Hilary Murray's Blog, page 3
August 21, 2017
Heading back to the Pacific Islands
Barely home from our big trip to Europe and we’re off again tomorrow morning for two months. This time back to Tonga, and a house-sit even more remote than the last one, when at least we had a village to interact with. This time we’re completely isolated. One small island, one beachside home. And we can’t wait!Even more exciting, the humpback whales and calves will be heading south on their annual migration back to the Antarctic after mating and giving birth in the warm Pacific waters. And it all happens just off our doorstep. How stunning is that going to be!
For now though, it’s the last of the packing. A suitcase full of food items you won’t find in Neiafu, a kitbag of shorts and t-shirts, and of course our most important piece of luggage - Jas’s fishing rods, spear-gun, snorkel, flippers and wetsuit! Oh, and somewhere amongst it all will be my lap-top. With a bit of luck the solitude will draw together all the wispy ideas floating around in my head and in turn get my next book underway!
August 16, 2017
What is it with us and travel plans?
Even something as simple as picking up our pre-arranged hire car in the UK wasn’t without issues. But nothing comes close to the drama’s on the Munich/Los Angeles leg of our journey!
With our air travel booked months in advance from NZ, all that was required on our final day in Germany was to board the train to the airport. Simple! And being organised we even went down to the station the afternoon before and bought our tickets to avoid any mad rush in the morning. What could possibly go wrong?
Quite a bit, as it turned out.
That we caught a crowded connection going south of Munich rather than north as originally intended shouldn't have mattered as it made little difference to our arrival time. But in the grand scheme of things it did. Pulling into a station some nine stops from our final destination, and with the carriages at standing room only, we learned there was an electrical fault further up the line. Given the tannoy announcement was in German - which regrettably neither Jas, Bex or I speak - we were forced to ask our fellow passengers what was going on and gauging their reaction it seemed the issue was more an irritation than a disaster. To be fair, some did leave the train, but most stayed put. Some twenty minutes later, and with more and more deciding to find an alternative route to the airport, the authorities finally admitted the train was kaput, as they say. It was also cheerfully suggested we moved to another platform and caught a returning train to a previous station and find a bus to the airport from there. Not that one had been laid on, of course.
Time was ticking away and feeling a tad anxious we decided to join the growing throng hoping to grab a taxi instead. Yeah, right, as we say in NZ! With each arriving cab besieged by angry and desperate travellers clearly a Plan B was needed, and so leaving the concourse and dragging all our luggage behind us, we marched off down the road knowing the only way to get out of there would be to flag down a ride before it got anywhere near the hoards at the station entrance. And that meant leaping into the path of oncoming vehicles and risking life and limb!
That’s how we meant Seb the Kurd. Pulling across three busy lines of traffic and ignoring the furious honking of horns and decidedly rude finger gestures, he threw our bags into the trunk of his taxi and we piled in. Then we were off, crashing through intersections and switching lanes with great abandon, all the time racing through busy commuter traffic. It was like being in the movies! But get us to the airport he did and impressively, with a little under an hour to spare before our flight was due to take off.
Yet every upside has a downside, and for us it was the automatic check-in machines. They simply wouldn't process our details regardless how many ways we inserted our documents. That meant being manually processed and with any number of flights taking off the snaking queues were miles long. Clearly we would still be in line when our plane was soaring over the Atlantic.
But wait... over there, the bulky luggage check in... the counter was empty and the woman behind the desk was looking decidedly bored.
So we scuttled over.
“Bulky luggage,” I announced authoritatively, pointing at our mountain of suitcases and specifically to our bright orange and rather large kitbag.
“Nien,” she said, in turn indicating the overhead sign showing violin cases and baby strollers.
“Yes,” I argued back.
She glared, I glared. It seemed we had reached an impasse. So, swallowing my pride I threw myself on her mercy, explaining the saga with the train, and that our plane was, as we spoke, revving up its engines.
She shrugged. Was it her fault?
Then a breakthrough.
“Passports,” she barked.
Sliding them towards her I wondered if this was the right time to ask for a free upgrade to Business Class? Perhaps not.
Then we were racing through passport control and security, hurtling passed cafe's and any chance of a late breakfast, ignoring the call of Duty Free, and jiggling about waiting for the shuttle train to take us to the other end of the airport. Finally, after an breathtakingly mad dash we found ourselves the last passengers squeezed onto the plane for our twelve hour flight. Jas in row 29, me in 50 and Bex in 53!
But...
I had barely settled down to scroll thorough the in-flight entertainment when I noticed our departure slot had come and gone, and strangely we were still on the tarmac. A cold chill ran up my spine. Surely not? Hadn't we already endured enough? Seemingly not, for a moment later came the dreaded announcement. There was a problem with the air-conditioning in the cabin and while the engineers had tried to fix it it had been decided that, like the train earlier, Lufthansa's plane was kaput! Returned to the transit lounge to await the preparation of another plane we were assured the delay would be minimal. Just two hours, it was hoped.
Ah, the joys of travelling!
With our air travel booked months in advance from NZ, all that was required on our final day in Germany was to board the train to the airport. Simple! And being organised we even went down to the station the afternoon before and bought our tickets to avoid any mad rush in the morning. What could possibly go wrong?
Quite a bit, as it turned out.
That we caught a crowded connection going south of Munich rather than north as originally intended shouldn't have mattered as it made little difference to our arrival time. But in the grand scheme of things it did. Pulling into a station some nine stops from our final destination, and with the carriages at standing room only, we learned there was an electrical fault further up the line. Given the tannoy announcement was in German - which regrettably neither Jas, Bex or I speak - we were forced to ask our fellow passengers what was going on and gauging their reaction it seemed the issue was more an irritation than a disaster. To be fair, some did leave the train, but most stayed put. Some twenty minutes later, and with more and more deciding to find an alternative route to the airport, the authorities finally admitted the train was kaput, as they say. It was also cheerfully suggested we moved to another platform and caught a returning train to a previous station and find a bus to the airport from there. Not that one had been laid on, of course.
Time was ticking away and feeling a tad anxious we decided to join the growing throng hoping to grab a taxi instead. Yeah, right, as we say in NZ! With each arriving cab besieged by angry and desperate travellers clearly a Plan B was needed, and so leaving the concourse and dragging all our luggage behind us, we marched off down the road knowing the only way to get out of there would be to flag down a ride before it got anywhere near the hoards at the station entrance. And that meant leaping into the path of oncoming vehicles and risking life and limb!
That’s how we meant Seb the Kurd. Pulling across three busy lines of traffic and ignoring the furious honking of horns and decidedly rude finger gestures, he threw our bags into the trunk of his taxi and we piled in. Then we were off, crashing through intersections and switching lanes with great abandon, all the time racing through busy commuter traffic. It was like being in the movies! But get us to the airport he did and impressively, with a little under an hour to spare before our flight was due to take off.
Yet every upside has a downside, and for us it was the automatic check-in machines. They simply wouldn't process our details regardless how many ways we inserted our documents. That meant being manually processed and with any number of flights taking off the snaking queues were miles long. Clearly we would still be in line when our plane was soaring over the Atlantic.
But wait... over there, the bulky luggage check in... the counter was empty and the woman behind the desk was looking decidedly bored.
So we scuttled over.
“Bulky luggage,” I announced authoritatively, pointing at our mountain of suitcases and specifically to our bright orange and rather large kitbag.
“Nien,” she said, in turn indicating the overhead sign showing violin cases and baby strollers.
“Yes,” I argued back.
She glared, I glared. It seemed we had reached an impasse. So, swallowing my pride I threw myself on her mercy, explaining the saga with the train, and that our plane was, as we spoke, revving up its engines.
She shrugged. Was it her fault?
Then a breakthrough.
“Passports,” she barked.
Sliding them towards her I wondered if this was the right time to ask for a free upgrade to Business Class? Perhaps not.
Then we were racing through passport control and security, hurtling passed cafe's and any chance of a late breakfast, ignoring the call of Duty Free, and jiggling about waiting for the shuttle train to take us to the other end of the airport. Finally, after an breathtakingly mad dash we found ourselves the last passengers squeezed onto the plane for our twelve hour flight. Jas in row 29, me in 50 and Bex in 53!
But...
I had barely settled down to scroll thorough the in-flight entertainment when I noticed our departure slot had come and gone, and strangely we were still on the tarmac. A cold chill ran up my spine. Surely not? Hadn't we already endured enough? Seemingly not, for a moment later came the dreaded announcement. There was a problem with the air-conditioning in the cabin and while the engineers had tried to fix it it had been decided that, like the train earlier, Lufthansa's plane was kaput! Returned to the transit lounge to await the preparation of another plane we were assured the delay would be minimal. Just two hours, it was hoped.
Ah, the joys of travelling!
July 25, 2017
Travel blog part 2...
Two days in Salzburg and three in Prague has left me with a bad case of touristitis! The heritage and gorgeous architecture is to die for, but - and this more so in Prague - I'm completely over crowds, especially in narrow streets. Even the dozens of tourist guides holding up flags, rolled up itineraries and umbrellas to keep their lagging and wandering charges in order failed to amuse after a while!
So here are a few other rambling thoughts.
On the journey from Starnburg to Salzburg. The autobahn is great - except when it’s congested with traffic and slows down to a stop-start 30kms per hour for irritatingly long periods. One major hold up on the return trip was at the border between the two countries. Forcing the huge volume of traffic to a two-lane, 10km crawl to remotely and visually check over each vehicle, a recent response to the on-going migrant crisis, wasn’t exactly the free movement between EU countries I was expecting.
Then there was the spin-off from that issue that occurred on our trip to Prague. With six of us travelling Jas and I opted to do the 5-hour journey on the train, leaving the others in the car. It seemed a fun idea at the time, but then we didn’t expect the young guy of Middle-Eastern appearance on the first leg of the journey, the local train into Munich, pushing his way up and down the carriages, ranting and arguing with himself. Clearly unhappy about something, the fact he was wearing a backpack and holding something in his hand was a bit of a concern, so much so that when he finally got off three stations later there were huge sighs of relief all round - until the doors closed and there he was was again still debating with himself - and anyone who dared to look his way. On the plus side, the authorities were making their way down the train and obviously realising this and having arrived at a decision, he jumped from the carriage and disappeared down the platform.
Well, of course the minutes were ticking away and any hope of making our Prague connection was disappearing fast. I’m happy to say though we finally pulled into the lower level of the of the main city station with literally one minute to spare before the international train to the Czech Republic departed from a platform in the main concourse. Sprinting like young gazelles, something I had no idea of was capable of anymore, we shot up the escalator and made it with barely a second to spare.
And on the journey from Munch to Prague. If you ever travel this route, pay extra and upgrade to 1st Class. Regardless almost the entire train was 2nd class, it was crowded, with some passengers choosing to stand in the corridor. By comparison, our first-class compartment was an oasis of calm! Oh, and I’m using the term loosely! No luxury on this train as you can see from the photo, just a little more space for your money and seats that can recline a tad. There wasn’t even a buffet car for the five-hour trip. Instead, an elderly gentleman with cart of drinks and snacks catered for our needs until the border, when he got off and that was that for the remaining three hours!!!
So here are a few other rambling thoughts.
On the journey from Starnburg to Salzburg. The autobahn is great - except when it’s congested with traffic and slows down to a stop-start 30kms per hour for irritatingly long periods. One major hold up on the return trip was at the border between the two countries. Forcing the huge volume of traffic to a two-lane, 10km crawl to remotely and visually check over each vehicle, a recent response to the on-going migrant crisis, wasn’t exactly the free movement between EU countries I was expecting.
Then there was the spin-off from that issue that occurred on our trip to Prague. With six of us travelling Jas and I opted to do the 5-hour journey on the train, leaving the others in the car. It seemed a fun idea at the time, but then we didn’t expect the young guy of Middle-Eastern appearance on the first leg of the journey, the local train into Munich, pushing his way up and down the carriages, ranting and arguing with himself. Clearly unhappy about something, the fact he was wearing a backpack and holding something in his hand was a bit of a concern, so much so that when he finally got off three stations later there were huge sighs of relief all round - until the doors closed and there he was was again still debating with himself - and anyone who dared to look his way. On the plus side, the authorities were making their way down the train and obviously realising this and having arrived at a decision, he jumped from the carriage and disappeared down the platform.
Well, of course the minutes were ticking away and any hope of making our Prague connection was disappearing fast. I’m happy to say though we finally pulled into the lower level of the of the main city station with literally one minute to spare before the international train to the Czech Republic departed from a platform in the main concourse. Sprinting like young gazelles, something I had no idea of was capable of anymore, we shot up the escalator and made it with barely a second to spare.
And on the journey from Munch to Prague. If you ever travel this route, pay extra and upgrade to 1st Class. Regardless almost the entire train was 2nd class, it was crowded, with some passengers choosing to stand in the corridor. By comparison, our first-class compartment was an oasis of calm! Oh, and I’m using the term loosely! No luxury on this train as you can see from the photo, just a little more space for your money and seats that can recline a tad. There wasn’t even a buffet car for the five-hour trip. Instead, an elderly gentleman with cart of drinks and snacks catered for our needs until the border, when he got off and that was that for the remaining three hours!!!
July 18, 2017
Week one, Germany
Back in Europe for the first time in over twenty years – yes really – for the first two weeks of our big adventure we're staying with our son Brett, his wife Michelle and our granddaughter Holly in their apartment in Starnberg, a town some 30kms to the south-west of Munich. On the northern point of the lake, it was first mentioned in 1226, and yet with the exception of a few clearly old buildings, most of the structures are quite new.So, first impressions?Day or night, white trousers are de rigueur! Dazzlingly bright skinny jeans for those under twenty-five, cotton or linen for those a little older and perhaps not quite as svelte.Chemists and pharmacies are enormous supermarkets carrying every brand, luxury or otherwise, you could want. And the prices are incredible – at least to my Kiwi eyes.The bread is to die for! As is the cheese!Thinking 170kph on the autobahn is fast – and then a stream of Porsche’s and BMW’s scream past at 230kph.Ikea rules!This is a cash society, unlike back home where even parking meters take cards. Regardless how up-market a restaurant may be, your waiter/waitress appears with your bill and a large purse of change. The result? With no facility for credit cards it’s meant a few unexpected trips to the bank to get currency.Apartment living is the norm, and in stylish blocks no higher than four floors. The few houses we have seen are rather grand and with lovely gardens, and right on the lake front.The bells, the bells!!! Pealing out every quarter hour, it's actually quite lovely.
More to come...!
July 11, 2017
Gin Sling and Raffles Hotel
What could be more iconic?My only disappointment? That in the elegance of the Bar and Billiard Room I wasn’t truly back in the ‘thirties and surrounded by linen-suited rubber plantation owners, handsome officers in tropical white uniforms, and beautifully dressed and coiffured women waving ivory cigarette holders while complaining of the trials of living in the colonies. Oh, I should have lived then! As one of the must-do’s during our far-too-short stay in Singapore, this was at the top of the list and oh, Raffles, you didn’t disappoint. The architecture! The heritage! The sheer grandeur and and unashamed refinement of a bygone era! You have truly stolen my heart.
Backing up a day, and after leaving a slightly overcast Auckland around lunch-time we arrived in Singapore some twelve hours later on the first leg of our trip back to Europe. And yes, this island city-state is as pristine and as wealthy as I’d read. Browsing the 300 or so luxury Marina Bay Sands retail outlets (shoppes, darlink, not a mall!) and celebrity chef restaurants was an eye-watering experience in itself! In one area, a mini ice-rink and designer stores catered solely for children, in another a canal complete with bridges and gondolas!
If there was one other moment that blew me away, it was the view from the top of the Flyer, and seeing the number of ships moored out in the harbour. There were dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them. Oil tankers, huge container vessels, you name it! Were they all waiting to come in to port and off-load? I’ve no idea!
In hindsight we should have allowed more time here, and with so much we didn’t see we’ve already decided THIS is definitely the place for a long weekend in the not-too-distant future!
May 14, 2017
Such a hard life!
Another Auckland house sit and another cute fur-baby! Meet Cocoa who, like a number of other cats we've cared for, loves being close to me as I write. In fact, I've just had to remove her from my lap, as having her head on my arm while trying to type was clearly not working for either of us!The last few weeks has been incredibly busy, with back-to-back house-sitting assignments, a novel submitted to Kindle Scout in the hope of getting it picked up (totally nail-biting. Pop over to my Welcome page for more info on that and to nominate No Place In Eden if you will!) and another book in the pipeline. And our month in Europe is edging closer too. Just another eight weeks to go!
On the writing front, I’ve set aside a little of my time in England to research background material for what happens next in the Doherty family saga. Not that I ever intended it to be a series. Nor did I ever expect my character’s to end up in London during WW2! And on top of that I have to decide whether to kill off a main character. Which one should it be? Ah, decisions, decisions!
March 26, 2017
Trendy? Yes. Stylishly fitted out? Definitely. But far from being womb-like and cosy, Jas’s description of our experimental tiny living space sums it up so much better. The shoebox. Just three paces from the bed to the coffee pod machine in the kitchen, or four in the other direction where my Mac sits on the two-person glass dining-table. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s out at seven in the morning and not back ‘til five I think we’d be filing for divorced about now. And we’re only nine days in! The saving grace has been long walks in the evening. That and eating out, which is of course exactly what we do on holiday when strangely, living on top of each other in a hotel room or campervan is no problem. But day-to-day?March 15, 2017
New home - tiny home
I've a bit of a thing going for tiny homes. It could be something to do with George Clark’s television programme (I do so love Will, does nothing faze that man?) Or perhaps it’s developed from the desire to downsize. Minimalise even. Either way, I’ve been getting very dewy eyed over some of the tiny dwellings popping up on the web. Like the oh-so-cute one with gingham curtains, and wood burning stove, and rustic wood paneling. And the sharp edgy one, more like a shipping container in looks but with so much wow factor, not to mention the abundance of high-tech features.
And then there’s the idea of reducing my carbon footprint and living in a place where I have everything I need and nothing more. On a practical level, just think of the hours I won’t spend cleaning or putting things away!
Which brings me to an article I’ve just read on an award-winning home near Queenstown on New Zealand’s South Island. Taking out the Small Home category, admittedly it’s gorgeous and brilliantly designed but with a floor area of 120m² that’s not small. At least not to me. This studio apartment I’m currently sitting in is SMALL. At somewhere in the region of 33m² not including the deck, this is more what I had in mind when wondering if I could really, really, cope without the luxury of space - otherwise known as umpteen spare bedrooms, walk-in-wardrobes, laundry rooms, and such. And if not, then just how much do I need?
So here we are, Jas and I, experimenting between house-sits!
Included in our studio apartment (which by-the-way has a market value of a cool half million NZ dollars) is a lovely, trendy kitchen, complete with stone benchtops and full sized stainless-steel appliances. Of course, there’s little room to rustle up a three-course meal for six, or indulge in anything as homely as bread-making or boiling up vats of blackberry jam, but when have I ever done either? The bathroom however is a little tight, and I have to say that apart from a couple of trips in a self-contained campervan, I’ve never been in a shower quite this small! But the living/sleeping area is adequate enough, at least for me here at a little glass table clicking away on my keyboard while Jas is out at work. It could be different come the weekend when other than locking yourself outside on the deck, they’ll be no getting away from each other!
It’ll be interesting to see how the experiment is faring in say, three weeks!
And then there’s the idea of reducing my carbon footprint and living in a place where I have everything I need and nothing more. On a practical level, just think of the hours I won’t spend cleaning or putting things away!
Which brings me to an article I’ve just read on an award-winning home near Queenstown on New Zealand’s South Island. Taking out the Small Home category, admittedly it’s gorgeous and brilliantly designed but with a floor area of 120m² that’s not small. At least not to me. This studio apartment I’m currently sitting in is SMALL. At somewhere in the region of 33m² not including the deck, this is more what I had in mind when wondering if I could really, really, cope without the luxury of space - otherwise known as umpteen spare bedrooms, walk-in-wardrobes, laundry rooms, and such. And if not, then just how much do I need?
So here we are, Jas and I, experimenting between house-sits!
Included in our studio apartment (which by-the-way has a market value of a cool half million NZ dollars) is a lovely, trendy kitchen, complete with stone benchtops and full sized stainless-steel appliances. Of course, there’s little room to rustle up a three-course meal for six, or indulge in anything as homely as bread-making or boiling up vats of blackberry jam, but when have I ever done either? The bathroom however is a little tight, and I have to say that apart from a couple of trips in a self-contained campervan, I’ve never been in a shower quite this small! But the living/sleeping area is adequate enough, at least for me here at a little glass table clicking away on my keyboard while Jas is out at work. It could be different come the weekend when other than locking yourself outside on the deck, they’ll be no getting away from each other!
It’ll be interesting to see how the experiment is faring in say, three weeks!
February 23, 2017
Sad times
So much has happened to us in the last few weeks, but without any doubt the most significant event was the unexpected death of Jas’s mum in January. Regardless she had been unwell for the past few years and was on chemotherapy, everyone - her included – believed we would be meeting up later on in July when we head to Europe to spend a month with family. In fact, during Jas’s last phone call to her there was much laughter when it was even questioned. Two weeks later she was rushed to hospital in Fuertaventura, her home for the last eighteen or so years, and died within seventy-two hours.
A raft of things then had to be organised, including flights to the UK for Jas, who hadn’t been back for over twenty years. And while he'd caught up with his older brother some thirteen years ago, he hadn't seen his younger one since leaving in 1995. And so they came up with a plan. From now on they will meet up every three years, at a point on the globe to be determined by each in turn. The only criteria, it must be somewhere none of them have every been before!
Marga Ursula Ball 1943-2017
January 6, 2017
2017 is shaping up to be a good year - travel wise that is!
Hard graft for the first six months - and who says writing doesn’t raise a sweat? Ah yes, that’ll be Jas! Then in early July we’re off to Europe via Singapore, where we’ll fit in Venice and Prague, before popping over to Portsmouth for a long-awaited and much anticipated WRNS reunion, and to catch up with friends we haven’t seen since leaving the UK twenty-two years earlier! It’s going to be some party!After three days in Los Angeles, it’s home again – only to jet off two weeks later for our second house-sitting assignment in the Kingdom of Tonga, this time a private house on its very own island. Even more remote than the resort we looked after, this property is right on the very edge of a reef, so calm waters one side of the long narrow island, and the full might and expanse of the Pacific Ocean on the other!
Mid-October, and after a day or two at two at the Hilton in Fiji (how else to reacquaint ourselves with civilisation?) we’re back in NZ for the mad build-up to Christmas. The construction industry that is, not the shopping malls!
And we’re still wondering how to squeeze a house-sitting assignment in Panama into that lot!!!
