Ho Chi Minh

The first thing you notice, of course, is the ubiquitous scooters.  In the taxi from the airport they waft around you in an intricate dance to which you don’t know the steps.  The being horns must mean something – get out of my way? I’m behind you? I’m turning left?  I don’t know what they mean.  It’s not like India, there does seem to be a method, but I’m just not sure what that method is yet.

Weary after an 8 hour flight and an uncomfortably hot stay in Sydney – with the temperature pushing 40˚ and the aircon kaput – I looked down, at the shoes.  What variety: ridiculous heels, the latest Nikes, bare feet, ballet pumps, jandels.  It was a shoe store on wheels. 

I was tucked up in bed by 7.30 last night, the six hour time difference with New Zealand caught up with me and after slurping a quick bowl of Pho I couldn’t face exploring any more.  ‘How I met Your Mother’ was on the TV and I fell asleep to another inane joke from that Doogie Howser chap.

This morning, feeling refreshed after 11 hours sleep, I tucked into a plate of noodles for breakfast and sat on the roof terrace looking out over Saigon.  The man beside me shook his head at my hot coffee and went inside to make me an iced one.  Three glasses later I remembered I usually have about one coffee a week, a frothy confection from Starbucks that blurs some moral boundary.  Ho Chi Minh is certainly winning on coffee quality.

It’s time to explore.  I’ll try not to get squashed by a scooter.

Karangahake

Hobbits!

Or, places near Hobbits!


http://www.flightcentre.co.uk/uk-travel-blog/journey-to-hobbiton-discovering-matamata-new-zealand/

Japan

I wrote this for a contest I did not win...

 

My dear Japan,

How I've missed you. It's been a long time since I left your shores. I've grown up a little, come to understand you a bit more, thought about how little I had to offer you and how much you gave to me. We've both changed, Japan, both become older and hopefully wiser. I cried for you, you know? When disaster struck, I cried for the land I once knew and the people I loved. I'd love to see you again; to make the flashes of memories solid once again.

We were not always the best of friends, were we Japan?  I was young and away from home. You were ancient and dignified and hard to come to grips with. I struggled with your customs and your reserve. You gave me something special though, a group of middle aged housewives who were ready to spill the beans on how life really was. It wouldn’t have been fun without them. I have always been grateful for my guides though the muddy waters of being a gaijin in a strange new world. I was ready to leave, as now I’m ready to come back. How have you changed, Japan? Are you different now, or do you remain the same?

You always fascinated me, Japan. Coming from an island myself I always wondered how so many people could live together in such a small place. The answer is order, not control as I first thought. There are rules, Japan, that you expect people to live by. We all have rules; though I guess less people usually abide by them. It is the small defiances that intrigued me. The people in parks dressed as punk rockers – how their parents must despair: The slightly shocking frission of a love hotel: the need to travel the world and see what else there is. It’s rebellion on a small, private scale. I love it about you; the way people follow the crowd, but make their own way.

You fed me well, my friend. I loved it: sushi, sashimi, katsu curry, okonomiyaki, those octopus ball things from Osaka. In New Zealand the sushi is 'unusual.' In the UK it is even worse. I want to sit in front of one of your chefs and be fed the best parts of a fish, simply sliced, on rice. It is perfection. I want to go back to Cococihiban and remember that Japan can take the best of other cultures too.  Do you still have Beard Papa? I loved those choux pastry things. They were delicious. Oh, and Izakaya. It’s been too long since I heard the welcoming call of one of your pubs, far too long.

Do you remember my Hello Kitty toaster? I loved that thing. My toast had Hello Kitty on both sides. It was totally Kawaii!

When I was homesick and far from home one Christmas you cheered me up with a trip to an Onsen. Do you remember? It was in Nagano, I think. It was outside and snow was falling all around. That’s magic, Japan. You cheered me up that day with your beauty and the simplicity of appreciating nature. I remember the ebullience of summer festivals, the joy of spring and the quiet simplicity of nature that Christmas day. I can’t remember autumn though. I remember people telling me about it. Maybe I was away. I’d love to see the trees. I remember my students saying ‘Japan has four seasons’ like it is something unusual, but you do take delight in each one. It reminds people that not so long ago you had an agricultural society and that your land is a great asset.

Your land, Japan, your beautiful land, mountains and beaches and forest, stretched out from the tropics to the frozen north. Though covered in parts by a grey urban sprawl that at times seems unassailable, you always make sure that people remember your power and that beauty comes at a price. We are cousins in this respect; the islands of New Zealand are shaky too and we are always aware of the power of the land which we borrow for such a fleeting time. Take care of your people, Japan. They have suffered greatly in the last year. Keep them safe.

If only, Japan, I hadn’t been so young and so far away from home. If only I had appreciated you more. If only I had learnt more, spoken more, asked more questions, seen you more clearly; if only we had more time to get to know each other. If only I had learnt your language properly, if only I had taken the time to see more of you. If only I had explored more, seen more, written more, done more. If only, my friend, if only…

愛 Teresa-san

Christmas Markets

http://www.flightcentre.co.uk/uk-travel-blog/feeling-festive-european-christmas-markets/

Scone, Perthshire

 



“So thanks to all at once and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.”

 

William Shakespeare - Macbeth



I hate Macbeth! I hate teaching it, I hated learning about it, I didn’t get it, I still don’t.  It’s got certain charm as a piece of propaganda though. Way to make the boss look good!  The reason I mention Macbeth at all, is because I've never been quite sure how to pronounce Scone.  I should know, they are the final words of the terrible thing!  Turns out the place is pronounced quite differently to the thing you serve with jam and clotted cream - Skoon. 

 

Moot Hill

Scone is the ancient crowning place of Scottish Kings, including the much maligned Macbeth.  Legend has it the men coming to pay homage to their liege would shake the soil from their boots.  Over millennia this dirt became Moot Hill, on which a replica of the Stone of Scone now sits.  This place, which should evoke something of this long history, is rather incongruously placed within the gently manicured lawns of the Earls of Mansfield.

 

 

The Stone of Scone has been a pawn at the centre of Scottish/English history for more than 800 years no longer rests under King Edward’s Chair in Westminster Abbey.  It now sits safely in Edinburgh Castle.  It's almost home.  

 

Pitlochry Highland Games

I like Pitlochry.  It’s a small Victorian town in the middle of Scotland with not much more than its charm and its location to work with.  It seems to be punching above its weight.  There’s a festival theatre, a salmon ladder, mountain walks, the smallest distillery in Scotland, highland nights, the odd ceilidh, numerous cafes – one of which serves pancakes with bacon and maple syrup, and a whopping number of events. 

I’d been jumping around all week talking about the highland games.  I’d indulged in some puerile sniggering about caber tossing – is one called a caber tosser? But really, I was looking forward to something familiar, but in a more traditional setting.  In Paeroa, New Zealand there are highland games once a year.  It’s a huge event with pipe bands coming from around the country.  People I’ve known my whole life organise it.  It’s lovely; though I can’t remember the last time I went.

 

 

This one was at once similar, and remarkably different.  It had the same events; the same banter over the tannoy, even the burger stall seemed to be selling the same things...though I’d imagine these days Paeroa would be selling something more exotic.

 

What was different was, of course, that this is Scotland.  It’s not the offspring of the diaspora re-enacting the games.  It has been going on since 1852.  I don’t care what you Europeans think; that’s an awfully long time. 

 

Small towns being what they are, virtually the first people I saw were ones I already knew.  They, I’m quite sure, thought I was crazy to be quite so enthusiastic about the day.  They’ve not known me long enough to know that I love a tradition, that I love to find out the history of events like this, that the idea of a community creating an event that has lasted for more than a century is astonishing.  There were people from far away, that’s true, and probably none so from so far away as me, but it did feel like a local event.