Tag Archives: world

Wanderlust Part 9: Amsterdam to London

Don’t miss any part of my Wanderlust recap!
Wanderlust Part 1: Hong Kong and London
Wanderlust Part 2: Paris, Swiss Alps
Wanderlust Part 3: Florence and Rome
Wanderlust Part 4: Rome to Venice
Wanderlust Part 5: Salzburg and Vienna
Wanderlust Part 6: Budapest to Krakow
Wanderlust Part 7: Krakow, Auschwitz and Prague
Wanderlust Part 8: Berlin and Amsterdam

Day 26: January 19th, Amsterdam

Marijuana use is tolerated in Amsterdam. We were warned about the side effects and cautioned to be very careful, but in my mind there’s no point in going to any of the cafes, because you can practically get high by breathing in this place.
I have some special plans for today, which I worked out last night. I’m going to visit the Ten Boom Museum in Holland. It won’t be easy, but it seems doable, so I’m going to give it my best shot.
I catch the tram to Amsterdam Central, and get on a train down to Holland, about 45 minutes out of Amsterdam. The train is absolutely gorgeous, with WiFi and plush seats that wouldn’t be out of place in a movie theatre.
Once I’m in Holland, I stop into Starbucks for breakfast, and follow the excellent signage to the Ten Boom Museum. And I’m in time for the only English tour that day!
The Hiding Place is one of my favourite books, and to actually stand in the secret room where eight people hid from the Nazis (and were never found) is surreal. It was definitely worth the trip down here. I’ve lived a piece of history today.

Once I make my way back to Amsterdam, I can’t resist heading into a cheese store since we missed out yesterday. I end up choosing regular gouda and pesto gouda. They’re vacuum sealed so they’ll keep and I can get them through customs as well.

It’s the final night of the Winter Spirit tour, and it ends with another dinner cruise on the river. Afterwards we walk through the city as a group, snapping pictures and admiring the figure skaters. My phone falls into a puddle, but it’s miraculously undamaged.

Tomorrow, a lot of people won’t be joining us to head back to London. Some are staying in Amsterdam for a while, others are going to other countries, and some are simply going home. But not me. I’m seeing this trip through, right to the end.

Day 27: January 20th, Amsterdam to London

The morning comes, and there’s a lot of goodbyes in the dining room. The few of us who are going back to London climb onto the coach for the final time. We started with about fifty on December 28th. People have arrived and left, and now there’s about twenty. And I’m one of the only ones from the original group who did the entire trip. I don’t know if that’s actually an accomplishment, but still. One of the last few standing.

Everyone on the coach is tired. Not me so much, but I’m definitely ready to travel on my own. As we drive, Morgan gets everyone to come up to the microphone and share their favourite place from the trip. I also take the opportunity to use up the rest of my WiFi allowance, since I’ve used it very sparingly.
Before we get to the boat terminal as Calais, the coach is stopped and everyone is told if they have any marijuana from Amsterdam, get rid of it NOW before the sniffer dogs are brought on. A hilarious number of people sheepishly get off the coach and retrieve their bags from underneath.
Finally, we have to go through customs. One of the boys doesn’t have an arrival stamp from Heathrow (because customs somehow forgot) and he’s given the third degree. Some others are practically interrogated about their travel plans. I’m quaking in my boots but my border agent glances at my passport. “We’ve had a lot of Australians coming through here. Don’t melt when you get home to that heat,” And just like that, I’m through without a hitch.
We miss the ferry we were aiming for, so there’s a long wait before we get on the boat. A few hours on the water, watching the French coastline disappearing, and we’re back in Dover. It’s getting dark. A final video is made of everybody waving goodbye just before we get back to Wombats, where this all began. We gather our bags and exchange some last goodbyes. Many are going home tomorrow. Some leave for other hotels, some are leaving on other Topdeck or Contiki tours the next day. I seem to be the only one who plans to stay only in London for the next week before home. I check back into the hostel again, and plan to get some sleep. 24 days, so many adventures. And more on the way.

Topdeck is done, but I still have to tackle London before I go home.

Day 28: January 21st, London

I finally have the luxury of sleeping a bit later today. A whole week in this glorious city, and no early morning starts.
Unfortunately, there’s an issue in my female-only dorm. The lights aren’t working so I have to shower in the dark, which is an experience to say the least. I go down to do some laundry, then take care of the bird’s nest I call my hair, and at around 2pm my extended family show up. I haven’t seen them in a long time, and we go to the Tower of London, which is right near my hostel.
The tower is massive, and we walk around the entire thing. It’s here that I learn I am possibly the worst person to visit a historical site with because every five seconds it’s “Knew that…knew that….they missed that detail out….didn’t know that….knew that but here’s the entire story in minute detail….”

The day cuts short because Rachel and Chris have to get home, and in true London style, it starts to rain. Hard.

And the lights in the dorm still aren’t working.

NEXT TIME: Part 10/10 The Final Chapter

 

Wanderlust Part 8: Berlin and Amsterdam

Missed any part of my WANDERLUST series? Catch up here!
Wanderlust Part 1: Hong Kong and London
Wanderlust Part 2: Paris, Swiss Alps
Wanderlust Part 3: Florence and Rome
Wanderlust Part 4: Rome to Venice
Wanderlust Part 5: Salzburg and Vienna
Wanderlust Part 6: Budapest to Krakow
Wanderlust Part 7: Krakow, Auschwitz and Prague

Day 23: January 16th Prague to Berlin, Germany via Dresden

Some people joined in Budapest and left in Prague. Some have joined us for the final week. There are fewer than ever on the coach, and just two more destinations before the Winter Spirit trip ends.
We leave Prague early in the morning. After the usual morning stop at the service station for snacks, our lunch break will take place in the German town of Dresden. In WWII. 4000 tonnes of explosives were dropped on Dresden over two days, obliterating the city. But you’d never know, because it’s been rebuilt and is absolutely beautiful.
While walking around, I get to know Hannah, a 19 year old from Queensland who’s one of the most recent additions for this last week.We have a nice lunch at a fun little place. She’s studying occupational therapy and she’s never seen snow.

We arrive in Berlin that evening and get a driving tour of the city by a local guide. I sign up to do the Third Reich walking tour the next day, and as dinner is served that night, I have my first ever shot. For the record, it was a vodka sunshine, and it’s all captured on video.

Day 24: January 17th Berlin, Germany

When I booked my trip to Europe, one of the things I was most excited about was the amount of history on the continent. Especially war history, which is fascinating to me. I’m very keen to see how Germany handles WWII memorials, for obvious reasons.
Our guide is Spanish, and has lived in Germany for a few years. The tour starts at the Reichstag building, where we learn about Hitler’s rise to power, followed by the Brandenburg Gate. It starts snowing at this point, and you can definitely tell who the Australians are in this group because we all start squealing like kids in a candy store. And yes, there is still that one guy who ALWAYS wears shorts.
I take some hauntingly beautiful pictures of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in the snow, and then we’re invited to walk through the stone maze.
We stop at a cafe for a quick break, then it’s onto the site of Hitler’s bunker and we finish at what’s left of the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie where we hear about a few very creative escapes.

People scatter after the tour, and again, I decide to go off on my own. I’m much happier this way. I wander into a nearby store and get a beautiful new pair of gloves to replace the ones I’m currently wearing. They’ve been saturated by the snowfall outside. I walk along the Berlin Wall to the war museum, entry is free, and spend some time looking around. But to be honest, a lot of the information is stuff I already know from a lifetime of loving history.
The snow is getting very heavy, and it’s soaking through my coat. I head into a giant shopping centre to dry off a bit. The fashions in Berlin are lovely, and I want to take this chance to revamp my wardrobe.
Because I have ten days til I head back to Australia, and the sweltering heat, I’m conscious of the fact that I haven’t got any summer clothing to change into on the flight home. There’s a sale on, and I get a new pair of denim shorts for 10 euros. And a new winter hat. I’m sure everyone in the store thought I was crazy getting shorts in the dead of winter. If only they knew.

Outside, it’s snowing harder than ever and I’m wet to the skin, boots and all. I hate to admit it, but it’s time to throw in the towel and head back to the hostel if I want to get dry. I decide to walk back and see as much of the city as I can. On the way I find an adorable cupcake shop, and get a couple to take with me.
Back at the hostel, I strip off all my wet clothes and hang them up to dry. The heating system will soon take care of that for me. My boots go under the heater on the wall, and I take a hot shower to defrost.

This is my first experience with real, heavy snowfall. And I’m quite happy to make it my last.

Day 25: January 18th Berlin to Amsterdam, Netherlands

It’s time for the last drive day, and onto our final destination. Amsterdam.

This is the only day where literally nothing eventful happens. It’s a 12 hour drive day, and bad weather (which even makes the news in Australia) means we have to miss the cheese and clogs factory demonstration we were meant to do today. It sucks. Guess that just goes to show, traffic and weather is a global issue. At least the coach is relatively comfortable and very well heated.

The only noteworthy experience is arriving in Amsterdam, and being warned in no uncertain terms to not step into the bike lanes. “You WILL get knocked over and they WILL yell at you,”
As soon as I have access to WiFi, I send a desperate message home. I fear I may not make it out alive after seeing these bike riders in action. If I don’t, avenge my death.

Next time: Part 9/10 Amsterdam, London

Wanderlust Part 7: Krakow, Auschwitz and Prague

Catch up on my Wanderlust journey! Wanderlust Part 1: Hong Kong and London Wanderlust Part 2: Paris, Swiss Alps Wanderlust Part 3: Florence and Rome Wanderlust Part 4: Rome to Venice Wanderlust Part 5: Salzburg and Vienna Wanderlust Part 6: Budapest to Krakow

Day 20: January 13th Krakow, Poland

Never in my life have I ever experienced cold like in Poland. From the moment I step outside the hostel door, the chill is unbelievable. Even layered up with thermals, merino wool, snow boots and my down coat, I’m highly aware of my exposed face. Tiny flakes of snow are falling from the sky during the short walk to the largest medieval square in Europe. The mercury is definitely below zero, but I don’t mind. There’s a small Christmas market still open, and I’m in time to hear St Mary’s Trumpet Call.

A number of people are going to explore the Jewish Quarter, and others are braving the terrors of Lost Souls Alley. I’d like to go to the Jewish Quarter, but Schindler’s Factory is number one on my list, and there’s something else very special I want to do as well. First, I need to eat. On a recommendation, I head to a nearby cafe for a hot chocolate and a croissant. With melted chocolate.

As lovely as the cafe is, I soon have to brave the chill and walk several metres to the nearby tourist information office. I book a tour, that afternoon, for the Wieliczka Salt mine. First though, I ask for directions to Schindler’s Factory so I can visit before the mines. This is where my saga begins. To be perfectly honest, Krakow doesn’t have the best signage and the map…could be better. It takes me a while to find the tram stop, since the factory is bit outside of the town. I get my ticket from a woman who can’t speak a real lot of English, but that isn’t a problem. She points me in the direction of the tram I’m meant to get. Or so I think.

After about ten minutes on the tram it dawns on me that I’m not going the right way. None of the signs are in English, so I get off the tram and catch one in the direction I came from, until I recognise the city. After managing to connect to WiFi at a Starbucks, working out the right tram from another tourist information centre, and a rather spectacular fall over my own feet, I’m on my way to Schindler’s Factory but I’m conscious of the time and seriously doubting whether I’ll make the Salt Mine tour at this point. I get off near some historical site where Jewish people were rounded up during the Holocaust. It’s an icy walk to the factory and my face is getting so numb from the cold that I’m wrapping my cashmere scarf around it. Schindler’s Factory is…not what I expect. I’m actually stunned at how it’s not about Schindler himself. It’s 99% about the Nazi ocuppation of Poland. Needless to say, I already know most of the history on display. Schindler is only featured in the very last room, and I whip through the entire factory in about an hour. I get the correct tram back to the main square and, big shock, I’m the first to arrive for the Salt Mine tour. Also the only Australian on board. The Wieliczka Salt Mine is absolutely glorious. Over 40 years it was dug out by hand in the 13th century.  The tour begins with 350 steps down into the Danilowicz Shaft, and we are actively encouraged to lick the walls (“1kg of salt is included in the ticket price!” jokes the guide). The mine is peppered with animatronics and statues showing what the workers looked like hundreds of years ago. We see lakes, the magnificent Chapel of St. King full of hand carved salt murals and salt chandeliers that’s booked for weddings (“It’s such a long way down ladies, plenty of time to change your mind!”), the Saltdiggers Horn, the treatment centre further down, and the gift shop halfway through where I get some salt scrub. Three hours of beauty and coloured salt that defies description. I’m in awe. And the tour ends with a ride back to the surface in a tiny mine elevator.

When I arrive back in the main square, I take myself out to dinner and then return to the hostel. Some people – and I am not joking – bear minor injuries from Lost Souls Alley, others have been recovering from hangovers (!) but I’m the only one who experienced the glorious salt mines. And I’ll never forget it. But tomorrow, we head to the most harrowing historical site imaginable. Auschwitz.

Day 21: January 14th, Krakow to Prague via Auschwitz-Birkenau

Nothing can really prepare a decent human being for a visit to Auschwitz. And I mean nothing. It’s actually difficult to put the experience into words.

We go through a security check before being met by the guide at the gate, that awful sign looming above. Arbeit macht frei. Work will make you free. “The biggest lie of all,” says the guide. We’d been warned to layer up, but heavens alive, this is a new realm of freezing. It’s about -6°C. The guide tells us this is an unusually warm day. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets. But it’s true. In winter, it can get to -30°C. The wind is like a blunt knife sawing on my exposed skin (which is just my face). For the rest of the day, all anyone says is, “We’re layered up in down coats, thermals, hats, gloves, scarves. The people here just wore thin uniforms. How did ANYONE survive in this cold?” It seems even more shocking when we’re informed the prisoners were given 250-300 calories per day, doing back-breaking labour, and the minimum calories needed to survive is around 2,000. It’s just gut-wrenching. Photos are allowed at most places in Auschwitz. But I only take two. I don’t want to do any more than the barest minimum. Just the entrance is all I can bear. This place has the weight of death all over it. I can’t bring myself to take pictures. I can’t explain it. It just feels…wrong.

We go through many buildings. Some go over the locations of the death camps. Others contain Zyklon B canisters. Rooms full of statistics and photographs of the people who were killed. A building containing the items taken from the Jews before they were murdered in the gas chambers. Tonnes of shaved hair. Prayer shawls. Piles of glasses. Thousands of shoes. Suitcases labelled with names and addresses, promised to be returned. A mass of cooking equipment, face creams, brushes, combs, razors (the guide told us they had recently discovered gold jewellery hidden in a teapot’s secret compartment for 70 years). And most hauntingly (for me): crutches, wheelchairs, prosthetic limbs from the disabled victims. “These aren’t the things people bring when they think they’re going to die, are they?” says the guide. But very few of us can speak at this point. There’s photos lining the walls of haunted, tortured faces glaring down from beyond the grave. The execution wall where people were shot. Every step is like a punch of reality. Worst of all is visiting the torture block. There you’ll find sleep-deprivation cells, suffocation cells, starvation cells. Yes, those mean exactly what you think they do. We don’t get inside the building dedicated to the horrendous medical experiments, and I’m somewhat grateful for that.

Birkenau is the second half of the camp, and we have to get back on the coach to get there. Birkenau contains the only gas chamber still standing here. Originally there were five. But as the Allies closed in, the Nazis tried to destroy the evidence. So there’s just one that we walk through. And disgracefully, the walls are covered in tourist’s carvings. It’s sickening. The barracks where people slept have the same vandalism.

Three hours at Auschwitz that will stay with me forever. In the next 20 years, there will be no Holocaust survivors left. Everybody needs to come visit this place. Everyone.

For the rest of the day, no joke, I’m trying to warm up again and the vibe on the coach is very subdued. We arrive in Prague that night, where the temperature of  2°C feels absolutely pleasant. I’m way too tired to head on the walking tour, and ok, I have to do some laundry as well.

Day 22: January 15th, Prague

My day starts with an attempt to make myself look presentable for a Skype call with my Dad. He advises me to head to the Astronomy clock, and I add it to my list. With my down coat zipped, and my trusty cashmere scarf, I step out into the wind. The temperature is close to zero, but after the virtual blizzard in Auschwitz yesterday, I will never have the right to complain about cold weather ever again.

Prague is the only major city in Europe untouched by war, and that was on Hitler’s orders. There’s a large Jewish Quarter in the city, and Hitler had a sick plan to preserve it as a museum to the Jewish people. When I arrive in the main square, I’m disappointed that the Astronomy Clock, dating back to 1410, is covered in plywood and undergoing restoration! I shake off the momentary annoyance, and resolve to head to the Castle District. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to find the Charles Bridge, but in my defence the streets aren’t exactly in a grid. The bridge gives me some spectacular photo opportunities and I’m absolutely thrilled to see that the Castle District is practically deserted. I get to see the changing of the guard, and I have the run of the place to take all the photos my little heart desires. This place is straight out of a fairytale. It’s just stunning.

On my way back, I stop at a cafe for lunch, where the workers are kind of impressed of how happy I look, and also that I’m traipsing around by myself. Walking back across the Charles Bridge, I get myself another trdelnik. Without cinnamon. I learned my lesson in Budapest. In an upscale shop, I get myself a hand-painted Swedish-made crystal ornament for my room back home. I’m initially concerned about it breaking, but the women in the store have a special padded box to keep it safe. Many of the souvenirs I’ve seen on the trip have been easy to dismiss, but here I decide to indulge a little, like with my puzzle ring in Florence. I honestly haven’t bought much so I have quite a bit more money than I thought, and because I’m flying solo (so to speak), I’ve been able to avoid doing activities I don’t want to do. However, being on your own can have its disadvantages. Such as when I’m about to get a ticket to a museum I really want to visit and the Romeo next to the counter wants to know if I’m married. I say no, (you’d think the lack of a wedding ring would clue him in, but what do I know?) and he responds slyly “Guess I’m lucky then!” I roll my eyes and snap back “In your dreams!” and hightail out of there. No, it’s not nearly as bad as it was in Venice, but still.

Although any lingering irritation with that last encounter is swept away while I walk back to the hostel and witness the most magical sunset of my life with Prague’s castles in the distance. Another experience that’s all mine, and nobody can ever take away from me.

Next time: Part 8/10: Berlin and Amsterdam!

Wanderlust Part 6: Budapest to Krakow

Catch up on the journey so far!
Wanderlust Part 1: Hong Kong and London
Wanderlust Part 2: Paris, Swiss Alps
Wanderlust Part 3: Florence and Rome
Wanderlust Part 4: Rome to Venice
Wanderlust Part 5: Salzburg and Vienna

Day 17: January 10th, Vienna to Budapest, via Bratislava

Another travel day, another early start. In the hostel room, my roommates state how envious they are of my packing cubes. Tori, one of the girls, swears by her space-saver bags. But I respectfully disagree.
Topdeck has pretty strict luggage restrictions in theory. But as far as I can see, my bag is among the smallest and lightest of anybody’s (although there was a boy who managed to bring only 7kgs for around 8 weeks of travel. And he also wore shorts. In the snow. There’s always one). While planning my trip, I did extensive research on packing light and managed to get everything I needed into a medium-sized suitcase weighing 9kg. As much as I love the idea of travelling carry-on only, this trip was from Australia to Europe for five weeks in the dead of winter. It just wasn’t going to happen. I’ve packed conservatively, in terms of how much I’ve brought with me, and I’m immensely grateful for the laundry facilities in the hostels, the game changer for me is my packing cubes. They keep my reasonably sized suitcase organised, helped me pack only what I absolutely needed, and made repacking my bag a breeze every time we’ve gone somewhere new, which has been every couple of days. I am never travelling without them again.
After breakfast at the hostel we have to walk to the coach, and at this point in the trip I’m not only glad for packing light, I’m also glad for exercising restraint when it comes to buying pointless souvenirs because some people are getting seriously weighed down.

We leave Vienna and begin the trip to Budapest, Hungary. But first, we have a stop in Bratislava, Slovakia.
I’d like to say this day stop is eventful, but that would be a lie. Because it is pouring with rain. My down coat, for all the warmth it’s given me, is sadly lacking in the waterproof department. I’m getting soaked. My companions and I can’t figure out where to go for lunch with the limited time we have. Eventually, after going back and forth, we simply walk into a McDonalds and thankfully my coat dries with the heat.
As we’re descending into eastern Europe, I can see a distinct difference in architecture. And sadly, reminders of WWII. On the outskirts of Budapest, we drive to the top of the citadel and get an incredible view of the city we’re about to visit. The bridges we drive across were all destroyed in bombings, but rebuilt.
As we arrive in Budapest to the tune of the George Ezra song, we go on a driving tour but it’s obvious this is a very walkable city. Our accomodation is another Plus Hostel, a chain we’re all very fond of. The walls are painted with famous Hungarians. Even walking around is a lesson.
Nearly everyone goes out for a pub crawl. I stay in the hostel and respond to the mountain of acting-related emails I’ve gotten with the glorious access to WiFi.

Day 18: January 11th, Budapest

It’s a free day and I am keen for some exploring, despite the cold. Most people are heading to the Gellert Baths, Budapest’s famous thermal spa. I’m not planning to go because A) New Zealand’s thermal spas have set the standard I will live and die by B) I’d rather explore the city as much as I can and C) I didn’t bring my bikini and there’s a snowflake’s chance in hell I’d want to wear it in this weather anyway. I have an idea of what I want to do, but sadly, my plans have to change slightly. I was dying to visit the House of Terror Museum. Before anyone has a heart attack, the exhibitions deal with WWII, Communism, Fascism, the Iron Curtain etc.
Unfortunately for me the Museum is closed for renovations and the history geek in me is throwing the tantrum of the century. But before I can get too upset, I have to race back to the hostel and film a couple of self test audition videos. Actor life never ends.
Once that’s done, I head back out again. The best way I can describe the city is if New York was clean and not overcompensating for something. I wander around for a while, enjoying the old world charm of Budapest, and then I find myself at the Budapest Eye. There’s no line, and the ticket is 9 euro. I race straight to the front and get on immediately to a spectacular bird’s-eye view of the place.
For the next few hours, I take dozens of photos, indulge in a bit of retail therapy for pretty much the first time this trip and I learn the hard way that getting cinnamon filling in Trdelnik is a horrible idea.

That night, we do one of my favourite activities on the trip. A dinner cruise on the Danube River. If anyone is going to Budapest, this is a must.

Day 19: January 12th, Budapest to Krakow, Poland 

Disaster strikes the next morning. As soon as I’ve packed everything into my suitcase, I go to put one more thing in, only to realise the padlock is jammed. And because I’ve had it for a few years, I can’t exactly reset the code. Drat.
There’s no time to remedy the situation though. It’s another long long drive day ahead, this time to Krakow.
During a phone call to my Dad, I professed that Salzburg was my favourite country, and he responded “Wait til you see Krakow and Prague,” Let’s go for it then.

The trip on the coach is eventful to say the least. I decide to go for the front row seat this time, and a number of people, along with the usual daily hangovers, are getting sick, not unlike I did in Paris. I’m not going through that again, so I’m drenching my hands in santizer every five minutes. And during our first rest station stop, an adorable stray puppy starts chasing the coach. And yes, I get out and cuddle it.
Morgan gives her usual this-is-our-next-country introduction but the one for Poland is incredibly sad, to put it mildly. Poland was the country most affected by WWII. I know most of it already being a history nut, but some of the statistics of just how many Polish people died is horrifying.
Morgan then puts on Schindler’s List, and I watch it even though I’ve seen it several times before. But judging by the gasps and tears from behind, it’s clear a lot of my fellow travellers haven’t.

We’re in for a shock with Krakow during the walking tour. And by that I mean nobody is prepared for how cold it is. Even with the other countries we’ve been to, this is something else.

My night ends with a very funny experience. When I get up to the hostel room, the lock on my suitcase is still jammed. I’ve brought a spare one with me, so I head down to reception to see if they had WD-40 or something to just get the lock off.
“Do you mind if we break the lock?” the woman at reception asks.
“Nope, you can do what ever you need,” I say.
She disappears into the back and returns with a hacksaw. And the look on my roommates’ faces is priceless as she saws the lock off.

NEXT TIME: Part 7/10 – Krakow, Auschwitz and Prague!

Wanderlust Part 1: Hong Kong and London

Since the age of 15, I’ve wanted to travel to Europe. This year, I decided it was time to stop thinking about it and actually do it. For the next few weeks I’ll be blogging my journey through 11 countries on Topdeck’s Winter Spirit. Enjoy!

DAY 1: December 25th. Sydney to Hong Kong. 

I can’t get over how crowded Sydney Airport is. But somehow I manage to make it through security without any trouble. The journey ahead is daunting, a solo trip to the other side of the world, a trip I am unexpectedly taking alone. My emotions are mixed. A few tears saying goodbye at the famous departure sign only fuel the feelings. Am I doing the right thing, going alone? But in my heart I know this is what I need. I have to do this by myself. I have to.
Thankfully, I’m much better prepared for the long flight this time around. The last time, on my trip to America, I was not ready. I wore the wrong clothes on the plane, I got my liquids confiscated at security for being over the 100ml limit, I took a VERY strong sleeping pill way too early in the flight and barely lived to regret it….well, not this time. This time I’ve done my research. I know what I’m doing.

First stop, Hong Kong. 9 hour flight.

The Cathay Pacific plane is packed. There’s not one empty spot. But I’m pleased to discover that the seats are VERY comfortable. Almost like an armchair. Unfortunately my recline doesn’t seem to work, and lucky me, I get the seatmate from hell.
She’s an entitled teen who takes pleasure in elbowing my armrest constantly, sticks her legs into my space and feels the need to snicker at and criticise my movie choices. Even her mother joins in. Well, I’m 25 years old and if I want to watch Muppets Christmas Carol/Harry Potter then I will, your opinions be damned. However, it’s 10:20pm and soon I drift off to sleep.

DAY 2: December 26th, Hong Kong 

My flight was meant to land at 5am Hong Kong time. But the plane has landed at 3:55am.

Hong Kong airport is almost deserted. Immigration takes about 5 minutes and soon I’m in the arrivals lounge. It’s so early, the train station is locked behind a heavy metal grate. Looks like I’m going nowhere until it opens. I snap a few pictures and settle in a seat. Everyone else is sleeping in chairs, waiting for the trains.

At 5:30am the gate is open. But first I head to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. There’s a little area in the ladies’ room dedicated for makeup application. Thanks Hong Kong.

The MTR train from the airport to the city takes on 24 minutes. The train is spotless, fast, and smoother than any ride I’ve ever had on public transport. At Hong Kong Central, screens show the airline schedules. You can check in for your flight at the station. I follow the excellent signage to the Island line. I haven’t even been outside yet and Hong Kong is already finding its way into my heart.
Every train is behind a glass wall, the door only opening when the train has stopped. How many lives must be saved because of such a simple measure? I want to take this whole system home to Sydney.

I’m meant to meet my friend Brooke a bit later, so I kill time at Sheung Wan by getting hot chocolate at Starbucks, searching endlessly for WiFi to contact both Brooke and home, and then I go for a walk to the famous Star Ferry pier.
At 10am Brooke arrives. My flight leaves at 3:05pm so we waste no time heading straight to Hong Kong’s iconic Peak Tram, much like Australia’s Scenic Railway. The view is stunning, though unfortunately partly obscured by smog.

We head back down and catch a cab to the Star Ferry. There’s another item ticked off the bucket list. On the next island Brooke shows me the Garden of Stars and the performing arts centre. It’s a shame the museum has closed for renovations. But I’m very keen to find one place in particular. A jewellery store I promised Grandpa that I’d visit. He went to Hong Kong regularly for business trips and every year since the mid 80s, this particular store has sent him a Christmas card without fail. We do find it, although the pieces are a little too much for my taste. Still, mission accomplished.

With only a couple of hours til my flight leaves, I head back to the airport. The train journey takes less than an hour (are you listening, Australia?). No need to check in, since I did it online but I need to find what gate I’m meant to board at. Apparently it’s Gate 65. Before I know it, I’m on another train to a different section of the massive airport, only to find there’s been a change. To gate 63.

Today I’ve managed to navigate a foreign city, alone, without getting lost once. I can’t help but feel proud.

When the flight to London boards, I’m thrilled to see that there is nobody in the row in front of me, nobody behind me, I have a whole row to myself and the flight is almost empty. Forget first class. I have a great setup here. I pull up the armrests, grab a few spare pillows and blankets, and manage to sleep soundly for 10 of the 12 hours. Best. Flight. Ever.

LONDON, HEATHROW AIRPORT 

It’s 8:20pm but Border Control has a ridiculously long line. While I’m waiting, I log into the Topdeck App and discover that one other girl from the tour group is here in line for Border Control. Her name is Sophie. We make plans to meet up at baggage reclaim. Five minutes later, we realise we’re practically next to each other in line. Apparently her flight from Melbourne was delayed eight hours so if that hadn’t happened we wouldn’t have met up. We both decide it’s fate.

After more than an hour waiting, Sophie gets a real grilling by immigration, while the man checking my passport doesn’t even mind that I made a mistake on my landing card.

It’s close to 10pm, so we head to the taxi rank. We’re greeted by a massive line and precisely zero taxis in sight. We head back inside to find the Tube.

Unfortunately for us, the Heathrow express isn’t running. Thankfully the attendant is helpful (despite mistaking us for students) and tells us how to get to the hostel. Or so we think.

It’s a long trip to the station and neither of us a phone reception to call the hostel. Mercifully, Sophie manages to get some data roaming once the tube is above ground. She contacts the accomodation so we don’t lose our reservations. It’s getting close to midnight.
Finally, we arrive at the station. There’s free WiFi at the station so I connect and pull up Google maps. The guy said it wouldn’t take long to walk from here. And that’s when we realise the horrible truth. I told the man we wanted to get to Tower Bridge Station. He’d told us to get on a train to London Bridge Station. The genius has sent us in the wrong direction.
At this point it’s almost 1am, we’re both tired and a 26 minute walk from where we need to be. It’s also freezing cold and we have suitcases.
The London Bridge station staff tell us where the taxi rank is, and we get there to find it almost deserted. Though neither of us say it aloud, Sophie and I are seriously doubting whether we’ll make it to the hostel before sunrise.
Sophie spots a man hanging around near a fancy looking building. I assume he’s security because he looks like someone the mafia would hire. He sends us to the main road and within minutes, we’re finally in a taxi towards the hostel.

Unfortunately the driver sees fit to give us a PHENOMENAL lecture on how we could have gotten a cab at Heathrow if we’d just XYZ….maybe he thought we were insulting the taxi industry. I don’t know. And I really don’t care. I just want to get warm.
It’s well after 1am when we finally get to the room. After a shower I’m finally feeling human again. The bed is pretty comfortable too.
It’s taken us 5 hours to get from the plane to the hostel room. I tell Sophie that someday we’ll be laughing. But for now, sleep.

DAY 3: December 27th, London.

When I wake, I can feel a cold starting. Drat. Last thing I need is to get sick. But it figures. More than 21 hours on planes which are just massive bacteria breeding zones. I’ll have to take something for it.
Sophie’s already up. She says she couldn’t sleep. I suspect jetlag, although I’m feeling a bit groggy too. But I’m not sure if it’s jetlag or this stupid cold.

We head down to breakfast, where there’s a great spread of all-you-can-eat food and we meet another girl from the Winter Spirit tour. She’s from Perth. While we’re chatting away, I happen to glance out the window and see the snow.
I jump up from the table and run up the stairs, through the foyer door and start snapping pictures. Everyone is laughing at me.

“What are you so excited about?” Someone asks me.

“I’ve never seen snow fall from the sky!” I explain with the air of a child in a candy store.

The guy looks at me like I have three heads. “Where are you from that you don’t see snow?!?”

“Australia. I haven’t seen any since I was twelve and never falling from the sky,” There’s one item off my bucket list. And on my first morning too.

Sophie and I decide to head out to the Christmas market by the Thames. It’s raining so I take the umbrella I packed.
Neither of us have ever experienced such cold. Even layered up with thermals and down coats, the wind chill hits you. Within minutes my stupid umbrella is broken. It kept out the rain but it’s no match for the wind. Damn it.

We cross Tower Bridge and find that it was worth braving the temperatures for what we find. The stalls are in cute wooden shacks, beautifully decorated for the holidays. At one stall, we find a great umbrella built for London’s weather and big enough for both of us. And it’s only £10. Sold!

We pass a chemist and head inside, partly so I can pick up something for this stupid cold and partly to get warm. Everything is so well heated here. I quickly find some cold and flu tablets. Better to nip this thing in the bud.

Sophie is really starting to shiver and I have to admit we need a break. We decide to head back to the hostel to get warm, (in Sophie’s case) get some thermals on, and figure out our next move. Our city map didn’t hold up so well in the rain either. We need a new one.
Back at the hostel, I discover my socks got slightly wet from the deep puddles. My boots are a little damp on the inside too. Sophie offers her hair dryer which does the trick. Not even 24 hours since we met and we’re already a great team.

We both want to go to the Tower of London but we’re also keen for lunch. We set out to see if Britain’s fish and chips live up to the legends. But Google maps can be deceptive as the place we were looking for is closed. We resign ourselves to pizza instead. May as well get some practice in for Italy.
After we eat, Sophie says she’s feeling tired and I’m quite relaxed too. We walk back to the hostel to figure out what to do next, but Sophie’s so tired she decides to get some sleep. It’s probably best I take it easy today as well, with this ridiculous cold threatening me. Besides, it’s not even 4pm and the sun is setting.

Tonight, the tour group plans to meet at the bar for drinks. Tomorrow, we hit the road. First stop, Paris, the City of Light.

Stay tuned!

Next time: Part 2/10, Paris and Switzerland

#metoo

August 2016

The Old Fitz Hotel Theatre, Sydney. My second attempt at watching Low Level Panic. A few weeks previously, my first viewing had ended at intermission when I had suddenly come down with a virus. But here I was again, this time ready to see Act 2. Low Level Panic by Clare McIntyre is a powerful masterpiece of theatre showcasing the subtle ways sexism bleeds into society.
As the first act concluded, I turned to ask my companion if he wanted a drink. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of tears streaming down his face.
“What’s wrong?” I was alarmed at this display of emotion. He was crying so hard I had to lead him outside.
“Have I ever made a woman feel like that? Have I ever made YOU feel like that?” He was nearly hysterical.

~

Every woman knows the feeling. A man who just won’t take no for an answer.  Who lingers, leers, follows, gropes, touches, makes some crude remark, licks his lips, asks how much you are…I could go on. And as always, every single time you get harassed or assaulted, it’s the same questions/statements we’ve heard a million times.
What were you wearing?
You must have led him on.
That’s just how guys are.
Lighten up.
How much were you drinking?
Learn to take a compliment.
Come on, you aren’t going to turn him down are you?
Give him a chance.
You were asking for it.
Well what did you think was going to happen?
You shouldn’t have been there/done that.
You’re lying.
You’re just trying to ruin his life.
Have you thought about what this could mean for him?

Even though I have never been raped, I’ve still heard a number of those things. Like every female who has ever existed past present and future, I’ve been hurt by men. I’ve woken up to sexually explicit messages or pictures from strangers.  The last time I dared look at my Others folder on Facebook, there were countless propositions. I’ve been leered at. I’ve been followed by men, sometimes in pairs. In August this year I had my path blocked by a male who later tracked me down at my day job. Just a few days ago, I was doing a corporate event dressed as Elsa with sleazy middle aged men asking for hugs, for me and my female coworker to come do the housework. Guys have made me their little conquest mission to take my virginity. Men have told me I can’t possibly be the manager at work and is there a man they can speak to instead? I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many times men have yelled out “SMILE!”
And of course, I’m an actress/singer. An industry rampant with this sort of behaviour as we’ve seen with Harvey Weinstein and countless other disgusting individuals. Without naming anybody, I did my first professional show at 21. During the callbacks, girls were made to give lap dances to the boys. I am not making that up. I never knew lap dances were the way to tell if you can sing, dance and convincingly portray a character. But apparently, that’s considered appropriate behaviour for directors!

The first time I remember a man making me feel uncomfortable, I was about 5. It was someone I’d never met. He kissed my hand and told me how pretty I was. I didn’t even know how to react but I remember feeling scared and embarrassed.
Since then, it’s happened more times than I can count. But here’s my highlight reel, for lack of a better word.

I’m 9. A boy from school chases me around the McDonald’s playground, pins me down and says he wants to kiss me. I kick him off and get away.

I’m 12. My creepy teacher is always trying to get me alone in the classroom with him. Then he invites me to lean against his chest. I say no.

I’m 14. Walking home from school. A group of about ten boys from my class swarm around me in a tight circle. They ask me what my vagina looks like. About my clitoris. About all the boys I’m supposedly sleeping with. Would I ever sleep with them? I’m a desperately shy virgin. Male teacher laughs and tells the boys not to do that again.

I’m 15. Wearing a school uniform. A middle aged tradie wolf whistles at me while he drives by.

I’m 16. A boy in science class gropes me, then follows me onto the school bus and does it again.

I’m 18. A boy at school slips his hand down my uniform and starts sliding my bra off. When I push him away he replies coyly that he’s “Just keeping his hands warm.”

I’m 19. While working, a group of boys in their early twenties point at me and ask my male coworker “Can you ask that girl to show some breast?”

I’m 20. A man slows his car down and shrieks “I’d f*** you!” at me as I walk down the street.

The boy I’ve been dating for almost eighteen months breaks up with me because “Women need to provide sex for men,” and I wasn’t ready.

I’m at my friend’s 21st birthday party. Her grandfather makes a pass at me. Later on he comes to find me and rubs himself against my body. He laughs. People at the party wave it off as him being a dirty old man.

I’m involved in filming a music video. The producer reaches for my chest asking where my boobs are because I’m the only one on the shoot wearing a high necked top.

I’m 21. The only passenger on the bus. The middle-aged driver doesn’t open the door at my stop. He tells me I’m hot. I have to ask him to let me out.

I’m 23. My 46 year old co-worker asks about my sex life. I ask him to stop. He calls me a bitch. He tells me I need to start having sex to get the dicks out of my brain and into my life. I’m called the perpetrator.

A random stranger comes up to me at the train station while I’m reading a book and hugs me. I have to shove him off. He giggles “I like hugging people”. It’s reported, but never followed up.

I’m 24 and trying on swimwear. An old man walks over and asks if he can take over the fitting. The older sales assistant starts lamenting my generation and how we don’t like “those comments” anymore.

I’m walking around the shopping centre/mall dressed as a Christmas Elf for work. A man slips his hand up my skirt.

The #metoo hashtag is surging on social media right now, but this is far from the first time sexual harassment and assault has come into the public eye in the last two years. There was the Stanford case where Brock Turner was given a ridiculously light sentence for sexual assault because he can swim. Prominent members of the entertainment industry have been exposed for the predators they are, predictably leading to shrieks of “THOSE WOMEN ARE LYING”. America currently has an orange self-proclaimed sexual predator in the White House and he of course has no end of defenders in his conduct towards women. This is a man who openly treats women like objects to be defiled and played with, who bragged about sexual assault in that revolting Access Hollywood tape (his victims were mocked with the hashtag #nextfaketrumpvictim), who dismisses women as gold diggers and still became President of the United States. Remind me again how accusations of sexual misconduct will ruin a man’s career? God help us.
Domestic violence is rampant in Australia. One woman every week is killed by a current or former partner and people just shrug and ask “Why didn’t they just leave?”
And of course, everyday sexism is screaming from all directions. We all saw the ridiculous carry-on when Jodie Whittaker was announced as the first female Dr Who. Female politicians are constantly questioned first and foremost on motherhood and fashion choices. Any woman who dares express an opinion online or try to do a job in a “man’s industry” is met with jokes, threats of rape/death and an order to make sandwiches. I’ll probably get a few for writing this blog.

Women have put up with this since the dawn of time and we’re all over it. Instead of teaching girls to not give men the wrong signals or how to prevent being raped, we should be teaching boys how to respect women. Enough is enough.
And yes I know, #notallmen and all that jazz. But if your reaction to any mention of sexism, rape, violence against women or the concept of mansplaining causes you to go into a foaming rage, maybe it’s time to take a look at yourself and think, “Does this make me sound like a Grade A douchebag?”
Catcalling is not a compliment. It’s not funny. It’s threatening and intimidating and it is NEVER ok.

Ladies, keep talking about this. It’s not acceptable in any situation. It was wrong in the 50s and it’s wrong in 2017. Men, call out your friends and co-workers. Be a man and treat females with respect. Not because you have a mother/sister/daughter, but because we’re all human.

And this may come as a shock to the faceless morons on the Internet, but that includes women.