It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...

And I think Bruce said it best...

Merry Christmas everyone, here's looking forward to a cracking 2013.

The Mystery that is Shanghai

If Shanghai is a mystery, full of old school versus the new, not quite knowing whether the two should ever meet, then Malaysia is like a big warm hug you would get from your grandmother.  You know the one I mean, the one that envelopes you and makes you feel warm and safe.

I had the pleasure of experiencing both in a near month long trip.  I had visited Malaysia before and fell in love with it all over again.  The people, the culture, the food (spicy!) and the hospitality.  But this blog is dedicated to Shanghai, a place I had never visited. I experienced firsthand the dramatic difference a 5 hour plane trip can make when you are in Asia.

I am sitting in Pudong International Airport, surrounded by people from all walks of life.  There must be a dozen languages flying over the top of my head.  It is the first time I have heard a collective mix of Australian accents in nearly four weeks.  And I’m smiling to myself, thinking how much I loathed my first week in Shanghai.  And rather sad that after two weeks in this eclectic country how I am sad to leave.

Living in Sydney I experience the cultural differences between the two cultures.  I thought it had prepared me, even just a bit, for the adventure I was about to undertake as I travelled here.  I was so wrong it is almost comical.

Let me explain.

My grandparents travelled to Asia in 1977.  They returned, after many weeks away, with photos and slides of China.  The buildings were magnificent, the people smiling, the architecture amazing.  I remember the red dressing gown they bought me, it had a big blue dragon on the back of it and I wore it for years, even when it grew too small.  From their trip I had an image of China in my head that was architecturally beautiful and very old.

I arrived in 2012 to be met by huge buildings, a hell of a lot of smog and a country full of people who did not speak English and who, outside the hotel, did not show the slightest interest in speaking English.  I was overwhelmed just trying to communicate with people with my 10 or so words of Mandarin (that stretched to about 30 by the time I left..  Nothing when you consider the complexity of the language).

The humour of people running up to me in the street and taking my photo time and time again soon wore off as did the 11 marriage proposals I received in the first two days.   I expect to pop up in lots of family photos someday, such was their interest in the tall blonde woman. 

Week one saw me in many “humorous” situation.  I was with two Americans and we got chased out of a restaurant that was clearly open for business by a toothless woman sucking on a corn cob, she dead bolted the door after us just to make her point and stood there waving her hands and yelling.  I got chased around a park by the meanest looking dog you have ever seen in your life (it was a Chou Chou – gosh they are mean) eventually scared off by an 80 year old woman with a stick and one night in the pouring rain, a man jumped out of his car and chased me off the pedestrian crossing, furiously waving an umbrella, enraged I was obviously taking too long to cross on the “green man” (he chased me for about 100 metres and it was mortifying – god knows what he was yelling, thank goodness it was near the hotel and the concierge came out and “saved” me).

By week two I had had enough.  I was over the dismissiveness of the locals, frustrated I didn’t speak Mandarin and furious I had to spend another week and a half here.  Shanghai is a very lonely place when you don’t speak the language and you stand out like a sore thumb.

By Tuesday, miraculously something had changed.  Maybe it was the fact I just kept smiling, regardless of how I was feeling.  People were starting to talk to me in broken English (and me to them in VERY broken Mandarin), and what we didn’t understand we used charades to get our point across.  Slowly, things didn’t seem so futile. 

By Thursday night I drew the courage to catch a taxi to Yu Garden to go shopping, not fearful like I had been the previous week.  And by the time Friday night, the night I am writing this, came around, I was beginning to feel sad to be leaving.

I had experienced an ocean of emotion in a country who really don’t give a hoot for western ideas or western people.  They are suspicious to the point of ridiculousness.  They may have embraced technology and sky scrapers but they have not embraced “outsiders”.  That is until they are convinced you are there to do them no harm.  And I imagine that takes a long, long time.

I would not rush back to China, although I fear this may be to my own detriment as Beijing is apparently a cultural experience and a half.  Perhaps one day I will lose the feeling of not belonging, of being laughed at, mocked and photographed at every turn (and did I mention those 11 marriage proposals, funnily enough their English extended to that!).  This trip gave me a good old fashioned dose of what it must be like to arrive in a strange country, surrounded by people who don’t speak your language and who make no attempt to help you.  Perhaps remember that next time you are asked, in broken English, for directions by someone who is clearly struggling.

Farewell Shanghai, you taught me lessons I deserved to learn.  Maybe I will see you again one day.

Candylicious... And Victoria's Secret....

Last night I did two of the most enjoyable things in the world..  I went and did all my shopping in Victoria’s Secret (and I will leave that right there – I normally do this on my US jaunts but to my absolute delight there is one in Malaysia) AND I spent an hour walking around a magical shop called “Candylicious”.

Candylicious

Honestly, Candylicious is the happiest place on earth.  As a kid, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was my favourite movie (the original, obviously, I am old and Johnny Depp’s was not around back then..  And his was rubbish anyway).  This shop is the essence of Willy Wonka’s factory..  All that was missing was the oompa loompas...  And Charlie and his Grandfather.

To be clear; I am not a big chocolate fan at all.  If I eat sweet things, I actually prefer Gummy Bears and the like, but I walked around this place for an hour, YES, an hour, and marvelled in the 1000’s of different types, designs and brands of candy (okay, lollies) and chocolate….

The music suited the place!  I did a jig to Ghostbusters, I shimmied to the Spice Girls and I hummed soulfully to Brother Iz’s remake of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.  All the while as excited as a kid in a candy store.  Oh, that’s right, I was.

 

 

It Only Happens In The Movies

Supposedly these things only happen in the movies..

After a day of shopping and pampering, I ordered room service, ate a delicious Malaysian dish, drank an icy cold diet coke (because we all know diet coke cancels out every calorie in any meal) and decided to be a model hotel guest and put my tray outside the door to be collected.

The tray wasn't light and it took some manoeuvring to open the door. Smiling to myself when I had accomplished the feat, I then turned around only to see the door close behind me. I was in my pyjamas with no shoes, wet hair and not looking my finest. I immediately cracked up laughing and went to the phone near the elevator to ask for assistance, only to be told I had to go down to reception. Still laughing, I got in the lift and went down stairs. A few people took a cursory glance (after all, it was 9.30pm) and the two hotel employees were smiling broadly as I approached reception. I am not sure whether they just always smile broadly (probably) or were quite amused to see someone approach them in pyjamas (possibly). I quickly explained my dilemma, a new key was cut and I returned to the elevator. Only to have a party of about 40 American IT consultants, who are here on a conference, arrive at the lifts just as it arrived to take me back to the safe haven of my room.

They got a good 60 seconds of laughing and joking in, I was laughing as well.

Just as well I was wearing presentable pyjamas I suppose..  Next time I will be careful or won’t bother trying to manoeuvre the tray outside.  It can wait till morning.

No More Good Hair Days...

As I disembarked from the plane I realised I was kissing goodbye another good hair day for at least a week..  It was 9pm at night, they are in the middle of monsoon weather (and believe me the rain was torrential last night) and even that late it was 34 degrees with over 80% humidity (bad hair day = ever tried having lots of, very fine curly hair in high humididty - not going to work).

Welcome to Malasyia!

I surprised myself.  Everyone knows I am very capable and independent but I have to say, when we go on holidays I leave EVERYTHING to my husband.  He says "where do you want to go?". We talk about it, decide and then hey presto.  I just pack and rock on up to the airport, flash my passport and get on a plane..  Not this time! I planned the whole trip (with assistance from a travel agent via work) and managed to navigate Kuala Lumpur airport, jump on the sky train, get through customs (here's a tip: if you have permanent french nails they cannot biometrics test you - i.e. record your fingers prints, something to do with the white tips interfering with the technology..  I passed through uneventfully), jump in a cab and arrived at the hotel just after 10pm. 

Hotel is just lovely!  It is now 6.20am and I am wide awake (9.20am to me) so I am sitting her writing this blog wondering what I will do till Kuala Lumpur wakes up on a Sunday (things open at 10am).  I do know when it does wake up I will be hitting the shopping centre attached to the hotel - over 700 stores...  Paradise and definitely the right hotel for me to be staying in.



Up & Away...

So it has nearly arrived - jetting off for just over 3 weeks for work. A week in Malaysia, which I am really looking forward to and then two weeks in Shanghai.. Which I am kind of in two minds about. Out of all of my Asian travels over the last 7 years I have not been to China, so it will be a good chance to acquaint myself with it and decide if it is a place I will go back to one day as a tourist.

Over three weeks away from home is going to be interesting. It's a long time.

I will endeavour to blog regularly and tell you everything I am up to and the sights that I see! The food I eat (I love, love, love Asian cuisine!), the people I meet and the shopping I do (which I am really looking forward to!).

Catch ya.

A Beachy Kinda Girl...

I never was a beachy kind of girl..  I didn't grow up in a beach environment, we were actually lucky to have a BBQ once a year..  Tassie was just that kind of place, we weren't big on BBQ's or the beach on our family (but we were very sporty and did other things!).

 

I've lived in Sydney for 23 years next April and while I have lived near beach side for most of that time I didn't ever go swimming or near the beach..

 

Then my husband suggests we buy a place near the beach, I was a sceptic.  I don't really "do" the beach, as such.  I have a  pair of swimmers reserved for Thailand and Hawaii (where no one knows me..) but I wasn't sure about buying a beach retreat..

 

Fast forward a few months and I can't imagine life without my weekender!  I love waking up the waves crashing against the rocks (that took some getting used to, I used to think it was the wind!) and walking along the beach and yes, even swimming!

If we move somewhere else in the world in a few years I don't know what we will do with it and to be honest, how I will live without the weekends away...  Till then, I shall just enjoy it for what it is.

It Can Happen to Anyone.....

Abusive relationships come in many forms.   It isn’t reserved for physical violence, it can involve mental and sexual, even down to controlling everything – such as the finances.  This blog comes out of hearing people say, once they think they know someone is being abused, “god she’s/he’s an idiot, they should just walk away from the abuse and leave”.  It’s not that simple.  Let me tell you a story about someone I once knew.

She was smart, she was attractive, she was bubbly, she was outgoing and you never would have imagined that one day she’d end up being abused over a 7 year period.  Story goes like this – in early 1993 she meets a man, they date, he’s polite, funny, a gentleman and seemingly kind.  They dated for a while longer and then she moved in. That is when it slowly turned into hell.

The mental abuse came first and very slowly.  One day he would tell her she was too fat, the next 3 weeks would be idyllic and she’d convince herself it was a one off.  Next he’d tell her she was ugly and again, the next few weeks would be idyllic. Then slowly it started happening all the time.  Her hair was the wrong colour, every meal she cooked was rubbish and ended up in the bin, the way she drove the car was a disgrace.  The most constant abuse was about her weight and how she was a disgrace to society because she was fat and ugly.  She became alienated from her friends and family because of his bad behaviour in front of them and obsession with the theory “they were bad” for her.  To save an argument, it was easier to drift from everyone.

She still smiled on the outside though.  No one knew what was going on behind four walls.  Even when the physical abuse began he was smart enough not to leave bruises where they could be seen.

He would attack her verbally in public, once calling her a fat, ugly, useless f’ing c…. in a very busy supermarket car park in front of 100’s of people.  She hung her head in shame and kept walking.  Driving along one day (him driving, by this stage she had given up driving, convinced she was a hazard to people on the road) she said something he didn’t like.  He didn’t take his eyes off the road and proceeded to punch her fair in the face, causing a dislocated jaw and chipped teeth.  He even tried to strangle her for getting home from work 7 minutes late, that was careless of him and she had to cover it up with a scarf for two weeks and if anyone asked, said she braked suddenly in the car and the seat belt caught her neck (which in itself was absurd because she hadn’t driven for a while).

By now I know most of you will be shaking your head and asking why was it so hard for her to walk away.  You need to understand that these monsters suck every bit of self confidence you have, they threaten to kill you, your family and friends.  They threaten to kill themselves.  To put it quite bluntly, they fuck so badly with your head, you end up a shadow of your former self and you become convinced everything is your fault.  Even their violence is your fault.

Her darkest hour came 6.5 years into the “relationship”.  Again she upset him (he didn't approve of what she ordered for dinner, told her she'd put weight on and should be eating salad).  He disappeared for a while and she breathed a sigh of relief.  He then returned with a shot gun.  God knows where he got it from, but he stood there and held it to her head, she heard it click and closed her eyes.  He told her to pick up the phone and ring her mother, because it was the last person she would ever speak to.  She was void of emotion by then and simply asked him to shoot her dead there and then as life wasn’t worth living anymore.  He seemed to like that because he smirked and said she deserved to be miserable so he would let her live.  But not before ramming the gun into her mouth, smashing her teeth.

Not long after, excessive drinking became a way for her to dull the pain, and one night, as he lay asleep she went to the cupboard and took out the shotgun, still loaded, he used to like to remind her it was there if she stepped a foot out of line.  She stood over the bed, closed her eyes and began to squeeze the trigger.  The rest is a blank. Part of her says she rang someone and they convinced her not to do it, the other part says she just put it away and crawled into bed.

There are other stories, the way he followed her everywhere, accused her of having affairs, once rang her 169 times in 2 hours when she was out with his sister and didn’t answer her phone, threatened to kill himself if she left (because she did leave, twice, and twice he called her and she returned to the house as he threatened suicide, once she found him hanging.  You will ask she she returned to the house, quite simply she didn't want to live with the guilt of being the reason another human took their own life. Oh the irony!)  She was emotionally spent.

The night she left they had been out to dinner.  He had caused a scene because he didn’t like her food choices so threw it against the wall and walked out.  Driving home in a high powered sports car he reached 180 kilometres an hour on a main road – he fled through a roundabout at this speed, barely missing a truck.  He dropped her at home and told her he’d be back later.  She raced inside and packed a few clothes, photographs, passport and valuables.  She got in the car and remembered the cat, deciding to leave her behind she realised she’s forgotten her handbag so raced back inside.  She came back out to find the cat cowered on the floor in the back passenger side.  The rest is history. She rang her family well after midnight to tell them she had left and her father appeared at the hotel the next day, having flown across 3 states to get to her in under 12 hours.  It’s probably the only reason she didn’t go back.  Having someone there was encouragement for her to finally break the pattern of returning.  She left with nothing and started her life all over again, moving inter-state to get away from him (even that didn’t help, he found out where she lived through one of her utility providers; his sister worked there and simply looked up her address and phone number and gave it to him).  He stalked her for nearly 8 months, often turning up on her doorstep screaming and yelling, once he tried to break down the door with an axe threatening if he couldn’t have her, no one could. She had moved into a security unit block next door to a police station and told them the story right from the start and they knew if she ever called it was an emergency.  That night was an emergency and the last she saw of him.  That was October 2000.  Not long after he met someone else and moved on.

My war and peace is to ask you not to judge the victims of domestic violence, not to turn your back on them and to be patient if you suspect something is going on.  If confronted, most people in this situation will go into denial and cut you out of their life, usually through embarrassment and denial it is really happening.  That is no help to anyone.  Just be there if they call and reassure them you will always be there.  Of course if the violence is absolutely evident and physical or there are children involved you need to make a call on what you do and how you manage it.  Just don’t ever turn your back, even if they don’t call you anymore, because one day they might just need you.

I know all this because she was me. This attempt at putting that period of my life on paper doesn’t even skim the surface of what that time in my life was really like.  But I hope if you realise it can happen to me then you realise it can happen to anyone.  Because no one suspected it was happening to me. 

It took a long time for the fog to lift. Years actually.  I look at the first few months of my "freedom" and cringe at some of the things I did but now realise it was a part of the healing process.  I was lucky enough to have some fabulous people around me to support me, some knew pieces of the story and some had no idea.  I am friends with most of those people today and thank them for their patience through a very trying time.  To anyone else who I knew during that time who didn't know - I apologise for being - well, a bit of a pain in the ass.

Twelve years on I still cringe at raised voices, I hate arguments and sometimes I have panic attacks while driving.  I worry about my weight, what I say and how I say it and my ability to fit into society.  Most of the physical scars fade with time.  The mental scars stay with you forever.  But I am one of the lucky ones though, for me this is in the past.

What If's

For most of my adult life I thought "what if's" were a waste of time.  I think part of that thought process was because of the old saying "no regrets" and how society seems to think the two are very similar.  Then I had a profound thought recently.  I came to the conclusion that a "what if" and a "regret" are two very different things.  Let me explain..

I was pondering some "what if's" (what if I hadn't of moved to Sydney?  What if I had of pursued becoming a lawyer?  What if my mother didn't have Parkinsons Disease?  What if I had of married my first true love?  Note; I was 16, so this isn't one I dwell on, simply an example of a perfectly healthy "what if"?  What if I had of had children?).  You get the picture. 

I suddenly realised "what ifs" give you the latitude to write your own ending, time and time again, depending on how you are feeling at that time.  It allows you to escape for a moment or two, and allows you to envisage life from another view point (bit Sliding Doorish really - love that movie!).

So from here on in I shall no longer feel guilty when I think about my "what if's".  I shall embrace them, allow myself to day dream about them (today it includes a tropical island, lazing under a plam tree, cool drink in hand, allowing the sun and warm breeze to wash over me) and celebrate my imagination.

Ground Zero Museum Workshop - Gary Marlon Suson

Some photos of the after math that was September 11 2001.  This small museum (not to be confused with the museum at th eactual Ground Zero), located in the Meatpacking District in NY, touched my heart and will live in my memory for ever.

Photos courtesy of the Ground Zero Museum Workshop, a not for profit museum owned and run by Gary Marlon Suson, in New York.

Ground Zero Museum Workshop

a sheet off a desk calendar found
in the rubble of the towers 

A clock found in the rubble,  It stopped at the
time the planes hit.

Firefighter Oscar Garcia says a small prayer before
returning to dig in his allocated area of the rubble.

Some of the only glass found after the collapse of the towers.
The heat was so intense most if it melted.

As the picture says. two beams fell from the 67th floor
and landed upright in the shape of a cross.

Trip Advisor Review

September 11 - James's Story

I thought I was prepared for the deluge of emotion that would overcome me on September 11 2011 as I wandered the streets of NY. I wasn’t anywhere near prepared.

I met James on the afternoon of September 11 2011, the 10 year anniversary of the atrocity that rocked the world.  I believe James (and the group of firies he was with) was from Engine 54, the 4th ladder, 9th Battalion, but given the 101 conversations going on that afternoon at Hurleys Saloon Bar on 48th Street, this could be incorrect.  However; given the story he told me and the closeness of the ladder to where we were that afternoon, I have reason to believe this was indeed his Ladder. 

Let me set the scene.

The day dawned, hot and humid, minus the rain that had plagued the city for the first four days of our stay in the incredible NY.  I woke up to the live telecast of the Ground Zero memorial playing in the background in our hotel room.  My husband admitted he’d been up since 5am and had already been for a walk around Times Square and was amazed that the city was alive and humming earlier than normal (contrary to popular belief, NY does sleep).

Stepping out of the hotel at 10am I was greeted by a cloudy day and 1000’s and 1000’s of people, a huge increase on how many you would normally see on the streets this early.  There were people crying in the street, huddled together talking to the firemen and police who were out in full force.  Most of the streets were blocked off, down to one lane of traffic, which made the traffic horrendous, more so than normal.  There were sniffer dogs on the streets and in our hotel alone, three dogs with handlers that walked the floors 24x7.

It felt wrong to shop or go sight-seeing that day, so we walked the streets of New York City.  We walked many, many miles and talked to a lot of people.  We ended up in a little, what I could only describe as a wine bar, called Hurley’s Saloon Bar on 48^th Street.  We stopped for a drink, it was about 3pm.  In that bar I was lucky enough to have a very humbling experience with some very brave, sometimes sad and sometimes, very funny, firemen.  You throw some performers from a broad way show in there (who were on a break) and it made for an interesting afternoon…

We were sitting in the corner spot, enjoying a quiet beer when a large group of fireman entered the bar.  They were in full uniform, having just come from a memorial (not THE memorial, the fire brigade and police did not attend the memorial service at Ground Zero on that day - due to limited capacity, so the news reported) and greeted the bar, immediately heading to the function room upstairs.

From downstairs we could just hear them talking, sometimes there was a long, sombre silence, other times their conversation was peppered with laughter.  Some of them came down stairs and struck up a conversation with my husband and myself and the some of the performers from a broadway show (there for lunch), they then proceeded to shout us a drink.

It got a little loud so I wandered outside to the table and chairs set up outside.  I'd been sitting there for about 5 minutes when James came out and introduced himself.  We chatted about nothing for a bit then he went silent.  I looked up at him (he was a giant of a man - well, he was from where I was sitting) and he had tears rolling down his face.  The type of tears that you know are from an incredible sadness that only comes from deep inside.  He started to talk and I began to understand where the sadness came from.  He belonged to a Ladder that lost a lot of people on 9/11 2001.  He was working that day and after the call, jumped on the second truck to leave the station.  The first truck had left a minute before the one James was on and arrived at the towers quickly.  Within minutes the men and women on the first truck were working there way up the towers.  James's truck got stuck in the madness of the traffic and arrived much later, by which time it was evident that sending anymore men and women up was pointless.

To cut a long story short, James had spent and I would imagine he continues to spend, 10 years with an incredible guilt that 15 of his friends had died.  He thought he should have died to and the guilt ate away at him like a cancer.  I sat there and listened to him talk, eventually giving way to tears myself.  Not knowing what else to do or say, I got up, went over an hugged him and wiped the tears off his cheek..  We continued chatting about his love of Australia and how he was saving to visit Melbourne (he'd heard great things about it) and returned inside not long after.  He put on his brave face, bought another beer and wandered upstairs.

I didn't see James again but James, if you are out there in the cloud somewhere and one day you come across my blog and remember our conversation that day, get in touch.  It was an honour and a privilege to meet you.

http://www.hurleysnyc.com/media/hurleys.html

I took this photo, not far from Hurleys on September 11 2011.

 

#NewYork #FireFighters #September11 #911

 

I have tried to portray the day I met James the best I can.  It was a very big day full of a lot of emotions so if you do find James and there is a part of the story that is incorrect, I apologise, I tried to be accurate.

40 is NOT the new 30

You can say what you like; you can believe what you like.  But I am saying and I believe that there is not a hope is heck 40 is the new 30.  I am convinced this was made up by someone with a twisted sense of reality, determined to cling to their 30’s.  I suspect when I hit 50 I will be hearing that 50 is the new 40.  And I suspect I will disagree with that also.

 

Let me put it into perspective.  When I was younger (i.e. 21) I always imagined I’d be a well established CEO by the time I hit 40 (mum taught us to think big!).  I hit it (it being 40) 8 months ago and I can assure you I am not a CEO, not even close.  Climbing the corporate ladder is taking a little more time than I imagined when I was a young whipper snapper.  I have scrapped all thoughts becoming a CEO and will now concentrate on being happy with who I am and where I am (for now). 

To be clear, I don’t hate being 40 (okay, actually I do, just a little bit, okay, actually quite a bit) but I hate the number 40.  I’d much rather see 39 written down, 40 seems so, so, old…  When I have to tick boxes on forms these days I have moved a whole category, I now fall into 40-44.  Adverts on my social networking pages are advertising funeral plans and incontinent “underwear”.  Good god, only a year ago they were trying to sell me prams and children’s clothes.

At 40 I feel invisible.  I can't tell you why because I do not know - I just feel invisible.

 

I look back on my 30’s with a kind of wistfulness.  I wish I had of been happy with the way I looked back then.  I wish I hadn’t of been so hung up on my weight because you know what, it was fine, it was better than fine - I was a size 10 for gods sake!   I wish someone would have told me not to worry about all that stuff then because when you get older, it really is something that starts causing you grief!

 

While I won’t go grey (thanks Sarah) and my skin is in fab condition (thanks Monique) and I don’t think I really look my age (most days and yes, this makes me VERY vain and yes, I would consider a dose of botox if I ever felt I needed it) things all round are a bit slower and did I mention I feel invisible..  I find I don’t recover as quickly from nights out and I could do to lose a couple of kilos (which isn’t easy!!).

 

But on the upside, my fiery temper has subsided (it’s all too hard, while I will be nobody’s door mat, getting mad only really upsets me), I am a lot more content (sigh, = kilos added), I travel more, I worry less, I think about the past less (which is a blessed relief), I smile more (at the silliest things) and I enjoy life more because I take time to smell the roses, so to speak.

So, while 40, in my eyes, is definitely not the new 30, it’s proving to be rather enjoyable in quite a few ways that are good for the soul (it is the only positive I could draw, if it's good for the soul it sounds okay).  I still wish I could write down 39 on paper though and you know what, perhaps I will.

Summer... The hottest for over 40 years?

I woke up this week to warm mornings (unusual for late August), a haze in the air that was quiet eerie and the rancid smell of smoke polluting the air.  It didn't matter where I was, south of Sydney, south west of Sydney or in the city, the haze was the same and the smell of smoke permeated the air and my clothes.

It was back burning and hazard reduction in the Blue Mountains and a timely reminder that summer is on its way.  We didn't experience bush fires last year, for the most part, but they are saying that this will be the hottest summer in 40 years in Sydney and the worst bushfire season for a very long time.  I hope this goes unfounded. 

I was in Sydney for the bush fires of 1994 (evacuated from my home for 3 days, sleeping on the floor at my bosses house along with 7 other work colleagues) and the bush fires of 2001 (on Christmas Day we were holed up in my house with all windows and doors closed, with wet towels around any possible window/door frame that ash could get in.  It was a 40 degree day and I remember watching the ash fall through the air like snow and cover the back yard).  Those experiences were horrific but not nearly as horrific as the bush fires, dubbed Black Saturday that ripped through Melbourne on the 7th of February 2009.  Black Saturday saw the worst bushfires ever recorded in our nation’s history. 

My point is, I'd rather a rainy, humid summer like the summer of 2011/2012 than one filled with heat and bushfires.  I hope the experts are proved wrong and summer passes by uneventfully.  It all makes me rather nervous.  Remind me of this blog if it is a rainy, humid summer...

Princess Diana - 1/7/61 to 31/08/1997

It is 15 years ago today that Princess Diana was involved in the accident in Paris that claimed her life.  I am not a royalist, per say, but I did admire and respect her and wanted to remember her.  This is one of my favourite photos of her (and it seems the rest of the world also). 

The 31st of August is my mum's birthday so the date is etched in my mind for ever. 

It's funny, I miss a person I never met...

“I like to be a free spirit. Some don't like that, but that's the way I am.”  Princess Diana.

Someone, Somewhere.. Always has it Worse..

Following up on my blog about the time I spend commuting to work each year (just over 20 days) seems someone at the SMH may have read my blog (I wish)..  This article is timely but for those who can't be bothered reading the whole story below is an extract:

•  Some people in Mexico have a round trip of over four hours per day.
• We don't have to get to work via Bolivia's Yungas Road, which literally translates to 'Death Road' and claims some 300 lives each year
• Some children in China scale 1,000 foot high cliffs (almost as high as the Eiffel Tower) on their 200 kilometre journey to school
• There are tower climbers in America whose commute involves scaling to the summit of a 1,700  foot structure (higher than the Empire State Building and around 200 metres taller than Sydney Tower), sometimes without harnesses to fix electrical problems
• Students in Juarez, Mexico make a high-risk commute daily from the drug cartel-driven border city, where over 1000 people were killed in 2011, to attend the University of Texas-El Paso

http://www.smh.com.au/executive-style/business-travel/crushed-by-the-commute-20120828-24yd1.html

If I had one wish..

This is what I call my “selfish” wish.  It goes without saying that if a genie magically popped out of a bottle and I had one wish it wouldn’t be what you are about to read.  But genies don’t really morph out of bottles except in kids movies and in Major Nelson's house thanks to Barbara Eden and some smoke and mirrors..

But back to my selfish self.  If someone told me tomorrow I could have one wish I would close my eyes and ask to be transported to the happiest day of my life for every year I have been on this earth. From the day I came into this world until right here, right now.  The best day I experienced for every year of my life.  I want to relive it from a distance, peering through the looking glass, so to speak..  See what made me happy at 1, 3, 8, 12, 15, 19..  You get the drift..

I know in my mind what stands out as special, I can even pin point some very happy days of my life but to relive them a day at a time for 40 days would be amazing.

So there you go, my selfish wish.  What’s yours?

P.S. if a genie did really pop out of a bottle I would wish my mum’s Parkinson’s disease would disappear.  I’d actually wish all diseases could be eradicated.

New York.. New York....

I just realised nearly a year ago I was in NY..  This photo is one of my favourites; combining the skyline by night and you can just make out the lights that stand where the twin towers used to be.  We were on a night cruise (very cheesy but a fabulous way to see NY by night)..

NY how I miss you.

Shoes? Look closer...

As far as I can tell, while this photo may not belong to the below mentioned small business in Adelaide, these cupcake shoes are/can produced for $10 a pair.  (pushnpop@internode.on.net).  Shame there is NO delivery to Sydney (for obvious reasons)...

https://www.facebook.com/trina.shuga#!/Push.n.Pop

If by chance this is incorrect, feel free to correct me and point me in the right direction.

I want to bring back the wave.

Bring back the wave.  No, not the Mexican wave.  The “thank you for not being an ass and for letting me into your lane” wave to prove courtesy on the roads is not dead.

I live in Sydney.  I expect bad traffic but it is still the bane of my existence.  On average I spend 2 hours a day commuting.  Multiply that by 5 days per week = 10 hours.  Multiply that by 46 weeks (allowing for annual leave, public holidays and sick days) and that equals a whopping 19.166 days a year I spend in the car just getting to and from work!  I get 20 days per annum annual leave, to put in into perspective.

I live 17 kilometres from work and on a bad day it can take an hour and a half each way.  17 kilometres should take 25 minutes. 

Sydney peak hour traffic is about jinking and weaving and most importantly; making sure you leave just enough distance between you and the car in front of you so if the traffic stops all of a sudden you WON’T run up its backside BUT not too much of a gap so that you allow a car to sneakily dart in, thus causing you to slam on your brakes and risk someone running up the back end of you! 

Apparently; 3 seconds is a good indicator of how far the car should be in front of you.  I kid you not.  Somewhere the other day I read that some organisation out there recommends 3 seconds.  How do you measure 3 seconds?  In my day it was half a car length, or maybe a car length (we also walked 1o kilometres to school in the rain with no shoes, but that's a whole different story).  That’s how long ago my day was, I can’t quite remember.  BUT I do know it was not 3 seconds.

So I’m throwing it out there, bring back the wave.  It costs nothing.  It’s polite.  And by waving, maybe next time you are jinking and weaving in and out of traffic, the person you cut off won’t think you are such an ass.  Or if they do think you are an ass, they might think you are a polite one.

Important side facts:

Sydney driving is about remembering that some people got their drivers licences out of a Cornflake packet (or bribed their local RTA – link as follows to prove I am not making this up:  http://www.icac.nsw.gov.au/dmdocuments/pub2_9ia1.pdf). 

Of course I do not take away from nor wish to be confused with Melbourne driving (hook turns, I ask you, hook turns across 8 lanes of traffic in front of a big metal tram), Queensland driving (U turns, anywhere anytime, no indicating required), Tasmanian driving (more than 8 cars at a set of lights constitutes a traffic jam) or any other city/town/suburb of Australia.

AXA, Some Outdated Policies & the Possibility of Identity Theft

We live in an age where identity theft is very real.  So why do AXA have such ridiculous policies (and I am sure they are not alone)?

I received a letter in the mail last night telling me they had received my updated details that I submitted in June (I didn’t, turns out the ATO had provided my details to them) and just to be sure it was me, they were sending me a letter to the updated address they had received and one to the old address that they had on file for me.  I left that address 12.5 years ago.

Turns out I had some lost superannuation from 1999.  I am not sure why it didn’t come up when I have done lost super searches and consolidated but it didn’t.  So AXA took it upon themselves to get my updated address (I am fine with that) AND then send a letter to somewhere I have not resided for a long time.  On that letter it will have my full name and superannuation account details.  Perhaps not enough to steal my identity but you never know, it is, after all, 2012.

I questioned the policy and process to the customer service agent, who basically told me it was my problem, had I of let them know I’d moved, it would never have happened.  I had no idea I had “lost” super; I’d taken steps to clean this all up a few years ago.  I’m amazed it took them 12 years to “find” me considering I had another AXA account during that 12 year period. Common sense would say if they had my full name, DOB and TFN from years before could they have matched the data and suggested I roll together.  But I’m sure they don’t have a policy for that yet and will continue to send details out to far flung places people haven't lived for decades.

Not good enough AXA.  A review of your policy should take place immediately.  I have ideas if you wanted to hear them.  It is not rocket science.

Mazda CX5 - a personal review

As my Mazda 3 approached its 7^th birthday I decided it was time to trade up.  Cars hit that magical age of 7 and start to pose a few issues (although this one never missed a beat in 7 years, how I loved that car).  So, with a heavy heart and after a fair amount of research, I traded it in on a Mazda CX5 (I used to work in the car trade, I am big on research). 

Mazda CX5.  You know the one I am talking about; the ad has a cheetah in it, running through the streets..

I’d owned a Honda CRV previously (and a Rav 4 but let’s pretend I never said that) and loved it.  I researched the smaller SUV’s and it came down to the Honda CRV and Mazda CX5.  A few spec differences between the two and the CRV has a 2.4 litre engine, the CX5 a 2 litre. 

I’d heard on the grapevine there was going to be a waiting list for the car, so 3 months after it was released I visited a dealer and test drove one.  In the 15 minutes (x 2, before I signed) I drove it, I liked it, it was comfortable and drove smoothly.  It was around city streets, so no chance to see what it would perform like on open roads.

Any way to cut a long story short I bought it.  While I don’t regret the purchase, I wouldn’t recommend one to anyone who asked me (and haven’t to date).  Yes, it’s comfortable, stylish and looks great but I wish the engine was a 2.4 litre.  I do a lot of open road driving and it struggles with hills and is slow off the mark (I am not Fangio but when a Mazda 2 shoots off from the lane next to you and leaves you for dead, you know it is sluggish). 

I’ve also had a host of issues with the new Sky technology…  The Bluetooth freezes, the fuel gauge is never accurate, it constantly tells me the tyre pressure is low (and it’s not) and it has this annoying habit of letting me know the person in the passenger seat doesn’t have their belt on.  When there is NO ONE/NOTHING sitting in the front seat.  Mazda’s answer to me queries?  Turn it off and “give it 48 hours for the computer to reset itself”.  Really?  I paid nearly $40k to “turn it off” have a car “reset itself”.

I wish I’d have gone with the Honda CRV.  Oh well, only another 2.7 years until I can trade her in.  In the mean time I will endeavour to enjoy.

Music Makes the World A Better Place…

I grew up influenced by music.  Especially Australian rock.  As I was driving home last night, singing to Living End’s “For Another Day”, it occurred to me that I must look like a raving lunatic. A 40 year old woman driving home singing like there is no tomorrow.  And here’s me, looking frighteningly like an older version of the "doof doof" brigade whom I curse regularly.  Most would call this not cool.

Let me set the scene. I grew up with a relative who was and is still quite well known in the music industry (for the record the family element of the book he published a year or so ago sucked, but he’s allowed his opinion, just like I am allowed mine).  Therefore when I was a kid right through till I was about 20, not only did I get to go to concerts but I got to sit right up the front and on a lot of occasions I had “access all areas”.  From a very young age I wore that lanyard with pride at every gig I went to.  I met a lot of crazy, interesting people and saw a lot of crazy and interesting things.  I loved it.

Music makes the world a better place.  I knew ever lyric to every song, I listened to country (my dad), jazz (my pop) and pop/rock (my mum) and opera (my nan).  Then I discovered pub bands – I think I was 15 (I’d like to think my mother doesn’t know about my under age pub jaunts but I’d hazard a guess she does..)

When I moved to Sydney 20+ years ago I was always out, I’ve seen the Wiggles when they were The Cockroaches, Diesel when he was Johnny Diesel & the Injectors, Hunters & Collectors, Jimmy Barnes, Absent Friends (Wendy Matthews), 1927 – the list goes on.. 

My point is I loved music when it was music, without all the techno garb that goes with it today.  I’d take heavy metal over the stuff they palm off as music today.  But the world would be a boring place if we all listened to the same music. 

So my point to Michele and all my friends who listen to something other than what I do, don’t diss my country (Kenny Rogers, Johnny Cash and hey, even Willie Nelson), Aussie rock (Australian Crawl, Cold Chisel, Hunters, INXS) right through to music today (that you can understand the lyrics to – my golden rule is I have to be able to understand the word and I prefer songs minus copious amounts of profanity – I never really got the song “smack my bitch up”) and I won't diss yours.