Love of my life

Back in the heat on Australia Day, trying to fight the cold and dry throat, the crisp morning chill seems like a distant memory. But it was only 2 weeks ago (I was in Japan last week). There, I met those lovely creatures. It’s been ages since I last lived with cats, but I really enjoyed their company during my stay in the cozy house in a small country town.

I was told, however, that the little Yaya has been missing for the last couple of days. He is a boy, so it could be one of those outings, but it is pretty cold out there at night… I hope he is just caught in some family with children who don’t want him to ‘go home’… Or maybe he found a nice old rug in the shed somewhere and enjoying it all day.

Yaya should be old enough but still looks for the mother’s milk everytime he finds himself on somebody’s soft jumper. I had only one fleece jumper, but that turned white (originally black) by the time I put that into a washing machine in Osaka. Mum who saw it hanging on the line thought I rolled around on a while rug

Pacha – the big guy, who is ‘staying’ at Martine’s for a while (until the owner comes back from a trip or something like that? can’t remember…). He is huge and heavy, definitely over-weight, but he is such a spoiled boy. He insists on jumping onto your lap whenever you are sitting at the kitchen table or couch. When he was refused that comfort, he gets upset and jumps onto the top of the shelf where he can look down on all that’s happening in the world below.

Charlotte – the only girl among the three, and she does behave a young girl. She is not seeking attention or is she snobbish. She just sits there, and let the young boy stroke her soft fur down. She’s happy to sleep in the boy’s bed at night.

Charlotte is still young and plays along when Yaya gets excited and starts to run around. Pacha screams back at him, but I don’t know who is stronger now. Surely Yaya is much smaller, but maybe Pacha is too slow.

I grew up with cats around pretty much all my life, until I started to live on my own. My grandma loved cats, and so did my mum. At one time, when I was a kid, we had a cat that brought 4 kittens, then 3 more, making it 8 cats in the house, when we also had a puppy in the house. That was so much fun to watch them play and fight all day.

I can hardly wait till the day I start living with the love of my life…

Oh, on this year-end journey, I also visited the only cat that is left at my parents’ house. She is not related to that 8 cats we had years before, but her mother started the delivery on my lap while I was watching ‘True Lies’ at loud volume on TV one afternoon. So I had the warm water ready in bucket, towels, string and scissors, and I picked up one by one, as the mother cat ‘Noir’ pushed them out and just left them there. I washed them, took them out of the ‘bag’ and after wiping put them back to the mother’s side. They all grew up but only this one is still around. I’ll have to find someone who has a film scanner, so I can scan all the photos of her and her brothers born on the couch I was sitting on that day.

Longhaul

Well, it’s been good, but it’s that time again. Boarding call. There are still things I want to write about, like my experience of using EuRail Pass, how French trains always seem to delay, how superb TGV experience is and how I would do this again over any cheap LCC flights and things I may have ahead of me, like a sequel…

But for today, it is time to check in that soft Samsonite case again, and I’ll be flying. It is another long one, well, nothing compared to the Christmas, 2-day flights + trains. Osaka – Tokyo – Sydney – Melbourne and fall into the nicely air-conditioned car of my friend’s under the hot Melbourne summer sun. Back to reality, back to work.

I wonder what kind of people I’ll meet on those long flights. What interesting character would sit next to me this time? I’ll sit myself in my favourite aisle seat up front of economy class and have my fingers crossed. Will Japan Airlines change my mind about their service? Stop being so rigid Japanese and provide genuine friendly service, maybe? How about the food? I packed myself with 2 serves of my mum’s curry rice (yummy!) so I won’t be very hungry till dinner. Well, will their in-flight food bring about more appetite on the dry, long night flight?

It has been an interesting trip. It was definitely rewarding for me, personally. I found something very important. And that is something I did not expect or plan for.

Japan: Osaka Station

The JR Osaka Terminal has completed the major renovation works since I last visited a year ago. While in town for a quick shopping, I decided to check it out.

This is where a square used to be in the old days, with a fountain of the pissing boy. It used to be one of the most popular meeting places when you meet someone in Osaka. It’s been long since they closed off that area (when they started the renovation), but I am pleased to see that there is a sense of square again, now split into the ground level (first photo) and up-stairs (the next photo).

Up in the sky, there is another square. It seems the escalator is coming up from the world below.

The old Osaka station used to have lots of small steps of 2 or 3 here and there, after years of land sinking under the weight of structure and the welling of the ground water. The maze of escalators here and there, some going down towards another one down different directions, somehow reminded me of those old days, of walking in a straight corridor and coming across 3 steps up, and 2 steps down later.

And the terminal is a terminal. It is a place to meet people. You stand against a column, flip through your paperback, and wait for her to show up. The world may pass you by, but you are in your world. Ah, I love the station.

 

You might have noticed that some of my photos on this (and other) blog are not available. Flickr seems to be playing up with their settings while protesting against changes in US anti-piracy legislation or rather. I think it’s great they protest against any moves that take away our freedom and rights, but I cannot agree with anything that affect the rights of paying member. I am not paying annual service fees to Flickr to hide my publicly displayed photos without permission… My apologies to you if you have come across this. I am sure things will normalise in a few days, and I will look through pages to ensure all the links are back to normal. If you still see the issues then (say, in February or later), please do let me know as it may be something I am caught unaware! Thanks again for your visit to my blogs. Please do leave comment, email me, or buzz me if you know me personally!

Japan: Kyoto

Yasaka Shrine

Only 1 hour by my hometown is Kyoto. I went for a couple of hours to check out the exhibition of works by the late French photographer Robert Doisneau. The exhibition was rather boring, they obviously did not have many of his good works. To re-set that disappointment, I grabbed my camera out of the bag as I walked in the East end of Shijo (4th Ave).

Gion

France: Roger’s Farm – details

There were some images of the farm that I forgot to include in my previous post. So here it goes.

When the shooing is done, Roger invited us inside the house. We were ushered into the kitchen right next to the entrance. A big room used to be filled with up to 20 pickers when this farm used to grow vine. The sunlight dance gently outside the lace curtain. The old sturdy kitchen is cooking eggs fresh from the chicken. I said I don’t really drink, it’s too early in the day, etc. but the words just did not do anything. Port or the Pineau? OK, give me a glass of that. Out came a box of chocolate, we were also handed half a dozen fresh eggs for lunch to cook at home, some more drinks and we headed home happy.

France: Roger’s farm

I remember the first time I had a breakfast, French style. Well, I cannot account for all the rest of French families. But this was surely an initiation of some sort – dinner at home and breakfast at home. It was just so very different from what I was familiar with! That is more than a decade ago. Same friend is now setting the table for breakfast, with same menu – hot chocolate and baguette or croissant, butter and jam. Dipping that tasty bread with jam into a deep bowl of hot chocolate was something that was totally eye-opening. But now it makes feel like ‘I’m home’.

Here in Seysses, the milk for breakfast comes from one of the neighbours. They own a small farm and also grow corns on the field. In the evening between 7 and 7:30pm, the cows are milked, so we walk along the dark road surrounded by the quiet winter field in the pitch black, with an empty bottle in our hand, an Euro coin in the other.

There I met Rodger (pronounced in English like ‘ho-jay’), the son of the family. With his friendly smile and gentle handshake with the hard, working-man’s hand, I instantly got a liking of this man. His father was also milking another cow next to him, who stretched his right hand but his handshake was much weaker.

Back at home, the milk is brought to boil and kept on for 15 minutes. That will ensure the fresh milk is safe to drink. I did not know that putting a piece of glassware helps avoid the sudden blow-over while boiling milk. What depth of knowledge those French people have!
Coming back during the day, Rodger’s showed me around his farm.

The little guy, Gazoo (was it?) is still so cute and playful!

Roger’s dad is dressed properly as he knew I was coming to photograph the family.

Roger and his parents, in their kitchen

In front of the house, with Martine and her kids

Wouldn’t it be nice to come chat to those people every evening and fetch the milk for the next day, and go walking home to a warm dinner. Hopefully, next time they will start taking the money for milk from us again!

France: frosty morning

Sub-zero morning. The car’s wind screen had frozen frost on it as my friend got ready to go to work. It needed scraping. I’m back in the couch, hearing the sound of pouring water in the small aquarium on the shelf to my right, and Yaya, the little one, running around with one of the kids’ toys. It seems the gold crown will no longer be a crown by the time kids get home.

Indoors, I am keeping myself warm with Uniqlo‘s heattech clothing. There are various variants of similar products from many brands nowadays, but I hear that it warms up only for 3 seconds when you put on your skin. Surprising what difference it makes, because since this technology, we all wear much lighter clothing in winter, a great news for travellers who could do with one less kilograms of weight on their backs.

It makes me realise how mild the winter in Melbourne is. How often do I want to put the full gear – the thick down jacket, fleece under it and heattech under that, skarf, knit hat and leather gloves with fleece lining. How often would I realise the loss of heat from the glasspane so we wished we closed the shutter on the windows before going to bed?

Today is another easy day for me. After the warm day in Venezia when I almost did away with the coat, the cold air back in south-east France seems to have been a bit of shock to the system. Also, the fact that there was no hot water left in the tank after kids had a long bath in the afternoon did not help (the boiler runs only at night, to save energy cost).

When travelling, we often feel like making the best of every single day. Time is precious. We all know how many days’ leave we get in a year. We know the cost for airline ticket and the hotels. Well, unless you are lucky as I am to have friends who put me up. Anyhow, since each day is precious, and since you are on the other side of the world that is not easy to come to so often, it is a temptation to plan every day to full, make the best of it, and do all the things that can be possibly squeezed in.

Well, maybe I did that when I was a teenage traveller.

Nowadays, I do not really plan my holiday to start with. That is why EuRail Pass was a great idea  for the flexibility it comes with(until I realised how limited the seat allocations for Pass holders are, and I ended up paying full fee for some trains I take!). I feel a bit sick or weak, the best thing is to take it easy. Have plenty of sleep. Wrap myself in a blanket, with cats around me and stay warm. Take medicine early. Best I do that, rather than suffering from the consequences for longer and feeling miserable in sick bed.

So here I am, watching the horizon increase its colour and brightness. My leg is heavy though Yaya is definitely not as heavy as Pacha and he is very warm on my shins. MacBook is warming my thighs. I just need to get the laundry that run overnight to put on the rack under the heater, and the rest of my day will be slow.

It is a good place to be.

Venezia: glassware

Watch any film, read story, whenever there is a mention of Venezia, there is that red goblet. Many years since I first started to know about the glassware business in Italy, I was finally here. There are signs of ‘no photographs’ everywhere, but the general manager, who’s known me for a long time and also knows I run a small photography business, offered that I ‘photograph anything you want’.

Franco is presenting his ideas to the staff. Don’t ask me what it was regarding – I’ve no idea when people speak in Italian!

Perfect Japanese with perfect Japanese body language and gestures relax the group of Japanese customers.

Some of the more modern designs

Applause as the craftsman completes his glass horse

And of course, the classic red goblets.

Venezia: a town without cars

It is a strange feeling, walking around in a town where there is not a single car. Night or day, all I hear is foot steps. My own, as I walk alone through the maze. And then I hear others coming towards me, over-taking me, and the volume rises as I come towards a small square as I cross the wooden bridges. Sometimes I may hear somebody coughing, from one of many windows in the rows of flats that surround the laneway I’m on. Rarely added to that are some music, somebody is turning up the volume while their favourite tune is playing. I come across one of the channels of waterways and there may be a small boat passing through with some delivery of vegetables, or courier, or they may be taxi boat. The roar of engine passes, and the sound of waves against the stone path echoes for a while, and slowly fades away.

People walk a lot around here. But given the small number of bridges, where it is convenient, people jump onto the vaporetto. It is literally a ‘bus on water’. It feels just like taking a bus from this block to that. Get off in front of supermarket, load the large shopping bugs you bring, and get onto the next vaporetto back.

Walking on one of the islands opposite my hotel, on the south end of islands, I realise this one is the most residential among the central islands I’ve walked on. There are very few restaurant, bar or cafe, and there is no shop. People are seen coming back from the supermarket on the island opposite (by vaporette, obviously). While on main islands you could turn into almost every narrow laneway and find a path, criss-crossing small courtyards and bridges, but on this island, the roads are straight lines, from this shore across to the other shore, lined on both side stands flats of 4-5 stories. They are decorated in the traditional Venetian architecture, but I am pretty sure inside is just a plain functional flat like you see in every other old European city. Turning into side road I walk in between flats, and dead end. I have to go all the way back to the shore of the bitter cold wind and catch the next vaporetto out. It was an island for those who live there, and even the cafes and restaurants, when they wish to go to one, are on other islands.

One morning I open the window just around sunrise time and find the city in thick fog. Things seem to move more slowly in the fog. You seem to hear less sound, of the boats, of the waves and of the footsteps. Walking slowly myself, I look ahead, and out of thick fog appear a figure, quickly pass by my side without a word, or some with a quick smile on their face, maybe I even say BuonGiorno. And then back to the thickness.

A city made up of islands, like here in Venezia, or in some tropical islands, the impact of so called the ‘development’ of human civilization is directly felt. The water level is rising, the ice in the mountain is melting, and people here are doing their best to minimise their impact on this small planet. It is not that it is impossible to run cars around here. They built a city on top of some sand and mud silts. They already have highway and train bridge coming in from the main land of Italia. But they choose not to do any more than this. By our decisions, it is possible to protect this beautiful world. It has been a kind of journey that made me realise even more strongly.

I woke up to the most beautiful day here in Venezia. The sun was shining, adding even more clearer contrast to the buildings and waves. It was as if the city was smiling at me and saying good-bye. I changed my plans and shortened my stay by one night. Sure the hotel will not refund for my final night. I will probably have to pay a bit to change my train reservations. But it was one of those things that are likely to be more important than such trivial material ideas.

Euro Night train can only be booked or changed at the train station counter, so I had to catch a vaporetto and head down there. I was hoping to check out the first regatta race of the day, the one in which the rowers wear a mask of an old woman, the one from the story not too different from Father Christmas – if you are good, she will give you a gift; if you are naughty, she’ll only give you a piece of coal. Sounds like something I wanted to photograph, from their preparation in the boat house, to the Grand Canal, and their audience. The American couple at breakfast table had told me a good spot to see their morning preparation, but I missed all that. Instead, after I finished sorting out the booking changes, I found myself walking in the San Marco square one last time, and remembered what the Japanese family was saying at breakfast table the day before – it is only one of two days in the year when the clock-work figures are moving at midday.

My friend at glassware shop liked the photographs I took of glassware and people in his store, and gave me a parting gift, put in that white carrybag with the symbol of authorised local Venetian Glass. Feeling a little lifted and rich (I know those glasswares are not cheap!), I walked right into one of the traditional institution, Florian Cafe. I am sure that most customers nowadays are tourists. I knew of another cafe that my friend told me of, which did coffee and cake really well (and cheap) but there I was, sitting by the window, reading my paperback, I was feeling ok. Well, 20 Euro for an espresso and tiramisu was pretty eye-popping (I ordered without looking at the menu but just the glass case), but it was a nice feeling and I managed to find myself a table away from the tourists (especially Japanese ones) and I was good.

Wandering about near the market and Rialto Bridge, I saw a lot of people who were just sitting in the sun, and enjoying the beautiful weather by the turquoise water. It was that kind of day. I got to see the bitter cold night, foggy morning, and the most glorious weather, in a course of only 3-night stay. I am grateful for whoever made such a magical experience possible.

Venezia

About to start my 2nd day in this town without cars.