Down Under: Up On The Roof

Adelaide, what a pleasant surprise. Because of family, we have always ended up visiting Perth and Sydney. It was very late at night when we arrived in the South Australian capital so, after a good night’s sleep, we couldn’t wait to explore our neighbourhood.

We stayed at the Intercontinental on North Terrace, just across the Torrens River from the Adelaide Oval. I dragged my leg down to the riverside path, designed for walkers, joggers and cyclists, it was wonderful. On leaving Stansted it had been a pretty miserable 8°, but to be strolling out in a rather pleasant 24 was bliss.

We headed in the direction of the zoo, although with no intention of visiting, a personal thing, but I don’t get the attraction. I kept glancing at the river, there was something a little incongruous about it, we were supposedly in the middle of a drought, but the river was full, nearly to overflowing. How could this be? It looked like the University Rowing Team were out training, and when the boats stopped to give the crews a well-deserved rest, they just remained stationary, not drifting with the flow of the river. Weird!

I have to say, I found it disconcerting when Jane read out the warnings on the path side signs. Hadn’t been out of the hotel for any more than half-an-hour and we were faced with instructions to watch out for snakes. How can a city, appearing to be so peaceful and lovely, be so dangerous at the same time? We kept away from the edge. My legs always feel a little wobbly when snakes are involved. Never have liked them, never will. Did you know, and this brings it home, that of the ten most poisonous snakes in the world, ten of them are resident in Australia. Ten out of ten!

We got to the bridge, opposite the university, and crossed. It was one of those lovers’ bridges. Call me unromantic or what, but I have never understood getting a padlock, tying your name rings in the clasp and affixing it to the structure of the bridge. What a load of hogwash! As I understand it, you then toss your keys into the river and you will stay with one another forever. Really? I wonder how many of these young lovers saw sense and got spare keys cut before throwing the originals into the depths. Not enough, I suspect. Oh well, how fresh and wonderful young love is, if not a little foolish. There were a couple of children, Mum and Dad watching on, tossing pooh sticks into the river on the upstream side, but they didn’t go anywhere. Even weirder!

It really was as if the Torrens was a lake and not a river. It did make the river walk and surrounding greensward resemble an English town park, apart from the snake signs, of course. It was truly delightful. When we stopped for a coffee at a riverside hostelry, I utilised Google. Ah, that was the answer, a weir had been constructed downstream from the metropolitan area thus keeping the water artificially high, even during drought. It served to make it one of the most attractive parks anywhere, even if it wasn’t, strictly speaking, a park. It has to be mentioned, Adelaide is an incredibly open city. There are acres and acres of grassland, making it feel like you are in the countryside in the middle of a city.

The highlight of our stay, in my opinion, apart from visiting the Sir Donald Bradman Collection, was the roof walk over the Adelaide Oval. If you are ever in Adelaide, this is an absolute must.

After signing a disclaimer stating we were fit and healthy and should we be injured or die the organisers did not accept any liability, we were handed baseball caps and jumpsuits, blue versions of the orange ones so familiar to us as the uniform of the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. We then mounted cat ladders to take us up to the narrow walkways, no more than 500mm at their widest, and with handrails to one side only, except when they bridged the gaps between stands, when there was one each side.

It was, however, a fall of nearly 50 metres should we slip. To be fair, we were attached to a rolling track system through a short lanyard and harness. It felt perfectly safe. The views were spectacular, to the outside and over the playing surface. When up so high it made us realise how close the smoke was from the fires burning, mainly out of control, to the surrounding countryside.

Our planned trip to the vineyards of the Barossa Valley had to be cancelled for that very reason. The last thing they wanted were groups of tourists stumbling about in the way of the brave firefighters. Not only that, there was a real chance of dying. On arriving at the main stand, behind the bowler’s arm at the river end, there was a platform with seating. For an additional fee one could watch a part of a match from up here, just remember not to jump with joy should your favourite team get a wicket.

This was also a genuinely scary photo opportunity. If you had confidence in the thin rope that tied you to the roller system and, indeed, the roller system itself, you could lean out over the ground and let go. Jane banned me from doing this as the toehold was narrow and she thought there was a good chance that I would miss the edge and calamity would ensue. She, though, had no such qualms for herself, and gave it a go. I felt a pulsing adrenalin flood through my being and, just briefly, imagined her spreadeagled on the outfield 160 feet below.

Whilst this was going on I chatted to the next man in the line. He confided that he had come on the tour to conquer his fear of heights. God, it would be like me jumping into a snake pit to cure myself of my own irrational fear; not a chance in hell! He wasn’t brave enough to dangle out over the playing area when it came to his turn. Fair play to him for completing the walk, though. One word of warning if you are considering doing this during your trip to Down Under, try and pick a cooler day than us, it was 31° and we were wearing nylon over suits. You got it, we were drenched in sweat. We certainly attracted some strange looks as we made the short way back to our hotel and the blessed relief of the shower.

I have never been to one of the major fireworks displays to bring in the New Year before. In fact, I think I have only made it past midnight twice since I was about twenty. We didn’t feel tired so after an evening out at the theatre, we watched a terrific production of ‘Billy Elliott,’ we joined the throngs along the river bank and waited with bated breath. We were not disappointed, the display was spectacular.

You have to question the sanity of the organisers for launching small explosive devices into the night sky in the middle of a drought ridden city. No surprise when some dried out reeds on the riverbank burst into flame. Despite the Adelaide Strikers been in action earlier in the evening, I feel sure the biggest cheer of the night was saved for the fire engine and its crew when they turned up and quickly extinguished the fire. Australia idolises its sporting heroes but, there is no doubt, the country’s firefighters are right up there on the same pedestal. I wonder how their wages compare? Leave that one with you!

Do you know, in all the times I have visited the Land Down Under I have never experienced a temperature in excess of 40. This was as close as I had ever got. On the day we left for Melbourne it was forecast to be 41°. We departed early in the morning when, in all probability, it was still in the thirties.

I would definitely like to go back one day, maybe when conditions are more accommodating and we can have a good tour in the bush. Next time we will be in the Victorian capital, when we will be visiting penguins, going for a ride on Puffing Billy and getting wet in the Dandenongs.

The Day The King Came To Parkrun...

Do you ever have those days when you wish you had stayed in bed? Well, this, sort of, was one of them. It most certainly was not catastrophic, nobody died or got seriously injured. It was just one of those, shall we call it, inglorious days. To be honest, it was going really well until I shook a leg and got out from under the covers. It started well enough, tea was delivered to Jane in bed as usual.

I had ordered a specially made t-shirt to help advertise this blog (by the way, you can help me with that by sharing it with friends and family and asking if they would subscribe). I had left two ten pound notes on my bedside table overnight, nightstand in America. I had arranged to call in at the manufacturer before then going onto Parkrun.

Managed to shower and brush my teeth without a hitch; didn’t drown or give myself an electric shock. Going well. Just as it was time to leave, I picked up the cash and stuck it inside my tracksuit pocket. Off we toddled to King’s Lynn to the warehouse of V and J Knitwear, suppliers of branded work and safety wear. Was shown the shirt, a bright orange number with, so I am told, blue writing. Quite fetching! Dug out the twenty quid from my pocket, and to my absolute horror it had turned, somehow, into a single tenner, half the price. Jane, rightfully so, was “Oh, Robert, what on earth have you done with it?”

It was like a Paul Daniels’ magic trick. I had, I argued, most definitely put two notes in my pocket. Somehow, they had turned into one! I even started to suggest there must be a secret compartment in my tracksuit trouser pocket. There wasn’t. “Perhaps, it’s on the floor?” I suggested, pretty lamely, it has to be said.

“I can see the floor,” said Jane assertively. “It most definitely isn’t on the floor. This is so embarrassing!”

Richard, whom I think is the owner, although I’m not sure, said that I shouldn’t worry about it, it is easily done with these stupid plastic notes. “I’m visiting the shop in Massingham this afternoon, to drop off some workwear shirts, so if you find it drop it behind the counter and I’ll pick it up from there.”

Good man, I thought, and said, “Thank you very much. So sorry.”

Anyway, we pootled off to Sandringham for Parkrun. I was, again, running with VI Guide, Nik. I must admit, I hadn’t given this a lot of thought, Nik always wears bright orange with “VI Guide” written on his back. We looked like the Jaffa Bros. Yeah, I know the connotation, but at our age I don’t think it matters too much. It was pretty packed as it was the last one of the month which means it is the “5k Your Way,” monthly event. This is a movement that has been formed to bring people together who have been touched by cancer for a jog or walk and a good chat; an absolutely brilliant idea. Apparently, it is the only one in Norfolk, so it would be nice if other Parkruns agreed to adopt this as well.

The start was quite congested but, nonetheless, we got off to a good start. Then, a little way into the woods Nik managed to lose his glasses and one of the lenses popped out. No real damage done, it was retrieved without too much hassle, and we were on our way again. Yep, you got it, without any doubt, my fault. I was like a Jonah today.

We completed the course in a PB for me at Sandringham and after Nik and I had said our goodbyes, a few people came up to me and chatted. It was really nice, then I remembered I had a speech bubble on my chest inviting people to talk to me, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But, no not me, I was merely thinking how jolly nice people were being today. Then one chap pointed out that the spelling of “Travelling” was incorrect; there was an L missing.

Great!

I apologised and promised I would get it sorted for next time. It made me so self-conscious that I kept my arms folded across my chest to hide my embarrassment. Bloody hell, an author and travel blogger who can’t even spell “Travelling!” As we were leaving we stopped off and chatted to a group of regular participants and volunteers, who also happened to be part of the “5k Your Way” team. They suggested that we come across to the café for coffee and cake.

“Yeah,” said Jane. “We could do that.”

“I’m not sure,” I responded, thinking I was bloody cold and, even, a little hungry. “Thank you very much. I think we’ll get on our way, get in and have coffee at home.” After all nobody else makes coffee to my exacting requirements like me.

Anyway, sitting supping our coffee when Jane gave a sound of anguish. “My God!” she exclaimed. “You’ll never guess what?”

“Try me.” I was feeling really nice and cosy.

“If we had gone and joined the “5k” lot we would have been joined by the King. You’re not having a good day, are you?”

So, as you’ve worked out, that was my fault as well!

I took the next sip with relief. “Well, at least I didn’t stand in front of His Majesty with my spelling mistake on show for all to see.”

“He wouldn’t have said anything. He’s far too polite for that.”

Probably true, I thought, but said, “Maybe. If it was my English and not his English, I would have damned well pointed it out. To hell with the ignominy of my subject!”

A good thing, though, V and J took back the shirt and altered it. I am just grateful I didn’t ask them to do my “Traveling Blind Blog” tattoo. I know that the few Americans are wondering what the fuss is. Well, the King’s English uses a double-L whereas Donald’s English uses a single-L! I s’pose it saves on ink, though. Gee, you Americans are quite smart!