Return of the Native 2.1 - Part 4 - Dublin & South

We arrived in Ireland by boat which is the same way my great-great grandmother, Julia Anne Scanlan left 180 years ago.  Of course our journeys have been different in every conceivable way but I like to think our footsteps might have crossed somewhere in the Dublin Quays.

Julia Ann and her sister Mary Jane were orphans who left Ireland to re-establish themselves in a Australia just a few years shy of The Great Famine.  Had they not done so I wouldn’t be writing this and none of you would be reading it.  I fact a number of you, just like me, would simply not exist.  I’m thinking specifically of Rae Roy, Anna Cawthorne, Tanya Strasburg, Nancy Backhouse and Richard Cawthorne plus a few hundred others.

Julia was already a very brave young woman for taking the plunge into an unknown future on the other side of the world but then she did what must have been unthinkable for a Roman Catholic woman of her time, she not only married my Methodist great-great grandfather, William Baker, but she also converted back in the day that earned you an eternity in hell along with all the unbaptised babies. 

But of course there have been numerous revisions since Julia’s day.  She’s apparently no longer is hell and her life with William was a successful one.  They built a home and a farm and raised a family.  Their daughter Bertha, married my great-grandfather, John William Cawthorne, a native of Lincolnshire who made the move to Australia some years earlier and you can work the rest out from there.

Immigration is our past and immigration is our future.

We took a shuttle from the ferry to the nearby light rail stop where the Luas whisked us of through town to the Ashling Hotel just across the River Liffey from Heuston Station which was the departure point for our six-day rail tour of Ireland which began early next morning.

The Luas heading back across Sean Heuston Bridge near of hotel

I was reminded of the two times during the early mid-60s when my mother and grandfather abandoned me at Hornsby Station to be transported away to National Fitness Camp quite against my will.  The first was Myuna Bay and as if that hadn’t been cruel enough then to Point Wollstonecraft, two years later, it being possible to see one from the other across a shark infected bay in Lake Macquarie.  Both places instilled in me a lifelong hatred of Brussels sprouts and organised fun.

“Look for the company representative wearing the bright yellow jacket” read the “Day 1” page of the orientation package we’d been given at the hotel and there he was just as lively as one might possibly be in bright yellow.  “Top of the morning to you gentlemen” he chirped in Irish brogue and I immediately thought “My god, this is the Irish version of Michael Portillo!”  He was certainly dressed for the part. 

It was a 7.00am departure and we’d been up since just before 6.00am so I wasn’t yet in happy camper mode but did sense there was tale worthy source material in some of the other campers who were beginning to gather about and involve Seamus in their happy snaps while he was attempting to give us all name tags, more paperwork to add to our orientation packages and teach us a few basic words of Gaelic like please, thank you and shut the fuck up Darrel and Corrine from Flint, Michigan!

Darrel and Corrine were Irish-Americans and fiercely proud of both sides of their hyphen.  We hadn’t even made it to the train before we learned that their ancestors had left Ireland about the same time as Julia and Mary.  In fact, I rather think those ancestors might have been just as closely related as Julia and Mary and had kept it pretty much that way right down through the generations but more about our evangelical Republican voting MAGAs a little later on.

The train rolled out of Heuston Street Station right on time with a chirpy commentary from somebody unseen as we passed through the south-western suburbs of Dublin and on to the lush green Curragh of Kildare.  Then it was Tipperary which may have been a long way from London when the song was written but it isn’t really that far from Dublin on a train these days

We alighted at Cork and climbed aboard the bus for our trip to Blarney Castle where I refused to climb 127 steps just to wait in line to kiss a filthy old stone so we hit the gardens instead and lovely they were.  It was also a chance to get away from Darrel and Corrine who, having not yet worked out that we were gay agnostic socialists that firmly believe Donald Trump to be the anti-Christ, had rather disturbingly attached themselves to us.  I can only imaging it was the radiant charm I exude early in the morning much like the stench of garlic and cigarettes from the pores of a cheap Parisian prostitute.

Blarney Castle & gardens

After that it was on to the Port of Cobh where I’m certain I heard Corrine speaking in tongues.  This, after all, was where their family had departed Ireland for America like millions of others.  I had to leave the Flintstones at this point because having been so moved by the immigration story at Ellis Island in New York nearly 20 years ago I really needed to experience the emigration story from Ireland in relative silence. 

Cork

Yes, it was here that I renamed Darrell and Corrine Fred and Wilma, coming from Flint as they did, and that came back to bite me one evening after a pint or three of Guinness but never mind.

From there it was back onto a train and off to our accommodation for the next two nights in Killarney.  Once settled we fair sprinted out of the hotel and back a few blocks to a Thai restaurant we’d passed on the way in from the station being quite sure Fred and Wilma would be searching for a burger joint.  We didn’t see then again until breakfast next morning when I recommended Fred try the black pudding.  I assured him it was really just a darker version of a McDonald’s sausage patty which saw him bolt for the buffet.  He told me that while it was indeed a bit like a Sausage and Egg McMuffin without the encumbrance of the egg or muffin it also tasted a like moose and went back for more.  Yabba Dabba Do!

Killarney

Return of the Native 2.1 - Part 3 - Wales

Being in Wales inspired me to rise early and go walking about the countryside where I’d come over all Dylan Thomas like and begin channeling the Reverend Eli Jenkins.  He sang the praises of his beloved Llareggub and all there about each and every morn and those of you who know and love Under Milk Wood as I do will appreciate exactly what I mean.

We stayed in a very comfortable cottage on a farm at Penrhyndeudraeth which we simply referred to as ‘Pen’.  I was reminded of our trip to Iceland where we were unable to pronounce the names of all but three of the towns we visited.  They were Reykjavik, Keflavik and just plain Vik.  The rest we just referred to by the first letter of their name. 

But back to Wales...

Penrhyndeudraeth is quite near the much more pronounceable town of Porthmadog and one of the joys of staying on the farm is the narrow gauge railway to Blaenau Ffestiniog which runs through the bottom of the garden.  We took a ride on our first full day and what a treat that was!  There were once 1’11½” gauge railways all over Wales hauling coal in the south and slate in the north as well as passengers and all manner of goods.  A few remain as heritage lines, the Ffestiniog and Welsh Highlands Railway being two of them, both centred on the seaside town of Porthmadog.  One runs directly inland to the old slate mines of Blaenau Ffestiniog while the other longer line winds its way north to the royal town of Caernarfon.  Both are the most wonderful rides.

The Two-headed Dragon - Ffestiniog Railway

Whilst in Blaenau Ffestiniog we stumbled upon a cafe that served Welsh rarebit so in we went.  That took me back to the foil-wrapped pre-packaged and processed Kraft grilled cheddar cheese on toast of my childhood.  "Jesus-bloody-Christ" I exclaimed, in both the voice and accent of my lovely Clayon's nanna Grandma Liz who first taught me how to swear and blaspheme with a Welsh lilt.

Next day was a longer train ride and more food because our trip up to Caernarfon just happened to coincide with the annual food festival.  This was held in the area between the station and the castle so it really couldn't have been much more convenient.  Having said that I must be honest and tell you that as much as I enjoyed both Wales and the Welsh people, I wouldn’t rush back there for the tucker.  But to be fair, I’ve developed more of an Asian palette these last 40 years or so.

Caernarfon Castle and Food Fair

So what was on offer?  Lots of baked good for starters including a fruit bread called bara brith.  They also had dozens of takes on the classic Welsh cake or picau ar y maen which Grandma Liz and my mother used to make the traditional way with lard.  Purists still do but I found a few where butter had thankfully been substituted.  There was even a vegan version.  Then there were F&Cs with mushy peas (of course); cockles which just didn’t take our fancy; some quite worrying sausages; and a stew-like soup called cawl which is made from root vegetables, leeks and mutton but since I don’t eat mammals that was a look but not taste affair for me.  We eventually bought a couple of beers, found some chips that weren’t cooked in lard and wandered off for a look at the castle and town.

The highlight of the day was definitely the return trip on the train.  I splashed out on two first class seats right at the rear of the observation car on the end of the train.  The seats weren’t fixed so we turned them around and rode the whole way back to Porthmadog taking in the lovely views as we went and pretending to drive the train in reverse.

The Observation Car - Welsh Highlands Railway

Next day was off to Portmeirion which was so close we could have walked but since the site is on a hillside I knew my sciatica would give me grief at some point of time during the day so walking back would be agonising, and I was right.  Just getting to back to the car park was a trial.  Thank goodness for the curtesy cart!

Portmeirion is a little bit of Italy in Wales.  It was designed and built by Sir Clough Williams-Ellis between 1925 and 1975 in the style of a seaside Italian village, a very smart seaside Italian village, one like you might expect to find around Vaucluse or Clifton Gardens.  It’s now owned by a charitable trust and is one of the big tourist attractions of North Wales.

Portmeirion

 It’s all a bit faux really but extremely well executed faux.  You can stay for a great deal of money and eat for just shy of the same which is why we stayed in the farm cottage at Penrhyndeudraeth, bought groceries at Tesco and cooked for ourselves.  Tesco also does a much better price on Australian, South African and Chilean white wines.  You can very nearly buy a case at Tesco for the cost of a single bottle at Portmeirion!  Location, location!

The highlight of a trip to a North Wales in every sense has to be a ride on the Snowdon Mountain Railway which is a narrow gauge rack and pinion or Abt railway that runs from Llanberis just south of Caernarfon to the summit of Mt Snowdon which is the highest peak in Wales and England.  We took the steam service rather than the diesel and what jolly fun that was!

A small fleet of little trains choof up and down the mountain all day.  It’s a single track but three passing loops ensure that nobody gets in anyone else’s way and gripper rails were added after a nasty incident in 1896 which makes the Snowdon Mountain Railway, or Rheilffordd yr Wyddfa as the locals call it, unique amongst the world’s Abt railways.  I have at least one reader who will appreciate that small piece of technical trivia.

Tilted engine and Abt rail - Snowdon Mountain Railway

The summit of Snowdon is hardly above the tree line, in strict alpine terms nowhere in Britain is, but there are no trees.  There are, however, a lot of large rocks and at this time of year still some snow which is mildly frolic-worthy even in shorts and sandals.  On a clear day you are said to be able to see Ireland and a clear day is exactly what we had.  In fact the weather has been so perfect anyone would swear we were back home in Sydney.

We were sorry to say farewell to our hosts Jeston and Shameen at lovely Bronturnor Cottage but Ireland beckoned.  Yes, Jetson.  I had to stop myself from calling him George.  North Wales is really no bigger than the Sydney metropolitan area so the ferry terminal at Anglesea is only an hour’s drive from Penrhyndeudraeth but I’ve always considered the journey to be more important than the destination so there went four hours.  Of course that ended up necessitating a final sprint from the car drop off to the ferry but what would any visit to Wales be without a photo stop at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?

Return of the Native 2.1 - Part 2 - Singapore to London

Peter flying high and lovin' it!

I’ve read that the SilverKris Lounge at Changi is the mother ship of all SilverKris Lounges and indeed it is!  The sates and other mamak that’s on offer have lived up to their reputation as well.  We paced ourselves though, saving space for the Lobster Thermidor on the London leg of the flight and there’s another funny old story.

Australia and New Zealand have been in something of a fortunate isolation bubble during this COVID-19 pandemic but the closer you get to Europe the more cautious people become and that includes airline crews.  The menu has been modified to minimise staff handling so our much anticipated Lobster Thermidor was off, replaced by a DIY sashimi version which wasn’t too bad once we’d each put away half a litre of warmed saki.

Lobster Sashimi

That had us ready for a snooze and we slept like babies in our flat bed seats.  In fact I was so comfortable I felt as if I was in my own bed at home.  I even heard what sounded like the garbage truck going up and down our street but we would have been over the Middle East at about that time so it was probably just a couple of fighter planes checking us out as they sometimes do in that neck of the woods.  Of course that’s much better than encountering a Russian surface-to-air missile as can also happen.

Heathrow was an absolute breeze this time around.  It appears that 7.30am on a Thursday morning is the go for some reason or other so do keep that in mind for your next trip to the UK.  We were though customs and immigration faster than you can say “temperature check” and on a shuttle to the Europcar depot.

I booked a Vauxhall Insignia last time and we ended up being downgraded to a Skoda Octavia which had heaps of boot space and wasn’t a bad drive but it was a full class lower than what we paid for, something that was eventually sorted with a stern letter and reparations were made.

This time I decided to approach the issue from the other direction so booked a Skoda Octavia in the hope that we might receive an upgrade and indeed we did.  We drove out onto the Western Ring Road in a Subaru Outback identical to our very own DeDe only several years her junior.  How spooky is that?

A Subaru Outback just like DeDe

We are currently stopped at a servo on the M40 near the turn-off to High Wycombe so I can have a piddle as I am wont to do more frequently with age although my PSA is fine.  Next stop and next blog Wales!

Return of the Native 2.1 - Part 1 - Sydney to Singapore

     

 Peter & Glenn at the SilverKris Lounge - Sydney Airport

This was originally planned and booked back in September 2019.  It was to be styled ‘Return of the Native 3’ but much like shit, viruses happen so settle back and enjoy the next five weeks of virtual travel blogs as we take you along on our fascinating journey - well more a fantastic journey, really! 

There will be both tiny and regular trains, a boat across the Irish Sea, some very smart flight legs and one ordinary one plus car rental upgrades (or so we hope).  You’ll see snowcapped mountains and pretty Welsh valleys with coal and slate miners as well as their beloved pit ponies all singing merrily in both horse and Welsh as they go.  There will be fields of green and spectacular coastlines around the Ring of Kerry, catch-ups with old friends and new in Mother England and culinary experiences galore.  Taste with us Welsh rarebit, the unavoidable crumbed scampi with mushy peas and chips, lashings of Guinness, the odd Pimm’s or two, some fabulous vegetarian food in Durham and lots of yummy mamak in Singapore.  So why are we waiting, let’s get started

Up up and away

Singapore Airlines SilverKris Lounge at Sydney Airport is excellent.  We did stick our noses into Air New Zealand’s larger Koru Lounge just for a look but it was much busier and I’m a sucker for Asian tucker so we stayed put.  I settled on the nasi lamak, passing as always on the ikan bilis since the very thought of eating dried baby fish repulses me almost as much as the taste and smell.  Peter went the dumplings which was a rather excellent choice.

I thought it best we stay away from hard liquor so we sat on a couple of glasses of champagne and a bottle of water.  We will tear ourselves away shortly and make our way down to the Promised Land of Singapore Airlines A380 Business Class.

I’ve done business class before, from Auckland to Sydney on Qantas; Wellington to Sydney on Air New Zealand; and Edmonton to Ottawa on Air Canada but all three were many, many years ago.  We’ll sit up till Singapore but after a three hour layover there I’ll be snoring in a flat bed most of the way to London but not until the Lobster Thermidor I ordered via Singapore Airlines Book the Chef option has itself been put to bed.