Tag Archives: Travel

The secret signs of cleaners

So I am in Brisbane at the moment.

My last night in fact and tonight, when I got back to my room and headed straight for the bathroom I sighed with contentment when I noticed the message from the cleaner:

The sign of attention to detail

Whenever I see the little folded triangles it’s like the cleaner has left a little sign for me.

See, they are saying, I have cleaned your room.

And I, as the temporary occupant think, yes. My room is clean.

Indeed, the dirty dishes I left soaking on the sink have been cleaned thoroughly and put away.

Perhaps I would feel that my room was clean even if the only thing touched was the toilet paper… it’s possible.

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It made me feel better although I am not sure the other occupants of my domicile noticed.

However.

I don’t think the secret sign necessarily means attention to detail.

Witness:

That is a pillow

Just sayin’

Feeling like a grown up

There are a few times during your life when you feel like a grown up.

Antler New Zero cabin and medium sizes

You know, even at the age of forty-something-let’s-not-go-there, inside I still feel 17…okay maybe 22, are you the same?

And when I look in the mirror or catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window of the train sometimes I get a little unpleasant shock.

But there have been times in my life when I’ve suddenly thought… shit.  I’m a grown up.

Owning a mortgage on a house with a linen cupboard and larder – felt like a grown up then!

When I walked out of the hospital with my newborn.

The first time I travelled on my own.

Wearing matching underwear for the first time.

And today when I picked up my first ever set of matching luggage.

Grown. Up.

The luggage

I wanted matching cases, with the small one able to be used as hand luggage on domestic flights.

They had to have spinners – four wheels.

And they had to have those in-built groovy combination locking mechanisms.

I really wanted red luggage.

But.

This stuff was 41% off so it was practically free right?
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I could live with bronze.

Happiness.

So why does it have to be matched luggage?

You know, I don’t know.

I mean the times I will actually use both at the same time will be few and far between.

And it’s not as if there are luggage police – well not ones that are interested in whether they match or not.

“Excuse me madam, we see you don’t have matching luggage… please come this way…”

Or.

“Last month you were spotted with a black suitcase, today yours is bronze… please explain!”

Bronze.  A fancy pants way of saying beige.

Matched luggage is just… nice.

Smart.

Grown up.

So ‘fess up.

What makes you feel grown up?

And how old are you inside?

😉

Navigation fail in Sydney

It's iconic

Gotta love Sydney.

Well I do.

I guess it’s because I spent a couple of months at a critical age in this fair town… and because I consider Sydney to be to Perth’s somewhat brash teenage self an…

Older, gay uncle?

Worldly, confident spinster aunt?

Or is that Melbourne?

Whatever… I love Sydney.

I love the water, the casual confidence of its inhabitants, the fact you can find scrambled eggs and toast for $7 on a Sunday morning.

I know that Perth people are weeping  into their $4.50 coffees right now.

Seven bucks.

Perth prices are outrageous.

But I digress.

What was I saying?

Oh yes, Sydney.

City crush.

Loved this
Gotta love a city with grafitti like this
Loved this memorial to women who came out because of the Irish famine
She looks determined doesn't she... the new St Mary...

So I’m completely in love with Sydney again and I stay with my friend who I lived with way back in the day when I lived and partied in Sydney.

She lived in Greenwich and she still does so I figured I’d catch the ferry over for old times sake.

Those following me on twitter would have seen how the story unfolded:

Cellobella At circular quay waiting for the greenwich ferry. Life is good. 🙂

Cellobella Forgot how much I love the ferry service in sydney. #wanttoliveinsydney 🙂

Cellobella @deeleea totes. It’s such a nice way to get around. Feels like a treat not public transport. 🙂

Cellobella Lol just discovered I’m on completely the wrong ferry. It’s back to circular quay for me. #whatanidiot

Cellobella Bored of being on ferry now #navigationfail

My friend had texted me and when I said oh I was just at Watson’s Bay, rang me to tell me I’d caught a ferry going in completely the opposite direction.

It’s been twenty years since I lived in Sydney.

So I changed ferries…

Me on the RIGHT ferry

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And I spent the night in Greenwich and we reminisced about old times…

Going to Rogues…

On our way out to Rogues back in 1991...

OMG yes… check out those clip-on earrings… oh dear me… such glamour.

We drank wine and discussed how we met the drummer of Air Supply and he told us that Mariah Carey was the next big thing.

We talked more about Rogues… well it was our favourite nightclub.

Hey that was a designer dress... stop laughing!

Thought you might like to see the full look.

We haven’t changed a bit!

Okay maybe a bit.

Don’t you love the tassles?

Not enough dresses these days have tassles IMHO.

This was my outfit of choice for going to the casino back in Perth – but I wore it with a waist length wig.

And then it started raining.

And I fell asleep to the sound of rain on the roof and actually I didn’t sleep well because it was soooo noisy.

Such a novelty to hear rain though.

*slaps self* This is not going to be a weather post.

Next morning I waited patiently for the rain to stop.

But it was torrential.

And, with a coffee date in the city I had to get going.

‘sif a Perth person is going to have an umbrella!

Monday morning was... wet.

I could feel the rain slide off the back of my jacket, through my top and slip down the back of my jeans.

Cl-assy.

I was wet wet wet.

But still happy to be in Sydney.

Even though I was a little over the rain.

I dried out about 3pm.

Ahhh my dear Uncle Syd.

See ya next time.

Peeps… Gay uncle?  Worldly older cousin?  What do you think?

Blogging that conference

image

How does that saying go… It’s as pretty as an airport?

Well I made it.

Packed this morning so probably forgot something important.

Certainly concerned that haven’t brought “right” clothes for the event.  What does one wear to a bloggers conference anyway?

Too late to worry about that now.

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Should board shortly. Do I have time for a quick wee?

Not if I keep blogging.

Exciting club!

Sydney here I come!

Ah. Ten minute delay. Excuse me while I powder my nose.

Markets, Massage and Mozaic

How good is Bali?

It’s just so relaxed and friendly.

Breakfast in the gazebo

Okay I am staying in a luxury villa with hot and cold running butlers – which incidentally costs less per night than a dodgy motel in Karratha – but even so.

This morning we were woken by our butler carrying our picnic breakfast which he set up in our private gazebo.

We wandered out in our kimonos and chilled out with our tropical fruit juices reading the little “compilation” newspaper.

Then we went to central Ubud to the markets where it took a little while to get into the bargaining thing.

Ubud markets

The exchange rate is terrific right now and I needed reminding that really I was talking the difference between 5 and 6 dollars for a dress.

We then went for suckling pig everyone tells you to try if you go to Ubud… opposite the Palace, don’t miss it, you sit on grass mats, and the crackling is the best I’ve ever tasted…

Well I wouldn’t go that far – I can make mean crackling – but the pork is delicious and the Bintang cool and refreshing on a warm day after an hours frantic bargaining.

We got back to the villa in time for a little swim in our private pool and relax before calling for the electric buggy to take us down to the spa.

Traditional Balinese massages for two please and go hard.
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overlooking the Ayung River

The massage room overlooks the Ayung River and the little black undies they give you are hilarious… more hilarious on Groover it must be said.

The massage was lovely.

Afterwards we grabbed umbrellas to shield us from the afternoon downpour and strolled among the frogs to the restaurant for afternoon tea – or in this case double shot espressos.

Then the buggy again to take us back to our villa.

Tonight we went to dinner at Mozaic – apparently the most famous restaurant in Ubud (probably after that suckling pig place the name of which I can’t remember).

We had the discovery degustation menu and the premium wine selection which was gorgeous.

It is heaven here.

And you know what?

Some people live like this all the time.

Sigh.

Imagine that.

Holiday to Bali – My job

At the airport.

When travelling Groover and I share the responsibilities.

He books everything and I fill out the forms.

Me. Doing what I do best.

I thought that was unique to us but having coffee at the airport this morning filling out our exit forms for immigration, I discovered this is a common division of labour.

Several of my travelling sisters were engaged in filling out forms while their menkind browsed the duty free.

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More suited to a feminine penmanship perhaps.

In any case, its my job and I know Groover misses my service when he travels alone.

The filling out form service.

Oh and probably one or two other things…

The bus nazi

On Wednesday I caught the bus from Esperance to Kalgoorlie… it was quite the experience.

It’s pretty cheap – only $52 for a five hour ride through the flat brown land into the desert.

The bus was about five minutes late and when the driver pulled up he jumped out, flung open the luggage compartment and started shouting.

“You!  Are you going to Kalgoorlie?  Put your luggage in here now!”

Yes the soup nazi’s cousin was in charge of the bus.

“Make sure you sit in the seat you’ve been allocated!”

“Noone is allowed to sit in the back seat… you hear that kids.”

“Don’t put your feet on the seats!”

My allocated seat was right at the front of the bus and as we drove out of Esperance I overheard him talking to the office in Kalgoorlie.

Apparently he’d picked up the bus to find the television broken and that the back seats had been urinated on.

Ewwww.

No wonder he was a little grumpy, I actually started feeling a bit sorry for him.

After all he was trying to do his best.

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I moved back.

He was a short man with a loud voice, I wasn’t going to argue.

The bus was pretty empty and there was lots of choice.

When we got to Norseman I got myself a coffee and shared a picnic table with a truckie called Jeff.

He was heading up to visit a prospector mate in Kalgoorlie.

We had a nice chat but soon the bus nazi was agitating for us all to get back on the bus.

I threw the rest of my coffee out and clambered back on.

All in all the journey was quite good.

The seats comfortable (even if some of them urine soaked) and with spare seats abounding, plenty of room to spread out.

The movies were woeful.

Still if you’ve got a good book and a phone – no problem.

And if talking on the phone irritates the driver at least it doesn’t interfere with the navigation systems.

My boy is back

HUGOBACK

Dirty, a bit smelly, wearing clown pants… but back.

hugoback2

We missed you!

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One line we heard on the way back from the airport… when describing the amount of merchants vying for their business when they went to the Taj Mahal – “So many you could have seen them on Google Earth!”

🙂

Happiness.

White sheets and small shampoo bottles

No surprises with the title of this post that you find your correspondent ensconsed in a hotel room.

In Canberra.  The bush capital.

So much a bush capital that I spied a dead kangaroo on one of the medium strips on the way in from the airport.  It looked odd on the lush green lawn of the strip, I’m more used to seeing them on the soft gravel edge of a country highway.

I wonder if they’ll clear it away before the dawn breaks…

I haven’t spent a lot of time in Canberra.

Are there shops?

I assume there must be but I didn’t see anything but office blocks on the way to the hotel.

There’s not a lot of neon in Canberra.
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The hotel room is very nice.  The sheets are crisp and white.  The bed – king-sized – is on a raised dais.  I feel as if I’m on the set of a porn film.

A very beige porn film with a contrasting throw over the foot of the bed.

And that’s appropriate as Canberra is the porn capital of Australia as well isn’t it.

It’s hard to imagine frankly.

Apart from the raised dais and the king-sized bed, the neat streets, dead kangaroos notwithstanding, seem an unlikely location for vice.

I’m here for two days.  Any suggestions for fun things to do?  Places to shop?

Not porn, though, thanks.

Taking things personally

When do you get upset with technology?

I’ve discovered that I’m quick to move to tears when it gets personal.

No, I’m not talking about that pink plastic machine that lives in handy reach under my bed, the one once described as “disgusting” by a curious child.

Even when the batteries die I know Mr Electric isn’t doing it on purpose or in some fit of pique or is sulking because I didn’t put the cushions on his side of the bed on the floor…

Same with computers.  

They can be frustrating, I grant you, but they rarely turn me into a quivering wreck, tears streaming down my face, bottom lip (not to mention bottom) wobbling.

No, what really gets me is when the piece of software or technology appears to work for someone else but not for me – even when I’m doing EXACTLY the same thing.

Case in point the GPS unit in the car we borrowed for the drive south.

Every time I tried to input our destination it refused to let me – the options on the screen remained life grey and lifeless – and yet, when Groover had a go – you guessed it – everything worked.

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I pressed destination, Groover it must be said somewhat smugly replied.

But that’s what I did!  It HATES me!

Being a girl, I turned to the instruction manual.  No answers.

It wasn’t until we hit a traffic snarl at Mandurah that I worked it out.

The GPS doesn’t let you input addresses while you are moving.

It’s not a bug, it’s a safety feature.

(and come to think of it… I did see some grey box flash up on the screen when I turned it on… but who reads those pesky boxes?)

It was somewhat galling to realise that not only was the machine working perfectly, it was even looking after my safety.

Which is more than I can say for Mr Electric!