Day 38
Thursday 16 February and we secured starboard side to in Port Adelaide (about 45 minutes from Adelaide) at 0900. It was warm and sunny, which has to be worth something. The queue to get off stretched once round the main circular lobby, along two long corridors and back to the main lobby again. We shuffled along for 20 minutes, champing at the bit, but finally managed to get ashore at about 0945 and found a taxi. The fare to the hospital was not quite as bad as I expected at $AUS 35 (about £20), and the drive was pleasant along very long, wide, straight roads speckled with bungalows and light industry. In a twenty minute drive I reckon we only turned two corners.
Hospital A&E must be the same everywhere: grim, unwelcoming, depressing, long waits. Jane had to see a triage nurse and her symptoms were discussed, and the doctor’s letter noted, there and then through a glass panel at the public counter. The nurse then came out of her cubicle and took Jane’s pulse while standing and scribbling on notes perched on the counter. A bit odd. Then on to Reception next door to record the usual details. Australia has reciprocal emergency treatment arrangements with the UK so there was nothing to pay. On to the Usual Long Wait with the rest of the sick and dying. They wanted to take her blood pressure, which they did there and then at the waiting room chair. She also had to give a urine sample, but at least that was afforded the privacy of the nearby lavatory.
After an hour (not bad) we were taken in to the inner examination ward with the usual cubicles – same as home. Another wait, but on a bed this time (for Jane). Finally, Jane was given a comprehensive interview by first, a very pleasant nurse, then a third-year medical student as a precursor to the doctor. The latter was equally thorough. After some poking about she said that, although the the symptoms were not classically appendicitis, she felt that Jane should be seen by a member of the surgical team. Another half hour and a perky Chinese girl came along, went through it all again and said she would talk to her boss. Not looking good. Jane was then whisked off for a CT scan. By this time it was mid afternoon and we were starting to twitch: the ship sails at 1730. The doctor onboard the ship rang the nursing station and the phone was passed to me. Sorry, old boy, you are staying. Any last requests for onboard?
Being pessimistic realists, we had packed almost everything onboard before coming ashore, and the other stuff, for the return journey, had been struck down into the hold. So, in our absence, the housekeeping staff didn’t have too much to throw into the the existing luggage, which was then offloaded and later delivered to the hospital. Then off QUEEN MARY 2 sailed into the sunset.
Jane was taken up to a double room and plugged in as usual, which was just as well as she badly needed recharging. I went for a wander outside, partly to find where our luggage had gone and partly to look for a hotel. Not a hope on the latter: the hospital was in a residential district about five miles NW of central Adelaide, and there were no hotels in sight. The nursing staff were incredibly helpful. They produced a list of nearby hotels (nearby for Australia) and I set off for the nearest on foot. Telephoning was a non starter because my mobile phone had just used up its buffer of £40 and was good only for use as a paperweight.
Unfortunately, I misunderstood the nurse’s directions and my great trek across the outback (in the exact opposite direction to the hotel) began: up a triple carriageway, along another, on and on into the sunset. I walked for an hour in the heat – let’s say 3 miles – before I found a convenience store and asked. Asking directions doesn’t come easy to a man, but is was going to get dark soon and I didn’t want the dingoes to get me.
“Torrens Road? TORRENS ROAD? That’s miles away, mate. Way over there. Head for the hospital – do you know where that is?”
So back I walked and, this time, I got a taxi. Eight dollars later I am at the hotel and it’s full up. So it’s back to the hospital again to see Jane, and we are now starting to twitch about what has happened to our luggage. At that moment, in sails a cheery porter carrying the lot on a trolley. Well that’s one problem solved, but where am I going to sleep tonight?
The nurses offered to put a chair in for me, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep in that and, in any case, I needed a proper hotel so that I could access the Internet and call Saga in UK. Fortunately, Jane’s bed had a monitor for TV, internet and phone and she could buy time on it. It wasn’t the easiest of systems, but I managed to book a hotel in the centre of Adelaide that had reasonable ratings.
The surgical team arrived (it was about 1900 by then). They were very friendly and introduced themselves by Christian names. They stood around the bed, nodded sagely, and all agreed it was an interesting case: all tests – including the CT scan – were clear. They did not think it was appendicitis. The only test they hadn’t done was an abdominal ultrasound scan, because that had already been done just before we left UK. Just to be sure, they decided they would do that again – tomorrow. So I said my goodbyes and grabbed a taxi for the hotel.
Oh dear. After a trying day I could have used a really top-notch hotel. This was not a top notch hotel. In fact, it had no notches at all, unless you counted the bedpost. It looked nice enough from the outside, and the staff were very pleasant, but the room was on the ground floor and overlooked the noisy car park. The room comprised a sitting room with a sofa, TV, and kitchen sink, with a sleeping room and separate bathroom, next door. Generous in size, yes, but all the walls were plain – no pictures at all; the carpet was chocolate brown; the paintwork was chipped and faded; and there was a faint pervading smell of sewage. Dotheboys Hall, I thought – must get somewhere else for tomorrow night. Now that I had WiFi I could access the Internet, so I booked a plush-looking hotel for three nights on Booking.com (no way to predict how long Jane would be in hospital). I was lucky to get it, as, it turns out, the Fringe Festival was starting in Adelaide, with all accommodation at a premium. I also sent an email to Saga asking for confirmation that I was covered for all this, and eventually got a reply saying, “Sorry mate, you’ll have to ring us in Plymouth during office hours. We can’t comment until we have spoken to you” (or words to the general effect).
I apologise for going on a bit, but I thought it might be useful to you if ever you have cause to need medical help when abroad yourselves. If something medical arises, you have to ring the 24-hour medical assistance line, which is run by an independent contractor called Healix. They approve treatment and make arrangements on your behalf, and these were the people I rang by satellite phone from the ship. In an ideal world, they would have arranged my hotel, transport and so on, but the starting point is the phone call. You have to phone a UK number. But you can’t if you don’t have access to a phone, such as in a hotel. And, of course, you can’t readily get a hotel without a phone either. And so it goes on.
Day 39
Friday 17 February 2017. After a most peculiar night’s sleep, I checked out and returned to the hospital. Jane had her ultrasound test on her abdomen, and every organ was declared to be perfectly sound. A large medical team turned up – the senior consultants – and they reckoned that there were indications of a urinary infection, that could be treated with antibiotics. To our relief, Jane was released with a box of pills and we packed all our luggage into a taxi for transportation to The Plush Hotel. The holiday could resume.
One of the great pleasures of being in a foreign country is to experience the different sounds and smells, the different flora and fauna, and the different culture. I was particularly enjoying the first of these when I strolled through Adelaide in the morning to meet Jane, and it came in the form of different bird song. The ordinary Australians probably take their birds for granted, or at least, have got used to them. Not so for me, and I was stuck by a particular warbling bird that I could not see, but which had an odd song. Vowing to point this out to Jane (who has an interest in these things) I tried to take note of where I heard it. The bird seemed quite common, and sang all along the road I was walking along, but although I looked everywhere I couldn’t see it. Then it dawned on me: it was the signal for the blind at every pedestrian crossing and road junction, which chirp at regular intervals, then warble when it is safe to cross. Well, I did say that things are different in different countries.
The Peppers Waymouth Hotel in Adelaide proved to be everything you could ever want in a top hotel: modern, well-located, very pleasant and helpful staff, and a fantastic suite of rooms (yes, a suite). The holiday does resume here.
Day 40
Saturday 18 February in Adelaide, South Australia. And it’s cold. Like 19ºC cold. Even I am shivering, so I can’t have a go at Jane this time. Our first priority is to buy warm clothes, as our winter stuff is currently packed up and steaming around in QM2.
First, some impressions of Adelaide. It is an impressive city very well laid out in a grid pattern. All the roads are six lanes wide, with crossroads controlled by traffic lights. There is a good mix of old traditional architecture with modern high rise buildings, though, like Fremantle, the integration has not been well done. Decimation of the local planning committee could continue here after the firing squad has finished in Fremantle. The pubs and bars seem raucous to my delicate sensibilities, rather like Fremantle, so I am concluding that all Australian bars are like that. The nearest comparison that I can think of is of an American city, with its straight roads and intersections.
With The Fringe starting, the city was in party mood when we strolled round: street performers, dancers and bands. It was a varying cacophony as we explored. We sought out a travel agent to buy air tickets for Melbourne, then a phone shop to buy an Australian PAYG SIM for my iPhone. The latter cost $AUS 30 (about £20), which I thought very reasonable. After that we had to go back to the hospital for Jane to collect her pills, which had not been ready yesterday when we departed. Taking the train was easy enough (we were becoming seasoned residents by now) and we saw other bits of Adelaide suburbia on the way. Virtually all the houses are bungalows in a very pleasant setting, mostly nice areas, but inevitably we passed through the odd industrial district with a Shacklepin Graffiti value of 10%. On the whole, though, Adelaide suburbia met our approval, and I imagine they gave a sigh of relief at that.
After The Great Pill Expedition, we explored the city, which was heaving for the festival. With difficulty we managed to reserve a table at a restaurant. The meal, later, started well but then deteriorated into a long delay for the main course, which finally came cold. Such a shame, as the restaurant had everything else going for it. It wasn’t cheap at $AUS160 (about £100) for two with wine, but by this time it was 2200 and we were past the complaint stage, and quite tired. It was very cold outside and we shivered our way back to the hotel through heaving crowds. Boy, can these people party.
Day 41
Sunday 19 February was declared a Shopping Day for Warm Clothes, and fortunately the shops were open. The main shopping mall was still heaving and very noisy from street performers, mostly very good, but unfortunately all performing at once. We dumped our purchases in the hotel and then set about exploring Adelaide, ending with the Botanical Gardens. The weather continued cool, with showers of rain, but we still enjoyed it. We must have walked for about six hours in all and, at the end of it all, we had no stomach for going out to eat so we ate in the hotel bar. The seafood was surprisingly good, though expensive at about $AUS40 (£25) each. I enjoyed one of the local beers, a Pilsner lager, though Jane is still off the pop. She continues to improve rapidly.
The English language is a fascinating thing. Winston Churchill has already commented how the USA and Britain are two nations separated by a common language; much the same could be said of Australia and Britain. I was baffled by the bars and hotels offering “pokies”. Was it some sort of food, like a hot dog or pork scratching? We pondered on this at length and still couldn’t work it out, so we asked the hotel receptionist. She was bemused.
“Pokies? You don’t know what pokies are?”
“No”, I said, “what do they taste like?”.
This produced fits of giggles among the staff, and I did wonder if they were something rude. It turns out that “pokies” are slot machines. Australians are very heavy gamblers and the presence of such machines is regarded as a strong attraction for hotels, bars and other venues.
One thing that I should add at this point is how friendly the Australians are. So far, whether Fremantle, Perth, Busselton or Adelaide – they have all been absolutely lovely and could not be more helpful or accommodating. They seem quite hardy folk as, just like they are in England, they walk around in shorts and flip flops in all weathers without complaint. They are very informal and laid back; we have yet to see a tie, even though our hotel was in the business district, but we have quickly adjusted to the different sartorial approach and I shall try not to raise any more eyebrows regarding the absence of cravats or Oxfords.
Summary for Adelaide: a delightful city, well laid out and architecturally impressive, full of lovely people so laid back they are almost horizontal, and unseasonably cold. Shacklepin Graffiti Factor 10%, Winos NIL, Litter NIL, Skateboarders 1.
Day 42
Monday 20 February, and we are off on the last phase of our missed journey to Geelong and our friends Laura and Derek. The hotel cost us $1,174 (£728) for three nights, but it was well worth it. I only hope that Saga will pay the bill when we get back.
We took a taxi to the airport and soon checked in for a budget flight to Melbourne. Here Jane demonstrated her honesty and pedantry in a helpful way, as she was asked if her hold baggage contained any prohibited articles.
“What are they?” she asks.
The bloke lists them: flick knives, guns, drugs, rocket launchers, batteries…
”Oh”, says Jane, “I do have batteries”.
“Are they sealed?”, he says.
“Yes”, says I.
“Oh, no”, says Jane.
“No darling, they are still in their packet”, says I through gritted teeth, and giving her a nudge.
“Oh no they aren’t”, says Jane blinking those innocent green eyes of hers, “they’re all loose”.
“Well you’ll have to take them out and put them in the hand luggage”, he says.
So I have to rummage in my case for my penknife, deep in the folds of miscellaneous clothing, so that I can cut the cable tie that secures her case. Then we have to open up her case at the check-in and throw out knickers, camisoles, handcuffs, socks and other impedimenta to find two AAA batteries. And all because Jane cannot tell a little untruth. I tell you, if she weren’t recovering from an illness…
It was only an hour to Melbourne (and half an hour on the time zone) by air, and then – at last – we were reunited with Laura and Derek, and Phase 1 of The Great Adventure finally ended. Of course, the weather was overcast, 19ºC, with a cool breeze, though Laura reckoned it had been 40ºC just the other day. The weather jinx continues to follow us.
We were soon loaded into Laura & Derek’s car and heading for Geelong, about an hour and a half away – a bit like Southampton and Melbury, I suppose, in terms of distance. I am coming to the conclusion that all of Australia is very like America in terms of infrastructure and layout: very wide, straight roads on which drivers pick a lane and stay with it – or change over as the whim takes them; suburban roads lined with light industry, garages and tyre fitters, or fast food places; older residential bungalows sometimes slotted in with the retail outlets (or, more likely, vice versa).
The motorway from Melbourne was quite busy, not unlike the M4, and this is not unusual, for Geelong is quite a big city at about 188,000 population. Laura and Derek have a large bungalow (they just call them ‘houses’) in the suburbs and we settled in very comfortably. Their daughter and son-in-law are staying too, as their house is still being built. The latter also have two large dogs, one a Golden Retriever and the other a Great Dane/Mastiff cross, but they live outside. No comment about me and dogs, please.
Phase 1 – the end of the beginning – is over.
Day 43
Well, it is Tuesday 21 February and it is bright and sunny, 20ºC, though with a cool breeze. We were off to the Old Naval Academy in Geelong, which is now a maritime museum. It proved to be a fascinating place, with some very good exhibits, but heavily under-patronised: our arrival caused something of a stir, and we were the only visitors. They had to go through and turn on the lights for us. The building – Osborne House – was relatively small but had been an RAN academy in WW1 (I presume not the only one in Australia). I was unable to discover when the Navy moved out. It was a rather nice building, it seemed a shame to see it under-utilised in such a way.
Afterwards, we went for lunch at a fish restaurant on the waterfront, where we sat on the roof and tried to get through a mound of seafood (without success). It was gorgeous in the sunshine, but cool in the breeze, so you never knew whether to wear a sweater or not – though Mrs Shacklepin had no difficulty making the decision. Geelong comes across as delightful in the seafront area which has been very tastefully developed and almost has a Monte Carlo air (without the yachts). We have yet to see the main city, so I will comment on that later.
Our second visit was to the National Wool Museum, which sounds dull, but actually proved to be very interesting. I thought that the first settlers had just imported sheep, shoved them in a field, and hoped for the best and – indeed – they more or less did. However, British sheep rearing techniques did not work in Australia, partly because of the harsher climate, partly because of the flora, and partly because of disease or infestation. So they actually had a very hard time getting the whole thing going. Even today, viability is up and down with the weather, but of course that is true of all farming. The museum explained how wool is made with the aid of hand-operated machines, and it was easy to understand it that way. Also at the museum was an exhibition of International Wildlife Photography, with some stunning photographs that kept us occupied for quite a while. Afterwards, I wanted to buy a genuine Australian wool sweater in the shop, and found a good one. However, the price was $AUS200 (about £120) and I really couldn’t justify that.
It was clearly graduation day at the nearby university, for the promenade was full of pretty young things flouncing around wearing gowns and mortar boards. Ah, those heady days, I remember them well. Let them have their moment of elation and reward; reality will kick in soon enough.
Day 44
Wednesday 22 February. A warm day at last: 31ºC, and we are off to the Botanical Gardens in Geelong for a guided tour. It would appear that every Australian town has a botanical garden, and Jane is keen to visit every one.
Jane loves these places, because it gives her the chance to speak Plant. The volunteer guide proved to be the perfect interlocutor, and soon the two of them were nattering away in Plant, almost to the exclusion of everyone else. It always reminds me of that piece by Flanders and Swann about the two professors, “Ah, H2SO4 Professor – and the cube root of Pi to your good wife..”. I tried to join in, but I just can’t pick up Plant, and my attempts to do so have been met with disdain (“How can it be a tradescantia – look at the leaves!”). Notwithstanding all this, the Botanical Garden tour was very enjoyable, and the insects particularly enjoyed my legs: white, fat and juicy with a new flavour.
The evening was spent watching a film outdoors in a brewery car park, as you do. I tell you, this place is upside down in more ways than one. There is a local microbrewery called Little Creatures here and they have utilised a spare warehouse as an enormous bar, where we had a preparatory drink. Then, at 2000, we walked out into the car park, which was covered in Astroturf, and where an inflatable screen had been erected. We sat on folding directors chairs, but we could have chosen single or double beanbags at the front if we had wanted to. Everyone seems to be clutching a pint, but it all seemed good-hearted. The film, ‘Kenny’, was a comedy, based on fact, about a bloke who worked for a firm providing portable lavatories to outdoor events; it was hilarious once we had tuned in to the Australian accent. I was struck by how good an idea it was to use a temporarily unused brewery car park for an outdoor cinema and – indeed – to use a huge warehouse as a bar. It is a pity we could not do that in Melbury (I suppose we could, but we would all freeze to death).
My insect bites were playing up a bit when we got back, and I thought I’d better put some antihistamine cream on. I offered the cream to Jane, but she declined as it turned out that I had been using haemorrhoid cream on my spots. In my defence, I would say that the cream reduced the itching and swelling very well, and facilitated movement in a whole new way.
Day 45
Thursday 23 February dawned with sunny intervals and a temperature of 22ºC. The visit today was to an animal sanctuary called Jerralinga, where there was a range of birds and animals from Australia. Jane loved this because it had wombats. Jane loves wombats. I think they may have taken over from penguins. This was the first time that I have had a conversation with a parrot that really could speak. I wanted to teach it to say, “Bloody weather!”, but it didn’t work. We saw wombats, koalas, wallabies, kangaroos, emus, echidnas (sort of hedgehog), dingoes, lizards and more wombats. There was a possum too, but he was asleep. The place was clearly run on charity, because the fabric was a bit rundown, but the animals were well cared for and Jane got to stroke a wombat, which chirped her up enormously. Lots of pictures were taken, of course, and these will be displayed at regular intervals when we get back to UK.
Lunch in a hotel al fresco was followed by a wander along the beach at a place called Barwon Heads: beautiful white sand and turquoise sea, but it felt somewhat fresh in the breeze. Jane tried a toe in the water, and came out faster than she went in. Ah, I thought, South Shields South Foreshore on a typical summer’s day.
Cider is very big here, and it has equal popularity with beer in terms of preference. We called at a cider place (cidery?) for Derek to top up a flagon from draught, and there was a large range available. We were persuaded to have a tasting and they gave us a paddle, with four large holes in it, to hold four half-pint glasses (called ‘pots’ here). Jane and I tried five types between us (and liked almost all of them), and most were very pale – almost like a white wine. I was a bit squiffy by the time we left, as Jane didn’t drink her fair share. Maybe there is scope for us to revive the UK cider industry using these ideas.
We came back to see the bins being emptied. I don’t mean we came back just to see it, I mean we came back and it was happening. Heh, this was amazing! They have the lorry, but not the blokes running after it. There is just the driver, and the lorry has this articulated arm on the side that reaches out and grabs the wheelie bin on the side of the road, tipping it into the side of the lorry without the driver getting out. It must take a bit of practice to position it correctly, but it was fascinating to watch and very quick. It needs a clear road, of course; if some fool leaves his car out and in the way, then the bin doesn’t get emptied. Otherwise, however, I thought it was a brilliant system. I wanted to take a photograph, but the bloke was too quick for me.
Day 46
Friday 24 February. Alas, another overcast day at 19ºC, but never mind – Jane is better, out of hospital, and we are on holiday.
The postmen here ride around on Honda 50s and stuff the letters into US-style mailboxes without getting off. The mail is carried in the panniers. I thought they were delivering incredibly small pizzas until it was explained to me. A sort of Australian version of Postman Pat, though he might run over Jess, his black and white cat.
Today, we went to the Spirit of ANZAC Commemoration, which celebrated 100 years of the ANZAC alliance. It was a series of displays set out in a large basketball stadium and was very well done, covering mainly WW1. We were issued with audio players, which activated with an appropriate commentary wherever we stood. If you wanted to know more about a particular display, then you held the audio player against a red disc and it tagged the subject for downloading to your iPhone later. The displays were very good and informative, but the thing was marred by a party of primary school children who swarmed around the place like ants, pushing in front of us when we were reading, and tagging the red discs like they were collecting Pokemon cards. They were clearly competing with each other to establish who could collect the most, and not taking in any of the information to their brains at all. After a while it became rather tiresome and it spoiled the visit. I did notice the whole party being given a damned good dressing down by the teachers later, but by then it was too late. It looks like I shall have to add children to The List – a pity, as I am very fond of them as a general rule. Stop snorting at the back.
Laura and Derek had a meeting of their wine club in the evening, and so we met more Australians and had a jolly good drink. It is a club of about thirty who meet monthly, taking turns to arrange wine tastings on various themes and sometimes taking the form of overnight visits to wineries. It is an informal affair, but with a serious aim. Tonight, for example, we are doing blind tastings of eight wines: four white and four red. The aim is to allocate points and to try to identify the grape and the winery. I asked Derek where the crachoir de dégustation was, and I thought he muttered something about finding it with the finger bowls, napkins and cake forks in the Drawing Room, but I must have misheard, because he then said, “Nar, mate. Life’s too short to spit out good wine. We just drink it”. Oh well, if you insist. It turned out to be a very convivial evening, with about twenty people turning up; but it was a challenge to our constitutions and Jane had developed the bounce-off-the-bulkhead symptoms as the evening concluded.
Day 47
Saturday 25 February. Sunny intervals and 19 ºC, with a brisk cool breeze again, alas. We are off to Sydney for a week to give Laura and Derek a bit of space and to give them time to cash that prescription for Valium. Jane is feeling distinctly fragile this morning and, indeed, I delayed getting out of bed myself lest my head should fall off.
I don’t believe this. We have just looked at the weather forecast and Sydney, previously basking in 40 degree heat, is now scheduled for thunderstorms all week, and a temperature of 25ºC maximum. While we are away, Geelong, meanwhile, is set to have full sun and temperatures up to the mid thirties. I cannot believe that we are going to have to take our waterproofs to Sydney of all places. That jinx is still working.
We occupied the morning attending the local Pako Festival in Geelong – a multicultural event aimed at integrating all the different ethnic groups in the city. It was a bit like the Melbury Carnival and Food Festival beefed up to a bigger scale, with almost every nation in the UN represented, all in traditional dress. It was OK, but became a bit tedious after a while. I did wonder, at one point, whether the parade was going round in a circle, for it seemed never-ending. There were lots of food stalls and the road was packed with people, pushchairs and dogs shuffling along. It became just a little too much after a while, and we baled out.
We flew to Sydney from the local airport, Avalon, which is one of those small airports used by budget carriers that are supposed to be near a big city. Avalon is just such an airport for Melbourne, though the latter must be about 50 miles away. There is no EasyJet here, but Jetstar, with whom we flew, was virtually identical even to the crew uniform. Avalon is an airport almost like small regional aerodromes used to be in the 1960s in the UK: small, no fuss, easy to use. If it weren’t for the security screening it would be identical, though they didn’t weigh us like they used to in the olden days. We flew by an A320, so the flight was quite civilised, and I cannot remember a time when flying was so easy and stress-free (if you don’t count the baby, who screamed throughout the entire one-hour flight).
As predicted, Sydney was in a rainstorm when we arrived at 1800, and we were disappointed – a sentiment exacerbated by the $AUS50 taxi fare from the airport. However, our hotel, the Tank Stream, right in the middle of the city, proved excellent and we soon settled in on the fifteenth floor. We did not fancy wandering wet streets looking for restaurants, so we dined in the hotel’s ‘French Restaurant with a Japanese Twist’. The food was good, service a bit slow, but – worst of all – it was freezing cold. Damned air conditioning again. We never did find out where the Japanese Twist came in.
And so to bed, where we slept like tops.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 