But a beginning...
*looks at time*
Well, I have just been aimlessly browsing for the past half an hour, and I've got a decent amount of time before I should really go to bed, so here's something that I've been putting off for far too long: a 'brief' look into my trip through Europe.
.
I've been overseas a few times before, and I must say that I've never felt as unprepared when leaving the house as I did this time. Perhaps that has a little something to do with the fact that I left on New Year's Day, after celebrating the turn of the year (and my imminent departure) until early in the morning, or even that I thought we were going to leave for the airport half an hour later than we actually did. As it happened, I found that I didn't want for anything from home, even given the circumstances. Luck was with me.
So, off to our first destination: merry olde England, our excuse for the trip. You see, my great-aunt Marie and great-uncle Stan (father's mother's side) happen to own a dairy farm a short while outside of Sheffield, and we (for future reference, meaning my parents, my brother Brian, and I) wanted to see them before it came too late to do so. For Brian and me, this was our first time seeing them, so we weren't really too sure what to expect.
Any anxiety that we'd had was completely unfounded, as we were soon to discover. After being chauffeured by Stan through the stunning countryside of England's Peak District (unfortunately blanketed with a heavy fog on the day of our arrival, hindering the breathtaking views that were later to astound us), we arrived house to be greeted by Marie and a feast of turkey ("We know it's a little past Christmas, but we wanted to celebrate with you anyway!").
The next morning, we awoke to find that the lusciously green landscape we had left behind while sleeping had been transformed into a panorama of white, unmarred by the fog of the previous day. Needless to say, we took to exploring our surrounds, with my dad breaking in all through the while to tell us of the childhood memories that came flooding back to him, simply with his walking around.
My time in the peak district (about a week) has impressed me strongly with the appeal of living away from the city. While I'm not likely to want to depart from suburbia to live in an area away from 'amenities', I can truly understand what motivates those who do want to do so.
Interesting points, features, observations and experiences of this region:
* Man, England has HISTORY. To an Australian mind, the fact that a stone wall idly laying about in a field could be the pinnacle of an art mastered locally several hundreds of years ago is simply mind-blowing. That houses of an age with many Australian cities are everyday occurrences, that heraldic lines are still lines of power (more on the Duke of Devonshire later), hell, even that practically every inn on the side of the road (of which there are plenty) has an interesting story behind its name just speaks of the sheer amount of time that human interaction has been occurring in the country. People speak of Australia as old, with the worn and rugged look of the rock formations seen in the outback, but to me, England is old is much more tangible and much less spiritual sense; that every stone, every tree, every wall is covered with moss tells me that they, along with their history, have been there undisturbed, and unremarked upon for a veritable age.
* Completely different flora and fauna than in Brisbane. I had to get used to being above the 'tree line', at an altitude where only limited species of large plants would grow. In addition, the bird calls of the area were startlingly foreign to me; I woke up on the first morning feeling utterly disorientated and confused. I was taken aback by the size of a pheasant as it unexpectedly flew out of a tree in front of me; I watched in wonder as a fox sped across a field; I amazed myself by tracking a hare through the snow to find it sitting by a twisting brook, surrounded by underbrush. All of these were completely new experiences for me.
* Villages, villages everywhere, all with a drop to drink. Like I mentioned earlier, inns are to be found scattered around the place. Many-a-time, these inns can be found as the centrepoint of a village, which is basically a quaint name for an isolated street of a dozen or so houses. Do not, however, be fooled into thinking that every village must have an inn; the one at the bottom of the hill from where I was staying (comprising four houses in total) was purely residential (although a quick google search suggests that I may have missed one by not going up what I'd considered to be a private driveway - shucks.)
* One place of interest was Chatsworth House, owned by the local Duke of Devonshire. Its expansive grounds were open to the public 364 days a year (closed once a year to reinforce that it is, indeed, a private property, and it is the duke's kindness that allows it to remain open. Red tape.), and were definitely worth a visit or two. On the edge of what was once Sherwood Forest, it was a place for families to visit and stroll around, simply enjoying the atmosphere. Wonderful place.
Next destination: Liverpool.
Liverpool is where my father lived with his parents until, when he was twelve, they moved permanently to Australia. He took great pleasure in showing us the stage of his childhood (and indeed, we took great pleasure to seeing it). We saw his old house, visited his dad's favourite pub, saw his dad's old dental surgery (which surprisingly, 40 years later, is still being used for the same trade), and took a good look at his old school (siding onto Penny Lane, from that famous Beatles song. Unfortunately, we couldn't get a good look as we drove through it. Sing along to the chorus!
"Penny Lane is prob'ly great, but I dunno,
because the truck in front is goin' so slow
Well, I have just been aimlessly browsing for the past half an hour, and I've got a decent amount of time before I should really go to bed, so here's something that I've been putting off for far too long: a 'brief' look into my trip through Europe.
.
I've been overseas a few times before, and I must say that I've never felt as unprepared when leaving the house as I did this time. Perhaps that has a little something to do with the fact that I left on New Year's Day, after celebrating the turn of the year (and my imminent departure) until early in the morning, or even that I thought we were going to leave for the airport half an hour later than we actually did. As it happened, I found that I didn't want for anything from home, even given the circumstances. Luck was with me.
So, off to our first destination: merry olde England, our excuse for the trip. You see, my great-aunt Marie and great-uncle Stan (father's mother's side) happen to own a dairy farm a short while outside of Sheffield, and we (for future reference, meaning my parents, my brother Brian, and I) wanted to see them before it came too late to do so. For Brian and me, this was our first time seeing them, so we weren't really too sure what to expect.
Any anxiety that we'd had was completely unfounded, as we were soon to discover. After being chauffeured by Stan through the stunning countryside of England's Peak District (unfortunately blanketed with a heavy fog on the day of our arrival, hindering the breathtaking views that were later to astound us), we arrived house to be greeted by Marie and a feast of turkey ("We know it's a little past Christmas, but we wanted to celebrate with you anyway!").
The next morning, we awoke to find that the lusciously green landscape we had left behind while sleeping had been transformed into a panorama of white, unmarred by the fog of the previous day. Needless to say, we took to exploring our surrounds, with my dad breaking in all through the while to tell us of the childhood memories that came flooding back to him, simply with his walking around.
My time in the peak district (about a week) has impressed me strongly with the appeal of living away from the city. While I'm not likely to want to depart from suburbia to live in an area away from 'amenities', I can truly understand what motivates those who do want to do so.
Interesting points, features, observations and experiences of this region:
* Man, England has HISTORY. To an Australian mind, the fact that a stone wall idly laying about in a field could be the pinnacle of an art mastered locally several hundreds of years ago is simply mind-blowing. That houses of an age with many Australian cities are everyday occurrences, that heraldic lines are still lines of power (more on the Duke of Devonshire later), hell, even that practically every inn on the side of the road (of which there are plenty) has an interesting story behind its name just speaks of the sheer amount of time that human interaction has been occurring in the country. People speak of Australia as old, with the worn and rugged look of the rock formations seen in the outback, but to me, England is old is much more tangible and much less spiritual sense; that every stone, every tree, every wall is covered with moss tells me that they, along with their history, have been there undisturbed, and unremarked upon for a veritable age.
* Completely different flora and fauna than in Brisbane. I had to get used to being above the 'tree line', at an altitude where only limited species of large plants would grow. In addition, the bird calls of the area were startlingly foreign to me; I woke up on the first morning feeling utterly disorientated and confused. I was taken aback by the size of a pheasant as it unexpectedly flew out of a tree in front of me; I watched in wonder as a fox sped across a field; I amazed myself by tracking a hare through the snow to find it sitting by a twisting brook, surrounded by underbrush. All of these were completely new experiences for me.
* Villages, villages everywhere, all with a drop to drink. Like I mentioned earlier, inns are to be found scattered around the place. Many-a-time, these inns can be found as the centrepoint of a village, which is basically a quaint name for an isolated street of a dozen or so houses. Do not, however, be fooled into thinking that every village must have an inn; the one at the bottom of the hill from where I was staying (comprising four houses in total) was purely residential (although a quick google search suggests that I may have missed one by not going up what I'd considered to be a private driveway - shucks.)
* One place of interest was Chatsworth House, owned by the local Duke of Devonshire. Its expansive grounds were open to the public 364 days a year (closed once a year to reinforce that it is, indeed, a private property, and it is the duke's kindness that allows it to remain open. Red tape.), and were definitely worth a visit or two. On the edge of what was once Sherwood Forest, it was a place for families to visit and stroll around, simply enjoying the atmosphere. Wonderful place.
Next destination: Liverpool.
Liverpool is where my father lived with his parents until, when he was twelve, they moved permanently to Australia. He took great pleasure in showing us the stage of his childhood (and indeed, we took great pleasure to seeing it). We saw his old house, visited his dad's favourite pub, saw his dad's old dental surgery (which surprisingly, 40 years later, is still being used for the same trade), and took a good look at his old school (siding onto Penny Lane, from that famous Beatles song. Unfortunately, we couldn't get a good look as we drove through it. Sing along to the chorus!
"Penny Lane is prob'ly great, but I dunno,
because the truck in front is goin' so slow