Cheers and Goodnight

John Hancock Building
Originally uploaded by Thadeus Maximus.

I met up with Caroline last night, who has graciously agreed to let me inhabit her spare room for a few weeks while I find my feet.

In terms of how I know Caroline, the short answer is - I don't. She is a friend of a friend of a friend's friend. Follow? Forget about it.

Suffice to say that Caroline is a Manchester native who has moved to Chicago for work. She has a lovely bunch of friends, many of whom I met last night at The Tasting Room, a cute wine bar on the outskirts of town [with a view like this one!].

Caroline is helping me get organised with a bus schedule; a mobile; and an apartment - all things for which I am really grateful.

We went to a 24-hour diner last night after the wine bar. I revisited "When Harry Met Sally" when the young people on the neighbouring table made the waitress take down THE most complicated order known to man. They couldn't have toast - it had to be rye toasted on one side, with bacon and THEN the eggs on top. Sheesh. And the waitress didn't even bat an eyelid.

Off today to have brunch with Caroline's friends and then into the City, so I know where to get off the bus tomorrow morning. Public transportation can be a confusing thing, so the fact I can catch the same bus as Caroline in the mornings is a big bonus for my confidence. Still, Caroline goes to Washington for work this week (for a fortnight), so I'll be making the bus trip on my own and need to know what I'm doing. Or at least LOOK like I do. Cross fingers!

That's my home town

Sears Tower Skydeck 016
Originally uploaded by Pauls Travel Photos.

Today I set off rather early to explore Chicago on foot. I was alone, but it didn't matter because it meant that I was on my own schedule; and could see and do anything I pleased.

With this indulgent mindset I headed off across Grant Park, past Buckingham Fountain (taking photos for tourists again), in the direction of Navy Pier.

Owing to a bad sense of direction and some rather confusing highway intersections, I found myself walking AWAY from Navy Pier rather suddenly. But not to be outdone, I walked along the Chicago River, past some of the most glorious condominiums I've yet seen.

And the silver lining to my misadventure was a River Cruise showcasing the architectural history of Chicago. The 90-minute cruise was really interesting, albeit freezing. I took some great pictures, and only managed to get the heads of other tourists in a few of my shots.

Then I walked along Illinois Avenue, inadvertently ending up alongside the Tribune Towers. I popped in for some warmth and postcards, and emerged infront of a trolley car company offering tourist trips. So I jumped on.

I opted for the ride-along version of the tour (rather than the hop-on, hop-off variety) and had a great time. The ride took two hours, and so it was a great and warm way to spend the afternoon.

I saw where Oprah now lives (the top 2 floors of the Ritz Carlton); where Jerry Springer is still taped (the NBC building); and a whole other range of great sites I must revisit. The trolley also went to Navy Pier, but by then it was too cold for me to get out and enjoy the fun. I will head back there another day for sure.

Then I walked along N.Michigan Avenue, past great department stores that I cannot afford to shop in. Found Walgreens pharmacy (akin to Boots and/or Priceline), and I have found my home. PS, don't try the pork rinds. Yuk - my addiction has been cured (pardon the pun).

I stopped off at Benigan's, a neat little bar/restaurant and had spicy tortilla chicken soup. Yum. The coffee wasn't bad either. I learned that waitresses here earn $2 per hour, so that's why tipping is so essential. I tipped well at Benigan's.

By then it was about 5.30pm and I needed to get in touch with Caroline before 6pm. So it was back to the youth hostel, pretending I hadn't checked out this morning, so I could use the phones and internet. Sneaky.

All in all, a really good day. I am tired now, but feeling a little less daunted by this big city. More news and gossip to follow.

Windy City is right!

Had my first day in the Office today and, all things considered, I think I did pretty well. Battling jetlag and the associated splitting headache for much of the day, but at least I turned up, and stayed. I also vowed to come back on Monday, so that is pretty good too.

Of course I got lost this morning, partly because the street on which my Office is located actually runs around a corner. So much for 'the grid system', eh? But I accosted a poor office worker on her way to work and she helped narrow things down for me. She even walked with me for a few blocks, which was unnecessary but very kind.

It's 8:50pm now, and I have just returned from a reception, hosted by my Office, for the Aussie runners in this weekend's Chicago Marathon. The weather has been awful today (the sign of things to come perhaps?), so I hope the sun shines by the time the race starts. If nothing else, the Marathon has proven to me why it was so hard to secure Chicago accommodation when I first knew I was coming here!

The Office is really smart, and the people I work with seem really nice. Have already had offers of assistance to find a decent winter coat etc which I think is great.

Will write more next week - this weekend is a busy one, moving out of the hostel and into a spare room graciously offered to me by a UK 'friend of a friend'. Wish me luck!

Rise and shine

A quick post this morning because I nearly have no internet credit left.

Put myself to bed at 7pm last night (very sad) and didn't stir until 9am today. Not a bad effort I think. Sharing a room with a crazy American lady; 2 Swiss girls that speak VERY little English; and another American lady who is in town to check out her daughter's college chums. I have visions of her camping out up a tree with binoculars and warpaint on.

Am off to meet with my bosses this morning, and will no doubt post afterwards.

All credit to the VISA section

IMG_3668
Originally uploaded by philippi.

I made it!

At this very moment I am in the centre of Chicago, at its very snazzy youth hostel.

After getting to bed at 2am, to rise again at 5.45am, to fly for 9 hours (two separate flights), I'm a little spaced so forgive me.

First impressions of Chicago, eh? Okay, here goes:

- green, leafy trees
- buildings that look like a pin cushion (at least from the plane)
- foggy/smoggy/cloudy
- lakes and golf courses
- defined neighbourhoods and house properties (very un-UK)
- United Airlines planes look like Air Force one (intimidating paintwork)
- O'Hare airport is a microcosm of the City; loads of languages, loads of pushy people
- 8 lane expressways
- SUVs and big Chevys really do exist
- Ditto people wearing cowboy hats in public, but perhaps these are real cowboys??
- the black men have rich, soulful speaking voices
- one man has already given me the Rikki Lake headbob (Girrrrrlfriend)


So there you have it. I've been in town for 2 hours and all I've seen is the airport, the shuttle bus, and the youth hostel.

Am now planning tomorrow's activities, which will include a meeting with my new employer. Tres exciting.

Mwa mwa from this corner of the world, dahlings.

Up and away

Heathrow
Originally uploaded by noqontrol.

I don't know what strings were pulled or what promises were made, but I now have my working visa for the USA.

After two awful days in London, spent lining up at the US Embassy, and being rejected for inadequate paperwork, I've got it.

My diplomatic visa (that apparently gets me no perks whatsoever but neverthless sounds impressive) is a black and white photo that looks like a stunned mullet's mugshot.

Who cares, I'm off to Chicago tomorrow and that's all that matters.

Ciao for now - will post more news soon!!

Kindness of Passengers

DSCN5666
Originally uploaded by slabbers.

My flight from Milan to Glasgow was an eventful one, and all the action started at Milan airport.

First of all, two guys from Scotland were ahead of me in the check-in queue. They both wore jeans (with belts) that were not up around their waist; rather they were slung at butt-crack level, and their unattractive undies poked out the top. Foul.

Then one of them started sniffing. And not a discreet sniff, either. This was a snuff-sniff. One that is generated right from the chest and is a sound you'd expect a tuberculosis sufferer to come out with. Double foul.

So when I was frisked by the airport staff after having every page of my passport scrutinised, I figured that the was the icing on the proverbial cake.

When I was one of the first people on the flight, I figured I'd scored a winner, and my day was turning around.

Wrong.

I sat in Row 6. Apparently the first 6 rows of the plane were out of bounds. Did anyone tell us? No. So I had to move, after all the rest of the rabble had come onto the flight and picked their seats. The luxury of an early boarding was absolutely wasted.

But then I sat next to Lesley and Angela. They bought me coffee on the flight and we talked the whole way. When we arrived at Glasgow airport I bought them a coffee and we talked for an hour more.

Leaving me at the airport for my connecting flight to London, they drove off to their farm 2 hours away. But if they had have sprouted wings and floated off to heaven, I would not have been a bit surprised. Sometimes there ARE good eggs out there, and it is a joy to find them.

A goodbye is a false friend

When I was learning French and Italian at school, my teachers introduced me to the concept of a 'false friend'. This is a word that you THINK will mean one thing, but turns out (upon translation) to mean something completing different. For instance, in Italian, the word CALDA actually means HOT. Didn't see that one coming, eh? Bit of trivia for a quiz night I guess.

But I AM going somewhere with this.

Am sitting at Milan's regional airport contemplating the word GOODBYE. Far from being a misnomer, I would say that it is an English 'false friend'.

It doesn't feel GOOD to say it, and it doesn't feel GOOD to hear it.

And in the words of Forrest Gump, that's all I'm going to say about that.

At one with nature

Laughing Buddha
Originally uploaded by Smaragd.

I wouldn’t call myself a sporty person, so I’ve enjoyed the freedom of catching the regional train from Riomaggiore into a different town, and then doing a short hike to the neighbouring one.

The first walk we did, from Manarola to Corniglia, was really easy (until the steep and winding stairs at the end). The hiking trail hugged the coastline so the views were magic the entire way.

Yesterday’s walk from Monterosso to Vernazza was harder and longer, but it was also punctuated with fabulous views that make up for all the muscle strain. There is something nice about finding a spot between two trees, seeing the view between them, and taking a perfect postcard photo all by yourself. Trouble is, this place has so many such spots, you use up a lot of film.

It was a great walk and we all made it through together. We passed people from all over the world while we walked, and the mix of accents and backgrounds was great. There were Swiss and Germans, literally bounding up and down the paths like proverbial mountain goats; there were Americans and Canadians with walking stocks; and then there were Aussies like us trying to pretend they exert themselves to this extent all the time.

Today is our last day in the Cinque Terre, and this time tomorrow we’ll be on the train back to Milan. From there I leave the relatives on the Eurostar for Paris, and I fly to London to sort out USA visa issues.

Gulp.

No touchy, noooo touchy

desp-2-pow
Originally uploaded by mis-nagid.

If you know me at all, you know that I will usually only permit body contact upon satisfaction of one or both of the following conditions: 1) that it is Friday; and 2) that you have bought me drink and/or dinner.

Clearly I need to practice how to communicate these conditions into Italian. After we completed a 2 hours (plus) hike from Monterosso to Vernazza, we collapsed into café chairs and ordered the biggest beers the barista could bring us.

It was then that the barista regaled us with stories about the services he provided to exhausted tourists at his bar. To name but a few, he was bartender, psychologist, and masseur.

It was then that he put down his tray to grab my shoulders and then plunge each thumb right into the knots in my base of my shoulder blades. Kneading for about three seconds, I was feeling a mix of shock horror and absolute bliss. I was feeling violated and bloody fantastic at the same time. Mum confided that she felt pretty nervous that she might be next.

Too tired to protest, I let him have his grope and then sent him back to the kitchen for bruschetta. And I didn’t tell anyone just how good it felt either.

Keep it down, scallywags

Blah! I'm a monster!
Originally uploaded by robotgirl.

There are lots of young people here. While I collapse into bed just after 10pm, having played endless games of cards with Mum & Redda, I fall asleep to the sounds of young revelers getting up to mischief in the street below.

How old do I sound, eh?

All the other places we’ve stayed to date have been big cities, or we’ve been in relatively deserted accommodation. We’ve not had to listen to street noise and our collective slumber has not been interrupted by the sounds of partygoers enjoying their holidays.

The houses and apartments of Riomaggiore are perched right up either side of sheer cliffs. From your balcony, you can see the activities of the boat harbour, and up into the main street (if you lean out – but not too far, that is!). There isn’t any real vehicle traffic, other than the odd train, so the only night time noise SHOULD be the ocean.

But this is a tourist holiday spot, and there are always people out having a late and happy dinner. I just don’t think they realize how good the acoustics out here, so they race up and down the street, calling out to each other (usually Aussies, naturally) at the top of their lungs.

Fortunately the pace of our days have made it relatively easy for me to sleep despite this noise. Somehow I’ve managed to blank out the voices and focus on the waves rolling in. I think there is something really soothing about that, as many of you readers are lucky to know already.

This here's mountain goat country

Italië, Noord
Originally uploaded by stroomopwaarts.

Given all the stairs I’d been up and down on this trip, I thought I’d be prepared for what the Cinque Terre would throw at us. The five hilltop towns gave it away that stairs would be involved somewhere (since a helicopter drop was out of my price range).

But the manager of our apartment did not even attempt to hide his smile when he took me on the wild goose chase through the back lanes of Riomaggiore to find our accommodation. I followed valiantly behind him, up and down countless stairs, smiling meekly (and for mercy) at the old ladies standing in their door frames to ogle yet another breathless tourist.

Like all exercise, it’s how you feel afterwards that’s important. And opening the balcony doors to view the stunning ocean made all the sweating and straining with luggage worth it. The glass of wine helped too.

The Cinque Terre is a national park and a marine protected area. The five towns – Riomaggiore; Manarola; Corniglia; Vernazza; and Monterosso – are linked by hiking trails, a regional train line, and a ferry service. Buying a three-day ticket is the most cost effective way to see all five towns, just like we have.

I’ve never been to Tasmania, Mum and Dad tell me that hiking between the 5 towns in the Cinque Terre is very much like the walks you can do there. They tell me that the scenery, the terrain, and the level of difficulty is much like what you’d encounter at Wineglass Bay and Cradle Mountain (Dove Lake, particularly).

From the relative stability of our balcony, I look out at the locals and their chunky calves. They have been climbing these hilly towns all their lives, most probably. All I have to do is give this place a go, and try not to have a cardiac arrest halfway along the hike and need one of them to come and fetch me.

Planes, Trains, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Riomaggiore, the road less traveled
Originally uploaded by h2okatcher.

This holiday has given me the valuable opportunity to revisit some of my favourite places in Italy, and show them to my parents and aunt. But it hasn’t all been deja-vu; in fact, tomorrow we’re off to a place even I haven’t been yet. And I can’t wait.

The Cinque Terre is the Italian Riviera, and is a group of five towns, connected by Italy’s regional rail network. But this is not the most ideal way to see them. You can also take a small boat between each town, or hike between them on the neat walking trails. And it is on this route that we plan to see the five towns over the next four days.

Looking back, I can’t complain about anything we’ve done or said on this trip.

We haven’t lost anything or anyone important (bar a pair of prodigal underpants – that turned up somehow; pyjamas; a water taxi ticket; and some body spray).

We’ve stayed in a vast array of accommodation (convent, palazzo, caravan park, youth hostel, hotel, private home), all with different showerheads and toilet flushers.

We’ve eaten a variety of foods (Italian, Chinese, Turkish, Maccas), and our stomachs had to adjust. Sometimes they protested.

We’ve met friendly nuns, disgruntled railway workers, and colourful gypsies.

To this end, we've been understood and then completely MISunderstood.

To get around, we’ve walked, caught planes, trains, buses, the metro, boats, water taxis, normal taxis, a funicular, and bus coaches.

We’ve tried house wines, local aperitifs, Italian beers, and we’ve come to appreciate that ‘full breakfast included’ is a very fluid concept.

Our bodies and cameras are getting a mighty workout. This has been a holiday of sensory overloads by day, and exhaustion by night. And the next 4 days in the Cinque Terre promises more such experiences. So I say, BRING IT ON.

O Clooney, where art thou?

art 39
Originally uploaded by CRYPTERIA ~ the magic chicken's REBELLIOUS SHOTS.

About an hour's train ride from Milan is the charming town of Como, home to the famous Lake and to the equally famous George Clooney.

Unfortunately George was not at home today, so we had to make do with a one-hour cruise on the water alone. But we recovered quickly, and took the funicular up to Brunate. We had to pass some pretty sprawling villas built right on the hillside, and that was pretty tough to take. All that wealth, all that luxury. And none of it mine.

We followed this up with a light lunch on the shore of the Lake, then hopped the train back to Milan.

So Georgie boy, you missed out. But we will see each other another time.

Meeting Mario in Milano

The New Look
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

While I’ve been holidaying with my family, I’ve also had to work out how to arrange my US visa for the Chicago trip. The US embassy in London wants me to come and see them on 4 and 5 October to get my visa, only to fly out to Chicago from Glasgow on 6 October. Tight deadline? You’re not kidding.

So I have been kind of tense these last few days, and my Mum thought it would be nice to treat me to a haircut. I thought it was a great idea, not only because it would be my first haircut in 6 months, but also because I knew that such pampering would cheer me up.

About a block away from the Milano Centrale train station is Mario's salon. God knows what it is really called, but Mario is the chief stylist, and the only person in the whole salon who speaks English. I showed him my passport photo, and he agreed to copy it.

He did a pretty good job actually, and I’m really happy with the cut. A bit ‘Stepford Wives’ perhaps, but that might just be the rather boofy hairdrying effort. In any case, I have to agree with Mario that the colour needs a little work. Baby steps.

Venice's Treasure Islands: Where the Euro, not X, marks the spot

Burano
Originally uploaded by bflickr.

Forgot to publish a post about the side-trip we took in Venice, out to the islands of Murano and Burano. If you’ve been to Venice before, you’ll know that Murano is the glass-blowing centre, and Burano is the headquarters of the lace-makers.

Murano was nice enough, but nothing to really write home about. The glass-blowing demonstration was impressive, but was carried out by sweaty men in greasy singlets and shorts, who didn't want to put their cigarettes out for long enough to make a colourful vase. Needless to say, I didn’t purchase anything at the demonstration workshop.

But then there was Burano. When AB and I went to Venice earlier this year, we boarded a water taxi bound for Burano, and couldn’t find it. I had originally thought that this was attributable to the bad fog on the day. Perhaps the captain of our boat simply couldn’t find the island. But based on my journey out there the other day, I’ve revised this initial assessment. As much as it pains me to admit this, I actually think that Batreg and I simply caught the wrong boat. On the trip we took the other day, I was doubly careful to check and re-check the boat timelines, and we ended up catching the boat from Venice to Lido (the beach resort area). We bummed around in Lido for an hour or so, then boarded a connecting boat out to Burano for the afternoon.

The island of Burano is gorgeous. It is a lot like Alsace in NE France, in the sense of being wall-to-wall with colourful houses (like a box of Smarties). It turns out that fishermen in the village of Burano painted their houses such colours so that when they were out fishing, they could see their houses on the shore. Nice, eh?

Burano is a great one-day getaway and is well worth the effort to get out there. Even stopping for a gelato in Lido is a good way to break up the journey. Burano is quite a Venetian treasure - if you can find it.

The Griswolds

Mike, Rae & Redda
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

I am a good postcard sender, and some readers of this blog may be more intimately aware of this than others.

But this particularly family holiday has made me aware that I inherited this trait from my mother. Here she is, in the middle of this pic, standing with my Dad and my aunt.

Mum's cards have been referring to our conduct on this junket, only partly in jest I'm sure, to the Griswolds. Yes, the family headed up by Chevy Chase in the 'National Lampoons' movies.

We've caught every form of transport there is, been lost on most of it, reoriented ourselves, and got lost again. We've sampled all kinds of foods, tested all kinds of beds, ran around to get wet under all kinds of showerheads, and lived to tell the tale.

Right now we're in Milan, but we've only just arrived so there is no story to tell. Yet.

Until then, this is Junior Griswold signing off.

Belinda Carlisle was right all along

CRW_2553
Originally uploaded by dimdim.

Heaven IS a place on earth, and it is called Venice.

Arriving here last night, we are safely deposited at a B&B owned by a wonderful couple. We are not in the tourist area either, so the 10 minute walk to St Marks Square takes us past residences, local greengrocers, and tabacchi that have been selling to the locals for years.

Last night we called into St Marks Basilica for the Italian Mass, and this was a very unique experience. I did not understand much of what was being said, but it did not matter one bit. The mass was held in a small chapel area off to one side in the Basilica, and had enough seating for only about 30 people. We did not feel like we were intruding, either. After Mass, we fell out into the main square and the sight was truly breathtaking. The lights were coming on around the Square, and the orchestra at the super expensive cafe struck up the most beautiful and romantic music.

Today we took full advantage of the brilliant sunshine and took the water taxi out to Murano. Picking up some presents here and there, we made our way back to 'mainland' Venice to cross the Rialto bridge.

All in all a busy two days, but I love this place so much. Lots more fun to be had.

Have even tried a great new aperitif called 'Spritz con Aperol' - am off to have another.

Ciao for now!!

This is no time to be Assisi

assisi 35
Originally uploaded by dalem.

Made it safely to Umbria and spent a lovely few hours wandering around Assisi.

We have already seen a few Basilicas on this trip, but we agree that the Basilica of St Francis here in Assisi certainly has the WOW factor. It is worth the steep hill climb and all the stairs to get up there.

And for once the tourists shuffled through in relative silence.

The cheap and tacky souvenir shops are a bit of a dampener though.

Off to Siena, San Gimigniano and Pisa tomorrow. Phew, what a whirlwind!

Going With The Flo

Florence
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

Made it safely to Florence, courtesy of the Eurostar rail network.

Found accommodation near the train station, but in a quiet side street. We have a room that fits all four of us (two single beds and one double) and, though the shower leaks all over the floor, I think we will be happy here for the next few days.

Spent this morning at the Accademia, catching up with my boyfriend David. Sadly I have to share him with the rest of the world, but I still thought it was important to pay him a visit. After all, he is celebrating his 500th birthday this year.

After a restorative and early lunch, we headed to the Ponte Vecchio, to browse the jewellery shops. And I mean browse. Mum promises to lend me the €780 I need to buy a brooch I like, which is nice. And also a joke.

Crossing over the River Arno, we walked up the biiiiiig hill to the Piazzale Michelangelo. It was from this vantage point that I took this photo earlier in the year.

Now that we are substantially footsore, we are headed back to the hotel for an early dinner and rest. Tomorrow we are off to the Uffizzi, which will be more sensory overload so an early night is required.

Am loving it here, like always, and I am so pleased that my family is enjoying it too.

Su e giu

We have arrived in Southern Italy and I am typing this from an English pub on the main street in Sorrento...go figure. Outside, Mum and Dad are talking to a couple from Adelaide who are on a cruise that has docked in the harbour, so we are learning how the other half lives.

We are staying in convent style accommodation and only 1 nun there speaks English. I am communicating in broken Italian with the other nun who has taken quite a shine to me. Perhaps trying to convert me, she has given me cards with saints on them, and a Catholic magazine to read. I am not looking forward to telling her I dont want to join her order. Still, the breathtaking view from our accommodation over the Gulf is making me think twice.

Off to Capri tomorrow and then Pompeii the day after. It is an exhausting trip so far, but I think that has more to do with the warm weather, comforting food, and thirst quenching local wine. Feeling sorry for us yet?

St Peter and then some

Shine on...
Originally uploaded by boboroshi.

Have arrived safely in Rome and it was wonderful to catch up with my parents and my aunt at Termini station.

We spent today walking and walking around Romes ancient streets and seeing the sights. We have even braved the Metro which has proven to be a rather pungent experience, to say the least. Those readers out there who have been to Rome will know exactly what I mean.

I cannot fault the weather either. It was over 30 degrees Celcius today (hence the smell pervading the Metro), and I think I see the start of a suntan happening.

Spent the day doing a walking/wandering tour of St Peters Basilica and the Square. I even went into the Catacombs and saw the tombs of past Popes, including Giovanni Paolo II. His tomb, like the others, is very simple, but really elegant. The Romans even put a classy spin on death, it is just beautiful to see.

After a rustic lunch of bread rolls with mozarella and freshly-bought tomato and cucumber in the park by the Castello di Sant'Angelo, we walked to the Spanish Steps, Fontana di Trevi, and enjoyed a gelato stop at the Piazza Navona. Rome is most likely named The Eternal City because tourism numbers are never down. There are plenty of different accents buzzing around us, and loads of people for whom I am graciously playing 'Amateur Photographer'. I am doing a good job making fat, smelly tourists look good. You would all be proud of me.

Tomorrow I am dragging my family back on the Metro, across town to the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Circus Maximus, and the Mouth of Truth. It will be another busy day with lots of walking, but I am sure we will enjoy it again.

Well gotta run, my internet time is about to run out. Will post again soon.

Italy, here I come!

Basilica di San Pietro
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

I fly out tomorrow afternoon to meet my parents and aunt at Rome's Termini station.

It will be the first time I've been back to Italy since the Pope passed away. When I left, the country was in mourning (not to mention virtual chaos), so it will be interesting to assess the mood of things upon my return.

I am so looking forward to seeing my family again too. Personally I think the only thing that has changed about me is that I can now get my hair back in a ponytail - but who knows? Perhaps my family will notice more changes that I've just grown accustomed to.

My Dad's been rather organised and is bringing his laptop with him, so the emails and blog entries won't have to stop. Can't promise any immediate photo uploads, but these will follow, as they always do.

A royally Scottish send-off

AB and I have come to Edinburgh to spend my last weekend in Scotland with Nat.

The Fates and Furies must have also smiled on me because I was able to catch up with Kate's sister Alix and her partner, Adrian - both of whom travelled to Edinburgh for the weekend from their home in Holland.

What started out as an Adelaide reunion only got more coincidental when it was revealed that Alix went to school with two guys currently living in Nat's house! Though my blog refers to this as a 'big, weird world', situtations like this one remind me just how small the planet really can be.

Yesterday gave us some rare good weather here in the capital, so Andrea and I visited Holyrood Palace, and used the services of the free audioguide (for the first time in our entire trip). We learned a lot about the Palace itself, its Royal residents, and took a walk around the beautiful Grounds in the sunshine. The ruins of the Abbey are particularly haunting, and I figure if you're going to see ghosts anywhere in Edinburgh, they will be lurking around there for sure.

Last night marked the closing ceremony of the Edinburgh Festival for 2005. The Royal Bank of Scotland had sponsored a massive fireworks display accompanied by the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. From our vantage point on the bridge (and thanks to the transistor radio of a kindly Scottish woman nearby), we got to appreciate all the sights and sounds of the show.

It was a lovely sight and afforded lots of oohs and aahs. A great way to end my time in this beautiful country.

O'Hare and O'prah

So the move to Chicago is a reality and the airline ticket in my bag confirms it. I am flying out of Scotland on 6 October, flying 8 hours to New York, with a connection to Chicago O'Hare airport.

Need to get my US visa in the next two days, and there is some debate raging between Chicago and Washington's US Embassy about whether I will pick it up in London or Edinburgh. Given that I'm currently in an internet cafe in Edinburgh, the latter city is my preference!

But I am looking forward to the next challenge - and including a taping of the Oprah show on my new itinerary. Whoever would have thought...

Bound for the Windy City

Finally made it!
Originally uploaded by looey.

Some good news to share with you all. I have accepted a job offer with the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (Cth Government) to work in the Office of the Australian Consulate General, in Chicago.

The job is actually a unique hybrid of a PA and PR role - so it combines both of my skills areas. I will be working in a small office of about 10 people, but directly with the Consul General. I am really excited by the sorts of projects I'll be tackling in this new role.

The news is still sinking in, and it actually feels rather surreal to be visiting the travel agent and finalising flight plans to the US.

I need to be in Chicago in early October, to have a 2-week orientation period before work actually begins.

Some of you have been quite interested in how I managed to find this role. The DFAT website (www.dfat.gov.au) advertises jobs quite often, and this one was just listed there like all the rest. I wasn't going to lodge an application originally, but I figured 'why not?' and now I'm glad I did.

So I have nowhere to live, and no friends in the US, but at least I have some gainful employment and a really interesting new challenge.

Will keep you up to date as the Windy City life gets closer.

On the Fringe in Edinburgh

The Megabus
Originally uploaded by Mark Turner.

Now that I am officially unemployed, I celebrated my new-found lifestyle by mingling with the masses in Edinburgh.

Patronising the cheap megabus system, AB and I powered up the motorway late on Saturday morning, and arrived early afternoon in our nation's capital.

Edinburgh is a beautiful city and we were really lucky to see it in the sunshine while it was besieged by Fringe Festival Fans. The atmosphere was truly great and so reminiscent of Adelaide. I don't care what anyone says, Ed may be a bigger Fringe, but Adelaide's rocks and always will.

But I digress.

AB and I hastily bought some tickets to see two productions staged by the same University theatre company. The first play, a musical, was called 'Fame Game'. Dicko would have had a field day with this lot - only the minority of the cast could sing well. But the second play was by a different cast and was a dramatic piece. It was about convicts transported to Australia and the idea of the soldiers to start a theatre group amongst the convicts to keep them out of mischief. Both AB and I really enjoyed the latter production.

I particularly enjoyed the Indian dinner afterwards - Cobra beer beats Kingfisher any day. Just an aside.

The next day we braved the drizzle to tour around Edinburgh Castle, along with about 4 billion other people. The views across the City are stunning, but the Castle is not so great. Just very big really. I can't see what all the fuss is about. There sure are a lot of gift shops though. I bought small bottles of Glayva and Drambuie and AB and I indulged later on. Warming and delicious they were.

Had drinks at an ultra trendy club that Nat took us to on Sunday night and we felt very cool. Got some pics too, but they will follow later.

Yesterday we sat at a cafe called 'Biblos' and had - wait for it -an Aberdeen Angus Steak Hamburger (there you go J!) and it was delicious. The crisp, cold French rose helped to wash it down I think.

So all in all, I had a fantastic weekend and lots of good memories. We didn't see a lot of shows for the Fringe, but wandered down the Royal Mile enough times to witness some dodgy street performances and have enough pamphlets thrust into our hands to wallpaper Betty's house!

Will be laying low until next Thursday when I jet off to Italy - a trip that has been a long time coming indeed.

A day of 'last-ing' impressions

Well today is my last day at the Office and I have been getting quite sentimental.

I have been having a day of 'lasts': last time getting out of bed before 7am; last time eating breakfast alone; last time catching the bus from hell; last time buying milk at the deli; last time making percolated coffee...you know how it goes.

But I've been invited to a lunch for a lady who's about to start a long stint of annual leave (much like myself really), and I was really chuffed to be included in the party. Only took them 12 weeks to realise I was here, but better late than never, right?

The bottom line of all this is that the daily blog entries you've become accustomed to will cease for the forseeable future.

I know that some of you have made reading this blog part of your morning routine, and for that I am flattered. For those regular readers, I've left you with some cool links down the right hand side of this page, to explore in my absence.

And when I return to Blogland in a little while, I would like to think that it will be to regale you with all the exciting new developments in my life. Here's hoping that's the case, anyway.

And in the words of the Terminator, both good and evil versions, I'll be back.

Take a hike!

Tomorrow is my last day of this temping assignment, before I head off to Italy with my parents and aunt. Yahoo the time has come!

And for mine, one of the best bits about the break is that I can hang up my corporate wardrobe for 4 weeks and live in the same three outfits, recycled over and over. All unironed, naturally.

There is something liberating about being a slob while on holidays. Maybe I reason that a bedraggled appearance acts as a deterrent to gypsies and pickpockets, who knows?

And while I love the travel-sized toiletries, and how everything on a plane comes wrapped in its own little packaging, a non-stop travelling life wouldn't be for me. I couldn't live out of a suitcase all the time.

If I did, I'm sure that the concept of travel would become a chore akin to waking up for work on a Monday morning (or any morning during winter). I'd groan, I'd execute a spectacular eyeball roll, and I'd try to invent every reason in the world not to do it.

And if travel become a drain for me, I would run the risk of never again being able to appreciate the jittery butterflies in my stomach when I think about all the fun things I'm going to see on the next holiday. And I wouldn't trade those butterflies for anything.

Clootie and Champers

I admit to being a little apprehensive about my birthday every year. I know that 28 isn't old, but I don't go in for those big bells-and-whistles birthdays; preferring instead to settle down to a quiet family/friends dinner. And so you can understand why this year's birthday was always going to be a little different. Being in Scotland, away from my family and friends, meant that this year's celebration was not the highest point on my social agenda.

But I was well and truly spoiled this year, with a Dinner and Drinks package that proved just as good as any Aussie nosh-up. Betty whipped up a garlic-infused roast lamb with all the trimmings, plus a jam-filled sponge cake with candles on top. Washed down with some Aussie bubbly courtesy of my equally-parched travelling companion. Armand, who is very anti-birthdays generally, even joined in the chorus of 'Happy Birthday', much to the surprise and amusement of us all.

Following the cake, we enjoyed a traditional Scottish birthday treat - the Clootie Dumpling. I know, it doesn't sound all that flash, but it is actually really delicious. And quite versatile, if you believe Betty - and I do. The dumpling looks and tastes like a Chrismas pudding and is made in much the same way. To eat it, you can cover it in custard; or apparently you can fry slices of it in butter and serve it warm. Alternatively, you can just eat is cold and plain, as we did.

All in all, a deliciously satisfying 28th birthday with my adopted friends and family. And the sun even shone for me, which I thought was a nice touch.

I must have one of those faces

I am battling a bit of a cold at the moment which is hardly surprising, given that the Scottish summer and the Adelaide winter are virtually identical.

Standing at the bus stop last night, sheltered against the wild wind that signalled a storm was coming, I did not notice the two young guys who had come to seek refuge by the bus stop with me.

One of them asked me when the bus was coming, and I told him. Then he asked me where in America I was from. I was going to make it up, but this is a small town and I didn't want to be found out a liar and chased out of town by goons in a ute brandishing pitchforks. So I corrected his assumption and responded to his follow-up questions by telling him bits about where I'd travelled, where I was staying (rough bus-route directions naturally), and what I'd seen in Scotland so far.

I didn't want to give this guy any more information about myself, so I turned the tables and starting asking HIM questions. Not out of any real interest, you understand, more to guard against him appearing outside my bedroom window at night, leering lasciviously at me as I slept.

As our conversation changed, so too did the wind direction. And it was then that I was able to smell the beer literally oozing out of the two of them. Boy, do I know how to pick them?

Trying to salvage my sophistication, I attempted to resume the conversation.

Putting forward the view that Scotland's geography makes it easy for people to explore Europe so easily, my new friend nodded and sagely added, "Aye that's true. But when you've got a criminal record, like us, travelling gets difficult". You can't argue with that.

But the piece de resistance came when he rather surprised himself with his political ambitions, and figured he would run for Parliament. His platform would be the end to terrorism, achieved through the mass eviction of all terrorists from British soil. Clearly a Big Brother fan. But rather than asking the British public to SMS their least-favourite terrorists for weekly expulsion, my young friend was masterminding a more direct route. Proudly, he announced that in order to rid Britain of terrorism, he'd simply "get rid of all the coloured people".

It was about that point that I started to inch away from Adolph Hitler and Gretel Killeen's love child. I figured our conversation was done. He hadn't asked me out, and I'd given him plenty of chances.

ARGH kidding. But he is single. Of that I am sure.

I just blew in from the Granite City

Greetings Ladies and Jellyspoons!

Have arrived back in Paisley, having spent a wonderful few days up north in Aberdeen. Can you believe we actually had sunshine for every single day we were there? So much so, that I had to buy a few cheap tshirts, given that all the tops I'd taken with me were long-sleeved? Shocking.

Aberdeen is known as the Granite City because many of the major buildings are constructed from the local granite. Okay, so not too many marks for creativity there. But the City itself, when caught in the right light, really does glow a beautiful silvery colour and it looks lovely. On the Sunday night when it rained, the City took on a rather un-glamorous grey tinge, which I don't admire so much. But you can't have everything now, can you? Photos to follow, naturally.

Our accommodation was central, and made it super-easy to walk around the City and through the many shopping arcades. I bought some souvenirs for my sister and, as I said above, some clothes for me.

We also ended up attending 2 stag parties on Saturday evening, in two separate pubs no less. Of course, we did not know either groom, but I shimmied on the dancefloor with one of them; and Batreg and I were whisked out the side exit of a bar by the other (so Batreg could escape the attentions of a rather aged creep - who bought us Drambuie, but that's not the point).

I seem to recall that the grandfather of one of the grooms took quite a shine to me, but that did not result in the premature bequest of any significant assets or the promise of any more drinks. So, like the Anna Nicole Smith rejects that we felt, we slung ourselves out of that bar and oozed up to our hotel room.

Thankful for a greasy Scottish breakfast, that I had just enough morning-after energy to shift around the plate with a fork, we saw 'Madagascar' at the cinema, and then saw the sights on a self-guided (aka aimless) shuffling/walking tour of the City.

So while it was a rather action-packed social weekend, it was a shame that we didn't get up to Inverness while we were there, or over to Balmoral to have tea & scones with the Queen at her Scottish retreat, but there is plenty of time left for that.

An 'orchid' occasion

When you've been married for 28 years, you're supposed to buy your spouse orchids.

So today, on the 28th anniversary of my birth, I've decided to give myself an Australian orchid. To be precise, this is a Den Biggibum.

A rather appropriate gift on all accounts, wouldn't you say? Haha.

Real deja-vu is tres bien (for some)

Forgive me for not doing any backflips at this family's good fortune. If it's not enough that French women don't get fat, now they can be smugly rich too? Pf-oof to that.

Going to the Granite City

Foreshadowing a brief halt in blogging transmission, effective close of business today. AB and I are heading to Aberdeen tomorrow morning for a looong-weekend and sightseeing break.

Must-sees in the Granite City include: the men that work for Shell; St Machar's Cathedral (see picture); The Lemon Tree; Provost Skene's House; and the Duthie Park Winter Gardens. And the men that work for Shell. Did I mention that already?

The world will be back to normal on Tuesday!

Reflections in a puddle

In my old age, I have started to get rather sentimental about things. I've become intolerant and, to borrow a word from the Alabama-ites, curmudgeony.

But I've also become inspired, most recently by my friend Groovy Gem. Now based in London, Gem delights her email contacts with a semi-regular 'What's Hot and What's Not' list, derived from her UK experience to date.

In the interests of all-out copycatting, with no copyright dues paid, I hereby present to you the 'What's Hot and What's Not in Scotland' list:

WHAT'S HOT

• The accent
• Pork rinds
• Diet Coke with lime
• Lemon drizzle cake from ASDA
• Armand's home-made spaghetti
• The train system

WHAT'S NOT

• The weather
• The customer service
• Only having one ladies toilet at my worksite
• The men in Paisley
• The bus system

The Merry Mob of Miami Lab-Rats

Watching CSI:Miami last night, I started to get a serious case of the irrites.

Why don't the ladies wear their hair back when searching for evidence?
Why did they have to kill off Tim Speedle?
Why is the Medical Examiner's chest so large?
Why does Horatio have to wear his sunglasses to solve every case?

Too many unresolved questions, I tell you. I prefer Grissom's team. Now that Greg's been allowed out of the lab and into the field, the Las Vegas series got a whole lot more interesting. But he should try and solve some more cases topless. Greg, that is, not Grissom.

There's a caiman in my toilet

No, not a caveman, a caiman. It's a reptile native to South America, and a freakily large specimen is now believed to be gaily swimming around the Los Angeles sewer system. Oh goody.

But what takes the biscuit for me is the supposition that this Roaming Reptile was once a domestic pet that was released to the community when it got too large for its home. Like a sharp-toothed teenager, it was kicked out to the kerb, told to fend for itself.

Problem is, this little fella can feed on dogs, cats, and little old ladies not paying attention when they cross the street. It's clearly not attracted by the raw chicken (and tortillas?) that law enforcement officials, park rangers, and local fishermen are using to tempt it. Don't they know that Steve Irwin only uses raw chickens for TV? Sheesh.

I bet the Hollywood studios are rubbing their hands with glee. A Godzilla sequel like this just writes itself!

James who?

My friends over at the ABC's media blog, The Shallow End, have informed me that Hugh Jackman has said "thanks but no thanks, mate!" to the three-film deal to play James Bond.

While I am actually very pro-Jackman and think that he would have made a smashing Bond, I am ultra pleased that this leaves the way open for my personal first choice. I've lobbied before and I'll lobby again.

This is Gerard Butler. You may remember him from such films as "Phantom of the Opera" (that was him under the mask), and "Tomb Raider 2" (can't remember the name of his character but that's not the point).

To the producers of the James Bond flicks, please don't discount Gerry B. He's already wearing the tux - and how! - and he's got that adorable Scottish brogue that will make many a femme fatale weak at the knees.

I don't ask for a finders fee on this occasion, just a three film deal to play Moneypenny. Ahem.

An oh so Semple weekend

I was intending to see the World Pipe Band Championships over the weekend at Glasgow Green, but waking on Saturday morning, we changed our minds. Not only was the weather ominous, there had been some sort of lurgie doing the rounds of the house overnight that left AB and I with headaches on Saturday morning. Not alcohol related, I promise.

Anyhoo, we decided that weather notwithstanding, Saturday looked relatively nice enough to head out and go for a hike. We figured that in addition to a few Panadol, the fresh air may do wonders for our headaches. And the hike may do wonders for our waistlines. Or something. So we headed for Lochwinnoch, a town about 15 minutes from where we live.

Since our arrival in Scotland, we have been to Lochwinnoch a number of times. It is a very popular site for watersports like kayaking and windsurfing. We are clearly more 'kiosk and gift shop' sort of gals, and fortunately Lochwinnoch doesn't let us down there either.

The other reason we have been to Lochwinnoch has been to seek out a heritage site called Castle Semple Collegiate Church, more to cross it off in our tourism book than anything else really. But looking more closely at the hike path signs a few weeks ago, we realised that the Castle Semple site is actually a 4 mile hike from the watersports park where you first arrive. But on Saturday, 4 miles didn't sound so far, and we were up for it. So off we went.

Four miles into the (fortunately) very easy hike, we came across Castle Semple's church, hidden on a farm property and in pretty ramshackle condition, as you'd expect. Olden-day gravestones and all.

But the best bit? When we got back to the car to enjoy our restorative thermos of coffee, no sooner had we shut our doors than the rain came pouring down. It was very amusing to watch the kids doing archery scramble to get out of the downpour, leaving one poor fella to pack up all the bows and arrows by himself. Champagne comedy.

Being Fringe-dwellers in Edinburgh

To say that the UK is an expensive nation for Australian travellers would be an understatement. But in our defence, AB and I knew that when we came here. We also knew that earning as many British pounds as we could, as quickly as we could, would be the only way we could stay financially afloat.

Given our other expenses just associated with living and working here, we were unable to afford tickets to the Edinburgh Tattoo, which was a bit of a shame. But thanks to Kate's great advice, not to mention her dogged persistence that I get off my arse and do something, I believe that AB and I have masterminded the Cheapskate's Guide to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2005. We will not miss out on the grand finale of this fantastic and eclectic event in the nation's capital.

I'm really looking forward to the 27 and 28 August weekend, when we catch a cheap City Link bus to Edinburgh. We plan to catch as many free Fringe shows and soak up as much sidewalk atmosphere as we can. Plus the Fringe organisers have erected a Spiegeltent that, just like in Adelaide, houses fantastic late-night shows that are either dirt cheap, or free. Bonus! At nights, we'll sleep off the busy days camping out on Nat & Susie's floor in our sleeping bags. What a fantastic way to spend an electric weekend.

Kids today don't know how lucky they are

A quick glance out my Office window this morning, and my stomach flipped a little. Because across the walkway from me is a huge University Hall filled with students sitting their supplementary exams.

Though they'd probably disagree wholeheartedly, I think these students are lucky. Like thousands of others before me, and since, I had to sit my Uni exams in a large, drafty exhibition hall at the Royal Adelaide showgrounds. My childhood memories of the hall were ones of cake decorating displays, and showbags.

But these childish reveries were shattered by the adult experiences I had there. Stern-faced examiners, creaky floorboards, and seats that were never quite close enough to the bar heaters. I have never been able to enjoy the Adelaide Show since. In fact, I took a 5 year hiatus from the yearly Show because the University spoiled it for me. You'd think I'd be able to enjoy Sideshow Alley, or at least the pig races, but the Exhibition Hall loomed large from Goodwood Road and made me cringe at the thought of it.

Part of me feels sorry for the students sitting their exams on such a beautiful day here in Paisley, but another part of me knows they are the lucky ones. The Adelaide Show will never be a scary place for them.

When it helps to be full of hot air

I'm looking forward to this Saturday, because AB and I are planning to take the train into Glasgow and see the World Pipe Band Championships 2005.

Though I've seen and heard a busking bagpiper or two while I've been in Scotland, I've never experienced 8000 of them in one place. In this instance, it's Glasgow Green. And while I'm not really clear on how to get to Glasgow Green from the train station, something tells me I'll be able to just follow the sounds.

As far as I'm concerned, it's good news that Australia has even flown some pipers over, though they're calling themselves 'techno pipers'. I'm not really clear on what that means, but I suspect it will do for bagpiping what The Tap Dogs did for tap dancing?

I'm looking forward to seeing a sea of tartan on Saturday, and I just hope our boys aren't dressed like jolly swagmen. I don't think I could possibly cheer them on if they were.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it

AB and I have been working through our Historic Scotland brochure to get around and see some ancient tourist sites this side of Glasgow. We've also caught the train to Edinburgh and seen some (though not even close to all) of the sites there.

But it wasn't until I found this article that I realised there is so much more to Scotland than I thought. In fact, it's a list of 100 Things To Do In Scotland Before You Die. So far between us, we've only done five:

• Spit on the Heart of Midlothian (well, ladies don't spit, but I did acknowledge the Heart when I walked down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh);
• Visit the Barras weekend market (bootleg cigarettes and CDs galore);
• Read Oor Wullie/Broons annual (AB bought it, but I flicked through it);
• Make and eat tablet (done and dusted); and
• Eat haggis and clapshot (only get 1/2 point for this one - haven't tried clapshot yet).

So we have our work cut out for us. Some of the challenges are easy, like riding The Clockwork Orange (the underground) around Glasgow; while others take a bit more planning, like renting a remote hut on the Isle of Mull.

But each of these 100 entries sound so different, I can't wait to get started.

But would Prue and Trude sell it?

An article from Melbourne's 'The Age' newspaper today made me smile but not because it is particularly funny per se. The article talks about a new fashion trend for this coming season, currently adorning the catwalks of the major Aussie department stores.

We're talking about neo boho. Apparently it is about all things ethnic and incorporates chunky jewellery, big handbags, shoes with wedged heels, and anything crochet.

But even the eclectic components of neo boho didn't make me laugh. It was when I read it out loud, and realised I was speaking exactly like Prue and Trude from the hysterical 'Kath & Kim'. Now THAT'S funny.

[Editor's Note: It is unfortunately completely UNfunny if you've no idea who I'm talking about - sorry]

And another thing....

Why am I completely incapable of shutting up?

The HR Manager of the University came to my boss's office for a meeting today and asked how I was doing. In a stellar display of verbal diarrhoea, I spewed forth the ins and outs of my holiday in Scotland; my stilted social life; where my friends are living and working both in Australia and overseas; and what I was looking forward to most about my upcoming trip to Italy.

Did she care? Probably not. Hell, I wasn't even interested and I was telling the story! But at least she had the good social graces to keep her eyes from glazing over. Nor did she slide off the chair and into a coma. But what's the bet she never arrives early for a meeting again?!

Wanna know a secret?

I love a good conspiracy. The idea that there is a secret society, even a political one, out there scrambling to cover up wrongdoing intrigues me.

And who wouldn't want to be a fly on the wall when there is a cover up required? Think about some of the mysteries from the last 60 years. In our society, knowledge is power - and who wouldn't want the inside story on these:

• Who really killed JFK?
• Was the 1969 moon landing faked?
• Was Princess Diana murdered?

If I was chosen to solve one lingering mystery of the 20th century, it would be the death of Marilyn Monroe. Though she passed away 43 years ago, the recent release of psychiatrist tapes has re-ignited the 'Murder vs Suicide' debate. I've read books that argue the case for both sides, and I'm shrieking with the 'murder' banshees. I guess I'd just like to go back in time and get conclusive proof of what really happened. Michael J Fox in 'Back to the Future' taught me that changing anything in the past really alters the future, so I'd be careful not to play with the space/time continuum.

But maybe in seeing what really happened, I would be able to determine whether the dark forces at play in the Marilyn's life (and ultimately her death) were real, and not in her mind after all.

Betty's Marvellous Medicine

Continuing my gastronomic tour through Scotland, last night I watched as Betty produced a gooey tray of Scottish tablet. As you can see from the picture, tablet is a fudge-type sweet made entirely of sugar, and assorted sugary products. I don't think there is a single bit of goodness in the whole block.

A recipe can be found here, if you're brave enough to try it for yourself.

I could definitely be persuaded to take two of these tablets and call my dentist in the morning!

And before you say it, I can see that I'm slowly becoming Little Sally Homemaker. I know, it scares me as much as it scares you. But as Gab plus boiling sugar do not go together, I figured I should watch the experts at work and enjoy the fruits of their labours. And I did.

Well THAT was embarrassing

Do you think it says something if you go into the local library, and the ladies behind the counter know your name before even calling it up on the computer?!

Sleighbells ring, are you listening?

The gorgeous postman arrived on Saturday afternoon and deposited a lovely white, business-sized envelope that heralded the joyous news that I am the proud owner of a Scottish bank account!

And it's all timed quite well with the plans that are afoot in the Massie household. Andrea and I are working on Betty to come with us to a Christmas market this year. Well aware that it is only August, we nevertheless have to be organised about these things. There are flights to be booked, accommodation to be secured, and Christmas lists to draft and re-draft.

Given our globetrotting to date, AB and I are leaning towards Germany, home to the world's oldest Christmas market. But I can also see the appeal in visiting Salzburg, so AB and I can croon along to 'The Sound of Music' ditties. Then there is Prague and Bruges, that also present viable options. I was even considering a day trip to Lapland, to ride a sleigh and look for Santa in the Arctic Circle. How cool (literally) would that be? Oh, the decisions!

Halloo, is anyone there?

When I woke up on Saturday, I realised that I did not have any idea what I would be getting up to over my weekend. The weather was fine, the birds were chirping, Mitzy was barking like a nutcase - it was good to be alive.

So when AB and I found out that Betty was disappearing to the shops with her brother and his wife to do the weekly grocery shopping, we wondered what that meant for us. If we didn't speak up, we were going to be left behind to spend a sunshine-filled day indoors. So we pounced, and got a lift into Bridge of Weir, one village over from ours. I'd never been in the main street of Bridge of Weir any longer than it takes me to post a letter. Literally. So it seemed like a place to explore. Even on a weekend.

What I've come to realise is that unlike Paris, that never sleeps, Scotland really is a 'Monday to Friday, 9-5' kind of country. And Bridge of Weir, while charming, is no exception - definite and strict opening/closing hours apply here. Just because the bakery is open, doesn't mean it's going to have anything to buy in there.

But I come to work today and my boss assures me - straight faced and all - that Bridge of Weir is one of the most sought-after places to live in Scotland. The quality of life is high, and the quality of public schooling is even higher. Who knew?

Colorado: The Turkey State!

This short news report explains why it's dangerous to be a turkey in Colorado, but apparently the State's prisoners are quite reasonable (for altogether different reasons, that is!).

Scotland: Premier holiday destination for aliens!

Or so the headlines might read, if one of the latest rumours around Paisley proves true.

I had to laugh when I read the local paper last night. It turns out that the Manager of Paisley's principal High Street shopping centre firmly believes that UFOs are trying to make contact with Paisley residents.

What has led to this affirmation on the part of the shopping centre boss was the appearance of a mysterious circle burned into the gravel on the roof of the Centre. The discovery of this 'crop circle' coincided with the simultaneous failure of electronic and radio transmission devices inside the shops. Did an alien craft land on the roof? One maintenance worker said he witnessed an aircraft of some kind leaving the scene, twinkling lights and all. The 'aliens' (the extra-terrestrial kind, not the Aussie kind simply trying to get a bank account) also apparently left behind a sheet of 'unusual' metal, which looked suspiciously to me like a silver thermal camping blanket. But what do I know? Oh how I chortled.

Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not laughing to be malicious. In fact I'm open to the idea that aliens exist. I figure it's probably obnoxious of us to think that of the 9 official (and 1 nameless) planets in our solar system, Earth should be the only one harbouring 'intelligent' life forms. So I'm simply amused right now at the thought that aliens, who conceivably have the entire galaxy of planets and civilisations to choose from, would still elect to communicate with Paisley residents. Is anyone else baffled?

But for my 2 pence worth, the piece de resistance of this story is surely what's now to be done.

Forget NASA, or the Area 51 people. All the evidence from this local mystery is now destined for the UFO experts at Paisley University for further investigation. Oh mercy. Does it get any better than this?

Solving the perky problems

The eagle-eyed reporters over at CNN's website have informed me of the release of a titilating (sorry) new book.

The author compiled a list of stumper questions he'd been asked at parties over the years, and most of which probably killed the party conversation dead.

But I like the book's premise. In addition to the book's namesake, the author has endeavoured to dispel such mysteries as why our teeth chatter when we're cold; why some of us get morning breath; whether we can actually catch diseases from toilet seats; and why baked beans give us gas.

Read it, and be the smartest person at your next cocktail party. If you're not already, that is.

You just put your lips together and Pf-oof

One of the positive things I picked up on my travels through France is the pf-oof.

No, it's not a noise your body involuntarily makes. It's a very intentional, almost non-verbal little expression that conveys just about every emotion. Among others, it's perfectly appropriate to pf-oof in frustration; resignation; dissatisfaction; occupation; and fatigue.

The pf-oof is most often (and most appropriately) used when forced to sardine onto the Parisian metro, and the fact that I've rolled over its use into Scotland is evidence of a truly European adventure.

Try it and you'll see how versatile an expression the pf-oof can be. Just remember that a well-timed eyeball roll is the perfect accompaniment to this jolie expression. Tres French, dahling!

We come in peace, from the Planet Xena?

With Adelaide's own Andy Thomas circling the skies above our heads on a NASA mission, some extra-terrestrial news of a different kind today.

The UK's New Scientist magazine is running a competition inviting readers to name the solar system's newly-discovered 10th planet. Children get a chance to do this kind of thing all the time when baby animals are born in zoos, but now it's time for the Big Kids to have a go.

The competition will help solve the planet's identity crisis. To some it is known as 2003UB313, but to Mike Brown from California's Institute of Technology, it carries the name Xena, in deference to Lucy Lawless. The British press has reported that Brown has apparently "always wanted to name something Xena". [Ed's note: Get a dog, Mike.]

According to the article on the ABC website from whence this story comes, the competition's preliminary terms and conditions seem easy enough to follow:

Names should be pronounceable, non-offensive, 16 characters or less in length and preferably one word.

Names should not be too similar to an existing name of a minor
planet or natural planetary satellite.

In addition, names for persons or events known primarily for
their military or political activities are acceptable only after 100 years
have elapsed since the person died or the event occurred.

Commercial names are not allowed and the names of pet animals
are discouraged.

When thinking about what you'd name the planet, it's worth remembering the following things:

• this planet is about 3 times more remote than Pluto, so you won't be visiting any time soon;
• scientists are suggesting that what some think is a planet could also be just a jumped up asteroid and not a planet at all;
• whatever it is, it takes 560 earth years to orbit our sun
• Planet Microsoft is out (cause we already live on it); and
• you can't have Gabatron, because that's my idea.

The challenge is on, and the rest is up to you. Nanoo-nanoo. Hehe that rhymes.

Summer Days, Drifting Away

Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you...

In addition to being Crowded House lyrics, I am putting the call out to anyone to please take the rain and cold away from Scotland. If I had wanted this drizzle and cold wind I would have stayed home for the Adelaide winter.

I knew that Scotland would be chilly and snowy eventually, but I figured I would be safe until winter. I didn't think it would be this way in summer. And that's what the calendar tells me we're in: summer. But the grey sky I see outside my window today is clearly protesting the date.

Everyone knows that howling winds and frosty air is the sort of weather you're happy to experience at home, lying like a loungeroom lizard on a beanbag, with a steaming cup of coffee and a trashy midday movie. These are not the sort of conditions you want first thing in the morning, when walking down the mainstreet, laden with work bags, battling to ensure that your cheap umbrella doesn't turn you into Mary Poppins. Up, up, and awaaaay? No thanks.

Dog-paddling Prisoner

When I was carrying on about looking for an end to bad news, I fear I may have got carried away with the results of my search for happiness.

My latest 'good news' find is "a hoot and a half" (direct quote) from America. Jake, a golden retriever (evidently not pictured here) leapt into the waters off Alcatraz and joined his owner in a 2.01km swim to the mainland, as part of the 10th annual Alcatraz Invitational Plunge.

The story continues to say that the dog's swim was fuelled by an egg breakfast. Hehe I can imagine that those eggs gave him some pretty good forward momentum - and a clear berth all around him too. Hehe sorry.

Quit it already!

Warning: Ill-informed rant to follow!

I have seriously had enough of reading about explosions; terrorism; bombs; suspicious packages; and other nasties. I don't want to open my newspaper websites to read about yet another attempt by wackos to destroy the way of life of Londoners. Leave the innocent people alone and give me some good news for once. Seriously, does nothing good happen in this world anymore?

Why can't these crazy people (original terrorists and the even crazier copycats) just tolerate difference and get over it? I know I'm simplifying their many issues, but that's because no-one can tell the likes of me why they do what they do. And anyway, I'm on my soapbox now so you'll have to put up with me.

Like everyone, I've had to read about the tragic aftermath of such carry-on. Given that speculation is all we're ever left with after events like London, Turkey, New York, and Bali, I want to throw out this challenge to the lunatics causing this devastation: If you've got a statement to make, stand somewhere public and make it. Don't strap a bomb to your back and go ka-boom in relative anonymity, taking innocent people out with you. Don't wait until CCTV cameras identify you (before the City morgue does) and leave us to wonder what you might have intended by your crazy antics. Be mature, grab your balls (if it helps), and tell us what you want, rather than letting itty bitty pieces of your body do the talking. I know there are thousands of people out there who, in a twisted way, would think I have a point.

Phew, rant over. We now return to your regularly scheduled program.

Eureka!

So I was less than kind this time last week about the little goblins I was sure stuffed around with Scottish street signs while we slept. After all, how else can you explain why we've been so unsuccessful in finding castles and lochs that we've been searching for on weekend road trips? Last weekend we experienced roads that led nowhere, and castles that simply couldn't be found (by us). This weekend was markedly different. I'm talking a 100% success rate!

I finished work early on Friday, because Paisley was having its Fair Day on Monday and we all got the day off work. Let me just add here that just because you have a Fair Day, doesn't mean there is a Fair to go and experience. It is just called "Fair Day". Presumably because working 9 to 5 is so unfair to begin with.

So over the weekend, as card carrying members of the Historic Scotland organisation (seriously - we get in for free now), we set off in search of the following sites:

• Dundonald Castle - spider sacs in the prison;
• Troon - because I saw a cute boy on the train once who got off there;
• Bothwell Castle - see picture above;
• Cadzow Castle - couldn't go in, so we parked in the disabled park and took pictures;
• Craignethan Castle - beautiful and green, and a very windy road to get in there;
• Cairnpapple Hill - communing with nature;
• Torpichen Preceptory - home to the St John Ambulance tradition - sort of; and
• Blackness Castle - where Mel Gibson's "Hamlet" was filmed.

So you can see it was a non-stop and action-packed weekend. My favourite was probably Bothwell Castle, because it was so well laid out, with lots of nooks and crannies to explore. The grounds were set a way back off the road and it makes a nice picnic spot.

I spent Monday just relaxing until Batreg made me go for a walk into the woodlands. Photographic evidence of all of this weekend's antics, including the bushwalk, will follow.