Finely structured

Man. Man Man MANLY Man.
That's what I am.
Because I am in GerMANy!
I drink massive beers.
I wear tight leather pants.
I eat meat meat meat.
That I hunted. Jäger Meister.

Wild boar in fact, if you are interested in an Asterix reference. It was yummy, but I'm not sure that homemade cranberry sauce is really to Obelix's taste. His would be a much nuanced taste I imagine due to his ethnic background. Oh, and I didn’t really hunt it either, but apparently the MAN running the restaurant did…

So anyway, amongst all this man business, we have seen some awesome stuff the last few days. Somehow we managed to stay in an awesome place called Blankenberg. I think the accommodation was relatively cheap or something… Amazing. There were too many towers for me to keep track of. Awesome buildings originally built in the 12th century, mostly restored, perching yet upon this little knob of land that we had the pleasure of climbing with all our assorted gear. Half-timbered houses (which I knew about from playing  Patrician II – a very boring game) everywhere –with little knobbly bits sticking out of the joints probably playing some small part in holding these masterpieces up. There are fruit trees in all the green spaces, herbs growing wild, pots of colour clutching at walls, windows, steps and lampposts. Church bells ring early to coax the congregation up the hill.  The community winepress from ages past, waiting patiently to crush another harvest…

Places like these make me burst out in spontaneous laughter. We are so far removed from knights and castles and even most modern wars in Tasmania, that these remnants of history can seem like fairy tales. Here in Blankenberg the people are living amongst it. I trailed one man of the house taking his rubbish out. He wheeled his two bins almost half a kilometre uphill to empty them outside the old town gates in a community bin. Too bad if you live further down the hill! There was even a hotel/gasthaus for sale… Myra was non-committal.

That’s enough from me for now. Big Beers and Schnitzels. I’ll leave you with the delightfully translated description of one such beer…

First, it attracts the eye with its bright honey colour on itself. Opal and finely structured the yeast turbidity shows. For the smell experience the nose needs two attempts.
If only distinctive fruit flavours emerge, such as bananas and honeydew melon, then fine cloves follow. It drinks and convinces with a full and soft body. The finish shows a balanced game…which goes off quickly in a harmonious nightcap.
Fine yeast sparkling and tingling refreshes it and at the same time thirst for more…

It was a very enjoyable beer in a very enjoyable place. Prost!

Leaving the Low Country

I always get sad leaving a country, and this morning is no exception. I’m on a train looking out at dutch farmhouses, with their thatched roofs, medley sheds, zwart/wit koeien(cows) and neat canals divvying up the fields.

I’ve just seen an old friend from 10 years ago. There’s a lot between us, but how do you catch up 10 years over 1 coffee and 50 odd minutes? I guess the sadness comes through fullness in this case.

I now have no more opportunities to stuff genuine dutch foods into my protesting belly. I’m sure this is good for my health, but I wish I’d found a fresh stroopwafel to top it off. That’s what they’re good for after all – topping a cup that runneth over…

Also around 10 years ago, on a train in Spain, I wrote a letter, on pages ripped from the back of a book. That letter found it's way to the girl who is now my wife.

My brain is already trying to switch to deutsche mode. After all the false starts where German came up and I needed Dutch, my brain had finally started reeling out some impressive sentences, and I do believe some locals didn’t realise my imposter status.

With the myriad of bike tracks everywhere I am also sad not to be pedalling more here. Time for that in other places of course, but this land is where half of my heritage lies, where many strong childhood holiday memories were made, where my passport says I belong…

We sit in a silent carriage, my baby asleep in my Irish wife’s arms, and my thoughts in melancholic places. I am loving what I’m seeing, loving what I’m doing, and now I look ahead to cycling by the rhine for a week.

From sleep-fighter to space invader

I have been places in my life. Tackled challenges in remote places. Walked kilometres with a heavy pack after voiding my guts of dodgy fish. Navigated snow, losing track markers in a barely habitated, foreign speaking landscape. Played musical buses in Laos having only the bare minimum of hope that we would end up where we planned to be. Been on an island with no cash, no way of getting cash, and cash needed to get off the island. Been at the bottom of a steep snowy driveway in a gutless excuse for a 4wd, a country and countless miles from the airport we needed to present at. I have blown a head gasket in my car the day after leaving home to go on an extended working holiday after missing the boat the night before. And so many other challenges that I could bore you with.

This time I'd like to bore you with the challenge of travelling overseas with our 18mo daughter...

I think you always underestimate or forget just how long flying to Europe takes. 18mo Anya is an extremely active child. Inquisitive, curious, an explorer. Which is full on but great usually. Running up and down the aisle of a Dash 8 from Devonport to Melbourne is fine. Friendly faces, yummy breakfast snack, adoring flight attendants, all over and done with in a neat hour. Sign me up!

Melbourne airport was pretty much a breeze. Normal queues, friendly staff-including a customs officer! And a box of muesli bars that Anya felt the need to repack many times. Thankyou Uncle Toby.

9.5 hours to Guangzhou, China, is the reason this blog has a theme of challenges... I won't go on too much as it wasn't a great experience. A wriggly tired sleep-fighter. A plane that definitely doesn't qualify for free-range accreditation, and stingy attendants who wouldn't give her any food!? My daughter may be about 14% of my size, but she probably consumes about 76% as much food as I do. And when she doesn't get her portion, she gets 548% more hangry than my lovely wife does... Anyway..... we got there, and were blessed with a mistaken gate number that led us to a nursery. A relatively quiet space where all 3 of us were able to catch some snooze time in the 5.5 hours we had before the connecting flight. Thankyou Guangzhou. Which seems to be pronounced gong-shoe.

12.5 hours to Amsterdam was thankfully a lot easier. It seems that even an accomplished sleep fighter like my daughter gets knocked up against the ropes sometimes. Mum and Dad so lucky to have 7.5 hours total of some sort of rest. We were banking on the fact that our TV deprived daughter would be engrossed in the little screen in front of her, but that was not the case. She liked hitting it and pressing the flight attendant call button. She loved pushing the seat in front with her legs... I curse the child who does this to me... Planes may move you many kilometres very fast, but I'd be very interested to know Anya's top and average speeds, her distance walked/ran up and down the aisles, and how many strange peoples personal space she invaded when she stopped to pat their legs or push a cushion onto them...

After how ever many weeks of travelling that was(I know it was only hours really) we are through border control at Schipol courtesy of another friendly guard and out into the wild of tickets/schedules/platforms of one of my favourite places - NS, the train network of Holland. So many trains doing what they are supposed to do at the times they are meant to. Not jumping the tracks at Devonport wharf...

 Hearing people speak dutch keeps surprising me. The amount of modern windmills (wind turbines) everywhere makes me ashamed of Australia being so hesitant to install renewables. No excuses, guys! The European trees again! Such a different 'forest', but I'm loving it. Right now I should be out on the mtb exploring a few trails that I have seen already... Small villages where everyones gardens are immaculate. Australians are generally lazy gardeners, and I was envious of the gezellighijd shared as we walked by couples planting annuals, an elderly gent clipping his perfect hedge in the sun, and children helping with the tidying of leaves that are starting to fall now.

We rounded out our first day with a trip to the shops and Myra wisely prevents me from buying all the dutch treats on offer. Tomorrow is another day for treats after all!