Arrival in Paris!

At my last update, I was hooning around Northern Ireland in 12 degree weather. I am now wandering around Paris and baking in the heat. Comparatively.

I arrived home on the Tuesday night, and spent Wednesday reasonably relaxed - taking my Nan out to the park, etc. On Thursday I went to have dinner with Margot and her flatmates, and due to to much good conversation, and a bit of wine, ended up crashing and struggling home in the morning. Margot followed me to the north, and I took her to Kenwood House, which is one of my favourite spots - a historic house on beautiful grounds adjoining Hampstead Heath. It has been turned into an art gallery, with some (I'm told) very important works in it. There was a portrait by Rembrandt that I recognised, but it's the house and grounds I'm really interested in. We were lucky to have a glorious day, too, which made it even better.

Friday night we went to meet my cousin Mark for dinner, which was delicious, then he somehow managed to convince me to go out to the corniest club in London. Mercifully for her, Margot escaped and went home to bed, but I was forced to endure incredibly corny music and the sight of drunk English people playing tonsil hockey relay. I somehow managed to enjoy myself, of course, though I think once is probably enough for that particular establishment. I slept on the floor of a very lovely friend of Mark's, and struggled home again, by this time incredibly tired.

Despite this, I managed to mow the lawn, pack, drive through London to pick up Margot and all her stuff, and go out to dinner with my family. No, really, I'd like my medal now please.
Waking this morning, the mood was all excitment. Off to Paris! Everything was easy and on time, and we walked into St. Pancras feeling fresh and anticipatory. That, of course, should have warned us that something was going to go wrong. I, foolishly thinking that international travel on the Eurostar would be something like on a plane, packed my swiss army knife, which is always my companion when I travel - knife, corkscrew, bottle opener. Apparently, though, knives with blades that lock open are illegal. Why they are more dangerous, I can't imagine, but my knife was confiscated anyway. What's more, I somehow lost the £30 credit voucher for my phone in the confusion. So now I'm in France with no credit on my phone, and minus one knife (a 21st present, no less). On top of which, before we'd even hit the hostel, Margot had lost her cardigan thing.

So, that's three things, which hopefully means the bad run is over. Certainly the rest of the day has been wonderful. We had booked for an 8 bed dorm, and on arrival were given a private twin room, which put us in a good mood instantly. The hostel is in Montmarte, very close to the Sacre Coeur, and we've spent the afternoon wandering around the little streets, walking around the Sacre Coeur itself - which was shut as there was a mass in progress - and getting our bearings. We saw the Moulin Rouge, after walking past numerous "adult" shops; you wouldn't believe what they think is suitable for a window display in this city. We visited the cemetery, which is a little haven of trees and mausoleums in all the chaos, and had a sandwich for dinner, it being the only thing that we could afford (even a coffee from a hole in the wall place here costs 2.50, or five dollars) .

So that's everything up to date. I am absolutely dropping, so it's off for a last stroll and then bed - lots to do tomorrow!

Down in County Down

Today's photo is a map. Click here to see a map of the route I was driven through County Down, the particulars of which I will describe forthwith.

All my mornings in NI were started reasonably late, as I generally slept in due to the abundance of wine, good conversation, whiskey, etc. that had been consumed the previous night. Truly, the Irish are the most hospitable people in the world, and the most friendly. They are constantly bantering with strangers they meet through the day; always cheerful and humorous. I was surrounded by smiles the whole time I was there, it was wonderful.

E and E graciously drove me all over the countryside every day, which I'm sure was far more interesting for me than it was for them. On Monday we did a tour of County Down, driving first south beside the lough, and stopping in Killyleagh, where at the top of the hill in town there is a tremendous castle, about which I have very little information, other than it looked really really cool. It's apparently privately owned, by someone obviously hugely rich. It is supposed to be the official residence of the Duke of York, who is also Lord Killyleagh.

Obviously we couldn't go in, so we hopped back into the car and went to Downpatrick. In the old gaol there, they have made a very nice little museum, charting the history of the area from the dinosaur age all the way through to the Irish Troubles. They have some lovely artefacts and very well put together displays, as well as some extremely creepy mannequins in the old gaol cells. As usual, we stopped in at the cafe to give Ena her tea fix for the hour, then went up the road to Downpatrick cathedral. The particular claim to fame of this cathedral is in the attached graveyard; the final resting place of St. Patrick. He died in the 5th century, of course, but in the 12th century John de Courcy disinterred him and brought him here. There is a bloody great slab of granite on top with the original inscription still visible. We hadn't brought any green beer with us, alas, but we sat on the headstone and had our photo taken - the sun came out for the only time that day just for the one minute we were on the grave; make of that what you will. Nothing, probably.

Fleeing Downpatrick, our next stop was Dundrum Castle, overlooking Dundrum bay and much else besides. This was my highlight, I think. It was begun in 1177, and finished by John de Courcy a little later. Busy bee, wasn't he? It's a wonderful castle; a huge round tower on the top of a hill, with 360 degree views and a steep approach. The tower is within a curtain wall, and itself has walls 2 metres thick of solid stone. I have a bit of a thing for old ruined castles (this one, by the way, was ruined only a hundred years or so later, though there was nothing to tell you how or why), and I spent a fruitful half an hour pretending to shoot out of arrow-slits and pour boiling oil onto filthy peasants. Wonderful.

Yes, there is a Newcastle in Norther Ireland as well, and we went there next. It is at the foot of the Mourne Mountains, where they "sweep down to the sea", and is a bit of a seaside resort; lots of amusement arcades and the like, very quaint. We promenaded along the promenade, and had an icecream despite the weather, followed by a lovely trip home through Ballynahinch, Saintfield and Ballygowan, over rolling hill and dale, through green fields and whatnot. Truly gorgeous countryside.

So that was that. The next day I was taken to see my great-aunt Jean, then I was able to visit and put flowers on my grandad's grave in Dundonald cemetery before the flight home to London. I had a wonderful few days, and really can't wait to go back.

I'm a bit in love with Ireland

Today I was afforded a glimpse into an idealised, romantic, possibly patronising version of Ireland, conjured by the weather, my surroundings, and my own imagination.

I was taken today to the Ulster Folk Museum - compared by the man at the information desk to Sovereign Hill in Victoria. I like this one much better. They have literally transplanted examples of old houses, churches, and so on from wherever they had been standing across Ulster. Stone by stone. The result is a little town that you would think had always been there, with pokey houses burning peat in the fireplaces, and workshops that look as though the owner had just stepped out for a smoke.

There was also a rural area, and it is this that I liked the most. Winding lanes through fields marked by hedgerows or stone walls, and old farmhouses and tiny one-roomed cottiers houses scattered about. The sun was out for some of this, and walking alone up an isolated lane, with black-headed sheep cropping the grass, rabbits running through the fields, butterflys dancing in the hedgerows, and a couple of goats sitting in the lane, I fell head over heels. Possibly my brain had been being seeped in history for a few hours, but there is something just so humanly beautiful about this place. Like I was saying in reference to England yesterday - every inch of the land has been worked on and changed and lived with, for millenia. If sublimity is beauty that makes you insignificant and awestruck, then this is the opposite - beauty that feels like an extension of yourself.

There is plenty here not to like, too, of course. Not everyone is as stupidly romantic and nostalgic as I am. Everywhere there are reminders of the dificulties that have been faced in Northern Ireland, and coming up to the 12th of July the fervour only increases - we saw a bunch of lads with a big Ulster flag outside a pub, yelling profanities at passing traffic. Unfortunately people forget that they no longer have to live in a horrible tiny stone room with a smelly fire against one wall and no electricity or running water, and try to make life miserable for each other for no better reason than that that's what their parents did. Call me naive if you like, but I think the world may be a slightly nicer place if more people were romantic nostalgics like I am.

This chap has it all sorted out, I reckon:

Belfast

Where I left off last I was in Kew, having lunch. This was followed by dinner at a very nice local - I had roast guinea fowl, which isn't something I try every day, followed by a late train home. The next day saw the attempted reenactment of a scene Hamish would recognise - cheese and wine in Hyde park - this time accompanied by extremely tame squirrels, as follows:

Unfortunately the weather was a bit gloomy. Nevertheless, wine cures all, and I was a little later to bed than I intended, given that I had to get up at 5 the next morning. I did manage to get up though, and endured an uninspiring trip to Heathrow.

Security at Heathrow is beyond anything that any sane person would think is reasonable. After checking in to my flight, I had to stand in a queue then show my boarding pass and passport and be photographed, followed by another queue for the privilege of taking off my shoes and belt and jacket in case they were harbouring dangerous criminals. I saw one man be forced to try each and every one of the containers of baby food he was carrying for his young children. Thinking it was all over, I wandered toward my gate, only to be put through another winding path of tape at the end of which I had to show my boarding pass again, and be matched against the photo they'd taken of me five minutes earlier. I was then given a full medical CAT scan in case I had replaced my blood with dangerous explosive. OK I made that one up. But seriously.

After all of that, the flight was delayed, then the actual flying time was about fourteen and a half seconds. Here is England from the air:

A patchwork of land that has been cultivated and tamed for centuries. Very picture-skew.

Belfast of course was grey and cold. The greeting I received was of course colourful and warm. My cousin Eric and his wife Ena are as hospitable as anyone could be, and they took me to a nice warm house to compose myself, followed by a drive around the local area. There is a wonderful Norman watchtower nearby which we'll visit tomorrow, but we did manage to work up the courage to have a pint in Ireland's oldest pub.

I do admit to the possibility that this area is more interesting to me than it is to you, due to the family history - we passed where my grandparents used to rent a little cabin in the summers, a little fisherman's house by the sea that my great great aunt lived in, that sort of stuff - but anyone would agree the country is gorgeous. Green and rolling and full of little villages.

A couple of photos

This is just a quick post to upload a couple of photos, the first of which being one I mentioned in the last post. This is taken out of the window of the plane, flying over Turkey.

Sort of makes me want to travel further than we're going on this trip.

I've had a quiet couple of days so far, spending Wednesday pottering around with my Nan, and today travelling down to Kew to see Margot. Kew is super nice, far less bogan than the suburb my Nan lives in. It's even more expensive, too.

We had lunch at a very nice local pub (half timbered and with huge dark beams in the ceiling), with a pint of local ale, and went for a wander along the Thames, of which the next photo is a picture.

Arrived!

It was a bit of a trek getting here, I can tell you. My flight left Sydney at 9.10pm on Monday, at which point I was already pretty tired. The A380 is pretty cool, definitely, and had, I think, a tiny tiny bit more space than usual, but it was still pretty uncomfortable, and I didn't get more than about 4 hours of stiff-necked sleep.
I should have had hardly any time at Dubai airport, but the flight was delayed due to some sort of technical problem - and they didn't tell us what was happening so there was mounting discontent before we finally boarded. That leg of the flight was fine, though - seemed to fly by compared to the 14 hour flight from Sydney. It was daytime, which helped, and I was able to take some wonderful photos of some reservoirs and mountains we flew over in Turkey (Search for Elazig in Turkey on Google Maps and you'll see the ones I mean).
Eventually I got to London, sped through customs, hopped on the tube, and arrived at my Nan's house tired and icky. I managed to last until 9 (OK, I had one tiny lapse of "resting my eyes") and then crashed out for 12 hours. And here I am! In a poky little mobile phone shop in Southgate, where I will buy a UK SIM card - if anyone wants the number let me know and I'll email it to you.
That's enough for now, I'll write something more interesting once anything interesting happens.