Terezin

Tane and I spent the Easter weekend in the beautiful city of Prague in the Czech Republic. As well as spending some fabulous times strolling around the old town and sampling Czech cuisine, we spent a day in and around the small town of Terezin, located near the German border. Terezin, or Theresienstadt as it was known in German, was a prominent Jewish ghetto during World War Two before most of its 100,000 odd residents were shipped to Auschwitz and the like. Not exactly a recipe for a fun day out as such, but a very, very interesting and memorable place to visit nonetheless.

The great Nazi lie: "Work Brings Freedom"

The first place that you see when coming into Terezin is a massive cemetery and a brick fort that just looks plain creepy. After a couple of hours of wandering around inside, we also discovered that the creepy feeling that the "small fort" as it's known gets worse rather than better. It's one of those places that you can't really describe without sounding corny as walking through dismal barracks, execution grounds and past a swimming pool made by forced labourers who were later killed in some way is a profoundly moving experience.

After visiting the small fortress we ventured into the town of Terezin to get some lunch and find the famous ghetto as well. While we were lucky on the lunch front, we couldn't find the ghetto. It wasn't until we visited the Terezin Ghetto Museum that we learned that we had been walking around it the whole time as not only was the entire town the ghetto, but the place we had eaten our lunch was a SS dining hall. This was a bit of a surprise as while the town had a strange feel to it, it was just a town where people live and go about their daily business. I would love to have talked to some residents about how they feel about their town's history, but that's not exactly something to bring up with someone serving your lunch or selling snacks.

A street in Terezin. The worst part of here for me was seeing in the museum all the pictures drawn by the children who were kept here before they were sent to Auschwitz.

After a day trip to Terezin, it was a real relief to return to Prague. It's worth seeing something a little emotionally challenging every now and then though, and I totally recommend it for anyone who is interested in history and wants a little more from a weekend in Prague than beer and pretty buildings.

Still rockin' in the free world

On Friday night one of my biggest dreams came true. No, not the one where I develop superpowers and save the world from alien invaders, but something even cooler. Neil Young. Live.

Apologies to all non-Neil Young fans. This is going to be a bit long and gushy.

That's one of the best things about London - everyone big comes here a lot more often than they make it to New Zealand. This show was at the Hammersmith Apollo (a huge and acoustically excellent theatre), which was packed mostly with middle aged fans, but with a healthy portion of twentysomethings like me. I can only call myself twentysomething for the next four months, so I'm going to take the chance to do so.

The stage looked like a hippy junkyard, filled with amps, drums, various stringed instruments, an orange piano painted in flowers, letters and numbers covered in light bulbs, a wooden Indian and lots of paintings. Some guy was adding to them, painting at the back of the stage during the show, often watched by a little boy. Random. Maybe it was Neil Young's son or grandson and that was his way of babysitting.

The opening act was Neil's wife Peggy, a lovely platinum blonde with a deep, sweet voice. She played a pleasant set of country songs that drew warm applause, but that was drizzle compared to the thunderstorm when Young came on stage.

Shaggy grey hair straggling away from a big bald patch, a tan suit for the acoustic set, a paint-splattered black one later. He sat in a circle of guitars, picked up one, strapped on a harmonica and played From Hank to Hendrix. After finishing that, and each other song, he'd get up and wander around, as if wondering which of his zillion classic tunes to play next. When some wag in the front row (there were more of a few in the audience) made a crack, he turned and told them to "f*ck off. You know, you're great. I'd go anywhere to see you," to general amusement. That aside, his banter was good-natured. Every now and then he chucked in a few reminisces - like the time he wrote Don't Let It Bring You Down after coming back from seeing Hendrix at the Isle of Wight festival.

Right. He's old.

Anyway, the acoustic set was superb, a mix of famous songs like After The Gold Rush and obscure ones like Ambulance Blues. My highlight was Cowgirl In The Sand.

In the second set, he brung the grunge.

The change between Young's mellow and manic modes is amazing. That thin, heartbroken voice grows razorblades and his guitar starts to drip venom. There's one word and a world of difference between Old Man and Dirty Old Man.

Like the Stones and Iggy Pop, Young is a fogey with the energy of a teenager, jumping around the stage, tearing out solos, snarling into the mike about Johnny Rotten and the powder and the finger. The long jam at the end of the new and rather mediocre closer of the set, No Hidden Path, was self indulgent, but the encore - Cinnamon Girl and a mesmerising version of Tonight's The Night - finished the show on a high.

The Other Boleyn Girl and historical accuracy

A couple of days ago, Tane and I went to see the movie The Other Boleyn Girl. I had read the Philippa Gregory novel about five years ago and had loved it. The true story of Anne Boleyn and her sister Mary has it all - intrigue, incest (or allegations of), a King with too much testosterone and not enough scruples, one sister who became his mistress and had his illegitimate son, and a second that became his wife and lost her head. The story of Henry VIII is so filled with scandal, death and bodice-ripping, if it wasn't such a well documented part of English history is would be very easy to dismiss as legend.

After having seen Henry VIII's armour at Greenwich last year I have little doubt that a man that would wear this might also be the sort of man that would create a new church in order that he could marry the sister of his mistress

Philippa Gregory is onto a winning formula with her series portraying the Tudors in a fictional context. While Gregory took liberties in the book based on Mary Boleyn's life insomuch as she gave the characters life, from what I have read it appears she is fairly historically accurate in her portrayal of events. There is the odd turn of phrase used that doesn't sound like something from the 1520s and 30s , but apart from that I thought it was an excellent book. Historical fiction is always a tricky genre to write in, and very few books get it right to the satisfaction of people who know the period written about, or at least flatter themselves that they do. This isn't unique to Gregory's books, even some Booker winners get it wrong: Schindler's Ark took great liberties when writing about Oskar Schindler, and Oscar and Lucinda talks about coat hangers before they were invented. Not that I really care in either case.

Sometimes I hate historical inaccuracy, sometimes I don't. There is no hard and fast rule about it - for me it often depends on how the inaccuracy is presented, and how good the rest of the book is. As a rule I find that I can overlook details, but not historically inaccurate ideas - especially books where the hero or heroine from days gone has modern ideas about gender, race and class when the bad guys don't. My other pet peeve is what I can only describe as Titanic syndrome - the way almost every single modern book written about either the USA or UK that touches 1912 has at least one character die on the Titanic. That's just me though, and I don't claim to be consistent or rational in what bugs me and what doesn't.

At Henry's palace Hampton Court earlier in the year. Hampton Court is fabulous, a maze of coridoors and badly lit rooms perfect for scandal and intrige.

Before going to the movie I had read a review of it in the Guardian by a man who had enjoyed the movie, but criticised it for being historically inaccurate. The only concrete pieces of "inaccuracy" he wrote about was Anne Boleyn's necklace looking like something from the 1980s and the fact that Eric Bana who plays Henry is not fat. The reviewer has obviously not seen Anne's portrait in the National Portrait Gallery wearing the necklace, nor done his research about what Henry looked like earlier in his life. Nevertheless, I did go to the movie wondering what it would be like.

According to an exhibit here on younger Henry, he may have looked like Eric Bana when he was young. That's certainly a much nicer mental image than this one ...

I liked the movie The Other Boleyn Girl in the end. While it was a bit cheesy in places and the dialogue a bit stilted, there were some great scenes in it and I was moved by the ending in spite of knowing that it was coming. And even if it was historically inaccurate in places, I didn't care as I was too busy enjoying the movie to notice. It wasn't as good as the book, but still did a pretty good job of putting Philippa Gregory's interpretation of events onto the big screen.

I wonder what other people think though - did you prefer the movie or the book? Does historical inaccuracy bug you in books? What about movies?

Interested in your thoughts....

Deer at Hampton Court. Apparently Henry liked to collect antlers as well as wives.

A city with a bit of everything

Last weekend, Tane and I joined some other couples for a fabulous weekend in Amsterdam. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and have decided that Amsterdam really is a city with a little bit of everything. From fine art to men dressed up as toilets, it really is a place where everyone seems catered for.

1. High brow culture

Amsterdam is the home of the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum. I especially loved the Rijksmuseum, it had a fabulous collection of art by famous Dutch painters such as Vermeer (also known as Colin Firth in "The Girl with the Pearl Earring") and the most amazing dolls houses I have ever seen.

2. Canals

Doing a canal cruise was one of the highlights of the weekend as we got to see the city from the water while learning interesting tidbits of information. Like, that Amsterdam has 2500 houseboats. Most of them seemed so small though I don't imagine you could live in them with more than three or four possessions.

3. The opposite to High brow culture

In the book 1001 Places to See Before You Die, Amsterdam's red light district is listed as one such place. And, while I won't be recommending that other people rush out and see it if they are at all prudish, it certainly is unlike anywhere I have ever seen. Women stand in shop windows beckoning at passers-by to buy them, brightly lit signs promise all kinds of r18 activities, and British men on stag parties prowl around in packs egging each other into the women's rooms. And, just to make the place even more surreal, large groups of elderly do walking tours of the district wearing facial expressions that are a mixture of disgust, fear and fascination.

A fabulous lolly shop near the Red Light District. Not that this has any real relevance, but I didn't want to use any dodgy photos!

5. More canals
According to one local we met, as a result tourist shenanigans in Amsterdam an amazing number of the bikes ridden by the locals find there way into the canals. Poor bikes.

6. Anne Frank's house

A highlight of the weekend was seeing Anne Frank's house, where she and her family hid from the Nazis for over two years. The house is a bit of a tourist mecca, but well worth visiting in any case. It's so cramped inside it makes the story of what happened all the more tragic, as I felt claustrophobic inside after only about 45 minutes and cannot even begin to comprehend how hiding in such a confined space for such a long period of time must feel.

So, Amsterdam really was grouse. It may be one of the most popular stag party destinations in Europe, but once you get used to the public urinals and Red Light District there really is some great stuff to see.

A very civilised high tea

For the first time in years, I decided to have a civilised birthday celebration. And what could be more civilised than a high tea on a Saturday afternoon? Lucky it was also Stephen's birthday so we could have a joint afternoon tea celebration and he could supply the tea cups and pikelets. Oh, and the house, and the tea, and prepare the food. In fact, it was luckier still that Mum had sent me some hundreds and thousands biscuits from New Zealand so I could contribute something ...

The tea party itself was a very civilised affair. We talked about civilised things, drank tea with our pinkies out, and debated whether or not one is supposed to wear or remove gloves while drinking tea. I note that we "drank" tea rather than "taking" tea, as apparently during the Victorian area saying "take" was considered vulgar. It was a pity that the table was so crammed with goodies that we could not place the tea pot with the handle facing the pourer, which correct tea drinking etiquette also dictates. Naturally we remained very civilised throughout the evening and tea remained the strongest drink consumed all day (*cough*). The author of an etiquette book written in 1912 that I once read would have been proud.

Very civilised indeed

And, naturally, photographs like this that appeared on my camera from later in the evening were a result of drinking tea to excess and eating too many angel cakes.

A not-so-gloomy birthday weekend in Budapest

Before this weekend, I knew next to nothing about Budapest, except that it was the setting for the movie Gloomy Sunday, which has a really good (and gloomy) soundtrack, and had mixed reviews from the friends who had travelled there. Lauren had seen Gloomy Sunday, plus two other Holocaust-related movies set there, and - despite being put off Eastern Europe a bit by grumpy Bulgarians - decided it would be a good place to turn 28 in.

What a masterstroke. Budapest is brilliant, in the central city at least much more Austro-Hungarian grandeur than decaying Communist concrete. It's definitely the prettiest city we've seen at night, when the gorgeous buildings on both sides of the Danube River are lit up by scores of lights. The perfect place to wander about and remember that you can still be romantic and goopy when you're old and crusty like us. It wasn't gloomy at all.

No, I wasn't drunk - I had to stick the camera on an angled wall to keep it still.

The Parliament and the Danube.

Fisherman's Bastion

As in any any self-respecting capital, there was many a stone lion to pose with.

The synagogue

The memorial cemetary at the synagogue. All the dates ended in 1944 or 1945.

Gelert Spa - nearly as good as Awakeri Hot Springs.

There was only one lowlight. Before going my workmate Jay told me palinka, the local drink, tasted like mouthwash. He was being generous.

We're famous!

For a belated Christmas present, Erin sent me a neat little book, Little Histories, that was published by the Department of Internal Affairs late 2007. It's an interesting read, and filled with some great photographs of births, deaths and marriages throughout New Zealand's history.

Some of the photography is beautiful, my favourite being of an unidentified Maori woman taken at a funeral in the 1920s. Imagine our surprise, then, when we flipped to page 66 and saw a photo of us. (click here for a link to the pdf - see Chapter Four "Marriage Ceremonies") The photo was taken by a Dominion Post photographer at our ceremony last April because of me appearing in a newspaper feature about women changing their names after getting hitched, and after the feature ran it never occurred to us that it would resurface. I haven't laughed so hard since I watched Flight of the Concords last. I suppose it makes sense that they chose a photo of us alongside other arty historic shots as we are a hetero couple that got a civil union in a registry office, with a proper photo to boot. We still think that it's hilarious though - you should check it out! And maybe even buy a copy yourself as I am sure that every bookshelf needs a book with a photo of Tane and me inside ...

The man whose house was at deep mid-on

This is a little tribute to Mr Mogford, my family's neighbour.

Mr Mogford was the last of the neighbours who were there when we moved onto our section, back when I was a toddler. He and his wife helped my parents a lot while Dad was building our house. Randomly, he used to work with Grandad (Mum's dad) at the Power Board. I remember the two grey-haired men chatting over the fence one day.

I did not know Mr Mogford well. What I mostly remember is his good humour - which he needed, as his immaculately maintained section was at about deep mid-on from the sports field where we played cricket. We were always hitting balls over there. He'd be there with a smile to let us in and sometimes helped us look for the ball under the big plum tree, or amongst the garden, or next to the shed.

He died last Thursday, suddenly, aged 86.

From Jane Austen to Berenstein Bears

In Emma, Jane Austen wrote "Emma had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning and drive thither." We also decided to see what Jane Austen had written about, so Megan, Tane and I chose a fine morning to train thither and climb the hill.

"It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being oppressive." - Jane Austen. Oh, and Tane in the foreground too.

Rather than making fools of ourselves while up the hill as Emma did, though, we had a lovely walk through the hills, past some hairy cows, down some lanes, and through a little village filled with houses with names like "Mole's Manor" and " The White House". As Jane Austen wrote, the walk around the hill was indeed dirty. We are hardy Antipodeans rather than wussy regency maidens and men in tight tights, however, so did not lament the need for a donkey to carry us up as is in the book. The cows were so sturdy looking I am sure that they would have sufficed if I did decide to do it in again a corset and round gown next time though.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's an exceptionally hairy cow!

The walks around Box Hill were exceptionally badly signposted and we got quite lost. We found ourselves wandering through sheep paddocks and up roads that seemed to lead to no-where. After a couple of hours, though, we emerged back into civilisation and found that we were in Dorking. Yes, there is a town in Surrey called Dorking, and four months is London still isn't enough not to find that funny. Heh. Dorking. Not only does Dorking have a funny name, but we also found that all of the directions given by locals reminded up a lot of those in the Berenstein's Bears book "Bears in the Night" (out of the bed, under the bridge, past the tree, up Spook Hill) so well became very well acquainted with Dorking's back alleys.

Around the hill, past the sheep, past the lycra-clad cyclists, through the trees, and up Spook Hill!

While we did not have servants to collect us in a carriage afterward as happened in Emma, it was a great day to get out of London and see some of the "English verdure" Jane Austen wrote about. Living in London it can be hard to remember what green fields look like, so it was a fabulous way to spend a Saturday.

In other news, this side of the world seems to be having a crazy sunny and quite warm period at the moment. This may be the best weather we will get until summer 2009, but we are making the most of it. I had to put this pic in taken at Kensington Gardens last weekend to prove it ...

Please note Tane's shorts and Sarah's jandals ..

Celebrating Waitangi Day on the tube

Yesterday Tane and I joined an estimated 10,000 other New Zealanders for the annual Waitangi Day Circle Line Pub Crawl. The rules were pretty simple: wear NZ gears, sing loudly, stop at various pubs along the Circle Line, only travel on Cirle Line Trains, and while on the trains, you are not to sit down or hold on. So, early Saturday morning we boarded the train to Paddington to start and as soon as I saw a guy dressed in a NZ police uniform in Ealing and a girl with a tui hat and Glassons bag, I knew it would turn into a pretty good day.

Waiting for the tube in Bayswater

Given the amount of beer that was flowing, it's remarkable that it didn't turn ferral. The huge crowd was in pretty good spirts though, except of course when some people clad in balck and white were caught boarding a District Line train and were booed at by hundreds of people. And when one guy was caught holding on while the rickety train was moving and had to let go after chants of "don't hold on, don't hold on!" Some of the locals looked a bit bewildered but most seemed to be fairly bemused. To quote one english guy "I knew that beating England at the cricket the other night must be a big deal, but this celebration is a bit extreme isn't it?"

People dressed up in all sorts of outfits. Silver ferns and kiwis were everywhere, as were beer t-shirts, NZ flags and buzzy bees. Some were more original - we saw sheep, people dressed up as 1970s policemen, cows, fake AirNZ pilots, fake moko, and t-shirts displaying the tui logo and the phrase "we'd rather be in NZ for Waitangi Day - yeah right!". There were also groups in Tino Rangatiratanga tees, and one bloke who was wearing a t-shirt displaying the text of the Treaty (in English, mind). These were some of my favourite costumes:

One of the themes from the day was saying "good afterble constanoon!" to as many bobbies as possible. As you could imagine, they were everywhere, although seemed to be enjoying themselves as well for the most part. I managed to say it to three policeman - two of whom smiled, and one that looked at me like I was crazy. These ones also let us take a photo with them, hurrah!

The day ended with a mass haka underneath Big Ben in the late afternoon. Traffic came to a standstill and the haka started just after Big Ben struck four. It was standing room only as all the NZers squished in Parliament Square, being photographed by bemused tourists wondering what we were on about.

After the main haka, when the only thing left to do seemed to be cheering the crazy people climbing flagpoles, Tane, Ben and Simon decided to do there own haka as we were walking away. The hilarious thing was though that while doing their poukanas they attracted a small crowd of American tourists and got a big clap for their efforts.

It was a great day, and next year I intend to be there again. Although I am glad that I have an entire year to master the art of being on the tube without holding on.

Making 12 year-old Lauren happy

When I was 11, we had to do a project at Ashhurst School about the letter our name started with. Part of this was a project about a country starting with that letter, and I chose Luxembourg. I became so interested in the tiny country that once aged about 12 a teacher asked where we most wanted to visit when we grew up. "Luxembourg!" was my instant response. It is fortuanate that when I grew up I also met a bloke willing to humour me and come with me to the place that I have wanted to visit for 17 odd years, and we went there last weekend.

Luxembourg City

We stayed in Luxembourg City, the capital and largest city. Of course in such a small country the term "large" is relative though, and the capital has the population of Palmerston North. Luxembourg City is built on a huge rock fortress, and is probably the second prettiest capital city I have been to - after Wellington, naturally. I hadn't realised that Luxembourg is the centre of European banking as well, and as a result feels very wealthy and has excellent shopping to cater for all the fancy finance types that live there.

Luxembourg City

Another intereting thing about Luxembourg is that all the residents speak three languages, French, German and Luxembourgish. All three are taught in school from what I understand, as is English, so getting around was a breeze. I would love to know what language they speak to each other, but coudn't figure it out. Nor could I figure out Luxembourgish, apart from learning the word for 'hello'.

In a park in Luxembourg City. Me walking feeling glad that my project wasn't on Lithuania, Lesotho or Lybia.

While in Luxembourg, we did a great wee trip to the fairytale town Vianden at the other end of Luxembourg. Again, of course, distance in relative, as it was only 45 minutes and 3 euros away. As great as London is, both Tane and I really needed to spend a weekend away from a city filled with 8 million people. Vianden was perfect - it was a gorgeous small town, friendly locals, and some lovely walks around the river.

Tane in Vianden

Sweet, sweet greenery

Vianden, population 1400.

Tane also got something from the trip (as well as a dose of R&R) as while there he saw his first snow fall ever. Alas, it didn't settle, but was pretty exciting nonetheless.

Luxembourg was the prettiest most relaxing part of Europe I have seen yet. I totally recommend it, whether you have wanted to go there since you were 12 or not.

Heath Ledger

Man, what a bad couple of weeks for talented Antipodeans. First Sir Ed, then Hone Tuwhare, now Heath Ledger.

Lauren and I both really, really liked Ledger, who was one of the best young actors on the planet. Brilliant in Brokeback Mountain and Candy, I was really looking forward to seeing his taken on The Joker in The Dark Night.

Looks at the moment like suicide by drug overdose. If so, that's yet another talented artist to kill themselves. Very sad.

January in the wrong hemisphere

While in the midst of the December spend-now-think-later-sure-I'll-have-one-more season, Tane and I decided that we really needed a quiet and cheap January. Due to the wintry weather and short daylight hours of London, however, what seemed like a common sense idea threatened to turn January into a long, boring, cold month. So, to counter obsessing over the fact that NZ is warm at present and in order to ignore that nagging feeling that we are very much in the wrong hemisphere right now, we have made a real effort to enjoy London and what it has to offer.

Yay for corny London photos!

We have seen some of London's best landmarks, including Tower Bridge, the Globe Theatre, and St Paul's church. Although see St Paul's every time I look out my window at work, Tane hadn't been there properly yet.
A highlight, though, was the Tower of London. I loved it - the Crown jewels were blingy, the history fascinating, and the Beefeater guard that gave us a tour hilarious. The guys in fluffy hats carrying far from from fluffy-looking weapons were pretty neat too. I wonder if they have to go to marching school as part of their training?
Inside the Tower, where the Beefeater asked if there were any Americans in the audience. A few stuck up their hands, at which point the Beefeater laughed and said "if you'd paid your taxes, this would be your history too!"

Another place we have visited this month that's worth noting is the beautiful Hampstead Heath. The heath was so overgrown, it could have been a park in NZ. That was, if you ignored the dogs being walked in coats from the Gap. Oh, and this house filled with paintings, including a couple by Vermeer and Rembrandt.

A great house to visit. Art aside, I particularly enjoyed the aniseed balls you could buy inside, even if I did binge on them and cut my tongue. Mud, mud, everywhere ...

Hampstead Heath, overlooking the city to remind us that we're not in NZ now, Dr Ropata

The most recent trip was to Kent (the region south of London) for a look at the fabulous Leeds Castle and a winery. The castle was fantastic. As fantastic, in fact, as the maze nearby was confusing. The castle was built back in Norman times and lived in by Henry VIII's first wife, the divorced Katherine of Aragon. It felt a little odd actually to see her rooms so soon after seeing where the woman she was replaced by, Anne Boleyn, lost her head at the Tower.

Alice and Stephen in the maze, right before a giant bird started swooping around their heads. Not that I was there, though, as I was concentrating on eating the toffee bought in the castle shop. I am sure you are seeing a theme here about what I really deep down like the most about these historic places ...

Between these trips and other fun times often involving drinking pints (all in the name of enjoying the tourist side of London of course) Tane and I have realised that perhaps we didn't have the cheap month we needed. But, I don't care - I managed to enjoy a January in the wrong hemisphere without wanting to cry when walking past the poster in Ealing promoting cheap flights to Auckland. And that's what counts, really.

Some very impressive guns outside the Imperial War Museum. I would not want those loaded and pointed in my direction. Once inside though free museums are O for Awesome when it's cold.