KOTOR first impressions

Cats
Crumbling facades
Abandoned hotels
Gray granite pinnacles
A shortage of vowels
Cats
Traffic snarls
A cruise ship
Men in early morning bars
Ancient fortifications
A garish doll perched high on the city walls

Everything that makes old Europe special
And while men with money make some attempt to make things shiny and neat,
It is the smell of chaos and decay that I find intoxicating.

Mosul report

I was a little nervous when I saw on the flight path that we would be overflying Mosul and Bagdad on the way to Istanbul. The planet has a good stock of madmen in positions of power currently  - perhaps no more than in past eras, just more visible due to a world that never sleeps and insists that I know every terrifying thought that these nutters have.

So overflying Mosul would not be my preferred route to Europe. It's not on my bucket list. But I have lived to report that all is calm in the region particularly the space at and above 10,000feet.

I can also report that Turkish airlines has the most cramped seats I've ever experienced and food that does nothing to entice me to mosey through the back streets of Istanbul savouring the culinary delights. A pity given that I remember Istanbul as one of the delights of the trip Andrea and I made in 1977 (did I just admit to a 40 year gap between touchdowns?). My memories may be distorted since we had eaten pretty ordinary fare in Iran and Afghanistan immediatly prior to arriving in Turkey. The days we spent in Istanbul remain one of my favourite travel memories. Anyway I'm sure the food of Istabul is still magnificent, though the airport food looks very familiar. Call it International airport food and you have the picture.

Last time I flew to Europe was via Dubai, one of the more bizarre airports on the planet. Part theme park, part millionaires playground. I've never seen so much gold jewellery. Both Singapore and Istanbul by contrast feel much like home, Sydney even. A broad cross-section of faces and faiths and languages but with a strong sense of the secular. Comforting in a weird way. 

Oops, there's my call. Will be in Croatia in two hours all being well. And in Montenegro by the afternoon.

Montenagro - my near death experience

This might look like an everyday image of people exiting a flight? Wrong. It is in fact a shot of a planeload of frustrated passengers sitting in an A320 on the tarmac in the backblocks of Montenegro after trying unsuccessfully to land at Dubrovnic three times over a 45 minute period, each time aborting the approach at the last minute due to strong crosswinds. We'd get within a few hundred metres of the ground and things would start to buck and sway and the pilot wisely powerered us into yet another circuit.

The first hour was delightful. Ibtis, a young woman born in Morocco and resident of Paris was  our entertainment captain and authority on all things French and Moroccan in that refreshing way only optimistic young people can be. And then the pilot informed us we were gong round again, and we thought he said not to be concerned as we had fuel for an hour yet. At least that's the message we got.

So, of course that meant that on every circuit of Dubrovnic we were acutely aware of the minutes ticking by. That was of concern of course but, when, at the fifty minute mark he told us we were heading for Montenegro we flipped. The minutes slipped by while we seemed to be gliding over open ocean with our dwindling fuel supply and our eyes watching the second hand spin around our wrists.

 People's responses varied. Ibtis, who has deep olive skin, developed an English complexion, Andrea seemed to be meditating, though it could have been symptoms of a severe state of shock. The woman opposite us just started throwing up and her partner seemed to be sending an awful lot of texts. In front of me a woman continued to do an intricate traditional needlework piece depicting an airliner plunging into the sea. For my part I was, for once, completely unable to lighten the mood.

I was preoccupied with survival plans. The nearest exit door - check; location of floating device - check; read the emergency card - check. Then the scenarios. Land on water - minimal chance of survival; land on runway and flip, or over-run the strip - better chance; land in a paddock - not much better; run out of fuel and ....- not good survival prospects. It was then that I became really scared. I had this growing sense that perhaps the pilot had lost his nerve. I had an image of him in the cockpit curled into a little ball in the grip of a panic attack. Then my brain sent me a series of headlines - MH7 OR 17 whatever it was, all the disasters it could muster in a series of quick flashes.

And then I relaxed. I was surprised. I felt calm. Andrea said she felt the same. What would be would be.

Ibtis had the window seat but couldn't sight anything resembling an airstrip as we flew further south then inland until, suddenly there it was - what looked like a 100 metre bitumin strip with a few light aircraft pulled up alongside. It truly looked like a plasticine model airstrip it was so short. I've never experienced a plane pull up so quickly.

The cabin crew had no idea where we were and the pilot seemed to have no plan B. So here we sit, and sit. Maybe this will be our first night in Montenegro?

No wait! We've just been informed that we're going to have another go at Dubrovnic with a new tank of aviation fuel and if that fails we'll be heading back to Istanbul.

Jo and Rich and Harry are in Italy, in Bari, sitting on the tarmac awaiting their opportunity at immortality having been diverted there for  the same reason.

Quite a start to our Croatian holiday. We can't even get to land there.

Adriatic Sea

About to head off to Europe for four weeks.

A week in Montenegro - I know? Where is that? You mean Mongolia? Macadonia? No. Montenagro. It was part of the former Yugoslavia and is bordered by Crotia, Bosnia, Serbia, Kosovo, Albania and the Adriatic Sea. It's one quarter the size of Tasmania with a population of 600,000 (half the population of Brisbane). 117 beaches along a short coastline of 73km. Mountains, national parks and historic hill top villages.

Then a week in Split in Croatia followed by two weeks on the road between Split and Zagreb. following the Dalmation Coast and plunging into the mountains. Possibly a a short side trip to Slovenia and its capital Ljubljana. Last three days in Zagreb.

We'll be with nephew Harry, Andrea's sister Jo and husband Richard for the first two weeks and since Harry loves the water he'll be in his element.

I hope there'll be a few stories and photos to share.

2016 Xmas Missive

Capelin Lynch 2016    

                                   

Greetings all.

We’ve had another fulfilling and busy year.

Here’s a few memorable moments .

Family moments

Steve                    Going to the AFL with Jess and preferring to chat than watch the dismal performances.

Golf with Nick. Watching him hit like a baseball player and somehow have a card with a score half mine. Not envious!

Andrea                                 Playing with Nick and Dim’s new dog Abbie; getting to know my brother Dave again when he stayed for a couple of months to perform at QTC.

Good Friends    Being lucky to have a circle of long term friends with whom we share meals, laughs, stories, holidays, weekends away, good and hard times. Let’s grow old together.   

Holidays 

Steve    PNG with MIck and friend Gabrielle. Where to start? Stepping on to New Ireland where my great grandparents landed in 1880. Pinching a 150 year old brick each as souvenirs. Finding Mt Hagen clothed in razor wire on the one hand and being adopted by locals on the other. Memorable.  

Spending time with cousins Rita and Vince in Kalamunda, Perth as part of our WA trip. Freezing in our hired campervan as we experienced the coldest October in the west in 30 years.

Andrea                   Palm Cove and Cairns in July for a “girls holiday” with Mally and Lindy. The Indigenous Art Fair was  wonderful.   

WA in Oct- seeing the amazing variety of wildflowers in WA and being shown around Fremantle by a knowledgeable local, Margo O’Byrne. Meeting Sarah Drummond author of “The Sound” at Broke Inlet was another highlight.

 Family history discovery.

Steve

This was the house next door. On arrival in 1881 the 250 Italians escaping from the disastrous attempt to establish a colony in PNG were housed in a hall in the Domain, Sydney. This hall (Agricultural Hall) was fifty metres away from this amazing building. It was the Garden Palace built to house the 1879 Sydney International Expo. It burnt down in 1882. The Agricultural Hall then became the collection point for all things technical and historic and was the precursor to the Sydney Powerhouse Museum.

Andrea     Still exploring the living relatives so not yet up to the dead ones.  

Books.

Steve                    Rereading David Malouf’s  “12 Edmonstone Street.” Realised it was actually about the notion of memory and family rather than a simple memoir.  Inspired me to write about my mother and her collection of wildflowers from 1946. http://mymissinglife.blogspot.com.au/2016/11/wildflower-dreams-seventy-year-story.html

Andrea                 Discovering Randolph Stow (“The Merry-Go-Round in the Sea”), a Western Australian writer whom Tim Winton credits as his inspiration. Loved reading “The Sound” (Sarah Drummond) set in WA.

Music

Steve                    Gareth Liddiard (The Drones) acoustic version of TAMAN SHUD at Mullum Music Festival

“Thud thud my heart pumps blood
Whenever someone talks about my Taman Shud
Who ditched that fox-gloved snitch?
Loaded him with poison like a puffer fish”

You had to be there. And I was.

Andrea                                 Happening on the local ukulele club playing “Hallelujah” in a nearby café on the night that Leonard Cohen died.

Lets get physical

Steve                    Kept swimming. Took up pilates. Played a weekly round of golf with mates Denis and Nev. Outcome: everything between despair and elation. More of the former. We’re improving. Indicator: less cursing.

Andrea                                 Continuing to go to aqua aerobics and deep water running where the jaw and tongue get a good workout as the women share their lives.

Favourite swim

Steve                    Dawn Fraser Harbor Pool, Balmain, Sydney with Nick Fury. Freezing.

Andrea                                 Cold water swim at Stradbroke Island in August.

Moments of sadness

                                Andrea’s Uncle Kent – an elder and missed

Steve Gahan – eldest cousin on my father’s side. A much loved bloke. Missed.

Death of Derek Ives – so talented, so young.

 RIP Patch (1994-2016). Buried under a pile of wood in the backyard.

 With 2017 beckoning we wish you a peaceful Xmas break and everything you hope for next year.         

Love Andrea and Steve    

Big Bang to the Coffee Explosion - a billion year history

I wrote this last month to be read at an event at our local bookshop celebrating the history of our local 'high' street. I've been doing a lot of research with my colleagues - the West End Making History Group.

From Big Bang to the Coffee Explosion - Boundary Street West End

I

In the beginning

Nothing                    A  lot  of  nothing              Nothing but nothing

Then

BOOM

BIG BANG

Shit everywhere

It’s still up there

Floating                    Floating                    Floating   

For billions of years                    

A Universe

Venus                        Saturn                       Mars                          Earth.  

Water

Microbes

Oxygen      

Ocean

Life.

A floating world

A supercontinent

Gondwanaland       A Great South Land

Drifting North                    Drifting                   Drifting

A boat on a sea of magma

Floating                    Drifting               Crawling North.

II

Wait on, what’s that?

Aboriginal people here

The first Australians

The first Australians

Here for 50 000 years.

III

Then yesterday

This whitefella and a mate

A boat afloat

A canvas sail

It’s Oxley.

‘I like this place’

‘Good place for a Penal Colony,’ he thinks

AND  THEN ………

Prefers the North bank.

A slight the South cannot let go

Regarded only as a place for crops to grow

And so begins the resistance

The insistence

‘We are not to be toyed with’

And the Spirit of West End begins to flow.

IV

What does this Oxley find?

Jungle, Lagoons, Hoop Pine (good for ships masts), blackfellas, tracks,

A Water Rat

Kuril  -  pa

A dry creek gully   - running North to South

To ridges falling from a high hill behind

This gully, dry - but when it floods

Backfills from Melbourne Street lagoons to Vulture Street

Around our feet.

V

What happens next?

The first survey

A man called Wade.

Four lines drawn on a paper map

The boundaries of this Brisbane Town

Contested ground.

So Boundary becomes an exclusion zone

No blacks inside these lines at night

On Sundays no bullroarer dance.

VI

The line needs work

It’s crooked still

It’s filled, made straight and levelled true.

The times are good

The boom’s upon us

Hotel, Chemist, Tram, Police,

Homes spring up to fill the gaps.

A general store and then Shay’s Shoes.

VII

AT  LAST!!

South Brisbane BECOMES a city

ALAS

Short lived.

But Boundary is at the centre

A Picture Palace, A School of Arts

First library ever purpose built.

All this by 1928

All this

All this

All this and more

Before the death of the corner store

And birth instead of another sound

Cash registers and

The coffee ground.

© Steve Capelin 2016

My Mother's Shakespearean Sonnet - A holiday poem

You might remember I wrote recently about my mother and her copy of 'The Complete Works of William Shakespeare'. I was talking about her hidden life and her love of literature.
    Her well thumbed copy includes all his plays and his sonnets and a few other surprises.
    As I opened the cover of this 1312 page tome the first thing that fell out was a fading paper, brown and ragged at the edges, containing a 'Lamington' recipe. Unusual place for a recipe I thought.
    Further on was a set of newspaper clippings - all poems of a spiritual or "bring home the diggers safely" mode - evidence of her devout Catholic upbringing. And then, there, a few pages on, was an envelope, speckled with brown stains like a chickens egg containing a rose pressed and wrapped in tissue, perfectly preserved. Suddenly my mother was with me again. She, along with many women of her generation, had a real love of their rose bushes. The rich cocoa brown of the petals are velvety, almost edible.
    Finally, further into the plays, around Richard III, was the piece de resistance. A poem she'd written giving an account of a disastrous holiday she and her girlfriends had taken, written in sonnet form. This was the mid 1940s; she's about 26/27; the war has just ended; she hasn't yet met my father (as far as I can tell). It's so faded it has almost disappeared. I had to use a magnifying glass to deciper it.


Eileen Hill's Poem in the style of a Shakesperaean sonnet.

Dear friends our tale will now begin
Of how we spent our leave
Of mud and flood and more be-gud
You'll hear and with me grieve.

We left the town one Saturday
Our joyful hopes were mounting
We little thought those clear blue skies
Would soon spurt like a fountain.

We hauled our three selves in the bus
And sallied to our cottage
To find too soon ourselves marooned
With nought but mess of pottage.

Our first night brought a cyclone in
The house supports were quivering
And underneath our scanty shorts
Our own pins set up shivering.

When dawn broke with a watery smile
We thought twould change our courses
When o'er verandah rail we spied
The heads of eight great horses.

We stamped and yelled to scare them off
They snorted but the harder
We must explain our cruel shame
They cut us off from larder.

On fifth day when our hopes were sunk
All chance of suntan gone
O'er garden gate at three twenty eight
Our first faint sunbeam shone.

We danced about in great delight
The air filled with our cackle
We even thought at that late hour
The slimy brine to tackle.

Gone all thoughts of Noah's Ark
Gone all thoughts of drowning
Though tails still wet we had high hopes
For one full week of browning.

Three full days of sun we had
Of surf and swim and beach
But now alas has come to pass
More rain -- I've lost my speech.

A thunder storm we thought at first
And tried to spy blue patches
But storms don't last for days on end
While mushroom round us hatches.

We've reached the end of all our food
We've reached the end of tether
Tomorrow night we're going home
Before more breaks in weather.

(c)   Eileen Hill 1946