Ken Duncan Photography - Memories from Cairns, Australia

One day Rhi and I were mooching around the side alleys of Cairns and we stumbled across a small, immaculately turned out art gallery exhibiting the most awesome photos we've ever seen. There were huge prints of amazing landscapes and unbelievable scenes from Australia and many other countries around the world and I thought, 'we have to save up and get one of these when we have a house of our own'. One of the largest prints (above) really caught my attention and seeing it on the internet really reminds me of standing in that gallery, a few days after we found out that Rhi was pregnant and with all the excitement of knowing that our lives had just taken on a new significance.  

Now, 8 months on from when we first looked at these pictures, we have our house, Bump is expected to make an appearance next Monday and I have started to think about the journey we've made together since our travels ended. Looking back at these photos recently has highlighted how far we've come, and I can't wait to earn enough to afford to put a piece of our memories on the wall of our house - perhaps in the nursery, so that Bump will always see some of where they have been and the journey that they have made with us.

Ken Duncan's photographs can be found at: http://www.kenduncan.com/

Melaka: Part Two!

***NOTE*** I have imported this post directly from my Ipod. I wrote an account of the rest of our visit to Melaka in a hostel in Singapore. We were sheltering in the foyer from a severe downpour - I was starving and needed something to take my mind off my stomach! The numerous spelling and gramatical errors are a result of the circumstances in which this was written - I think it adds to the authenticity of my description of the rest of our time in Melaka.

It all worked perfectly althoufh i walkex straight past the entrance which was small and in between a wholesale looking place and a locql food canteen which seemed to have elderly chinsse men spilling out on the street siting on rickety tables and plastic chairs and having a wail of a time ass is the way in chinatowns. We headed up aome stairs toward a large grilled gate and after tryin unsuccessfully to barge our wY through rang a bell under 'please ring'. Nothing happened and then suddenlu a head ws thrust out over the bannister further up the stairs and a young woman asked are you william? When we arrived in the foyer a largeer than life man wS entertaining two scared looking couple. He interrupted himseld to introduce himself as howard the owner and shook our hands. He had a little pony tail bleached on the top of his hwad and wore glasses. He was showing the irish couple a video on his laptop of a large scantily clad lady being made beautiful with photoshop and loved it giggling and pointing and giggling some more. We put our bags in our room and rhen the younf lady showed us around- like a kid would show you around their den... We set out to explore and walked down Jonker st . I bouhht some shorrts from jonker arcade. Very nice and q cheap.. We walked trhough chinatown and headed for a. Quayside cafe for drinks and food. Cheap and tasty chicken and rice. I had '100plus' which is poor mans lucozade. Then we Headed to the maritime museum which was a full size replica of the 'flor de la mar portuguese' warship that had captured the town in the early 1500s. It sank in 1511 full of spooils and booty and was, according to many treasure hunters "the richest vessel ever lost at sea, with its hold loaded with 200 coffers of precious stones, diamonds from the small half-inch size to the size of a man's fist.". You could walk aroind inside and we spent a happy hour or so exploring ths beply od the ship and readinf the  exhibits. Then we hwaded back to the town square and went to the chur h around a huge group of chinises tourista and thwn went into the melaka museum which was all about the youth movement but had a good arr gallery upstairs. We then hwaeded to 'backpackrs place' for drinks and games of jenga before heading back. Backpackers Place was a really cool little bar down a side street, quite bohemian and really relaxed. Walked into Ringos foyer and howard said do we fancy goinf out later with him to show us round and then some beers with finger motions and slurping noises. We went to capitol satay for tea and i wore my nw shorts. Still no pants (haven't worn any since we left - a new record for me since I was out of nappies..) Capitol satay reLly cool. Busy and you can see why. Think fondue but replaxe cheese with satay sauce an you get skewers of so many different things fish beef shrimps squid everyrhing and put them in th pot to cook before taking out to eat. Each skewer was 80 sens so so cheap! Thrn we headed back via chinatown which came alive at night! Karaoke and dance lessons in the buildinfs to the side! Rhi tried on top and skirt and looked lush so i bought it for her.. I bought a cheese hitdog in waffle- rhi saod its a good job she can look past my foibles..  Carried on and had an icecream and saw a crazy woman pointing her fingers like a gun and shouting in a hoarse voice as if someone ws following her.. Went back and went to bed as it started raining - unfortuanatley howwrds touring plans didnt come off. I got up early though and knocked on his door he ws next door to us and he took me on the bikes early to see the sights. We had aeen most o them so that ws cool apart from the old town agate portuguese era and everyone seemed to know him which ws cool. Felt like I was cycling around town with the mayor or in a cheesy 80's film - shouts of 'Hi Howard!' came from all quarters. Hwaded back afterwards and got ready to leave. Got out of our rooms in a bit of a rushand said can we pay now to howard he said 'sure ok' looked uneasy and said tentatively 'err how much??' Rhi and i wwere a bit speechless and he said 'ok leys say thirty'. We were sure it ws meant to be more but he such a legend. Made us take the bikes to ge chicken rice balls for breakfast. Best things ever!! Malaka (Melacca was one of our favourite places in SE Asia. Would defintely recommend, especially for history lovers) Bus journey to SIngapore awaits!

Howard - the Peter Pan of Malaysia, he will never grow up

Malaysia: Our entrance to Melaka 10/03/10

After a fairly short, peaceful coach trip from the bright lights and bustle of Kuala Lumpur’s metropolitan atmosphere we arrived in Melaka Sentral (the main terminal bus station for the area) at 11 o’clock and sleepily collected out bags. We headed through the bus terminal avoiding eye contact with all the bus company hawkers and tried to make our way to the ticket booths. It must be noted that no matter how much ‘eye contact avoidance’ you practice in an attempt to look like you know what you’re doing, being the only white couple in the area and blundering into the station through the ‘exit’, clutching maps and lugging the worlds heaviest, most western looking backpacks, one can only achieve a certain level of nonchalance and incongruity. So, despite our best efforts, we were mobbed and pushed our way against the tide looking for tickets to the town centre.

We headed purposefully towards the busiest counter hoping to secure the next days ticket to Singapore early and managed after a quick exchange to acquire two tickets for eleven the next morning. Buoyed by our ticket success we headed through the terminal towards the domestic bus depot hoping to discover easy to read straightforward maps and instructions on how to get to Chinatown. Needless to say these were not apparent and so after a quick investigative sweep and brief interrogation of a number of drivers we found the bus we needed - bus 17 headed for Central Square. We made our way to a large rickety ‘17’ sign hovering precariously over a bus that looked almost as if it used to be a tractor and boarded awkwardly, clutching bags and possessions in a space that seemed a couple of centimetres smaller that we required and perched precariously on the stair as I attempted to find the right change.

We squeezed along the aisle and wedged ourselves into our seats as the driver reversed out of the parking bay. We stared out the window uncertainly trying to see where it was we should attempt the disembarkation. The first stop was still out of town so we stayed put, hoping that ‘Chinatown’ would be announced to us when we reached the correct stop. Suddenly the bus pulled up the kerb and the bus driver turned around and shouted ‘off!’ loudly down the bus. He ushered us off the bus and we stood in the muggy heat on the side of the road confused and trying to work out if we had been ejected at the right spot or if the driver had just got fed up with us taking up all the room on his bus. We were in a quaint town centre; a clock tower and municipal buildings rose in front of us, all painted in terracotta reds and brilliant whites. It looked generally more European and well kept than we expected, just like a recently refurbished quaint French square. A river ran along the west side of the square and an ornate bridge spanned the gently flowing waters.

After an extensive geographical appraisal, we set off across the bridge and walked past a vibrant, colourful line of shops and stalls. Jonker’s Walk, as it is known, illustrates Melaka’s Dutch influenced past lead us relatively straightforwardly towards Melaka Tech School, opposite which we would apparently find Ringo’s Foyer.

....tbc

Sneak Preview of next post...

Great Website!

Here is the Wordle design generated from my Arrival into Sydney post:

If you squint and use a lot of imagination, this could look a bit like Australia....
         

A Bit of a Marathon Weekend - Part Two- Sunday

Sunday morning began a few hours before I was ready for it. My alarm started buzzing at 7.30 am. It was the day of the Cardiff Half Marathon and Mum and Dad were ariving in a few minutes. I looked quickly for my race pack, broke open the envelope to find my race number - 4434 and race chip. I fished out my trainers and my rugby shorts and attempted to psych myself up as Rhi pinned my race number on my t-shirt. Sitting in the early morning light on a frosty morning in Newport, the prospect 13.1 miles of people jostling, thigh burning effort suddenly seemed a daunting prospect, especially when my training in the months leading up to the weekend had consisted of nothing more than frantic DIY. Sitting on the beach in sleepy, summery Byron Bay, Australia, a half marathon seemed the easiest thing in the world, a million miles away and not really a problem. Besides, I thought, if worst came to the worst, we could try to extend our travels until after the 18th of October. The noise of a car pulling up outside brought me out of my reverie. I kissed Rhi goodbye, wishing more than anything that I could whisk us both away again to the hazy climes of exotic places and ran out to the car. 

There was Mum, excited and jumpy in her new running socks and charity vest, and Dad smugly content in his role as 'official spectator'. As we travelled down the motorway the sun rose into a clear blue sky and I wished I had brought more to keep me warm before the race began - it was far too cold to be wearing nothing more than rugby shorts and a flimsy t-shirt. Dad dropped us off and we made our way into the throng of runners heading slowly to the start line outside the impressive façade of the Wales Millennium Centre. We met Ruth, Mum’s running partner, and stood shivering, eating jelly babies and blowing out cold cheeks whilst attempting to do some rudimentary stretches.

 Finally, as the nine o’clock start time neared everyone congregated closer together, and we were herded in between two metal barriers. Before I knew about it I could see thousands of runners streaming through the start line on the large screen to the left of the Millennium Centre. It took a good ten minutes for our section of runners to begin to move forward; there was time for a small jog to warm up before we crossed the start line and the race began. I soon lost Mum and Ruth in the throng and was swept along in the crush. At the first corner heading through the town centre space opened up slightly and I began to find my rhythm. I began to enjoy it, the sun was on my back, I felt much fitter than I thought I would, I seemed to be over taking hundreds of people – at this rate I’ll finish too early and it wont have been a challenge. This feeling continued for a good while, I slipped easily in and out of other runners, jumping over obstacles and planning a full marathon next year. As I began to tire, sweat dripping into my eyes and legs and lungs beginning to burn I felt that I must be nearing the ten mile mark- the mark at which I decided I would allow myself to have one of my rationed jelly babies to give me the energy boost I needed to sprint home through the finish line. It was odd, I thought, that the race organisers hadn’t put any mile markers on the route so that the runners could see where they were. I was just considering how this oversight could have happened on an otherwise well organised event when a three mile marker appeared around a bend. I deflated a bit and the task in front of me suddenly hit me. I had a jelly baby anyway.

By the eighth mile marker my legs were wobbling and I had discovered as I slowed down to grab a drink from a water stand that they did not take kindly to a change in pace. It felt as though my legs would give way if they did not maintain this momentum continually – it was my own, scaled down, much more painful version of Speed.

Having achieved terminal velocity at mile eight, I was still waiting for my ‘second wind’ by mile ten and by mile eleven I decided that having preserved this steady speed thus far, it would be criminal not to run the whole route. Visions of Rhi, Bump, Charley, hot baths, Sunday roasts and our bed waiting for me at home sustained me during the low points.  My jelly babies had disappeared by the half way point but the smell of burger vans from the Sports Village set up in the Basin outside the Millennium Centre gave me a final lift as I tracked around the corner and headed up the final straight.

I stumbled across the line, the effort of looking pleased and spritely for the cameras finally finishing me off (having seen the pictures afterwards I realised that I looked neither pleased not spritely!). I slowed to a wobbly stop and held onto a barrier for a while to ensure that I would suffer no immediate effects of breaking my momentum. I wobbled, took a few steps, felt sick and stopped. Waited a while and tried again. This time I made it to receive my medal and give my timing chip back in. My official time was 1hr 58 mins 37 secs.

You can see the thought 'this is going to hurt in the morning' on my face as I cross finish line...

I managed to find everyone, give Rhi a ring (In which I was so out of it that I tried to convince her that I had run the race in a little under two minutes) before heading to the burger van. Mum arrived shortly afterwards having finished in just over two and a half hours, not a bad feat for someone who turned fifty this year.

We travelled home and I collapsed onto Rhi. As usual she had spent the day being extremely productive and the house had taken another massive step forward aesthetically. Glynis, Nigel and Dennis were all in various stages of stripping, washing and re-painting the walls and I admired everything as I crawled slowly up the stairs. I ran a hot bath before falling asleep, spread-eagled on our beautifully mowed lawn.

Never again – until next year.

A Bit of a Marathon Weekend - Part One - Saturday

Weekends recently seem to come and go without Rhi or I seeing them. We seem to fall asleep on Friday night and wake up on Saturday morning caught in a whirlwind that deposits us on Sunday evening panting and utterly weary with a bigger hole where something vital used to be, another wall paperless and even more dust and mess floating around the house. Our weekends consist of a jumble of people arriving, plasterers being organised, painting, wallpaper stripping and everything all crammed into the space of 48 hours. There barely seems time to sleep.

This weekend however has been a slight exception to this rule. The whirlwind still raged relentlessly all weekend; in fact, it seemed even busier due to the fact that, in addition to all of the usual mayhem, Mum and I ran the Cardiff Half Marathon on Sunday (the impending reality of which I had determinedly ignored over the past months). This weekend was also different to the past couple of months in another sense. It was the first weekend in which we have managed to break the cycle of destruction in our (soon to be) beatuiful home. We have, finally, broken open a tin of paint and begun to make the walls presentable. It is hard to describe the excitment and optimism that comes with the gentle 'pop' as the first tin of white paint is opened. Rhi and I have been waiting a long time to turn this corner and begin our ascent out of the destruction phase.

That is not to say that it all went smoothly, in fact it looked at one point as if this weekend would take us further into the deep pit of destruction we were already in. I am extremely grateful that Glynis and Dennis have such unending and optimistic work ethics and helped us to turn it around.

Saturday started, as far too many of our weekends have started recently, bright and early at 9am with the arrival of Glynis and Dennis. I am grateful in one sense that I am becoming used to early mornings as once bump arrives I expect Rhi and I will look back at this post and long for nice, late 9am starts. We set about washing down the walls in the nursery with sugar soap (Amazing stuff apparently. Still no idea what exactly it does). Walls clean and dry we then proceeded to open our first tin of white paint and began to cover the walls. It is amazing how much brighter and larger it makes the room feel. The room swelled along with our excitment and pleasure at finally getting underway with the beautification of of our house.

Then Dennis innocently enquired what our plans were for the landing and stairway. As Rhi headed downstairs to make some food, Dennis, Glynis and I looked at the mint coloured chip-board that currently clung to the walls and disappeared into the farthest reaches of the stairwell and I informed Dennis that we (Rhi and I) had decided previously that however much we hated it, we would settle for re-painting it a more acceptable colour and try to push the fact that it was chip-board from our minds. The main reason for this was that we couldn't quite face such a mammoth task that entailed somehow finding a way to get access to the hollow above the stairway, dealing with the trauma of manhandling the chip-board from another set of walls and then orchestrating the cleanup operation afterwards. It was, I reiterated, too much to bear especially when we felt we were turning the corner and moving away from our destructive past and embarking upon a more peaceful existence of 'making our house pretty'.

Dennis then threw a spanner in the works and pointed out in an offhand way that if we are going to paint up in the hollow then we are going to need to get up there anyway to 'cut in'. (This is a technical term which I pretended to know before I was asked to actually do it, at which time I thought it best to confess ignorance in case I caused permanent damage. It means to paint nicely around the edges near the ceiling and skirting boards for example). This led Glynis and I on a rapid journey of decision making and damage limitation forecasts and before I knew it I was teetering on the top of a rickety ladder, steadying myself on the wall above the stairwell, with the feet resting precariously on the eighth step of the stairs. I had just completed stripping the second of my preliminary 'tester' patches when Rhi appeared around the corner and took in the scene. Lip trembling and fear in her eyes, her plans for a new golden age devoid of wallpaper steamers crumbled before her.

After recovering from the initial shock and vowing to make sure that the stairway will be sorted out Rhi, Glynis and I set about stripping this most awkward of spaces in earnest while Dennis recoated the nursery. By lunchtime, the majority of the stripping was done.

During the afternoon Dad arrived with his lawnmower and cut the grass. It was 'annoying' him and he needed to do something about it. We let him get on with it and continued with the stairway and landing. We had just finished stripping and washing down the walls when Mum, Dais and Biz arrived ready to take Rhi out to choose her birthday present. It is Rhi's birthday in just over a month and her present from the Morgans is a puppy. Not thinking that we have enough on our prospective plates as it is we have decided to go the whole hog and get a puppy as well. In for a penny in for a pound. We went to choose him last weekend (which deserves a description in its own right... but not now). We have decided on 'Charley' as his name. Loosely based on Steinbeck's 'Travels with Charley' we thought it an apt name for our puppy, one who will accompany us on our journey. We are all setting out in life together - a real family. Charley is a labrador/Border Collie cross and, having some experience of Labradors and Border Collies separately, we believe that he will take the best traits of both breeds and be the perfect companion for our young family. Thats the plan anyway.

This weekend is the last weekend before Charley is old enough to come home and so we headed to Pets at Home to stock up on essentials. After a good half hour deliberating we emerged with a giddy Rhi clutching an adjustible red collar, a red lead, a green rope lead, a brush, two food dishes, a water dish, a squeezy rope toy, three rubber balls, a chewy leopard, a rubber chewing ring, a soft bed cushion, a basket to sleep in and a blanket. This dog is going to be very well catered for!

We headed home and decided to embark on our campaign to make bump's nursery the best bedroom for a child in the world. Two hours later we were staring happily at a honey coloured covering to the walls. It is sunny and happy and actually has a rather amazing story behind it. Winnie the Pooh arrived one morning to see his great friends William and Rhiannon and congratulate them on having moved into their first house. They showed him around and when they reached the room that was soon to be bump's nursery Pooh sat down thoughtfully. 'What an amazing view. This is my most very favourite place in the whole of this house' he said  importantly. 'And as such, I have decided that I would like it to be painted the same colour as my most very favourite thing - honey'. This is the story of why Bump's nursery is painted yellow.