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Well, here we are back in Herne Hill again, after a nearly a week in a couple of countries where it's good to let them know you're a Kiwi and not from Mother England. As I write these words, Lindo is filming himself playing his acoustic version of Kanye West's "You Can't Tell Me Nothing" for Youtube. He is standing in Stasa's lounge (our wonderful host), with a Japanese folding screen as the backdrop and filming with his Lumix compact camera. I can only wonder what the neighbours upstairs are thinking as Lindo is a spirited perfomer, and he's not holding anything back...He worked the song out for a pub gig in Galway. But hang on, I'm way ahead of myself, let's just go back a few days to an afternoon in Gatwick Airport, where we are checking in to take a short flight from London to Edinburgh.
We're taking Easyjet. I'm not sure what they actually mean by that name, as there is nothing easy about budjet airlines, unless it refers to being easy to spend quite a lot more than you intended to on a flight. We're steadily losing enthusiasm for flying, this time airport security make us
remove our shoes, submit to a thorough patdown, we have to show our passports so often it would be easier to have them mounted on a bracket beside our faces, and the departure gates don't show up on the screens until 15 minutes before take off, but then it takes quarter of an hour to walk (run!) there from the central lounge. I get the feeling that the American Government doesn't want the world's population flying anymore, as it's a threat to National Security, so they're steadily making it an increasingly inconvenient and humiliating experience. The budget airlines seem to have found a special way of tightening the dehumanising thumb screws to levels of distress approaching that of marching people into catttle wagons at gunpoint . The result of all this is that we have come up with a totally new type of economy arrangement, called carcass class. This groundbreaking technology works by binding the passengers hands together and then hanging them on meathooks which are arranged in 8 rows down the length of the cabin. You can pay extra for a window hook, cabin baggage, 2 litres of oxygen, or guaranteed live arrival. We are now working on slave
class, which can fit 800, but that's still a trade secret and not too much can be revealed at this stage.
Oh dear! I was meant to be writing about the beauty of Scotland, not the evils of a world gone mad living under a goverment and media mass marketed fear blanket. This is a good example of how we can all get sidetracked by issues which conveniently destract us and channel our resources away from the things that really deserve our undivided attention!
So you've probably guessed that flying out of London wasn't pretty, however once we got there, the city of Edinburgh more than made up for it. It's stunning. I know I've probably used this expression more than once to describe places with a colourful history and the buildings to prove it, but it's definitely justified this time and I've seen a few ancient wonders over the last few weeks. For instance, we were both quite taken by the huge old cannon encrusted castle that appears to have grown out of the hill dominating the city centre. I'll hazard a guess and say it's purpose was probably housing the King and Queen (Macbeth?) and defending
obelisk and fort
This is where the Beltane Fire Fest wasancient Edinburgh from marauding armies. We arrived on the eve of a Bank Holiday, so the streets were swarming with tourist armies.
To make things even more interesting, our second night there was on the eve of May Day, and every year at this time the council puts on a pagan style event on top of another hill at the other end of town, called the Beltane Fire Festival. It appears to celebrate the beginning of summer, but I think you have to be somewhat philosophical about such things, as the weather was anything but, with rain threatening and a biting wind turning umbrellas inside out. Massive respect for the performers though, they had all been painted up either blue or yellow, representing winter and summer, but paint isn't known for it's insulating properties, and most of them were wearing little more than scraps of clothing for costumes. We were quite impressed by the large number of buxom woman performers who fully embraced the pagan nature of the event and dressed in a similar fashion to what you would normally expect to see on the beach in Barcelona. ie topless. As the show came to a close, the rain
grew tired of threats and resorted to direct action, getting heavier by the minute. We could have really done with our faithful clear plastic brollies now, if they weren't stuck in the hold of a Lufthansa plane somewhere! Never, mind, it's kind of fun, so we walk back down the hill with our hosts and their friends to a local pub for a warm up pint or two. We are absoloutely saturated by the time we get there, but it's all part of the experience. I must apologise for the lack of photos of this little adventure, we both neglected to take our cameras. It's probably a good thing though, as the wet may have led to somewhat reduced camera lifespan...
At this point I'm just going to mention, with much appreciation, our brave hosts, Sian, Kitty and Sarah. Because without them we would have been staying in very crowded hostels, or not, as the case may have been; they were all booked out on account of the festival. They had no idea who we were, but Lizzie, our mutual Scottish friend in Lyttelton assured them that we were trustworthy folk. We did give them something back though, in
the form of some popular kiwi terminology: from Once Were Warriors, in a heavy accent, "cuk mae sim iggs butch", and the longest New Zealand placename, which Lindo has memorised.
On May Day itself we left Scotland to go to fly to Ireland. Travelling through the Scottish countryside on the train was lovely, then we had to board a plane. This time it was Ryanair. I didn't think things could get worse than Easyjet, but I'm beginning to learn that it's always possible to achieve new standards, kind of like that hotel in Dubai that has got itself a 7 star rating, but in reverse. At this point I'd like to invite the reader to revisit my second paragraph, but add purposefully uncaring staff, a little more furious exasperation, a baggage limit of 15 kilos, and a flight with ad breaks every 10 minutes. Then remember to never, under any circumstances, book with Ryanair. ITS NOT WORTH IT!!!!! (unless you're seeking inspiration for some colourful writing)
Ahh, but then Ireland happened to us. A good architect friend of Lindo's called Amber lives in Galway, and after a mercifully uneventful bus ride through the Irish countryside, from the closest
airport in Shannon, she meets us at the depot and we walk through the bustling town centre to her house (trying not to trip unwary pedestrians with our bags!) Amber is sharing a really tidy flat with some Spanish girls, (well you would, wouldn't you) just over the road from the Rosin Dubh, a well know venue, and pub, where she has even organised a gig. Mind you, I think we are over the road from and down the road from quite a few pubs, one needn't look too far to find a Guiness, it's a popular pastime, and as far as we're concerned, when in Rome...
The next day is Friday, (show day), so before Lindo gets his pre gig head on we take a walk through the town centre in daylight. It's beautiful and old, with narrow cobblestone streets, buildings to match, and full of people walking, sitting, watching buskers, eating, and of course, drinking. This kind of vibrancy is still taking me by suprise, but it's what happens when a large part of the population live right in the centre, above the little shops and businesses, and not several kilometers out in gated communities or sprawling
Arthur's Seat
we nearly made it up there... suburbs with their own mega mall, housing all the convenient franchises. But anyway, Lindo's gig starts off quite intimate, you could say. However, 2 hours later there is a lively crowd, made up of people from not just Ireland, but Poland, England, Spain, Germany, and even that big desert to the west of New Zealand. After the show, we ended up back at Amber's house, armed with a guitar each, doing the singalong thing till about 4am again. Things could be worse.
We could have carried on like this in Galway for another couple of nights were it not for Brian, Amber's boyfriend. He's a passionate Irishman, and extremely well travelled. He's even managed the Dogs Bolix (a well known Irish bar in Auckland, for those of you who dont know). Anyway, he suggests we all take a bus to the south west coast, County Claire I think, the last land until North America. He has a friend who lives just outside a quant little seaside town called Ballybunion.
OK, so we won't be going to Dublin then, the countryside has won out over the city, which is fine by me. Sunday, our day of departure arrives, and it's
finally Summer. Just like that (click of fingers), the cooler weather we've been experiencing in Edinburgh and the first couple of days in Ireland has left Europe and now things are warm and sunny. Interesting to note that we're not getting burned though (we have a bit of time to sit around eating ice creams in the park due to missing the first bus) there must be something in the air... oh yes, Ozone!
As we travel through rural Ireland (Scotland was like this too), there are some fairly striking similarities to places like the Waikato, North Canterbury and Otago. Oh that's right, our recent ancestors came from here and brought all this flora and fauna with them! There's a couple of differences which come from being on the other side of the world and closer to the 50th parallel than the 40th; the gorse isn't out of control, the rabbit's aren't quite so prolific and they use stone instead of wire for their fences-maybe they got that idea from Mt Eden though.
Brian's friend, Andrew, who is going to put us all up for the night, has a house that he has built himself in the middle of
a bog surrounded by badgers (no, once again we don't get to see one) He takes us on an evening walk and we get to see the sun dipping into the Atlantic ocean, viewed from the coastal cliffs, with aircraft on their way to America streaking above us leaving contrails slowly fanning out behind them. That's going to be Lindo and I in about 3 days, but rather than sundown, it will be 6:30 in the morning.
The next day was a short one because of sleeping in. This was due to the mother of all rousing singalongs; Andrew had invited quite a few friends up to his house after the pubs had all closed (it being a Bank Holiday Sunday). I had to withdraw early, as I'd been putting in too much work over the last few evenings and couldn't make it past 2am. Lindo, on the other hand, kept the party cranking until the dawn chorus took over and they all went for walk to watch the sunrise.
Thus began our slow departure from Ireland. We bid farewell to Amber and Brian and then Andrew kindly dropped us at a town called Tralee, where we stayed the
night in a hostel, and then caught a bus in the morning that linked up with a ferry to Wales. This was an all day and all night trip, but we did get a 2 hour stop in Cork where we managed to have a good walk around and oddly enough, bump into one of the passengers who survived the Mediterranean nightmare. He seemed to be OK.
So we arrived back in London at 7am in the morning, where the temperature steadily climbed to 27 degrees!
What a difference a week makes!
Olza
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Sammy
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Laughed till I cried!
Quite literally, Olza your explanation of 'Carcass class' had me laughing rool hard...keep it up, you're killin' me!