tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63720412024-03-08T09:05:05.112+10:00Plus PerduTales from green corner of a wide brown land.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.comBlogger750125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-24994544975142945232015-08-05T21:41:00.000+10:002015-08-05T21:41:24.557+10:00ReturtleneckSo upon reaching to the final leg of my now well-established A-B-to-B-to-bed routine, and after indulging in what I will allow myself hubristically (the word characterises itself, as chance would have it) to describe as a very worthy lasagne, I found myself outside of myself. I looked at myself, wearing my black cotton turtleneck jumper (it was "cold" by Brisbane standards), which might in its younger days have been considered pretentious in Brisbane (who knows, perhaps it still is), and I thought to myself, I've looked at this jumper before.<br />
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True to instinct, a quick search reveals that I not only saw myself in the selfsame sweater, but <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2005/02/ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.html" target="_blank">blogged about it</a>, back in 2005, coming up on ten and a half years ago. Perhaps it came across in that post; perhaps it didn't, but I was happy with the almost revelatory sense of change ... progress even ... that the out-of-body observation gave me, the distinct and surprising impression of myself as someone so different to the person I had been not so long a year prior, and different again from the person two years prior. I'd gone from a kind of university hanger-on, working at the research equivalent of the frat house in Old School, to probably diagnosably depressed, to being an active and accepted part of a very different culture, community, lifestyle. The sense of change, of velocity, of trajectory (I won't pretend to intention), was invigorating.<br />
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So I saw myself from outside myself again tonight, but this time I wasn't surprised by the change. And that made me sad. Don't get me wrong; I haven't been sitting still. I now have an ongoing appointment at what I really believe is one of the world's great universities. For all intents and purposes I'm debtless, own my own domicile, and have no socially unacceptable addictions, habits or predilections. But I'd be hard pressed to tell myself that I've grown or changed substantially within myself over the last couple of years (an argument could be made if not successfully defended for the two preceding years).<br />
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I'm conscious, or at least suspicious, that I've felt this kind of dissatisfaction or ennui a few times. Perhaps once it led me to France, perhaps it led me back to Australia, and perhaps it led me to my current job. There has been a something of a cycle of a quadrennial renewal of vocation in my life whose catalyst restlessnesses might well have been more personal than professional.<br />
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My probation was a close-run thing; the dean ham-fistedly, and my more immediate supervisors in a much more informed and timely fashion, told me as much, and I was conscious of it even before those indications. Its been 4 years. Its very tempting to take my ennui and translate it once again into a change of employment as a substitute for addressing personal circumstance.<br />
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Hopefully I have the courage to address them separately.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-84830091529818034212015-04-29T19:16:00.001+10:002015-08-05T21:42:56.031+10:00Impressions of Rome<div>
My real reason for being in Italy was for A&K's wedding, but I'm skeptical of the merits of travelling so far for just one week, so I organised to spend the preceding week as a holiday. My original thought had been to head to Florence or one of the more "Renaissance" cities (or so I think of them), but in the end, for the sake of simplicity I settled on spending a few days in Rome. Like any solo holiday, there are lot of thoughts about the character of the city and my experiences that go unshared, so in the interests of getting them persisted somewhere, I figured I would jot them down here.</div>
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It may be the parts of Rome I visited, or the way I spent my time, but my overarching impression of Rome is of the tourist machine. So much of what I saw was surrounded by swarms of tour groups - from all over the world but above all Italian primary-schoolers, French adolescents, and English-speaking retirees - following around guides with little coloured cloths on sticks, used crook-like to lead their errant flocks. These packs were orbited by hawkers flogging the usual knick-knacks you find around tourist attractions - selfie sticks were, inexplicably to me, the dominant artifact during my visit.</div>
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During my six days I stayed in Trastevere, quite a hip and almost Parisian-Latin-Quarter style with lots of bars and restaurants in small winding streets ripe for exploration. Like the Latin quarter</div>
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All the tourist infrastructure left me, on many days, walking around seeking out places just to be, to sit and read or reflect on the other things I'd seen. Such places felt in shorter supply than in other cities I've visited, although I did find some good ones - the Borghese park, the Villa Celimontana and around the Domus Aurea. I also had a very pleasant morning at the botanical gardens (Orto Botanico), the highlight being a japanese garden up the top, watching apple blossoms fall over a koi pond while I read my book, before being brought harshly back to Italian reality by a swarm of Italian schoolchildren.</div>
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I kind of see Rome as being at least two cities, from a tourist perspective. On the one hand there is the Rome of Romulus - the remnants of the great civilisation that ruled the Mediterranean and so much of Europe for so long. This Rome has great romantic appeal to me, having grown up reading the myths and legends of the Greek/Roman gods. I saw a bunch of these - the Roman forums, the Coliseum (past but not in), the Argentina ruins, the Teatro Marcelo, and quite a few trips past and along the Circo Massimo (which had some Natale di Roma shows on the first days of my visit, with dancing Vestal virgins and parading legions). My favourite part of the ancient part of Rome, though, was the Palatino. Part of it was that it had some of the names I liked so much from stories like "I, Claudius" - Augustus, Livia, etc. Even more, though, the ruins of the Palatine were much more intact than those elsewhere in Rome, so I got a much stronger sense of how things had been. Whether it was its isolation on top of the hill or some other reason, it had been less picked over and scavenged (for marble and stone) than the neighbouring Forum, for example.</div>
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The other Rome of is that of the Catholic church - the Vatican and the works of all the popes, cardinals and other faithful in the millenium-and-a-bit since the other Rome faded from prominence. To be honest, not really my thing. I'm all for spirituality, but the kind of ostentatious gilt-ceiling brand of worship evidenced in the Roman churches is a difficult fit to my ideals. I visited some spectacular sites of this Rome - the Pantheon, the Basilica of the Vatican (past but not in), the Basilica di Santa Maria in Ara Coeli next to the Vittoriano, and the extravagant Laterano de St Giovanni, whose chapels were bigger than a lot of churches I've been to. One of the things that's frustrating about the two Romes is that so much of the Catholic Rome is built from pieces of the ancient. One of the more beautiful churches I visited was St Maria di Trastevere, near where I stayed. It was flanked by giant columns, which all sported different capstones (probably not the correct term). I'm pretty sure, based on what our walking guide had told us, that these would have been taken from an ancient Roman site - the forum area was particularly ravaged by this - which made me a little sad. I'd be more interested in visiting temples to Mars or Juno than for St Paul or St Peter.</div>
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The complement to the churches is the wide array of things built by the popes, cardinals or others of the believers in the Catholic era. This is most obvious in the villas, many of them on the hills of Rome's founding. I spent a few hours walking around the parks of Villa Borghese, Villa Medici and Villa Celimontana, very pleasant green spaces but which don't really show any of their ancient heritage any more.</div>
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I did have a couple of glimpses of interesting aspects of a more contemporary Rome. At one point I got a little bit lost around the Quattro Fontane, and found myself in streets flanked all by orange trees, which is a pretty cool idea I haven't seen elsewhere.<br />
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(Ed: I have some photos, and given time and a more accomodating copmuter, I will try to weave them in at some point)</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-41985975944610975402014-01-27T17:05:00.002+10:002014-01-27T17:08:30.202+10:00Les Rousses, le départ<br />
In the morning, Nicolas very kindly dropped me over at La Cure in plenty of time for the train. Unfortunately, the SBB website's claim that even small stations have a ticket machine proved false, and I was forced to splash out and spend some precious roaming data to buy a ticket on my phone (admittedly an elegant system for locals); how much the 500kb costs me will be revealed in time, I guess. The train down was at least as pleasant as the trip up had been, and I was at Geneva Airport in plenty of time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Even the smallest stations in Switzerland have ticket machines." Yeah, right...</td></tr>
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Perhaps it was that by this point I was very ready to get home, but Geneva would be among the worst airports I've been in, with at least twice as many people as it was capable of handling, and almost no seats for any of them. I ate my sandwich sitting on the ground outside a pharmacy, surrounded by loud-mouthed English ski tourists reminding me of all my prejudices against the accents of that country.<br />
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Nonetheless, eventually, three airports later, and having spent a much reduced (by time zone changes) Australia day most in an 777-300 and in Singapore Airport, at 2am on a Monday morning, and having ridden cars, trains, planes and taxis all around the world, I did eventually get home to bed.</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-37574213034687336502014-01-27T16:58:00.003+10:002014-01-28T13:43:54.024+10:00Les Rousses, day 5<br />
Day 5 was my big day. Knowing full well it was my last, I was resolved to ski as much as I could. Dawn broke with a good 15-20cm of fresh snow over everything, with the locals of Les Rousses out with their spades shovelling their driveways. At the route du Lac, where I was waiting for a bus, a woman in a Yaris was trying in vain to move her car from an icy patch; during 20 minutes or so she spun her wheels literally and figuratively as locals stopped to try and help. Eventually, as my bus arrived, she succeeded in rolling back down the hill and heading off in the opposite direction.<br />
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The bus dropped me at Bois d'Amont, and at the tourism office a lady assured me it was a good 2-3km walk up to Porte des Combettes, the start of the nordic pistes. I set off, but had hardly gone 100m when 2 frenchmen in a car stopped to ask me directions to the same place. I mumbled an approximation of what the lady had told me, and they offered me a lift. It was more like a kilometre, but steep, so I was glad of the lift.<br />
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After a brief uphill to the actual hut, I had a nice little chat to the lady checking passes, and she assured me that all the liasons across to Les Rousses were open today, and that the dameuse (trailmaking machine) had been through that morning for the first time this week. From Les Combettes I headed northish along first La Pierre Levée, then around Le Grand Remblai to the Porte Risoux-Bellefontaine, through a communal forest along fairly flat and pleasant tracks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GMMngwHJRVdLP2oqj9Swg_61ZzWQahutlm9Ojy4kydyhY-Gi9jWjelAFrvzfDrmNICV7DQBpoRFPS2hxNKfk8d0imhiCnJsqqevnrkcqFu5FPV501MGRug3yvolaBe-lYcso/s1600/IMG_20140124_103712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GMMngwHJRVdLP2oqj9Swg_61ZzWQahutlm9Ojy4kydyhY-Gi9jWjelAFrvzfDrmNICV7DQBpoRFPS2hxNKfk8d0imhiCnJsqqevnrkcqFu5FPV501MGRug3yvolaBe-lYcso/s1600/IMG_20140124_103712.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out across a clearing along La Pierre Levée</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-whY2Le2g2KcVBq5SDrEaYSTqL8JrYcOFgK272LkJlzyZo9a9Bwrf59mm9OWsi09Cf798xXxov3nWNdSGvP1lzdNpi4fZlfM548Sl5vZUHi66Fs-2eUup9chc0qVp6O44Arjr/s1600/IMG_20140124_112200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-whY2Le2g2KcVBq5SDrEaYSTqL8JrYcOFgK272LkJlzyZo9a9Bwrf59mm9OWsi09Cf798xXxov3nWNdSGvP1lzdNpi4fZlfM548Sl5vZUHi66Fs-2eUup9chc0qVp6O44Arjr/s1600/IMG_20140124_112200.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hutch at Risoux-Bellefontaine</td></tr>
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The overnight snow made the tracks soft and not particularly fast, which suited me perfectly, and the sunshine made for some spectacular contrasts between the sunlight and the shadows of the evergreens.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFacXqTz-dADNQuLdk9wwPIlb3Q_A_Lm3HLuZNUka4MMRZrVbbSvgjwv0mwQWVK5Cjn7YZienFU5uCmHAuPYDADVcwh8et0kOvZiwXVuiVgHZ-4VsDX2qYq-v_Gc9LECIhvjN/s1600/IMG_20140124_115628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFacXqTz-dADNQuLdk9wwPIlb3Q_A_Lm3HLuZNUka4MMRZrVbbSvgjwv0mwQWVK5Cjn7YZienFU5uCmHAuPYDADVcwh8et0kOvZiwXVuiVgHZ-4VsDX2qYq-v_Gc9LECIhvjN/s1600/IMG_20140124_115628.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees in light and shade along Le Grand Remblai</td></tr>
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The sunshine was also having the effect of making some of the trees shake off parts of their white coats as the snow lodged on them melted and shifted. The falling snow through the sunshine made for a very impressive sight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinA3E1j41FffspZK2fqUCMNkUFwCHL6YzE7dZU4l3Z7DxnjJOBK7zlon_CN3eNZlfvMc6LXYmPXw1yXUDhUPzF-Go4jinSzl1NzTcpjYKcLAFuYjipv8RLgSse_TQUMg1Pgne/s1600/IMG_20140124_114815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinA3E1j41FffspZK2fqUCMNkUFwCHL6YzE7dZU4l3Z7DxnjJOBK7zlon_CN3eNZlfvMc6LXYmPXw1yXUDhUPzF-Go4jinSzl1NzTcpjYKcLAFuYjipv8RLgSse_TQUMg1Pgne/s1600/IMG_20140124_114815.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another clearing along Le Grand Remblai</td></tr>
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Back at Les Combettes for lunch, the ticket lady was again very welcoming, and we talked about the Loppet, and she offered me tea and water. Eventually I headed out again, up the Pierre Levée, and across and down to the southernmost liaison across to the Crêt Des Sauges. On arriving at the Chalet Rose intersection, I had my first crash of the day, coming down the hill at speed into a soft snow drift at the centre of the intersection.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkU9SR-wbmxY7peW6I3LVdm_QPkb3YNOneZV5C8eRSV6ySAc8satzn89G0-1knshcqL6Jy3ZbF6uR_L_XHhT6sgz41zPskczxsMDnQwfdgwtROZPvsyubwI6qT3A6pQ2p9p1z/s1600/IMG_20140124_135105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkU9SR-wbmxY7peW6I3LVdm_QPkb3YNOneZV5C8eRSV6ySAc8satzn89G0-1knshcqL6Jy3ZbF6uR_L_XHhT6sgz41zPskczxsMDnQwfdgwtROZPvsyubwI6qT3A6pQ2p9p1z/s1600/IMG_20140124_135105.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Chalet Rose</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJytQvPSnFG4xnEEB_03rUZir54EpbocLJh3ErcIAw-hAVPvGFk0_RNiE9Em1m-xqgDK_YcmNv9r-uTYHpa4sN7FgHrIy8B0QGyyV7DOkCD9BuDDk-odH0v3tq9S2ar9Yab9yV/s1600/IMG_20140124_135120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJytQvPSnFG4xnEEB_03rUZir54EpbocLJh3ErcIAw-hAVPvGFk0_RNiE9Em1m-xqgDK_YcmNv9r-uTYHpa4sN7FgHrIy8B0QGyyV7DOkCD9BuDDk-odH0v3tq9S2ar9Yab9yV/s1600/IMG_20140124_135120.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frazzled but happy after a crash at the Chalet Rose</td></tr>
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From the Chalet Rose I headed west across to the corner of the Sauges loop, just 1.5km from the Porte de la Combe du Vert near Les Rousses. I was feeling tired, having covered somewhere around 30km already by my reckoning (the GPS later disagreed somewhat), but I was determined to make the most of my last day, at the very willing price of exhaustion and certain soreness, so I pushed myself hard around a loop of the Crêt Des Sauges, including a very controlled and dignified (if I do say so myself) descent of a hill that would have featured a half dozen crashes at the start of the week. I clocked myself at about 1hr10min for the 8.4km loop (which, despite being quite up-and-down, should keep any skiing ego I might have had in check).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJDTjR-EmlGlZRg94u6ZEVzsB18DpL4WKwOAO-GNEXgwqbqSDJTqfmr14RUSRBfPYACH_UfrZHlBYH1dE0D5aeXNcXckzP6wXDaj1pVDEXTKvwDUFJg5989BSzptts6Mmefxb/s1600/IMG_20140124_144934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJDTjR-EmlGlZRg94u6ZEVzsB18DpL4WKwOAO-GNEXgwqbqSDJTqfmr14RUSRBfPYACH_UfrZHlBYH1dE0D5aeXNcXckzP6wXDaj1pVDEXTKvwDUFJg5989BSzptts6Mmefxb/s1600/IMG_20140124_144934.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long shadows around Le Crêt des Sauges</td></tr>
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From there I took a gentle downhill towards La Combe du Vert, and a turn-off to the liason back to Les Rousses. This trail very quickly became quite hairy, with no traces and being quite up and down with sharp turns. I crashed a couple of times, and was relieved when eventually the trail gave way to a racquette trail of a few hundred metres down to the road. By this point I was very much feeling my injuries: a very sore right achilles, left tibialis anterior, very sore feet, and a nasty case of chafing. The 2km walk remaining did not appeal, but while walking I noticed a dameuse crafting a trail just beside me, so I jumped onto that - skiing being less difficult than walking at this point - which shortened my journey by a precious few hundred metres. Nonetheless, the kilometre walk after that was a very painful affair, and I was very glad of a hot shower back at the room. I figured I had covered at least 40km for the day, although I was disappointed to see that the GPS claimed 35km.<br />
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In the evening I barged in a little early, and had to amuse myself reading Karenina on my phone until the staff had done with <i>their</i> dinner. The wait was worth it though; the trout I had, accompanied by a decent viognier and followed by tarte a l'orange, was well and truly the best meal I had all week, and I treated myself to a p'tit calva afterwards.<br />
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For the rest of the trip:<br />
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<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
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<br />Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-13596475924547695012014-01-27T16:52:00.000+10:002014-01-28T13:43:33.082+10:00Les Rousses, Day 4<br />
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Today I really got into my skiing. I headed out a little later than intended, but earlier than previously, to La Darbella.</div>
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I headed north this time, into the forêt de la Sambine. Initially I started along the Bois de Ban trail, which had been marked as open at the hut, but I encountered a "chemin fermé" sign, so headed instead up the Fer à cheval trail, which had been marked as closed at the hut, but seemed both open and groomed. The trail was very pleasant, again closed in by pines and other trees covered by a fresh fall of snow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le forêt de la Sambine</td></tr>
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The trees earlier in the week had been a mix of skeletal white and green pines lightly shrouded in white, but today the skeletons had more meat on their bones, and the evergreens were well and truly cloaked in white.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5R6Jc0927XuoREUUhWl9gztqw2ZFesicRovSaIXV-YjbOvHAOrO-5zsdkGNp9dyBCSqekXg_Se96MYYYffBERyVvwRz07nkNQspk3hDzt5ad9XDzcVgqc1JKAZBfcUA3j_X4/s1600/IMG_20140123_120647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5R6Jc0927XuoREUUhWl9gztqw2ZFesicRovSaIXV-YjbOvHAOrO-5zsdkGNp9dyBCSqekXg_Se96MYYYffBERyVvwRz07nkNQspk3hDzt5ad9XDzcVgqc1JKAZBfcUA3j_X4/s1600/IMG_20140123_120647.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Between Le Bois de Ban and Les Arobiers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The snow was falling on and off, at times quite heavy, and the visibility was reasonably low, down to 40m or so at times, but I was very happy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTh9Hrp_M2cnk8m37uN1y8IGiG7sOymaOzJPm8x6jJ0N6XVcQ0of651H_fL3jJtiwrLfwUhNbnfc6ZIw_t0lA25gKOlFmTYZBgFIoi7IwFW9V_GT6k6ydeThT_80cRGz0tMBLe/s1600/IMG_20140123_125007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTh9Hrp_M2cnk8m37uN1y8IGiG7sOymaOzJPm8x6jJ0N6XVcQ0of651H_fL3jJtiwrLfwUhNbnfc6ZIw_t0lA25gKOlFmTYZBgFIoi7IwFW9V_GT6k6ydeThT_80cRGz0tMBLe/s1600/IMG_20140123_125007.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very pleasant skiing along Les Arobiers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbuHMEiRz5ZL5FvV4MIAzlntKFpWbjbCwCZ6qnw0BuPwee_WS1gsrnS0xNtU8ZdVoXsLoYt0lNTyD5HRxAL4l90EqosWuBlcBCnLeHUsz3T57Q4TEF8t5zYkrQ8PhtOdJ6HSB/s1600/IMG_20140123_125011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbuHMEiRz5ZL5FvV4MIAzlntKFpWbjbCwCZ6qnw0BuPwee_WS1gsrnS0xNtU8ZdVoXsLoYt0lNTyD5HRxAL4l90EqosWuBlcBCnLeHUsz3T57Q4TEF8t5zYkrQ8PhtOdJ6HSB/s1600/IMG_20140123_125011.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Difficult to avoid accidental selfies while wearing ski gloves!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RfhRKgLMmCmZbIP4OKZDjJ9dmm8uhGY5B8QTkbFjJrZUF2lIzqTlQpUy6P0V5m_MfQo1rupu5PGCr76wZJMRsGOtBzWq6PIJpmp-y37qDuPw-CM3T94a1KDDfxdiwmdV_Z3S/s1600/IMG_20140123_125152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RfhRKgLMmCmZbIP4OKZDjJ9dmm8uhGY5B8QTkbFjJrZUF2lIzqTlQpUy6P0V5m_MfQo1rupu5PGCr76wZJMRsGOtBzWq6PIJpmp-y37qDuPw-CM3T94a1KDDfxdiwmdV_Z3S/s1600/IMG_20140123_125152.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees in white coats!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At Prémanon I turned and followed the Bois de Ban along through the Sambine until it met Les Arobiers, which continued, again through very pretty country alternating between pine forest and some grazing land. Through these I descended down to Lamoura, where I had my lunch.<br />
<br />
I headed out again from Lamoura intending to follow Les Arobiers/Le Boulu along the north side of the lake. The trail was very rough and without rails. Eventually I passed a group of schoolchildren on racquettes, and I was convinced that I'd missed the trail and ended up on a découverte section, and eventually off-piste following a group of uniformed people - army or firemen - plugging away through fairly fresh (i.e. soft and difficult snow. At some point the "trail" ended just above a road, and I walked down and along the road to La Serra, only a few hundred metres away. At La Serra I rejoined the south side of Le Boulu which I'd taken the previous day, and made my way back to La Darbella along a fairly flat section which had been closed earlier in the week.<br />
<br />
I figured by the end that I'd done about 25km, but I suspect the GPS will show it as more like 20. Nonetheless, I was satisfied that I'd had a proper full day's worth of skiing.<br />
<br />
Back at the golf course, I had a dinner of escalope jurassien (i.e. chicken and prosciutto bathed in cheese and cream), and a quite decent red, followed by tarte au poire et amandes. Very satisfying!<br />
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
<br />Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-78177696024538049902014-01-27T16:43:00.000+10:002014-01-28T13:43:17.588+10:00Les Rousses, Day 3My third day in the mountains was a little compromised, in that I suspended my rules of no work to have a teleconference about a grant proposal. It meant that I was tied up until a little after 11, and the vagaries of the Ski Bus meant that I wasn't able to get up to the pistes until around 2.<br />
<br />
My intention was to try Le Boulu, a 12km loop in the valley between La Serra and Lamoura. I started at the eastern end, and worked my way along the southern side. It was a very flat track, slightly descending and going past some small downhill stations. The sun was shining, which was pleasant above ground, but was having a detrimental effect on the snow, which was showing brown spots in places.<br />
<br />
As I turned around the western end of the loop, the track tunnelled through some trees alongside a creek - very pretty - then up past some farmhouses towards Lamoura, where the snow gave out and I was forced to hoof it for a few hundred metres into Lamoura. I decided to skip the remaining 5km or so in favour of catching the 4:30pm bus rather than being forced onto the later one, a decision I was glad of as I walked back through Les Rousses in the rapidly cooling evening.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4MBZDkOXglcmoOSETrE5ZrZ7bRMtO_XcrIytRzJX2iHSkJvQKMSJeK6Dy65Yyx36dBWmwBBFCna8K_3ehuoXiuWaS6NJUeJpB4fsx49ARyWfxHT_uECbfYAxTXV2-C8GSnWq/s1600/IMG_20140122_155939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4MBZDkOXglcmoOSETrE5ZrZ7bRMtO_XcrIytRzJX2iHSkJvQKMSJeK6Dy65Yyx36dBWmwBBFCna8K_3ehuoXiuWaS6NJUeJpB4fsx49ARyWfxHT_uECbfYAxTXV2-C8GSnWq/s1600/IMG_20140122_155939.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out from Lamoura in later afternoon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For dinner I popped into the golf club upstairs and had a fondue (nice cheese, but kind of boring as a meal), accompanied by another average Chardonnay, and followed by some blueberry pie. There was a group there arriving after a raquette (snowshoe) outing as part of an office retreat of some kind, and one girl among them was in a very bad way physically, being force-fed sugar and made to lie down before an ambulance was eventually called (although, I learnt later, not used).<br />
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-4.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 4</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-50609195862844585032014-01-27T16:40:00.001+10:002014-01-28T13:43:00.507+10:00Les Rousses, Day 2<br />
My second day was better in pretty much every way. I was satisfied to find that the breakfast provided by my hosts was not excessive (a relief coming from Germany), but still afforded me a half baguette left over for my lunch. This I complemented by a trip to the supermarket to pick up some of my old french favourites - comté, saucisson sec and caramel au beurre salé - as well as some apples and trail mix. This meant I didn't get up to Darbella until after midday, but having bought enough to last me for a week's worth of lunches, I figured it was worthwhile.<br />
<br />
The skiing began in much the same fashion as the previous day, which is to say well. Philosophically I was in better shape, using the small downhill sections as a way to practice some of the downhill techniques which had let me down the day before. At the turn of La Dolarde, though, on a whim I figured I'd try to extend myself, and headed uphill along Les Logettes, a steeper and (at 7.5km) longer trail.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDid1TgNUktEv4kpeJDzSy171Ls0aUUuwxp6pWlEpwWnXtveiQLiuxUk24BMy3LPXQ4GphckZfzPrAUJNTKZGY_YWrdzX4JVjVLbt0mfTBO02333gzdmznAWlZeTMQwpFK4SB/s1600/IMG_20140121_125328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDid1TgNUktEv4kpeJDzSy171Ls0aUUuwxp6pWlEpwWnXtveiQLiuxUk24BMy3LPXQ4GphckZfzPrAUJNTKZGY_YWrdzX4JVjVLbt0mfTBO02333gzdmznAWlZeTMQwpFK4SB/s1600/IMG_20140121_125328.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Les Logettes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once again I felt pretty good going uphill. At the top I passed on the Chalet de la Frasse, and carried on towards the downhill half of the trail. I was very slow, but managed to keep myself in control basically the whole way down what was a very pretty twisting trail entunneled (which my spellchecker assures me isn't a word, but which will be one day) by trees laden with the evening's snowfall. By the time I arrived back at Le Carrefour de la Dolarde, I was feeling very proud of myself, not only in having crashed less than the day before, but in my discipline in maintaining control over what was a fairly difficult descent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs41XEWQ7XjxUDRqj-e3ZEkpvQ1jk-ndSWchOxGOY9VH-QsasxKEulJijruHDRBLb8f6nHUsfo-k64QiODI3_73CnTza-bB0DqxuRVwVUWm365guFnx_tDjBo9mpMejgyoDD2/s1600/IMG_20140121_125341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs41XEWQ7XjxUDRqj-e3ZEkpvQ1jk-ndSWchOxGOY9VH-QsasxKEulJijruHDRBLb8f6nHUsfo-k64QiODI3_73CnTza-bB0DqxuRVwVUWm365guFnx_tDjBo9mpMejgyoDD2/s1600/IMG_20140121_125341.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Working hard on Les Logettes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Back at the chalet I had a well earned and very enjoyable lunch (better by far than the previous day's pain au raisin and baguette) of my new purchases, then with one eye on the clock, I headed out for a quick run of La Dolarde before the bus left. This I managed without any real falls (I will forgive myself a small slip at one point). Even returning on the bus I felt a better vibe from the driver (having yesterday waited at the wrong stop and been chastised somewhat).<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgpEyUxXWynB1TdF_4wZXKhGYq7PsooeYu7PP60Oe0TtEd7fQu8EvVHuU80ciSoYfLPHFhd16RFkuhaT_8BiPG5g6RejM6FCGV4Cz6eAIQ7d8DhiYQbbiCJ3kdpIdrSWnjM31/s1600/IMG_20140121_162505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgpEyUxXWynB1TdF_4wZXKhGYq7PsooeYu7PP60Oe0TtEd7fQu8EvVHuU80ciSoYfLPHFhd16RFkuhaT_8BiPG5g6RejM6FCGV4Cz6eAIQ7d8DhiYQbbiCJ3kdpIdrSWnjM31/s1600/IMG_20140121_162505.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out past the Golf du Rochat, where I stayed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After getting home and showering, I headed uphill in the dying light into town with a vague idea of seeking food. Of course, the dying light being 5:30pm, this was folly, and I was reduced to walking around town and buying postcards, finally popping into one of the few bars for a beer while I awaited a reasonable hour to dine. The town really didn't have the kind of atmosphere I'd expected of a ski town. There were few people in the few bars - very different from the buzz I'd anticipated.<br />
<br />
Eventually I gave in and presented myself at the locally precocious hour of 7pm at a restaurant I'd reconnoitred a couple of times earlier. Under the principle of being on holidays and having earned the right to spoil myself, I helped myself to a tartiflette (it had been too long!), a half bottle of chardonnay (very average) and a tarte tatin, before bumbling back downhill shivering and lit by my headtorch, to the comfortable warmth of my room.<br />
<br />
At 8:30pm, it was hardly a night out, but all told, there wasn't a significant aspect of day 2 that wasn't entirely superior to day 1.<br />
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-3.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 3</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-4.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 4</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-87838176891720195282014-01-27T16:34:00.001+10:002014-01-28T13:42:44.814+10:00Les Rousses, Day 1I had developed a very positive anticipation for the railway trip up to Les Rousses. Arriving at Nyon early, I transferred to a very small train in its own little station beside the main gare. My scheduled train wasn't for another half hour, but there was one there, and given that the station served only one line, I figured no harm could come of taking an earlier service. In the end, it terminated in St-Cergue, a couple of stops shy of my intended destination of La Cure, but I was able to wait a half hour for the next train, and I comforted myself that it was as well to wait in a small town as in a big one. As it happened, I struck up a conversation with an English fellow heading to La Givrine for some skiing lessons. As for the trip itself, it was very pleasant, through countryside and very small towns coming out of Nyon, and a few factory stops, then climbing above the snow line into small resort towns higher up towards St Cergue and La Cure.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdFRMiHcUS0m5N_xclg54XlwATQPzg_2FyLC6Oj4cH2k-csslSQGr69ecalkkl08GiVv11IYBmeOxYXfJDnYvpwOv25KpHExR1yyl-DMhGwpkDwhUvzHHQ3k7kHpsS7yxpYXd/s1600/IMG_20140120_095228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdFRMiHcUS0m5N_xclg54XlwATQPzg_2FyLC6Oj4cH2k-csslSQGr69ecalkkl08GiVv11IYBmeOxYXfJDnYvpwOv25KpHExR1yyl-DMhGwpkDwhUvzHHQ3k7kHpsS7yxpYXd/s1600/IMG_20140120_095228.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Cure Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eventually arriving at La Cure, after a quick phone call I was met by Nicolas, from the golf course where I was staying. Having settled in quickly, I walked the 20 minutes or so up into the town and was quickly able to familiarise myself with the bus services, purchase a ski pass for the 5 days, and arrange the rental of some skis. I headed back down to my room for a quick costume change then, with the number of aller-retours beginning to mount, headed back up and out by bus via Les Jouvencelles to La Darbella, by about 2pm.<br />
<br />
Setting out surrounded by schoolchildren, I was a little intimidated by their comparative expertise, and my rust. I was fairly terrified of my first short downhill, but managed to negotiate it staying in the tracks. Making my way around the shortest loop - La Dolarde - I actually felt pretty good. I was starting to recall the rhythms I'd learnt in New Zealand all those years ago, and was making good progress up hill.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOVEGS8miDNyPiw4dMP6VTGFOuMwfXcmcyccWeEMC-3bKHUaPKHLDZz7dEYXIe3wPeUSKarEvB0UnP8J4HN2snM7Jl1ovXiatCUQ3dEBjTv-aA_rzi1tUSSSWBtplu2tkeA_9/s1600/IMG_20140120_145021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOVEGS8miDNyPiw4dMP6VTGFOuMwfXcmcyccWeEMC-3bKHUaPKHLDZz7dEYXIe3wPeUSKarEvB0UnP8J4HN2snM7Jl1ovXiatCUQ3dEBjTv-aA_rzi1tUSSSWBtplu2tkeA_9/s1600/IMG_20140120_145021.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down La Dolarde</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I turned, and the first descent - though longer than I'd anticipated - went OK, with only once instance of sitting down mid-piste when things got a little hairy. At the second, longer descent, I had a little crash near the top, then waited while a horde of 5 year-old made their way down switching from one set of tracks to the other and back. My intention was strictly to get to the bottom without completely wiping out. I was unsuccessful - I think the count was 3 fairly silly looking disasters, with muscles getting distinctly sore.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoK-1MbUvUJ3YAa-emhmUMchYKNDCoFgKrDTwKpIAN4Mvf6ticanO5sgeis-EslBEnMtGs2g2rqPFHDYPLBKl1Ecur1_bgvSi5vBxAgyduCaWNlBJNCMu61r8TcURTsVXyNWf/s1600/IMG_20140120_145045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoK-1MbUvUJ3YAa-emhmUMchYKNDCoFgKrDTwKpIAN4Mvf6ticanO5sgeis-EslBEnMtGs2g2rqPFHDYPLBKl1Ecur1_bgvSi5vBxAgyduCaWNlBJNCMu61r8TcURTsVXyNWf/s1600/IMG_20140120_145045.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaken but not deterred on Day 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I crept home feeling fairly dejected at my clear lack of ability going downhill. Worst of all, I'd felt a fair bit of the grabbing in my right calf which had plagued my running in recent months, and I was pretty worried that it would hamper the rest of my week.<br />
<br />
Back at the golf course, with a quite reasonable spray of snow falling (we had about an inch), and faced with the decision of going back into town (for the third time) to seek dinner (the golf course restaurant being closed until Wednesday), I fell into my worst travel habits, and buttered my remaining half bagette and had a miserly dinner of bread with honey and a cup of tea, over a couple of chapters of Anna Karenina. I'm good at looking after myself at home; the same cannot be said when I travel. The additional difficulty of not knowing where anything is has a tendency to see me skip meals from time to time.<br />
<div>
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-2.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 2</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-3.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 3</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-4.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 4</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-61390514115321408182014-01-27T16:26:00.000+10:002014-01-28T13:42:28.199+10:00Aachen to Dusseldort to Heathrow to GenevaThe trip from Aachen to Geneva was largely uneventful. I was conscious that I'd probably made a mistake by flying rather than taking trains, but I was happy to just live with it. I had a couple of hours at Heathrow, during which I principally amused myself by grinning about Australia having beaten England in another ODI.<br />
<br />
Geneva, on this trip, struck me as a distinctly dirty city. This was an odd impression to take away, since it wasn't one I'd had on my previous visit 10 years ago, nor did it fit with my general stereotype of Switzerland, of order and organisation. Admittedly, my hotel was near the main railway station - never a good location in a European city, but I felt neither impressed nor even particularly safe walking around the streets looking (without great satisfaction) for a decent restaurant.<br />
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-1.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 1</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-2.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 2</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-3.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 3</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-4.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 4</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-6747912905609660162014-01-27T16:24:00.000+10:002014-01-28T13:42:11.659+10:00AachenThe dust is deep on this blog, but on my recent work/holiday trip to Aachen and the Jura, respectively, I felt compelled to write, and did. So, here follow, in episodes correspondingly loosely to days, those accounts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGD5_PpB0vPjVtsT23GjxPHgHyhSTahylRR7RtLpRgKcQTGJhLsBAD28B3SLMEF6ZnlUdWg8EB59bCci5_wJoRi0yJNfqJHPqSL8L0rKA9wl4c7Sdijl7ifwEeY_Jld0IvMsFV/s1600/IMG_20140111_174352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGD5_PpB0vPjVtsT23GjxPHgHyhSTahylRR7RtLpRgKcQTGJhLsBAD28B3SLMEF6ZnlUdWg8EB59bCci5_wJoRi0yJNfqJHPqSL8L0rKA9wl4c7Sdijl7ifwEeY_Jld0IvMsFV/s1600/IMG_20140111_174352.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from hotel room in Aachen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The first week of my trip bears little discussion, really. Most days consisted of catching a cab around daybreak from the hotel out to the university, where we worked through the day writing and talking about the book, with lunches at the uni cafeteria. We generally broke between 7 and 8 for dinner in town somewhere. For the most part the days were uneventful and the dinners nothing to write home about (although one of the restaurants was apparently the birthplace of Reuters).<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRqZWz2S9yQcR1VQThjv-1sZWbNtweXqDeOKohPY5zq-4kkzWpg44vKdqL_0JasWyJzVUK97KerYctxbeoMgDOE65a2n2yy0BQ3Edw1M_oMTwDhDdI65oBHz8NBc_FldRliP9/s1600/IMG_20140118_115500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRqZWz2S9yQcR1VQThjv-1sZWbNtweXqDeOKohPY5zq-4kkzWpg44vKdqL_0JasWyJzVUK97KerYctxbeoMgDOE65a2n2yy0BQ3Edw1M_oMTwDhDdI65oBHz8NBc_FldRliP9/s1600/IMG_20140118_115500.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dom in Aachen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The change in Aachen on the Saturday was quite remarkable. Throughout the week, the streets in the evenings and particularly in the mornings had seemed almost deserted, but come Saturday the town was filled with people.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAmuocKwNWeSY9-l16UA_ptjouGRSfdEuE24OlIp6b6s3SYIa2FgwODekPjPq4ELdH7khnolVvmjDOEnB_oC6fwLhFnp9DVTfotMUN0g18Z4fEoRnUc6bfAKCXVhLfyqMW3ZM/s1600/IMG_20140118_120213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAmuocKwNWeSY9-l16UA_ptjouGRSfdEuE24OlIp6b6s3SYIa2FgwODekPjPq4ELdH7khnolVvmjDOEnB_oC6fwLhFnp9DVTfotMUN0g18Z4fEoRnUc6bfAKCXVhLfyqMW3ZM/s1600/IMG_20140118_120213.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back of the Aachen town hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a lovely sunny day, and I'm not sure from whence they'd come (visiting from out of town or just emerging from the suburbs), but the town was buzzing with people from all walks. I had a couple of nice walks around town, past the town hall and cathedral, both bristling with a half dozen different architectural styles all mashed together over the centuries.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaF62Syr7aOmj7nRELbZaycJuulkR72YpzvGtQFSoF2hcXiFssO4rWT6M8Dlxhw2D6PcKqNqUCNFSkwB1zBPh81xglIyB8Q74zkkF3-J1olJ1ruVaZZSlXTOg6KrSQuzfEee4l/s1600/IMG_20140118_120811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaF62Syr7aOmj7nRELbZaycJuulkR72YpzvGtQFSoF2hcXiFssO4rWT6M8Dlxhw2D6PcKqNqUCNFSkwB1zBPh81xglIyB8Q74zkkF3-J1olJ1ruVaZZSlXTOg6KrSQuzfEee4l/s1600/IMG_20140118_120811.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The front of the Aachen town hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
For the rest of the trip:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/aachen-to-dusseldort-to-heathrow-to.html" target="_blank">Aachen to Düsseldorf to Heathrow to Geneva</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-1.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 1</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-2.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 2</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-3.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 3</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-4.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 4</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-day-5.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, Day 5</a></li>
<li><a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2014/01/les-rousses-le-depart.html" target="_blank">Les Rousses, le départ</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-37264497233285009522013-11-03T21:43:00.001+10:002013-11-03T21:43:17.200+10:00calamity of such long layoffIts been far too long since I blogged about books, and as a result, I stand no chance of doing any justice to those I've read this year. In brief, then:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>A Farewell To Arms (Ernest Hemingway): It occurs to me that this might be my favourite of the Hemingway books I've thus far read, but that's a woefully inadequate description. This is still a really good book, but whether its because of the autobiographical elements (I think they're autobiographical) or just the less striking setting, this one lacks the sharpness or depth of For Whom The Bell Tolls, which I think is my favourite Hemingway.</li>
<li>All That I Am (Anna Funder): This won the Miles Franklin last year, and is a pretty solid entry in a genre I wouldn't ordinarily pick up (nazis, for one thing). Book club selection with Nic and company.</li>
<li>They Call Me Coach (John Wooden): There's just something about this book. The writing is often bland and repetitive, but the love that Wooden had (and still had at writing) for his players just shows through continuously, and I don't mind admitting I felt a bit choked up at times because of it. </li>
<li>Oscar and Lucinda (Peter Carey): This book carries such a big reputation with so many people I know, that perhaps I expected more. Its a diverting enough story, I guess, but it never really got to me.</li>
<li>The Old Man and the Sea (Ernest Hemingway): For so long I've named Steinbeck as my all-time favourite author, but Hemingway is giving him a good run these days. This is one of those perfectly formed novellas that you read in one sitting then put down and immediately think about nostalgically. I think I still prefer the depth of Tolls, but this one thoroughly deserves its great reputation.</li>
<li>Starship Troopers (Robert Heinlein): Having been such a fan of the movie, and having enjoyed Stranger in a Strange Land, I was looking forward to this one (another book club book). I have to say that, although I quite enjoyed it, it really wasn't what I expected. Very little "sci" for a scifi book!</li>
<li>Steppenwolf (Hermann Hesse): Very good tale, and quite unlike what I normally read, with the distinctive and eloquent writing style (albeit translated) of an older author, but the transgressive material of the latter 20th century (though it was first published in 1927). Very good.</li>
<li>Bleak House (Charles Dickens): I'm still yet to be let down by Dickens, and this book offers many memorable characterisations, none less so than that of the legal profession through the wonderful scenario of Jarndyce and Jarndyce! The characters, especially the women, are a little thin at times, but the story and vividly painted setting make it all OK.</li>
<li>Carrion Comfort (Dan Simmons): Really good stuff! JMJ and Jacques recommended this to me for years before I actually bought it, and although I don't think its on the level of Hyperion, its a good tale about a really good premise.</li>
<li>Washington Square (Henry James): I don't think I'd read any Henry James before this novella, but his reputation as a wordsmith is well earned. This story and its characters are a little odd, but his writing is just so lovely that I didn't mind.</li>
<li>The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History (Free Darko): I bought and started this years ago, but saved it mercilessly for years, like a child hoarding halloween candy in denial that the holiday is actually over. FD may have been the peak of sportswriting for me - whether the writing has gone downhill, or whether a wider remit makes their American homerism more conspicuous, The Classical just isn't the same.</li>
<li>The Man Who Loved Children (Christina Stead): This was mentioned on an ABC show about the great Australian novels, so I picked up a copy at the tip shop for a couple of dollars. I have to say, though, I don't think it belongs in that list. Its diverting enough, with some good characters and a strong sense of their relationships, but for me it lacked a sense of place, and never really grabbed me from a story point of view.</li>
<li>Ender's Game (Orson Scott Card): This one grabbed me. Rollicking good page-turner scifi classic, with easy action and just enough psychology and sociology to keep the mind involved. The movie will probably be mindless action, but the book deserves its status in the SF canon.</li>
</ul>
<div>
So there you have it. At times I haven't been reading much this year, and like any year there are some books which read very quickly and easily (Hemingway, James, Ender's Game) and others which take months (Carrion Comfort, though it was no indicator of quality, The Man Who Loved Children). I always hope that the end of the year will see me reading more, but only time will tell. Summers get busier every year, it seems.</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-81199106063169269382013-09-03T13:02:00.001+10:002013-09-03T13:02:44.120+10:00Father and Son at GOMA for Melbourne Uni alumni event<style type="text/css">.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; }</style><div class="flickr-frame"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/9541944541/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2888/9541944541_ab40b5c12f.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" width="400"/></a><br /> <span class="flickr-caption"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/9541944541/">107-UOM Believe BNE 2013 300dpi</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/">University of Melbourne Alumni</a>.</span></div> <p class="flickr-yourcomment"> I'm not sure what we're talking about here, but it clearly necessitated some very specific hand gestures!</p>Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-28107424190829249052013-09-03T13:01:00.001+10:002013-09-03T13:01:43.813+10:00Melbourne Uni alumni event at GOMA<style type="text/css">.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; }</style><div class="flickr-frame"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/9541942767/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3783/9541942767_5725b9a5a1.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" width="400"/></a><br /> <span class="flickr-caption"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/9541942767/">109-UOM Believe BNE 2013 300dpi</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/unimelb_alumni/">University of Melbourne Alumni</a>.</span></div> <p class="flickr-yourcomment"> Its art. Very serious stuff!</p>Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-10974054505774178352013-08-18T20:09:00.001+10:002013-08-18T20:09:24.442+10:00stewThis has been a difficult week. I've been below my best as a teacher, and as a researcher. I was reminded that I can make a big difference to my students with very small gestures, but those won't get save my job next year, and its frustrating that I'm not doing the big things better.<br />
<br />
More importantly, though, I've been struggling to find things outside of work to make good on my great French lesson of<i> travailler pour vivre et non vivre pour travailler</i> (perhaps the greatest lesson I learnt during my time in Rennes<sup>1</sup>). It is hard to recall when my work-life balance was less life-focussed than now.<br />
<br />
Tonight, though, I made a really good lamb stew. I had some diced lamb that needed using, a bag of capsicums on special at the local fruit'n'veg, and a bottle of big Australian Shiraz that I'd been saving for illogical reasons. The smell was tantalising, and in the end all ingredients were better for each other's company.<br />
<br />
Small pleasures, but it helps.<br />
<br />
<sup>1</sup> Well, either that or "<i>Il manque un peu de beurre</i>".Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-15403995494318126862013-03-20T09:42:00.001+10:002013-03-20T11:07:14.971+10:00CopycatOne of the cakes we had for Em's birthday brunch on Sunday up at Mt Tamborine was a gluten-free orange and almond number. It was very nice, and Em mentioned that she had previously made one, and that it wasn't especially difficult.<br />
<br />
As it happened, the following day I was asked if I could bring something for our group morning tea today (Wednesday). I found myself a <a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/13538/orange+almond+cake" target="_blank">recipe</a>, grabbed myself some oranges, and had a go last night.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW6Ecph7NIduRT9oxSozh9W-0Nxbnu3HVy0p6Q3fC-NL0oN-X68GAeZSnSoZJkI-WqNZ7qa6hAG1ots8iIPZ9Nurk_eEqO7p0FWNvme1t_ZZHib2KhhHhH5_JJi3UW8Cl5823/s1600/IMG_20130320_093400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW6Ecph7NIduRT9oxSozh9W-0Nxbnu3HVy0p6Q3fC-NL0oN-X68GAeZSnSoZJkI-WqNZ7qa6hAG1ots8iIPZ9Nurk_eEqO7p0FWNvme1t_ZZHib2KhhHhH5_JJi3UW8Cl5823/s320/IMG_20130320_093400.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First attempt at Orange and Almond Cake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm fairly happy with it by eye and by nose, but we shall see how it goes in the mouth. I'm a little worried it might not quite be cooked through, but time will tell.<br />
<br />
For a long time, I used to always try while eating out to order something that I couldn't or wouldn't cook myself. I've moderated that now; I often find that I can glean a lot of tips in what a waiter or waitress brings me that I can use in my own cooking (such as it is).<br />
<br />
<i>ED. Verdict = winner.</i>Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-57030188223255733092013-03-18T11:20:00.000+10:002013-03-18T11:20:19.486+10:00Sunday out and aboutExternal forces, in the form of family and friends, drove me out of my little hermit hole on Sunday and out into the big wide world.<br />
<br />
The primary force acting on me was Emily's Birthday. The plan was for the four of us (with Mum and Dad) to head down to Mt Tamborine and do some walking. So at around 8ish, we rolled out of town and up into the hills.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5HTAtQxjlljzfbDv_gno87G07WrZl7QPiNyl3nukTpwJV16jVCWR9ruXrvExqhEkfUXX5krtcq55VlxPGSUpl-b6KmeuXEcvZmyapOtlJBOhoKN3zI_HfBY3Ln9VhMEMBUsO/s1600/P1000475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5HTAtQxjlljzfbDv_gno87G07WrZl7QPiNyl3nukTpwJV16jVCWR9ruXrvExqhEkfUXX5krtcq55VlxPGSUpl-b6KmeuXEcvZmyapOtlJBOhoKN3zI_HfBY3Ln9VhMEMBUsO/s320/P1000475.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ford at Cedar Creek Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our first port of call was at Cedar Creek Falls. The road was signposted as closed, and although some other cars seemed to be ignoring the signs, we parked at the top of the hill and walked down to the crossing. There was probably about 6 inches of water across the road, so we doffed shoes and waded across. The water was cool, clear and very pleasant - it was almost a shame to put our boots back on. We wandered down the short track to the titular Cedar Creek Falls, which was a very little waterfall with a rockpool at the bottom flanked by sheer rocky cliffs. There were some swimmers being a bit silly clambering on rocks, but I was feeling very zen, and was happy to leave them to their own follies. The creek itself was in very fine form, flowing quickly and happily through the dry rainforest.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFlxeia0cP49jg5qXJOH6OAjTg4uxMqLuMvDFFg4QjzFE19g5KVLg8duJ2sAeTX_IRpRuIHUfxTrq-QG8Xt3FbQO-mL0eLPzBMI2hFof_IwprbSQpoJRa9HRSoOtFFooHz33h/s1600/P1000478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFlxeia0cP49jg5qXJOH6OAjTg4uxMqLuMvDFFg4QjzFE19g5KVLg8duJ2sAeTX_IRpRuIHUfxTrq-QG8Xt3FbQO-mL0eLPzBMI2hFof_IwprbSQpoJRa9HRSoOtFFooHz33h/s320/P1000478.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cedar Creek Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After another pleasant wade back through the ford, we reclimbed the hill and drove on into North Tamborine for some coffee and cakes. It was nice to find decent coffee and good cake on our first attempt, and with a nice view out from the ridge.<br />
<br />
After our break, we drove on up to the well-named Knoll section, and took another quick walk out to Cameron Falls, descending through sections of rainforest and palms. Cameron Falls was quite a lot bigger, and offered a great view out north across the plain to the Brisbane city Skyline.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcRzAYeU62LMrfzVt-SwCbjV548Kn6ykVZDiytkpdi1ImhOB8skViijd-Xig8Dq6Fx3xGKv8qnaYkfWzqONaShi6VJTMeCfRd10wG23oXCbBJz1Mlzj3nyUDPWUyTpdonpTf3/s1600/P1000481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcRzAYeU62LMrfzVt-SwCbjV548Kn6ykVZDiytkpdi1ImhOB8skViijd-Xig8Dq6Fx3xGKv8qnaYkfWzqONaShi6VJTMeCfRd10wG23oXCbBJz1Mlzj3nyUDPWUyTpdonpTf3/s320/P1000481.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking upstream from the top of Cameron Falls</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVypNcMkdeBuKhOQ3ykjwRWEVfdmezqxZdaiM6Bz_WiHq3B6Y9E-B1OBzp3cdolzEHtcO4xyeDW52rE04Szdfr786g0U6m-ebUfEOAZzLl_T8qed1ZWwPJNuTDB14i7EP_hhqt/s1600/P1000482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVypNcMkdeBuKhOQ3ykjwRWEVfdmezqxZdaiM6Bz_WiHq3B6Y9E-B1OBzp3cdolzEHtcO4xyeDW52rE04Szdfr786g0U6m-ebUfEOAZzLl_T8qed1ZWwPJNuTDB14i7EP_hhqt/s320/P1000482.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cameron Falls</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking north from Cameron Falls towards Brisbane</td></tr>
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We then walked back up the hill to the Knoll, with an accompanying conversation about the distinction between lichen and fungi. Seeking lunch options, we did a bit of a reconnoitre along the ridge, driving out as far as the Mount Tamborine Golf Club, which offered great views out east across the Gold Coast (views of the Gold Coast have the added pleasure of reassuring you that you're not on the Gold Coast). We finally settled on a pie from the baker back at North Tamborine, judging people based on the cars they were driving past (the Corvette driver came in for the harshest speculation, and the flatback Morris the highest praise).<br />
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After lunch, we went seeking one more quick walk, and after being foiled by the closed MacDonald track, we took a brief walk downhill to Curtis Falls, the smallest of the falls we'd seen, but with a pleasant-looking waterhole at the bottom and, like the others, in fine form with plenty of water flowing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curtis Falls</td></tr>
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I have a sneaking suspicion I've been to Mt Tamborine at some point before, although I can't recall why, when, or with whom. Based on what I've heard, and reinforced by what we saw at times, its a very popular weekend getaway from either Brisbane or the Gold Coast. Still, the tracks we walked, while well-frequented, were not unpleasantly crowded, and seemed to be bearing up well to the traffic (notwithstanding a number of others being closed, whether because of traffic, floods, or regular maintenance). The tracks are short, and probably not sufficient if you're looking for some serious bushwalking, but as a half-day out, its pretty nice, and as it turned out yesterday, 6 or 7 degrees cooler than the valley below.<br />
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However, my day wasn't quite done at this point. After a brief drive back to Brisbane, we flicked on my air-conditioning and had a cup of tea, then I wandered over to Bardon, in response to a suggestion from Miri of fish and chips in the park. Being an uncharacteristically hot day, the plan had evolved somewhat to slip-n-slide in the Brown's backyard, but it was still very pleasant to see the Brown and Thomson girls playing, and to meet the newest tiny addition to the Brown clan. We stuck to the fish'n'chips plan, and I got a big hug from Ess before I headed home.<br />
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Perhaps its because I have some shut-in tendencies on other weekends, but I really enjoy the occasional weekend out, and I was very grateful for the provocations on this occasion.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-33640193461917522582013-03-04T14:54:00.003+10:002013-03-04T14:54:39.955+10:00Geographical distribution of Australian sporting teamsNext weekend, the Bendigo Spirit will host the Townsville Fire in the final of the WNBL. I think having two "small market" teams in the final is terrific, and hopefully its a sign of things to come.<br />
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I have, on a few occasions, had discussions with people about Australia's cities. In particular, a few years ago there was a lot of talk about the projections for Australia's population over the next 40-100 years, with many sources (including the ABS) projecting that we could be at 40-50 million people by 2050.<br />
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I am firmly of the opinion, that expanding to this kind of number but maintaining our current pattern of huge proportions of our population being centralised in 5 cities (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, Perth), is less than ideal. It might be doable, but it will put huge strains on infrastructure, and more importantly, its pretty boring. I would like to think that if we're increasing our urban population (which seems unavoidable - rural vs urban is a different debate), then the way to do it is by growing the number of significant centres, not by growing those that are already big.<br />
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How to do this escapes me; I'm not an urban planner, and discussions I've had about how to shift industry/government sectors out of the capitals have left me convinced of that. However, one place I think is ripe for decentralisation is sport.<br />
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Taking a quick glance at the teams which compete in some of Australia's biggest sporting leagues (AFL, NRL, Super Rugby, domestic cricket (using BBL), A-League, W-League, NBL, WNBL, Netball and ABL), an overwhelming number of the teams are based in the five major cities. Of the 90 Australian teams competing in these leagues (the NRL, Super Rugby, A-League, NBL and Netball leagues include teams from New Zealand and/or South Africa), 70 come from one of the big five metros:<br />
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<ul>
<li>22 in Sydney: Swans, Giants (AFL), Eels, Panthers, Roosters, Tigers, Dragons, Bulldogs, Sharks, Rabbitohs, Sea Eagles (NRL), Sixers, Thunder (BBL), Sydney United, Wanderers (both A-League and W-League), Waratahs (Super Rugby), Kings (NBL), Flames (WNBL), Blue Sox (ABL), Swifts (Netball)</li>
<li>21 in Melbourne: Magpies, Blues, Bombers, Tigers, Kangaroos, Saints, Hawks, Bulldogs, Demons (AFL), Storm (NRL), Renegades, Stars (BBL), Victory (A-League and W-League), Heart (A-League), Rebels (Super Rugby), Tigers (NBL), Boomers, Rangers (WNBL), Aces (ABL), Phoenix (Netball)</li>
<li>10 in Perth: Eagles, Dockers (AFL), Scorchers (BBL), Glory (A-League and W-League), Force (Super Rugby), Wildcats (NBL), Waves (WNBL), Heat (ABL), Fever (Netball)</li>
<li>9 in Adelaide: Crows, Power (AFL), Strikers (BBL), Adelaide United (A-League and W-League), 36ers (NBL), Lightning (WNBL), Thunderbirds (Netball), Bite (ABL)</li>
<li>8 in Brisbane: Lions (AFL), Broncos (NRL), Heat (BBL), Roar (A-League and W-League), Reds (Super Rugby), Bandits (ABL), Firebirds (Netball)</li>
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The others are split across smaller centres:<br />
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<ul>
<li>5 in Canberra: Raiders (NRL), Brumbies (Super Rugby), Capitals (WNBL), Cavalry (ABL)</li>
<li>3 in Newcastle: Knights (NRL), Jets (A-League and W-League)</li>
<li>3 in Townsville: Cowboys (NRL), Crocodiles (NBL), Fire (WNBL)</li>
<li>2 in Gold Coast: Suns (AFL), Titans (NRL)</li>
<li>Geelong Cats (AFL), although some of their games are played in Melbourne</li>
<li>Central Coast Mariners (A-League), based in Gosford</li>
<li>Wollongong Hawks (NBL)</li>
<li>Cairns Taipans (NBL)</li>
<li>Bendigo Spirit (WNBL)</li>
<li>Logan Thunder (WNBL)</li>
<li>Hobart Hurricanes (BBL)</li>
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A strong case can be made that a few of those cities could easily support more teams - Hobart, Gold Coast, Geelong, and Wollongong and Townsville have all had other teams in the past. The list of second-tier (by population) cities without teams is huge. The Sunshine Coast, Darwin, Toowoomba, Launceston, Albury and Ballarat are all bigger than Bendigo, and there are other large population centres without teams in central Queensland (Mackay, Rockhampton, Bundaberg, Gladstone and Hervey Bay) Mandurah in WA, Coffs Harbour and Wagga Wagga in NSW, to name a few.</div>
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The recent trend has been to put new teams into Western Sydney, but if I were looking to expand or realign one of the smaller leagues, I'd be looking at these smaller centres where a team has a chance to be the only (or one of the only) games in town. Even the AFL and NRL would be wise to look that way, rather than to continue with half of their league in the one city.</div>
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It may be that the league most poised to go in this direction is the A-League, which has made some noise about moving to a promotion/relegation system. I would have thought this would necessitate adding quite a few new teams, and it could be that the success (from what I've seen) of their Central Coast franchise leads them to look at some of these new areas.</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-46094652292893639842013-02-19T15:05:00.001+10:002013-02-19T15:05:42.087+10:00dividendsA few years ago, while driving up from Brisbane to Toowoomba for Christmas, Lee and I stopped in at the Big Orange to buy fruit. This is a fairly common occurrence, but on this occasion we were charged with buying mum a fig tree which they had on special. At least, I think it was a fig tree; I have a dim memory of buying what was requested and also something that wasn't, but I can't recall what those might have been. Anyway, we bought a fig tree, and gave it to mum for Christmas.<div>
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The fig tree had a bit of a rough time of it at times in the garden. In one storm in particular it was knocked over, and it was touch and go as to whether or not it would recover. However, these days it is in rude health, and this weekend past, Mum brought down a crop of 10 fresh figs for me. As an investment, that tree has well and truly paid itself off now in fruit, not to mention what it adds to the garden as a tree.</div>
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I neglected to take a photo of the whole box, but after two meals, these four were left. Of course, today, they aren't - I was under strict instructions to make sure I got through them quickly, and I was not about to disobey.</div>
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Shocking form to post pictures of food, but at least they're not instagrammed, I suppose.</div>
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I also enjoyed reading up a little about figs online. I suspect that the variety I've just been eating is the brown turkey fig. The other interesting thing I found was that many species of fig have a symbiotic relationship with a certain type of wasp, whereby the wasps can only reproduce by injecting their eggs into the fig, and the fig tree can only reproduce by the wasp carrying pollen between male and female trees (although I believe the figs here don't play this game).</div>
Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-51465585516206106412013-02-04T10:15:00.002+10:002013-02-04T10:17:30.523+10:00UnwritingWork at present is all about grant writing (tis the season) and paper writing, so my intention this weekend was to spend a little time catching up on some of that, specifically on a paper due this coming Friday. However, as it turns out - and this is hardly surprising given my form - I didn't do any writing, but instead spent most of the weekend reading. Of course, a weekend spent reading can never, ever, be considered to have been completely wasted.<br />
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Before I get to this weekend, though, I owe the usual clearinghouse of books I've read but haven't yet mentioned here (note to self: everything since <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/reading-update.html" target="_blank">Cry, The Beloved Country</a>). Actually, this corresponds pretty closely to my holiday reading.<br />
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My holiday reading began with Tess of the D'Urbervilles. In the end, this book cut through my holiday, as I frequently put it aside, often angrily, and went away to read something else. 2 of those something elses where finished by the time I finally put Tess to bed.<br />
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As I've done at times in the past, my holiday reading was fuelled early by a trip to my library, and as usual, the ideas I walked in with bore no resemblance to the books I walked out with. The first of these was The Sense Of An Ending by Julian Barnes. I read one of Barnes' books, A History of the World in 10 1/2 chapters, a few years ago, and although I wasn't overly excited by its at-times-too-clever religious analyses, it has grown on me with time. Its odd sometimes the books that you remember. Unfortunately, I can't see Sense of An Ending being one of them. Its a fairly short book told by an unreliable narrator looking back at his past relationships and friendships, and who becomes less likeable as the book goes on. Oddly enough, one of the things I liked about 10 1/2 chapters was the feeling that I didn't quite understand what was going on, but what I didn't like about Ending was the feeling that I did.<br />
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After my first library book, and as my second escape from morbid 19th century rural English moralism, I picked up something close to hand. One of my family discoveries a few years ago was that, against all the odds, we had a world champion as a distant relative. To be fair, pretty distant, though. As it turns out, I have a third cousin (or something equally vague) named Chrissie Wellington, the now-retired four-time world champion in the ironman. Although none of my close family have met her, we picked up a copy of her autobiography last year, and have all been working our way through it. Its actually a pretty good read - certainly interesting in terms of what she has done in her life, but not just in simplistic "I won this, I won this" boasting or "you can be your dreams" motivational ways. The characters - principally Chrissy herself and her coach Brett Sutton - are conflicted characters with flaws and virtues in different measure. In some ways it feels premature as an autobiography - she is only a few months older than me, and one would hope that she has a lot left to achieve in her life (the autobiography was actually written before she retired, although one wonders if it was on her mind). Hopefully our distant connection, principally through her uncle & aunt, will allow us to remain up to date with what happens beyond the last page of the book.<br />
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Having whisked through a couple of sidetracks, I finally gritted my teeth and finished off Tess. Reading shouldn't be as hard as this, but this isn't the first time I've found it hard reading from this era. At times I've whinged to people about the female "protagonists" being so passive and the social norms so backwards (as regards women, mainly). I know its not that simple, and I've never been satisfied with the words I use to complain about it, but somehow I don't enjoy reading it, even though I have enjoyed other social commentary literature from back then (Dickens, mainly). Anyway, Tess was morbid, joyless and frustrating to me, and what enjoyment I gained from the descriptions of the landscape did little to counterbalance her.<br />
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As a palate cleanser, the morning I finished Tess, I skipped through The Little Prince. Nice book, I suppose, in an early-19th-century-fantastical-childrens-book-with-transparent-social-motivational-analogies kind of way. Mostly I liked the pictures.<br />
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That brings me to this weekend (anyone new to this blog and expecting my clearinghouse to be brief would do well to free themselves of these delusions - my sporadic longwindedness is part of this blog's charm, I maintain). After Tess, I decided to go back to my wheelhouse. One of my five favourite books (back when I made the mistake of compiling such a list) is Dan Simmons' Hyperion, which was a marvellous series mixing scifi, fantasy, and literary references. His follow-up series, Ilium/Olympos, wasn't quite in the same class, but was also fascinating in the way it mixed the fantastical and the classical. So, when my browse through the library took me past Simmons' Drood, I picked it up. After a protracted reading over what has been an eventful January, I finally finished it on Saturday morning.<br />
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I had always had in my mind an impression of Simmons as two authors, one who wrote scifi/fantasy (neither of those terms fits, in fact), and another who wrote horror. I suspect now that this clear distinction between his outputs only really works until you've read sufficient of his work to realise that the the reality is much more blurred. Drood is essentially historical fiction, with supernatural/psychological elements mixed in. The story is told from the perspective of Wilkie Collins, as an unreliable narrator who is addicted to laudanum and later other opiates, and deals with the last 5 years of Charles Dickens' life following the Staplehurst rail crash. The book is a little uneven, with compelling sections, such as the pair's descent into the Undertown tunnels, but also with a tendency to drag at times. The unreliable narrator element is perhaps the best part of the book - one can never be sure what role Collins' drug use is having on the story that we are told, either in terms of the characterisations or of the events themselves.<br />
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The final book in this lengthy spiel was the one I most enjoyed. Discovering Hemingway a couple of years ago, via a chance purchase on a street near Basel (best 2CHF I've ever spent), has been one of my great pleasures of recent years, so A Farewell To Arms was another library encounter which met with no hesitation. The story is of an American working as an ambulance driver in northern Italy during the first world war. He falls in love with a Scottish nurse, then deserts the army during a retreat in which the military structures start to break down, and flees with the nurse to Switzerland. To be honest, the characters are thinly drawn, especially Catherine, who is a ghost of a woman with no discernable traits beyond lovely hair and being submissive. Henry, the protagonist, would be in AA if he existed in today's world - the quantities of vermouth, whiskey, cognac and white wine he gets through are extraordinary. However, there is something about the story that just worked for me. I don't know if its Hemingway's simple writing style, or his beautiful pacing, but I picked the book up on Saturday afternoon, and put it down Sunday evening, and really felt good about it.<br />
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My next book will be All That I Am, by Anna Funder, which won the Miles Franklin last year. The lovely Nicole is hosting a book club next week, and for all the talking I've done about books over the years, I've never done so in a more organised setting where people come actually expecting to talk about the book I've just finished reading. So I'm looking forward to it tremendously.<br />
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Having loosened my authorial gland through the above braindump, I shall now return to avoiding the writing I really should be doing.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-45654598912732795672012-11-29T13:49:00.000+10:002013-02-04T10:18:19.816+10:00Reading updateEarlier in the year I set myself a goal of reading 25 books this year. At times that has seemed like an easy goal, and at others an impossible one. One of the forces working against me has been my guilty conscience - when I have marking, or proof-reading, or reviewing on my slate at work, then I take work home. This isn't to say I stop reading because I'm working (although that does sometimes happen), but the presence of the work in my unopened bag makes me guilty enough to stop myself reading for pleasure.<br />
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Nonetheless, it hasn't been a bad year thus far for reading. The chief reason for this has been Game of Thrones, which has accounted for 5 of the 18 books I've read thus far, and a much greater proportion of the pages I've read. Last night I finished the 5th of the series, A Dance With Dragons, bringing me up to date and into the large group of people waiting patiently for Martin's final 2 instalments, whenever they should arrive. Its a pretty serviceable series, better written than a lot of fantasy, and less closely drawn to the standard fantasy story archetypes (the hero's quest for symbol of power, blah blah blah). Martin's willingness to kill off significant characters gruesomely, and often suddenly, also helps to make the stories less predictable for the rusted-on reader of the genre, which is nice. Having watched the first season of the excellent TV adaptation before reading book 1, and the second at the same time as I read book 2, I now find myself a long way ahead. To date the adaptation has produced one series per book, but I suspect it will struggle to do so as the stories broaden across Martin's world, and as the source books thicken.<br />
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I've also read a couple of other books to break up the flow. I started Murakami's 1Q84 while in London, and finished after I got back, but I can't say I enjoyed it much. It moves at a very slow pace, and a number of things about his writing frustrate me - he's obsessed with women's bodies, more than I found reasonable, and his ambition in his prose style outstrips his ability, I thought, with a lot of strained metaphors and distracting detours from the central plot, mixed with excessive exposition and leaps of logic from his characters. It also desperately wanted a severe editor - a 300 page story in a 1000 page book.<br />
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At the Lifeline book fair earlier this year, 3 of the books I bought were Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. Having read Red Mars, the first instalment, its certainly an impressive piece of work. There is a really strong sense of scientific credibility in his writing, and no lack of depth in the way he has thought out the colonisation and terraforming of Mars. However, the narrative does suffer, and its not always a compelling read in terms of its characters or story, so I found it a bit hard going. I will probably dip into the second and third books at some point, but I'm in no hurry.<br />
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At my mother's urging, I have managed to squeeze in a local book as well. Very local, in fact - Over the Top With Jim by Hugh Lunn is set only 4 about blocks from where I live, and a number of the settings for the 1950s coming-of-age story are places I frequent every week - the "state school" (as opposed to the catholic school) next door to me, Ekibin Creek at the bottom of my street (even if its really a park-and-drain now), and various others (alas, not the cinemas, which have all closed in the intervening years). The book itself is a decent enough yarn, with enough geographical and historical familiarity to keep me interested even if the cultural and temporal settings didn't resonate particularly with me, not having grown up either catholic, in the fifties, or more importantly in a time when religion was a conspicuous cultural discriminant.<br />
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The other book I've read recently was another I picked up at the Lifeline book fair - Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. Its a fairly simple story about a black South-African reverend who comes to Johannesburg to seek people from his village who have run afoul of various of the social issues which burnt South Africa through much of the 20th century. Its a fairly grim tale at times, but Paton writes very well, with what felt to me like strong influences from Steinbeck, in the way he uses individual characters to represent larger social movements, and Hemingway, in the way he uses cross-language dialogue.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-15638507335828685272012-08-31T19:19:00.002+10:002012-08-31T19:19:57.501+10:00a friday evening at homeToo often I write of the long, and not often enough of the now. Here I sit on a Friday afternoon, in need of escapism, and finding it, in scribed fantasy with a side of G'n'T. The G has more effect, I'm sure but the T, cheap but freshly released, is more distracting, as it crackles on the roof of my mouth while I linger on the words that so well distract me from the dreary week. <br />
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As I read of vivid characters doing great deeds, I reflect on my own small, pyrrhic victories fought over grounds devoid of consequence, and wonder which of the great boulders arrayed around me will descend next. Recently I seem to have managed those that matter, or at least those descending from hills nearby, pushing them back up their respective slopes to fall on me another day.<br />
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I had to make the hard choice this week to push one rock to the side, rather than back up a hill. Conferences are one of the things that really renew my energy for what I do, but a combination of onrushing time and a performance review pushing me to different priorities has made me delay what would have been a very stimulating and enjoyable conference tour through the Germanic-speaking parts of Europe, in favour of a less educational but hopefully more productive trip to oh-so-familiar parts a few months further distant.<br />
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I am revelling in my return to fantasy. It has been months since I last plunged deep under its crashing waves, but the characters, the lexicon and the pleasant rhythms of its lost words come rushing easily back. It is interesting, renewing acquaintances with characters first met on the screen, which faces survive into the mind's eye through the written page. Some appear instantly on their name as they I once saw them, but others reject their televised visages and come from the page in the abstract, in ignorance of their adapted provenance. Testament to casting, I suppose.<br />
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In a little while, Asha and Arya and Lord Snow (who knows nothing!) will release me, and I'll turn to my tarte (bacon and leek and zucchini and cheese, oh my!), but for now, its downtech and backtime and offworld to esapism...Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-53170417744378917262012-08-13T16:13:00.000+10:002012-08-13T16:13:19.430+10:00more runningI had a few days away from running after the <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/personal-bests-and-proxy-bests.html" target="_blank">half marathon last weekend</a>. Partly this was in order to allow my feet the time to recover from blisters, and partly it was because I was at uni late 4 out of the 5 nights, and couldn't find the time to run.<br />
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On Saturday, though, after a day walking around inside <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/the-bad-and-good.html" target="_blank">talking to 12-year olds</a>, I decided a run was in order. So, profitting from another beautiful Brisbane winter afternoon, and headed out along the Norman Creek greenway to blow out the cobwebs.<br />
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I had initially only planned to take it fairly easy, but I felt really good, so I actually kept up a strong pace, running up to Stanley St East and back, on what has become my goto route for about 8km. I took my phone, strapped to my arm, but it proved pretty useless, with first the mp3 player (perhaps because of dodgy headphone) and then RunKeeper both letting me down, the latter insisting I had run 830m at 7:23 pace, rather than <a href="http://runkeeper.com/user/jimsteel/activity/108741478" target="_blank">8km at (I reckon) about 4:40</a>.<br />
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On Sunday afternoon, I found a few reasons to <a href="http://runkeeper.com/user/jimsteel/activity/108976387" target="_blank">go out again</a>. In recent times I've had trouble running two days in a row, with shin splints in my right leg causing me a lot of shin pain. A recent visit to the podiatrist, though, has given me some hope of alleviating that, so my first reason for going out was to see whether the exercises and new shoes would make it possible for me to back up. The second was that I have recently had my eyes on <a href="http://www.brisbane.qld.gov.au/environment-waste/natural-environment/bushland-parklands-wetlands/natural-areas/reserves-wetlands-parklands-and-forests/toohey-forest/index.htm" target="_blank">Toohey Forest Park</a> as a promising place to go running, and wanted to scout it out. The third, and most significant, was that I had so enjoyed running the previous day that I wanted to make the most of another perfect afternoon.<br />
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I headed south down to Toohey Road, and followed it south up and over Weller's Hill (past the school of some of the students I'd met the day before) then up to the forest. Once there I headed along the Toohey Ridge track. I was feeling good, though, so I doubled back along the Sandstone circuit, before again following the Ridge track through the park before emerging on Monash Rd along what I think was the Tallowwood Track (although it wasn't signed as that). The park was everything I hoped it would be, isolated from the city bustle with only a few dog- and bushwalkers, with native birds calling and even a few native plants in bloom. The path was in good condition, and although I stumbled once, I quickly adjusted to running on a less stable and predictable surface, and really enjoyed the extra challenge. Its a bit of a hike to get there (4km each way over some reasonably significant hills, although I mucked around a bit on the way back winding my way through Tarragindi), so it won't be my regular run, but I can see myself spending a fair bit more time getting to know the other trails in the park. I may even consider riding my bike down so I can try some runs up and down the hills.<br />
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This was certainly the best couple days of running I've had since <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/more-running-and-eating-in-babelsberg.html" target="_blank">I ran in Berlin earlier this year</a>, and perhaps beyond that.<br />
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Who knows, I may turn into a <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/red-eyes-looking-back-at-you-stumbling.html" target="_blank">runner</a> yet.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-33656538933349261232012-08-13T15:40:00.000+10:002012-08-13T15:40:03.751+10:00The bad and the goodWork has been pretty crazy over the last, well, 7 months or so. I think I can trace it back almost exactly to a point 2 weeks after returning from my Christmas holiday, since which point I've basically been constantly behind what I needed to do. At the moment I'm neglecting my paper reviewing duties, as well as a few hangover things from tidying up last semester's course. I'm fortunate enough to not be coordinating any courses this semester, but that will be more than made up for by my service duties.<br />
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Sometimes, though, there are some things that make it worthwhile. On Saturday I went along to serve as a judge at Young ICT Explorers, a competition held at UQ for primary and high school students. The competition, which has been running for a few years now, sees groups of students from grades 4 through to 12 present projects they have been working on over the last year. I served as a judge last year and was really impressed by so many things about the day: the quality of the students' work, their enthusiasm for working with ICT, and the number of students participating (and especially the number of girls participating - ICT needs more girls!). So I was keen to come back and help out again this year.<br />
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This year I was judging with Dan Angus, another lecturer from ITEE (actually a joint appointment with the school of journalism), and Mithila, a student in our multimedia and design degree. We had 7 projects to judge, but one didn't show, so we made very good time getting around talking to the students. The first five projects were pretty good, and once provoked, the students were enthusiastic about telling us what they'd enjoyed, what they'd found hard, and why they were proud of their work.<br />
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The sixth project was by just one girl, who had made a website providing maths and english exercises for other year 6 students. She had clearly put a lot of work into it, had thought about why it was useful, and had done a bunch of other things such as making a maths game with some quite well thought-mechanics linked to her theme. She was our pick as the best project we saw, and wound up in a tie for first place in her category.<br />
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Before the presentation of the awards, I heard she'd been having a cry because she'd had such a good day. Knowing that she was about to get some more good news, I was just so excited, and sure enough she had another cry when she was called up on stage. It was such a good feeling to be able to give her the acknowledgement she deserved for her hard work, and to see how happy it made her.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-22851534895194023312012-08-09T09:49:00.001+10:002012-08-09T13:44:04.189+10:00personal bests and proxy bests<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSDNpFaT-u8EQFKsTC8G9BPvkOkZhJRqhowUNT0jRv687tk3C3MNSi0EEcZWUmAPqfKMYRJtZZdcATmM0tspfTHo53Yuj3sexuq7FHEcTz1tFWFPi0JYZ39pfnH0G1s9pXN4_/s1600/BrisHalf2012Finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSDNpFaT-u8EQFKsTC8G9BPvkOkZhJRqhowUNT0jRv687tk3C3MNSi0EEcZWUmAPqfKMYRJtZZdcATmM0tspfTHo53Yuj3sexuq7FHEcTz1tFWFPi0JYZ39pfnH0G1s9pXN4_/s320/BrisHalf2012Finish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing the 2012 Brisbane Half Marathon (photo courtesy of David Curnow)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Despite my <a href="http://perduenfrance.blogspot.com/2012/07/red-eyes-looking-back-at-you-stumbling.html" target="_blank">lamentation</a> a couple of weeks ago that I wasn't a runner, running played a reasonably significant role in my last two or three weeks, albeit more by significance than by actual time spent.<br />
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A bit over two weeks ago I popped over to <a href="http://www.intraining.com.au/" target="_blank">inTraining</a> to get myself some new shoes. My previous pair were a bit over a year old, and I reckon probably had 800-1000km on them. I had heard that this was about the useful life of a pair of running shoes, and I was seeing signs of this in the guise of some foot pain after my runs. After trying on a few pairs, and hearing my sob stories about sore feet and shins, the salesman suggested that I might be well advised to see their podiatrist before I rushed into buying something. I was able to get an appointment that afternoon, and he gave me a few useful tips in terms of some stretches/exercises to strengthen some muscles in my hip to try and lessen the stress on my feet and legs, and made a nice little cushion to protect my sore foot. I wound up buying one of the pairs of shoes I'd tried earlier, certainly the most colourful I've ever owned, with garish green splashed lavishly on the sole and upper.<br />
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This weekend just passed, I once again ran the half marathon in the <a href="http://www.intrainingevents.com.au/default.asp?contentID=22" target="_blank">Brisbane Running Festival</a>. I was fortunate enough to get a lift in with David, an old college friend who has just gotten back into running in the last couple of years, and was running his first official half. He's actually a very handy runner, though, so I harboured no illusions of keeping up with him.<br />
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The start this year was on Alice Street near the botanical gardens' entrance, which was a marked improvement of last year's chaotic laps of the gardens. I fairly quickly fell in with the 1:45 pace runners, which hadn't been my plan, but I felt comfortable, so I stuck with them for the first 5 or 6 km. Although we started before the sun appeared, it turned into a sensational Brisbane winter morning - cool and crisp under a clear, deep-blue sky - and I was feeling really happy as we were going across the Story Bridge. The pace runners were running a bit behind 1:45 though, and when they lifted in order to make up some time, I couldn't and didn't go with them. I felt pretty reasonable for quite a long time, but whether from the fast start, or from my not having done many long runs, by around 16km I was really struggling.<br />
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I had a few walks between 16 and 19, and saw the 1:50 pace runners pass me somewhere just before the North Quay stretch. The route had the misfortune to run us right past the finish line with 2km still to run, uphill up Garden's Point Road then around the gardens. After a last walk up the hill, and looking regularly behind me expecting to see the caped, scythe-toting spectre of the 1:55 pace runner, I dug deep and finished strongly over the last km or so, and was delighted to see a time just a shade over 1:53. David had finished 20 minutes earlier, and was waiting for me at the line, which was great. The results were up within 5 minutes, which was super-impressive, and my chip time came in at 1:52:27, almost 3 minutes faster than I ran last year, on what I think is a more difficult course. Its quite possible that this will remain my PB for some time, so I lashed out and got my time engraved on my finisher's medal (photo to follow).<br />
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As well as my results, it was great to be able to have a group of friends also running good times. Dave Curnow ran 1:32-odd in his first official half, which he seemed to have mixed feelings about, but which I reckon is pretty impressive. I also caught up with Dave Coyle and Neil, who ran the 10km, in 50 and 47 minutes respectively, which I believe are both also PBs. Its been really interesting to see how the social systems built into <a href="http://www.runkeeper.com/" target="_blank">RunKeeper</a> (which we all use to track our runs) have kept us up to date with what the others in our "Street Team" are doing, and (in my opinion) encouraged us to keep running. I feel a definite sense of pride in their achievements as well as mine; their is an element, however small, of team success in them.<br />
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A few days on, I'm recovering from what was a fairly nasty-looking collection of blisters, and feeling good about getting out for another run in the next few days (when I find some time!). Like last year, I'm not sure that running half marathons is what I most like doing in the world, but I can see myself doing it again. Perhaps even more than last year, I'm really proud of having done a PB, especially when I don't think I was quite as fit as last year. At the same time, I'm still "running dumb", and with some better training and some better race-management (for lack of a better word), I reckon I can still improve.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6372041.post-83940839169609801592012-07-18T20:15:00.000+10:002012-07-18T20:15:32.681+10:00Red eyes looking back at you stumblingA few months ago I signed up to have another go at the Brisbane half-marathon. As proud as I was of finishing last year, and of going under 2 hours, I was disappointed with how I ran it, and my main motivation for signing up again was to see if I was capable of running it "properly" (whatever that means), and seeing what doing so would mean for my time. It seemed like a good idea when the run was still 3 months away. Now, though, its 3 weeks, and I am forced to admit that I am not in the kind of shape that will allow me to test my hypothesis on what is a more difficult course than last year.<br />
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My motivation for signing up is significant in part because it does not stem from any tremendous joy experienced during last year's tilt. To be honest, I get bored beyond about 10km, and one of the dominating emotions I have while running longer distances is that of self-admonition for not being better at it. (This isn't the only time I go in for self-admonition - its one of my goto moves - but it is one of the more intense ones).<br />
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The race organisers sent around an image on their facebook page the other day.<br />
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I know some people for whom this has some truth. My lunch hours, though, <i>are</i> for eating. My Saturday mornings are <i>absolutely</i> for sleeping, and I'm pretty keen on the idea of taking it easy on my holidays. By any reasonable interpretation of this motivational, then...<br />
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I am not a runner. I'd quite like to say otherwise, but its just not the case.<br />
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That said, I've paid my entry fees, and since I'm (a) too tightarsed to go asking for a refund, and (b) not a fan of that feeling of walking when I should be running, I figure I'll keep training as much as my body allows for a couple of weeks and hope I can somehow scrape in under 2 hours again.Jimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01107947648278338826noreply@blogger.com0