Art, Old Stuff and Green

On the 19th March the moon was the closer to earth that it has been for 18 years. Sydney decided this would be an ideal time to start raining and cover the night in thick clouds producing a daft amount of precipitation. No pictures of Mega Moon for this camera nerd.

I did, however, get to go into the city on Sunday to have a look at the Annie Leibovitz exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Bosie Letters at the State Library and the Terracotta Warriors at the Art Gallery of New South Wales.

It was raining and seeing as I believe umbrellas are evil I choose to wear a hat to keep my still fairly fresh bald head warm and dry and a hoodie for my body. My friend A. Had chosen to be all man and just had on jeans and t-shirt. Grr... :-)

Needless to say he got very wet. Me, not so much. I laughed hard when he popped into a tourist shop and came out with one of those plastic poncho thingies. He looked very silly.

Due to a leak in the ceiling of the MCA, part of the Annie Leibovitz thing was closed off to the public. It was OK, missed 15 pictures, saved $10. What we did see was amazing, including the somewhat macabre photos of her expiring father and close friend Susan Sontag. The majority of the pictures where printed in black and white with only a couple of famous faces in colour (Nicole Kidman, Demi Moore).

A cup of tea/coffee in the cafe revived us before we strolled up to the State Library. The weather was being kind and had stop raining for the time being.

I wanted to see the letters that Lord Alfred Douglas, better known as Bosie had written Oscar Wilde. I was a little disappointed; they appeared to be reproductions, rather than the real thing. We were only there for about five minutes. I was interested though that someone who was born and bred in NSW, as A was, had never been in the State Library.

A short stroll across The Domain took us to The Art Gallery of NSW. I love this place. Been here many times, A never had. I approached the lady behind the information desk and asked, ‘could you please tell me where the Terracotta Warriors are?’

‘That exhibition ended on Wednesday’.

Damn, I missed them by four days! We still took a wander around. We looked at the classic from 18th C Europe, the one Pissarro, ‘the bicycle’ by Fernard Leger, the strange little Picasso, the Gauguin and the dull looking peasant Mr. Van Gogh painted in 1884 that is hides in one of the corners, before having some lunch. It was 2.15 and we were both starving. We went into the restaurant.

Pork belly with seasoned cabbage and polenta mash hit the spot nicely, as did the Chocolate parfait that we shared for dessert. Conversation was nice too. We talked about the things we’d seen during the day, and being a tourist in your own town. We decided it was underrated and the opportunity to wander, sit and drink tea while looking out as the ants rushing by present itself, it should never be turned down. Taking time out to just sit and enjoy is often ignored in preference for dash and haste of busy lives.

After lunch had been consumed, we walked across the road and into the Botanic Garden. The weather had cleared up and the sun was poking through, throwing fingers of light onto the trees. The warmth brought out the fragrance of the damp gardens filling the air with scents of late flowering hibiscus and sodden mulch. As we got deeper into the garden, the sound of car disappeared and the squeal of flying foxes became louder. The foxes hung from the trees like Christmas decorations, stretching their wings, but not taking to them. As we approached the water’s edge the sounds of waves against the breakwater and boats took over.

We finished the day with some luxury hydration at the Guylian Cafe on Circular Quay, chocolate milkshake for him, strawberry for me.

The weather held out until I got home. The cloud came over just in time to obscure the moon for the second night.

Harbour Cruise - My Bruised Arse

Saturday morning saw me making melba toasts (cut up bread, place on baking sheet in 200O oven until crisp) for Todd’s harbour cruise while I waited for the real estate guy to come round and do a house inspection. Far too much to deal with a Saturday morning if you want my opinion!

Around noon I left the house with my new red shopping trolley loaded with pate, melba toasts, wine, ice and my camera. I was going to get the bus, but after waiting twenty minutes I jumped in a cab. Once again the taxi won the Taxi V Bus race. I met Todd and some friends at King Street Wharf and we waited for the boat.

Now please bear in mind I was expecting something big and stable to CRUISE around the harbour in. You can imagine my surprise when a sail boat slipped into the pick up position. We all climbed aboard, and settled in as we motored out into the harbour under the bridge. It was actually very relaxing and I took heaps of photos to remember the day, Todd eating nibbles, drinking wine and generally being the hostess with the mostest.

We (there were 11 of us on the boat and the skipper) drank, laughed and chatted. Some of us reminisced about the bad habits we had picked up from Todd and some just listened and thanked their lucky stars they hadn’t known him long enough to pick them up. We stopped and put down the anchor and a few went for a swim. I was happy on board taking pictures.

Once the swimming was over the skipper suggested we go for a little sail. He informed us that because it was a little windy we would only use the little sail at the front. The anchor was pulled up, the sail was unwrapped. It flapped about for a bit then it caught. We took off like a bullet from a gun and the boat tipped. From 0 -15knots (17mph/27kph) like a racing car.

I slipped of my perch, thinking first and for most about the camera I flipped my right arm over the edge of the galley as my legs vanished over the edge of the boat and into the water. My left hand grabbed onto anything (turned out to be a rope winder), my legs bounced about on the edge of the boat as I pulled myself up and finally got a foothold on the little wooden plinth on the side. I wasn’t near anyone, so I didn’t have help like a couple of others that also experienced the pleasures of sailing. I’m told it only took a few minutes to right us again, but it felt like an hour. I was soaked. The only dry thing about me was my camera hand.


The rest of the ‘cruise’ I hardly moved. As the saying goes ‘It’s all good fun until someone get hurt, then it’s bloody hilarious’ I was the butt of jokes. But weirdly enough I didn’t care. If we tipped again I was secure and oddly I was having fun. The adrenaline had kicked in and I was what can only be described as high.

I was however, really glad to be back on dry land when it was over. If it hadn’t of been over dramatic I would have kissed the ground. I went home to shower before our dinner to find a few purple masses gathering under the skin on my legs and arms.

Dinner at IThai on King Street Wharf was lovely, more reminiscing, good food and wine and an early night for all. After the drama of the boat I think everyone was completely knackered.

The First Three Days - In reverse order

Friday – Rubbish, Rubble, Refuse and Bollywood Dancing

In a bid to mop up the errors of last night we spent the best part of Friday morning getting the bits we missed out last night ‘cause he was running late (‘cause his mum was being a right royal cow, quite apt seeing as we’re in India). We hired a taxi, here you arrange by the hour and agree price up front. Once again we had the White Austin Ambassadour, but the drivers English wasn’t any better. He had trouble finding the bling store, but between the three of us it was OK. Then he took us to Pondy Markets so I could buy blouses for under my sari’s. As they were pre-made, I could only get cotton ones and the silk ones will be made while I’m over the other side in Kochi.

After a bit of shopping we made a stop at a tourist spot. The Valluvar Kottam is a 101foot (31 metre) tall temple chariot. It’s moohoosive! It was in its own grounds proudly created and maintained by India Bank, but Hubby and I could see very evidence of maintenance. The grass was over grown, there was litter all over the place and walls were falling over. The Chariot itself was spotless, but that may have been because of its religious significance. To me it seems that the only things looked after are temples, little temple things by the side of the road (shrines) and overseas big brand name shops. It’s sad really, but the people of Chennai seem to have take Gandhi literally when he said ‘Pride leads to destruction’, unfortunately, if they don’t start having some pride, the town will fall down around their ears…I think it’s already started.

Lots of pictures were taken at the Chariot, and I couldn’t resist being a bit silly and pretending to run over by the wheels. On the way out of the gardens, we spotted a fruit seller and brought a Mango. Usually they sell slices, but having been warned about not knowing how clean the knife is, how long its been cut etc, we just brought a whole one. The lady looked most pleased when I handed over Rs10 without blinking. I’m fairly sure it had the stoopid white tourist tax in there somewhere but ten rupees is only about 30c it’s a bargain!

Back at the hotel we had a shower (temp today 38degrees with over 80% humidity) then dressed in some of our new local clothing. I’m sorry, but Hubby just looked daft in a pair of cotton pants and a kaftan (Pete, I know this isn’t right, but I can’t remember everything). On the other hand, my arse looked huge in my amazing expanding drawstring pants and didn’t really look much better no matter how much bling I put on.

The Mehendi party was being held across town near Sara's house and when we arrived (2 hours later thanks to PST, Pete Standard Time) everything was in full swing. The guava juice was following like…guava juice, but the dancing was going off and the henna girls were working like machines in the corner. I suppose applying henna is a bit like icing a cake and with plenty of skill and heaps of practice you get quick. But these girls would do a hand in less than five minutes. It’s amazing to watch, but try standing from a sitting position without bending your wrists or smudging the freshly done work of art.

I danced, not a lot, but I got a little in between having my hands done. Then it was time for dinner. Guess what we had…yeap, curry! It’s was lovely and everyone was kind enough not to expect us to eat with our hands like the locals. A spoon and fork was provided. They had even cooked mild dishes, afraid we wouldn’t be able to handle the true local fare. Hubby was saying it wasn’t hot enough but my lips had that nice curry tingle by the end.

First Night - Sari Shopping

We met up with Peteat about five and he took us to Pondy Bazaar. Both Hubby and I had to buy our outfits for the weekend and we got a chance to take a walk in the shopping area. Our first stop was Jhillmill, a shop on four floors for women only. It’s a bling store! I was greeted by pete’s Mother-in-Law who insisted on showing me around. Consequently, I didn’t have that much time to browse and therefore didn’t get what I would have really liked. But I did get stuff I liked, so it’s all good.

After buying bling, we walked to the sari shop. On the way we stopped at a jasmine seller and brought a string. All day I have been seeing ladies with these beautiful creamy white flowers in their hair. Now I had some. Only I have short hair and no where to pin it, so I’m wearing it like a scarf and really look like a tourist. Ohh hang –on…I could look more like a tourist, Hubby and I are the only western faces I’ve seen all day!

Before we came here, pete was warning us about all the things that would be overwhelming. Traffic, heat, pick pockets, amount of people etc…what he didn’t warn us about and by far the most overwhelming thing so far is the shop assistants. In a shop were everything is price it’s slightly different from a street stall (in so much as no hard selling) but as soon as you pay special attention to one item they grab it from you and put it to one side for review later. In the jewellery shop this meant I ended up leaving with a bangle I have no hope of getting over my massive white knuckles, which is a shame, ‘cause it’s very pretty.


The Sari shop was called RmKV. I saw it a few weeks ago on telly because they have the longest wedding sari in the world, 250metres or something. I remembered the shop from seeing the marble stair cases and walls and walls of neatly folded saris. I was in colour heaven. I desperately wanted to take pictures, but again the not wanting to like a tourist thing got the better of me. I wanted to get close to the silks and breathe them in. I wanted to get close pictures of the swatches of colours, but most of all I wanted the 50,000 colour sari that cost Rs44,000. I figured I just wouldn’t get enough wear out of it. Instead I picked three, a turquoise and mint green, an orange and red and a gold and forest green. I also had to get a salwar kameez (trousers and matching long top) for the Mehendi (henna/hen party) on Friday. I ended up in burgundy raw silk with beading and braid work for a snip at A$75.

Pete was a great help and as usual had impeccable taste. We rolled in late and didn’t waste time falling asleep.

Morning One – Damp Patches

Our Five Star hotel in the heart of Chennai offered us the accommodation that the Road house in Karuah would have rivalled. I know I sound ungrateful, but it’s all so run down. There are huge damp patches on the walls and the whole smells like my grandma pad. The Lobby has that whole 80’s decadence thing going for it, then you step into the lift and it’s like being on the set of Mission Impossible where behind the doors it’s really a warehouse.

We woke up after a fairly restless night sleep on our bed of nails and had a shower without getting any water in our mouths. We cleaned our teeth with bottled water and locked absolutely anything worth over $5 in the safe before leaving for our morning of being driven around. The taxi we were in was a 1950 Austin Ambassador, from the outside it was immaculate, on the inside, its age was beginning show.

We started at the Kapaleswarar Temple, a magnificent structure dating back over 1300 years with over 900 sculptures in all colours of the rainbow. We had to walk from the taxi with bare feet and were welcomed by one of the temple ‘pujari’ (the equivalent of a verger, I think). He gave us a whistle-wind, leaving little time for me to take photos, but I did get a few.

Left - Right : Ganesh _ the elephant god – always carried by mighty mouse, Lakshmi _ goddess of wealth – she just stands there and looks pretty, Brahma _ the creator – well, he just creates and Saraswathi _ goddess of learning – she travels on a lion

The Wishing Tree - where people make wishes!

On to a bit of shopping. We started in a Kashmir carpet place. We were given cardamom tea and shown many yummy hand knotted carpets in a multitude of colours and designs. I had my eye on a red/orange diamond design made of cashmere but at US$1900 it was a little out of my holiday spending budget. I settled on a cashmere pashmina from the Spenser Plaza instead. The price sounded a lot in rupees, but when converted into A$ it was hard to resist for only 50bucks.

Food wise we’re okay. I managed to have curry for breakfast, while Hubby stuck to bread and jam. For lunch we went all out and went to Pizza Hut. Bit odd I know, go all that way and have pizza, but…have you ever had a Malai Seekh Kebab pizza? I have now ;-)

Off to buy Sari’s later…


The First 7 Hours of my Holiday

3hrs and 55 minutes into the flight and I’m bored. And I’ve already slept for 90 minets. This is why I hate flying. I know, I know I could watch the movies, or listen to the music provided, but somehow when on a plane I just can’t get into them. I’ve taken some nice photos out of the window (they don’t call it the Red Centre for no reason) and had a wicked dream. I know that the retelling of dreams can be boring, but …

On a plane, when terrorists jump out of their seats in various parts of the plane with guns (how did they get them on board, they took my hairgel!) so I sit there for a while much girlie screaming and gun waving goes on. After everything has settled down I jump from my seat, and charge the rough looking sort closest to me while his back is turned. Hubby is still in his seat shouting for me to stop and behave. I knock the guy down and use the butt of his gun to break his nose. Crouched low I move forward into the galley and prepare to take on the next. This one sees me coming and raises his gun. I kick it from his hands just before he pulls the trigger, then smashed the heel of my hand into his nose, cracking his nose and snapping his head back. He recovers, but I strike him in the shin with the side of my foot, taking him down. The bloke sat in the seat behind the bad guy grabs him by the throat and flashes an air marshal badge at me. ‘Ma’am you really should do as they say, you know?’
‘stuff that, the bastards at the airport thought it was me with my amazing exploding hairgel, I going to prove them wrong.’
As I make my way forward I can’t see any more bad guys, but I know they’re there, at least two more. In the next galley I change sides of the plane and move forward slowly. There is a young family sat in the seats, cowering and I realise that they are looking at the bad guy. He’s hiding behind the wall, waiting for me to make a mistake. I stop in the galley and look around, I find the coffee pot. Slowly I move forward and swing the coffee pot around the corner in front of me. He screams and jumps out at me. He has me held by the wrists, all I can think of is to bring my knee up and flatten the family jewels. He releases my right hand, I reach behind me a pick up one of the child’s colouring pencils and bring it down into his eye socket. He screams and falls backwards, I jumped onto him and plunged the pencil into his heart….

At that point Hubby woke me up saying we were over the Olga and I realized that I watch far to much Buffy, Alias and Blade!

But to be honest, I like that I can kick arse in my dreams.