The Journey is closing

Resting up in Saigon after night on the Unification Express from DaNang. 1pm - 5.30am HCMC

We've had our Highlands Coffee. A wonder Lee can sleep. I certainly can't.

It's been an interesting trip. Very much shaped by Lees disability from.the stroke. But none the less enjoyable. I've enjoyed his company by and large. It's nice to share the trials and tribulations of travelling with someone. And the food.

Lee is not short of enthusiasm or determination. Physically he has no use of his left side.  He has a splint and a built up shoe and has to swing his leg around in order to walk. His right arm and leg are strong in order to compensate. 7 years since the stroke and his speech is now perfect and his brain is sharp.  However he can't walk far before his back aches and he is need of many medications.

It is 14 years since his 50th when we climbed to the top of Mt Wilhelm at 15,000 feet. And he ran in a triathlon.  So much can happen in a few short years.

Our meeting up in Vietnam was an unknown by two risk-takers. It didn't take long to find out he was already stitched up with a young Papua New Guinean woman. Always there is 'another woman'. Doesn't matter how disabled the old bastard gets, it's still the same. This time I'm the 'secret woman'. Wouldn't have a bar of it, so the terms were engraved on my part from the beginning.

Anyway we have done things rather differently than I would on my own. Stayed in very comfortable hotels, used taxis to take us places, hooked up with drivers and translators for half day tours pitched to our needs. And had our laundry done by the hotel regularly. So my idea of savings has gone a bit by the wayside as we do it by kitty. 

One thing he has a penchant for is Street food, and when we do this, not only do we get a rich experience but we pay 10times less than in a restaurant. Avoid women with the baskets - they charge 1O times more too, got caught out paying equivalent of $18 for a bunch of bananas.  Just cos it looks like it'll be cheap doesn't Mean it is.Eg a rickshaw driver will charge 200,000 dong $12 for the same distance a taxi will charge 20,000 dong $1.20. Again, 10 times as much for tourist gimmicks.

everywhere we've gone we've been greeted with friendliness and helpfulness. I've been practising my Vietnamese and managed to do food transactions in the street just using Vietnamese, now the numbers are getting better.

I think the photos on FB will show where we have been and what we have done.

Lee and I have been reading a book aloud together - Shaman
The second in the Cole Trilogy by Noah Gordon. It's been really compelling and relaxing to do this.

Now I feel some sense of sadness that the journey is ending, and a sense of anxiety about returning to work.

But also a sense of satisfaction that this journey was everything I hoped for and more.

For that, I am grateful.  Grateful to the Union Movement for Making Long Service Leave possible.

A week in Vietnam

Writing this on the road to Ninh Binh. The place was a highlight when Pip and I visited 5 years ago. Think of those misty mountain Chinese inkwash paintings  with craggy Karsts rising from watery fields.

Was almost going to miss out on visiting Ninh Binh as we lost a day or two with Lees coming late.  Lee must have been sick of me raving about this Halong Bay on Land,  so he suggested I go while he had a day of rest. So that's exactly what I'm doing. It was a good call
.
His stroke effects the left side of his body, so there's no control of his leg and arm on that side.  But he's had a fierce determination to not let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, so there's heaps of adapting he has had to do.

His speech is now 100% and he now is mentally astute, at the ready to make a quip or joke.

It was a bit of a mad crazy thing to do, to meet up with the crazy old bastard in Vietnam and maybe that's the kind of risk takers we both are. I've had too many years of Independence to sacrifice any of that. My life, wherever that is, will be south of Sydney and his will be north of Cairns.

But so far so good.

It surprised me that he was in his element stepping out into Hang Bo Street with motorbikes, rickshaws and cars coming in each direction, footpaths being taken up with bike parking and street vendors, and both of us cripples managed to squat down on a red plastic stool to tuck into a kind of Pho on the verge between footpath and road. Unable to only use one chopstick and a spoon, he made a right mess, but was ecstatic with the buzz of it.

We booked Monkey Island Tours to take us to Halong Bay. One night on a junk. And one night on Monkey Island. Pip and I did this in 2010 and loved it. We are one of 1000s of tourists going through this  UNESCO World Heritage listed place daily but still it is magic.

The serenity of those limestone Karsts rising from the bottle-green depths of calm water is extraordinary. A labyrinth of Karsts, each with steep sided cliffs and it's own unique formation. To lie on the top deck and breath it in is awesome.

Our fellow travellers consisted of 6 Koreans including 3 children, 5 Indians from Tamil Nadu via Mumbai, 2 sullen German Guys, 1really friendly Gujerati guy from Texas, a couple from England, and a retired American couple, Judith and Richard. She was an anthropologist and he a medical professor. They had raised their children in the Congo. So you see us fruit salad of international citizens, bound by the means to travel as tourists.

Our Guide, Can, was good natured, informative and really obliging. Went out of his way to help Lee up steps, onto other boats etc. And the crew just have that essentially Vietnamese qualities of relaxed and friendly efficiency.  Nothing is ever a big deal

Meals were fantastic, healthy and varied from banquets to buffets diy spring rolls to BBQ of freshly caught squid, fish and oysters. And great use of choko in many forms to make that old weed delicious.

Monkey Island Resort had been developed since 2010 but not spoilt. Still a bungalow with a beach to ourselves and a place where time stays still. You just feel so relaxed that you want to stay there forever.

(I break here, to announce that today is a very special day. My daughter Nikki got married to Andrew. The beginning of a wedding that will take 2 years to complete - feeling stoked!)

Nikki and I are both Monkeys and I crossed over the mountain to the Monkey Beach. It wasn't far but it was steep with craggy pointed limestone. I took it very slowly and carefully but it was my first bushwalk post hip op blues. Im pretty proud of myself for doing that.

We were rewarded by seeing monkeys on the beach and trees, doing antics of every kind. They can be aggro so a woman with a pole helped keep them at a distance from people if they were getting ready to jump.

It was a full day by the time we got back to Ha Noi. I'm so tired now after another day at Ninh Binh. I'm going to post and be done with it.

On Leaving Europe

Wow, 7 weeks ago arriving in Athens with the sniffles and now after: Santorini, Mykonos, Samos, Ephesus, Pummakale, Capadoccia and Istanbul with Anneli. And venturing out solo to Catania, Syracusa, Etna, Toarmina, Palermo, Napoli, Sorrento, Pompeii, Amalfi, Roma, Florence and now Paris staying with Trish and Terry - i am full of the spoils of my experiences.

My bag is no heavier. I have had to watch the weight with my hip and I still use the walking stick.  But I do feel healthier for the walking. And especially after eating fresh vegies, fruits, nuts and meats with Cuz over the past few days. Can't say that about the stodge I ate in Italy. Turkey had to have provided the best of breakfasts with salads, fruit, herbs and cheeses.

I feel my soul is replenished. Going back to Florence was just perfect.  The streets, the views  the arts. And while old friends may well have moved on,it was great to meet Enrico, a Florentine and Luca a Padovan in Roma. And Giangi Alex and Francesco in Catania.P x

I had time to be with Dad in my thoughts when I visited the Carravaggios in Syracuse and Napoli. With Mary Martin in the Uffizzi in Florence. With Mum for the lightness of the Impressionists. With Nikki all the way for my rugged knitting attempts along the way. And for Rosie in so many ways. She got me started on AirBnBs and helped me in so many practical ways: lightweight fold up umbrella, fan (which I lost) and many other useful tips and advice. Anneli too for persuading me with Jack Wolfskin pack and birkenschtock sandles, that are likely to be useful in Asia.

I was alone these last few weeks but I was not alone. I was connected to Jo, to Pip, to Rhonda, Silvia, Jennifer, Ann, Rosie and others by way of Facebook.

In Turkey and Greece I had my big tourist adventures. From 6000Bc the civilisation at Akrotiri to the Greeks to the Romans to Byzantium, I began to piece the layers together across countries as if it was sedimentary rock, with Seljuk incursions in Turkey and Arabs in Sicily. I could identify Hadrians Wall and Temple to Apollo whether in Athens, Ephesus, Syracusa or Pompei. 

Along with these layers came the growth of Christianity and places to hide when dominant  forces were at odds with you. The holes for living underground or in extraordinary rocks in  Cappadocia remain the highlight for me. To see these from the air in a hot-air balloon was the experience of a life time. To spoil myself like this is an early 60th.gift to myself. Because being up high and flying is one of my favourite things in the whole wide world.

And that's where I am now. Somewhere over India. On my way to Bankok, then after a few days onto Hanoi. Vietnam is also one of my favourite places and it's here u will meet Lee. An unknown. Let's see.

Scarey Experience

Vivi. Just say no to everything!

I was accosted by 3 women because I wanted to buy a fan for the one I lost of Rosie's. I might have been more open to women vendors after visit to the Women's Museum.

Maybe thought I should share my wealth around a bit. However it felt more like daylight robbery and I'm feeling a little ashamed about how I let myself into it in the first place.

They asked 220,000 for 1 fan ie $13. Then said 2 for 280,000. I said I only wanted one but then liked 2 designs and you take 2.

Still unfamiliar with the look of the money after 3 days, and unassertive enough to free myself from.a situation that is clearly a rip off, I open my purse. Then they get in there, which I assumed was to help me, but they end up with their fingers in every pocket and rip away my American dollars at least $130 and put it in her bag.

I point to the bag and say give it back, but she just starts giving me American dollars I'm change. Small amounts. And throwing I. Another fan.

I feel like crying and I feel angry, but I let it happen. Should u go to the police? They'd just say it's my fault.

Gertrude concedes. Yes its all your fault. Just stay inside and don't come out.

..... Fortunately after this I meet a friendly Australian woman who teaches English at Koto. I'm able to talk about what happened and get it off my chest a bit.

Koto or Know One Teach One is an enterprise started by a Viet Australian to teach young Vietnamese Street kids in Hospitality. They learn English and all parts of the trade, and money is brought in by the restaurants and other initiatives. Janet was really playing the tough customer to test out the kids skills.

I felt I didn't want to cross another road having had my arse shaved by a car that didn't stop on a pedestrian crossing, and the shakiness of the daylight robbery with the 3 women.

I just wanted to go back to my hotel and stay in.

Hello Vietnam

No, it was Good Morning Vietnam - Vale beloved Robin Williams!!

Sitting on a bench under the shade of trees on the edge of Hoan Kiem Lake. It's so pleasant!  Not too hot, not too cold and the beeping traffic 15 metres away instead of a hairs bredth between a motorbike and your butt.

Lees flight was delayed a day due to misunderstandings about what Visa on Arrival actually means. So he's in Singapore an extra night. And I just have this extra day to play with. So I'm taking a slow walk along the lake to the Women's Museum.

Yesterday was a buzz, when Trang Bui, hubby Duc and now 21month old Ling came over to the Spring Flower Hotel on their motorcycle.

We went a block away to have coffee alla robusta Vietnamese style. Ling befriended a cute white fluffy dog and both her parents showed her how to pat the dog gently.

They invited me to lunch at their place so we took taxi/uber equivalent into the burbs which were equally as narrow streets but cleaner and quieter.

I met Grandpa Ong and Grandma Baa, who were preparing a hotpot with pippis. Squid, prawns, pork, mushrooms and greens to cook in the stock, a bit at a time. All fresh food purchased every day. Ling is gently cared for by Trang, Duc, Baa and Ong in turn.

Duc said he found it difficult to adjust back to Vietnam after living in Australia for 2years. It felt cramped and suffocating. They wanted Ling to go to a preschool with outdoor space, which was rare. But they found an International School where there was a garden, a play-based approach and English sessions. They're keen for her to be bilingual.

After this special meal and while Ling was having her nap we headed out to explore a few places.  Streets in some areas are named for what the sell, like Hang Bo is Bowl Street.

Well we visited Book Street and icecream Street (well the street where icecream was first created in Vietnam). 

In the bookshop I was approached by a young Vietnamese man whose English teacher had given him the brave task of starting a conversation with an English speaking person. Hanging around the English book section gave him this opportunity. So he introduced himself and his task. He told me about the books he really likes and he showed a book by a Japanese author who wrote a book about the relationship between an old war veteran and a 'lost' child. He said he loved books about children. Our conversation turned to Studio Ghiblie animations. I thought he was a brave and interesting person for getting so involved in the task, and I feel privileged it was me.

Then Duc, Trang and I went to look at the Opera House, checked out performances and then went to the Historical Museum. Trang had never been before.

Interesting to see the history from prehistoric times to the present day. The Cham from the South and their  Buddhism with Sri Lanka influences, the extension of the Chinese Empire into the north, the resistances against Mongols, Chinese, French, Japanese and finally Americans. Vietnamese understand Vietnam in ways nobody else can.

We see the turtle featured strongly along with the phoenix, the dragon and the unicorn. The turtle is a symbol for strength and longevity. It carries great things on its shoulders and at Hoan Kiem Lake it is attributed for giving a sword at a critical time that was then returned to the lake.

So nice to be with Trang and Duc and having so much explained to me. And having interesting meandering conversations about all sorts of things.

They returned me to my hotel by taxi and it was goodbye time.

After a little I explored the night market. And that is another story.

Hello Bankok

Wow a few days ago I did the radical transformation from Paris in Autumn into tropical Bankok.

The flight itself didn't seem too bad. 2 x 6hr flights, broken by 6hrs in Dubai Airport. On the last leg I even had 3 seats to stretch across and snooze.

Arrived into Bankok after midnight, got through immigration without a fuss and caught a cab for 500bhat to the hotel Siam11 as a smooth ride. I followed Jonothans crib sheet for all the info.

Crashed out til 1pm.  But the next night and the night after that I couldn't get to sleep til 3 or 4am . But I did finish reading my book - The Physician.

I ventured out and took Rhonda's suggestion of taking a facial, in the backlane behind the Hotel.  Infact the backlane was abuzz with foodsellers, bars, massage places and clothes stalls. The facial was a beautiful relaxing treat.  I wandered around the streets as it got darker, lanterns lit up, and the crowds increased.

I looked at the street food but was not adventurous enough to try. Partly because I know Thai food is hot and I don't like any more chilly than half a thumbnail. It's a shame because I like other spices.

So I settled for a place made for westerners and had beer and stir-fry in oyster sauce.  I do feel self conscious being an older female westerner sitting alone. I see Western males sitting alone too.  on the plane I met 2 Western males who had made Bankok their home.

I know people who absolutely love Bankok, Thailand. The people. The food, the cheapness, the beauty.  I suppose I don't know it after 2 days. I can see the kindness of people, their gentleness, their Buddhist codes for living, and pictures of the king and Queen everywhere.

But Im also conscious that there are elements of predatory Western males who come to Bankok for their own particular self-interest and prey on young girls, or boys who do what they do for poverty,,  Their role is to provide for their families. There seems to be this mutual need going on sometimes. The males looking for wives to meet their every need without complaint. And the females to provide for their families of origin.

So anyway there's me, alone, in the midst of it and making up theories.

On the 2nd day I ventured down the river, then up the river in the public ferry. The boat was a long and crowded one, that crossed the river to stop at terminals on either side. As we came in, a crew member whistled over the top off the chug chug. Under Jonothans suggestion I took the ferry right up to Stop 30.

I couldn't believe the place was teeming with fish. All hopeful mouths to the surface. I later found that the colourful rice crispy looking things they sold in abundance at the kiosk was actually fish-food. Here are kids buying fish-food to feed the fish. The water is thick with them splashing about.

I thought they were free-will fish who could swim to the river if they needed more space, but Rhonda assured me they're netted in and they get netted.

Such a mix of old and new Bankok, roads that form spaghetti loops like another lacy layer above the city. Skyscrapers that are getting experimental in their design, like dissolving pixilations.  And here below in tiny buzzing streets that sell all manner of food and wears busily frequented by locals and a smattering of tourists, I buy freshly squeezed mandarin juice.

I think to my primary school geography lessons and the TV programs we watched back then, recalling all the exotic tropical fruit sold in sampan markets on the river. These tropical climes are made for growing food and flowers in abundance.

On the boat I notice that when a seat becomes available that parents invariably make sure their children are seated before themselves. I find this reverence to children remarkable and uplifting.I'm sure roles and responsibilities in families are really demarcated but here there also seems to be so much kindness.

Thai national identity has been incubated. They've retained their independence while neighbours had been colonised. It is staunchly Buddhist and the aesthetic of this kind of Buddhism is found everywhere in the shapes they choose and the way they decorate. It's like ascendant flowers. And for tourists, elephants.

I know we think of Thailand as a peace-loving country but this has been sorely tested recently both internally, in the south with its Muslim minority and the north with deathcamps for Rohingya. See no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil also has a dark side.

Anyway I shall return to this intriguing and mysterious country before I leave to return home to Australia on 20th Nov.

The Women's Museum

Look I'm just taking a Cafe sua da (iced coffee) to reflect on what I've just seen in.the women's museum.

First of all how incredible to have a Women's Museum at all!!! Visited by men and women alike, as well as Vietnamese highschool students, it gives voice and place to the roles of women and girls in Vietnamese Societies.

It's not just one homogeneous Society either but beliefs, customs and practices from the Viet, the Black Thai, Hmong and other groups that comprise Vietnam today, as well as the changes that happen inevitably as the world gets modern together.

The first floor is dedicated to marriage, birth and motherhood. We quickly learn that there are both patrilineal and matrilineal societies operating in Vietnam. Some where the grooms family must provide for the brides, and after a short time the couple must live with the brides family. I know this is really frowned upon by some cultures but I love seeing the variabilities of belief.

Generally it's believed the mother must rest at home for the first month after having the baby. I know this from Viet families I know in Australia too. There are a host of medicinal plants to protect both mother and child during this most vulnerable time. And much to ward off any lurking evil spirits, in one instance, a knife to be plunged between the floorboards.

The next room was the voices and photos of working women. It gave me a renewed appreciation for how hard women work and for so little. Not just women. One woman's husband earned equivalent of $60 per annum raising pigs. There was not enough income from the rice harvest so for certain months women would  leave their children and partners to  come to Ha Noi to become Street vendors, of the like I'm seeing around. I'm glad I didn't complain now when I was charged 100,000 dong for a bunch of bananas, from the street vendor with the double basket over her shoulders.

The next room was about Mother-worship.  This is a purely Vietnamese custom of adoration of the mother, princesses, princes or dames believe to represent Eg. water, the forest and trees. They each have a particular order along with stories, songs, dances, costumes with particular colours.  Both men and women make offerings according to what they have in order to receive purity of spirit and a joyous life. 

I wonder if this is what women must strive to live up to?

The top room was about women in history, including those women who would become revolutionaries or guerrillas in their wars of Independence from French, Japanese and then Americans.

I was really moved, probably because in 1967 I learned of this terrible war and it effected me profoundly. Women did all sorts of things, either front line, underground, moving food and provisions to the fighters, running kindergartens in the tunnels or doing embroidery when they were captured in prison. One woman embroidered her imprisinment dates from various prison she was sent to.

I also feel sad because I know some fantastic Vietnamese people in Australia who were not so happy about the American exodus. Their lives had become entwined, and they were fearful of reprisals under the communist regime, so they fled. They were the refugees of 40 years ago when Australian leadership under Frazer opened our borders and offered a new life. The fruits of that are enjoyed today by all Australians such as the professions offered, great people like Anh Do and my friends, and ofcourse the Children's Festival.

I hope the scars of the past are healing with the young people and with now much more to-ing and fro-ing between countries. An interesting society that gives a green light to capitalism but the red light reigns of government.

EN FRANCE

I'm on the train from Cousin Trish's town of Nanteuil on the edges of Paris and Champagne and I'm heading to Gare d L'est, then to wander around the Seine for the day.

It's been such a chilled couple of days with Trish and Terry.  Being with them in the 4 storied place made from the local rocks, also used to make millstones. Light, airy, solid. They've done up the top floor as an independent unit. The bottom is the cellars. We sleep on the 3rd and the buzz of kitchen-life happens on ground level.

The garden is full of produce. A big old cherry tree has delivered it's harvest, apples out now, as are quinces and walnuts, plus pumpkins and greens. And the sweetest thing I've ever seen, a plant the size of a tomato bush delivering 'chinese lanterns',  beautiful orange poppy-coloured lanterns. Inside is one tiny tomato  that tastes something between a tomato and mandarin.

Cuz makes bread, quince jelly, and after our trip to the supermarket all manner of wonderful dishes, washed down with various rouge or in my case, Rose.

We take a drive up river along the deep jade Marne, all surrounded by trees in their autumn splendour. The sloping Hills of champagne grapes are turning yellow in neat wavy lines. Little villages dot the landscape.

Here we see animals. Contented cows eating juicy green grass and a couple of donkeys.

Along the river are barrages, lochs, with boat traffic including long barges that are peoples homes.

Cuz is an opera singer, sometimes doing gigs, sometimes doing other interesting collaborations like with harp, didgeridoo and voice. Mostly the bread and butter is giving voice or piano lessons to private students, including to the very very rich. She even taught the wife of the Director of Jean De Florette and Manon De Source.

On Saturday we went for a drive to Crotte where we visited a well and old communal wash-house where women would once of scrubbed their clothes on the sloping sides, and rinsed them in the spring-fed pool. We also stopped by a crumbling old church that looked over the well-cultivated  alluvial plains of the River Marne.

On Sunday we visited Jouarre and a Gallo-Romano church. That had lived and died and lived and died, so many times. And now a small group of Benedictine Nuns are buying it back for the church.

We climbed the church tower and within one of its porticoes was a century by century since 700s account of this church, held together by a thread of strong women, aNd occasionally real enlightenment. But more often it was destroyed or taken away. The more recent being after the French Revolution, the secularisation of France in 1903 and 2 world wars. It seemed fitting to buy some jam or books and make a contribution back to their efforts.

Today I've been out and about in Paris, being a real tourist:  Ile De la cite, Pont Neuf and many locks????, Notre Dame from the Inside and Out, Mont Matre up by funicular, around the over-cooked tourist precinct around Sacreceour. Then down again by a more interesting route. Catching more metros, now in the Jardine design Tuileries near the Louvre in the early evening light. I like the metal chairs they have all along the avenues and fountains for people to grab and arrange how they want.

Back home now.

Day 3 - in Paris
Im not catching the plane out of Paris, France, Europe until tonight. I know the next 48 hrs or so are going to be travelling, not arriving in Bankok until 12.30am on Thursday morning and having 6 hrs to kill at Dubai Airport, with time changes etc, so I'm just going to go with the flow.

I sleep in, pack my bags, have brekky with Trish and Terry and then Trish takes me to the station to catch the 11.20 am.

I put my bags into lockers at Gare Du Nord and then hang out at Cafe Du Nord having a salad lunch with wine.

I then take the metro to visit musee d'orsay.  This is the hub for the impressionists and beyond. Because of my walking stick I am taken to a quick entry place.

Once inside I walk up to floor 5 directly into the Renoir's, Cezanne, Sisley,  Pissarro. Manet.

These guys loved light and the play of light on the environment.  They used newly created varieties of Paint in the late 1800s. What was also a departure from painting nobility to painting the everyday, the people, everyday people, rural landscapes, gardens, cathedrals and lillyponds in certain times of the day in certain seasons.  Their painting techniques were to give an impression, using a revolutionary approach that broke away from realism and neo-classicism.

I just love it. I can get lost in it. It uplifts the spirit with colour and luminosity. I love those olivey landscapes in particular.  (see Fb for pix).

Downstairs were the neo-impressionists that built on the impressionists but played much more with technique, colour, and emotion. Think of Van Gogh for the latter and the pointalists like Seurat for the former. Can't help thinking that pointalism is akin to the beginnings of photography and newspaper printing using pixels to create impressions.

I also saw some Art Nouveau which was an artform absorbed into daily life. This lives on in the Metro today, the signage and the metal work. At the musee there were examples of beds, tables, dressers, lamps, bowls, trays. Always in love with the curve and almost a Japanese sense of detail juxtaposed with space.

Headed off on the Metro, back to Gare Du Nord. Collected bags and headed to Airport on RER line B. I've got my head around Paris transport. I'm impressed! Even if I missed a sardine packed Metro during peak hour, they came every 2 mins, so I just waited for a less crowded one.

now an airhead in Dubai killing those 6 hours.

GOODBYE FLORENCE

It was the City of Dreams. It is the City of Dreams. It will stay in my heart as the City of Dreams. It will always have a very special place in my heart and soul.

It opens me up and allows me greenlights that get stymied in Oz. It says yes to passion. It says yes to experimentation. It says yes to the arts. It embraces imperfection amongst its creative idealism.

Fiorenza is Nikki's middle name. That's how much it meant to me, and surprisingly, still means to me. If Nikki, Andy and their baby have a chance to come here, it may not mean the same, but I would like to think it meant something. Afterall the arts is the path they have both followed.

This morning I got up, packed my bags, popped up onto the terrace for a last peek.  Then headed off to somewhere I'd not been before, called Giardini Di Bardini. It's connected to Boboli but far more interesting. Also with panoramic views. Love that combo - cosy places and magnificent views.

An Austrian Artist called Helga....had sculptures of huge heads dotted around the gardens, that more wild and less formal than Boboli. I also went to an Exhibition in there of modern art, drawn in by a poster, of a 1928 painting.

Back home. Had some lunch. Then Enrico carried my bag down the 100 steps to the street. Said our goodbyes. Really enjoyed staying there and enjoyed his company. Forza Viola! (Go Firenze)

I walk down Via Rincoli to the Gelateria recommended by Rosie and Lou. It's Sicilian icecream! I choose Sicilian oranges and Citrus chocolate.

I thing bugger the Firenze Card. It probably wasn't worth it. Just made me cram to begin with, trying to do more than I could manage. I don't think I got my moneys worth for it. It might have saved a bit of time in queues but not that much.

Taking my bags to the station, I think where the bloody hell am I going to get any information? A kiosk had a sign up saying "No tickets, No information" so I went their to see where I could get information.

He directed me to the ticket office as Santa Maria Novella some distance away with difficult roads to cross when lugging bags.

I asked there where I could get a bus to the airport. I also asked why the tourist info service was not in the station and whether it would be in future. They shook their heads. I said that MacDonald's was the only place that had Welcome to Florence with a map. No more help than that - not "here s the Tourist Information Office" on that map. They shook their heads, and then the Signora said "how should I put it? MacDonald's is richer than the Commune Di Firenze. " and I realise every day more and more that that is the way of the world.

I found the bus station. I'm now at the airport and they are threatening to put me on a later flight to Paris 'because it's windy'.  I retorted with disbelief 'because you call this windy? (hardly a light breeze) it's not as if it's a hot air balloon!'  cheeky me!!!!!

 

FLORENCE

When I arrived in Florence yesterday afternoon, it was like arriving home.

Yes things had changed. MacDonald's "Welcome to Florence" was the only map in site. Under the station was a shopping precinct with the goo gaa gaa ohh la la of ritzy glitzy brand names.

But in some ways it was more straightforward. The streets were free of cars other than service vehicles, bicycles or tiny electric cars. Otherwise it was all free for pedestrians.

I walked straight up to Santa Maria del Fiore, passed the Baptistery and I felt my heart expanding in awe. So beautiful in their majesty.

I used to find my centre by walking down the centre of the marble patterned floor, like a line in space. Because above is the vaulted ceiling, full of space, centred, round, balanced and beautiful.

I used to walk to Michelangelos pieta but it has been moved to a new museum opening at the end of the month. But I could walk under its massive dome. It's like being inside a mountain, awesome because it was designed and engineered and built and adorned by people, people who believed anything was possible.  While it's religious in purpose it's also testimony to 'mankind' 'kindmen' and women.

I lit a candle, and wondered down Palazzo Vecchio, Piazza Signoria and David, and Perseus (the favourite pick up place), then onto via Vinegia where I used to visit my friends. They were a very expansive household of artisans, where everyone was welcome. Good food, good discussions and music too.

Onto Santa Croce where I used to work in the Goldshop, selling silver, Then along via tintorini where the dyers used to work, over the Ponte Vecchio, where my friends sold their craft,  to Santa Spirito where I also used to live. I hung out there.in the more rustic end of town and.drank pino grigio until I heard from Enrico my Airbnb host.

I finally found Via dei Cerchi 1 and Enrico called out from the 4th floor to come up.  So I did, yes I did. Infact where I'm sleeping is the 5th floor and on the 6th is the terrace.

From the terrace you literally are right next to Palazzo Vecchio and a stones throw from Santa Maria del Fiore and Giotto's Tower.

The house must be 500 years old at least, when the average size of adults was that of a 12 year old.

Enricos toilet is the smallest I've ever been in, in my life, less room for the knees than a Jetstar Flight. Walls and ceilings painted red. And if you stand up straight you'll bump your head on the ceiling. Kitchen also red with very low light. Bathroom you have to almost squat down to go through the door. And the shower is tiny but at least there is a shower. Most houses didn't have them when I was here in 76-77- just the bidet and I used public showers from time to time.

But my room has high ceilings and shutters. Shutters are the best. They're called Persiane in Italian and it's Enricos specialises in painting.them for a living, besides the Airbnb business. He was born in Fiesole, the mountain I hope to visit tomorrow.

I was so happy and excited about being back in Florence that I could hardly sleep last night.

I lazed around in the morning, then wandered off to Palazzo Vecchio. Waiting in the queue to get my ticket I saw a Firenze Card promotion: 72 hours, access all museums, transport, and WIFI. Cost? 72 Euros.

That's expensive compared to Roma Pass for 35Euros for 3 days, but... could be worth it? Vivi, I tell myself, when you lived here you never went inside these places - now is your chance! Ok bread and water for lunch, just do It!

However unlike the Roma Card you also have to line up to get a ticket with the card, supposedly for everything you go to. But I didn't know this after I'd climbed the stairs, (no walking stick - i forgot it) and was told to go down and get a ticket. I was angry that they didn't explain anything to me when they sold me the ticket. I was even angrier when they kept me waiting while they fart-arsed around for the 2nd time. I demanded service - i said in Italian, you didn't explain anything to me, you didn't explain about the tickets, you didn't explain about the wifi. When they were too busy to serve me again I demanded a refund, which they refused me. Finally I had to accept it and one girl started to explain and help. I don't get angry that often but Italian is the best for getting it off your chest.

I let off all remaining anger by climbing the almost 300 steps to the top of the tower at Palazzo Vecchio. These guys just swiped the card - and voila. Amazing views from.the top including Enricos terrace.

As I came down I visited the Museum and I have some great pictures up.on Facebook. Vasari painted a lot of the ceilings and walls with classical themes. All this for Cosimo Di Medici 1.  He had no trouble amassing power but also being a patron of the arts.

The main salon had huge huge huge paintings largely of bloody battles with Pisa.

With my Firenze Card I was keen to see all paid exhibitions, so visited another called 'Principe dei Sogni' - Prince of Dreams, focussing o. The restoration of 20 panels of huge tapestries, depicting the life of Joseph. art using fabrics.

Another Exhibition was called Magnificent and was telling the story of the Rennaissance in Florence via animations of the works of Botticelli, Leonardo, Da Vinci, Donatello etc projected on a huge scale in a vaulted room. Art using technology.

Eat my bread roll under Perseus  but all people are in either couples or families.

And now.... Drum Roll.... The Uffizzi. Yes I get in relatively easily. There are lots of people but you can move and you can see. Even got a full view of Botticelli's Spring and Venus. So many other artists: Michelangelo. Bronzino, Ghirlandaio, da Vinci, della Francesca, Caravaggiio.  Some were ones I knew from our walls growing up or cards that Mary Martin had collected from The Medici Society in the 40s and 50s. There is an overwhelming amount - on the ceiling, on the walls, and sculptures as well.  I just let the expression of the paintings talk to me, and if they had 'it', then I'd stop and stay a while. Photos will be on FB.

Wow, Uffizzi. I did it! Been there, done that! What next? Broom broom, walk walk, Pitti Palace to Bobboli Garden. Yes used to love going there. Used to be free. Italians used it. Now only a handful of tourists.

I went to 2 Exhibitions inside Pitti. Had never been inside before. A costume Exhibition - wow. And an exhibition of Modern Art. Modern Art starts in the 1700 for these guys!

But as we got into the 1800s I started seeing similarities with Australian art around the same period - is it Stretton, McCubbin - pastoral scenes, bush scenes. Gradually you get to see more ordinary people and daily life, and then comes more awareness of light, and then print and colour, and then forms. And more female artists.

By this time I'm buggered. I stretch my back. Then wander over to Santa Spirito thinking I'll find Minestrone for a good price. I find a really cosy Trattoria and enjoy my gnocchi with porcini mushrooms.

I wander home. I don't care if I get lost. It's all beautiful. And before long I find Via dei Cerchi,  but first let me try the Gelato place Enrico recommends in Via Tavolini. Well.the girl serving me is Sicilian from Randazzo where I was 2 weeks ago. She's blown away. She loves Florence and Sicily. Her name is Samoa. She's so excited by my story too and impressed that I'm.doing this on.my own. Our whole conversation was in Italian.  If I was here for longer I'd get so good.

ALLORA

ROMA

Which ever way you look in this part of Rome there is something grand, something ancient or something beautiful.

These precincts have been cleared of cars to make way for pedestrians

My.leg hurts like buggery and I've just walked in a circle looking for Trevi Fountain but on the way I have passed so many extraordinary buildings, wide open piazzas and narrow little roads with shops selling the most elegant of fashions. Nikki would love it.

I have stopped at a not so cheap restaurant to give my leg a break and to quell my hunger. Lasagne, salad and wine.

Already I have been to the Collosseum this morning. Met some lovely people at Airbnb, a Hungarian man and a Mexican girl with a scriptwriting background here in Rome for the launch of her friends film. So we had a really nice extended chatty breakfast. It was so worth it. I so miss company.

It was so easy to catch the metro to Collosseum and with my Roma Pass I could skip to queue and get in more quickly. I hired an audio guide which partially worked.

In essence The Collosseum was the Entertainment Centre of the day. Built from 72AD just a few years before Vesuvius errupted, the entertainment was largely about Gladiators fighting wild animals. Mostly Slaves but occasionally free men, while looked on by the nobles and senators of the day in the best seats, the plebs in the higher seats and the women in the farthest corners.

Somehow around 500AD it all started  to decline and much later the materials were used to build the monuments of the time, such as St Peters Cathedral.

I continued past the Collosseum up Pallastrine Hill and down into the Roman Forum.  I was grateful for the fountains running fresh drinkable water, so I could fill up the Collosseum foldaway drinking bottle that Rosie gave me.  I couldn't find any in the shops and wonder if Coca-Cola won the day again.

The Roman Forum was larger than I had the capability to explore. I didn't go up, I only went down, but found a lovely place that honoured physicians of the day (ties in with the book I'm reading - The Physician' and a natural spring.

My head spins trying to make sense of it all. All over Europe are the vestiges of Roman dominion, of their cleverness with Roads and Aquaducts and equally their use of slaves for work, for building and entertainment.

A European history. And 2000 years ago in Australia a people who'd lived in a similar way for over 40,000 years without the need to overpower others, to make their stamps with daunting structures, but who found an elaborate system for living sustainably on the driest continent on the planet.

At this point I struck up a conversation with the couple sitting next to me at the restaurant, Drew's from Scotland and Carla from Chile. Drew thought I was Italian so he felt free to be giving his thoughts and opinions and when he found out I spoke English he felt embarrassed for swearing. Anyway it was Carlas birthday so it was nice to celebrate with them for that mini-time.

I went to visit Trevi Fountain but it's under repairs so no water. However we could see behind the see-through fence. Very beautiful.

From there I walked up through a Spanish quarter to Villa Borghese, formal parklands that also contain the Museum and Art Gallery of Villa Borghese.

My Roma Pass got me in for free. That's 13Euros for this plus 13Euros for Collosseum plus Roman Forum plus any public transport. Getting so worth it.

Anyway the Gallery. Bellini, sculptor in marble extraordinaire! Creates fine detail and movement and emotion.

And Carravaggio. A few of them including self-portrait as Bacchus, rather green looking. And Dads favourite, the boy with the fruit. Dried leaves and blemished fruit, although it's subtle. Other very moving ones too.

I loved the Florentine artists. You can always tell them from the lightness, softness and colour, those gentle expressions and warm tones of skin. They tend to tell religious stories but using models of the characters of the day. It's a nice prelude to what lies ahead.

Inbetween the sculptures and paintings were sculptures of haute couture, amazing clothes from leather, metal and other fabrics that were works of art and beauty. Interesting juxtapositioning.

Leaving Villa Borghese it started to rain.  My leg and back were so sore. My phone battery was flat. And I didn't know where I was.

I kept walking around the perimeter until I saw a busstop. With my Roma Pass it won't hurt to jump on. It will keep me dry. And with a bit of luck it will take me to a Metro stop.

I jumped on a bus that was put on for a Film Festival but it didn't matter, I got to a Metro.

From the Metro I could get home, get dry, charge my phone, read my kindle, wash clothes, make dinner and finish my blog.

😄

DAY 2 IN ROMA

I took some salutary advice and spent the morning in bed. It was raining anyway so it was a cosy thing to do.

I had intended to get up early to go to St Peters  and the Sistine Chapel both in the Vatican. But with stories of huge crowds, the rain and the strain on my leg, I thought to spend the time looking on line from my bed in Rome. It begs the question 'why travel anywhere when you can do it virtually? '

But on FB Lizzy Mackie said Piazza Navona was beautiful, close to old Rome and the Ghettos. And good for Pizza.

So I did my research on Wifi before leaving the flat. Said Metro to Collosseum then 87 bus. So I walked out thinking I was prepared but left my walking stick behind. Ok I thought, if I'm smart with transport I can use buses and Metro with my Roma Pass.

Except by the time I got to Piazza Navona I had somehow lost my passcard. Schiessen.

Piazza Navona was spacious and alive, with buskers everywhere, African Street vendors and with 3 prominent fountains.

One was of the 4 major rivers represented with marble sculptures of strong and sensuous bodies, with pigeons and seagulls perching on their heads.

I had pizza on my mind but probably made yet another unsound choice. I thought I could sit down and still look at the Piazza, but those restaurants are designed for tourists and charge exorbitantly. So even for Pizza Margarita and a glass of wine it was 18euros. That pizza not worth the Piazza.

The trouble is they advertise their menu with prices but in small writing, and then each restaurant has its spruikers on the street. How long will it take for me to wise up?

But as I wandered off towards the Ghetto  I picked up a leaflet about a Leonardo exhibition close by. Similar to the one I went to in Syracuse but these were larger reconstructions, all in wood. The bicycle, the helicopter, the sawmill, the printing press, and many more, along with His designs which he was unable to materialise at the time.

I realised I couldn't walk far. Without my Roma Pass I wondered if I'd be able to use the same bar code on the packet. I jumped on a bus bound for Tiburtina.  Nobody seems to show tickets and drivers don't ask. I waved the barcode and took the trip. It was about 5ish when I arrived back to the station. Then I thought 'i wonder if this barcode will work on the Metro. I really want to go to St Peters, even if it's just to stand outside.

I limped to the Metro, waved the barcode, but it didn't open the barrier. Oh bugger, so I brought a 100min ticket for 1,5 E and went anyway. A sardine experience and without the stick I don't get a seat

I discover St Peters is not right next to the station, unlike Collosseum. I walk down a broad Street straight into the Vatican.

What a place - light and spacious. I see the place where the Pope stands to address the masses, that we often see on TV. But it doesn't capture the feel of the place. It's very impressive. I was there such a short time, thinking I needed to get back before my 100 minutes was up.

Back home I met 2 lots of interesting people and had an evening conversing in Italian. Maria and her husband are from Agrigento in Sicily, spending a few days in Rome with friends. And Luca is from Padua, working for an extra 2 weeks in Rome. We had a real exchange talking about vegetables. raddicchio is not radish but rather a red cabbage. Verza is the word for green cabbage. This island in Venice has the best artichokes etc etc. He said if I couldn't sleep I could knock on his door and we could continue the conversation. Naturally this made it hard to sleep.

But now on the train to Firenze, with food prepared by Maria - spinach empanada and pizza pomodoro.

Reflections on Italy 38 years later

The first time I came to Italy was in 1974!  It was with Mum and Dad. Their first big holiday ever. And at the last minute they decided to take me along so they could keep an eye on me.

Rather than leave this naughty 16-17 year old in Tasi  where she'd had an affair with an American drug dealer wanted by the FBI and also the Tasmanian Drug Squad.

But while Mum and Dad visited archaeological sites, museums and art galleries, I also had another life - with boys.

So in Firenze Italy I met Roberto, an anarchist and actor who was wanted by the Police for throwing a Molotov Cocktail in a demonstration. He introduced me to the others in his household. There was Pasquale and Giorgio and Gianlucca and Mario. All were artists or artisans, trying to eek a living by selling their wares on the Ponte Vecchio. All were into cooking and music. And all were a shade between pink and red as far as politics went.

I was in seventh heaven. In Italy it was considered normal  and expected to have a political opinion as one part if ordinary life. Unlike Australia, where families like mine were unacceptable.

I suppose it was only 20 years previously that the partigiani had defeated the fascists and Germans in the mountains.

Their Clubs, much like the RSL where old soldiers could meet up with each other, drink, eat, reminisce,  play bingo and be in for a meat raffle.

I returned to Italy many times after coming again to Europe in 1976-77.

Between fruit-picking in France  Nannying in Spain, or working various jobs in London, I always came back to Florence.

I lived and worked in various places there.  I stayed sometimes in Via Vinegia 3 where I'd first met Roberto. Now I was meeting a wider crowd with girls who discussed feminism with the men. I never heard of feminism being a men's issue before. But here in 1976 it was. Mario said when I tried to clear the table of plates, "Vivi sit down. Why you not a feminista eh?". Infact the boys did all the cooking.

There was a big low table with cushions all around and often in to 12-14 people around it, enjoying food and then playing music after or having animated discussions.

I also lived in Via del Corso with an Iranian architect, near Santa Spirito with other Iranians, and near il Duomo Di Santa Maria del Fiore.

I sold silver in a Goldshop near Santa Croce, that was visited by busloads of American tourists.I gave out leaflets for a discotheque called the Red Garter mainly frequented by busloads of young people from Contiki Expeditions.

I also saved enough from my fruit-picking to do a  6 week art course at the Scuola Di Lorenzo Di Medici. It was the best time of my life.

Because I tapped into something in that place, a well of something, a place where I felt at home in my soul. Perhaps it's about surrounding oneself with beauty. The soft beauty and light of the natural surroundings. Then the beauty of what people have created because they combined art with science with architecture with poetry with humour and endless possibilities.

Yes wealth had a lot to do with it. But it's what they chose to do with wealth - to support artists in the broadest sense, to create and to inspire.

I drew from a model. I compared myself to others and felt inadequate until I had a breakthrough and developed my own distinctive style, a little quirky and fun. My professor who also taught at the Academy of Arte, said keep drawing every day whether you have 2 kids or 10. I didn't though it's something I often thought about.

Going to the art school was like going through a portal. First through San Lorenzo Market, then through a door that had a courtyard and rooms off the side that contained Michaelangelos Dawn and Dusk. Up narrow stairs, past music lessons and right up into the attic, where our studio was. In a 500 year old building.

The time was the 70s. Young people had long hair, wore jeans and bare feet and congregated together for music and fun. We were free of multinationals dictating the terms and conditions of our lives.

In Florence there was a phenomenon known as Indiani Metropolitani. Young people would spring up together spontaneously and hold hands to encircle something, run around in circles and chant ee ii ee ii ee ii ee ii ah. It might be a car waiting at a light or the entire Duomo. Anyone could join. A bit like flashmob but less planned.

I spent another 10 days in Florence after visiting Jo in Egypt with Mum in 1980 when I was pregnant with Nikki. Mario was at Via Vinegia but the others were in India, having become macrobiotic and vegetarian.

So I'm in Rome now and across the road from where I'm staying is a McDonald's and on the other side a Burger King.

Maybe because of our diets we are all starting to look the same. We are far more similar with our IT lives,  Our cellphones or mobiles. That Rupert Murdoch owns Fox Channels in every country you look at. We swallow the same diet of tv.

Leaving Australia and seeing the same brands that I thought were local. Some like Streets Icecream is called something else but I recognise the logo.

Feminism took hold. Women have reaped the benefits and spend more time living and working than in the kitchen. The foods are faster foods.

Who looks after the farms now? Not only does Italy have the lowest birthrate in the world, many young people leave rural areas for the city.

Where my friends once sold things on the street, now it's Africans selling things on the street.

Once young people rode bicycles and vespers. There were more of these than anything else on the roads. Now more cars.

In train carriages everyone would talk to each other. This still happens!!! Yay! And the music in the carriages.

And I love that the Neapolitans still speak in dialect.

A few days in Rome, then Florence on Tuesday....

  ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS Of CHANGES

no older women in black (other than me)

Fewer vespers

fewer artisans

More mass production

Migrants are the new Street sellers

AMALFI COAST

Writing this on a rainy day waiting on the bus before it takes off for Praiano and then Ravello along the Amalfi Coast.

Last time I came back from Amalfi I felt I was going to drop my guts. My head and stomach were going whoosh whoosh, with every one of those hundreds of hairpin bends. My hands and feet went numb and I had to wait for 10 minutes to recover when I got off at Sorrento. 

So why do it again? I thought of taking the boat but the weather has been wild. So I've taken 2 ginger tablets and hope that works.

At Praiano..

Here I am at the bottom of 100s of steps (praise be for getting up again) but Im enjoying the solitud with just the sound of the sea pounding, and the freshness of air carrying rain.

It's a beautiful much quieter spot than Positano. Perhaps I arrived and left with the rush of Tourists at Positano. What may have been a fishing town plastered on an impossibly steep hillside, has probably given into tourism over the years. It colours a place. It is colourful. It says walk here, drink and eat here and buy me. Admire my beauty.

And I did. I found a nice place to eat my panini and I brought a colourful cotton shirt from a place where I fell in love with most of the clothes.

But Praiano feels a step back from that. It's slower, quieter. Just below the road is a church with what feels like an islamically inspired dome, such is the colour and geometry of its design, though bold.

Inside the floor is ceramic tiles with birds and sun's and olives. It feels like it's been done in modern times, giving the church some zest for current living and life. It says 'rejoice'.

The way up the steps I managed more easily than I expected,  except that it started to rain, and rain hard.  I had my rain gear in the rucksack but by the time I got on my poncho and struggled getting on my green over-gumboots, and sheltering my bag under the umbrella, the steps has turned into a waterfall.  I felt prepared but wet all the same.

The umbrella blew inside out and it teamed with rain as I got to the main road. I asked Tourist Info for another  timetable and she said there's one u 15mins at Stop 7 100 metres down the road.

So there I am walking in the wind and rain on a footpathless narrow road with traffic in both directions. And there is no stop 7. I hail a Sita bus at what looks to be a busstop but it just goes straight by.

Would it have stopped if I were young and blond I ask myself, feeling decidedly invisible, yet totally drenched. Working my way back uphill in the rain, I remembered a Cafe Bar. I shook the rain off and joined the sodden people inside.

I also enjoyed some lunch coffee and WIFI. Venturing back to Bus Stop 6, I just missed another bus. But met some gentle Americans while we waited over 30mins. They gave me a more fuller picture of Praiano and the pedestrian streets that run parallel..

Instead of going back defeated, I decided to head on to Ravello. And that's where I am now at the busstop at Amalfi.
....

Going to Ravello was am absolute treat even if misty. It's the Eyrie position. Up in the hills looking down along the coast (in the mist).

The bus trip up was a treat as we went into ravines where every inch of land was used for growing things, mainly vines. Lots of terraces.

We went through a medieval town called Scala. Ravello had such a hill top town feel to it, a large piazza. A church. It promoted itself as a musical town. There were concerts throughout the year, just not tonight.

I grabbed a hot chocolate in a Cafe which waz just like hot liquid chocolate.

Then went into an old fortressy type of place that advertised itself as a Garden. Indeed it was. I used my last 5% of battery taking photos before it died.

It was an old Sicilian-Arabic-Norman style complex with a Romantic style garden on the top of a hill overlooking the coast. De-lish! Very uplifting to be there. Perhaps it's easier to get to Via the Napoli-salerno Freeman, than the winding Amalfi  Coast too.

However I made sure I always had front seats  just behind the driver even if it meant holding my place in the queue for 20-30 even 50 minutes at Amalfi.  I also took ginger tablets all day.

Now I'm back home in Sorrento waiting for my phone to recharge before I go out for minestrone and WIFI.

POMPEII

(PROVISO: I'm writing this without having had a guide or a book to read, and with limited access to internet.)

Imagine a bustling thriving city 2000 years ago with 11,000 people, roads for chariots, side walk food vendors, drinking fountains at regular intervals, homes for the rich, homes for the plebs, and who knows what for the slaves.

Temple of Apollo, forums, odions, amphitheatres, Gladiator pitches, and all the rest that comes with the Romans. This in the central part of town and some other places.

Imagine symmetrical gardens in courtyards, and vineyards that produced enough for the population and to be exported.

Beautiful big clay urns for carrying water or wine.

And somewhere, I don't know where, were the brothels with a full and bawdy menu.

All this developed from  around 300 BC. And in 79AD people were becoming familiar with regular earthquakes until on 24 August that year Vesuvius blew her top, releasing deadly gasses that would suffocate people and then cover them and their town with ash.

A writer in another town whose brother was in Pompei wrote about it. So there were records and it was known that there was a buried town underground, but work to excavate did start in proper until the 1860s.

Archaeologists worked painstakingly to remove 3-6 metres of settled ash and dirt and reveal the story of this town underneath. It's still being uncovered and restored.

The difference between Akrotiri on Santorini and this is that so many people died on site at Pompei. As archaeologists dug they found the now empty moulds of where people had been, in the very position they had been struggling at the time of their deaths.

Casts have been made from these hollows and have been exhibited around the world.

As for my story of going to Pompeii it was a little ridiculous. Crowding into a train from Sorrento, standing. Remembering Rosie's and Lous advice 'dont buy a ticket until you're inside the complex' and take a guide. Guides are advertising themselves along the ticket queue. A man who I don't like the sound of, and a woman who I do. I ask how it works - she says buy your ticket and join those people over there. We are leaving pronto.

When I get the ticket I found they had gone. Oh well, I thought, they can't be far away. So I went in and couldn't find them anywhere. Then I realised everyone had a map but I didn't. I asked another English  speaking guide if I could join her but she said it was a private tour.

So I just thought I will follow my nose. And when I came to a point of interest I'd eavesdrop on guides. So I got a bit of Italian, a bit of French and sometimes English.

Later I realised I did have a map in a tourist brochure and I asked a German man where I was. From here I could navigate.

So that is how I made my way around Pompei for about 5 hours. And yes, my leg was very sore.

I'm pleased I brought a packed lunch and that I could fill up the fordable waterbottle Rosie gave me at the many drinking fountains around Pompeii.

Again standing on the  Circumvesuvio Train on the 12 stops home. I charged my phone and kindle and then went out for dinner and WIFI, where I spent a small fortune considering I'd made my own breakfast and lunch.

Bo.

Napoli to Sorrento

After my grumpiness in Napoli the first day, I had a really good night's sleep in fresh sheets. (had been itchy scratchy in Palermo).

And I woke up with clarity and orientation. The previous night I'd polished off the Tears of Christ Vesuvius white wine with a lovely young  Japanese fellow called Kai. He'd worked in television but his more recent work was in marketing and translating funny cat and dog clips for YouTube.

He loved travelling and had a map of the world with red pins where he'd been and yellow pins where he'd like to go. He had it covered, even done seasonal work in Australia.

So my first mission was to go to the Chiesa of the Miseriacordia where Carravaggio had been commissioned to do 7 artworks under the circumference of the dome.  These related to things like healing, quenching thirst and feeding the poor.

Immediately Dad was with me. Whether through my thinking or through the soul, it was that Dad was so drawn to Carravaggio. And through looking at the paintings I could feel something about Dad. That dark view of life he seemed at home in.  He may have been a dark and shady person, Carravaggio (a murderer who was in love with young boys) but the feeling and expression in his artwork is incredible. The 'try hard' artworks in the gallery upstairs just didn't cut it. Dark anguish and cherub filled skies has to have something else to make it work.  Carravaggio had the x factor.

It was the first time since Dad died that I had a solitary place to remember and honour him. It was very special.

Walking along the narrow streets of Napoli with many tourists just like me, sensing the lively chaos. Enjoying the music and the super-junk. See Facebook.

Coming back to scassacocchi to collect my gear, being lowered down 4 floors with Melania controlling the chain. And actually walking in a straight line to the station. Holy mother of God! 

I get on the wrong train along with 4 other young Australians. We strike up a conversation about our respective travels, and then change to the correct train. They get off at Pompei.

I alight at Sorrento with a trainload of Tourists including women of a similar age.

At the Airbnb I meet a young Serbo-american girl called Alex.  My Italian comes in handy with the husband of our host who doesn't speak English, and I find myself translating.

After we settle in, we go out together for eats,and WIFI. No Wifi at the place.  We have a great meandering conversation over a great meal, sharing pizza, then go off exploring together.  It was really nice and I trusted her sense of Discovery and went with it. We ended up drinking lemon liqueur and lemon granita after doing heaps of window shopping. A really fun night.

Today I'm in Positano but I'll leave that for another time. Killing time while I catch the boat to Amalfi with vino and WIFI and use of bathroom.

Xx

Napoli

Really narrow streets, really crowded, really noisy talkative people, kids playing in groups on their own, boys playing soccer. Older boys on scooters. Mums sitting on chairs outside on the street. Clothes lines between buildings.

Into one of these narrow crowded Street drove the taxi driver. He ripped me off by giving me hardly any change then driving off.

And I was in another 10foot tall door in a courtyard, that is pretty dark and random and has doors going off in different places. I call my host, Melania.  In Italian - i wasn't expecting you for another half hour she says, I need to clean the room. Then I'll wait, I say. No come up, she says and repeats that I'm too early. But I don't know which door to go into, or which floor. She says, the one with the bicycle down the bottom.  So I find that and start pulling my suitcase up the stairs. I can't see Melania and I don't know where I'm going. When she sees me struggling with the suitcase, she comes out then tells me to attach the suitcase to this central chain in the stairwell.  I don't get it so she shows me then starts hauling it up. Turns out it's the 4th floor.

She sits me down then starts working, mopping, cleaning. She reminds me of Silvia in that pint- sized determined ball of energy who has to have everything just right. I just let it go.

Then I went out to explore twice. Twice I got lost.  Walked si much further than I should have - for nothing!

I was so pissed off. I'd been up early from Palermo, didn't sleep well in anticipation, walked to the station with my suitcases. Just missed the aeroporto shuttle bus. Next one would be cutting it too fine. Taxi Driver said 35 to airport but the said 20% extra because Sunday. I paid 40. Driver in Napoli chard 40 too. So the taxi fares cost more than my airfares.

Having been so pissed off I did share a bottle of wine with a Japanese Airbnb guest here too, called Kai.  He works in video you tube industry and was visiting Cannes for tv industry awards.

Beddy Byes

Palermo

I haven't written for a few days.  Toarmina was very beautiful but tourism had over-cooked it and it lacked soul. I couldn't feel it anyway if it was there. There must be locals who live lives beyond tourism.

By contrast Palermo has soul.  I even saw an animated argument on the foreshore with shouting and stamping of feet. When I returned they kissed each other goodbye.  Sometimes I remember on rare occasions when Angelo was provoked by a stranger he'd hold his hands in the air and roll his eyes back and shout out in defence.

The door to where I'm staying is a large brown one about 10 foot tall, on a narrow seedy looking laneway called Viccola di Cassaro Della Madonna.

It's up narrow stairs 3 flights where Marjolein, a Dutch Artist has some Airbnb rooms. Mine is a little appartment with bedroom, study, kitchen and bathroom.

Marjoleins artwork adorns the walls. One of them is 12 squares of fabric. It's called 'mother and son' she says.
It's 11 aprons surrounding 1 shirt. Says it all!

Another is of Madonna and Child. Sacrilegiously she's donned the Maddona in a red tracksuit. She said when she donned an apron, she still looked holy but the tracksuit made her look like a working class mum of today, even so she wore the rose's on her head.

I gave her the copy of Rosie's Ep on it with This Town written about Palermo. She was so taken with the cover.

My early evening stroll took me around surprise after surprise which I've written about on Facebook.

I think about This Town. Santa Rosalia, Rosie's namesake, is the Saint of this town, a 12 year old martyr attributed with saving the town from the Plague. I didn't know that when I named Rosie. This Town has allusions to it.

I named her Rosalia because of a library book I'd been reading to Nikki just before Rosie was born. A Boat for Pepe was written by Leo Politi, and Italo-americano who wrote and illustrated children's books about communities living in the USA, be they Latino, Chinese or Italian.  A Boat for Pepe was about a Sicilian fishing community living in Monterey.

Pepes father is a fisherman, whose boat gets stuck in a storm at sea. The villagers bring forth Santa Rosalia to bring Pepes father back to safe harbour.

So even though the family connections to Sicily are the east coast, this series of events has built us connections to Palermo.

It intrigues me the histories of migration and all that we take with it from where we come from.  It's the history of the world because migration has never stopped. I like that Leo Politi wrote about this in the States or that Kavisha Marzzela formed a choir with Italian Nonnas in Perth and Melbourne.  Then Kavisha, a musicologist, found that Australia was preserving dialects that had changed or moved on in Italy. They sung the old songs that Italians ceased singing.

Now it's a world of cell phones and selfies, a world where we are more rapidly becoming the same.

Mountains

On the train between Catania and Taormina Giardini

It's a warm day and Etna is clear against a blue sky on my left and the sea on my right. I'm getting familiar with this route having been up and down this route twice before.

Beyond that medieval Hill town over there, that will be new country.

Already it's lusher and more fertile, lemons, plant nurseries, vines, like Nonnos garden.

Morning Glory grows like a weed over the trees close to the railway line. Lantana is grown as a pretty garden flower everywhere I've been so far.

But as I go I contemplate mountains. What compells me about them? Is it their presence over a place and the way it shapes life around it? It's ancient formation like Kunyani. Or more recent with Etna, the sleeping giant. It gives water. It gives soil to grow the best crops, that then become the wine and the food. Life.

Fiumefreddo station again now. All ahead is new.

But Kunanyi (Mt Wellington) has made an indelible impression on my soul.  LIke a body with so many parts to explore. The dry eucalypts of the Summerleas Ridge, the damp man- ferns in the valleys, the scree slopes and potato fields up higher, the snowgum belt, then the giant monoliths and wild winds that blow on top. The wind flatened plants and mosses around little pools. On days with clear blue skies you could see mountains, islands and estuaries for as far as the eye can see. Or on others be totally enshrouded in mist seeing only a few of metres in front of you at a time.

On top of a mountain I feel joy. I feel on top of the world.

My mind has slowed and I can just be where I am, in this environment, carrying just the sweat of my efforts to arrive there. There is nothing more fulfilling.

And somehow everything becomes clear. My life becomes clear. And the truth, or guidance, or God, speaks to me. Slowly, Clearly. Everything in my world makes sense. I know what is important, and what is not. I know who is important. And I see the pathways.

Kunanyi is my temple.

And it is no wonder that in a sheltered place under the organ pipes, in among the trees and shrubs and flowers and rocks with flittering birds darting here and there, are the ashes of Mum, and Lizzy and Helen. And one day my ashes too.

Now I am in Taormina, and I just wanted to finish thinking and writing about this 'montanaphillia' thing.

Because it's like a body. And Etna is in the making. However slowly. Sometimes she explodes with gas, and throws out rocks, then lava flows down her flanks, covering villages and roads sometimes.

Then over time lichen grows. It neutralises the acidity. And then flowers grow. And then later when there is enough soil to be made through the friction of water and ice, then birch forests grow. Then mushrooms grow. And sheep goats and rabbits roam. And lady birds visit.

And one day it maybe covered in lava again. It gives life and it takes away.

On Etna like Kunanyi, there were icehuts we visited. Before refrigeration, in the 1800s, they would pack ice into these hollows. Then take it to town to fetch a good price.  in Tasi they wrapped the ice in blankets. On Etna the pumicy rock provided a good insulation.

Now I've mused about mountains I will go out and explore the town of Taormina.

The Lightness of Syracusa

Compared to Catania's volcanic dark stones in their buildings, Syracusa is all about lightness.

From where I sit across the bridge that adjoins the island of Ortigia, what I see looks Moorish.

But then there's ancient Greek, Romans, Classical and beautiful Baroque churches too.

In one is a painting by Carravaggio. The theme is 'death', with a dead female martyr at its centre.  I think of Dad and his great interest in Carravaggio, and obsession with Peter Robb's book about him called " M" I remember Dad talking about Caravaggiio painting bruised fruit - capturing the real, not just the idealised.

The Piazza outside the main Church had those divine proportions and feeling of space as well as lightness from the soft colours of the stone and pavement. With some beautiful busking happening it just made me feel totally serene.

It started to rain. Luckily I had Rosie's umbrella in my bag. A couple in front threw their hands in the air and danced in the rain. Che Bella!

I found my way to an Exhibition of the inventions of Leonardo and Archimedes. Archamides lived in Syracusa 3rd Century BC, when it was a prosperous part of the Corinthian Empire.

An Eastern Scholar had replicated Leonardos inventions (all designed on paper) demobstrating how it all works, for machinery, for flight, for buildings, for war. Some of them you could turn a handle to see how these simple but clever machines operated. There was a children's room, where children could build and design with blocks etc themselves.

The last room was for Archimedes inventions. He was a master of physics. Weight and balance and he developed a screw to extract water,  and had a theory about people and corpses in water and at what point they sink

I particularly love the narrow allyways, that meander along in mazes with doors into compounds and peoples lives right in close.

My back ached. I really had enough walking for one day. Giangi picked me up from the bus station. We looked up tours to Etna by Jeep online. I ate at the Trattoria along the road with wine, chicken and salad for 10euros. Then crashed.

CircumnavEtenea

Circumnavigating Etna in a tiny weeny train. I was late getting up when Giangi drove me to Borgo to Take ll with the little train.

I caught it within a hare's breath, leaving 20 Euro on the counter, and the ticket seller, saying 'vai subito, dirito' - quick jump on!

As I did I realised I didnt have a ticket. (writing now from a Cafe in Fiumefreddo). The little train took off, with all its little seats filled, as it headed inland on its little tracks.

When the conductor came I said 'ho pagato 20 Euro al'ufficio ma non ho un biglietto' it was fine. He gave me a ticket and 12.50 change, purely on my word.

So we go into amazing country where we can see Etna beyond rolling farm country of pistachios and a million prickley pears in full fruit of reds and oranges.

I hear a man with a loud voice behind me informing a tall Quebec man about all there is to know. A bit Daddish.

He says the core of Etna goes down 145 kms into the earth. He says Etna is the son. The father volcano was much bigger but exploded itself, giving birth to little Etna. Have we got the gender right here?

The man says pistachio trees have long roots to reach the water. They grow wildly out of the sparse soil.between volcanic rocks. As do the olives.

In some places there are only rocks, solidified in their molten states. You can see the lava flow in their form. Others are more craggy.

As the little train climbs higher we pass many little towns, picking up and dropping off school kids as we go. The man with the loud voice says this town is famous for its strawberries, and this one is famous for its mushrooms.

When the train stops at Randazzo we alight and the Quebec gentleman skiddaddles. having missed breakfast my first priority is to find a Cafe.

Once sated, I can explore. as I explore the man with the loud voice turns to me, and we walk to the Norman Church together. We talk about the dark volcanic rock of this church compared to the lightness of Siracusa.

His name is Francesco. He was born in Sicily, lived in Rome, the ln returned 20 years ago. He is a researcher at the University of Literature in Catania, specialising in WW2 archaeology.

It is a lively conversation that goes in many directions, and I enjoy some of his insights. Like about love and fear being opposite sides of a coin, and our choices as a human race. I'm able to talk about Australia and our refugee policy playing on fear for political gain.

He asked the locals for the best place to eat so we go there together. I have a beautiful melanzana dish with baked provlone, which he said was a typical Arabic dish. And we share a litre of red wine.

Except I realise I have the train to catch to continue on, and he doesn't. I have 4 mins to run to the station. He said he'd foot the bill. I thanked him and ran.

What an extraordinary encounter. He gave me the names of musicians he loved, but I didn't have any info about him.

Only that he said 'everything is energy', 'our bodies are 70% water and music resonates with this'
Mmmm.

Well on my way circumnavigating Etna in the little train. Rubbing knees with a Yorkshire couple, so we strike up a conversation. They're regulars to Sicily.

The train then hits the coast. That means we must be near Fiume Freddo. I photograph like mad, not knowing if I will reach there.

Everything is so green and fertile.

The little train finishes at Gardia. I find it is easy to catch a train to Fiumefreddo from there, and I wait less than 5 mins. 10mins later I'm there.

I ask when the next train back to Catania is. Half an hour. I got worried it might be the last one, so I didn't stay long. I roamed along some streets, then headed back. Except the road was blocked because of the train and so I missed the train. There was another train in another 30 mins. So I hung out at a local Cafe and had a Cafe Freddo. I realise you always seem to pay someone at a booth and someone else serves you.

Fiumefreddo struck me as somewhere particularly fertile. Lemons galore. Nurseries. cane. Etna was there behind the clouds. And there not too far away was the sea. And somewhere was the cold river from whence it derived it's name.

This the home of the Catalano family, the Nicolosi s and others who uprooted to migrate to Australia. Another few years and the economy in Italy also lifted and there was more work.  But without this I would never have met Angelo and Nikki and Rosie would never have been born. Or maybe they would? Who knows?

But I am satisfied now, as the train finishes it's last leg back to Catania.

I have circumnavigated Etna.

Grrrr

Went to bed early. Woke up early. Sunny day. Going to catch Circumetenea, the little train that goes around Etna. Going to stop at Fiume Freddo.

I leave ample time. I stop for a Cafelatte. 1.5 Euros. Not bad.

I walk up Via Etenea towards the  Botanical Gardens, beyond which is Piazza Cavour. No signs of the little train stop.

I ask at a kiosk, and she points me in another direction, along some obscure streets. I think she's telling me to go to Central Station, so I turn back to Via Etenea.

I ask in a bar for dove partire il piccolini treninno per Circumetenea? He gives the same directions as the woman in the kiosk. I probably take a right turn too soon, so after 600m or so, I try to self correct.

I ask another man in a kiosk who tells me he has relatives in Adelaide, and he shows me where it is. Except that it's the backend of the station and its blocked off.

I try to get around it but as I sort through a myriad of appartments in dead end streets, I take a wider swoop, and Lo and behold there it is!
The little train station with the little trains.

There a 2 elderly women and one disabled younger boy/girl who say it is closed because it's Sunday. I am buggered from all the walking.

I think, I need to change my plans and maybe go to Syracusa instead but I'd need to get to Central Station. The 3 women offer to take me, in their car. The young one tells me Sicily is very beautiful but the organisation of everything  here is fucked.

I thank them for the ride and say goodbye. I find the ticket office and wait my turn in line - a first train leaving for Syracusa today leaves at 17.22.

Ah Rosie was right!  Nothing works out well. Now I'm in a dilemma. What to do? I know, arancini!

My legs are buggered. I find a seat to rest in a small piazzas. I'm conscious of a small African community here who are scrabbling to make a living here any which way. And so I can be an easy target. A man sits besides me and says 'ciao' and I say 'ciao' but continue writing this blog for a bit. Then I get up say 'ciao' and walk on.

I have my arancini which I eat in Bellini Park. By the time I get home I'm totally knackered. Giangi and Alex make some phonecalls for me and then take me to the bus station to catch a 12.30 bus to Syracusa.

CATANIA

I flew in from Istanbul this morning. Anneli and I arose at 4.20am and took a cab to Attaturk Airport. We've had 16 amazing days travelling together, and she's had to endure me snoring for 16 nights. She caught a later plane to Zagreb, Croatia (Game of Thrones), while I took the earlier plane to Catania.

Beautiful blue skies. Etna in the distance puffing white. And Giangi picked me up from the airport without a hitch.

He drove me to their appartment on the top / 7th floor in Via.Lago di Nicito, where I met Alex, his partner and Francesco, their 22 month old son. From the rooftop is a 360 degree view including Etna, the Duomo and the sea. They made coffee and gave a really good run-down of Catania and what is possible over the next 4 days. He drew a great mudmap and suggested 2 places where I could try granita and arancini.

This I did. Its day 1 and I'm speaking Italian!!  'un granito pistachio per favore - quanta costa?'' I take it to Bellini Park and the tastiness of it expands my sensorial Palette! Mmmm. These Italians know all about taste! In all guises: colours, fabrics, food, music, art.

I walk down Via Etenea, sensing my way around traffic and the African Street sellers, until I find my way to Stesicoro. This is a square with a portion of Roman  Amphitheatre being revealed underneath ornate baroque buildings.

See, there have been 8 eruptions of Etna over Catania, the last being in the 1600s. So the buildings we see today date from that time and are essentially baroque. No frills spared. Buildings have the fanciest decorations, some bursting at the seams with cherubs, and others with more expressive human forms.

From piazza del duomo I took Giangi s advice and took an open topped  tourist bus to explore the city for 15 Euros or $20.

This was well worth it, as we were introduced to the 2 symbols of Catania - The Elephant and Santa Agneta. There was an elephant fountain. Santa Agnetas story seems a bit like Santa Rosalia. She was married off at 12 and martyred young with signs of warding off the plague.

The bus took us by the harbour and up the coast to Aci Castello, where a Norman Castle was built on a huge rock or stack coming out of the sea.

Next stop was Acitrezza and this place is attributed to where Ulysses meets the Cyclops and the giants on the way back home from Troy.  The rocks out on the harbour hold those stories, much like how the Dreamtime Stories hold the stories of the formation of the Australian landscape.

I was thinking about that poem Music Teacher Stacey gave me @ the beginning of this Blog. It was about a journey. It was encapsulated in the outer journey as a reflection of the inner journey. My inner journey feels like bravery, travelling alone when we fear Sicily for Mafia and Pickpockets. But then I think is that any more an illusion than what people associate with Australia - sharks, crocodiles, poisonous spiders and snakes and idiots of ex primeministers. The more I walked on my own with my walking stick, the more I relaxed into it. Myself, the Tourist.

I've gained an extra hour and I'm quite tired now. I will go out to eat in the restaurants nearby that Giangi suggested, then I will turn in for an early night, ready for a mini train/bus trip circumnavigating Etna tomorrow.

Ho arrivato in Sicilia

Touching down in Sicily hastened my heartbeat with such anticipation. A place I've heard so much about, a place that intrigues me with its volcano Etna, its stratified history , and a place I'm inextricably linked to through my children's ancestory.

My Dad was in love with this place. He described reaching from the train to the blood oranges around Acireale. He read poetry about Greek gods on the slopes of Etna. And Midnight in Sicily by Peter Robb was a favourite book of his. Also dedicated to my cousin, Wanda Jamrozik.

But meeting Angelo and then  his family gave me a taste of something indescribable. In that block of land in Haberfield was  fence to fence edible garden with olives, lemons, persimons, macadamia nut tree, grapevine pergola, and vegetables galore, some of which he traded with other Sicilians around Haberfield. The only patch without fruit or vegies was under the Hills Hoist and Nonnas rose garden at the front. They were so resourceful and so industrious.

Nonno once told me 'they gave Angelo a pencil, but they gave me a shovel'. The Sicily they emigrated from in the 1950s was a hard one. Meat was a luxury and they had to produce their own food, and share their resources with their relatives in order to survive. Australia represented a golden opportunity to get ahead. The dream was to work an Orange Orchard on the Central Coast.

Nonna Vecchia had time to talk. Nonna was always cooking. She told me about the old days and the lava flows from Etna that came uncomfortably close at times. And I remember Nonno talking about the war and the Germans and how clever they needed to be. I also remember them talking about remedies, including special mud packs for conditions like Arthritis.

So here I am....here in Sicily. The land of my children's other half.

Princess Island and the leaving of Istanbul

Sipping Apple Tea in a tiny Cafe playing my favourite music in Istikal Caddesi, watching people passing by. Feeling the dream that was my life for the past weeks.

Anneli has gone back to Levni but I felt the need to walk down this street again, and to find Galata Tower.

I also wanted to try getting around on my own as this will be how it is for the next 3 weeks or so in Italy.

The apple tea is delish and I think it's just finely diced and dried apple in hot water. A good idea for Tasmanians.

This morning Anneli and I caught a boat from Kabasa to The Princes Islands. Our boat stopped at several but we alighted at Princess. I will FB the photos of the incredibly ornate wooden houses there, either stately or crumbling. Tourists taking carriage rides on 2 horse-power trotted by, and we wondered the story behind these once elegant homes

But lo and behold as we were walking down a little Street heading  back towards the wharf - there it was!!! The Mother of the Bride Dress, just looking at me. On Princess Island, no less. Rosie with her cappuccino colour, me in dusky pink and full of lace and texture. It fitted like Cinderella - well elasticity helps. Done! Very affordable - no more research necessary!

Rainy day in Istanbul

The Tour ended. Our fellow travellers dispersed. I wanted to post things back to Oz and take my clothes to a laundromat before checking out of Hotel Nidya at Noon with a transfer to Hotel Levni in the old quarter.

It started to rain as Anneli and I set out on our 3km walk to find a Post Office. on our way and across the road we saw the Palace - the Dolme Bacchi. We decided after sending off 2kgs of books and gifts that that's where we'd go.

Well this is a fairytale Palace. While built for the Sultan in the 1840s, because the Top Kapi Palace was apparently not opulent enoug. The Sultan hired the best Italian and French craftsmen to build something of quintessential extravagance on reclaimed land next to the Bosporus River.

Think Cinderella at the Ball. Think Versailles. Think Mozart playing to the Court. Beautiful formal gardens with stately ponds and ornate fountains. See photos on Facebook.

But we weren't allowed to photograph within the Palace, we were put into a tour group which would walk a thin line through the Palace with an English speaking guide (who looked like a dashing prince, no less). And we put plastic bags over our shoes. Max visitors in a day- 3000.

Think 10,000 piece crystal chandeliers. Think massive red carpeted stairways that swoop around on 2 sides with crystal ballastrade legs. Think very large spaces with gold dripping from the ceiling and fancy frescoes, and bear furs with their heads on the floor. And giant elephant tusk ornaments.

All these gifts from England, France,  India, China - all over the world. Gift giving diplomacy for the powerful and the rich. 'Where does it all come from and who pays for it? ' the cries my forever Bolshy heart.

Well even Attaturk enjoyed the spoils of the Dolma Bacchi during his presidency.

We didn't have time to see the Harem. We had to take a taxi to get back to Hotel Nidya before our transfer to Hotel Levni on 12 Ankara Caddesi.

We were welcomed at reception with drinks and suggestions of places to visit by a French girl called Mathilde.

By that time it was pissing down with rain. Was going to take clothes to laundry but with the rain, the Hotel Service seemed more attractive. Just doing my smalls by hand.

So we set out again all rainproofed- up thanks to Rosie's over-gumboots. We visited the 3rd century Cistern, built to contain the city's water underground. They used the old Greco-Roman columns, some Corinthian and even 2 heads of Medusa statues and had high Byzantine ceilings. It was revitalised in 1973 and they keep carp in there to keep the water clean,

We had a terrible and expensive lunch in a tourist area, then caught the tram to Kudasi from where we would take the finnicular to Tacsum Square.

We walked down Independence Street, all lined with designer label shops, until we reached the more Bohemian end. And then every second shop was an instrument shop or related to music in some way.

We stopped at a Cafe playing beautiful music and had Apple Tea, while looking at the passing crowd, a husband and wife from Syria passed, the father holding the child and the mother holding a sign.I gave them money.

At the bottom the hill we caught a tram 2 stations back to Levni, stopping to but Knafe on the way, and a new expensive Wolf Kin backpack.

Now I'm buggered. Happily so.

Istanbul..Constantinople

Monsiur Camembert, I hear your song!

It's the last day of The Tour and I'm so over it. I just want a day of rest to recharge my batteries and get my life in order again. They really pack it in these Fez Tours. So many early mornings, followed by too many things in one day.

It's like a check-list of 'been there, done that' rather than having some time really absorb it all, research, chew it over, feel it.

Today was just pushing it too much for me. My leg misbehaved. We walked kilometres. And our rough chain-smoking disgruntled bad tempered mad guide, talked too much with too little regard for us.

We got off to a late start and picking up some other passengers in the old quarter, golden horn, which is not made for traffic yet there's plenty of it.

Our first stop was the Greco-Roman Hippodrome/Stadium and an explanation of this earthquake prone area which is really like a layercake of history with the next stuff being rebuilt on the ruins of the last.

The next was the Blue Mosque. We scarved up and shoed off, and it was a total surprise for me inside. I hadn't expected it to be so  light and so decorative. All those lovely symbols of the flowers: tulip, carnation and rose, in beautiful designs and patterns. So uplifting to the spirit.

The guide went on about its earthquake proof construction, and how a girls job was to weave a carpet. She was selected as a wife by its merits. After she died the carpet came to this mosque. But they were then 'relocated' and now they have to make do with a nylon carpet. (see Facebook for photos)

San Sophia opposite the Blue Mosque, looked like a Mosque but it was a Byzantine Church, rebuilt 3 times following Earth Quakes. It contained some interesting mosaics and is UNESCO world Heritage listed, but I found it dark and gloomy. Very hotch potch.

After this we visited Top Kapi Palace, the home of the Sultan. While very beautiful with gorgeous gardens, architecture and detail in tilework, calligraphy etc, I was really struggling physically. And my thoughts were saying 'you bloody opulent Sultans. all  these world leaders rubbing shoulders with you, because you're so rich and powerful. Yet your Empire has amassed wealth from.pillaging other countries and their people'. Maybe I'll look at it differently after rest.

But no, we kept going. After food we were taken to a silk and angora scarf shop. They like us to buy but we don't. Last stop is the Grand Bazaar.  It may have been special in the past but it exists for tourists these days. We take a peak, then catch the train back to the Hotel

And rest!