audibly reading

Ha! I was writing about this yesterday and Jess beat me to it. Great minds think alike, and all that!

I was never really sure about audio books. It seemed like cheating, somehow. Could you say that you had read something if you hadn't actually, well, read it? Did it count?

As if that actually matters.

Now that I spend around an hour and a half in the car each day (longer if I don't time my departure times wisely), I've needed to find ways to stay alert, engaged and, scarily enough, awake. Often music is fine. Sometimes I listen to a podcast or two; sermons by Tim Keller are my favourite Christian thing to listen to, as he has a great voice (even if, when he gets excited, he sounds like a triumphant Vizzini), has good things to say and his talks usually fit into my commute time. I started off with Mark Driscoll, thinking his conversational style would actually be kind of good for driving, but he gets way too shouty and I'm not able to listen carefully enough to decide whether I agree with what he's saying.

Eventually, I decided checking out audio books could be a good thing. Audible.com has a great range. I think I signed up when there was a free 30-day trial. Then they hook you in with $7.49/month for the first three months, before going up to $14.95/month. The monthly membership gives you one credit a month (one credit = one book). I thought $7.49 per book was pretty good so I signed up. As a member, you can also buy books for much cheaper than the list price.

And, whaddya know, their strategy worked because I stayed on even when the price went up. Listening to books as I drive has kept me focused, engaged and entertained. When I'm up to a particularly good bit in a story, I even look forward to getting back on the road so I can hear the next bit.

Audible's got a 48-hour members sale on at the moment, which is almost over (ends tonight at 11:59pm AEST). Lots of books for $6.95 each, which is a bargain really (especially if you were going to buy, say, the audio version of the NKJV which would normally cost you $69.95 (but I'm still not convinced about audio Bibles like these, even if they have awesome actors reading the parts. The music and sound effects are quite distracting)). I found after I checked out and went to my library page, they had a special pop up with an offer to choose another book for $4.95. They're pretty savvy with their offers and deals, I must say.

I've found it frustrating at times if I don't know what I feel like listening to when I get to the end of a book. But at the same time, I have had a few pleasant occasions of serendipity. The free audiobook of Alan Cumming reading Arthur Conan Doyle's The adventure of the blue carbuncle was excellent; I don't think I ever would have read any Sherlock Holmes stories otherwise. Because of reviews praising the performance, I got Beautiful ruins by Jess Walter, which I probably never would have picked up in a regular bookshop, but it was most diverting while driving around the south coast over new year's, and entertainingly performed by Edoardo Ballerini.

I am also developing quite an appreciation for a well-read/well-performed story. It is certainly an art. The best performance so far has been Lenny Henry reading Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys. His voice on its own is so pleasing to listen to, but his characterisations are hysterical, especially when doing the Jamaican accents.

So if you have a lot of travelling in your week, may I commend the audiobook to you? It makes what feels like a waste of time feel like time well spent. And I've come to accept that hearing a book counts; it's just getting the words into your brain in a different way.

Thursday - Singapore and homeward bound

We woke early and because breakfast wasn't included in the room tariff, Dad decided we'd go out somewhere for breakfast. Unfortunately (and I thought he would have realised this), nothing was open until about 10.30am except Starbucks and Maccas. So for the first time on my entire trip, I had McDonalds.

The heat was thick and intense, and because I've been in a cold climate and had packed very light, I had to wear my jeans and a t shirt. Even though we were in air conditioning most of the time, I think the climate got to me. We walked over to Sim Lim Square, an enormous building with six or seven floors absolutely jam packed with little electronics stores. Dad was checking out something to do with his home cinema and of course had to go and ask at all the different shops for prices, and haggle, and get the spiel (in the end he didn't even get home cinema stuff, he got a GPS).

At first I revelled in my gadget-headry, but after a while it got really exhausting. The place was packed, as today was the Labour Day holiday, and I forgot how tiring it is just pushing through the crowds of people in Asia. Having said that, I was glad to be in Singapore for the day; it still feels like home to me, even though I haven't lived here for over 20 years (eep). Dad was filled with consternation at every turn and kept saying "They've changed everything! They've changed everything!" This is an understatement in a place like Singapore that is constantly under development and never stands still, but he seemed to take it as a personal affront.

Dad bought me a portable hard drive for my birthday (yay!). I had something bordering on a migraine by this stage, so we left and had noodles (still no satay, but the noodles were good). I also had an almond bubble tea, and Dad ordered the same. After a couple of sips, he remarked "Elmon is an acquired taste." It took me a while to work out he meant almond, and then he said, "It reminds me of the bugs we used to squash as kids." Janice tried the drink and nodded, "Yep. Bugs." I have no idea what bugs they're talking about...crazy almond bugs...

We managed to get a late checkout for my room, so I had a bath and then lay sprawled on the bed, still unable to nap. For afternoon tea, Dad and I went downstairs to Swensen's, an old childhood favourite of mine that still has the Earthquake on the menu (a massive bowl with all their ice cream flavours and toppings in it, and dry ice in the middle to create a smoking crater effect). We didn't have that though, we had two sundaes that were probably a bit too sweet, but I wasn't complaining!

Dad drove me to the airport, and stayed with me til I checked in. It was good to see him; despite everything I do feel a great affection for him. I meandered through customs, bought some iPod speakers in duty free, and now I sit here...waiting for the gate to open. Apparently it's going to be another full flight, but somehow that doesn't matter so much when you know home is at the other end.

When next I write, hopefully it will be from my house!

Wednesday - London to Singapore

Well what a turnaround from my flight over to Europe. I was down the back of the plane, in the middle, once more expecting to be jammed in. But as the flight started to fill up, the rows around me remained sparsely populated. I didn't even want to hope that I might have a spare seat next to me so I tried not to think about it. Then the doors were closed, I looked up from my magazine, and realised I had the entire row to myself! After 'dinner' (which was...actually I don't know what it was...I usually don't mind the inflight catering, but this was pretty ordinary) I put up all the armrests, gathered my four pillows and stretched out. I slept for nine hours of the twelve hour flight, which I think was pretty amazing!

On arriving at Changi I got a text from dad saying he couldn't pick me up but to head straight to the hotel. I got a taxi with no problems and had a very friendly and chatty taxi driver. Example of conversation:

Driver: (as we approach a large electronic toll sign with ERP written on it) You know what is E-R-P?
Me: No. Tell me.
Driver: Every-Road-Pays. (laughs uproariously)
Me: (encouraging this terrible dad joke) That's great.
Driver: (suddenly concerned) That's not really what it stands for.
Me: I know, but I think your version's better.
Driver: (beams)

We arrived at the Pan Pacific Hotel, I checked in and zoomed up to the 16th floor where I was greeted by dad and shown my room. Ah, but the Asians do top-end luxury well. Everything is grand and opulent. The bed was absolutely huge. The shower - oh! the shower! - was like having a massage. It was all extremely comfortable and grand. After sloughing off the detritus of the flight, I met up with Dad and his fiancée Janice, and we wandered through to the mall to find some dinner.
I really wanted satay, but for some reason we got Japanese instead. But that wasn't a bad thing, the food was delicious. For example, what I think looks like the sushi lochness monster (it was very tasty):

It was great to see Dad again, but not long after this the fatigue set in. I was grateful for my enormous bed and my quiet room, although I woke up at 4.30am and was unable to go back to sleep.

Tuesday - Belfast to London

The transit time between my flight getting in at Heathrow and changing to the Singapore plane was very tight - two hours exactly, which left no room for anything going wrong, and given the track record on this trip and Heathrow's notorious 'issues', I wasn't confident. So I changed my Singapore flight to the next one, which happened to be twelve hours later. Jen decided to come down from Oxford with JD for the day so I wouldn't be bumming around on my own.

Bek and John kindly dragged themselves up out of bed at 6.30am to drive me to the airport (about 40 mins away from their place), and we put on our Bjork t-shirts to make it a bit more bearable.
And wouldn't you know it, but this one particular flight, that I had been anxious about, came in on time, my bag came out quickly and I made it to Terminal 4 in plenty of time. Oh well - I was excited about seeing Jen again, so it was all good. I checked my bags in at the left luggage spot and after following the many confusing signs eventually found myself at the Underground. I had to meet Jen at Marble Arch, so instead of catching the expensive express train I bought an all day Tube ticket and went into town that way. What was a 15 minute trip on the express train took over an hour...now I know why they charge a premium for it!

Jen, JD and I had a happy reunion and grabbed some food and caffeine. Of course while we were in the cafe it started bucketing down with rain, much like the last time we saw each other at Oxford (at least I was organised this time and had my umbrella). But, no matter, we bought a map and decided to head over to St Paul's Cathedral, as neither of us had been there before.

The Marble Arch Tube station was mysteriously closed at this point, so we decided to wander down Oxford Street to the next stop. It then became apparent that the British public transport system is really not set up for disabled people or people with prams. The escalators say 'no prams' but there aren't any lifts or stairs. At Bond St station we had to actually leave the station, go across the road to the older entrance and carry the pram down the stairs. I guess the stations are all old and it would cost a lot to upgrade them, but compared to Australia where they are obsessive about accessibility, it's surprising to find somewhere that is so inaccessible to people who aren't especially mobile.

After more manhandling the pram up the stairs, we found ourselves at St Paul's station, staring at a map, trying to work out which way to go. "Is it this way?" I ask. We spy a bit of statuary. "Is that it over there?" Then we round the corner and burst out laughing; St Paul's is so unbelievably massive it was funny to think we couldn't see it.
St Paul's does have an entrance for the disabled. The sign said to press a buzzer, but "Due to the large size of the building, there may be a delay before someone arrives." We waited around, redirecting other tourists who were trying to line up with us to the main entrance, and after about 10 minutes a harried looking woman let us in. "You do know we have an entry fee of ten pounds, don't you?" Er, no. Ten pounds? That seems excessive. Oh well, we agreed to pay it and went in. "And there is no photography inside the cathedral." Ten pounds and I can't take photos? Rats!

But once we were inside, we were gobsmacked by the building. Gold mosaics, statues of saints and apostles, huge columns soaring into the air, beautiful domes overhead. We sat down and took it all in, then while Jen fed JD I went on an explore and climbed the hundred-and-something stairs up to the Whispering Gallery, the balcony that runs around the inside of the main dome. I was climbing up the seemingly endless spiral staircase behind an Asian Dad who grumbled and complained the whole way, and his exasperated daughter who kept snapping, "You read the brochure before we came up, Dad, it told you how many stairs there were!"
We didn't really have any other plans, so we ended up spending all afternoon at St Paul's, just looking at it all, having tea and scones in the Crypt (I just love saying that), and then staying on for Evensong at 5.00. Jen whispered to me as it began, "Just warning, if you enjoy this then you're definitely an Anglican." I guess I must be Anglican then! I wouldn't want that to be my experience of church every week, but as a one-off experience it was wonderful, especially given I hadn't been able to get to church that week when I was in Belfast (which struck me as ironic). The music was glorious and bell-like, the litany all from Scripture, and the prayers moved me to tears, which I think is a good thing. It was so refreshing to just sit and reflect on God, to praise him and pray and just be there.
We parted at 6.00, Jen to head back to Oxford and me to Heathrow. I sat in the airport and ate some indifferent food, blogged about Bjork and got on the plane without any fuss. And then, to my delight, the doors closed and I was the only person seated in my row of four! Luxury! Compared to the flight over, it was bliss. After dinner I put all the arm rests up and was actually able to sleep for two thirds of the journey. It certainly makes all the difference!

Thursday - Oxford to Belfast

I'm sitting in Heathrow, wishing, wishing, wishing. Amazing how just a few hours alone dealing with transport leaves me feeling bereft, sad, lonely. I guess it doesn't help that I'm not feeling well either; dislocated, a bit vague, queasy and overwarm. I know when I get to Belfast I'll be fine, but the transit is a killer.

It's funny, but England hasn't overly impressed me this time. I've enjoyed spending time with the Bs, and I've liked the things that I've seen, but I haven't enjoyed the people here. I'm tired and sad. The adrenalin of the earlier part of the holiday has worn off, the excitement of the new and luscious is gone, replaced by a melancholy compounded by the indifferent weather and the horrible food (not the food Jen cooked, which was great, but coming from France where pretty much anything you buy is going to be yummy, there wasn't much foodwise in England to commend it (which I know is no great surprise, but I don't remember it being this bad)).

I guess another factor is that I'm feeling so disconnected. Leaving Jen and JD at the station was sad. And even though I've got my laptop and have been talking to people every day, emailing every day, there is just something about seeing friends, touching them, hearing their voices, knowing they are just around the corner, that is just irreplaceable. The distance is just so great. Even if I ran now and got another ticket, even if I jumped on the first plane home, it would still be two days before I'd arrive, before I'd see anyone. And all I need to is to be patient, to wait for this next flight, to just be calm, and I'll be with lovely friends in Belfast and this feeling will disappear.

I don't mean this to sound like whingeing. I have not forgotten how blessed I am with friends and the funds to come over here and visit them. I've been longing to do this for months, years. I guess this is just the reality of travel when you have a depressive disposition; it's hard enough to feel content and happy when everything is level and familiar at home, and even more so when you're being shunted from bus to train to plane and just hoping you'll end up where you're meant to be. So far my attitude has been pretty relaxed; if I miss connections it's a hassle but it's not the end of the world. I think this is a good outlook to have. But still. People who travel first class and have staff to think of all this crap for them really have no idea how lucky they are.

Friday - the day that transit ate

Friday was such a waste of a day that I don't think I took a single photo. Here are some thoughts, observations and advice on travelling between Paris and Oxford.

• 6.30am in the cold spring feels more like 5.00am.
• you really should eat a large breakfast when you're attempting travel of any sort. A small bowl of Special K doesn't cut it when you don't know where you'll be for lunch.
• The reason that the Paris metro runs so efficiently is that it waits for no one. Even if that person is halfway into the train. The doors just don't reopen. You have to squeeze back out so your arm doesn't get broken off by the train, and watch your travelling companion as she is sped away from you. But because the metro runs so efficiently another train will be along in less than two minutes, so it's not that big a deal when one of you gets on the train and the other one doesn't.
• The BA.com self check in system at the airport is cool.
  
• Except for the bit that says 'fast bag drop'. That implied that once you'd checked in you'd just whiz past and leave your bag somewhere safe. No. You queue up for forty minutes. Not fast. No.
• Don't believe the signs that say the plane is on time. They will tell you this all the way until you get on the plane and the doors are locked, then the pilot will inform you that the plane is delayed by an hour and you just have to sit there and wait.
• The British air crew are not very attractive compared to their French counterparts. Maybe that was just on my flight. There was one guy who I swear looked exactly like how they draw Brits in the Simpsons, or like he was out of Little Britain.
  
• Don't book a connecting train ticket that leaves anywhere within three hours of your suggested arrival time to Heathrow. Because invariably the departure time of your train will occur while you are still circling in a holding pattern over the airport.
• Be prepared, once you arrive, for strange scales of economy. The return ticket to Oxford, which is about an hour's trip, was GBP21. Not super cheap, but whatever. The one-way fifteen minute express train trip from Heathrow to Paddington where I caught the train to Oxford cost GBP15 (AU$32...I think I should just give up on converting prices).
• The train trip to Oxford is one of the slowest and most boring I have ever been on. This may have been influenced by the fact that I was really tired and because I had been rushing to make connections had not had any lunch.
• It's a bit of a strange moment when you realise that the sounds of conversation around you are actually in English, not French, and that it's still not really that easy to understand.
• iPods are a godsend.
  
• When you finally get to Oxford, four hours after you were supposed to arrive, and see your wonderful friend and meet her delightful baby, it's all totally worth it.
  

Frankfurt

From the Moleskine:

Brief, confusing stopover in Frankfurt. The German reputation for efficiency seems grossly overstated. Nobody knew where to go, or what to do, and since the ticketing woman in Singapore had told me to go to the transfer counter in Frankfurt to get a boarding pass, that's what I did (along with a bunch of other fellow travellers). After waiting for half an hour on the hard granite floor with my huge backpack, I asked one of the harried ground staff to confirm whether we were supposed to be in the queue. She shrieked that no, I should be boarding my flight. So I hurried through Frankfurt airport, went out of customs, dealt with an officious Asian-German woman who didn't want to let me back in without a boarding pass (even though I was just doing what I'd been told), went back in through security, got frisked very thoroughly because I guess my bra underwires must have set off the beeper (I have no idea what else it would have been), and eventually arrived huffing and puffing at the gate. Thankfully the Paris flight was delayed by 20 minutes so we all made it.

We struck up a grim camaraderie, those of us who recognised one another from the fluorescent transit lounges and interminable queues. "Well, you either have to laugh or cry," commented a pretty young Australian girl, wearing a beautiful brocade jacket and black leather boots. It turns out she's sitting next to me on the Paris flight. A young man in a sharp pinstriped suit is on the other side of me; he immediately opened Le Monde wide and hogged all the arm room. He also smells strongly of cigarettes.

I saw plenty of other dishevelled travellers, but how is it some people manage to look graceful and groomed and I look like I just crawled out of bed? I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt I bought in Changi because I was hot and uncomfortable in my other top. It was the cheapest one I could find, in Giordano of all places. But they don't seem to go in for plain t-shirts over there, everything either had touristy stuff on it or big slogans that didn't seem to mean much. Mine was the least annoying, though it's still highly cheesy: Every exit is the entrance to somewhere else. Whoa. Deep.

But perhaps it's relevant on a day when I've been shunted from exit to exit. Now we're finally trundling down the runway. Hopefully the next exit I go through will be the entrance to somewhere I actually want to go.

Singapore - Frankfurt

Okay so it was worse. Not only was I jammed into the middle of the centre section, but my armrest was broken and all the wires from the entertainment thingy were exposed but because the plane was absolutely chockablock full they couldn't move me and they kind of conveniently forgot about me. I'll probably write some sort of letter to Qantas, not that I expect anything from it, but really...an hour's delay and a crappy seat made a long journey interminable.

But after having a little cry and feeling the headache swirl around a bit, I just resolved to sleep or watch lots of movies, and that certainly did help. Also, noise-reducing headphones = genius. I highly recommend them; you don't realise how loud and obnoxious the plane noise is until you take the headphones out.

So I watched:

• The Diving Bell and the Butterfly - brilliant, brilliant film (Guan, you were right...not that I ever doubted you)
• Juno - also excellent
• A little bit of Enchanted but it was crappier than I thought it could be so I stopped watching it
• Death Defying Acts - actually really enjoyed this. Guy Pearce is really good, and Catherine Zeta-Jones is just mesmerising.
• Some Carl Baron standup which I'd seen before, but made me snort with laughter
• Summer Heights High
• The Simpsons (4 episodes I hadn't seen!)
• Family Guy (1 episode I had seen)

So not bad really! The in-flight entertainment has certainly come a long way since the last time I went to Europe. You can choose what you want to watch, when you want to watch it. The only downside is having to angle the screen when the person in front of you tilts their seat right back.

And seriously, could they give you any less space and get away with it? It's impossible to move, breathe, eat, anything. Just impossible.

I actually managed to sleep from about 2-5am with my iPod burbling along. Until sadly it ran out of juice about 2 hours away from Frankfurt. That was a wrench. But I listened to:

• Feist, Ani and Massive Attack to help me sleep
• a musical conversation I've been having with someone, just to see how all the songs fit together (they fit together quite well!)
• Guan and Joe's mixtape
• Travelling Songs for Bec playlist that Guan put together for me
• My Melancholy Writing Day playlist

I also kept working on the first song I've written. Hee.

not the most auspicious start

Well the plane was delayed in Sydney by an hour, which meant that just about everyone trying to make connecting flights missed their connections. Including me. So now the only way they can get us to Paris is to send us via Frankfurt...I'm in Changi airport now, feeling a bit seedy, quite frankly. Just had to wail into the ether before I go and wash my face and brush my teeth so I can feel slightly human for the next leg of the sardine tin journey.

Hopefully my next post will bear better tidings!