Royal Ascot

So it’s the night before Royal Ascot, Michael is frothing at the mouth with excitement, and I’m stuck at work at 9pm without a dress, shoes or bag for the races.  All was not lost however, as the English, in all their civilised wisdom, don’t believe that races should start before 2.30 in the afternoon, unlike the fanatically Australians and their 11am ‘first races’.

Awoke around 9am to Michael bringing me coffee and breakfast in bed, still salivating, and informing me that he’d already gone to the train station to pre-purchase our train tickets. In other words, get up, La, its RACE DAY!

Decided to go for the nightclub look and wear slightly gaudy backless black lace dress instead of my only other option (black work dress), with non-matching hat, purchased in a mad rush online a few days earlier.  Paired it with low sensible work shoes (bucking the trend of sky highs as I would later observe) and camera bag (as work bag just did not go) and umbrella (obvs). I looked exactly like a tourist who had had a late night out at the clubs and had gotten lost on the way to the London Eye and ended up at the races. The height of style, I was not. I did make sure to wear tights though, with a nod to my upper class friends (not wearing tights here is broadly akin to not wearing any undies it seems – very lower class).

We caught the train from Waterloo in similar style to Flemington – i.e. lots of pretty ladies squished into tight shoes trying to get the last seat on the train. Unlike Flemington however there were lots of men in top hats and tails and everyone was drinking champagne from paper coffee cups (public drinking here = totally legal).

Royal Ascot racecourse itself is quite spectacular. Built by Queen Anne in 1711 it is now owned by Her Maj, and is just a few miles from Windsor Castle.  

Out the front is the show ring where they parade the horses before their race, and the Royals at the beginning of the day (to a rousing chorus of God Save the Queen). We tried to get a glimpse of her, and we were generously given a spot near the front by a fellow who informed me he was Irish and so couldn’t stand the Queen, and needed a drink urgently.

To put it into perspective, the grandstand is roughly 4 times the size of Flemington.

Lizzie in Green

The fashions are mad. Royal Ascot has “fashion assistants” at all the entry points inspecting all the ladies to make sure there are no fascinators at all (and hats are greater than 10cm in diameter), that all dresses have straps of at least 2 inches (Her Maj doesn’t like to see people’s bras) and that dresses were reasonably close to one’s knee. They are armed with pre-made hats and pashminas for offenders.

This year being the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the main race was called... Diamond Jubilee Stakes, featuring our very own Black Caviar. The queen personally hands over the cup to the winner at the end of the race.

We, of course, were right near a large contingent of drunken Australian Black Caviar supporters, who annoyingly kept yelling “He’s the best horse ever to run, ever”.  I tried at one point to explain to someone that he was in fact a she, but the idea just didn’t take.

One enterprising fellow had fashioned a flagpole out of someone’s walking stick and had tied an Aussie flag to the end. When he brought it out the English near him sunk back, forming quite a large empty circle around him, possibly for fear of what else the crazy Australian would do next. That was entertaining until he blocked everyone’s view during the race with said flag, not realising that the horses run clockwise in the UK (and was thus looking in the WRONG direction for the horsies to arrive).  

10,000 of the 80,000 crowd were Australians. Roughly 9,999 of them had spent the first half of the day explaining to the British who she was and how great she was, and then had a heart attack when she very nearly didn’t win.

I won’t go into coverage of what Black Caviar did, how terrible the ride was etc, as I cannot possibly risk the chance of having another discussion with Booba about it when he reads this. She won, possibly spurred on by Booba screaming obscenities at the jockey, and our Australian pride remains intact, along with English opinion that we are in fact, all mad.

The best part of the day was watching Michael and his friends bet. All seasoned betters, they found it incredibly frustrating trying to put bets down as the lingo is quite different. Michael spent a few minutes trying to explain to a bookie what a box trifecta was, and like me, he couldn’t comprehend. One Aussie tried for something complicated and the bookie gave him something else entirely, explaining when he went to collect that he had no idea what he was asking for so had just guessed (incorrectly).

All in all an absolutely fantastic day had by all. Definitely going again next year.  

Prague

Started off badly. We had to get up at 3am to make our 6.20am flight from Gatwick airport and I had a raging cold. Attempted to sleep on the plane but a friendly fellow behind me spent the whole 1 ½ hour flight talking loudly about his English upbringing, the difficulties of working abroad (rude people on flights?) and the potential Grexit with his neighbours.

Once we got to Prague though, I perked up. The entire city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and we could see why – it was absolutely gorgeous!

The city is about the size of Melbourne with a population of about 1 million.  Unlike London you could walk the streets without feeling like you are in a mosh pit – a nice change.  

The Czech Republic’s history is the stuff nightmares are made of, and another bit of proof, if ever it was needed, of the total debacle that was the post WW2 carve up of the continent.  In a nutshell:

WW1: everything fine, lots of democracy, city modelled on Paris, artists and intellectuals abundant etc etc.

·         WW2: Hitler invades, 117,000 Jewish  people sent to concentration camps, 14,000 of which survived the end of the war (that’s 0.1%). Czechoslovakian government flees to London.

·         End of WW2: Allies give Czechoslovakia to the Russians as a thank you for their help in the war. 40 odd years of communist oppression, labour camps, secret trials etc ensue.

·         1989: Czechoslovakia expels Russia (rather, Gorbachev leaves quietly as has bigger concerns)

·         1993: Czechoslovakia splits in two, and The Czech Republic and Solvakia are born.

Prague is now the most visited site in Europe for Bucks parties. Famous for its classical music venues we couldn’t figure out why until we discovered that a pilsner is £1 a bottle (just slightly cheaper than a bottle of water).

 We visited the Jewish Cemetary - here the Jewish were buried as many as 12 deep as it was the only place in all of Prague they were able to be buried. There are roughly 10,000 tomb stones with an estimated 100,000 buried.

The famous Charles Bridge, built in 1357, across the River Vltava (it was comical trying to pronounce anything in Prague).

The Prague Castle

Prague was home to Frank Kafka, who depressed me so much when I was at Uni that I couldn’t bring myself to re-read any of his work pre-Prague, and Milan Kunderra, who I’m reading at the moment, looking for hidden anti-communist sentiment.

The most famous inhabitant was however, Good King Wenceslas, the old Duke of Bohemia (Czechoslovakia’s old old name). He was Duke until 935 when he was assassinated by his brother. He is famous for having saved Czechoslovakia from ruin by invading forces, which became the story of Wenceslas saving Christmas from ruin by invading forces who wanted to ban it, courtesy of the Christians.

St Wenceslaus Square (Patron Saint of Prague)

Crazy communist trams

All in all a great trip, but definitely a precursor for a trip to Russia....

Cricket at Windsor Castle

Michael recently started playing Cricket for the Australian Consulate team. Last weekend they played the Queen's Royal Household on the grounds of Windsor Castle. Michael's team was kind enough to win for us.

The cricket ground was gorgeous, as far as cricket grounds can be gorgeous. It was just near the long walk at the Castle, and required much manoeuvring and security checks (which I'm pleased to say we all passed) to enter.

The pitch had a lovely club house with a fantastic afternoon tea (scones of course).

King George built himself his own little grandstand right near the pitch, with a glass roof for him to watch the cricket matches uninterrupted.

I of course being an avid Cricket fan, got a few lovely ladies together and we made a day of exploring the castle and having a very civilised pimms picnic.

We kept a watch out for Lizzie, who usually walks past to watch her servants play for a few minutes, but she was otherwise engaged with heads of state etc etc for the Jubilee.  After the first bottle of pimms we did start practising our royal introductions (maam as in ham..) and curtsying etc, so its probably best that she didn't come, if just to avoid an international incident.

The lovely Serena of Mullumbimby origins and I soaking up some English sun.

Valencia

Was beautiful. We drove down from Barcelona in our little hired Peugeot and stopped at a stack of little towns on the Mediterranean Sea on the way.  

We stayed in a villa converted into a hotel that was gorgeous. The view out of one window was of the rooftline of little villas, the view out of the other window was of an old church (whose bells rang until midnight).

The highlight of Valencia was wandering around the city, stopping for Pinotxo on the way (tapas with toothpicks in them – you pay be the toothpick left over at the end of the meal).

There are an insane number of churches in Valencia, considering that the Socialists burnt them all down during the civil war. On the Saturday night when we were on our way to dinner we saw 4 separate weddings. On our way home the weddings were just finishing. They really like their long Catholic weddings in Valencia.

We also hit the beach (at which we promptly both got burnt – so un-Australian like of us). The Spanish have no qualms about sangria on the beach, which made things a lot more enjoyable.

Valencia also has an oceanic park and an arts centre that were built in fantastic architectural style, that in addition to being hugely expensive to get into, has cost the small city a fortune and is currently crippling their economy. Quite pretty although doesn’t match the old villa style of the rest of the town.

A highlight of Valencia was the Valencia orange juice. It tasted quite simply like no other orange juice I’ve ever tasted. Delish! 2 kilos of oranges costs about 1 euro and the entire outskirts of the town are blanketed in orange trees.

Barcelona

Barcelona was totally not what I was expecting. I was expecting an ageing ex-colonial power with decaying villas abundant.

Instead we found a European version of a third world country mixed with crazy architecture and lots of Zara stores.

The highlight of Barcelona was the Antonio Gaudi architecture. For a religious zealot, he sure knew how to wow, architecturally speaking.

Casa Batllo - Guadi's apartment building in the centre of Barcelona, built in 1887.

La Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's famous church. It is a UNESCO world heritage suite and proclaimed a "minor basilica" by the Pope. Guadi started on it in 1882 and worked on it until he died in 1926 at which time it was about 25% complete. It has never been finished & work is still continuing. It is estimated to be complete in 2050, and the annual construction budget is appox. 18m euros.

The best part of the Church is the outside, which is made up of 3 facades: the nativity scene, the passion scene and the glory scene.

The outside of the Church is incredibly intricate with thousands of statues (some of which were modelled off dead people Gaudi got from the morgue).

The inside of the Church, a golden Jesus hanging above the alter. Gaudi is where the American term "gaudy" came from. You can see why.

Gaudi, slightly obsessed with symmetry.

The tourist guides all say to hit Las Ramblas, which is rather like a really long Bourke Street Mall during Christmas shopping. During the Spanish civil war George Orwell who came over to fight on the side of the Socialists was shot in the neck by a sniper in a street siege on Las Ramblas.

The food was fantastic. Lots of jamon (Spanish cured ham) and fruit and veg. A stark contrast to London.

More Gaudi - his famous Park Guell - a park dedicated to the mad. Another UNESCO World Heritage Site, and my favourite.

  

The view over Barcelona from the Park.

The millions of tourists

Every square inch of the park was covered in mad tiles and statues.

  

Barcelona is the main city in the region of Catalonia, which has, at various points in history, attempted to separate from the rest of Spain. They are fiercely patriotic to their region, as opposed to Spain itself, to the point where a lot of Spanish actually speak Catalonian.

During the Spanish civil war, which just preceded WW2, a lot of Brits went to fight with the Socialists, against Franco, the fascist dictator supported by Hitler and Mussolini. Barcelona was the last stand between the two warring sides, and fell to Franco, who ruled from the late 1930s to 1975 when he died. Franco promptly killed all political activities who were against him, and spent the rest of his life oppressing the Spanish people with secretive trials and killings.

An amazing bit of history is that Franco spent quite a few years selecting and grooming his replacement before he died. A few days after he died and the power had been handed over, his replacement announced sweeping democratic reforms and that his allegiance to Franco had all pretty much been a ruse.  If only North Korea would follow suit.

These days of course Spain is the S in the PIGS and is rated an SD by S&Ps (selective default). The unemployment rate is 25%.

Other highlights were Booba’s insistence on ordering jugs rather than glasses of sangria, the result of which we were drunk quite a bit of the time (makes for interesting photos) and the weather.