Something in the water in Finland...

Outi and Jukka are twins, and they know 4 other sets of twins they went to school with in their home town.

I gauge that as slightly random.

We were discussing that they might know someone that my cousin is friends with in their home town. I said I tried to describe them to her in an email, but she wasn't sure if she knew them, even thought it's quite small town.

"How many twins can there possibly be in your town?"

"Well, we went to school with like 4 sets of them."

"oh."

Party time in Sausage central aka Helsinki

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Helsinki? Hell yeah!

Having had no sleep the night before I left ( i was too nervous I was going to miss my mini cab), it would suffice to say that I was slightly tired when I got to Helsinki, but there's no rest for the wicked, as my friends Outi and Jukka (twin brother and sister) have been showing me a good time here in Helsinki with all of their friends.

On Friday afternoon, Jukka and his friend/Outi's boyfriend, Hannu, picked me up from the airport. I had a little bit of trouble with immigration because they were a bit confused as to why I had a 90 day Schengen Visa in my passport, that started on 7th of August (for my dutch working visa), but I had arrived on the 24th of July. Anyway, not to worry, the nice man let me into his country.

We subsequently got something to eat in Helsinki's town centre, after catching a bus in, and then met another one of their friends, Matti for a couple of drinks.

I wasn't quite sure what I thought about Helsinki when I first got there. Having no knowledge of the city (I have this really bad habit of doing no research of the city I am in until I get there. I wonder if this is the right way to go about travelling? I suspect it might not be.), I wasn't sure at all what to expect. I only had a broad understanding of the history of Finland with their connections to Sweden and Russia. I'm heading out in a little while to check it out more, and form more of an opinion on it. I can comment at this stage that it's green; very very green. Alpine trees, wild rasberries, and lots and lots of foliage. It's beautifully fresh.

Well, one thing is for sure, I learn everyday that I am more naive than I actually think I am. My first expectation was that I was going to be visiting the land of the nordic supermodels, where every single person roaming the streets was going to be a super chic, super hot, blonde, tanned, insert scandanavian steroetypes in here... . After knowing Outi, and Jukka, with their pale blonde hair, and blue eyes, slender frames, and seeing photos of their partners and friends, I was sure that the nordic gods had balanced out their curse of the weirdest seasons known to man, with blessings of a lifetime of always looking like they had effortlessly stepped out of an Armani catalogue.

"You shall see light for 24 hours a day in summer, and then, never again in the winter. But you will all have the faces of angels and bodies that will rival the most renown marble sculptures in all of the art world."

Not everyone looks like them. They just look like... people. Brown hair, red hair, green eyes, brown eyes, tall, short, fat, skinny, Finnish people.

Outi and Hannu threw a little dinner party for me at their apartment on Friday night, and we drank cider, wine and scotch until the wee hours of the morning, before waking up on Saturday a little bit worse for wear.

Hannu, Jukka and their guy friends from their home town (and one of the girl's this year!) were having their annual golfing tournament with their hometown crew, a tradition that stems from about 7 years ago. They headed off for some friendly competition, and Outi and I met some of her girlfriends for a picnic (in the summer everyone takes as much opportunity to head out and bask in some sunshine as much as they can, because come winter, it's "see you later sunshine, hello endless darkness and freezing cold" - thus the picnic here is as common as a barbecue.), before we headed off to do some (alcohol) shopping for our big Saturday night. Because it costs so much to drink here, everyone drinks at home before they go out, so we stocked up on cider, wine, and lemonade for the Pimms that I had bought at Heathrow.

After the golf tournament, the boys have an after party, to be organised by last year's previous winner. This year, the winner this year (and last year), Eric, rented the basement floor of his office building, which just happens to have; a sauna (or three), an olympic sized lap pool, a gym, showers, a kitchen, and a den for drinking. Riiiiiight. We got there at 9.30 pm, and the light was just dying, but still very clear. The sun doesn't set until about midnight here.







I asked if it these were built here so that Eric and his colleagues could have lunch and sauna in their lunch hour. Everyone laughed, and said while the Finnish love their sauna's, that wouldn't be common, although a lot of Finnish men do business in the sauna. Apparently most office buildings have them.

"So, I'd like to buy your accounting firm, and merge it with mine, I'll see to it that no redundancies are made, and the two companies merge seamlessly as one. Let's discuss prices, however, in the meantime, throw some more water onto the heater thingy will you? Ahhh, feel the steam...."

Just after we arrived, Jukka was keen to put on some sausages. Just sausages. No bread, or onions or anything, just sausages. Oh, and mustard from a tube.



Jukka and Outi taught me a saying which is the equivalent to the English saying "Piece of cake."
The Finnish saying is "Easy sausage." I understand why now. There's a massive culture for sausage here. More on that later.

I met all of Jukka and Outi's awesome friends, Vendla, Eric, Sini, Esco, and Kata. The best thing about being here at the moment, is that everyone has been really nice and interested in getting to know me, and it feels really nice to be able to get to know a really great group of friends. Luckily for me as well, they share my twisted and dry sense of humour, which I thought was really interesting, since I'm on the other side of the world, perhaps I expected them to not really get me?

We then headed out to find a good compromise where the boys could drink and talk, and the girls could dance. Perhaps it's a universal thing, but the good old irish pub seemed to do the trick. I can't remember the name of the pub, but it was "something Malone's."

We were out in the beer garden, and just chatting, and this guy came up to me and asked me if I was Australian. I was really surprised, and we got to talking, and it turns out he was from Bendigo. What was more surprising is that his accent was very much part british, part scandanavian, there wasn't a hint of an aussie accent in his voice at all. I had to leave the guy with his Finnish girlfriend afte a few minutes, because the liquor license had changed and at midnight, I couldn't drink outside. I think I was saved by the liquor license, because he was about as interesting as 3pm reruns of 'Different Strokes' during school holidays.

I am ashamed to admit, that the night ended with me rocking out to a rock cover band that were playing Bon Jovi, and ACDC. Oh, the shame. But such a good time. When we left the bar at 3am, the sun had already risen again. Light was breaking.



Walking to the bus station, Outi decided to get a hotdog, and everyone concurred, except me. I stood in line and realised everyone was getting 2 sausages.

"Is that normal here?" i said, looking around and inspecting everyone's hotdogs.
"Yes." Jukka said, walking to the hot dog man and placing his order
"But why? Why do you get 2 sausages? I don't get it." I asked. Jukka shrugged.
The hot dog vendor looked at me in a bored way, and looked me straight in the eye.
"Because one is never enough." he said in a totally deadpan voice.
I just looked at him, and looked at Jukka, and pissed myself laughing.

I would think a few horny girls out there might agree with him. One sausage is never enough. That's why shows like Jerry Springer and Ricki Lake exist. Perhaps my confusion at such a notion of a double sausage hotdog proves that I will never be one of those girls.

Yesterday, everyone woke up late. Outi and Hannu woke up at 4pm, and then we decided to go on another picnic near the ocean, where Jukka met us later. Bliss!








We were there until about 9pm, when it started to get a bit darker and cooler, then we walked home along the bike track and paths in the suburbs. Outi called out to me because she had found a wild rasberry bush. We picked some to eat along our walk home. What a great day!

UK Wrap Up

I've become an absolute blogging disgrace ... no posts in over a week. However, in my defence, I have been hankering to get some photos up on here, in full knowledge that my words alone can not amuse all. In addition to this, I think an empty blog once in a while is a testament to getting out there and living your life, instead of wishing it away.

So, where to start, where to start... As Frauline Maria from The Sound of Music would say "Let's start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start..."

An underside view of Edinburgh castle

My last serious post was from Edinburgh, where Fran and I just hung out, and looked at a few things down the Royal Mile, and then on Monday, I went for a solo walk to the National Gallery of Scotland. Well, there are a few galleries that come under the National Gallery banner, but I went to the most famous, at the end of Hanover Street, in the main touristy part of Edinburgh.

Wow, Wow, Wow... my guidebook said that the gallery was small, but was well curated with some really reknown works. I spent 3.5 hours in this supposedly small gallery, and loved every second of it. The collection was definitely varied and interesting.

I saw my first Monet painting, and a Boticelli as well. I am going to sound like a 5 year old, but one of the highlights of my day were the dark forest green tartan pants that the security guards and administrators in the gallery wear. Tee heee. I know I was in Scotland, and it makes total sense that an art gallery would pay homage to it's culture through the national textile, but surely, there could be some sort of innovation in uniform design rather than forest green tartan slacks that were certainly designed in 1982, that could be just as fitting. Wish i had taken a photo.

Anyway, I bought too many postcards, and then walked home very happy with my venture into the European art appreciation world.

I left Edinburgh on Tuesday, after a sensational home cooked salmon steak meal by Fran the night before ( Lemon, garlic salmon with green beans, and a roast potato stuffed with guacamole = 9.6 on the Rani ratings of timing, presentation, colour, quantity, texture, taste.)

I almost missed the plane (!!!), but made it with 15 minutes to spare before check in closed, because i had to trapse around the city centre, looking for where the airport bus departed. I hadn't bothered looking up any official sources of information, instead having a short discussion with Fran's housemates, and wandering off in the general direction of where I thought I should be going.

I left Fran's house at 1pm, got home to Lauren and Michael's house at 9pm. Admittedly, after stupidly choosing the Easyjet bus from Gatwick airport into London in peak hour traffic, it was a "slightly" delayed journey home. It took the bus 1 and three quarter hours to get into London Metro area. It cost me 7 pounds. The train takes a guaranteed half hour at 16 pounds. i am still undecided about whether I made the right choice or not. But hey, lets not brood over these little things.

After getting into London, I sat my weary ass into a Vietnamese restaurant to eat, and had a rice, mineral water, and a prawn salad for about 13 pounds. I left the restaurant hungry, grumpy, with a significantly lighter wallet, and missing my favourite Vietnamese restaurant in Adelaide, Sunflower, where I could have been rolled out of the restaurant, full, drunk and deleriously happy for the same price.

*sigh* Where for art thou Sunflower?

I had a quiet day on Wednesday, choosing to cook my famous egg plant parmigiana (Thanks Jacqui!) and a rack of lamb for Lauren and Michael, and catching up on some facebook and trashy english tv.

Thursday consisted of a lazy morning, and then deciding that I would wander aimlessly and see where life took me. It took me to Knightsbridge, and ultimately to Harrods department store, and Picadilly circus.

I sailed through cosmetics, and perfume at Harrods and headed straight for the great Food Hall, and practically spent the hour with my nose pressed up against the glass fridge displays.

My favourite part of the section? Pate and Foie Gras section, where colourfully decorated tubs of Pate and Foie Gras lined the fridge, looking deceivingly like gelati. Goose liver, and chicken liver, and rabbit liver - oh my!

I left Harrods, and went to Picadilly circus, determined to get at least one photo of me taken in front of something significant in the UK. Instead, I left with a photo of me looking worse for wear in front of the electronic billboards infront of Picadilly circus and a Front Row Grand Circle ticket to The Lion King musical matinee, (which I saw yesterday.)

Ok, i admit, I paid too much. How much? Not telling. Should I be ashamed for what I paid? Slightly. Do I give a rats ass? Not particularly.

But I didn't shop around for tickets. My tired little feet begged me to go home ...

"Please Rani, please... we need a rest... take us back to Lauren and Michael's."

I have hardly any good photos of me in London, I'm too shy to ask other people to take photos of me infront of things. And the most awkward part is posing infront of something, while a complete stranger takes a photo of you. I have a few, but nothing amazing. But I am not sure how you have sublime touristy shots infront of landmarks? Especially when you are travelling by yourself. A landmark is what it is, and its not like I can get all Annie Leibovitz in front of a billboard.



I spent Friday at the Saatchi Gallery, which is a gallery that focuses on modern art. It was a little disappointing, there were some cool things, and I was allowed to take photos. There were some really naff "pieces" at this gallery that were really nothing more than ego driven psychotic bullshit.

Cardboard frames leaning against walls alongside, plastic sheets with gaffa tape stuck on them in no particular order, labeled as the "the artists exploration into all that co-exists within material spectrums, deriving force and meaning behind mass consumerism and the battle for true harmony in the material world." WHATEVER. ( I made that description up by the way, since re writing the actual description of the piece would have made me VOMIT A LITTLE INTO MY MOUTH.)




Luckily, some redeeming art further along the gallery.

Origami man playing piano, singular piece of tarp, about 7 metres by 4 metres.

I also took the audio tour of the National British Gallery, in Trafalgar square and wasn't particularly impressed, despite seeing a Da Vinci, a Van Gough, Renoir, and a Klimt. The collection was massive, but all of it sort of seemed the same. By the way, I don't reccomend the audio tour; this too is also a massive wank. They repeat the same things that the little description tags say on the walls next to the pieces, with a few more arty additional musings, which sound pompous and over contrived.

I took the tube to meet my friend Jordie at her office for some free after work drinks, where I met some of her workmates, and they were hilarious. I loved listening to them talk, their accents were all so different, i was having good time mimicking them, and talking to them about London culture, like North side versus East side, etc etc.

Later Jordie and I went out to Camden, and had a big night out on the cider. My love for cider has grown exponentially since coming to the UK. It is now my drink of choice, so refreshing, and doesn't leave you feeling over disgusting in the morning.

That same weekend, my friend Vanessa and I went to Lovebox Weekender, a music festival curated by Groove Armada. It was very very cool, and the rain held off for long enough, that we basked in the sunshine and people watched all day, watch a few crazy acts Slightly hungover from the night before, I was unable to eat much, but the offerings were sensational.

Vanessa had an awesome looking haloumi, and portobello mushroom burger with truffle sauce. I was angry at my stomach for reacting so badly at looking at something so beautiful. Instead, I munched on 2 cheese straws.

I didn't take my camera with me, unfortunately, so no photos of a very good afternoon. Next time, Gadget, next time.

The festival line up was a little bit too cool for school for me, I only knew a few acts, but to my sheer delight, a singer/band that I was really getting into in Australia happened to be playing; Florence and the Machine. It was truly awesome to be watching them live, having really loved a couple of her/their (?) songs. The word about Florence is that she's a London girl that was studying fashion at the London College of Fashion, before dropping out and pursuing music. Is that really fair, that you get to be so freaking talented??



Vanessa also introduced me to a very cool old school rock and roll/ pop/ ska/ indie singer called V.V Brown, whom we also saw that day. Lots of fun, and only something crazy like 19 years old. Vanessa told me about tis show called the Black Cab Acoustic sesssions, where artists sing acoustic in the back of a London Black Cab. www.blackcabsessions.com

Check it out:





I have discovered so much new music since I've been away, it's been awesome.

A couple of things that caught me particularly off guard;

The first thing was, how transparent the drug trade was at the music festival. I'm talking about the purchase of, the consumption of, the policing of, and the sale of all illicit substances.

Firstly, there were cops everywhere at this festival. 30,000 people in attendance and a strong police presence. We saw a girl that was about 16 years old, literally get dragged away with full force by two cops, as she was arguing with them about something, turns out she had tried to snort a couple of lines behind the toilet blocks, because she couldn't be bothered waiting in the toilet que. I thought that it was a bit unnecessary, but from what I understand, London cops don't take much shit from anyone.

Despite the obvious police presence, a few things I noticed about the consumption and then dealing side of things. Guys in their late thirties, walking around the grounds, complaining about how shit the gear they've organised is, and how they've desperately got to find more. Others not so obvious, just slyly walking up to random people and asking "hey, are you holding?

As for sales, throughout the afternoon as we stood amongst the crowds, we saw big dudes roaming amongst the throngs of people, poking random people, and yelling "Charlie, GG, Hash, Weed? You want it, i got...eh, love (poke poke) you after some charlie, good gear? What about you fella?"

We're not in kansas anymore, Toto.

We went out after the festival to meet Vanessa's boyfriend Luke, and his friends at a pub near London Bridge, which was also very funny.

The best part about knowing people in London was meeting all their new friends.

Sunday, Vanessa showed me her ideal day out in London. We hit a very cool breakfast place in East London (Shoreditch?) called Leila's Shop, where I spotted Ralph Fiennes popping his head in, looking for a free table. We then went to the Flower Markets and Brick Lane Vintage markets. I am pretty sure I found bliss, in Brick Lane. It was this edgy, very random, and relaxed vintage clothes market, where people just sold their old clothes by the side of the street, and I could people watch every day. Guys giving out fliers for reggae and dub nights, art galleries left right and centre, hand made funky jewellery and hair clips, and mexican wrestling masks....oh yes, food stalls, food stalls, food stalls. I had a massive tub of morrocan meatballs and lamb curry with cous cous, rice, bean salad and garden salad for 5 pounds!!!








We then had a little look see in Spittelfields (???) indoor markets, which was also full of cool handmade jewelery and clothes etc.

On Monday, I went back to Lauren and Michael's house where Michael is on school holidays, and was itching to get out. He took me to Notting Hill, and to West Kensington, down a street where a lot fo the European embassies are based. This street is deserted, and down either side, cops with machine guns guard the entry posts. No photography is allowed, which is probably why Michael and I ran into Glenn McGrath, taking a walk. Notting Hill wasn't really what I thought it was going to be like, i guess the movie has sort of tarnished my thoughts about it, or perhaps it has changed so much since the movie came out.

On Tuesday, Georgina took the day off work, and we went and had a tourists day out, with visits to the Tower of London, The Tate Modern Gallery, Southbank (London Eye viewing but no riding, the line was about 3 hours long), and the Soho region. We didn't want to pay the hefty entrance fee to visit the Tower of London, but there was this interesting church next door that I wanted to visit because it was in my guide book. It's also a bit strange because this old area is now a buzzing corporate district of the city, with lots of sky scrapers etc. It had an underground crypt, so Georgina and I went underneath. The ceilings were quite low, and it was a little bit musty and eerie. Imagine our surprise when we walked into the enclave of one room in particular, and there was a church pew on our right hand side. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was a display of a person, lying down in like a coffin type thing, but the "display" shuffled a little bit and moved, and I almost screamed. I looked at George, and she looked at me, and we both almost rolled around in laughter because the "display" turned out to be a 20 something guy in his business suit, lying down on the pew, facing the ceiling in deep contemplation. We just kept looking between him, and ourselves and just thinking; "What the..?"

We joked later on that he was probably a stockbroker that had lost 30 million pounds, and was seeking solace in a church, searching for divine intervention to keep his job, or somehow miraculously discover another 30 million pounds before the day was through. It's only funny because we're not him.

On Wednesday, I went and saw The Lion King musical, which was very very good. Yes, i admit, I cried. Such a litte pussy aren't I? Just like the movie that I loved so much when I was 11 and besotted with Jonathon Taylor Thomas, the show was an awesome blend of puppetry, dance, acting, singing, and stage design magic. Afterwards, I had dinner and drinks with friends from Brisbane, Ben and Sooze. They took me to a great Italian place. What it's called or where I was, I couldn't tell you.

You'not really supposed to take photos but... click on it for a bigger image and for a sense of how awesome the costumes and puppetry really were.

Thursday, I caught up with my old flat mate, Krystal, and drank copious amounts of tea, and hung out with her, as I was absolutely exhausted after a week of non stop movement.

Just before I leave this post, I have to feature my favourite thing about London so far, which Georgina and I shared many a moment laughing over.

There are free tabloid newspapers you get here for reading on the tube. There are about 3 or 4 different ones you can get. One of them, or maybe all of them, has a "reverse classifieds" section. That's my own terminology for it, but it sort of makes sense.

If a classified ad for love in a publication means you are looking for a love you have never met, I guess that a reverse classified in my books means, you've seen them, but you didn't get to approach them, and you are now looking for them again.

I think this was inspired by www.nygirlofmydreams.com; read about it here.

This particular section is called "Change your fate": here are a few ads I thought to be hilarious from last Tuesday's paper.



"Come on Minger I want to ming with you." What THE?? That's an invitation if I ever heard one.

London in a nutshell

I love it.

Apologies for not having updated in a long time. Am getting to an internet cafe later today to upload some photos from the past week, and write some interesting tales of adventures and hilarity.

Hollywood Paris?!? ... Oh... You said 'Holyrood Palace'

So after a lovely couple of days in Cambridge, (where I was constantly spoilt with Ellie's cooking), I parted ways with Josh and Ellie, but not before I

a) became the first person to break a piece of their wedding China set... *sigh*

and

b) they took me to lunch at a very picturesque pub called 'The Plough', right next to the River Cam. Or the Cam River. I forget what it's called.

A bottle of rose between us, and some lovely cottage pie (yummm) on the banks of the River Cam, was luuuuuuverly.

Ellie and Josh convinced me to start a restaurant/food blog in conjunction with this blog.So, stay tuned, I am in serious consideration because I think all the 'food porn', (so to speak) on my camera needs to be exhibited somewhere. And I will ATTEMPT to write about the food, and my impressions of the restaurants.

After we concluded lunch, and a little deliberation as to whether we had time for some pudding (Everything dessert in the UK is referred to as Pudding. Whereas in Indonesia, pudding is an agar jelly derived dessert with custard poured on top. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, Stop the train! Stop THE Train! I MUST HAVE PUDDING!!"), they drove me to the train station, and in true Rani tradition, we were cutting it fine for time.

Ellie got me to the train station on time, however, I did almost miss it, due to my curiosity about 'Prawn Cocktail' flavoured Chips, and wanting to capture, not one, but two brands of the damn things on my camera. In my search for a thirst quencher, I chose Strawberry Ribena, from a fridge where sugary juice imitation drinks and sports energy drinks outnumbered spring water, 5:1. I boarded the train, and 2 station transfers and 5 hours later, I was in Edinburgh.

From Cambridge to Ely, I sat next to a girl who worked in London but came from Ely. She worked in research for the Defence Department at their local hospital, for returned soldiers and mental illnesses. She was nice.

Ely to Peterborough, I sat infront of two toffee little teenage girls, wearing pearls and polo, talking about what model of Blackberry phones they were going to buy their boyfriends, and what they were going to sell on ebay that weekend. Meh.

I didn't mind riding the train; admittedly, the scenery was scenic (especially when the train was going through Scotland), however, the train seats were deceivingly uncomfortable. The carriages looked modern but they they were a bit stuffy, and from the untrained eye, the seats looked like the were an ergonomically obsessed person's dream, but they were awkward to lean back into, sit upright in, and slouch in.

I had purchased a 5 pound food voucher over the internet, for 4 pounds. I had bought it in Indonesia, when I had no idea how much anything cost. I thought 5 pounds might have gotten me a spring water and maybe a packet of tic tacs. When I got to the carriage with the bar in it, I asked for a bottle of spring water, and when I tried to pay for it with my voucher, he said I couldn't get change, and I would have to keep buying stuff to use up the voucher.

"Ok, how about a packet of cookies."
"Errm, yes that takes you to 2 pounds."
"Ok, add some cheese and onion chips then."
"3 pounds."
"A twix?"
"Just take a mars bar too." he said, and threw all these items in a shopping bag.

I was gobsmacked. I had just spent $10 on enough junk food to feed a ravished boy scout troop in the midst of a blizzard. Luckily, a little girl was getting on the train with her dad, crying her eyes out.

"What's with all the crying then?" The bar attendant asked her, pinching her cheeks.
Her father rolled his eyes, and said, " She's sick of trains. She liked the first one, but not anymore." She was also carrying a shopping bag of junk food.

"Here you go kid." I said, throwing the mars bar her way. Her eyes grew and the wailing stopped. Her dad looked gratefully at me.

"Better her chubby cheeks growing, rather than my ass." I thought, as I walked off.

At 8:45pm, with the daylight still in full force Fran picked me up from the train station, but not before I paid a visit to the most beautiful public toilets in the UK, at the train station. Fresh cut wildflowers adorned the reception area, and the toilets were pristine.

I managed to catch a conversation between two scottish tweens, and almost got a headache trying to decipher if they were speaking english or some ancient celtic language. Their accents were as thick as minestrone soup.


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Fran lives in the New Town area, as opposed to the Old Town area. She lives a stone's throw from all the major attractions and the town centre, about 5 minutes drive from the train station, and the Royal Mile, and pretty much everything. However, Edinburgh is pretty small, with only 500,000 people, and it's a 20-25 minute drive from one side of the town to the other.

All the buildings in Edinburgh are old. Like dating back to the 17th century in the New Town area, and the 11th - 12th century in the Old Town area. So are a few of the streets, some still narrow, and lined with cobblestone instead of asphalt.I found this both exhilirating and eerie. (More on this later.)

When Fran was driving me to her house, I wondered why there were so many people leaning out of windows, chatting and smoking, on the 2nd and 3rd stories of buildings, thinking that people were living in old banks, and this was quite novel.

Then I got to Fran's house, and she lives in the same type of building, massive, Georgian(??), stone buildings that have been divided into about 6-8 flats.

Her actual flat has ceilings that are about 15 feet high, with tall windows, and 5 bedrooms,kitchen, bathroom, and a gigantic living room.

We spent the night having some drinks, and listening to music, and chatting, before her boyfriend came to pay us a visit.

He asked me what I thought of the castle.

"What castle?" I said, in all seriousness. This is what I said, despite the fact that I had glanced over my guidebook, and it sort of rang a bell.

His face bordered on somewhat disbelief, and amusement.

"You know that massive fortress type building to the right of the train station?" he joked. "You can't miss it."

I furrowed my brow.

"No." I looked at Fran, "You didn't mention any castle, or point anything out when we were driving here."

The next day I realised that he was right, you can't actually miss the bloody thing.

We debated about whether we should go out, then I looked at the clock and realised it was 1 am. But the darkness had only fallen about 2 hours ago.

"All the pubs close at 1am, and all the clubs close at 3am, except for when it's Festival season." Fran said, so we decided to stay in since we were already pretty tipsy anyway.

The next morning, Fran made me breakfast.

She was preparing breakfast with her back to me, and I noticed a plastic wrapper on the dining table. "Genuine Scottish Haggis." I read.

My grip loosened in shock.

Fran turned around.

"Oh, by the way, you're having Haggis."

I started my day with Haggis, poached eggs on toast and bacon.

I quite liked the Haggis. It was sort of peppery and familiar. We mooched around the house a bit in the morning, wondering when the drizzle would stop. Fran advised me that it probably wouldn't. I not so quietly longed for the Australian summer.

Fran than took me for a drive around the Castle, and we walked down the Royal Mile, which is one exact mile from the Castle, and Holyrood Palace.

"Holyrood Palace, that's where the queen stays when she is in town."
"Huh? Why have they named it after somewhere American, and French? I mean, Hollywood Paris? That's weird."
"No Silly. Holy- Rood, PALACE."
"Oh."

Back at Fran's house, we solicited her flat mate to do a shop run while we watched DVDs on a tv show called Peep Show, and I requested a packet of Prawn Cocktail chips.

I report back that they taste like a tarter and sweeter version of Thins Light and
Tangy. I think they are supposed to taste like thousand island dressing, however, I wanted them to taste more like prawn.

The Philosophers Supper, and the privilege to feel grass under your feet.

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As bold as the this statement may be, it must be said; arriving at Cambridge train station yesterday felt like a little bit of an anti climax. I mean, not arriving in the town itself, or the prospect of visiting friends, but the actual train station itself.However, this is coming from the girl that was sort of hoping that her train would be driven by a steam engine, and maybe make 'choo choo' noises, and have an old world interior with cracked burgundy leather seats, polished red wood floors, complete with a ticket inspector that would tip his black cap at you.

"Yes, you are going on a time train, not a normal train. That's right, there'll be a carriage with an oak bar, and a bartender wearing a white shirt and suspenders that will serve you pimms and lemonade. People will be doing the Charleston down the aisles."

What I got, was a clean, modern and roomy Standard class carriage.

Having arrived at Liverpool Street station half an hour late for my train, I was mildly concerned that I would have to buy a new ticket, but fortunately I didn't have to. I had been smart enough to buy a off peak return ticket where I could catch any off peak train, which was 15 pounds, whereas a single ticket was 19 pounds. Confusing.

The train ride was remotely interesting, as the train headed out of metropolitan London, I saw many 'ghetto' high rise flats, and ugly neighborhoods. I also momentarily saw 2 young kids hanging out on their balcony, watching our train go by. The little girl waved and her older brother stuck his finger up at us. Ghetto.

Midway through the ride, beautiful green pastures, and old country manors starting appearing, along with cute little ponds and creeks (do the English have Creeks? That sounds very Australian. Perhaps over here they are called 'Streams'. Yes, much more romantic.') with lilypads, and moss covered rocks. It sort of dawned on me that I was in Famous Five and Secret Seven country.

So, contrary to what my vivid imagination was expecting, I did not arrive at Hogwarts trains station. It was a modern cement train platform. A few shops selling food etc, nothing more, nothing less.I think sometimes having an extremely vivid imagination is something you should let go of, otherwise train stations are disappointing.(Fortunately, everything after the train station has been a joy!!!!)

I'm in Cambridge to visit friends, Dr Josh, and Mrs Ellie. Dr Ross is a Research Fellow at Kings College at Cambridge University, in mathematics, specialising in math models relating to population growth and decline with relation to infectious diseases. I think. Anyway, that sounds poignant enough for me. Ellie is a Social Worker specialising in therapeutic family counselling. I think.

Josh and Ellie fell in love when we all lived in Brisbane circa 2006, and then had a lovely garden wedding in Adelaide on New Years Eve last year. They live here now, and will probably be here for the next 2 years.

Ellie met me at the train station, and drove me back to their flat, where we had lunch with some wine and lot of catch ups on wedding photos and gossip. Josh was in Coventry visiting his old university for the day, but was going to meet us later for dinner.

But not just any dinner. Cambridge with it rich history dating back from the 11th century, has a lot of tradition stemming from academia yesteryear (I just made that phrase up, but pretty impressive, isn't it? Yes, yes it is.) Josh and Ellie were taking me to dinner at the Provost's manor.

The Provost is the headmaster of Kings College (Cambridge has 32 Colleges, some include Pembroke College, Queen's College, Trinity College etc etc. It's where all the students live, dine and socialise.)His house is on the grounds of Kings College, and all the fellows and junior fellows would be dining with him tonight for a bit of a catchup.

It sounds fantastic and fascinating to me probably because of the ceremony of it all just sounds so formal, and romantic. Josh has the opportunities to go to things like 'High Table; free three course, wine fuelled dinners every night where he wears his academic gown, and dine with other fellows in the Kings College dining room, to catch up. But I can understand it may get tiring being formal all the time.


At about 6pm, Ellie and I walked to the city centre to Kings College, to meet Josh at the Provost's house, i mean, Manor.

A pub on the pathway to the city centre

The central village of Cambridge is absolutely stunning.Kings College's chapel steeple is also the logo for Cambridge University, so it's one of the most photographed sights of the town, making the area around Kings very busy. While this whole trip feels like a dream, the spirit in Cambridge's handsome old stone buildings that are centuries old, and narrow cobbled roads, and colourful shops, and their local pub, The Eagle (apparently where the 2 men that discovered DNA dined all the time) feels like a virtual reality history lesson.

At the Manor on Kings College grounds, The Provost and his wife greeted us with a warm welcome. Dr Ross Harrison, a globally reknown Philosopher and his wife Gillian, a very lovely Social worker.

Gillian said I was welcome to take my jacket off and place it in the cloak room behind me. The cloakroom was about the size of a large rumpus room, with nothing but artwork, walls lined with coat hooks and two pristine wash rooms on either side.

As the other fellows arrived, h'ors duevres and wine were circulated by 2 waiters, and we migrated to the outside terrace, were the Provost had a friendly match of croquet with a couple of the other fellows, as we sipped wine chatted to some other fellows. My head was just about to spin off from such a surreal atmosphere. I felt so honoured to be a complete outsider, invited to such a dinner. This was especially the case, since Kings College grounds is blocked off to members of the public. I don't know if this is always the case, but with summer in full swing, and the town filled to the brim with tourists, I was very fortunate to be able to pass through the grounds.



The fellows and junior fellows at Kings have some seriously fascinating fields of research. I spoke to three fellows specialising in Medievil history, Ancient Greek literature and it's relation to Arabic philosophy, South American literature and photography. They were all really nice, and really interesting to speak to. Hot topics of the evening were Michael Jackson's recent death, and the Summer Supper Party.

The Summer Supper Party is an annual black tie evening ball for all the fellows of Kings College, where they wine and dine, watch fireworks, and drink endless cocktails. Sounds good to me!

A buffet dinner was served in the Provost's dining room, where all the fellow's and their partners and guests chatted some more and mingled. I got talking to the Provost, and his wife, one on one for a bit. He tried to explain the rules of croquet to me, to no avail, but not that I let on to that. I just knodded and smiled in (hopefully) all the right places, but frankly, I don't understand cricket, and I just learned the rules of AFL this year. A centuries old tradition like Croquet was never going to be a connecting point with me. They were exceptionally sweet to me though, talking to me about my trip, and wishing me all the best as I left, and insisting I take a menu as a momento as I left.

Kings College Memorabilia including the Official College After Dinner Mints. Click on the picture to read the menu ...

Today, Josh and I went for a walk to the city centre, while Ellie was at work. We went through a different way, than last night, so we ended up at the back entrance to Kings College.

All of a sudden, while walking along the pathway in the park, out of nowhere, a large archway entrance appears. To the right of the archway is a clearing, and you can see a beautiful scenic view of the Kings College grounds, and all the major building in the background, with the River Cam in the foreground.

Kings College Grounds

Snap, Snap, Snap went my camera. I could never understand why people took photos of old buildings when I had to sit through hours of other people's European holiday pictures. But I get it now. But the photos never do the scene justice. And never captures how you feel when you set eyes on something you never expected to ever see in your life, let alone the wonder when you realise you are amongst significant beauty and history.

Josh took me through to the grounds again, and took some more photos. I was surprised to see cows in the paddock near the river. Josh said that there is some ancient agreement that a particular family is allowed to rent the paddock on the grounds, for infinity for the sum of 1 pound per annum. Lucky cows.

As we were walking, I noticed a massive statue in the middle of the grassy knoll next to the chapel.

"What's that?" i asked Josh.
"No idea. Never seen it before. Let's take a look."
I hesitated. "There are signs everywhere that say don't walk on the grass."
"Nah, not me. I'm exempt and anyone I'm with is too." he said as he started making way to the statue. I followed him with a bit of hesitation, wondering if he was setting me up for an arrest. I don't think the grounds keepers or the college police or whatever they are, would take such obvious rebellion too lightly.
The grounds keeper kept a close eye on us as we walked on the pristine lawn.
I took a few snaps, and saw a guy in a college robe walking towards us.

The statue of one of the King Henry's on the 'Forbidden Lawn' - I forget which one. King Henry VI started the College but King Henry VIII finished it.

"Oh look, a guy in a gown!" I said, loving the novelty, before I realised, this is a sight Josh sees every day.

We walked towards the chapel, and the guy said,"Excuse me, are you a fellow?"
"Yes, I'm Dr Joshua (surname) from Kings College."
The guy looked at him, looked at me, and seemed satisfied with the response and left us alone.

I couldn't believe it - What an odd privilege. Just to prove a point and enjoy the moment, we walked on the grass to exit the grounds, even though we were much closer to the asphalt.

"There's another fellow that lives in Kings that silently protests his rights to walk on the grass. He always walks around it, and never redeems the privildge. He thinks it should be on for everyone, or noone at all." Josh mentioned to me as I gaped at him after we had dealt with the college police guy (Seems weird, as he was dressed in a cape, a purple sash - not your usual weapons of enforcing discipline, however, I admit, the semiotic symbols of authority differ in the academic world than in the real world where guns and batons rule.)

I have no idea what I think about it. I was just savouring my right to walk on the grass.

Mistress of my own destiny

Yesterday:

7.56 am

Lauren: What are you going to do today on your first official day here?
Me: I don't know. I'm confused. It seems like there is so much to do here. I read my guide book, I can't decide what I really want to see or do first. What do you think?
Lauren: Well you could go to Buckingham Palace, or Camden Markets, or the Tate, or go see the live art installation, or go to Soho ...
Me: I don't want to go to Buckingham Palace.
Lauren: You can't be here, and NOT go to Buckingham Palace.
Me: Yes, I can, I am not your average tourist, I don't necessarily like the typical sights. I am an easy going, non committal tourist....Maybe I'll go to Westminster Abbey, at least that sounds interesting, and I'm not just looking at the outside facade of a building that means nothing to me.
Lauren: Just go to Buckingham Palace, and get it over and done with.
Me: Mmmm....how about 'no'. Maybe I'll catch the number 11 bus and go past all the sights and hop and hop off if I feel like it, and get some other stuff over and done with.
Lauren: Well, get up and do something, don't waste the day...(gets up to walk out the door to go to work)... Remember ... You are master of your own destiny now!! Have a good day! (shuts door behind her)
Me: That is way too profound for a Wednesday morning 8am conversation.

Did I mention I get a bit nervous underground?

Well, I do.

If yesterday taught me anything it is these things;

-I could never be a miner, or a cave explorer. ( I knew this trip would give me insight into what sort of careers I should eliminate from my list of careers to pursue. The money on the ticket is obviously paying for itself with such deep insights. Let's hope they come to me daily.)I hate the idea of underground tunnels, caves, darkness, lack of fresh air.

I worked out the tube system all by myself, without asking anyone where to stop, where to get off to transfer lines, eastbound vs westbound (Look, i know it doesn't make me Einstein, but it's a triumph for the first time traveller.) I went from Hammersmith to Oxford Circus, to Carnaby Street for lunch, to Marble Arch for a Chiropractic/Applied Kinesiology session with my friend Ben (random, I know, but he fixed my back for me, bless his sweet soul!), to Liverpool street station for a drink at The Light( a cool warehouse style bar in the middle of a serious Wall street type area). All without a hitch.

Having said this, I don't like the tube. I thought the trains would be like they were in Singapore - wide, clean, airconditioned. I was wrong. They are tiny, narrow, and stinky and hot. I hate the descent into what seems to be the steaming dungeon of torture. Lauren said that when her line has a bad day due to a '"fatality" or electrical fault or whatever, she can be stuck in a tunnel for hours on end. I think I would scream and die in that instance. She said she just tries not to think about it, by reading one of the free papers. I thought that was a good idea, and have adopted that strategy. However, kudos for the trains that run pretty much every 2 minutes. It makes me feel somewhat better that I won't be standing around with sketchy strangers around me for ages on end, with no idea of how to escape should I need to.
(PS> Meta, you would be proud, I haven't touched a handrail since I got here.)

-Always go to the toilet before you attempt to ride public transport. I fear wanting to wee when I am stuck on a train and having no idea when I will be let off.

- Always carry tissues wherever you go, for spills, toilets, wiping food off mouth and other stuff.

- I have a fear of taking photos, in fear of standing out like a tourist. Even though I am one. I am trying not to care about it so much, learning to be brave and pull the camera out whenever I feel the urge.Hence, to date, I don't have many good photos. Will work on that.

- London is actually comparably cheap for eating out, and asian food can be decent. I had lunch off Carnaby street at Cha Cha Moon yesterday with my friend Jordie and her friend Lilly. Yummy and only cost me about £12 for a drink, noodles and a plate of dumplings, and I was full to the brim for the rest of the evening. I was amused that my waitress was a Thai he-she. A very pleasant one at that. But amused all the same.

-You don't need to pay the lady in the toilet anything unless you use her perfume or deoderant, or take a lollipop. What a relief. I rarely carry change with me to the toilet, because I have never been accosted by a scary large woman trying to clean me. At first I thought she was trying to take on a mother role, by pumping the soap in my hands, and offering me a towel. I looked at her blankly and almost wanted to say "I'm a big girl now", then I realised what was going on. I scurried off without paying her, only to be told by others that she gets paid a wage and it's fine not to make eye contact and just to leave without paying.

- London is full of schizophrenic people talking to themselves.
Tuesday: One sat next to one, with blaring earphones. At first I thought he was screaming at someone on a blue tooth mobile thing, but then I saw his headphones and heard his music, and put two and two together. I didn't make any sudden movements, but slunk away like a phantom and blended into the crowd as quick as I could. I then walked past a sweet looking muslim woman in her fifties, carrying Tesco bags full of groceries, but muttering complaints about butter on the road. When we walked to Westfield yesterday, another guy was shouting at noone.
Aggressively.
Wednesday: 1, opposite me on the road.

- Londoners are not afraid to tell other people what they really think. On Tuesday, I was one of 30 people in the Mac Store, using their laptops to check facebook. I was told off, and asked to move to another section of the store where I could do that because "these computers are used to exhibit our new software." I looked around to see about 29 other kids using facebook and bebo, and wondered why I was isolated. Perhaps he thought I was old enough to know better. I apologised and slunk away again (getting good at this). Then I noticed the sales guy pick on another girl who was about 15, with about 3 of her friends.

She got in his face and said "What about all these other people,yeah? They are all doin' the same thing, why you just pickin on me? Get lost." and she turned around and kept playing on the laptop. Sassy.

A woman was walking behind a 20 something young man that was smoking, and she was getting frustrated at the foot traffic in her and shoved past him, and said "That bleedin stinks, get away from me." and he shoved her back and told her to get fucked. Scary.

Roll out the Red Carpet London, with your grizzly border control and buckets of rain

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13.35 hours on a flight, with a good seat ... I needn't have worried too much, i had the right hand side front row of economy class, right next to the emergency exit... leg room a plenty.

The guy to the right hand side of me struck up a conversation early on in the flight - he was a Pro Rugby League player from New Zealand (but actually Tongan), living in France, playing for their team. He was sweet, and a little bit quiet, but offered to share his french fries from burger king with me. I politely declined. We chatted a little bit. When I told him I was from Adelaide, he told me his girlfriend was from Mount Gambier, and asked me if i knew her.

"Quite possibly..." I mused. We chatted a little bit more, but I quickly tuned into my headphones, not wanting to be stuck in awkward conversation for the next 13 hours.

Otherwise, a very uneventful flight, which was fantastic, however, my only complaint being that my sleeping pills didn't knock me out hard enough. (When I got to London, Michael said "his name wasn't Sunny was it? That guy was in some sort of sex scandal recently..." - come to think of it, He was mumbled his name a little bit when we introduced ourselves, and when i thought long and hard about it, it did sound like Sunny or Sian or something.... hmmmm)

Just as the plane was about to land, the girl to my left struck up a conversation with me. She was pretty nice, from Sydney, she was in publishing but studying psychology and visiting her best friend in London for a month.

When we disembarked the plane, and got to Immigration, I was a trifle concerned that I hadn't memorised Lauren and Michael's address to put on my immigration card. I was no fool, I had seen 'Border Control', I was gearing myself up for a possibly heated inquisition.

I tried to call Lauren from the pay phone at the immigration reception, but it didn't work. The lady overseeing the que told me not to worry, if they really cared, I could just give them Lauren's number, and they would call her for me.

So, stepping up, I was cool, calm and collected, until I saw the woman that was going to be processing my arrival.

"Errrr..hi. I have a slight problem. I don't know the address of where I am staying."

She glared at me.

I awkwardly tried to smile, and continued. " Ah ha, well you see, I am staying with a friend of mine, in Hammersmith."

She was burning a hole through my forehead with that glare.

" Whadchya mean, you dunno where you are stayin? She pickin you up?"
" Uhhh, he he, well, I'm not really sure... our plans were a little loose...(awkward pause) Oh! I have her mobile number here, I just tried to call her and the payphone isn't working, just ask that other lady over there...."
"What are you going to do if she's not here to pick you up?"
"I was going to catch the tube to Hammersmith."
"Then what? You think its safe for a girl like you to be 'angin round a tube stop by youself. What's her name then? This friend of yours?"
I told her.
" How do you know her?"
"We went to highschool together...."
She flicks through my passport. " Where?"
"St Aloysius College?" I muttered, searching for some sort of pathos in her eyes.
She rolled her eyes.
" Yeah, where's that?"
"South Australia....?" I was starting to doubt my own answers.
"So, you planning to work here? It says here that you are an... Advertising person or something?"
"No, no, I'm just here on holiday for 3 weeks, and then I'm off to the Netherlands."
"Right." She sighed.
A momentary glance at me, and silence, before the rustling of passport papers and the thump of a stamp connecting with paper.

I've arrived.

I was slightlt surprised to stroll through customs and see NO ONE there and all the Xray machines turned off. Eeri. It was quite the contrast to Singapore that had body heat scanners at every arrival hall, and scary looking uniformed people, dying to rifle through your luggage. I know I arrived early in the morning (5.45 am) but surely the english are not that lazy that they don't care about disease, contraban, and other nasty surprises that may lurk in one's baggage?

A quick tube ride from the airport to Hammersmith station, and I was welcomed by Lauren's big bright smile, and a walk from the station to her gorgeous flat. On the drizzly walk to her flat (I was stupid to think that Summer here would mean anything other than umbrellas and jumpers),
I loved everything about her suburb from the moment I set eyes on it, however there was a moment where I stopped dead in my tracks. The little park on the way to her house, Brook Green, was so familiar. It was a seriously weird sense of de ja vu, it gave me tingles up and down my spine. I couldn't stop staring at the houses that face the park, I swore that I had been in one of them before.

Anyway, after some gossip, tea and cereal, we headed to her 'high street', where she introduced me to Primark(?) - possibly the cheapest store in the world, filled to the brim with .... STUFF! Lots of STUFF! It was like a trendy Valley Girl meets Target, and it was ridiculously cheap. It was just like the old days, when Lauren and I used to hang out for a full Saturday afternoon in Target and Big W, and spend hours just trying stuff on, flicking through cookbooks and telling each other we were going to go home and make the recipes with full knowledge that neither of us knew how to cook properly, tell each other funny make believe stories about the people that were shopping in the store, trying more stuff on, goading each other to buy stupid shit and buy each other little chocolates, and leave with big smiles on our faces, and little momento of our afternoons.

Then, we went to.... Westfield, about 10 minutes walk from her house.

I found it hilarious, that I had just left the land of the monstrous malls, and arrived to the other side of the world, to in fact, go to another Mall. But I was tired, and didn't want to venture far from home.

Needless to say; Lauren was excited to be there, since it supposed to be a big deal in England since they don't have much of a mall culture (and good on them I say), saying, "Look, a champagne bar, Look, Marks and Spencer.", enthusiastically pointing out all the things that are different to what is in Westfield in Australia. I am so desensitised to Malls and brands after a month in Jakarta, all I wanted to do was go to H&M for the first time, and trawl Top Shop quickly. The rest was just... a mall. But a mall without any fast food places ( so as not to attract unwanted gangs of teenybopper thugs), but what looked to be a very expensive food court. I was more excited that I had found a Pho restaurant inside the mall, than the plethora of designer shoe shops and european and english brands that were around.

As we left Westfield, we met our friend Georgina, and met Michael (Lauren's boyf) halfway home.

"Wow, those clouds look dark", George mused as she looked up.
"Let's beat the rain home" I said, worried about our lack of umbrella.

We didn't make it, and two thirds of the way home, the heavens opened, and poured a bucket of water on us. We stopped at the closes pub, and had a cider each, waiting for the rain to stop.

After a big day out, Lauren made wild mushroom ravioli pasta, and I swiftly fell asleep on the blow up mattress as the others watched 'Katie (Price) and Peter(Andre)' on itv. All in all, what a wonderful introduction to London life!

London Here I come

Changi Airport, T1.

9.10pm: Waiting in line to check in to my flight, I am reasonably concerned about the amount of children I see around me with tired, nonchalant parents. Cranky children. Screaming children. Naughty children. Of all ages. I beg the girl at the counter, for an aisle seat at the back.

She shakes her head.

A window seat.

She shakes her head again, without sympathy. Obviously the screaming broods of infants are getting to her too.

She said she'd talk to her supervisor to see what she can do. I am without hope as she walks across to see another pissed off looking ground crew chick person.

I discover I was right not to hope, when she returns.

Shit out of luck today.

Eventually, I resort to begging her to put me somewhere, ANYWHERE that doesn't have a child within a 6 seat radius of me, at least.

She gives me a thin smile, and just hands me my boarding pass.

I guess there's no chance of an upgrade then, huh?

10.15pm: Deliberating whether to eat or not. I dare say that if I purchase something here it will be the best and most reasonably priced asian food I will have for a long time. Right, having just written that, I am off to get some food.