Even though I've only been home for a few weeks, the travel bug is still strong. A day trip into the country brings with it the opportunity to breathe fresh air and commune with nature. Even though it's mid-winter, the birds are out and hard hard at work - it even looks like the nest building has begun. However, to complete the picture, I think someone needs to explain the concept of "working dog" to Patch.
Winter chill /
I've been back in Melbourne for a bit over two weeks now. After five weeks overseas, it's a still a bit of a shock to the system. My sleep patterns returned to normal after a week or so, and I'm kind of back in the rhythm of going to work each day. But the cold, the damp and the short, bleak days of a Melbourne winter have me longing for warmer climes.
The other thing that's still difficult to come to terms with is my photography. After being spoilt by new and exotic places overseas, Melbourne is just too mundane and familiar. There are no gondolas on the Yarra (actually, I think there is one....), no crashing waves and towering cliffs at St. Kilda Beach and every face in the street looks familiar. But there are pictures out there, it's just a matter of hunting them down.
Irish eyes are smiling /
We've been home a little over a week now. The trip was rewarding, but exhausting, and we're still recovering to some extent. To everyone who's followed our travels via the blog, thank you and I hope you stay around for my further photographic adventures.
While in Dublin, I saw a singer refuse a request to perform "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" because it isn't an Irish song. It is in fact an American show tune. Whatever the origins of the song, the Irish are a delightful race, warm and hospitable and with a great sense of fun. When the Irish smile, the smile can really be seen in their eyes. So as my tribute to these wonderful folk, I leave you with a selection of smiling Irish eyes.
Wild ways /
The Wild Atlantic Way is a 2,500 kilometre touring route which winds its way along the entire west coast of Ireland. Exposed to the full fury of the North Atlantic, the coastline is rugged and wildly beautiful. The terrain encompases tranquil farmland, small sheltered bays, wide stretches of beach, pounding ocean, towering cliffs and winding mountain passes in endless profusion. There is a spellbining and constantly changing meeting of land and water around every bend in the winding roads.
We travelled only a small part in the south-west corner of Ireland. The weather was mild and the sea relatively benign, but the beauty of the area was evident, despite having to share the road with endless tour buses. It was a tiny taste which left me hungry to experience the whole of this majestic route.
Shut the door on your way out /
My first impression of Dublin was that it felt much like Melbourne, an impression based on driving from the airport through mostly newer parts of the city. Once you get closer to the older parts of town, much as you'd expect, it begins to feel distinctly different. There are still medieval remnants, but most of the great public and private buildings date from the Georgian era, and Dublin is home some of the world's great Georgian architecture.
On a smaller scale, the more affluent areas such as Ballsbridge contain a wealth of Georgian era houses. The geometric uniformity of these rows of houses is interrupted by the highly decorative and often brightly coloured doors, which serves to give each house a unique character. Even the more dilapidated doors are elegant and charming, and speak of a more genteel time. There is a popular theory that the practice originated when someone painted his door brightly to help his drunken neighbour find the right house when he staggered home, but there are too many versions of the story for it to be true. Suffice to say that they've become a distinctive and charming feature of Dublin, and almost become a tourist attraction in their own right.
Baaaaa, humbug /
There's a lot of sheep in Ireland. Outside the cities, they're everywhere you look. I suppose it's got something to do with the climate - you'd need a lot of wool to keep out the winter chill. An Aran sweater I tried one in a shop must have weighed three or four kilos. I really liked it, and it was certainly warm, but I figured there would probably be two days a year where I could wear it in Melbourne.
I'm no expert, but there seems to be more variety of breeds that in Australia, which provides more interest than endless mobs of merinos. They also like posing against all sorts of spectacular scenery, which just adds to their appeal. Irish sheep appear much more relaxed than Australian sheep. Perhaps as there's so much grass everywhere, they never need to worry about where their next meal is coming from.
250 shades of green /
Shortly after landing in Ireland, a few things became apparent to me. Firstly, Dublin airport appears much more efficient than any of the three Italian airports I experienced. I doubt anyone has ever been left standing around in a check-in queue for two and a half hours while they try locate a passenger list as happened to us in Catania. Secondly the traffic appears quite civilized, and as a bonus they drive on the correct side of the road. The experience was not too dissimilar to driving in Melbourne with far less traffic. Thirdly, Ireland is green - very, very green.
The glimpses I caught through the plane windows clearly showed why Ireland is known as the Emerald Isle. Dublin itself is pleasantly treed and grassed - it boasts Europe's largest urban park - but it's once you leave the cities that the full impact of the greenery really strikes you. The beauty is enhanced by the signs of small scale traditional farming that can still seen everywhere - fields enclosed by hedges and stone fences, small herds of sheep and cattle, and farmhouses and hamlets scattered here and there, seemingly at random. The peace and beauty belies Ireland's often troubled past - happily a distant memory for the for the most part - and I found myself constantly wanting to stop just to take it all in.
Oh, and just as I'd been told, the Guinness is better than it is in Australia.
Ciao /
We leave Italy and depart for Ireland with a final look at the the Italians. The affable and chatty fisherman who shared a name with my maternal grandfather, the gentleman quietly reading the paper on his front porch, the aspiring supermodel and the four old mates enjoying a Sunday morning argument - these are my people, the Sicilians.
Last resort /
The Sicilians were well aware of the the value of tourism far back as the 18th century. The small seaside towns of Cefalu and and Taormina had been humming along quite nicely on fishing and agriculture for millennia. But when the locals realized there was a lira to be made out of pleasant beaches and stunning scenery, the fishing boats were painted in bright colours and converted into props for painters (and later for photographers), and every second house started selling artisinal gelato.
Now, there's all manner of attractions. There's all the usual shopping opportunities, every imaginable eating experience (the traditional kebab appears to be quite popular, and we even spotted a couple of Irish pubs), and you often have to pay to lie on the beach. You can even take your life in your hands (sort of) by scaling the dizzy heights of Europe's tallest active volcano, Mt. Etna. It still fascinates me that people will choose to build, farm and live in places where history suggests is not a good idea to do so. Driving up the pleasantly wooded slopes, the landscape is intermittently scarred by lava flows from eruptions as recently as two years ago. But we got up and back safely, and were able to settle back with some traditional Italian food. Anyone for a kebab and a pint of Guiness?
The Godfather, Part IV /
Leaving Palermo for our next stop, the coastal town of Cefalu, we decided to swing inland via the town of Corleone. Corleone is, of course, the surname of the fictional Godfather of book and movie fame, and was given to him on his arrival in America by an immigration who mistook the name of his home town for his surname. The area around Palermo is apparently a hotbed of Sicilian Mafia activity, and Corleone one of the main centres. However we saw nothing untoward as we made our way through the countryside, up the steep and narrow winding roads. Corleone seemed a town like any other, although perhaps the colour of the houses and roofs seemed a little more drab. There is even a sign as you enter town which proclaims "CORLEONE: World Capital of Legality - Do Nothing Illegal".
Sicily was considered the granary of the Roman empire. The soil is fertile, but the terrain is steep and rocky, and it can't be easy to extract a living from it. For years, Sicily was characterized by extremes of wealth and poverty, and perhaps this is reflected in the more subdued color of the houses in these hill towns. Nevertheless, there is a rugged beauty in it all, and at times the towns and houses seem an almost natural part of the landscape.
Home and away /
I confess my heart leaped slightly when I first spotted the Sicilian coastline through the plane windows. Even though I am thoroughly Australian, this is where my family's roots are, where they worked the land for hundreds of years before war and the subsequent hard times caused my parents to leave in search of a better life. My enthusiasm was quickly tempered by my first taste of driving in Italy, or for that matter, anywhere outside Australia. Peak hour in Palermo is not for the faint hearted - the traffic goes in every direction simultaneously It's probably OK if you grew up driving in this mayhem, in which case you know the rules. Contrary to popular belief, there ARE rules, it's just that they're not the ones codified in the law books.
Nevertheless, we got to our hotel safely, and I promptly hit the streets. I was initially disappointed with what I found. In Palermo, the apartments buildings crowd together much like any other Italian metropolis, but the colours are more muted and earthy, and everything feels a bit more tired. The great public buildings (except the concert hall) all look like they could do with some renovation. As I walked down the street leading from our hotel, I barely encountered a soul, but things changed when I got closer to the waterfornt.
There was a convention of Bersaglieri in town. Bersaglieri (marksmen) are elite troops distinguished by their distinctive plumed hats and their tendency to do everything in a hurry (ever seen a running brass band???). The mostly retired troops provided great entertainment and following a refreshing gelato (much better and cheaper than up north of course), I made my way back to the hotel via a different route. It was a real eye-opener. Everyone was out having a good time. There was street food on every corner, market stalls and crowds. We'd had crowds elsewhere, especially Venice, but I got the feeling that these people were locals just enjoying their city. I suddenly felt much better about Palermo. Now, if only they could do something about the traffic.
Byron's Bay /
English romantic poet Lord Byron considered himself a excellent swimmer, and apparently he was. His contemporary, Percy Bysshe Shelly, considered himself an excellent boat designer and sailor, but perhaps he shouldn't have. Both spent time on the Italian Riviera at the Bay of Poets and would venture across the Gulf of La Spezia to the pretty little resort town of Porto Venere. Byron would like to round the point and swim in a rocky little bay dominated by a large cave and now known as Lord Byron's Grotto. Shelly preferred to sail, and deigned his own boat. However, during a patch of bad weather, the boat sank off Porto Venere, and Shelly was drowned. His wife, Mary Shelley (author of Frankenstein), tried to lay the blame on the boat builder, but it was more likely to have been lack of sailing nous.
Porto Venere is the the starting point for most boat trips to the Cinque Terre. It presents a charming facade to the harbour, with many of the tall row houses seeming far too narrow to provide usable living space. Behind the harbour, it rises steeply through narrow streets and tortuously long and precipitous staircases to the two features which dominate it's skyline - the imposing Castello Doria, and the tiny but beautiful church of St. Peter. You can still swim in Byron's Bay if you wish, but watch out for storm clouds if you go sailing.
