A story about banks

Last year the number of people using internet banking in the UK passed that of people using telephone banking. Almost 17 million people, more than a third of the adult population, now bank online. Four years ago, only 7.5 million people used internet banking. Garry and I are part of the UK's growing online community. We have been heavy users of internet banking for many years in Australia, so it was natural for us to set up internet banking facilities when we arrived here. However, it soon became apparent that this country has a lot to learn from its antipodean cousins. A few anecdotes paint a grim and often frustrating picture on online banking in London.

First, we’ve found that each bank has its own unique process for logging customers onto its site. Some use pass codes, others use passwords, while some require both in differing combinations. Even worse, password creation varies enormously. Some want more than six letters in your password, some want both numbers and letters, while one site even wants at least capital letter as part of the combination. The result is a confusing mix of passwords, making it almost impossible to remember access details from one site to the next. I currently use six different password combinations to access four different banking services in Australia and the UK. Needless to say I’ve locked myself out of at one site more than three times in the last six months alone.

Our primary UK bank took the entire access challenge to an entirely new level last month by introducing both passwords and electronic key-chain security tokens. These tokens generate new digital access codes every minute on a tiny display screen. The whole set up is incredibly inconvenient. You always need to have your token on hand to access your account. This simply means that I can’t access my accounts from the office or any overseas location as I’m disinclined to carry my token with me – my pockets are cluttered enough as it is. Of course if I misplace my token I’ll have no internet banking access at all.

Simply setting up internet banking access has its own set of challenges. One UK bank required us to open an account before we could even apply to have online access using a separate set of paperwork. Why on earth we couldn’t simply apply for online access simultaneously was beyond me. The mystery only grew when another bank facilitated both processes using one application.

Equally mystifying is an major national bank that’s unable to provide access to its credit card services from the site I use to access other accounts with the same bank. This was never a problem in Australia, but for some reason, is totally impossible to do in the UK. Needless to say, we’re not fans of online banking in the UK and miss the simple, efficient services available in Australia.

Found: thai to die for

I have a confession to make. Garry and I are fans of Thai food. Back in Sydney there were three or four tasty, simple venues within walking distance of our apartment offering the best cuisine at bargain prices. Sadly, since arriving in London almost two years ago we've struggled to find a decent Thai restaurant. We did discover a delightful Thai-influenced fusion restaurant a couple blocks from our serviced apartment shortly after we arrived, but nothing more. That is, until last night.

On whim we walked into the most unassuming Thai restaurant in Soho. Cheap decor, ugly red storefront and plain tables. However, no sooner had the first dish arrived at our table and we knew we'd found a long lost friend. Finally, a Thai fishcake that was chunky rather than rubbery, with a real fish taste. Finally, stir fry dishes and currys with fresh, authentic Thai flavours. Chiang Mai restaurant on Frith Street is now our second home.

We later learnt that the restaurant has been open for more than 17 years. It's original owner, Vacharin Bhumichitr, is a renown Thai chef who's published several popular cookbooks. I can't be sure if he's still involved with Chiang Mai as web reviews claims that new management took over in 2006.

More travel ahead

I have another period of intense travel coming up. On Saturday I fly to New York for a working week in the USA. A further three trips are then scheduled for November: three days in Malta for Garry's birthday, followed by a business trip to Paris and two weeks in the USA starting in San Francisco. I'll be ready for our Christmas vacation in Dubai by the time December rolls around.

Petrol at £1.00 a litre

DieselMax - it recently broke the land speed record for a diesel vehicle

The price of petrol in Europe continues to astonish me. Today we saw our local Tesco supermarket selling fuel for 98.9 pence a litre (A$2.27). The average price in our area is currently sitting at 98.6 pence. I’ve read that local stations are charging up to 101.9 pence. Approximately 52% of this price is taken in duties and a further 15% in VAT (value-added tax). Only a quarter of the price at the pump represents the cost of the fuel itself.

As is the case in Australia, some of the duties are used to fund road and highway maintenance, while most disappears in the Government's consolidated fund. UK fuel taxes rocketed during the late 1990s when the former Conservative government introduced a “fuel escalator” designed to discourage private car use. Under this policy duties increase 3% above inflation annually. By the time the escalator was abandoned in 1999, taxes represented 81.5% of the retail price.

I guess we should be grateful that petrol is only £1.00 a litre in London. Last month a European-wide survey found the average fuel price was a staggering €1.60 a litre in Norway (£1.11). It's difficult to understand why petrol is so expensive in this Nordic nation given its extensive North Sea oil industry. My brother in Austria regularly tops up at a price of at least 80 pence (€1.15). The current price in Sydney is around A$1.25 a litre, a bargain 56 pence, while the USA average price is a stunning 38 pence. Thanks goodness for the Tube!

FOOTNOTE

DieselMax broke the land speed on August 22 this year, reaching a speed of 350.092 mph (563.418 km/h). I saw the car on display at Vienna airport in early-June while enroute to Graz. I've yet to discover how this airport came to host such an unusual exhibit.

Around the world in a single day

Winter has arrived – at least after dark. Night time temperatures in London have fallen below 5°C this week. The portable air-conditioning unit Garry bought last Summer clearly won't see active service in 2007. News reports claim Scotland’s experiencing its coolest Autumn nights for more than a decade. The dramatic drop in London temperatures has prompted us to swap our summer duvet for a much cosier winter edition and turn on the heating in the evening. I can endure cold weather while we’re still greeted by bright, sunny, blue skies every morning. The last three days have been wonderful.

Today we decided to make the most of the good weather by taking a walk along the eastern stretch of the Regents Canal beyond Camden. We’ve previously walked the canal from Camden to Little Venice. We started our trek by passing through Primrose Hill then venturing down to the canal along side London Zoo. The peacocks were on full display in the Snowdon Aviary, and the African Hunting Dogs were on the prowl on the opposite canal bank.


We stopped at Camden Markets for lunch. Every weekend several rows of temporary stalls appear, selling the most amazing, mouth-watering street food from all corners of the globe. Today’s highlights include Venezuelan Arepas (thick corn pancakes that you split and stuff with meat and vegetables), Japanese Takoyaki (vegetable dumpling balls with a tender piece of Octopus in the centre) and spicy West African stews. After a brief debate Garry and I settled on the Ghanaian stews. They looked delicious and proved to be so in the eating.

From here it was off past the Camden Locks, three twin locks that straddle a sweeping bend in the Regents Canal. The grassy bank proved to be a popular spot for other punters eating food from the market stalls. We also witnessed a barge passing through one of the hand-operated locks. Sadly, these were to be the only real highlights for the remainder of our walk along the towpath.

A scenic moment near Regent Park

Unlike the Camden to Paddington section, this stretch of the Canal passes largely through drab industrial estates, or is lined by dull buildings of little architectural merit. One question did arise during our walk. How deep is the Regents Canal? I later found out that its 4.27 metres deep, far deeper than either of us expected. As we neared Kings Cross we left the canal behind and made our way home via the Tube.

The evening was spent enjoying a Japanese fusion meal and drinks in Soho with friends. Our tube ride home was crowded with England Rugby supporters mourning their nation’s defeat against South Africa in the World Cup Final. I knew South Africa had won within seconds of the final whistle thanks to a text message from an African colleague in Hong Kong. It’s moments like this that remind me how global our lives have become. We dine at a Japanese restaurant in London, while English and South African teams play rugby in Paris on television, in the company of friends from America and Asia.

Back from Budapest

We 're back from a refreshing three-day weekend in Budapest. I'll have more to share shortly, including plenty of photos. I hope our pictures do the experience justice. The hilltop view across the Danube River alone is a memory worth sharing. Stay tuned.

UPDATE
I've posted more from our time in Budapest. Scroll down for details. More photos tomorrow!

Down by the Danube

The fog was still lingering as I left the tube station in Hammersmith on Thursday morning. As I walked to work I wondered if the weather was causing delays at Heathrow. In less than 12 hours we were scheduled to fly to Budapest for three days. Sure enough, when Garry and I arrived at Heathrow shortly after 6:30pm, it was immediately clear that chaos had descended. Long queues at the ticket counter snaked out of the departure hall. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve seen this sight at Heathrow over the last two years.

Our flight was due to departure at 8:10pm. This deadline soon came and went. It wasn’t until midnight that we turned on to the main runway and heard our aircraft engines roar to life. It was well after 3:00am local time before we finally reach at our hotel in Budapest, exhausted and ready to hit the sack.

Needless to say we slept until almost 2pm the following day. At first it seemed we’d let our first day in Budapest go to waste. However, we soon made up lost time with an afternoon and evening packed with activity, leaving us with some of the weekend’s most memorable highlights. Perhaps the first such highlight was our hotel.


Our weekend away was a birthday treat so I’d splashed out and booked us into the New York Palace, a recently renovated, grand old, 19th Century hotel. The main atrium alone was truly breathtaking - five floors of white marble balconies framed by a series of graceful arches.

Commissioned by the New York Insurance Company, the architect was briefed to create "most beautiful café in the world". It opened for business on October 23, 1894 and soon became a centre for intellectual life in Budapest. Sadly, the First World War brought this experience to an end and the hotel never truly recovered until the mid-1950s.


We had afternoon tea in the street front café on our first day. The experience was extraordinary leaning against velvet-covered railings taking in a vista of gold leaf trim, crystal chandeliers and unmistakable opulence. It was easy to imagine the city’s most influential gathering here all those years ago.

We walked into town on our first day via Andrassy Boulevard, the city’s main thoroughfare. This is a broad, majestic street lined with mature trees and grand buildings. Many of the entrance ways were works of art in themselves. The opera house was a particularly spectacular venue. We eventually reached the Danube and caught our first glimpse of the Chain Bridge, the city’s oldest river crossing. This low-slung suspension bridge is a masterpiece all of it own. On its opposite end sits the Buda Castle District - a long, low hillside topped by a magnificent castle.


We caught an old venicular railway (c.1870) replenish with wooden, tiered carriages up to the top of the castle hill. Here we enjoyed our first spectacular view across the Danube and the city beyond. We made our way back to the river via the castle's empty, winding cobblestone access road. This leisurely route took us through mighty stone gateways, past towering defensive walls and an array of classic castle abutments.


Later that evening we ventured out again to see the city lights by night. The Chain bridge and castle hill were impressive, as was the nearby gothic-influenced Parliament building. After some wandering we came upon Karpatia, a restaurant that’s become something of a local institution. For more than 120 years Karpatia has been serving local Hungarian food in one of the most spectacular interiors I’ve ever had the privilege of dining in. We enjoyed amazing meals while being entertained by a roving band of gypsy musicians. Our experience was silently witnessed by a wall of dusty old paintings and intricately carved wooden panels. All in all an incredible experience.


Our second day saw us climb Gellert hill. This is the site of perhaps the city’s most visible communist artifact. On the summit sits an over-whelming 17-metre statue of a woman holding aloft a giant palm frond. She symbolizes the fight for freedom of behalf of all good proletarian workers. As with so much socialist art, the effect is dramatic and over-powering. However, while the public art on this site may be a little crass, the view quickly redeems things. The scene along the Danube, across the city and over nearby castle hill is one of the most memorable I’ve ever experienced in a major city. Budapest is blessed by natural beauty.


From our high vantage point we made our way back into the city for a late-afternoon lunch, then wandered through the heart of the old town. Our stroll took us past the square outside Parliament where dozens lost their lives in 1956 as Soviet troops violently quashed remnants of the nation's attempts to throw off communist rule. Nearby is a sculpture of a lone man standing on the bridge. This is Imre Nagy, the Prime Minister who formed an interim government following the collapse of the Soviet-backed leadership. He was later executed following a brief show trial.

As we headed back to our hotel we made a final stop at St Stephen's Basilica, completed completed in 1905 after 54 years of construction. Like so many churches in Europe, this is a majestic building, set at the edge of open plaza. We stopped for coffee at one of the many upmarket wine bars nearby, watching the sun's last rays slide across the dome of the basilica. Later that evening England beat France in the Rugby World Cup semi-final being televised from Paris.


Our third and final day in town saw us soak up the last of the city’s most popular tourist sights. First on our itinerary was a visit to the local House of Terror. This bold stone building once housed the feared State Security Service during Communist Rule. Today it’s home to a moving exhibition on the nation’s post-Nazi horrors and the lost years of communism. I was astonished to learn that the last person deported by the Soviet Army after World War II only returned home in 2001. It’s staggering to comprehend how long it’s taken this nation to overcome the last of its socialist legacy.


Perhaps the most poignant moment inside this building was the last stop on our self-guided tour – the basement. Here in simple, bare concrete cells many of the government’s opponents and so-called "enemies of the state" were tortured, and often executed. Standing in these cold, dull rooms was spine-chilling.

Our next sight was rather more uplifting. We caught the aging metro line to Hero’s Square where a striking plaza sits dominated by a tall slender column. Atop this columns rest a welcoming statue of the archangel Gabriel. Behind the plaza is the lush City Park filled with classic buildings, including a neo-classic castle consisting of a series of wings built in differing architectural styles; baroque, medieval and gothic.


Our final tourist highlight was a quick afternoon tea in the drawing room at Gerbeaud Café, a city institution serving some of the finest pastries on the edge of Vorosmarty Square. Sadly, as our empty coffee cups were cleared away we knew it was time for us to also disappear. Our flight home awaited. In contrast to our inward flight three days earlier, we departed on time, arriving in Heathrow on schedule.

Desparately seeking sunshine

Garry and I have decided to head South for Winter. You may recall that we'd planned a Christmas excursion to Iceland. However, as we researched sight-seeing options, we discovered many sights would be closed during this period. As a result, we're abandoning plans for snow and ice in favour of sun and sand. We're now off to Dubai for eight days. There will still be time for a little snow as we plan to visit Ski Dubai, the world's largest indoor ski slope. Perhaps we'll have a white Christmas after all.

We were able to secure cheap tickets to Iceland for five days over Easter 2008 so all is not lost. We have also had to abandon plans to visit Greece. It's not possible to visit Athens and Dubai on our current RTW ticket. Instead we're now heading off to Helsinki for a long weekend in early May. At first I thought this might be a disappointment, but last night, I discovered we can take a day trip by ferry to Tallinn, capital of Estonia. This sounds interesting.

Greece isn't entirely off the agenda. We've found a series of fantastic cruises through the Greek Islands in late-May. Debate is now raging at Swiss Cottage as to whether we can justify a week's vacation. Every thing is so close in Europe that cheap deals become awfully tempting.

Olympic Fever

Montreal's Olympic Stadium

The 2008 Summer Olympics open in Beijing in exactly ten months time. Fourteen days later the world’s gaze will shift to London as it prepares to host the games in 2012. I can’t believe I’m once again living in a future Olympic city.

I still recall joining NSW's State Minister for the Olympic Bid for drinks in his office the day that Sydney formally announced its host city bid. I was sharing a house with his official chauffeur at the time. Sydney was subsequently awarded the 2000 Summer Games in 1993. As the years passed I watched a new Olympic Stadium emerge from a peaceful field of cows, while the city progressively upgraded its infrastructure - opening new a rail link and underground motorway.

During the actual games the festive atmosphere around the city was contagious. I secured tickets to the Water Polo, Platform Diving, Beach Volleyball, Gymnastics and the spectacular Closing Ceremony at Homebush Stadium. I still marvel at the experience of watching the start of the women’s marathon on television, then wandering across a local park to photograph its competitors run by. It’s not often a world event unfolds outside your front door.

Two years ago, on July 6 2005, Garry and I were in London to witness the announcement of this city’s winning bid. Now, in recent months we’ve watched Olympic fever starting to build – after all there’s only 1753 days to go. Last week formal planning permission was granted for the construction of venues within the new Olympic Park at Stratford, on the east side of London. In support of its planning application the Olympic Delivery Authority (ODA) submitted two volumes of supporting data, totaling an astonishing 10,000 pages.

The first construction project is already completed. Two 6km underground tunnels have been built across the stadium site - on time and on budget. These will bury cables from 52 electricity pylons currently blighting the area. Ground clearance work has also started for the 80,000 seat stadium’s construction platform. Ground levels vary across the site, requiring the removal 600,000 tonnes of soil over the next few months. Other venue plans are announced, almost every week now. I wonder if we’ll still be here during the Opening Ceremony in 2012?

Year three begins

It's been two years since Garry and I departed Australia for life up north. Some days it feels as if we've always been in London, other days it seems like just last week. I worry some times that we're losing our perspective as objective observers of life in Britain. I once found it easy to highlight differences in blog posts, now I'm sure parochial quirks are passing me by.

Thanks everyone for following our adventures. I hope you're still enjoying our news and photos. I noticed recently that I hit a record 50 daily visitors back on September 25. This was the day I wrote about my time in Easter Island. I must set aside time to share more photos from our archives.

Over the years Garry and I have been lucky enough to see some of the world's most amazing places. I was recently reminded of this good fortune after the British Library opened an exhibit of China's famous Terracotta Warriors. Four years ago, Garry and I visited Xian to see these oriental icons for ourselves. Xian was a fascinating place. It contains far more history than I ever imagined. On this same vacation we also walked The Great Wall of China; Garry's first time, my third.

I think I feel another post coming on...

Back in the big apple

I've been in New York on business since Sunday evening. The weather here has been surprisingly mild - a complete contrast to London. Last week winter definitely started making its way toward the UK. Temperatures in London took a rather nasty plunge, dropping as low as 11°C . We were forced to turn on the heating at least twice.

Meanwhile, here in New York, today's temperature peaked at a toasty 27°C and a high of 29°C is forecast tomorrow. I hope the good weather lasts as I will be back here two more times in the next eight weeks. I'll also be visiting San Francisco, Boston and Rochester in November as part of a quick tour around our US offices.

Since arriving in New York, I've been staying at the Sheraton Four Points Hotel in Chelsea. The hotel appears to in the midst of rather unpleasant labour dispute. Every morning, at precisely 7:30am, union protesters armed with placards begin chanting noisy slogan outside my window. Passing truck drivers soon join in with loud horn blast. Needless to say, I've had no use for an alarm clock since my arrival.

Remembering my youth

On Saturday a group of friends joined Garry and I to celebrate my birthday. We spent a loud and fun-filled afternoon dining and drinking at the Freemason's Arms, a local Gastro Pub. Don't be alarmed. This isn't an establishment guaranteed to leave you bed-ridden for a week. It simply a pub offering gourmet meals.

However, I must confess that on this occasion, our group enjoyed one too many glasses of wine, beer and champagne. Needless to say the next morning I felt less than 100% - and I couldn't blame the food. Even worse, I had to catch an evening flight to New York. I must be getting old.

Rapa Nui - the navel of the world

It's proving to be a quiet week in Swiss Cottage. To keep myself amused I've written a post about a travel adventure in 1998. Eight years later the entire experience remains as vivid as the day it happened. I'm talking about Easter Island, or Rapa Nui as it's called by the indigenous population.

Sitting along in the Pacific Ocean it remains one of the most intriguing places I've ever visited. The nearest populated landmass is the equally remote Pitcairn Island more than 1,900km west. South America lies a further 3,700km east. To get there, I caught a flight to Pape'ete, stopped for several days in Tahiti, and then boarded a midnight flight with Lan Chile on 23 November 1998. The island has been part of Chile since 1888.

Five hours later our Boeing 767 slowly descended across the Pacific as a small triangular island flew into view. The airport runway runs almost the full width of the southern corner of the island. I later learned that it had been extended by NASA in 1985 to serve as an emergency landing strip for the Space Shuttle program. This extension made the island accessible by large passenger jets for the first time, thus paving the way for mass tourism.

Despite being such a small island (we're talking 117 sq km) there was a surprising amount to see and explore. I spent two days on the island, barely enough time to enjoy its highlights. The first afternoon was spent visiting two significant sights; Orongo ceremonial village and Ahu Vinapu. Surprisingly, neither is known for the presence of moai, the island's famous carved stone heads.



Orongo sits on the southernmost cliff tops of Easter Island overlooking the flooded volcanic crater of Rano Kau. It was here, in the 18th and 19th Century, that the island's birdman culture flourished. Youths would compete in a ceremonial ritual to secure the season's first Sooty Tern egg every Spring. These birds nest annually on a small pinnacle of rock several hundred metres from shore.

Securing the egg required scrambling down a near-vertical cliff, swimming through heavy ocean swells and finally returning to the top of the cliff. Whoever returned first with their egg intact was crowned ceremonial chief for another year. As I stood on the edge of this wind-swept outcrop I couldn't help but marvel at the courage of these men.

Today, all that remains of this strange cult are a series of low-ceiling stone houses. Nearby are several birdman rock drawings. Perhaps the most spectacular vista in the area is a few metres further on. Here we stood on the edge of the crater itself, marvelling at the weed-covered lake sitting more than a hundred metres below.


Our second sight on Day One was the anu, or rock platform, of Ahu Vinapu. This forlorn platform sits at the end of the airport runway in the midst of a sheep paddock. It was here we sighted our first toppled moai. Access to the site is unrestricted enabling us to wander among the fallen icons as leisure. You could see that each statue was carved from a dull grey stone. I also discovered that each moai had once been capped with a separate red stone 'topknot' stone.


Ahu Vinapu is known for its seamless fitting stonework. The only such craftmanship on the island. Archaeologists marvel at its precision. The world's only other locations with such stonework can be found among the Inca ruins of South America. This resemblance raises conjecture that Easter Island was once visited by the Incas. Garry and I visited Peru in 2005. The stonework there does indeed look identical to that of Ahu Vinapu.

Accommodation on the island is a relatively simple affair. I stayed at Hotel Manutara, a small, local residenciale lodge. These are generally private homes with clean, tidy guest accommodation extensions. Each night I booked a simple dinner, while breakfast was included in the tariff.


My final day on the island was the most memorable. On this second day, we visited several of the island's most photographed locations. First up was Ahu Akahanga. Here a long row of moai lie toppled along the length of their raised stone platform. Again, access was unrestricted enabling close examination of these amazing statues. Archaeologists speculate that these stone men represented ancestors. Each stood with its back to the ocean, silencing watching over a neighbouring village.

Nobody knows why the islanders began carving moai. Likewise, nobody knows why they stopped and why every statue was later toppled from its platform. Their presence remains one of the most enduring mysteries of Easter Island.


Our second stop on Day Two was Ahu Tongariki. This is the largest ahu on the island. A Japanese team restored its 15 moai making for one of the island's most popular postcard locations. Our tour group included a freelance Canadian journalist. A photo of the group that he took here later appeared in print. My first and only moment of being a celebrity in the Toronto media.

Our next stop was the highlight of my entire time on the island. Rano Raraku is the volcanic quarry from which every moai was carved. It's nestled in an imposing cliff face, affording views of Ahu Tongariki standing alone on a distant shore. Remarkably, an enormous 21-metre moai remained partially carved in the quarry. We climbed its length marvelling at its size.

Close by are a series of completed moai sitting upright, half buried in the earth. Apparently, as each statue was completed it was moved to a custom dug pit for temporary storage. The Islander moved the moai to its final location at a later date. A group of these 'stored' moai remains in place today.

Wandering between these silent stone faces is an incredibly moving experience. You can't help but be overwhelmed by their presence and the mystery of their creation. Here I stood, thousands of kilometres from anyway, surrounded by the world's most iconic statues. I felt truly alone. lost in the isolation of this remote dot in the ocean. I'll never forget the experience as long as I live.

Our trip to the quarry was completed by a short walk over the lip of the crater wall into the mouth of Rano Raraku itself. Here we watched horses watering along the shores of a small lake. They are the largest animals on the island.


The afternoon was then spent visiting three locations. The Museo Antropologico Sebastian Englert was our first stop. This small museum displays photos and items from everyday Rapa Nui life. We then drove north to the beach of Anakena. This is one of the only white sand beaches on the island.

Two things set it apart from the rest of the island. First is a plantation of palm trees. These are some of the only mature trees on the island. Most of Easter Island is covered in brown, wind-blasted grassland. The island wasn't always denuded of vegetation. Overpopulation saw its trees and bushes progressively removed for food, fuel, and shelter.

The second highlight is Ahu Nau Nau and its solo moai. This statue is famous for its method of restoration. Famous adventurer, Thor Heyerdahl spent nine days erecting the fallen moai using traditional methods. Nearby, another ahu was the location of a discovery that the island's moai weren't 'blind'. Each face had been decorated with white coral and rock-inlaid eyes.


Our final stop for the day was at Te Pito o te Henua, the navel of the world. Here, just above the high tide mark sits a stone sphere surrounded by small stone pillars. Archaeologists believe it is a symbolic navel, denoting the island's location in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It's a sure sign that the locals knew their home sat in the centre of nowhere.

Later that evening I boarded my flight back to Tahiti and modern civilization. I'd enjoyed a remarkable couple of days on Rapa Nui, the home of the world's most remarkable statues. Thank you, NASA. I couldn't have done it without you. Who would have imagined that the American space program would have an impact in a place like this?

UPDATE: Return to Rapa Nui

I returned to Easter Island in January 2011. Follow this link to learn more.

Blenheim Palace

King Charles II of Spain died in 1700 without an heir. He left behind an empire at its zenith, covering the nation of Spain, dominions in Italy, the Low Countries and the Americas. Two European dynasties claimed the throne; the Bourbons of France and the Habsburgs of Austria. However, before he died King Charles bequeathed his empire to Philip, duc d'Anjou, a grandson of King Louis XIV in France. Philip’s father was Louis, le Grand Dauphin, heir apparent to the French throne. Louis was also the most direct legitimate successor to the Spanish throne.

The Austrian and English monarchy opposed secession falling to the French royal family. Both were concerned that the royal families of Spain and France would eventually be ruled by a single heir, destabilising the delicate balance of power in Europe. As a result, they went to war in conflict that became known as the War of Spanish Succession.


For more than 13 years conflict raged across Europe and the Americas. The greatest of these was the Battle of Blenheim fought outside the small Bavarian village of Blindheim. Here, on August 13, 1704, the French army was soundly defeated by an allied army under the command of John Churchill (who later became the Duke of Marlborough). The battle proved to be a turning point as it denied the French swift victory over the Hapsburg dynasty. In time Philip V of Spain renounced any future claim to the French throne and peace was restored.


As a mark of gratitude, Queen Anne of England, granted the Duke of Marlborough a large tract of land just north of Oxford and £240,000 to build a suitable house. The building that was eventually constructed became known as Blenheim Palace. Today Garry and I decided to explore this grand Baroque mansion. We were prompted in action by stunning images we’d seen on television earlier in the week. The BBC is currently screening a reality show in which couples compete to open and retain their own restaurant. The format is modeled closely on the Australian show, “My Restaurant Rules,” which ran for two sessions in 2004-5.


Garry and I joined a tour that took us through Blenheim Palace’s majestic state rooms, culminating in the Grand Library. Here you can admire an enormous pipe organ, the largest such instrument in private hands anywhere in Europe. We also learnt that the palace is the ancestral home of Sir Winston Churchill, Britain’s wartime Prime Minister.

Churchill was born here in 1874. Today, you can walk through the bedroom he was born in. It's furnished with a simple brass bedstead and simple Victorian water jugs. Less than a mile away lies Sir Winston's grave. He is buried in the family plot on the grounds of a nearby church at Blandon. You can glimpse the church's spire from the palace windows.


Other highlights of our day included a refreshing stroll through the palace grounds, admiring the picture-perfect boating lake, rose garden and water garden. The palace also affords stunning views of the ground’s other attraction; the towering column of victory that crowns a neighbouring hill. Access is made possible via a grand arch bridge that crosses a narrow reach on the boating lake.


We finished our day trip with three more excursions. The first was a wander through the Yew hedge maze on edge the palace grounds. The second was a brief visit to Blandon to see the grave of Sir Winston Churchill. Bladon's local church sits on a hill surrounded by old stone-walled houses. Reaching it requires some deft manoeuvring through narrow, sloping village lanes lined by towering stone walls.


The final excursion was an early evening stroll through the nearby streets of Oxford. This was a magic experience. As the sun began to set, its dying rays lit up the town’s dusty sandstone buildings. This was our first visit to the historic university town. We’ll definitely be back to enjoy more of its stunning architecture.

WAGs, chavs and the Home Counties

Every culture has its own lexicon, capturing the character of its people and their communities. Like any newcomer, Garry and I have struggled to learn the lingo. Names and places still confound me in conversation. People talk to me about the home countries, Essex or Sussex and I struggle to picture their location in my mind. The names of celebrities and old television programs are a particularly common source of blank stares from both of us. Equally we hear terms in every day conversation that mean absolutely nothing.

ASBO was one such phrase that confounded me for months until I finally googled it in desperation. Two other phrases also took some time to comprehend. The first was WAGs and the second, chavs.

WAGs is a term that came into common use last Summer. For once, Garry and I were at the forefront of modern language. The term was created by the nation’s tabloids to describe the Wives And Girlfriends of the English national football team. These significant others went on tour with the team during last year's World Cup. They became notorious for spending their days shopping, partying and lounging by the pool with a cocktail in hand. Today the term references any glamorous female partner living the high life by socialising and shopping. It also tends to have a rather vacuous, ‘bimbo’ connotion.

Chav is a far less complimentary term. It’s the British equivalent of “white trash” or “trailer trash”. Kath and Kim would probably drift perilously close to the category of chav from time to time. In the UK, a stereotypical chav is most likely a working class person who enjoys wearing a tracksuit, hooded sweatshirt, or a baseball cap to the mall. They’re also likely to be a fan of chunky, imitation gold jewelry and hip-hop music.

As for the home counties? These are the counties that border the city of London. Essex is one, sitting directly north-east of London; while Sussex sits due south along the Channel coastline. Between Sussex and the city lies another county called Surry. The term home county draws its origins from 900 year old tradition. Judges from the King’s court use to travel through London’s neighbouring area dispensing justice on behalf of the monarchy. This roving team ensures that disputes and cases were heard more frequently, as well as eliminating the need to travel to London to have such matters resolved.

Farewell to highway robbery

Long time readers of The Swiss Cottage may recall last year’s post about the 100% profit vending machines located at Baker Street tube station. In recent weeks, all of the vending machines at Baker Street suddenly vanished. A mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself. While the chocolate vending machine never won my heart, I am mourning the machine on Platform 6 that’s faithfully dispensed icy cold bottles of Coke Zeros for more than a year.

After extensive research I finally uncovered the story behind their removal. London Underground is simply trying to increase the available platform area as passenger numbers continue to grow. Some station platforms are barely two metres wide so every extra inch makes a real difference. I also learnt that the vending machines were designed with sloping roofs for security reasons and not for aesthetics as I’d previously imagined. The slope prevents people leaving items on top of the machine.

Security considerations are behind other design features I've noticed on the Underground. For example, platform benches are bolted directly to the wall so that it's easier to check underneath for foreign devices. Likewise, litter bins are nowhere to be found. They were removed from the Underground in the 1980s in response to IRA bombing campaigns, only to return in the 1990s. They were subsequently removed again as new security concerns arose at the end of the Millennium.

Watching the world glide by

On August 1st 1820 the Regent’s Canal opened for business at a cost of £772,000 - twice the original estimate. It linked the Grand Junction Canal with the Thames River at Limehouse, next to Canary Wharf. The opening of this 14 km canal created an uninterrupted waterway between London and Birmingham, more than 220 kms to the north.

Regent's Canal starts in a picturesque basin called Little Venice, a short walk from Paddington Station. It then passes through a 251 metre brick-lined tunnel, the Maida Hill Tunnel, before looping around Regent Park to Camden. This initial section opened in 1816. The remaining route across London’s northern suburbs opened two years later.


I learnt today that rubble from the Maida Hill Tunnel was used to build sections of Lords Cricket Ground. It’s one of three tunnels on the canal. The longest is Islington Tunnel (886 metres) situated east of Camden. The canal also contains 13 locks, the first of which can be found at Camden itself, a brisk 20-minute walk from Swiss Cottage.


Earlier today I caught Jason’s Canal Boat from Camden for a leisurely 45-minute cruise to Little Venice. Having walked sections of the canal, watching barges glide by, I thought it was time to experience the ride for myself. As our boat pulled away from an aging red brick warehouse we stepped back in time. With a little imagination one could almost see the horses lining the towpath, rather than today’s weekend pedestrians. Incredibly, the last horse-drawn cargo made its way along the canal as late as 1956.


It’s hard to imagine the heavy traffic that once plied these waters. In its first year of operation the canal carried more than 120,000 tons of cargo. In time the railways overtook the nation’s canal network as its primary cargo mover. In fact, during the 19th Century, several attempts were made to drain Regent's Canal and convert it into a railway line. Fortunately, these plans never became reality. Today the canal wanders through some of the greenest scenery in central London, passing beautiful mansions and colourful moored canal boats long since converted into floating homes.


I disembarked at Little Venice, making the most of the warm sunny weather by quietly ambling back along the towpath towards Primrose Hill and home. It’s afternoon’s like this that remind me how wonderful life is in North London.

A dingo's got my baby

I overheard a conversation today regarding the disappearance of Madeline McCann. This happy three-year old toddler from the UK went missing on May 3 at a holiday resort in Praia da Luz, Portugal. Maddie’s parents claim she was abducted from her hotel room while they dined at a nearby resort cafe. However, ten days ago headlines took a dramatic turn. The media began reporting that the Portuguese police now believe Kate McCann accidentally killed her daughter with an overdose of sleeping pills.

As I listened this afternoon one punter was adamant Kate was guilty. “Every time I see her she has the stoic look of someone that thinks she’ll get away with it,” he said. It would seem Maddie’s mother has already been convicted in at least one court of popular opinion. Meanwhile the nation's tabloids accuse the Portuguese authorities of incompetence, claiming they're framing the McCann in order to bring this high profile case to a close.

Since Maddie’s disappearance, her parents have conducted an extensive public relations campaign to keep their daughter’s image in the public eye. Her face was displayed on screens at the UEFA Football Cup final, on Spanish television ads filmed with David Beckham and in news stories of a pilgrimage to meet the pope at the Vatican. It’s been hard not to see Maddie's image on weekly basis.

As the investigation changes tone I cannot help wondering if another tragic Lindy Chamberlain story is unfolding. Lindy claimed her baby, Azaria, was taken by a dingo from a camping ground in the shadow of Ayers Rock in Central Australia. News stories were initially sympathetic until the police investigation concluded Lindy had killed her child. In a controversial decision, she was eventually convicted and imprisoned for 18 months.

Shortly after her release in 1986 a judicial inquiry found the evidence against the Chamberlains to be insubstantial. Lindy later received $1.3 million compensation from the government for wrongful imprisonment. Switch to the UK, 21 year later. With so much speculation and contradictory information now flooding the airwaves its hard not to wonder if history is repeating.

The hell that is Heathrow

Heathrow is never far from the news in London. As the city’s largest and busiest airport it struggles to cope with a growing volume of air travelers. Headlines abound on cancelled flights, stranded passengers and lost luggage. Rarely is the news positive for Europe’s busiest airport. In fact, good news these days, still sounds rather bad. Last week, BAA, the airport’s operator said that Heathrow had come through the hectic summer travel season with its lowest level of disruption in five years.

This was probably little comfort to the one in 35 British Airways passengers who luggage was lost between April and June. At one point the backlog of lost luggage became so bad the airline began shipping lost luggage to a processing facility in Milan. It claimed this facility would reunite passengers and luggage faster than facilities at Heathrow. At the time I recall seeing literally thousands of bags piled on the tarmac . Not a sight you really want to see as you wait to board your flight.

It's hardly surprisingly to learn that, in July, the Association of European Airlines (AEA) called British Airways the worst performing of all Europe’s major airlines. The association said that the airline's passengers are likely to be delayed more than any other. It also forecast that British Airways will lose a record 1.3 million bags this year. I believe them. I rarely arrive at Heathrow on schedule and have lost my luggage at least once in the last 18 months. Check-in is an equal nightmare. I am forever fighting my way through crowds surging in the opposite direction, or being jostled by some errant trolley.

The problem is obvious. Over the years four separate terminals have been built at Heathrow, collectively designed to process 45 million passengers a year. However, as of August, the airport had handled 67.2 million passengers in the previous 12 months. In August a staggering 6.4 million passengers used Heathrow, a record for the month. By comparison, in July, Hong Kong airport handled 4.39 million passengers and Frankfurt, a mere 5.2 million.

Given this situation British Airways admits that there’s little it can do to improve service until the new Terminal 5 opens next March. This new building will handle an additional 30 million passengers a year, increasing Heathrow’s peak capacity to 90 million passengers. Approval has also been granted for construction to begin in 2008 on a building that replaces the airport’s two oldest terminal buildings. The new building, Heathrow East, will process 30 million passengers a year. This is the same volume as the structures it replaces, but will offer far greater comfort. It's scheduled to open in time for the London Olympics in 2012.

I cannot wait for these two buildings to open. Heathrow is by far the most inadequate airport complex I regularly negotiate. I was reminded how horrible the experience was last week when I returned from a trip to Madrid. Rather than arriving at Heathrow, I caught a flight into London City Airport, a small commuter airport on the edge of the London Docklands. The transfer from airport to tube was seamless and easy, without a single crowd to jostle me. It took less than an hour from disembarking to arrival on the doorstep of home. I’ll definitely be using London City airport again!