who, he said, had a sister in Perth, Western Australia told me to hop in his cab with a promise that he'd take me to a backpacker's district in the city. After a quick (maybe 5-minute) drive, the taxi pulled over the street and I saw a few signage indicating my preferred accommodation. I paid, thanked the driver, and alighted...

It was nearly four in the morning. I had pressed the door bell and spoken to four sleepy receptionists in four different backpacker hostels but the three were fully-booked and one was asking for Euro40,00 for a short stay! I walked off and explored around a bit, met an intoxicated young local who spoke to me in a language I can't understand! I was thinking to spend a few hours in a local coffee shop until it gets bright and the city comes back to life but there were quite a few customers inside who seemed drunk and at that time singing all their hearts out along with the karaoke!

I left and walked... and walked until I spotted a relatively presentable hotel- I think it was 3-star-rated. Tired and desperate, I pressed the bell and I was welcomed. I briefly told the receptionist about my European escapade and eventually he offered a room for Euro25,00. I didn't have a choice.

4:45AM. I got a small but clean, comfortable room with en suite and a free Wi-Fi! I set my alarm clock and while I was on my bed, I was still thinking about my Euro25,00! I initially thought that there was a spacious bus station in Brussels like what they have in London. I thought I could spend a few hours in a well-heated Belgian bus terminal, take a quick nap on the benches and start roaming around the city as soon as it gets bright. But no, there's none! I had spent Euro25,00 that was supposedly allocated for my Euro22,00 Brussels Sightseeing Day Tour. I was lying comfortably on that bed but I was left unhappy of what I had just paid. How can I explore the city of Brussels with my very limited budget? Then everything went blank... I fell asleep.

I checked out at 8:45AM and with the help of the city map and a few directions from the receptionist, I was able to get to one of the Métro de Bruxelles stations where I caught a train that would take me to the heart of Brussels. A series of connected passenger rail cars slithered through an old subway. The next thing I knew I was already in the middle of the freezing and bustling cobblestoned streets of the de facto capital of the European Union. I had seen export-quality chocolate shops and artisan waffle stalls everywhere!

In one of the stations of Métro de Bruxelles with my historic Beerenberg greenbag.

After a few free chocolate tastings, and after having a piece of Belgian waffle, I finally found the closest bus stop for the City of Brussels Sightseeing Tour. Even with a limited budget, I had to do this 'day-trip' hop-on, hop-off bus tour 'cause I only have until 3:30PM in Brussels (I need to catch another Megabus for my trip to Amsterdam).

9:30AM. A double-Decker, well-labeled, red bus came and stop. A few tourists were getting off, and I was one of those who were waiting to board to experience Brussels in a day (okay, in six hours only). Momentarily, there was this large-built woman (but not fat) who's just hopped off the bus- a Caucasian and looked like she's in her early fifties with a bright face and very friendly aura. She smiled at me and asked, "Have you got a tour ticket for this bus?"

"Uh?! Nahhh, I still have to purchase mine from the bus driver," smiling, I politely replied.

"Here, take my ticket, son. I have finished my tour," she said while agressively inserting her Euro22,00-worth Brussels Sightseeing ticket into my gloved right hand.

"Shhhh!" She gestured with her index finger in front of her closed, pouting lips. She winked at me and glanced back to the driver who didn't noticed what she had just done.

I looked straight into her eyes and said, "Oh, thank you!"

Then it's my turn to enter the bus. Before I stepped in to present MY TICKET to the driver, I quickly turned my head around to wave to that lady but she's mysteriously gone! ...vanished into nowhere!

I felt I was truly blessed! Earlier that day I was worried of spending Euro25,00 for my accommodation but now I got a city sightseeing ticket for free!

I believe that that lady was my guardian angel! Recall that at 9:30AM she said she had already finished her tour. Way too early because on her or 'my ticket' (that I still keep until now) it was printed:

PURCHASED 24.01.2013 09:36:36
Valid 24 hours. Keep your ticket.

This photo was taken after I finally hopped off the bus after my Brussels Sightseeing Tour- the exact location where I met the woman who gave me her day-trip ticket.

-end-

Bread and Wine

The picture below is a very good representation of how a happiest person in the world would look like:

Hermann Thumm Drive, Lyndoch, South Australia.

I know that the mood of this post is very different from what I usually write, but this time let me have the stage.  One thing more, I don't normally flaunt about my faith but now I'm so courageous to say that I've sung my praises to bring back all the glory and honour to God! 

Amidst all the disasters (especially in Equine Medicine and Surgery in the mid-semester exam) and complicated health problems that I had during my preparation for the final examination last month, I was so blessed to have conquered all the hurdles last semester!   Water can, indeed, be turned into wine!  Officially, I've already completed 50% of this 3-year DVM program.

The marks were supposed to be up yesterday but it didn't come up.  I don't know how I managed to sleep last night while anxiously waiting for my grades.  I got up early this morning, jogged, had my breakfast, checked my university account online, then took my lunch and checked again but the final grades were yet to be released.  I tried to keep calm; and to comfort myself, I decided to drive to the beautiful Barossa.

From Gawler, I drove through the winding the roads- uphill and downhill.  I saw a herd of Hereford on the rolling plains, then some blanket-covered Thoroughbreds that perfectly contrasted against the hilly grasslands carpeted with the golden blossoms of soursobs.     

The newly pruned vines somewhere in Lyndoch, South Australia. 

As I went farther afield, the pasture gradually faded... there were varieties of huge eucalyptus trees- left and right, which seemed to be rushing the opposite direction as I accelerated to hit the speed limit.  At the blink of an eye, those gigantic Australian flora were gone, and the scenery along the winding road was replaced by acres of leafless vineyards silhouetting against the cloudy winter sky.

My first stop was Chateau Yaldara.

The Yaldara Estate selling their award-winning McGuigan wines, Lyndoch, South Australia.

    
Now look at that!  When I saw the sculpture and the fountain, my memory transported me back to Rome... then I instantly forgot everything about my pending grades!  Surprisingly, the artwork was blending so well with the elegant French-inspired backdrop- a structure that was built in the mid-1900's by the bank of the North Para River.
   

This winery was founded by Hermann Thumm in 1947 who eventually sold it to McGuigan Wines when he decided to retire in 1999.   

The concrete stairs of this charming country house was so tempting that after taking a selfie (thanks to the 10-second self-timer setting of my camera) my legs had undeliberately taken me up and into the mansion.

There were two groups of wine-lovers enjoying their tasting session.  The gentle voices of the two lovely ladies behind the counter were faintly reverberating as they presented their award-winning  wines one after the other.

When one of the employees noticed me, she uttered a very typical Australian greeting and instructed me to proceed upstairs so, while waiting for my turn at the wine-tasting counter, I could enjoy the wood carving exhibit of an Australian artist whose name I can't recall.           

While I was standing by the window in the sala upstairs, I got a magnificent view of the fountain and the century-old flour mill (1867) below.




 

The wine-tasting counter of McGuigan Wines, Chateau Yaldara, Lyndoch, South Australia.

A few samples of McGuigan's wines...

McGuigan have Pinot, Verdelho, Sauvignon, Shiraz, Semillon, Chardonnay and many more but I opted to try their sweetest red and white wines.  The very friendly lady behind the counter introduced their moscato, tawny port and late-harvest Riesling.  The taste?  Beautiful!  International Wine Awards 2009, 2011 and 2012 judges really knew what a delicious wine is!        

The old flour mill (1867)- now a Greek Restaurant and an opal-souvenir shop.  By the bank of the North Para River, Hermann Thumm Drive, Lyndoch, South Australia.

The tastes of those wines were still lingering on my palate when I explored the opal and souvenir shop across the road.

Next door, there's a Greek restaurant known as Cafe Y- owned and managed by a family who could proudly trace their roots back to Greece.  I entered and chose to sit next to the glass panel overlooking the river nearby.  Then I started thinking about my final grades again... It was around 3:20PM when I bravely took my phone out of my pocket, turned the mobile data access on and logged in to the university website.  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest when I saw the good news, and the rest was history!  

I was actually thinking beforehand to order a Greek meatball with roasted tomato and Greek salad but I instantly lost my appetite, probably because of joy.  The waiter came to take my order, I asked him to give me the simplest Greek snack available.  He left and came back with this biscuit on the plate and his mother who, he said, was the 'author' of this cookie.

Kourabie served with a 'handful' of icing sugar; goes very well with coffee. 

Soon after I finished it, the father came...  I told him I loved their shortbread!  He excitedly took a serviette, and scribbled the name of this food.  This is what he wrote: 

Kourabie (singular) 
Kourabiethe (plural) 
Greek Shortbread Biscuit

I took the table napkin and told him I'll write a blog post about it.  Then I drove back home...

So this is it, as promised.




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Conquering the Mountain

Life's been very challenging yet more interesting lately that, I realised, I missed updating my diary.  We've just finished our final examinations for the first semester.

Meantime, let me enjoy this freedom! Let me have this twenty-six days break from the university...

I, actually, almost forgot how to feel like a normal human being for the past four weeks as I tried to transform myself into a huge walking USB flash drive. I had to store heaps of information in my brain to jump across the hurdle examinations so I could continue this race.

Well, you can't blame me- with this endeavour to 'conquer a mountain' or if you like, 'build a palace'- it has been involving buckets of sweat, tablespoons of tears, drops of blood; almost exceeding my pain and stress thresholds... and honestly, I didn't think that it'd really take this long!

Don't get me wrong. I can stay on the plains, I'm used to it 'coz I was born and grew up down there. I can live in this humble hut 'coz I have been living here all my life. But I wanted to climb up the peak of the hills 'coz it promises a magnificent 360' view of this beautiful world! I'm dreaming to experience living in a palace so I could share it's warmth, space and richness to the people I love and care.

At the moment, I am traversing the darkest valleys and swimming the deepest rivers just to get to the peak! (Then I realised that building a mansion really takes time.) There have been boulders and dusts, there were times that I starved and thirsted! I have sacrificed a lot for this trek. I thought before that conquering this mountain would only just mean another piece of document, then I realised that it's not. The time and effort that I have spent and would still be spending are more than enough to make it a really valuable achievement.

The obstacles that I had gone through recently were not easy. Until this moment nothing's certain 'coz the result of that 'event' are yet to be revealed. Whatever happens, I am ready. With all the health and physical challenges that I had, I still tried to do everything I could during the preparation, and during the 'event'. I prayed very hard. Now it's my faith that's been keeping me alive 'coz I trust that whereever He leads me, it will always be a better path- whether up the mountain, here on this plateau, or even down the humblest plains.

Easter Getaway

Amidst a massive pile of review materials and the upcoming mid-semester exam next week, I bravely left my study desk and headed to Innes National Park for a day trip with my friends last Sunday.  After enjoying the invigorating alta vista at Stenhouse Bay Lookout, our next stop was Cape Spencer.  The weather never cooperated creating a dull reflection of the overcast sky on the historic Investigator Strait.  Facing south, I still tried to capture the best photograph I could take of the lighthouse across... and moved my eyes right and left, up and down so I could spot a remarkable scene around.  From the edge of the cliff where I was standing, I noticed a couple down the great platform of rocks- which I believe a granite.  The strong, chilly wind and the rough surf down there didn't deter them from whatever intentions they wanted to pursue.  They've honestly inspired me to stay on track as I work towards the fulfilment of my dreams and, like these sturdy rocks that have stood the tests of time, to face the enormous challenges in the university this year.  Cape Spencer, Innes National Park, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia.

 

    

The Cape Spencer Lighthouse that I was referring to...  The couple on the platform of granite rocks featured on the photograph above was seen below the right side of this slope. 

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For my eyes only

One thing I've discovered about Rome is that orange trees are everywhere, and during my visit on the first week of February 2013, they're all bearing fruits!  After enjoying Fontana de Trevi, my newly met friend Danniel and I decided to proceed to one of the baroque churches in the city- Santa Maria della Vittoria.  We walked through Via del Tritone and finally Via Barberini where I took this photograph.

There were lots of people walking along these orange-adorned streets in Rome- locals and tourists, but I had observed that nobody dared to pick one of these brightly coloured and delicious-looking fruits!  Ripe oranges were left hanging on the bending branches setting my salivary glands off to squirt thereby leaving my mouth entirely flooded.  Curious, I stopped to ask one local who's having a morning break from work outside the building.  With a very typical Italian hand gesture, she told me that those oranges were not very palatable, they're sour and bitter!        

Three hours before my flight back to London, I was still rushing along the streets and alleys around Piazza Navona which really seemed like pathways in the maze to me.  Just before crossing Corso Vittorio Emanuele to catch the bus to Metropolitana di Roma's Repubblica station, this massive, ancient wall of a building in Piazza di S. Pantaleo caught my attention.  It houses one of Italy's leading designer botiques; and since shopping was on the bottom of my list, I didn't enter...  I took my mobile phone out and used its built-in camera to capture this angle, instead.       



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Spires and pipes

I am currently tipsy.  Niño and I were guilty of finishing off 1.05 litre of single malt Scotch whiskey.  I haven't drunk a reasonable (or intoxicating) amount of whiskey for almost a decade now, and if not because of my recent trip to Edinburgh I wouldn't dare drinking it to the last drop. I just felt earlier that doing it would simply complete my remarkable Scotland experience.

Actually, I wasn't very keen to visit Edinburgh... but my hosts here in London, six of them, were so excited of this Scotland trip.  They'd been preparing and looking forward for this weekend escapade since November last year.  But just like most of the carefully drafted adventures, it didn't happen as planned.  Only Auntie Monette and I  turned up!

Scotland's capital- Edinburgh, was a ten-hour bus journey from London.  We left late in the afternoon, so aside from the red tail lights of the vehicles on the motorway and the artificially illuminated bus stations of the boroughs and cities, the rest of the sight were awfully pitch black- no hills, pastures and meadowlands, no country houses and bridges, no coastlines; nothing!  Then at around 2:00 AM the bus dropped us off at the dimly-lit, cold main street lined with century old, sandstone buildings that would've looked desolated without the sleepy cab drivers in their parked vehicles and a few drunk teenagers.  That was my first impression of Edinburgh before we helplessly fell in the loving arms of Morpheus.

I got up after five hours, took a shower, had my breakfast, headed to the reception and asked for direction to the closest tourist attraction.  The receptionist told me that it's forty-five minutes to one hour away.  A bit disappointed of the given distance, I stepped out of the hotel and was surprised of what I saw; standing from the doorstep, every angle, for me, was a tourist attraction!  I could see the Edinburgh Castle on top of the hill (a dormant volcano), the Scott monument, shops in century-old sandstone structures, churches, countless spires, lush and green parks, and stacks of  brownish heritage buildings gracefully standing on the hill!

  
Auntie Monette's high school friend- Tita Elen and her family had just transferred in Edinburgh.  We're very lucky and grateful for their seven-star accommodation.  They gave us heaps of very useful tips on how to conveniently roam around this lovely city.

I fell in love with the leisurely pace of the city, it actually reminds me of Adelaide.  The locals were not as friendly as those I've met in Brussels but they're apparently polite, and of course their accent was cute. The sett pavements, architecture and the entire cityscape of Royal Mile were so enchanting that I would love to shut my eyes at this moment so my imagination could take me straight back there!  Those brown Lothian buses crossing the North Bridge with a beautiful backdrop of monuments and castlellated structures comfortably sitting on Calton Hill seemed to be creating a real identity of captivating Edinburgh!  Just imagine seeing all these sceneries while a traditional Scottish music was clearly audible as an unseen local wearing kilt was playing his Great Highland Bagpipe somewhere.   

The North Bridge, Edinburgh, Scotland.

I haven't been to other cities in Scotland, but I have this feeling that the country is so obsessed with spires.  I have seen spires in almost every angle around the city... castles, palace, abbeys and the like... they're everywhere!  And I believe those structures are the living witnesses of the horrible stories of the 1700's- the countless public executions- that were considered as the dark past of Edinburgh.

If there's horror, there are some rumours and riddles that's haunting this part of Scotland, as well.  I spared four hours for my short yet meaningful trip to Rosslyn Chapel.  The interior of this small worship hall, constructed in the mid-1400's, is totally adorned with detailed carvings, codes, signs and symbols whose ultimate meanings or messages are yet to be known and understood.  There's a crypt in this chapel that's coupled with legends that the mummified head of Jesus Christ, the Holy Grail and some treasures are being kept.  How I wish photography was allowed inside the chapel!   

Exterior.  The details- Rosslyn Chapel, Scotland.

The Scotch whiskey's still in my veins and arteries, I can feel it.  My London bed has been dragging me, too!

Without any regret, I'm glad I pursued our plan to visit Edinburgh.  I, honestly, would love to go back and find a job there- everyday must be a holiday in that city.

By the way, it was daytime when we travelled back to London, so I've seen the picturesque landscape I hadn't seen on our way forth.  

Traditionally...

The tourists crossing the street.  Cowgate, Edinburgh, Scotland.

A flock of sheep...

...with Auntie Monette at the entrance of the Edinburgh Castle.

   
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étranger

I am currently occupying one of these elegant wooden tables in the Apple Store here at Leidseplein, Amsterdam.  I've been here for half an hour now, taking advantage of their free WiFi while waiting for my 9:30PM depature to London tonight. 

My legs and thighs are aching, and I am trying to bear this unsoundness due to lack of sleep and endless walking for five days now.  This is the price of...

That's my unfinished blog entry five days ago, and because I've been enjoying the comfort of this humble dwelling (my 'home' in the UK) since Saturday, I am afraid that I cannot continue and finish that post anymore.  I have already forgotten how exhausted I was that time because what's left in my memories are the beautiful sights, magnificent man-made attractions, world-class transport facilities, friendly locals, invaluable artworks, and the indescribable feeling of being dumped in another planet! 

That funny feeling started the moment I stepped off the bus in Paris from London (where I wrote my preceding entry).  I was expecting a covered and well-heated coach station after nine hours of travel so I was surprised upon getting off and seeing the ankle-deep snow at Porte Maillot Coach park!  Too bad, I didn't get it the first time I read my booking notice- it was a 'park', NOT a coach station!  Totally disoriented, I had the feeling that that place was in the middle of Paris, poorly lit, deserted (we arrived at 7AM but it was still dark) with two busy road tunnels nearby, without any toilet and there's a relatively huge shopping mall across the street- with a name I couldn't even utter (Le Palais des Congrès)!  Luckily this building was already open so I tried to enter and was absolutely relieved to feel the warmth after being exposed to a lower-than-zero 'C for a considerable period while being left alone and completely lost in that cold and foggy Parisian street.  

One of the stations of Paris Métro that I love to pronounce.

After a few attempts, I successfully got an information from one of the cleaners of the mall (who, though broken, could at least speak the language I used), so with the aid of the 'arrows' on a series of signage written in French (that, again, I couldn't even pronounce and understand, I found my way to the underground train station.  I spoke to the lady behind the information booth and told her that I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower as the day breaks.  She recommended and offered a two-day travel pass (for any public transport across Paris; since I'll be staying in Paris for that period, anyway), directed me to the underground train line after giving me a small piece of folded glossy paper- where the colour-represented train lines were mapped.  There was an encircled word on that brochure- a Paris Métro station, my destination so I could see France's most famous landmark.  Then I realised that I should have studied French before deciding to venture in Paris!  Everything was in French!  The language spoken, the name of the train stations, the streets, shops, cafes, the labels of the foods and drinks, etc. (even the description of the artworks in the Louvre Museum)! 

The Arc de Triomphe, Paris, France.

To cut this story short, the direction given by that lady in the 'information' booth was wrong- just imagine a sleepy, totally disoriented tourist who's so excited to see the Eiffel Tower... going out of the underground train tunnel and saw the century-old arch in front of him, NOT a tower!  Well, it was a historic landmark of France, so I took my camera out of my pocket, set it on auto-capture mode, positioned myself with my 'thumbs-up' signature pose and smiled as if I was not disappointed.  I explored Arc de Triomphe, of course, and the rest of my stay in Paris was an interesting history! 

The Eiffel Tower hiding behind the clouds (fog?) This photo was taken from Trocadero area.

Tour Eiffel la nuit!

 NOTE: étranger is the French word for 'foreigner'. 

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A frosty treat

After five weeks of exploring London, I feel like I'm ready to go back 'home'. [I feel so lucky every time I use the word 'home'- I have Philippines and Australia; in this post, I mean Roseworthy, South Australia.  I would love to take a flight from Heathrow to NAIA but some unsettled university issues (mentioned on my previous entry) oblige me to follow my original itinerary to fly straight from London to Adelaide on the thirteenth of next month.]

I still have twenty-three days left in England but I honestly don't know how to spend this remaining days wisely. For me that was it- I have visited and taken photos of myself with Big Ben, the Parliament House (both with and without snowfall) and Westminster Abbey; I have seen the Buckingham Palace, entered St. Paul's Cathedral and the British Museum; crossed River Thames while walking over the Millenium Bridge, discovered Madame Tussauds, Notting Hill, and Harrods; been to the ever mysterious Stonehenge, the unique Roman city of Bath, William Shakespeare's birthplace (Stratford-upon-Avon) and explored the Warner Bros. Studios-UK (and discovered how Harry Potter films were made) as well as the lovely town of Cambridge. For me, that's what England is all about, and I don't want to demand (or honestly, stress myself) for more.

Days were actually getting boring lately; but the weather came to the rescue- it did give a bit of excitement! London wasn't generous enough to let me experience white Christmas (a cool and very wet Christmas, instead) but just recently, those hovering grey clouds eventually decided to turn into flurries!  And last Friday, amidst the risk of railway and bus travel cancellations, I still ventured to meet my friend Phil in Central London and considered to charge it to experience if ever worse would come to worst... so, with more than enough provisions packed in my bag, at the blink of an eye, I found myself outside Bayswater Underground Station in the middle of a heavy snowfall! I was not alone, though, I saw tourists posing inside or beside those red telephone booths along the streets wanting to have their photographs taken during that interesting (well, for me it was interesting) weather event!

Snowfall at the Parliament House, Westminster.

I have seen how this charming city transformed into a huge freezer!  Yesterday afternoon, I was enjoying a piece of buttermilk sponge cake and a cup of green tea by the window- and the view of heavy snowfall with those leafless tree branches, pines and Victorian houses along Elmer's End Rd gradually getting covered in finely crushed ice was like a gigantic movie screen to me- a real 4D experience, all for free!

And to quench my thirst, I stepped out of the flat, took photos of the frozen streets, joined the kids at the frosty park nearby and played like a 3-year old!

I am actually typing this in a bus, we're about to depart for quite a long journey... so it's time to 'park this pen' now.

Beyond Blue

...at Greenwich prime meridian marker.

Many people would think that I did something silly today.  I paid GBP5.00 just for a photograph while sitting on the ground with my legs crossed (photo above).    

That behaviour might be a sequelae of my slight depression after receiving a very upsetting email from the university yesterday- declaring that I need to do my two-week production animal clinical placement again due to some allegations given by my clinical supervisor which for me, was a treatment that's very unfair and too personal.  I just can't believe that in an intellectual environment like the university, I could encounter this kind of attitude.  The only good thing is, the extra-mural studies' advisory committee has given me a chance to discuss this decision with them at my earliest convenience and opportunity.  So I've been keeping my fingers crossed that I can sort it out to the best outcome I could imagine.

Indeed, there's no such thing as a perfect holiday!  But instead of grieving, I ate the most sumptuous breakfast I could afford, took a shower and explore the Portobello Road Market in Notting Hill and the luxurious Harrods at Brompton Road yesterday.  I am grateful for my uncle for the real treat of taking me to those fabulous places.

...at Harrods.

...at Harrods.

...at Harrods.

Aubergines at Portobello Market.

A variety of lettuce sold at Portobello Market.

Mushrooms for sale at Portobello Market.

Mold-ripened sausages at Portobello Market, Notting Hill, London.

We were at Portobello Market at four P.M. and didn't have the opportunity to see it at its peak but I have this feeling that it was comparable to Salamanca Market in Hobart, Tasmania.  The temperature was 3'C that afternoon but I have seen international tourists and locals along Portobello Road taking advantage of the last minute sale of fresh fruits and vege, flowers, beadworks, cloths, textiles, antiques, pastries and cakes such as Belgian waffles and French crepes.  My uncle and I enjoyed a medium cup of mocha and a waffle with two swirls of perfectly whipped cream, decorated with slices of fresh strawberries and drizzled with their sinful, thick chocolate sauce.

From Notting Hill Gate, the underground railway took us to Knightsbridge where the glowing Harrods shop was confidently standing!  Business hours was due to end in an hour so we navigated straight to the food section where the 'golden' meat and meat products, cheese, nuts and sweets were elegantly displayed.

STILL AT HARRODS.  Luckily, Patchi chocolate's national manager was standing by the shelves, so before I could say a word, she gave us a piece of milk chocolate with almonds wrapped in a nicely labelled, sparkling material- all for free!  Patchi chocolate was GBP8.00 per 100 grams but it was, honestly, worth it!  That chocolate variant we've tasted was so lovely (as how the English people would describe a great-tasting food)!  My uncle purchased some- in wide assortment!

"Life is like a box of chocolates!" -Forrest Gump

 DESPITE THE FREEZING TEMPERATURE this afternoon, my auntie and I were determined to visit Greenwich Park.  At the entrance, the place looked a bit deserted- though there were a few families and couples who braved the cold to walk along the concrete path in the middle of the lush, green lawn under the leafless trees- big and small.

I posed for a photograph at the view deck with the London skyline and the Queen's House behind (and below).  I was a bit surprised that another pose at the Prime Meridian marker would entail five bucks.  Since deep in my heart I believe I was a tourist, I paid a student concession (thankfully they honored my University of Adelaide student ID) and shortly after, I found myself queuing, setting my camera for an auto-capture and just like other well-wrapped yet uncomfortably chilled tourists- I sat down right on the official prime meridian marker at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich for a photograph!

The world's official prime meridian- I was there!

A prime meridian is a meridian, i.e. a line of longitude, at which longitude is defined to be 0°. A prime meridian and its opposite in a 360°-system, the 180th meridian (at 180° longitude), form a great circle.
This great circle divides the sphere, e.g. the Earth, into two hemispheres. If one uses directions of East and West from a defined prime meridian, then they can be called Eastern Hemisphere and Western Hemisphere.

- Wikipedia 

The London skyline with a streak of green laser light that represents the prime meridian.

"O degrees.  This laser installation projects a beam of light along the Meridian Line during the evening.  It runs true north for a distance of about 15 miles." -The Royal Observatory, Greenwich, London

Now, do you think I'm silly?




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Stunning Stonehenge

Elmer's End Road, Penge, London
7 January 2013

Common cold virus is gone but another virus came to invade my body!

My feet were very itchy the other night and I know that it was a pathognomonic sign- 'travel virus' had conquered my system resulting in an irresistible desire to hop on a tour bus and visit this circular man-made structure dating back to 3100 BC- the Stonehenge.

These stones measure  2 x 1.5 x 0.8 metres- the heaviest pieces weighing around 4 tons each.  This monument was completed in 1,500 years, and some of its major materials existing today were discovered to have come from the Preseli Mountains in Wales, UK which is 386 kilometres away!

The very purpose why the Stonehenge was built remains a mystery until today.  Archaeologists believe that prehistoric pilgrimages could have happened here for astronomical observation; others say that ancient people possibly came to get healed, to bury their dead or to worship.

This 2013, I came to visit!  

The tourists visiting one of the UNESCO's World Heritage Sites, English county of Wiltshire, UK.

    
WHEN MY URGE TO TRAVEL assaulted me that evening, my fingers eventually became submissive... my hibernating computer rekindled to life and my wallet obediently unclasped so on the last minute, my internet connection aided me to book a day trip to the mysterious Stonehenge, including the alluring and relaxing Roman city of Bath and to a small yet lovely town where William Shakespeare was born- Stratford-upon-Avon.

I kept tossing and turning on my bed overnight... and eighteen minutes before my alarm went off I found myself inside the steaming shower cubicle.  I left the flat at six A.M. but it was still dark and cold.  From the spot where I was standing, a heavy fog was obscuring the bus' LED route board as this service vehicle crept slowly towards me.

I arrived forty minutes before the scheduled train departure but after purchasing my one-day travel card from a machine, an unseen lady was heard over the speakers announcing and apologising for the cancellation of the rail service to London Victoria station (where the tour's one and only pick-up point was)!

I only have 20 minutes left to catch the tour, so I rushed out of the station to find another transport that could quickly take me to my tour's pick up point.  Unacquainted with the bus routes and unfamiliar with the roads and streets around Greater London, I hopped on the first bus that stopped to drop a passenger off.  I stood beside the driver and asked him to take me to a place where I could get another bus or a cab so I could find my way to Victoria Coach Station at the shortest possible time.

While the driver was propelling his bus through the dark and hazy road, I rang the tour company to inform them of my situation and current location.  I didn't get any assurance.  Over the phone, the representative told me that  the coach could only wait for another fifteen minutes. 

Heaven must be very good to me.  After all the dramas- transferring from one coach service to another and running more than a human speed around the Victoria train station along the Buckingham Palace Rd. to the coach station's gate number 6, I luckily caught the tour bus!  I was heavily panting and my heart was beating like the loudest drum in the marching band when I presented my reservation number and I.D. to our friendly guide.

He smiled and said, "Good morning, Sir!'  I couldn't respond if it was.   

AS THE SKY ABOVE THE misty city began to glow, the bus carefully traversed southwest, crossing rivers over humble bridges.  Comfortably sitting, I was enjoying the warmth of the coach and as I gazed through the window, it was obviously cold outside.  The leafless trees and the triangular, steeply sloping roof of the Victorian houses were silhouetted against the gloomy sky and the foggy horizon.  As the bus driver hit the gas pedal, these silhouettes were rushing the opposite direction... then buildings were getting lesser and woodland's getting  denser.  I was imagining the hills, the valleys and the verdant meadows hidden behind the haze!    

A closer look: The Stonehenge...

IT ONLY TOOK US AN hour and a quarter to get to the Stonehenge!  It was chilly and misty when I was queuing at the visitor's centre... and as our group pushed towards the prehistoric site, the ancient monument was gradually revealing it's concealed elegance and hidden charm amidst the fog.

Our tour guide told us that, approximately, there were only 100,000 people around England when they started building the Stonehenge- and how this people, without our modern ways of communication, united and planned to build this fascinating structure was a really a big thing.  They didn't have luxurious transportation but they managed to source and take these heavy materials from that mountain in Wales to this hill in England.  They crossed valleys, rivers and streams while handling these monoliths, and they had managed to arrange these stones- 1,500 years in the making, with their original 'blueprint' carried through- in a way that modern architects and engineers would undoubtedly admire!   

Those prehistoric people achieved something that has lasted for thousands of years.  The Stonehenge is not only a physical monument but a living legacy that could remind every person of today that harmony and solidarity really make a difference and give us the power to achieve our common goals that the coming generations can savor and enjoy!

A photo opportunity with the Stonehenge. 6 January 2013

 

The travel virus, the transport drama, the monoliths...  My visit to the Stonehenge was very memorable, and I concluded it with a giant piece of a delicious, hot sausage roll sold next to the souvenir shop.

The locals selling cakes and pastries at the visitor's centre.

The sausage roll that I had at Stonehenge.

 


NOTE: I'll try my best to write my experiences at the Roman city of Bath and Stratford-upon-avon soon. 




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Slithering Around

It's my 18th day in London, and so far, this charming city has never failed to surprise me everyday. 

...with the Royals at Madame Taussauds-London.

It was originally planned to get up early today and visit the famous Camden Market but we didn't make it.  The sun rose at eight o'five this morning and at nine, it remained adamant to continue hiding behind the thick winter clouds. My mind was more than willing to go- enjoy the vista along the route of bus 176, or delight in the promptness of the overground and underground train lines from Anerley Station- but my physique was so weak... so I helplessly succumb to hibernation until four this arvo. 

I'M GLAD THE HOLIDAY PARTIES and dinner invitations have ended as 2013 officially begun- it's time for my digestive system to take a break from exhaustion, though, without checking with the scales I'm sure my bones and joints have been screaming out their complaints because the fats I've stored over the season are far too much for them to bear!  My jet lag, Britain's cold weather, sleepless nights and voraciousness have gradually added up allowing the opportunistic cold viruses to flaunt their cruelty albeit my B-complex, fish oil and double doses of vitamin-C supplements.  Without regrets, I missed the cool and drizzly New Year's Eve fireworks display at London Eye.         

The spectators lining the street from Trafalgar Square. London New Year's Day Parade 2013.

Surprisingly, I had all the symptoms of common cold except inappetence.  Despite my poor health state on the first day of the new year, I still obliged myself to witness the London New Year's Day Parade last Tuesday.  While I was changing for the parade, the sun rays was penetrating through the partially opened blinds so I didn't care to bundle myself with layers of thick clothes.  I was then awakened from my South Australian concept of winter when I found myself chilled to the bone at twelve high noon while waiting for the grand procession at Trafalgar Square.  As a series of tuneful marching bands, graceful cheerers and beautiful floats started to approach, thousands of spectators flocked along the baricaded streets which thankfully produced a comfortable and agreeable degree of  warmth around me.

St. Bartholomew's Hospital- London, founded c. 1123.

Excited for the London New Year's Day Parade 2013.

EXPLORING AND DISCOVERING London's major thoroughfare- the Oxford Street at the City of Westminster was a remarkable experience.  On the 2nd of January, I got out of bed from my afternoon nap at two with my cold symptoms alleviated by Lemsip Max Day and Night so I decided to go and visit this famous shopping precinct.  My jaw literally dropped and I profusely salivated upon seeing those branded apparels in the elegant shops housed in the finest, century-old Victorian buildings lining the street-in-a-rat-race!  I instantly felt sorry for South Australia upon seeing those top-quality items on display (some were still up to 70% off the original price, a remnant of Boxing Day sale).  Right before my eyes, the sophistication and quantity of the products in Oxford St. seemed to have naturally degraded the clothings that I've seen in Rundle Mall, Adelaide.  I locked my wallet and tightly zipped my pockets... luckily, I succeeded- I didn't spend a pence; after all, I'm not here in London to shop.          

The hustling and bustling Oxford St., Westminster, London, UK.

NOTHING BEATS THE EXCITEMENT at Madame Tussauds museum at Baker Street, especially when I saw the guests on their most wacky poses- kissing, embracing or frisking over the wax figures of their favourite stars and personalities.  I didn't expect to see those life-size images standing all over the place (I thought they're only positioned in one corner), that I had literally rubbed my elbows with the wax elbow of the famous Hollywood stars, artists, scientists, athletes, the Royals and of the world's famous politicians.  At times I would quickly stop and look closely at the person next to me 'cause I had this delusion that he or she might be another wax figure displayed by Madame Tussauds!

Madame Tussaud as featured at her own museum, Baker St., London

Mr. President's secretary, Madame Tussaud's- London.

The lights and sounds and other special effects (smoke, water, etc.) were perfectly matched to their displays- except the faint audio at the quick travel along the mini-tunnel of London's history.  The horror tunnel that highlighted the story of revolution and human execution failed to impress me- especially their actors, but the finale at the museum's planetarium- the 4D film about how the Marvel Super Heroes (from the Hollywood movies) saved the Buckingham Palace and the entire London from the robotic villains (which, honestly, my brain failed to capture) was so magnificent!  It was my first time to experience a 4D adventure, and yes, I was captivated by the visuals, the mist that was hitting my face, the smoke that irritated my nostrils and the moving seats in tandem to the actions on the screen!  Brilliantly fantastic!  I would like to thank my Auntie Monette's good friend- Tita Arlene Wright and her family for all these adventures around Central London!   

I have just booked a 'day trip' for tomorrow into one of England's historic destinations, so I need to stop typing, hit my London bed and get some sleep for an early activity... 




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