The Great Southern Railway

Perth and the Indian-Pacific
The last gallery we visited in Europe was Venice’s Peggy Guggenheim Collection. Imagine our surprise then, when we saw that the Art Gallery of Western Australia was holding an exhibition drawn from the same Guggenheim Collection. It and a visit to splendid King’s Park were the highlights of our visit to Perth. Another was a pleasant afternoon with cousin and ex-Saints footballer John Sydenham and his wife Jean. We can’t thank them enough for the trip down Perth’s coastline, at sunset, looking over the same Indian Ocean, in which two days before we had been tossing and turning, in cyclonic waves, wondering whether we’d ever reach Freemantle.

We are writing this Travel(b)logue entry, in our small room on the Indian Pacific train, just as the trees and an undulating terrain have returned, after something like a day crossing the Nullarbor Plain. This means we have reached Oodeal (site of Daisy Bates’ encampment). Earlier we stopped for re-watering in very hot Cook (home of five people). Last night we did a coach tour of Kalgoorlie and Boulder, and saw the pub where Eileen Joyce (one of Australia’s best musical exports) used to practice her Czerny scales, prior to her international career as a classical pianist. Hard to believe that a human nugget of gold came from such an unprepossessing circumstances.

A terrain without trees might sound like the ultimate in boredom but we would rank the Nullarbor Plain, possessing a hidden beauty far surpassing much that we’ve seen on the trip, as a window-gluing experience. And it does not stop there, the outback between the Barrier Range and Broken Hill possesses equal beauty. And to see the Menindee Lakes, full of water, at dusk, is sheer magic. But it does not stop there. The country between Bathurst and Lithgow has a majestic wonder but that is just a topographical prelude  to the Blue Mountains. Only the outer suburbs of Sydney, the ugliest part of one of the world’s most beautiful cities, disappoint. No wonder they designate the Indian Pacific as one of the Great Railway Journeys of the World: it’s great not just in distance but in quality too. Not to be missed, in our view. Hang the expense: start training!

Next stop Central Station, Sydney and then home. Flyingbyboat has landed.  

MV Athena

MV Athena: Goddess of Wisdom
Flying by boat was always going to be a challenge. The boats on which we have travelled have chosen us, not the other way about. That is the case with the MV Athena, which is part of the Classical International Cruises fleet, and which visits Australia, specifically Western Australian, in summer months to undertake mainly Asian cruises. Built in 1947, she is the oldest ship currently still in regular service on the world’s oceans and is, with her sleek hydro-dynamic contours, a proper liner, constructed for the rough and tumble of the oceans. Dwarfed by her companions whenever we dock, she is also very small. There are only two hundred passengers plus about that number in crew on her on this cruise. Anyone interested in travelling ‘big’ and experiencing the dubious virtues of economies of scale would be wise to avoid the Athena. For Schumacher was right, small can be, as it is on this ship, beautiful. He could have added fewer too. Given her proportions and modest ambitions, comparisons with the premier league of Cunard, P & O cruise ships would be invidious but are worth making nonetheless. Hard to believe, but the accommodation, service, food and overall atmosphere on this ship equals if not surpasses that on the Queen Mary 2, where luxury is dispensed with a military like precision that is anonymous and friendless. This food is always fresh, inventive, varied and hard to fault. If a meal is below par for a passenger’s personal taste, it is replaced with an alternative. Those interested in attacking their girths steer clear. We especially like the way in which the Chief Chef makes sure his menu complements the geography of the voyage: Italian food when we are in an Italian port, Thai a Thai one.

This is by and large a very happy ship comprising a multi-national crew (much more than that of the passengers) who take enormous efforts and pains to ensure the passengers want for nothing. The entertainment admittedly is more Rock Eisteddfod than Broadway and there are no Intellectual Enrichment Lectures, Jazz Quartets from Julliard, and just (and it is just) occasionally, the Athena becomes a ship of fools (and you wish were back home listening to a CD of Debussy’s La Mer instead of being on the stuff), but providing you can tolerate the occasional outbreaks of tomfoolery (Sexy Belly Competition), the terrible library, the perfunctory bulletins of the Captain, the all too truncated shore excursions, you might just like to consider cruising on the MV Athena. She might have chosen us, but we are glad she did so.

Phuket and Singapore

More Asian assignations
Our next encounter with Asia was Phuket, pronounced forget and probably best forgot. It is Thailand’s version of Bali and attracts countless Australians and Europeans to its once attractive and now spoilt by overdevelopment, beaches. Patong, is ugliness defined. Whatever charms it once possessed (and they must have been myriad) were swept away by the tsunami of capitalism. After hectoring our taxi driver to take us to the authentic Phuket, we eventually arrived at Palai Bay, for lunch at the Phong Phang Seafood Restaurant. Housed in a giant barn, which was open on all sides, it was good as it gets in terms of a view free of Merriots and the food was authentic Thai and of Michelin quality. Pity that we were not able to experience more of the undeveloped Phuket.

Singapore was next, which was hard to digest in four hours, and most of which was spent negotiating the island-city-state’s MRT. When we eventually emerged overground in an area of reminiscent of a set from Metropolis, it was twenty-five minutes walk to our destination, Raffles Hotel. This most archetypal of colonial hotels still looks the part, though like much else in Singapore its priorities now, judging by the presence within its precincts of Cartier and Leica, are now shopping not sleeping. We had set our stomachs sert on eating in the hotel’s Writers’ Room—we had visions of seeing Rudyard Kipling’s fountain pen and Joseph Conrad’s pocket dictionary—only to be turned back by a surly commissionaire—yet another brush with authority. Colin did not meet the dress code! Proof that the ethos of the Queen Mary 2 still dwells on land. In the end, we had to settle for the Hotel’s bakery. We didn’t see Somerset Maugham’s blotting paper but the tea and muffins were very scrumptious. Having downed the last drop of Royal Darjeeling Ftgfop1, it was time to be shipped back to Athena, just in time for afternoon tea.

Mediterranean meditations

Ports of Call I: Tyrrhenian Sea, 15th November
MV Athena’s version of a Mediterranean cruise, which after leaving a bit of non-place, Civitavecchia, encompassed ‘a day and a bit’ visits to Naples, Venice, Dubrovnik, Corfu and Athens. Named after the Greek Goddess of Wisdom, the MV Athena is a small ship, one size down from the Utrillo, and several sizes down from the Queen Mary 2. Her passenger manifest, on this voyage at least, is mostly Australian, Western Australians at that. We’ll have more to say about the ‘palace’ Athena (named after the Greek Goddess of Wisdom) in our next posting.

Naples was a visit to Pompeii, which included glimpses of Mt Vesuvius, the source of all its troubles in AD79, and a promenade through what remains of its streets, to some of its palaces, eating places, even its X-rated brothels. One was struck about how modern a town Pompeii was—not that different from present day Naples, which struck us, with its monumental buildings and piazzas as a kind of Milan-by-the-Sea, but with just a soupcon more craziness and a lot more garbage. Colin wished he taken more notice of the San Carlo Opera House, which is where the Peroglesi music that formed the basis of Stravinsky’s Pulcinella, was unearthed.  

Ports of Call II: Adriatic Sea
Next stop was Venice, which looks even more special from the vantage point of an arriving ship. This time we decided to take vaporetti to Murana and Burano, with a side stop at Isola di San Michele (like Paris’ Pere Lachaise but in a more kempt state), to visit the tombs of Russian poet Joseph Brodsky,

composer Igor Stravinsky and impresario Serge Diaghelev. Murano, out in the Lagoon, is glass works incarnate. Burano, its island neighbour, which has all the charms that Murano lacks, is a living community (lace-makers and fishermen though we did meet a Thai woman who by marriage had become the proprietress of a restaurant certified as serving true Venetian fare). We also revisited the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, surely the best-appointed gallery in the world and where we were relieved as were others overheard to agree how wonderful and refreshing to see some 20th Century works after the Christian surfeit of Venetian art.  

Dubrovnik, Croatia, is a walled town with, like all the villages, towns and cities, in this part of the Dalmatian coast, displays many Venetian features and influences. Because of its walls, Dubrovnik is World Heritage Listed, which the locals regard with ambivalence, since they say it stymies development. We enjoyed our walk around the walls, with glimpses across the terra cotta roofs and beautiful sea views, and a stroll through some of the tiny, steep alleys of which the old town is comprised. We would have liked more time to acquire more than a post-card view of its history.  

Ports of Call III: Ionian Sea
Also occupied by the Venetians and just about everyone else, including at one stage, the English, was Corfu. Tourists from just about every corner of the globe now occupy it instead. Running alongside its cricket ground in the Corfu’s town centre is the Liston, which is modelled on the Rue de Rivoli, in Paris, and which every Sunday is where Corfucians promenade, in sartorial splendour. One of the best places to take in Corfu is from its old fort, which is sculptured into the cliffs. We ate lunch at a taverna called the Posiedon (quite a common name in this most nautical of cities), a way from the tourist strip overlooking the old and very run down old port. There was nothing old or tired about the food, which would have pleased the sea God himself.

Ports of Call IV: Aegean Sea
Our last and, in many respects, best Mediterranean excursion was that to the Parthenon, Athens, and for which Thom Gorst’s architecture lectures on the QM2 proved to be a good primer. As the guide described the main features of the Parthenon, the various orders of columns, Doric, Ionian, and Corinthian (the most decorated), came back to mind. The experience was a salutary reminder of the fact that the architectural wisdom of the modern world (as well as other, wisdoms: political, artistic, poetic) all had its beginnings in Athens. In spite of the depredations to the Greek economy, the commitment to restoring the Parthenon to its former glory proceeds with gusto. It is of note that the lead stolen long along from the columns has been replaced by titanium, the same element as Colin and Claire’s wedding rings   It seemed a really fitting place therefore for the MV Athena of all ships to visit.

From Europe to Asia via the Suez Canal
Piraeus (like Cherbourg and like Europe in general) is going through a wave of strikes at the moment, as various European governments punish their peoples for the banking debacle that led up the GFC. Industrial action along with inclement action led to the Athena being held up in port for a day, which had the consequence of our trip to the Pyramids being cancelled. Travelling through the Suez Canal was an unexpected pleasure. Seeing large tracts of sand, oases, small towns and minarets was a reminder that we have now changed continents, moved from prosperity to poverty, though the only evidence of this was many broken down abodes for soldiers (again with guns at the ready) on the edge of the canal.

From the beginning of the Red Sea to Colombo, Shri Lanka, we travelled in an International Security Corridor, which meant travelling in a convoy, with warships from many nations, watching us at a distance. The stern of the MV Athena protective nets over the stern, portholes were covered, the ship was blacked out at night and it had a water canon at the ready, should any marauding Pirates of Somalia have the temerity to penetrate the security cordon. Helicopters and surveillance aircraft flew overhead. Overkill perhaps, but perhaps better than the alternative, a stint in Somalia.

On the Atlas, Suez to Colombo does not seem an overly long trip but it seemed that way. Between them the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden (sandwiched between Yemen and Somalia), the most hazardous parts of the voyage, occupied six days.  Which was followed by three days in the Arabian Sea, whose moderate seas were less than moderate and caused a deal of mal de mer aboard which combined with the cold that flew around the ship with considerable gusto, made for many miserable passengers.

It was a relief therefore to reach Colombo, whose port is the third largest in Asia. We thought we were under siege such was the naval presence but it was merely that Sri Lanka’s Navy was celebrating its sixtieth birthday. In our truncated shore visit we managed to see many of Colombo’s more interesting sites: the markets near the port, the Museum, built by the British, the Cricket Ground, and a most interesting Bhuddist Temple, where an elephant stood guard, consuming bucket loads of bananas and melons.  However there was also a considerable presence of armed soldiers and road blockades that we were assured were there as the Catholic Bishop was being inaugurated and a large number of dignitaries were in town for the occasion but one had the impression that this level of security was commonplace.

Florence

Florence 9th–14th November
Tomorrow we take off, become sea borne again (and must warn our readers that we may no be able to regularly post as we make our way home). It seems therefore quite fitting to have spent our last few days on land in the most glorious of cities, Florence. There is nothing quite like walking around the Duomo, admiring Florence’s greatest contribution to architecture, and seeing it at a distance from the beautiful terraces of the Giardino di Bardini. While here we took a bus tour to Siena (another glorious essay in architecture), San Gimignano (a 13th Century antecedent of Manhattan), and a Chianti fatoria, in classic Tuscan countryside. Incidentally, our fellow passengers included at least three whom we will join on the MV Athene. We’ve really enjoyed Florence, stepping out into streets once walked by Dante and admired by characters in Room with a view. Of course we made mandatory visits to places like the Uffizi and admired the Botticelli’s, the Fra Angelico, went to the Pitti Palace where we were overwhelmed by the scale and breathtaking ostentation. We also indulged in more than a little retail therapy. Leather is almost a perversity here, but we resisted the allure (at least Claire did) of lambskin jackets, kid gloves and wallets, though Colin couldn’t resist a pencil case! W

e also saw an exhibition of Bronzino paintings—he wrote also poetry on the side—in the Palazzo Strozzi, which was magnificent. We may have noticed in this travel(b)logue that we complained about not seeing much Australian ‘art’: well, surprise, surprise there was an Australian painting on display; it was a Bronzino, from the Gallery of New South Wales no less. We also ‘loved’ the Museo Nazionale Allinari della Fotografia, where there was survey of Camera Work, which included one photograph from Julia Cameron, whose work we have first encountered in Freshwater, Isle of Wight. It’s a small world. Next door (well, practically next door) to our wonderful little hotel (Hotel Casci, via Cavour) is the Palazzo Medici-Ricardi and which has a wonderful panel by Fiippino di Lippi.

We also indulged our love of food in Florence, where such delights of the Tuscan cuisine as tripe can be indulged ad nauseam. While we might have written quite a lot of tripe in these pages, neither of us has been courageous enough to eat it yet (there is still tonight), but we have enjoyed the bread soups, the beef stew and sea bass, the fresh artichokes and so on. All-in-all, we’ll be very sad to leave the pleasure and retail palaces of Florence.

Milano

Milan and Milanesia* 6th-8th November
Milan is a disease—at least it appeared that way on Saturday afternoon when we arrived from Switzerland, after a dramatic railway journey through the St. Gothard Pass. The Milanese and visitors were in a frenzy of buying. Thankfully, things have only improved since then: today is Monday and most of the shops and museums are closed although we did visit the Museo Teatrale alla Scala in lieu of the scheduled concert (Valery Gergiev’s Mariinsky Orchestra which we saw in Paris) and the opera (Carmen) which were both booked out. On Sunday we were able to visit the Pinacoteca di Brera which has some wonderful Renaissance and twentieth century paintings.

As our introduction to Italian food we have had two wonderful meals, both very authentic and reasonably priced. Our first dinner in Milan was at a Sardinian restaurant, where the dishes were flavoured with fresh myrtle and the desert with wild honey was superb and today a light lunch of stuffed eggplant and zuchhini flavoured with fresh rosemary and cheaper than the coffee we had earlier in the not to be missed and very stylish Gallerie, near the Duomo. Prior to becoming designer label heaven it was a place where Milan’s café society met. It is still a nice place to have a coffee. However there is danger that the communal values once celebrated are fast becoming excuses for the Gucci’s of this world to seduce locals and tourists with dubious, overpriced merchandise, and all this opposite the Duomo—a celebration of religiosity on a gargantuan scale, enrobed not in designer clothes but stone flesh.

We are only here for two days and have probably not planned the best two to fit in all we should have. However the Hotel Regina is comfortable and well located (has three stars in the Michelin Guide) and we are using the efficient and economical trams to move around the city.

*A propensity to shop at all costs.

Lakeside in Luzern

Luzern and Lake Luzern: 4th – 5th November

An installation in the Musee Carnavelet, inspired by Louis Vuitton, gave us the urge to be water-born again; hence, today’s trip, on the MV Gotthard, which plies Lake Luzern. The day-long lake trip, especially those parts near to Fleulen, is nothing short of lacustrine heaven. Of all the ship and boat trips we’ve undertaken in the last four months, nothing rivals it for topographic drama.

With ragged ten thousand feet mountains, capped with snow and lower slopes coated with the rusted leaves of autumn, the colour and light effects were spectacular—beyond the capacity of a lens, let alone words, to convey. The commentary on MV Gotthard while brief was intelligent and even included a few stormy bars from Rossini’s William Tell overture to underscore Tell’s contribution to Swiss culture. Even the food and service on board was tasteful and beyond reproach, a million miles from the crass humour of US and UK tour boats (and better still no tips).

On our second complete day in Luzern we explored the old town, which is dominated by a line of towers punctuating the old town’s walls, affording views to the Luzern’s suburbs (which have expanded on to the lower slopes of the Alps), as well as towards the lake and city centres old and new. A highlight of our day was the visit to the Museum Sammlung Rosengart, which holds a magnificent collection of late Picassos and an even more comprehensive collection of Paul Klee’s whose miniaturist, often droll approach, provides a foil to the more visceral Picassos. Lest we forget, we reacquainted ourselves with Utrillo, the painter not the sea going vessel—of whom we have seen very little on our many visits to galleries and museums. This collection is of particular interest because it was donated to the city of Luzern by Angela Rosengart, who visits her beloved collection daily.