Momma Mia!

The next festive installment follows on from the voyage through the lands plundered by the Vikings to the land of the Vikings themselves. A land where no meal is complete without the addition of lingonberries - Sweden!

It's fair to say those Vikings got around really. Once they learnt how to make a boat they were off on their merry way and there really isn't much of the European coastline they didn't reach. Chances are if it was on the coast and had something worth taking, was remotely flammable or had women who were not chained down the Vikings probably found it. Sadly the clichés of giant battle axes, big beards and horned helmets are a little exaggerated but I think it's important we all still believe in them anyways because they are admittedly cool.

Nowadays the Swedes have given away the whole "pillaging" scene and are a very industrious people. The days are so short up here that they spend most of their time indoors inventing things - from mobile phones to pharmaceuticals to military aircraft so advanced and powerful no one can fly them properly. If inventing is not your thing as a Swede, you are usually blessed with prodigious good looks and high cheek bones, so you can always fall back on being a super model. To tell the truth though, you do see the odd ugly person, in fact they have a word for them here - "foreigners".

Despite a lowly convict appearance, friends offered a place to stay on a traditional Swedish farm. Situated in the Uppland region - which is the real home of the Vikings - there are very old rune stones and ancient burial mounds dating back over a thousand years very close by. A lovely selection of traditional Swedish cilinary delights such as deer, meatballs, herring, glögg, knäckebröt and of course the ever versatile and dependable condiment lingonberry jam were all devoured with much gusto.

The capital of Sweden is Stockholm, which is important to many for all that Nobel peace prize stuff but even more important for being the birthplace of Dolph Lundgren, who as we all know was robbed of an Oscar as Ivan Drago in Rocky 4. That aside, Stockholm is a fantastic city to explore and has one of the best preserved old towns in the world. In addition there is a small island called Skansen that has a replica traditional Swedish village in it from days long gone. There are stalls, dancing and numerous food vendors selling festive delicacies such as Swedish pancakes (which are great with lingonberry jam) and elk and potato which really could have benefited from lingonberry jam. All in all it was very magical, especially having villagers in authentic costume. One of them even slipped me a piece of paper which said "They won't let us leave. Please god help us." which I thought was cute.

In addition to picturesque town sights, Stockholm also has some really cool museums. The Vasa museum in particular contains a fully intact original 17th century war ship inside it that unfortunately, due to rather tragic design, promptly capsized the moment it left dock. Conveniently the brackish water everyone normally complains about also has the great side effect of preserving old wooden ships beautifully for hundreds of years (ever cloud really DOES have a silver lining) and it now sits upright once more in permanent dry dock for the world to see. The Vasa is a great example of period craftsmanship, modern salvaging techniques and how to fail ship design 101 by adding too many rows of cannon flaps ...

Big sights aside the intriguing opportunity was afforded to go and speak "Australian stuff" to a whole bunch of grade 4 , 5 and 6 kids at a Swedish primary school. Out of all the crazy situations to find one's self in, this was seemingly the most daunting. At first, there was a fear that it would just be a speech of gibberish to a small army of perplexed little blonde Vikings in the making, however they all understood English very well and had lots of questions ready to fire! It was all very cute really and in return Swedish was taught by the kids and there was also a traditional St Lucia festive celebration to attend together. No one could convincingly explain why St Lucia was celebrated but it just "is" and I suppose that's as good enough reason as any.

That's all for now, here are some important travel tips should you come to Sweden

• In case you were not aware, lingonberries are quite popular and they go with everything. In fact, they would probably taste alright with this blog too.
  
• Snus (Scandinavian snuff) smells really bad.
  
• Sweden must get some sort of award for having the most variations of the letter A.
  
• Never, ever turn your back on the sun. It will set the moment you do … mark our words!
  
• Did you know Abba came from Sweden? If you didn't (whoah), come to Sweden; you'll be made aware of it soon enough.
  
• What little money Sweden actually spends on a military budget pretty much goes to defending a giant straw goat statue erected in the city of Gävle every year from a hilarious array of daring arson attacks. Here I was thinking old Nintendo game concepts weren't based on reality!
  
• It's very cool to see deer running around in the snow at Christmas time. It's even cooler to shoot one and eat it.
  
• They have a hostel here made out of a Boeing 747!
  
• No one recognises the Swedish chef Muppet song (mork mork mork!). I think the stereotype is perhaps not totally accurate.
  
• When someone says it is only 1 "Swedish" mile away, reconsider 'on foot' as a valid method of locomotion.
  
• Pouch means testicles in Swedish. The kids love talks on Australian animals ...

Hej daw!

Highlanders

Alas, this is no blog about a movie of which "there should have only been one". Instead it details adventures north to the highlands of Britannia - Northumberland and Scotland.

In such a populated island it feels so amazing that a part of it could feel so remote and rugged. This area has so much history and there are castles and ruins scattered about the mist lands everywhere. The winter days with their frost bring a quiet and eerie peace to these wild areas that is really beautiful to behold.

Some of the best preserved and most enormous castles in all of Europe lie in the north of Britannia, many of them now inhabited by Scottish actors in period costume. The Scots, as you probably know, have always traditionally been a very proud and warlike people. Fighting has always been in their blood. If they weren't fighting the English they fought themselves, if they couldn't fight themselves they ripped trees out of the ground and threw them for sport. They were so warlike the Roman emperor Hadrian built a gigantic wall all the way across England to keep them out. Sadly there's not much left of that wall now by the way, but it still gives you a feeling of what a monumental building project this was ... and how HUGE a pain in the arse those Scots must have been to justify it.

In fact, you really have to feel for the poor folk in the north of England facing the Scots. They were pretty much a plundering hot spot. If it wasn't the Vikings pillaging them, it was the Scots sacking them. If it wasn't the Scots sacking them, it was the Reavers bereaving them. Life was tough here!

An interesting thing I have noticed in travels is that the more isolated, either geographically or financially, a place is, the warmer the people that make it their home. The Scottish people are welcoming, helpful and strangely cheerful given the bleak weather. Admittedly though I was sad to see you greet each other with handshakes up here and not a head butt. Scottish clichés perhaps lead us astray.

Speaking of weather, it was a pretty good run - some sunny days and most importantly no wind. Of course -5 still is rather cool and even colder if you’re letting it all out beneath your kilt.

Edinburgh is a beautiful city and though it really does have one of the highest CCCPM's (castles/churchs/cathedrals per minute) of any city in Europe, Scotlands real beauty is in the highlands and lochs. The leafless woods and coloured grasses that lie beneath the snow capped summits look amazing when basked in the glow of a low sitting winter sun. You just want to explore and explore ... until your feet freeze off that is.

That's all for now but before we leave, here are some extra Scotch tidbits

- Did you know that "arm goohin bark t'mee hooose" in Scottish translates to "I am going back to my house"? The similarities in language are so remarkable! Hey, wait a minute ...

- Haggis and Black Pudding are both delicious. Seriously. But if ever you catch your thoughts wandering to the ingredients as you eat you must immediately go to your 'happy place'.

- Whiskey sampling in a Scottish whiskey shop is more an exercise in human endurance than a shopping experience.

- Only in Scotland can an island with a danger signs about "localised quicksand" and "unexploded munitions" be considered a holiday spot. One thing I know will be of interest to some of you though will be that this island we visted is one of the nesting grounds of the Puffin bird. So technically, somewhere on that island there might actually be EXPLODING PUFFINS!

- Just like the Swiss, Scottish have their own special knives. Except they don't fold up ... and they are called Claymores.

- When hiring a car here, having the sunroof upgrade thrown in gratis for a Scottish winter trip is a cruel joke.

Until the next hallowed chapter (which won’t be long!) smoke a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.

Mt Toblerone

This entry comes a little late after events but as with all blogs it's 'better out than in'! This time compasses pointed south east to a land of bank accounts and chocolate - Switzerland!

Switzerland is a happy place. Everything is green, the streets are clean, grafitti is done in inconspicous places with correct spelling and flowers grow in neat little rows. You'll also find that all forms of public transport run ruthlessly on time and if for whatever reason something is operating below it's capacity you'll be duly compensated with free chocolate because life here is happy. It's a happy place.

It's certainly different from eastern Europe where packs of wild dogs deprive you of your chocolate bar whilst you are waiting for a late train.

A cross roads of culture and language - Switzerland is where French, German and Italian histories meet in a rather remarkable whirlpool. The main port of call was a beautiful little town called Zermatt, buried amongst massive mountains and surrounded by lush, pristine forests. The people here are happy, the houses are colourful, the birds sing, the sky is blue and the electric cars make absolutely no noise whatsoever. This makes zermatt a very happy, beautiful pedestrian deathtrap.

To say the Alps are inspiring is really the understatement of the century. The peaks soar far above you, looming and forbidding to even the most foolhardy. You can spend hours just staring up studying every nook and cranny, trying to comprehend or understand their scale in some way. Drinking many beers while doing this helps because the beer here is really good. It's a happy place.

Some of the finest hiking you could imagine is available in these here hills, crossing grassy plains, rivers, canyons, summits, snow and ice. If you like you can take cable cars up many of the summits to several of Europes highest viewing platforms. Hiking at 4000 metres is quite a challenge though, where the wind blows right through you, deep breaths feel strangely unfulfilling and it's so bright even the dogs wear sunglasses (which I have been since reliably informed are called 'doggles'). It's so cold up that high that no one would surely wear short pants ... except dumb Australians.

A truly amazing thing is walking inside the Matterhorn glacier itself which is even "cooler". Surprisingly you can buy wine and beer inside the glacier, which didn't really seem to me to be an overly practical place to set up shop and could probably only be trumped by setting up a chocolate shop in a volcano.

All in all Switzerland is brilliant and should be on everyone's lists. Before I sign off though I'll finish with some last minute tips for you

- The Alphorn is a really awesome looking long Swiss musical horn which surely looks like it could emanate a sound fitting of some massive cavalry charge across a battlefield. Unfortunately it sounds like someone passing wind into an airhorn.

- If you hike up a very steep mountain and encounter a large crossing of snow on the side of the mountain, consider other options before "making a path of stepping stones across the snow"...

- Having a stand up "bath" with a single hot bucket of water at -2 is not very comfortable.

- Swiss money is really cool looking!

- The Swiss supermarket cheese section is a very happy place.

- The Swiss army guards in the airport carry Swiss army knives so big an awesome that they can probably fold little Swiss army knives out of the side of them!

- The world is shielded from an incredible variety of Toblerone flavours and all the more poorer for it.

Until next time stalwart, avid reader!

We'll Always Have Paris ...

Well it's been a little time in the making but a good blog entry is like a chocolate macarone, hard to prepare but when ready it tastes oh so very sweet, light and fluffy. Though belated, this post is very special for it relates our adventure south of the channel to the romantic capital of the world - gay Paris.

Firstly, it's very hard to describe the cultural shift that you witness crossing from England to France. For two bodies of land only separated by a break in the cloud cover and a few miles of water at their closest point they sure do things very differently - for starters they speak French here!

The French also seem to have a general loathing for the English which I find a little weird considering they technically have the upper hand in terms of who actually invaded who last. I guess one thing to their credit is you would only be looked down upon for saying "I'd like a beer please" at a French bar, whereas you would probably only be recognisable by dental records if you blurted "Je voudrais un beer se vous plait" in an England pub.

The most important French cultural phenomenon you'll experience in plenty is the infamous "linger of death". If you are not sure of what I speak, it's the general expectation by any waiter in a restaurant or cafe that you want to wait an incomprehensible amount of time before the next step of the serving process. You linger at the door, they seat you, you then linger waiting for the drinks menu, they bring it, you then linger waiting for them to take your order, they eventually come back, you then linger waiting for the drink, you then ... well you get the picture and before you know it a "quick" coffee break becomes a two and a half hour linger-fest.

Paris, much like London and Rome is a roller coaster ride of big name attractions. The city is simply spoiled many times over for amazing sights and I wouldn't even begin to detail them lest your eyes glaze over. But there are two which are clear stand outs for me - the first being Le Tour de Eiffel! This just has to be the coolest gigantic pile of rusting metal on the planet. So cool it even has it's own post code and post office.

If you ever go, get there VERY EARLY and forget the elevator, the stairs are where it's at - the queue is shorter and you'll be reliving those awesome James Bond fight scenes in no time. Naturally the 360 view from the top is astounding and makes the climb satisfying, perhaps even more satisfying was to see the queue at the bottom which at that point was an inexorable snake-like weaving mess of confused tourists being covered in a light drizzle of endless pigeon stool.

The second amazing sight is of course the Louvre. Once again, with the benefit of remaining sober, an early start was possible - consequently being only the 50th in line to get in. Little does anyone know what is coming when you go to the Louvre for the first time. You might expect the typical museum experience of walking through two large doors and meandering any-which-ways but instead you'll be sucked right up into a flash flood of crazed tourists that can only be described as "the 200 metre Mona Lisa sprint".

And so, with priceless artwork almost being knocked off pedestals at every turn, the horde rampages through the Louvre like a Da Vinci homing missile. Amusingly and probably much to the curators entertainment, the Mona Lisa is actually behind you as you enter it's vaulted chamber which, due to the cunningly well polished floor, leads to a brilliant mass of frantic reborn art lovers all doing Tom Cruise slides across the room in unison.

Once that farcical ceremony is over the Louvre feels like a normal museum again. Albeit one the size of a small city in itself. You can spend days in there and only really scratch the surface. If you were a real art connoisseur you could easily spend days wandering that place and still not see everything as much as you want to.

Paris is a fun and beautiful city and it has no equal in terms of soul soothing beauty. So, for now, au revoir ... or as Australian's in France would say, OH REVWAR

"Top of the blog to ya ... "

Once more these hallowed cyber-halls are graced with prose detailing action and misadventure! This time the tale tells of a trip to a town of Dubh Lin in a land of Eire.

Say the word Ireland and immediately images of clovers, dancing jigs and leprechauns come to mind. Of course I won't even begin to dispute those images - they're all true. However drunkeness seems to be the true common unifying element of the Irish life. Never before have I seen so many people completely inebriated by alcohol getting off a plane. People stumbling everywhere, carrying each other, one guy being sick in the toilet - and it was only a 45 minute flight!

Going back to the previous points, if there is one harsh truth the Irish have embraced as a necessary evil of drinking it's the "better out than in" principle. Dublin is laced with more random acts of regurgitation on the city footpaths, gardens, roads than any other city in the world I think - and it all seems perfectly normal! Funnily enough Dublin is actually called Baile Átha Cliath in Irish - meaning Town of the Hurdled Ford. Ford's are very popular cars here and the operative word there is hurdled. Surely not quite the original meaning but still partially poignant to this day.

Only after a few hours you become immediately infected by the Irish way and find yourself heading inexorably for a pub. And for some reason, regardless of what you actually would like to order you somehow always end up ordering pints of Guiness at the last moment. Before you know it you are filled with Irish cheer and warmth to ready you for whatever comes.

Dublin houses the impressive Trinity College - a very charming academic institution that dates way back with alumni list that includes none other than Bram Stoker, who while in Ireland, went on to write the Romanian legend of Dracula. Whilst enjoying a leisurely stroll through the campus, there were some young lads practicing drills for Gaelic Football. In case you don't know, Gaelic Football is probably the closest thing in the world to Australian Rules Football back at home. Only they use a round ball, a different field and they don't play with a lager and meat pie in one hand like our lads do.

The weather was quite nice (two digits IS nice), so a trip to the sea side was in order. Quaint little houses awaited us nestled at the base of cliffs, cute lighthouses and a resident seal who poked out of the harbour to show his belly full of Guiness. All and all t'was a lovely day and that night we all decided to stop for a cup of tea, however we were lured into a bar and somehow ended up drinking Guiness again. Hmmm. We were all becoming more and more Irish by the second.

Later that night I realised that the city, if not the whole country, was in the grip of some evil conspiracy. That everywhere you turn you are being coerced into drinking Guiness. Logically the only way to find out if this theory was true was to head straight to the source the next day - the Guiness brewery. From the outside it had big branded gates that drew parallels to a certain Mr Wonka's chocolate factory and there were rumours of a giant 'Guiness pipe' which went under the sea to England. The plot thickened.

The tour inevitably leads to a sampling section. Essentially you had to ask yourself "would Arthur Guiness be happy with the Guiness your sampling?". That was a very difficult question that required LOTS of sampling to come to a clear and decisive answer. Sadly, the more sampling partaken, the less decisive the results and the more the shnozberries tasted like shnozberries.

Comfortingly enough the brewery did have a elevator running up all 7 floors through the centre of the building and although it didn't burst OUT of the roof into the clouds driven by a slightly crazed Gene Wilder, it did emerge at a glass walled bar on the roof where yet more "Irish wine" was being poured profusely. The Guiness Factory had defeated me, I came seeking answers to conspiracy theories but all that was found was drunkeness.

It was a great tour but I do remember a local explaining with some authority that "it's a luhvely place, bet it's the warest feckin pint o' the black stooff you'll uhver feckin hafe'.

Say it as you read it and you should be speaking Irish tongue in no time ... to be sure, to be sure.