From Trieste we caught the train to Venice. We stepped out of the station, and there in front of us was the Grand Canal. With only 60,000 locals, and 10,000,000 visitors each year, this city is a caricature of its old self. Still, as most tourists only visit for a few hours, we found some relative solitude at the edges of the days, the winding streets and masks in the windows reminding me of Labyrinth.

Our guide Maria took us on the Hidden Venice Walking Tour. With a brown cape swung around her shoulders, speaking of trading with foreign lands, she reminded me of a Venetian from the 1400’s. She showed us the church porch that protected Europe’s first bankers, and the nearby street to house Europe’s first insurance agent, gambling on those treacherous trips across the Mediterranean. We saw some of Europe’s first public clocks, divided into 24 hours, where XXIIII meant sunset.

We took a ferry across to Murano. Glass has been boiled, twisted, and sculpted on this island for over 800 years. We saw some extraordinary work in the Museo del Vetro, exceptional colours and inserts, the light shining through translucent pieces that had been carefully crafted centuries ago. It took us a while, but we finally found a Fornace that was offering demonstrations. As we were sitting down, the man twirled some glowing magma on a stick. With some pliers in his other hand, he pulled and snipped the liquid, encouraging a horse’s head to emerge. Four more strategic tugs created the legs, and then a few more swift movements produced the tail and severed the animal from its creator. The whole process was over in a few seconds. To his right, we noticed a mountain of pale blue horses, discarded from previous demonstrations, perhaps waiting to be melted and reborn the next day. I rescued one of the horses from the showroom, having seen the birth of his cousin.

We finished up with a late lunch – the food a little better than the terrible fare available on the main island, then accidentally caught the Vaporetto going the wrong direction, circumnavigating the picturesque island before finally arriving back at our hotel.

I am so fond of Eurovision. It is broadcast every year on Australian television, and I have lovely memories of many viewing parties, with everyone bringing a dish from their favourite country. I have just realised that it may be possible for me to actually witness this spectacle in person, now that I live on this continent. After witnessing a cosmonaut link-up and Alexander Rybak’s winning performance last night, I am inspired to make the pilgrimage to Norway next year. Furthermore, I imagine Oslo is much less likely than Moscow to arrest Eurovision fans who take part in a concurrent gay pride parade.

So, now I just have to ask my husband if he would fancy a trip to the Telnor Arena in Oslo on May 22, 2010?

Who knew that we lived close to what was the world’s largest crystal factory, which once pumped out 160 000 intricate crystal pieces per day for clients like the Tzar of Russia? Now all that remains of this enterprise is a small group of artisans who make a limited selection of beautiful pieces. During our tour, we were able to see a demonstration of an artist at work.

First, the artist lays out the coloured glass that he will need later. Chips of purple for the waddle and crest. And tiny hair-like slivers of white, yellow, brown and green for the body. He extends a large pole into the furnace, scooping out a lump of bright red molten crystal that moves like honey. He presses the glob onto the table sprinkled with the coloured slivers, and then carefully shapes the glob into a bulb, using wet newspaper, wet pearwood blocks, and by blowing through the pole. In the US, the New York Times is thought to be the best newspaper for working glass. I did not find out what gazette is preferred over here. He then pinches the two sides to produce a tail and a head. Finally, his assistant helps him place a small dab of molten purple crystal for the final embellishments. They are pinched into place, and a cute crystal chicken from the house of Val Saint Lambert is born.

Now I have visited every Australian capital city. We have just returned from a three day safari through Kakadu national park, starting in Darwin. I sat next to the driver, and he pointed out dozens of birds, monitors, and marsupials as we drive through the lush green land. I saw goose hawks, blue-winged kookaburras, brolgas, magpie geese, whistling kites, sulphur crested cockatoos, cattle egret, blue-faced honeyeaters and galahs.

My favourite animals were the agile wallabies that surrounded our campsite on the first night. Cute little creatures that looked at us with complete alertness, bounding off if we got too close. I even got to hold an orphaned joey who had been adopted by humans at the Didgeridoo Hut art shed. Some of the smallest creatures built the biggest nests – cathedral and magnetic termites building stark red towers over five meters tall, standing out against the bright green grass. We also saw short-eared rock wallabies, an owl, and sadly, cane toads everywhere, even throughout Kakadu.

We also got to experience the less friendly natives – crocodiles and dingos. We went on a jumping crocs cruise on the Adelaide River, where they drag huge chunks of meat through the water to encourage five-meter long crocs to jump out of the water next to our boat, and learn that tourist boats equal food. Not the smartest idea, but a terrifying and majestic sight to see a 240 million year old species lunge at prey. Like seeing a T Rex in action. Our last camp site was visited by dingoes, howling at each other throughout the night.

Our days in Kakadu were also filled with sweaty hot long bush walks through the outback, however they always ended with a delightful and refreshing swim in beneath a waterhole – a very iconic Australian experience. In one place, we were greeted with large illustrated “saltwater crocodiles swim here and will eat you” signs. Our guide insisted that it was just the government covering all bases, and the area was it was too high for the crocs. I was so over-heated that I trusted him and swam in the water, but now I can no longer mock those German tourists who get eaten in the Northern Territory after ignoring the signs.

We saw some amazing Aboriginal art sites ranging from 1 000 to 20 000 years old. Striking and beautiful symbols of the world’s longest continuous culture. Despite the government apologising for its genocide, the missionary spirit is still strong in the government’s handling of indigenous regions, as signs stating “no alcohol no pornography” were quite common throughout the region.

No alcohol, No pornography

Photo by onlineoffroadtours