Down Under: The Penguins Homecoming

Seeing the smoke in the distance in Adelaide was one thing, it was another altogether to get out of the taxi at the hotel in Melbourne.

The smell of the burning bush was hanging in the air. It was not a dissimilar aroma to that around our village in winter, when residents are pumping their toxins out into the atmosphere from wood burners. The difference was, of course, that the smoke in the Victorian capital also carried the stench of death. A sobering thought.

Jane had taken in the joys of this city, where one can experience all four seasons in one day, almost at any time of year, back in the early eighties. Incredibly, even though we didn’t actually know each other, I was staying just up the road in Sydney at the same time. Looking back at our previous holidays, we have worked out that we were in the same area on at least three other occasions. Fate is inexorable, isn’t it? Was there a greater force trying to throw us together? Who knows!

Well, we were now there at the same time and, whilst Jane had extolled the attractions of this place throughout our married life, I was sceptical. I have to say, I fell for the place as soon as we went out for our first walk, even around the revitalised and gentrified docks area.

When it came to choosing the capital of the new Australian Federation in 1901, the individual states weren’t united as a single entity until then, Melbourne and Sydney probably had as strong a claim as each other to the title of capital city. Knowing the Australian people’s penchant for a bet, I am surprised they didn’t toss a coin for it. That would probably have been the cheapest option!

Instead, they elected to build a new city, sort of halfway between the two. How many times do you hear in quizzes: What is the capital of Australia? There is always someone in the room who will shout out “Sydney.” No, it’s not! It is the purpose built Canberra. A place that was included on our original itinerary to visit but, alas, had to be struck off thanks to those pesky fires; there were several days in a row at the peak of the devastation when Canberra was measured as having the worst air quality in the world. One day, we’ll give it a go.

I will try and squeeze everything into this week’s blog, but we did certainly make ourselves pretty busy. The attractions of the city are almost inexhaustible, but getting out into the surrounding areas has its own attractions.

The first excursion we joined was a trip to Phillip Island to see the little penguins returning from a day’s hunting to spend the night with their families.

Every day, the blue and white adults, a unique marking in the penguin world, take themselves out to sea looking for fish and, as the sun is setting, they return, on mass, to their homes. The homes consist of thousands of burrows in the dunes and yet, they all manage to get back to their own holes in the sand.

The colony consists of roughly 40,000, making it even more remarkable that the parents get reunited with the right chick. Every one of these little chaps has a unique call. It is a truly amazing experience. We watched, or at least Jane described it to me, as the penguins surged from the sea, scuttled under the wooden viewing platform we were standing on, sought out their own sandy tracks and their own little family homes.

This becomes all the more remarkable when you realise the predators that might be waiting for them. Out at sea, they need to be on the lookout for leopard seals and killer whales; on land, believe it or not, their main hunter is the fox. Foxes are not indigenous to Australia and were introduced by the idiotic hunting fraternity who wanted a bit of sport. Foxes and rabbits, introduced by the English, are now rife across the continent. There are approximately 2 million of the former and, look at this, 200 million of the latter. So, Mr Fox, you can spend all of your time focusing on the bunnies, and leave the natural fauna alone. You’d think that both groups would have fallen prey to the snakes, but apparently not. Ah, now there’s a thought, how about the sportsmen dress up in their red jackets and go hunting snakes… on foot and by hand. I’d pay good money to see that!

As is quite usual, I never learn, I was utterly underdressed and we ended up buying yet another branded sweatshirt. I never get the hint, and always end up paying over the odds for these garments. Never mind, it was worth every penny to experience this natural phenomena.

Just a note here. On the way to PI we stopped off at a Koala Sanctuary. It was amazing to see these marsupials up close, they are not actually bears. They spend the majority of each day sleeping, eating and mating. Now, is that such a bad thing? We came across a mob of kangaroos out near the PI motor racing circuit. Not sure of the veracity of my statement now, but I think it is safe to say this is different wildlife to that on show in Norfolk?

Back in the early days of European settlement, we mean English, there was this continuing dreadful habit of trying to make the new colony seem like a home-from-home. PI, therefore, was loosely based on the Isle of Wight and sports such towns as Cowes, where we enjoyed a splendid fish and chips, Ventnor and Rhyll.

Final Preparations For This Year's East Asia Trip...

Here’s one for you fellas. Do you remember the time when you sat with the mother of your children as she gave birth. Her fingernails may have been digging into your wrist but did you complain?

“Sorry, darling, am I hurting you,” she would say.

Of course she was hurting you but there was no way you were going to admit to it, was there. I bet you remember hiding the bruises from her for the next few weeks? Well, from experience, I can tell you now, you should have said “Yes.” Because you weren’t hurting enough, I am convinced they spend the rest of your life together trying to inflict a similar pain on you. I might be exaggerating, of course, but in my experience, especially in later years, I am sure that has been the aim.

A natural development in many of us blokes is, as we get older, well, we seem to be able to grow hairs in places that were simply incapable of supporting hair growth when we were younger. I realise that I had, what looked like, snow-white and grey rolling tobacco protruding from my earholes, nostrils and above my shirt line. If there might be the slightest of notions I might dare to remove my shirt in warmer climes, I need the treatment. Some years ago, dear Jane, suggested I should wax so as not to be mistaken for a silverback gorilla strolling around holiday resorts. In the end, we agreed a compromise, always the best way, that any hair removal would be by trimmers, not waxing.

I am convinced that there are covens of women that meet up from time-to-time to discuss these things. What is the best way to gain retribution for those hours of pain in the maternity suite? As their ideas cackle around the room it is decided that waxing is the best form of retribution.

You will recall that I went through ear and nose waxing during a recent visit to Paphos. “Now you are used to waxing, I think you could give that a try. Having your back and front cannot be anywhere near as bad as your ears and nose?”

“Maybe not,” was my answer.

Would you take that as a categoric “No?” No, nor would I. But, apparently it was as good as! Waxing strips appeared in a Sainsbury’s delivery one day, a couple of weeks ago.

Let me tell you, it is every bit as bad. I would say at least a hundred times worse than childbirth! You would too, if you were subjected to such torture. “Oh, stop being a pussy,” were her exact words. “You know some men agree to having the full-on back, crack and sack done?”

“Good for them!”

I am now resolved to never trimming hair again! So what if I sport a beard like I was going to the ZZ Top fans’ annual general meeting, display body hair like Tumnus from “The Tales of Narnia,” all topped off with Einstein’s hair with my finger in an electric socket? Dare me?

Bay East Parkrun - Singapore

Parkrun tourism is a major feature of this simple yet effective concept. We were very fortunate to be among the 72 participants who, in the main, turned up to the congregation point below the Sheares Bridge at Gardens by the Bay in the glorious city of Singapore.

The contrast between taking part on a cold winter’s day in Sandringham compared with the tropical air of East Asia is measurable in clothing. Sometimes, back home, I have worn up to five layers, whilst here I had only two, the first of which was to soak up the sweat. My top layer was the fully restored t-shirt, complete with two Ls in “Travelling!” Thanks to V and J Knitwear for rectifying this so quickly, allowing me to wear it with pride today.

We had been fortunate to land in the island state at the beginning of the Chinese New Year celebrations, I think I heard partying goes on for about fifteen days, which makes a unique atmosphere. We have just entered the year of the snake. As we do every year at this time we try and remember which animal sign we belong to. Jane is a Dragon, always makes me laugh. I have no idea why I find it so funny, answers on a postcard please, but I do. Then, after checking the chart, Jane reminds me that I am a Pig.

I already knew that this was a first for Bay East Garden Parkrun as they had never hosted a visually impaired participant before. Every single one of the volunteers and runners were effusive in their welcome for Jane and I and, indeed, all seedlings here, as first-timers are named.

We posed for the obligatory photographs with members of the team and my VI Guide for the day, Andreas Wenger. Andreas is a Swiss national who came over here for a year about fourteen years ago, and is still here. Given that the landlocked European country is well renowned for its banking sector and Singapore is one of the main financial hubs in the region, he took me by surprise when he said he looked after a herd of cows; no, not really, only joking, of course he is in banking, what else! Don’t get me wrong, if there are any Swiss cowherds who might be reading this, if there are they haven’t made themselves known to me, I am aware that your industry is just as important as finance to the Swiss economy, because without you we wouldn’t have all that wonderful cheese and chocolate. Andreas, by the way, is a Goat.

Dawn was still dawning as we set off on the first of the outbound legs, it is a twice out and back course, a bit like Hunstanton except about 30° warmer. I know I claimed in my social media posts that my first Parkrun of January and February were both 32°, the only difference being an F for the former and a C for the latter, but I plead author’s license in my defence. It was actually a modest 25 under cloudy skies and, I believe, relatively low humidity.

As we wended our way, nearly in the shadow of the iconic Marina Bay Sands and the Singapore Flyer, equivalent to the Millennium Eye in London, or whatever it’s called now, it was most noticeable that the lungs were not rasping from cold air. Given that my legs felt like lead before we even got going, Jane had flogged me mercilessly the day before, 32,000 steps in total, I was pleasantly surprised at how the stiffness abated and, getting into my short stride, began to enjoy it. Andreas is an incredible runner, he swallows up marathons like most people take in air, is as lean as a racing snake and didn’t seem a bit out of breath. Jane wondered how old he was? I had no idea, I forgot to ask to see his ID card. She, therefore, deduced that he is either 36, 48 or 60 in a couple of years. She reckoned on the middle one. Please forgive her, it is just her little game.

On beginning the final leg I felt the previous day’s steps catch up with me and had to stop for a little stroll. We got there in the end and I have the first foreign flag on my profile.

If there is one criticism of the course, from a blind perspective, it is plagued by cyclists. As with nearly all Parkruns, there are some exceptions, the event is run along public rights of way, so we can’t complain. As you know, though, that’s never stopped me and, I must admit, it felt like we had been transported to Cambridge or Amsterdam for the morning. I think this could be easily rectified by the strategic positioning of machine-gun emplacements at either end! I’m surprised nobody else has thought of this.

Nonetheless, we had a great time and the coffee and pineapple tarts at the Kontiki coffee house were more than welcome. It was great to chat to locals and tourists alike about their own Parkrun experiences. It seems like some people collect flags like most of us collect the alphabet.

Thank you to everyone.

White Cane Ratings*
Car Park: n/a, we took a taxi, although there is a car park nearby
Welcome: very good; friendly - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯(4)
Atmosphere: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Course: good; entirely on hard surface and mainly level, some pesky bikes - 🦯 🦯 🦯(3)
Marshalling: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯(4)
*These ratings are how the event suits a blind person, and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.