So, we've moved a few miles further south. Only a few, though; we're on Green Island, a jewel of a sand cay 45 minutes by ferry from Cairns. It's the only tropical island in the world that has both beach and rainforest, but don't get carried away, you can walk around it in 30 minutes, so it's not a leviathon in island terms (in the way that Greenland is, for example). And apologies in advance if my prose becomes a little flowery, or my spelling a little erratci - I've just polished off 4 glasses of wine...
Green Island is on the inner Barrier Reef, and since arriving here yesterday we've experienced fish-feeding at 5.00pm (where the Reef Sharks, moon fish, yellow-tails, trevali's, seargent major fish and turtles turn up so promptly you can't help but wonder if they have an alarm clock secreted away in the coral), a glass bottomed-boat trip that knocked anything we've seen on Maurituis (sp) into a cocked hat, a plane trip over the reef that sent Boy #2 into an ecstatic trance and Boy #1 suffering from air sickness, and oh, yes. Boy #2 has been ill.
Not convenient in our current location, when it's a 15 minute and A$400 helicopter ride from the nearest doctor, but he seems to be getting it over it now...
Would we come back? Hell, yes. Though perhaps with antibiotics at the ready.
Saturday, 31 May 2008
Thursday, 29 May 2008
Reality checks...
They're piling up thick and fast...
...like when Boy #2’s first 4 syllable word is ‘Babycino’ – or, as he pronounced it, ‘Beybeecheeenow’... He’s 2 years old. I didn’t even drink my first coffee until I was around 16, let alone know what a cappuccino is. What’s going on? (Note; a babycino, for those who haven't had the pleasure, is an attempt to keep your beloved offspring quiet whilst you sip your own beverage, and consists of an espresso-sized cup of milk froth with a sprinkle of chocolate on the top. No coffee involved...)
...or when you are in a swimming pool with your older son trying to encourage him to float without armbands, and he manages it, shouting in high excitement “Look at me! Look at me!!”
“I am looking, well done!” you reply in your best motivational tone. He replies witheringly “Not you, mama. The girls!”
When you realise that your sons have each flown more miles in the first 2 and 4 years of their lives than you had flown in the first 35 of yours...
When your younger son climbs into his airplane seat – and straps himself in.
I think it’s nearly time to head for home...
...like when Boy #2’s first 4 syllable word is ‘Babycino’ – or, as he pronounced it, ‘Beybeecheeenow’... He’s 2 years old. I didn’t even drink my first coffee until I was around 16, let alone know what a cappuccino is. What’s going on? (Note; a babycino, for those who haven't had the pleasure, is an attempt to keep your beloved offspring quiet whilst you sip your own beverage, and consists of an espresso-sized cup of milk froth with a sprinkle of chocolate on the top. No coffee involved...)
...or when you are in a swimming pool with your older son trying to encourage him to float without armbands, and he manages it, shouting in high excitement “Look at me! Look at me!!”
“I am looking, well done!” you reply in your best motivational tone. He replies witheringly “Not you, mama. The girls!”
When you realise that your sons have each flown more miles in the first 2 and 4 years of their lives than you had flown in the first 35 of yours...
When your younger son climbs into his airplane seat – and straps himself in.
I think it’s nearly time to head for home...
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Port Douglas
We're nearing the end of our Australian idyll, and are now in swanky Port Douglas enjoying some classic southern hemisphere contrasts, along with a mixture of rain and sunshine.
To those of us raised in mild, predictable Northern Europe, this can be a bit of a shock...
We've enjoyed blistering sunshine followed by pelting rain, and back again - all within a period of around 10 minutes. A taxi-driver this evening told us that on one day in February this year they had 11 inches of rain. ELEVEN INCHES! This should give some idea of how northern Queensland can be a land of some extremes. It's hot and damp, but dry. It's sophisticated, but not. It's 5 star, but it isn't. We landed in a downpour, but all the rivers seem to be drying out. Apparantly they've not had rain for 2 months - before our arrival, obviously - but I've seldom seen a greener landscape, more verdant hillsides, or lusher forests. On a crocodile-sighting trip up the river this afternoon, which had Boy #1 giggling with delight whilst viewing a 4 1/2 metre example sunning himself itself on a river bank, the tour guide announced that they did have sharks in the Daintree river - but only little ones. Bull sharks. The ones that measure around 1.5 metres.
A 1.5 metre shark is a little one? I'll not be donning a cossie right now, thanks very much - and that's leaving aside the jellyfish lacing the water with their tentacles of death, meaning all but a swimming pool is off limits for a cooling dip. These jellyfish are known locally, and misguidingly, as 'stingers'. To those of us raised in cooler climates to whom 'stingers' suggests something akin to nettles that can lead to a nasty rash, be warned. These things can literally kill you. Whilst looking very pretty in a north Australia styley, of course.
So, in short, North Queensland. Look, admire, but don't touch...
And here's something of a conundrum for you. You're travelling through an airport, let's say, in Brisbane, Australia. You have the following in your hand-luggage; A bottle of milk (for your 2 year old, to help combat any pain in his ears whilst coming down from altitude when your plane lands). A set of nail-clippers with a potentially 'lethal '2 inch file attached. A 500ml bottle of water - or is it? A tube of mascara. A toy plastic snake.
Which of the above do you reckon will be confiscated by the numpties on the x-ray machine at airport security?
I'll give you a clue.
It's the one that results in your 4 year old bursting into inconsolable fits of tears as you have to tell him that the toy he was bought at Australia Zoo was deemed too dangerous (by the numpties) to take on board an airplane in case it frightens the other passengers.
What is this world coming to?
Note: For the tender hearted amongst you, the snake is long-gone in Boy #1's memory. It has been replaced as the object of his affections by a cuddly shark which he has been waving around at every opportunity, most noticeably in the restaurants where we've had dinner the last couple of nights. As a flirting accessory with women on average 24 years older than him it's been an unmitigated success. With the exception of course of the waitress who he ambushed with a cuddly shark nip as she walked past, who responded:
"Don't be riduculous, it's just a stuffed toy!"
I wonder if that's the first time she's said that?
To those of us raised in mild, predictable Northern Europe, this can be a bit of a shock...
We've enjoyed blistering sunshine followed by pelting rain, and back again - all within a period of around 10 minutes. A taxi-driver this evening told us that on one day in February this year they had 11 inches of rain. ELEVEN INCHES! This should give some idea of how northern Queensland can be a land of some extremes. It's hot and damp, but dry. It's sophisticated, but not. It's 5 star, but it isn't. We landed in a downpour, but all the rivers seem to be drying out. Apparantly they've not had rain for 2 months - before our arrival, obviously - but I've seldom seen a greener landscape, more verdant hillsides, or lusher forests. On a crocodile-sighting trip up the river this afternoon, which had Boy #1 giggling with delight whilst viewing a 4 1/2 metre example sunning himself itself on a river bank, the tour guide announced that they did have sharks in the Daintree river - but only little ones. Bull sharks. The ones that measure around 1.5 metres.
A 1.5 metre shark is a little one? I'll not be donning a cossie right now, thanks very much - and that's leaving aside the jellyfish lacing the water with their tentacles of death, meaning all but a swimming pool is off limits for a cooling dip. These jellyfish are known locally, and misguidingly, as 'stingers'. To those of us raised in cooler climates to whom 'stingers' suggests something akin to nettles that can lead to a nasty rash, be warned. These things can literally kill you. Whilst looking very pretty in a north Australia styley, of course.
So, in short, North Queensland. Look, admire, but don't touch...
And here's something of a conundrum for you. You're travelling through an airport, let's say, in Brisbane, Australia. You have the following in your hand-luggage; A bottle of milk (for your 2 year old, to help combat any pain in his ears whilst coming down from altitude when your plane lands). A set of nail-clippers with a potentially 'lethal '2 inch file attached. A 500ml bottle of water - or is it? A tube of mascara. A toy plastic snake.
Which of the above do you reckon will be confiscated by the numpties on the x-ray machine at airport security?
I'll give you a clue.
It's the one that results in your 4 year old bursting into inconsolable fits of tears as you have to tell him that the toy he was bought at Australia Zoo was deemed too dangerous (by the numpties) to take on board an airplane in case it frightens the other passengers.
What is this world coming to?
Note: For the tender hearted amongst you, the snake is long-gone in Boy #1's memory. It has been replaced as the object of his affections by a cuddly shark which he has been waving around at every opportunity, most noticeably in the restaurants where we've had dinner the last couple of nights. As a flirting accessory with women on average 24 years older than him it's been an unmitigated success. With the exception of course of the waitress who he ambushed with a cuddly shark nip as she walked past, who responded:
"Don't be riduculous, it's just a stuffed toy!"
I wonder if that's the first time she's said that?
Saturday, 24 May 2008
Not enough space to swing a cat...
It’s a scary moment when you realise that you can run through almost your entire morning beauty routine without looking in a mirror. Does that mean I’ve finally given up battling the march of Time? Or does it just mean that we are cruising up the Sunshine Coast of Queensland in a motor home, and I’ve been using campsite shower facilities for the first time in around 20 years?
It’s the latter – for the moment, at any rate.
Now, for any of you who have picked up on Boy #1's long-standing interest in all things Crocodile Hunter, you will be pleased to hear that we have finally made it the Mother Lode - Australia Zoo.
Let’s be honest, the zoo is one of the main reasons we made this trip in the first place, so we couldn’t miss that out. Boy #1 was very excited about our visit, although it transpired when we reached the zoo that he was expecting ‘Princess’ Bindi (his words, not mine – probably related to the enormous poster of her wearing a tiara at the ticket gate) to greet us in person, and when I explained to him that today was a school day in Australia and that was where she would probably be, he asked the following, pertinent, question.
“Why do they put her on all the pictures if she’s not going to be there then?”
Welcome to the deceitful world of Marketing, my 4 year old son... (I can say that, by the way, since it was my bread and butter for so many years...)
In brief, we picked up the van in Brisbane on Tuesday and since then have luxuriated in the sun on Noosa beach, visited The Zoo, pounded the highway northwards towards Agnes Waters, not made it that far (but it looked so close on the map), and settled on Bargara as a stop instead. We are now in Coola Beach, having visited Rainbow Beach on the way, and are heading for Cairns by plane tomorrow. It's been a busy few days. And, whilst I've been mainly pleasantly surprised by camper van living, I'm quite glad it's almost over.
It's been a novel experience for us. Husband has done all the driving since I was foolish /smart enough (delete as you see fit) to forget my driving licence. It’s a decent enough size, which is to say not very big, and is full of cunning little ways of saving space and ensuring that glasses etc don’t get smashed whilst we are bombing along the Bruce Highway. They don't work, by the way; we are two wine glasses down already – must have been the emergency stops we had to make to avoid the traffic jams when going too fast...
Unsurprisingly, Boy #2 has switched allegiance from the 4 x 4 we were driving in the Flinders ranges to this momma, and now his only desire is to get behind it’s wheel whenever we stop. Thank heavens we didn’t go all out and sort ourselves one of the road-kings we’ve spotted in a couple of the camp sites we’ve stopped over in; think Robert de Niro’s character’s Winnebago in ‘Meet the Fokkers’ and you’ll get the picture.
We've seen vans with extensions that telescope out when stationary, some with satellite tv, and others with awnings as big as ballrooms. Of course most have their own welcome mats, and hot and cold running bbq’s are compulsory. I even saw one with it’s own car-port and a retractable aluminium clothes horse attached to it. Some of these babies have left us feeling quite inadequate, I can tell you.
A big drawback though is how awful it is to empty the waste and loo containers of the van we’ve got; with anything bigger, I can imagine you need to get Dyno-Rod in to do the job for you when you want to sort out the toilet. Well, I say it's a drawback. I don't really know, as at the last count, it was actually Husband who has done all the dirty work. (I may be a feminist but I'm no fool). Thank heavens for my gorgeous man... In any case, since most of the serious roadsters we've seen seem to be inhabited by ‘Grey Nomads’ – not my term, one that another OAP used disparagingly about other people of his age who take trips longer than his – I can imagine that those toilet facilities - and the emptying of them - can be very important.
And there are some other factors that you might want to consider if you are looking at this type of holiday yourself. One is that if you are not the driver, you become a sort of in-flight stewardess, at your children’s beck and call when they need a drink, drop their blanket, or start fighting with each other over who has the annoyingly movable table pushed into their knees. Most of this happens in whatever sized vehicle you’re in of course, but if the Boys are sitting 8 feet away from you, you can’t just turn around in your seat and sort it out; it necessitates the sort of unseat-belted swaying progress (at an average speed of 65 mph) that would have any health & safety officer reaching for their notebook. However, as Husband reminded me smugly from the driving seat, this is my punishment for forgetting my driving licence...
The second drawback is that since it is in fact Winter here (ha!), whilst the days are warm and balmy at around 25 deg C, the evenings are just that bit too parky to sit outside in whilst the children drop off to sleep. What that actually means is that the Boys – in particular, Boy #2 – can hear us moving around. He has been taking full advantage of this, sticking his head out of the curtained off ‘shelf’ they are both sleeping on, shouting toddler versions of obscenities, growling like a lion, snorting like a pig, and generally being so frustratingly, adorably, cheeky that we are at our wit’s end to know how to deal with him.
Any suggestions on where in a camper van you can find a naughty step?
It’s the latter – for the moment, at any rate.
Now, for any of you who have picked up on Boy #1's long-standing interest in all things Crocodile Hunter, you will be pleased to hear that we have finally made it the Mother Lode - Australia Zoo.
Let’s be honest, the zoo is one of the main reasons we made this trip in the first place, so we couldn’t miss that out. Boy #1 was very excited about our visit, although it transpired when we reached the zoo that he was expecting ‘Princess’ Bindi (his words, not mine – probably related to the enormous poster of her wearing a tiara at the ticket gate) to greet us in person, and when I explained to him that today was a school day in Australia and that was where she would probably be, he asked the following, pertinent, question.
“Why do they put her on all the pictures if she’s not going to be there then?”
Welcome to the deceitful world of Marketing, my 4 year old son... (I can say that, by the way, since it was my bread and butter for so many years...)
In brief, we picked up the van in Brisbane on Tuesday and since then have luxuriated in the sun on Noosa beach, visited The Zoo, pounded the highway northwards towards Agnes Waters, not made it that far (but it looked so close on the map), and settled on Bargara as a stop instead. We are now in Coola Beach, having visited Rainbow Beach on the way, and are heading for Cairns by plane tomorrow. It's been a busy few days. And, whilst I've been mainly pleasantly surprised by camper van living, I'm quite glad it's almost over.
It's been a novel experience for us. Husband has done all the driving since I was foolish /smart enough (delete as you see fit) to forget my driving licence. It’s a decent enough size, which is to say not very big, and is full of cunning little ways of saving space and ensuring that glasses etc don’t get smashed whilst we are bombing along the Bruce Highway. They don't work, by the way; we are two wine glasses down already – must have been the emergency stops we had to make to avoid the traffic jams when going too fast...
Unsurprisingly, Boy #2 has switched allegiance from the 4 x 4 we were driving in the Flinders ranges to this momma, and now his only desire is to get behind it’s wheel whenever we stop. Thank heavens we didn’t go all out and sort ourselves one of the road-kings we’ve spotted in a couple of the camp sites we’ve stopped over in; think Robert de Niro’s character’s Winnebago in ‘Meet the Fokkers’ and you’ll get the picture.
We've seen vans with extensions that telescope out when stationary, some with satellite tv, and others with awnings as big as ballrooms. Of course most have their own welcome mats, and hot and cold running bbq’s are compulsory. I even saw one with it’s own car-port and a retractable aluminium clothes horse attached to it. Some of these babies have left us feeling quite inadequate, I can tell you.
A big drawback though is how awful it is to empty the waste and loo containers of the van we’ve got; with anything bigger, I can imagine you need to get Dyno-Rod in to do the job for you when you want to sort out the toilet. Well, I say it's a drawback. I don't really know, as at the last count, it was actually Husband who has done all the dirty work. (I may be a feminist but I'm no fool). Thank heavens for my gorgeous man... In any case, since most of the serious roadsters we've seen seem to be inhabited by ‘Grey Nomads’ – not my term, one that another OAP used disparagingly about other people of his age who take trips longer than his – I can imagine that those toilet facilities - and the emptying of them - can be very important.
And there are some other factors that you might want to consider if you are looking at this type of holiday yourself. One is that if you are not the driver, you become a sort of in-flight stewardess, at your children’s beck and call when they need a drink, drop their blanket, or start fighting with each other over who has the annoyingly movable table pushed into their knees. Most of this happens in whatever sized vehicle you’re in of course, but if the Boys are sitting 8 feet away from you, you can’t just turn around in your seat and sort it out; it necessitates the sort of unseat-belted swaying progress (at an average speed of 65 mph) that would have any health & safety officer reaching for their notebook. However, as Husband reminded me smugly from the driving seat, this is my punishment for forgetting my driving licence...
The second drawback is that since it is in fact Winter here (ha!), whilst the days are warm and balmy at around 25 deg C, the evenings are just that bit too parky to sit outside in whilst the children drop off to sleep. What that actually means is that the Boys – in particular, Boy #2 – can hear us moving around. He has been taking full advantage of this, sticking his head out of the curtained off ‘shelf’ they are both sleeping on, shouting toddler versions of obscenities, growling like a lion, snorting like a pig, and generally being so frustratingly, adorably, cheeky that we are at our wit’s end to know how to deal with him.
Any suggestions on where in a camper van you can find a naughty step?
Monday, 19 May 2008
Note to self...
...high-heeled boots are not necessary for a trip to the Outback.
We've spent the last 3 days travelling north from Adelaide with some friends in a couple of 4x4's, and the weather has finally broken. It's hard to feel bad about that, since parts of this area haven't seen rain for a year, whilst other parts haven't had a proper drenching in 3, but really - couldn't they have waited until our visit was over?
Even with the rain-clouds however we've had a wonderful time, surrounded by landscapes ranging from lush and green, to dry and scrubby, through to bright red lunar desert. We visited Wilpena Pound and took a walk accompanied by kangaroos through mountain pines. We've checked out Aboriginal rock engravings in Sacred Canyon. We've driven off-road through landscapes only previously seen (by us) in spaghetti westerns, and stopped at the side of the track to photograph emus. We also stayed over at the Prairie Hotel in Parachilna, famed for it's local fare (emu sausages, anyone?), which I can highly recommend. I just wish I hadn't had that 3rd piece of kangaroo filet...
But enough of the brochure-speak. You want the fun stuff, right? You will no doubt be delighted to hear that this part of our trip has only been slightly marred by Boy #2 who, having experienced 4x4 travel for the first time in his life, has decided that the only place to be when surrounded by glorious wilderness is, of course, in the car. Preferably in the driving seat. Every time we walked away from the landcruiser, he made a beeline for the best seat in the house, and had to be dragged kicking and screaming away from it.
Men. If he hadn't had to drive an average of 500 km a day for the last 4 days, I'm sure Husband would have behaved the same way if he thought he could get away with it...
We've spent the last 3 days travelling north from Adelaide with some friends in a couple of 4x4's, and the weather has finally broken. It's hard to feel bad about that, since parts of this area haven't seen rain for a year, whilst other parts haven't had a proper drenching in 3, but really - couldn't they have waited until our visit was over?
Even with the rain-clouds however we've had a wonderful time, surrounded by landscapes ranging from lush and green, to dry and scrubby, through to bright red lunar desert. We visited Wilpena Pound and took a walk accompanied by kangaroos through mountain pines. We've checked out Aboriginal rock engravings in Sacred Canyon. We've driven off-road through landscapes only previously seen (by us) in spaghetti westerns, and stopped at the side of the track to photograph emus. We also stayed over at the Prairie Hotel in Parachilna, famed for it's local fare (emu sausages, anyone?), which I can highly recommend. I just wish I hadn't had that 3rd piece of kangaroo filet...
But enough of the brochure-speak. You want the fun stuff, right? You will no doubt be delighted to hear that this part of our trip has only been slightly marred by Boy #2 who, having experienced 4x4 travel for the first time in his life, has decided that the only place to be when surrounded by glorious wilderness is, of course, in the car. Preferably in the driving seat. Every time we walked away from the landcruiser, he made a beeline for the best seat in the house, and had to be dragged kicking and screaming away from it.
Men. If he hadn't had to drive an average of 500 km a day for the last 4 days, I'm sure Husband would have behaved the same way if he thought he could get away with it...
Friday, 16 May 2008
Come Fly With Me...
We’ve been blazing a trail along the coast of Victoria and South Australia, taking in the Great Ocean Road, and very beautiful it all is too. The weather has been fantastic; a little chilly, but more than made up for by the same bright bright sunshine we experienced in Sydney, with the result that everything seems technicoloured. Last year I bought my first ever pair of polarised sunglasses, and was amazed by the intensity of sand, sea and sky. I even informed Husband that I might just live the rest of my life wearing them, everything looked so much nicer... Well, along this part of the coast of Australia at least, you don’t need polarised sunglasses to make everything look gorgeous – it just is.
Our plan today was to go see the 12 Apostles (I’m Catholic, how could I not?), and then take in a little-known attraction called The Otway Fly. That was our ‘plan’.
We had not, however, taken into account the following:
1. The possibility that Boy #1's knee would have a disagreement with the paving stones outside the 12 Apostles visitor centre, necessitating a great deal of screaming, crying and shivering, a trip back to the car for extensive first aid equipment (an antiseptic wipe and a couple of Winnie the Pooh plasters), and medicinal biscuits all round.
2. The fact that the subsequent walk down the paved path would take place at snail’s pace due to Boy #1’s hideous injuries.
3. The visiting Japanese tourists wanting to sit down next to Boy #1 and take his photo (have I mentioned before that my children are gorgeous? I have?), and Boy #1’s rather over-dramatic reaction of jumping up screaming, and running to me 5 yards away, before taking another 5 minutes to calm down. (To be fair to Boy #1, if I was 4 years old, and some strange man sat down next to me and put his arm along the back of the bench I was sitting on, it would probably spook me too...).
4. Boy #2’s insistence that riding in buggies is for wimps. Not only was he not going to ride in it, in fact, but he was going to push it – all by himself. Preferably into the nearest group of strangers (mostly yet more Japanese tourists), and if at all possible, into the back of the legs of whomever was taking the group photo.
So, the first part of our day took a little - longer than we had anticipated, and by the time we had reached the Otway Fly and had something to eat, it was gone 1.00pm. (I later learnt that Husband had originally planned on leaving there for our next destination around that time. If you have visited or live in Australia yourself, you will understand at this point that we are both struggling a little with the concept of the distances involved here. Oh, yes, and with the fact that everyone actually sticks to the speed limit. Which, by the way, is no bad thing - we're just not used to it.)
Now, the Otway Fly (check the link if you think you might ever be in the area, it’s really worth seeing), is meant among other things to give visitors the chance to commune with nature in a peaceful and relaxed setting.
Not today, it didn’t. Well, not with us there, at any rate.
Where can I start? Perhaps with the discovery of the Dinosaur walk that prompted loud squeals and shouts of “See that one Mama? See? See?? That one is REAAAAAAALLLLY aggressive. Look out for his claws!” Or perhaps with Boy #2’s shouts of “Wheeeeeeee!”, as he raced down the hill. Or maybe, the peace was finally broken by the rattle & hum of the buggy’s wheels on the metal grating of the Fly (if you haven’t checked the link, bet you’re curious now, huh?), that alerted not just other people but all wildlife to our arrival (I think we saw a total of around 2 birds). Or could it have been Boy #1’s shouts demanding to be carried up the rather steep hill on the way back? Well, you can’t blame him. If I could have found someone to carry me, I would have gone for it. As it was, I was too busy pushing his younger brother up like a pasha in push-chaired splendour. As I told him when I could catch my breath again, and he wanted to know why no-one would carry him, sometimes life just isn’t fair...
The woman at the ticket office had informed us the walk would take an hour. Two hours later we emerged, tired out but unbowed, only for Boy #2 to repeat his older brother’s earlier mishap with his knee on a bigger, bolder, and much bloodier scale – and of course this time the car (containing the replacement first aid kit) was 10 minutes walk away.
All together now....Come fly with me...
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
I need a hero...
So. Yesterday afternoon. Circular Quay, Sydney, Australia.
I made the mistake of stopping to watch a street performer with the Boys whilst Husband went to check out the ferry times. On his return he announced we had another 40 minutes to wait - so we decided to stay and watch the Cornish entertainer juggling with fire, knives, and a chainsaw. On a bicycle.
This turned out to be a Bad Mistake.
Not only because Boy #1 now thinks such things are perfectly feasible, and I will probably have to hide the silverware for evermore. My son has chosen to ignore the performer's repeated assurances that it took him a lifetime (well, Boy #1's lifetime, in any case) to learn how to do these tricks, thinking perhaps that this is something anyone can do in between their future careers as a lion (!) and an astronaut .
But also because both Husband and I - and particularly Husband - had a 'life flashing in front of your eyes' moment.
I may have mentioned before that Husband is tall. So when, a few minutes after his return from the quay, Street Performer Man (SPM) asked for an assistant, and specified that he wanted 'the biggest man in the crowd', Husband bent his knees, just a little. But it was too late. He had been spotted. And was pulled through the audience to help SPM climb up onto a 6 metre high pole to balance on his bicycle whilst jugging fire, knives, and eating an apple. (As you do).
For one split second I thought Husband was going to be required to stand beneath SPM during this trick, and images of knives through shoulders flashed hideously through my mind. I saw myself and the Boys languishing in Sydney whilst my beloved recovered from hideous burns in hospital.
And apparantly, from the look upon his face, Husband thought much the same thing.
Of course, nothing of the kind happened. He helped the guy up, retreated a suitable amount of feet, the trick passed off smoothly, and the only damage done was to his wallet when he gave the guy $10 at the end of the show, and to his pride when he raced back to ask if I had filmed the whole thing only to be told he had left the handicam on and that consequently we were out of battery. (And thank god I wasn't responsible for that little mishap.)
But the momentary stress was definitely worth it, because later that evening, I had the following conversation with Boy #1.
Boy #1: "Mama, you remember that juggling man?"
Me: "Yes, darling."
Boy #1: "He was doing tricks on his bicycle with knives."
Me: "Yes, he was."
Boy #1: "And he needed help! He needed the BIGGEST MAN in the audience!"
Me: "He certainly did."
Boy #1: "And that man was MY PAPA! My Papa was the Biggest Man there. Nobody else's Papa is as big as My Papa."
Hero worship can be great.
(Note: apologies if the title of this post means you now have Bonnie Tyler wailing like a Banshee in your subconcious - but at least it's got rid of the refrain from One Night in Bangkok. Oh, have you got that too, now?)
I made the mistake of stopping to watch a street performer with the Boys whilst Husband went to check out the ferry times. On his return he announced we had another 40 minutes to wait - so we decided to stay and watch the Cornish entertainer juggling with fire, knives, and a chainsaw. On a bicycle.
This turned out to be a Bad Mistake.
Not only because Boy #1 now thinks such things are perfectly feasible, and I will probably have to hide the silverware for evermore. My son has chosen to ignore the performer's repeated assurances that it took him a lifetime (well, Boy #1's lifetime, in any case) to learn how to do these tricks, thinking perhaps that this is something anyone can do in between their future careers as a lion (!) and an astronaut .
But also because both Husband and I - and particularly Husband - had a 'life flashing in front of your eyes' moment.
I may have mentioned before that Husband is tall. So when, a few minutes after his return from the quay, Street Performer Man (SPM) asked for an assistant, and specified that he wanted 'the biggest man in the crowd', Husband bent his knees, just a little. But it was too late. He had been spotted. And was pulled through the audience to help SPM climb up onto a 6 metre high pole to balance on his bicycle whilst jugging fire, knives, and eating an apple. (As you do).
For one split second I thought Husband was going to be required to stand beneath SPM during this trick, and images of knives through shoulders flashed hideously through my mind. I saw myself and the Boys languishing in Sydney whilst my beloved recovered from hideous burns in hospital.
And apparantly, from the look upon his face, Husband thought much the same thing.
Of course, nothing of the kind happened. He helped the guy up, retreated a suitable amount of feet, the trick passed off smoothly, and the only damage done was to his wallet when he gave the guy $10 at the end of the show, and to his pride when he raced back to ask if I had filmed the whole thing only to be told he had left the handicam on and that consequently we were out of battery. (And thank god I wasn't responsible for that little mishap.)
But the momentary stress was definitely worth it, because later that evening, I had the following conversation with Boy #1.
Boy #1: "Mama, you remember that juggling man?"
Me: "Yes, darling."
Boy #1: "He was doing tricks on his bicycle with knives."
Me: "Yes, he was."
Boy #1: "And he needed help! He needed the BIGGEST MAN in the audience!"
Me: "He certainly did."
Boy #1: "And that man was MY PAPA! My Papa was the Biggest Man there. Nobody else's Papa is as big as My Papa."
Hero worship can be great.
(Note: apologies if the title of this post means you now have Bonnie Tyler wailing like a Banshee in your subconcious - but at least it's got rid of the refrain from One Night in Bangkok. Oh, have you got that too, now?)
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