Travel Series: LUXEMBOURG, GERMANY

Here we are for another Globetrotters post, and this time we're bringing the 1998 world trip to a close at last. Before I get on with that, just one quick little note - I started this series back on September 1st, 2011. For the most part I've managed to post a travel "snippet" once a month since then, but next year posts may become a little more sparse. Then again, maybe they won't!

Okay, let's get on with today's post.

Luxembourg & Germany

I'm completely serious when I say these are the only two photos I appear to have from this leg of the journey. Either I lost a film somewhere (highly likely), or I was just too over it all to take more than two photos (unlikely, despite the fact that I was very over it all). I do have a travel journal entry or two from this time, so I thought I'd share some of that writing:

We travelled to Germany overland from France and via Luxembourg. Dad and I spent about ten minutes in that little country [Luxembourg], just so we could say when asked that we’d been there. Then we moved on, Germany in our sights.

We travelled beside the great river, heading steadily north. It was wine country and we tried to find out where we could sample some wines, but nothing was free, so we forgot about it.

Germany struck me as being very green and lush. I guess that’s what generally colder weather will do for a nation. I was no longer used to the browns, reds, yellows and dead grasses of Australia, since I had just travelled through America in the tail-end of winter — places like Oregon and Washington State were what I had in mind as I looked around me [in Germany] — but I still took note of the landscape as decidedly German.

I must tell you now, in hindsight, that I really don't know what a "decidedly German" landscape is like. I guess when I wrote that, I just felt influenced by the knowledge of where I was or something.

Anyway, I am going to wrap this post up now, and admit that I'm feeling a little bit bittersweet about the 1998 trip reminiscence ending! But I have plenty more travel stories to tell, and I will be moving onto those sometime, somehow. Maybe even next month? I'm going to leave you with a couple of photos my dad took during our trip in 1998. They're less landscape and more us (okay, mostly me):

Not sure where this was, but I like the look of dry amusement on my face.

New Zealand - North Island. It really is beautiful. You should go!

In the middle of nowhere, in Australia, trying to figure out where to go next.

With family in New Zealand - I'm on the far left.

This was after my breakdown in Europe, once I had decided to go home early.

Me and a glacier, I'm pretty sure. Probably Switzerland.

Italy, I think. There was an art exhibition with free wine and snacks (of course we were there), a bridge over water, and this photo.

Airport, early on in the trip. Probably Sydney, on our way to NZ.

Travel Series: SWITZERLAND

Aaand the travel saga continues...

From London, Dad and I headed to Basel, Switzerland, via bus. We got a ferry from Dover across the English Channel to Calais, where we re-boarded our bus and trekked across France. This was my first time stepping foot in France, and was naturally exciting. We didn't see much of France at this point, though (that was to come later). I did manage to admire French magazines like Vogue, and gaze up at a very blue French sky. At this point I was pretty excited, despite the fact that frustrations were increasing between Dad and I at this point.

In Switzerland, I immediately started noticing things, like that people said "twenty thirty" instead of "eight-thirty", in terms of times on the clock. Also, I noticed lots of cyclists. And lots of roadworks! By the time we got to Basel, I was getting more and more homesick, as evidenced by this travel journal entry:

I must be entirely honest, I want to go home. I wouldn't care if we missed India & Seoul & stuff. I hate the idea of heading for a country where I'm homeless & vulnerable & don't speak the language. I miss my mummy.

Doc Martens and some Alps.

A rainy suburban street - with bikes! 

Switzerland gives good lake.

That was actually quite mild compared to some of what I was ranting about. ;) Suffice it to say I was having more and more 'irate' moments in the company of my infamous father, and stress was high also because I had by this point spent all my money. I also ranted to Mum in a letter about how everywhere in Europe, smoking was still allowed in public places. I speculated that I probably already had lung cancer from all the second-hand smoke.

Gorgeous Switzerland.

One of many beautiful Swiss views.

The night we reached Basel, we got to the airport and slept there overnight so we could get our hire car in the morning. But when I say "slept there", I mean that we spent the night out on the grass, by some bushes. When I awoke in the morning, the first thing I noticed was a plane roaring by overhead. The second was the people at the airport windows, staring out. They were probably watching planes come and go, but seventeen-year-old me was convinced there could only be one spectacle out on the grass that morning - the two homeless bums camped out there.

A view I got from sitting on top of a massive rock
(next to the glacier).

Love this pic, 'cause you can see Dad
heading down onto the glacier - no
safety gear or ANYTHING. Yep, he's nuts.

That morning we finally got our hire car, and headed back out on the road. From Basel we drove through Switzerland and saw some truly beautiful landscapes. We spent a night in the Italian region of Switzerland in a tiny little town, which I believe was called Gordela. Here we hung out with Dad's girlfriend's extended family, and in town saw a beautiful old castle. From here we drove on, down into Italy, but I'll talk about that next time.

P.S. I hit 50k with my BuNo novel! Now to finish it...

Travel Series: ENGLAND

In the last installment of this series, I had just finished telling you guys about the epic trip I took across the U.S.A. in 1998. Today I'll talk about the next leg when we headed for England, the country where I was born. That's the main reason we were going to England, but there was also the fact that it's a groovy place to visit, and is a definite hub on the way to Europe!

Accidentally "art".

For the first two days in London, I didn't do much at all, just hung around relaxing (and getting a sore throat). I wrote letters home, and reading them again now it's pretty obvious I was getting worn out and a little fed up. Travelling with Dad is definitely an adventure, but it does tend to wear an ordinary mortal out.

On Day 3 I ventured out into London to visit the Tate gallery and others. This was where I got to see works of Dali and Epstein. In particular, Epstein's Rock Drill was a work I was fascinated to see, because I had studied it so much in high school for assignments. It was amazing seeing these works with my own eyes.

Real type art.

Then, on Day 4, it was time to leave the big city and end our R&R. We got a National Express bus from London Victoria Coach Station and went to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. From there we hired a car and explored some of the English countryside. During this time, I saw the building I was born in. Unfortunately we couldn't go inside, but at least I got to get my photo taken outside it:

Yep, I was born here.

Ain't that beautiful?

Sheepies! I love da sheepies!

Next we went to Edinburgh for a (very) brief foray into Scotland (so brief it really didn't count for much). Here we saw the "huge old castle - my FAVOURITE!" I have vague recollections of some moments in Edinburgh, but I remember it far better from last year's return trip. Another place we visited was the little town where my mother's father was born, Douglas Water, which I'm pretty sure we've all visited by now.

Back in Newcastle we returned the car, and got the bus back to London. From there it was on to the White Cliffs of Dover to board a ferry for France! I'll write about that next time.

So bootipoo!

Travel Series: NEW ZEALAND

It's been a heck of a long time since I posted my last (and only) travel story entry (part of my Globetrotter blogging series begun in 2011). But this year I've vowed to post at least once a month, so here's my first attempt at picking up that old and dusty thread! In my first post in this series, I talked about my trip across Australia with my father and uncle back in 1998. This trip was actually the start of a months-long world trip my Dad and I went on. The second leg of the journey took us to New Zealand, and that's what this blog post will be about.

I've been to New Zealand a fair few times prior to and since 1998 (both my parents are from there). In 1998, we flew from Sydney (where we'd spent a bit of time with my dad's sister and her family) to Wellington. My Grandad collected us at the airport, having borrowed his girlfriend's car for the purpose, and drove us back to Paraparaumu ----------->

We spent a few weeks in Paraparaumu and surrounding areas, hanging with family. My Kiwi family is pretty darn interesting, and I could write about them for daaaays on end. Don't worry, I won't! After a lovely relaxing visit with the family, it was time to move on. We headed off (with Grandad in tow!) to explore the North Island on the way up to Auckland.

Tongariro, Ngauruhoe, I don't know which one we're looking at here (possibly both?).

One of the first places we stopped was the Tongariro National Park, part of which is pictured above. Dad and Grandad climbed one of the mountains, leaving seventeen-year-old me to fend for myself on solid ground. I was thrilled to have time to myself, and drove around listening to my alt. rock/grunge mix tapes. I also had really bad food for dinner (chippies and cookies) and it was awesome.

Seventeen-year-old me, at or near them mountains.
This is my Dad's photo! (he is very very very clever!)

The next morning Dad and Grandad came back down the mountain, and I snapped this shot of them just before they collapsed to the ground in exhaustion:

Next, we ventured to other places, such as Lake Taupo, where we swam in a river with natural hot springs (there is a cool pic of us in the river that Dad took, but I haven't scanned that slide yet). We also went to Rotorua, which smelled strongly of sulphur (understandable, what with the mud pools there):

Finally we reached Auckland, and I'm sure I have photos from there somewhere but I haven't scanned all my pics yet. To close this post, here is a picture of me, Grandad and Dad at McDonald's (and I believe this was the place where Grandad had met up with some of his friends from his motorcycle group whose motto was: "Grow old disgracefully."

Another of Dad's photos.

And for today, that's all there is! Tune in next month for another travel story.

Hi, Day #23...how are you?

First off...I take photos of weird things. It's something I'm kind of well known for. The above picture isn't particularly weird, but it shows something about me - I don't like flash. I guess flash can be used artfully, in ways I have never imagined, but since I don't know how to use it that way, I tend to stick to a distinct lack of flash in my photography. You have to have steady hands of course, but sometimes a nice blur doesn't go astray. My dad is a photographer, but as often as he's tried to teach me the ways of a true photographer, I don't seem to absorb his lessons too well. I just continue to do my own thing, with my own battered, crappy point-and-shoot.

Second - a quick NaNo report: 74,611 words. And last night I finally found these notes for VICTORIOUS that I wrote down ages ago (not in email or in Scrivener, but on paper...oh the novelty!), and though they didn't tell me much I didn't already know, they reminded me of a few small things, and suddenly I was (at least a bit more) inspired and motivated. If I wasn't going out tonight I would probably have a great run on words!

P.S. Happy birthday mum, you rock my world on a daily basis!!!!

Travel Series: AUSTRALIA

I do actually live in Australia, though I was born in the U.K., but just 'cause you live somewhere doesn't mean you know everything about the place. I learned a bit more about my country of residence in 1998 when I set out with my father and uncle on the first leg of a 6-month journey with my Dad.

This leg took us across Australia, from Perth to Sydney. We drove that little car you see in the photograph above. It was February, the height of the Australian summer (did I mention I hate summer?). And I was seventeen.

We drove from Perth to Laverton through numerous small towns in the WA outback, including Kalgoorlie. Along the way, I got my driver's licence. From Laverton, we headed into the desert, setting our sights on the opal-mining town of Coober Pedy in South Australia. Dad had calculated to the mililitre how much petrol we would need for that desert trek. We didn't take any extra.

It took us 4-5 days to reach Coober Pedy, and while I burned with teenaged hatred for much of that time (4-odd days without a shower? In February?!), I also had numerous amazing, breathtaking moments. I got caught in desert storms, crossed broad brown-gold-red plains, and learned that deserts can be incredibly lush and green even in

the burning summer months.

I saw creatures in our headlights that looked like tiny veloceraptors. I still don't know what the heck those things were, but they were cool and...prehistoric-looking! I saw rolling hills and dusty dirt roads and wonderful trees. In short, I saw a side of my country I never knew existed. A side I can never forget.

My Dad is the kind of guy who likes to live on the edge. Prior to our departure from Perth, my mother's side of the family had concerns for my safety. Mum had travelled with Dad before, and she knew better than most what might be in store for me. Basically though, my Dad was notorious (and still is) for his love of living on the edge. Edge of a glacier, edge of a desert, edge of a war-torn region - you name it, he's been there. At seventeen, I'd heard the stories, but I soon learned that it's one thing to hear them and another to experience them yourself.

The trip across the desert in February 1998 gave me a good taste of what was to come for the next few months. I think back on it now and still get inspired. I could go on all day about it, really. I could try to count the number of times I rolled my eyes or sighed or did any of those teenaged girl things.But instead I'm going to say that it

was amazing. Especially that shower in Coober Pedy - being clean never felt so good!

Inspiration Blogfest

Yep, it's that time! I am participating in the Inspiration Blogfest, hosted by Summer Ross at My Inner Fairy. For more information, check here! Basically the idea is to post a prompt (it can be a writing prompt or a photo prompt) that you think will inspire others. I've decided to share one of my father's photos, because I just LOVE his work and it's always inspiring to me.

This was a photo taken in 1998, while we were on our trip around the world together. Just a note - when you travel with MY dad, you can't expect to do it in comfort. You can expect to burst into unhappy tears at any given moment, but comfort? Not unless you're enjoying one of those brief stays with other family members or friends at various places around the world. Still, my dad knows how to go a long way on a very small budget, and he's given me some of the most amazing experiences of my life. I'm grateful also to him for instilling a slight obsession with travel in me. So without further ado, here is the photo I've chosen (trust me, it was one of HUNDREDS I could've chosen):

Lost & Found Blogfest

Yep, another blogfest coming your way! This week the Lost and Found Blogfest, hosted by Myne Whitman, is happening.

The requirements of this blogfest are as follows:

"From March 25 - 31, post a blog telling me about anything you've ever lost and found, an object, a person, an idea, anything! The same week, visit two other blogs in the list, read their entries, and leave comments." - Myne Whitman

So, here I go with talking about something I lost, then found!

Okay, this isn't really my story, but I was there when it happened. In 1998 my dad and I were travelling in the U.S.A., and when you're travelling with my dad you know there's going to be adventure. You also know you're not going to be able to enjoy the sorts of comforts most people will attempt to enjoy while travelling. For instance, sleeping in an actual bed at night, instead of in a car seat or outdoors. Well, by the time we got to Wyoming, we were still having fun, but things were about to get pretty crappy.

1. Dad lost his wallet somewhere.
2. My bank card stopped working, and I soon figured out it had expired in the future (i.e. Australia), and was not going to work. I would have a new one waiting for me back in L.A., but we were a long way from L.A. at that stage.
3. My mum's credit card, which she'd given me for emergencies, didn't work either - we couldn't get any money out of it, or use it for any transactions.

In short, we had to survive (and get ourselves back to L.A. somehow) on the little money we already had on us. And considering the cash Dad had had was in his lost wallet, that meant we were relying on my cash.

We dropped our Driveaway Car off and headed down the coast. How, you ask? We had no money! Well, that's another thing about my dad - you tend to end up hitchhiking if you're travelling with him. Just this year when he was heading for my brother's wedding in Canada, he opted to forgo using his plane ticket, preferring to hitchhike for the adventure of the thing. So yes, some things will never change, Dad being one of those things.

Anyway, back to 1998. We finally made it to San Francisco, where my second cousin was getting married the next day. We'd been invited to the wedding. By the time our last ride dropped us off, outside San Fran, we barely had enough money to get ourselves into the city centre. And that night, with no money and only a hunk of moldy cheese for company, we found ourselves a cosy homeless shelter to sleep in. That thin foam mat and scratchy blanket really brought my seventeen-year-old self a lot of comfort, I must say. But hey, at least we weren't sleeping in an alleyway.

The next morning we spent our last few coins on a bus ticket, and wound up somehow getting another bus for free (this part is cloudy for me). Then we hitchhiked again, this time with a very kind African American man who drove a black jaguar. While he took us up to the wedding (it was very nice of him to go out of his way like he did) he told us about his son who played baseball or something, and we got a feel for how proud he was of him. He dropped us off pretending to be a chauffeur by opening our doors for us. The sister of the bride later commented on how impressed she was by that black jaguar (never mind that she's wealthy and could own 50 of those if she wanted).

I was seventeen and embarrassed at having no nice clothes to wear. I also felt dirty, having not had a shower that morning. So yeah, ensue angst. But in hindsight the whole story was pretty hilarious. That night we stayed in a 5 star hotel thanks to our generous relatives.

But what is it we lost and then found, you ask? Well, months later by the time my dad got home to Australia (he travelled longer than I did, as I wound up having an emotional breakdown and flew home early), what did he find waiting for him?! His wallet! With everything still in it, including the cash, mind you. So I thought that was pretty fancy, and I was very impressed with the people/person of Wyoming, U.S.A., who did such a kind thing!

Travel memoir

I wrote journals while I travelled around the world with my dad in 1998, and again when I travelled solo on a 15-stop ticket in 2004. One year for NaNo I tried to write out my 1998 trip in 'book' form, and gave up after about 25k. I guess I got bored, even though I think I've got some great stories to tell. Homeless shelter at age 17 in San Francisco, hitch-hiking to my second cousin's wedding the next day, camping outside a large airport in Switzerland and waking to see people staring at us out the window (embarrassment!), drinking wine outside the hotel where Princess Diana fled the night she died...all that sort of stuff makes for a great story, in my humble opinion. And yet somehow I got bored, and that's one year I failed NaNo miserably.

Still, with how motivated I'm feeling about my projects in the new year, I'm wondering if I shouldn't tack this one on the end of the list too. :)

That 1998 trip was marked by many frustrating moments in which I disliked my father immensely, and yet the countless exhilarating experiences kept me going from February 2 - May 17 or so, before I finally gave up and fled for home. I skipped the last few stops, which part of me still regrets, and yet I had run out of money, and my emotional breakdown really was the deciding factor in the end. Dad kept going without me.

Anyway, I thought I would share an excerpt, a reflection on some of the characters we met while hitch-hiking down the West Coast of the United States:

Cars’ headlights shone murkily through the falling water, and most of them passed us by without a second glance. I shivered in the cold and wondered if I’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere, just as I’d told mum I might. I had survived this latest encounter with a person who wasn’t scared of hitchhikers, but how long would my luck last? I didn’t really believe that a grisly fate would befall me, so it wasn’t a huge concern for me. I guess you never think it will happen to you, and I didn’t – thankfully I wasn’t disappointed!

After a while a car slowed as it saw us, and swept past gradually slowing further. It came to a halt and Dad and I jogged towards it while trying to balance our packs on our backs. I looked forward to getting out of the rain, but not so forward to sitting next to some stranger for a potentially long ride.

It was a shoddy car, a watery silver-blue colour and probably 15 years old, although it looked like it’d been through the wars. It reminded me a bit of dad’s Suzuki which had transported us through the Australian desert. That had been what felt like a lifetime ago, though it was in actual fact only just over a month. I’d worn shorts and crappy tops during the desert stint. Now I wore torn jeans and Rachelle’s cardigan as I went to meet the first of our saviours for this part of the journey.

I can’t recall his name, but he was relatively young – perhaps thirty or so – and a bit grubby looking. He was skinny with pale hair and a bit of stubble. He told us in his scratchy voice to jump in, and explained the state his car was in – it was choc a block full of assorted items that were being transported down to his new home. We had a bit of a time struggling into the car – we all sat in the front seat, as there was no other option available – but we managed in the end.

I wasn’t as surprised as I might have been that Dad insisted I sit in the middle, next to the guy. My mum had told me how he did that in the past when she was travelling with him – put the young woman beside the guy, to “keep him happy”. I decided I’d insist that Dad took the next turn keeping our saviours happy.

Since I don’t recall the guy’s name, I’ll call him Bob. Bob was a strange man, but quite amusing. At one point during our trip south he asked our opinion of the Bill Clinton-Monica Lewinsky controversy that had gripped the USA at the time we were there. We gave him our input and he said, “Yeah, the way I see it is, I don’t care who he sleeps with, as long as he doesn’t want to sleep with me, ya know?” It was an unforgettable moment.

Bob dropped us off not long after we first met him, and we decided to stop and have ourselves a cup of coffee. Slogging through the wet but no longer rainy landscape, we reached a diner where we took a table for ourselves and ordered coffee and doughnuts. I enjoyed being in the warmth of the diner and didn’t particularly look forward to getting on the road again. But when we finally did, it didn’t take us very long to meet our next chaperone.

Naturally it's completely unedited, and I haven't even finished writing out the whole journey yet. There are large gaps, and sometimes I struggle trying to read my own writing in the original journals. Haha. But I think this would be worth working on, at some point anyway.

© Trisha W.F.