FOR more than a century, grand lighthouses dotted along Victoria's rugged coastline were the first sign of land for many immigrants to our shores.
Though many hundreds of lives were lost in shipwrecks, the lighthouses protected countless others.
With round-the-clock surveillance needed, three families would live in cottages built at the foot of the lighthouse, ensuring three shifts each day were covered.
But as technology developed, lighthouses became more mechanised and most were unstaffed by the 1990s.
Now, visitors can stay in many of the homes once occupied by lighthouse-keeping families. Many are hosting special events to celebrate International Lighthouse Weekend tomorrow and Sunday.
MORE > www.lighthouse.net.au
Cape Nelson, Portland
About 11km south of Portland, the white-painted bluestone lighthouse was built in 1884.
Visitors can get a sense of the era by staying in its two lightstation cottages, which opened this year after a two-year restoration.
Parks Victoria lessees Rob and Margaret Hunt fell in love with the lighthouse during their regular wanders along the Great South West Walk. Margaret says the original feel of the cottages was re-created with advice from a local historian.
Accommodation costs $180 a night for one bedroom and $250 a night for two bedrooms, and includes a full breakfast.
MORE > 5523 5100 or email lighthouseluxury@activ8.net.au
Cape Otway,
Apollo Bay
The Cape Otway Lightstation lays claim to being the oldest surviving lighthouse in mainland Australia, operating since 1848.
At the heart of the Great Ocean Walk in the Great Otway National Park, the lightstation precinct features a World War II radar bunker and telegraph station. It's a great vantage point for whale watching until October.
It is open daily and tours cost $16.50 for adults, $7.50 kids and family $41.50. Up to 16 people can stay at the Head Keeper's Cottage and the manager's house fits up to 14 people.
The B&B style option costs $195 a night. Multi-nights with large groups can start from $30 a person.
``The longer you stay and the more people the cheaper it gets,'' manager Paul Thompson says.
MORE > www.lightstation.com
Cape Schanck, Mornington Peninsula
Set in the Mornington Peninsula National Park, the Cape Schanck Lighthouse and its museum, which is in a former lightkeeper's cottage, are open to the public.
Built in 1859, it still has the original lighting mechanisms in place. The area is popular with families, golfers, walkers and lighthouse history enthusiasts. Tours and packages include helicopter rides to nearby wineries.
Beds are available in the two assistant keepers' cottages, which sleep up to nine people. There is also an inspector's cottage suitable for a couple. Rates are $150 a double at weekends, and $100 a double during the week.
MORE > www.parkweb.vic.gov.au
www.austpacinns.com.au
Continued next page
From previous page
Wilsons Promontory
Located at Tidal River, three lightkeepers' cottages provide dormitory-style accommodation for up to 27 people.
But a visit is not for the faint hearted. All bed linen (sleeping bags recommended) and food must be carried in on the 18km walk from Tidal River. And you have take your rubbish out with you.
Still, people book up to 12 months in advance for the experience.
It will set you back between $47 and $87 each a night, depending on the day of the week and which cottage you stay in.
MORE > www.parkweb.vic.gov.au
Point Hicks
Set in Croajingolong National Park, the lighthouse owes its name to Lieutenant Zachariah Hicks, who was sailing with Captain James Cook when they saw the area in 1770.
By 1890 the remote lighthouse settlement, complete with three houses for the keepers, was complete.
Tours are available free when you stay but visitors can join a tour Friday to Monday at 1pm. Adults $7 and family $20. Visitors can stay in the two assistant lightkeepers' cottages which each sleep up to eight. A bungalow is suited to a couple.
Take your own food -- the nearest shop is an hour by car at Cann River -- but you can rent linen.
Rates depend on the season, day of the week and accommodation choice. The cottages are around $330 a night and the bungalow $100.
MORE > www.pointhicks.com.au or www.gippslandlakesescapes.com.au
Gabo Island, Mallacoota
The distinctive pink granite Gabo Island Lighthouse stands on the border where Victoria meets NSW.
The island, which can only be reached by air or sea, is home to bird colonies such as little penguins.
Accommodation is available in one of the assistant keeper's cottages for two to seven nights. The cottage can sleep up to eight in three bedrooms. Rates vary by day of the week and season from $178.50-$227 a night.
MORE > www.parkweb.vic.gov.au
Lady Bay Upper and Lower lighthouses, Warrnambool
Still active, the lighthouses have been protecting the Warrnambool Harbour from roaring southern oceans for more than 150 years. Part of the Flagstaff Hill Maritime Village, there is an admission fee for the Lady Bay Upper lighthouse but the Lower Lighthouse is off limits.
Flagstaff Village manager Peter Abbott says the Lighthouse Lodge, built in 1911, opened to guests in March. Guests can book out the whole lodge, accommodating six people, from $355 a night.
The lighthouses are an easy stroll to the city centre. Admission to the village is $15.95 adults, $12.50 children and $39 family.
MORE > www.flagstaffhill.com
Split Point,
Airey's Inlet
At 34m high, the lighthouse was built after as many as 10 shipwrecks on the Surf Coast before 1890. It was originally called Eagles Nest Point but changed to Split Point in 1913.
Because it is a functioning lighthouse access is only via a tour, which operates daily. Adults are $12 children $7 and family $35.
The lighthouse was the setting for the kids' TV show Round the Twist and provides 360-degree views. It also offers school-holiday programs.
MORE > www.splitpointlighthouse.com.au
Point Lonsdale
The lighthouse celebrated its centenary in 2002 and is thought to be among the last manned lighthouses in Australia. You can visit the lighthouse on a pre-booked tour. Tours operate from mid morning to early afternoon and run for half an hour. But you have to be reasonably fit to tackle the steep stairs and must wear solid footwear. There are eight people a tour and children under five years and people with pacemakers are not allowed. Adults $6, kids $4.
MORE > www.maritimequeenscliffe.org.au
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Magic of Monet
THE bikes lined up in front of the corner café were beckoning us.
I made a bee-line for them. Just then the words of my doctor started ringing in my ear.
“Just don’t go hopping on any bikes,” he cautioned.
“That’s the best piece of advice I can give to you.”
It was the eve of our European trip. And, yes, planes, taxis, hire cars, the Eurostar train, buses, boats and, quite possibly, bikes were among the modes of transport we planned to use.
After a 60-minute train trip from Paris to Vernon, the bikes are looking an attractive option to cycle 5km to Giverny, home of Monet’s Garden.
How lovely it would be to throw caution to the wind and ride along the disused railway line to the garden.
The doctor warned that he had lost count of the number of his “middle aged” patients who had tumbled off bikes and broken bones, ruining their holidays. I had made the mistake of relaying this piece of information to my husband, more to point out the absurdity of the description of me as middle-aged.
But, as I sized up the bikes, to see if there were any suitable for the three kids, my husband chimed in with the reminder that yes, indeed, I am middle-aged.
I glumly went to the back of the snaking line to hop on a shuttle bus for Giverny. We passed the bike riders, sans helmets, looking wondrously happy pedaling along the scenic path.
Once there we made our way along a series of laneways, walking briskly to get ahead of the crowd. The line of people queuing to enter the garden, on a Sunday, was long and slow moving.
The kids were whining. I almost could see their point. I had made the arbitrary decision to dump visits to Eurodisney and Versailles when we had been held up by the Icelandic volcanic eruption and our Paris itinerary had to be pruned. However, I insisted, there was no way I was going to miss out on seeing Monet’s Garden again. I had been there 15 years earlier in autumn.
That time it offered an explosion of giant white cosmos, geraniums, dahlias, impatiens and marigolds.
I had often spoken about wanting to return in Spring. Now, being so close, I wasn’t going to give up the opportunity. Once inside, we were overwhelmed by the mass of tulips.
We had, according to one observer, lucked on the week when the thousands of tulip bulbs in the expansive gardens were at their best.
It would have to be one of the most beautiful sights I have experienced. Even the kids, the thought of spinning cups and thrill rides momentarily forgotten, were transfixed.
It was hard to know where to look. So many gorgeous blooms. With such inspiration, it is no wonder impressionist painter Claude Monet could produce such wonderful and enduring paintings.
There are two parts to the garden. The one you enter from the street, in front of the house, is called Clos Normand. It features the famous Grande Allee, a gigantic arch that leads to the impressive house.
We made our way through to the second garden via an underpass. It features the famed pond with the Japanese inspired bridge.
Painter Monet featured the wisteria covered bridge and waterlillies in many of his paintings, such as the Nympheas series.
He bought this land 10 years after he arrived in Giverny.
Monet, by all accounts, was as much a gardener as a painter and once you see the garden you start to realize where various paintings were set.
The Grand Allee, with it climbing roses, is featured in many paintings.
The garden is open from April to November and has more than 500,000 visitors per year.
Monet lived at Giverny for more than 40 years until his death in 1926. Before his paintings started to make him money, he rented the home, a former cider factory, because he could not afford a Paris apartment.
Eventually he was able to buy the property.
After his death the property fell into ruin and in 1966 was bequeathed to an arts academy. It took 10 years to restore and recreate the garden, with the help of a number of people who actually knew Monet.
There has been debate about how it should be maintained. It is clear that what we see today is probably not exactly how Monet would have had it, but the trustees must balance recreating the garden with the demands of tourists to be impressed.
Nonetheless, it is well worth the visit.
We made our way into the home with its pink stucco, green shutters and creeper covered pergolas
It did not look any different to when I had first seen it. Its bright yellow kitchen and blue dining room are not everyone’s choice but reveal his brave use of color was not restricted to his canvas.
The Japanese influence, from wood blocks to prints, is evident in the home. Walls are lined with reproductions of his work, the originals now held in collections around the world.
The view from the first floor balcony is one you would happily settle in for the day if it wasn’t for the crowds eagerly making their way along the narrow staircases.
Monet loved this area and on an earlier visit I had followed his path through Normandy north up to Etretat and to Rouen where he painted his cathedral series.
Upon leaving the garden we made our way up the hill to the church were Monet is buried.
In the intervening period, between my two visits, the area’s tourism offerings have grown. There are art galleries, accommodation, museums and cafes and you could easily spend a few days touring around the picturesque village.
Whether you are a gardener or painter there is much to see in a side trip to Giverny.
After a visit to Giverny there is only one thing left. A trip to Paris to the Musee d'Orsay to see more Monet magic.
Getting there:
Trains leave from Saint Lazare station, in Paris, regularly.
There is a bus from the station to the garden.
Monet’s Garden is open from April 1 to November 1.
Entry is 6.00 Euro for adults and 3.50 for children 7 to 12 years. Aged and group concessions apply.
www.giverny.org
the end
copyright Claire Heaney 2010
I made a bee-line for them. Just then the words of my doctor started ringing in my ear.
“Just don’t go hopping on any bikes,” he cautioned.
“That’s the best piece of advice I can give to you.”
It was the eve of our European trip. And, yes, planes, taxis, hire cars, the Eurostar train, buses, boats and, quite possibly, bikes were among the modes of transport we planned to use.
After a 60-minute train trip from Paris to Vernon, the bikes are looking an attractive option to cycle 5km to Giverny, home of Monet’s Garden.
How lovely it would be to throw caution to the wind and ride along the disused railway line to the garden.
The doctor warned that he had lost count of the number of his “middle aged” patients who had tumbled off bikes and broken bones, ruining their holidays. I had made the mistake of relaying this piece of information to my husband, more to point out the absurdity of the description of me as middle-aged.
But, as I sized up the bikes, to see if there were any suitable for the three kids, my husband chimed in with the reminder that yes, indeed, I am middle-aged.
I glumly went to the back of the snaking line to hop on a shuttle bus for Giverny. We passed the bike riders, sans helmets, looking wondrously happy pedaling along the scenic path.
Once there we made our way along a series of laneways, walking briskly to get ahead of the crowd. The line of people queuing to enter the garden, on a Sunday, was long and slow moving.
The kids were whining. I almost could see their point. I had made the arbitrary decision to dump visits to Eurodisney and Versailles when we had been held up by the Icelandic volcanic eruption and our Paris itinerary had to be pruned. However, I insisted, there was no way I was going to miss out on seeing Monet’s Garden again. I had been there 15 years earlier in autumn.
That time it offered an explosion of giant white cosmos, geraniums, dahlias, impatiens and marigolds.
I had often spoken about wanting to return in Spring. Now, being so close, I wasn’t going to give up the opportunity. Once inside, we were overwhelmed by the mass of tulips.
We had, according to one observer, lucked on the week when the thousands of tulip bulbs in the expansive gardens were at their best.
It would have to be one of the most beautiful sights I have experienced. Even the kids, the thought of spinning cups and thrill rides momentarily forgotten, were transfixed.
It was hard to know where to look. So many gorgeous blooms. With such inspiration, it is no wonder impressionist painter Claude Monet could produce such wonderful and enduring paintings.
There are two parts to the garden. The one you enter from the street, in front of the house, is called Clos Normand. It features the famous Grande Allee, a gigantic arch that leads to the impressive house.
We made our way through to the second garden via an underpass. It features the famed pond with the Japanese inspired bridge.
Painter Monet featured the wisteria covered bridge and waterlillies in many of his paintings, such as the Nympheas series.
He bought this land 10 years after he arrived in Giverny.
Monet, by all accounts, was as much a gardener as a painter and once you see the garden you start to realize where various paintings were set.
The Grand Allee, with it climbing roses, is featured in many paintings.
The garden is open from April to November and has more than 500,000 visitors per year.
Monet lived at Giverny for more than 40 years until his death in 1926. Before his paintings started to make him money, he rented the home, a former cider factory, because he could not afford a Paris apartment.
Eventually he was able to buy the property.
After his death the property fell into ruin and in 1966 was bequeathed to an arts academy. It took 10 years to restore and recreate the garden, with the help of a number of people who actually knew Monet.
There has been debate about how it should be maintained. It is clear that what we see today is probably not exactly how Monet would have had it, but the trustees must balance recreating the garden with the demands of tourists to be impressed.
Nonetheless, it is well worth the visit.
We made our way into the home with its pink stucco, green shutters and creeper covered pergolas
It did not look any different to when I had first seen it. Its bright yellow kitchen and blue dining room are not everyone’s choice but reveal his brave use of color was not restricted to his canvas.
The Japanese influence, from wood blocks to prints, is evident in the home. Walls are lined with reproductions of his work, the originals now held in collections around the world.
The view from the first floor balcony is one you would happily settle in for the day if it wasn’t for the crowds eagerly making their way along the narrow staircases.
Monet loved this area and on an earlier visit I had followed his path through Normandy north up to Etretat and to Rouen where he painted his cathedral series.
Upon leaving the garden we made our way up the hill to the church were Monet is buried.
In the intervening period, between my two visits, the area’s tourism offerings have grown. There are art galleries, accommodation, museums and cafes and you could easily spend a few days touring around the picturesque village.
Whether you are a gardener or painter there is much to see in a side trip to Giverny.
After a visit to Giverny there is only one thing left. A trip to Paris to the Musee d'Orsay to see more Monet magic.
Getting there:
Trains leave from Saint Lazare station, in Paris, regularly.
There is a bus from the station to the garden.
Monet’s Garden is open from April 1 to November 1.
Entry is 6.00 Euro for adults and 3.50 for children 7 to 12 years. Aged and group concessions apply.
www.giverny.org
the end
copyright Claire Heaney 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Good Morning Vietnam
Claire Heaney
The young girl comes closer, spinning her hands and fingers around like a crazed spider trying to trap me in her web.
"I make you more beautiful" she promises.
My daughter, Hannah, 10, laughs nervously.
At first I am confused, then it finally dawns on me that the fine thread she is flicking around is her toolkit. She is a mobile beautician, practising the ancient art of hair removal by the threading technique.
Minutes earlier I am talked into ordering a red pair of boots from a local shoe shop.
Things happen in Vietnam when you are not looking.
Earlier, my nearly five-year-old has her foot run over by a motorcycle in what is possibly the quietest street in the whole of Vietnam.
Having survived hair-raising crossings of busy Hanoi streets, where you clasp hands tightly and step out with conviction that you will make it to the other side, we have a false sense of security.
In HoiAn, in central Vietnam, the road is closed and our travelling party of three families is wandering along when a motorbike speeds past.
I shouted to Lucy to be careful. She is startled and walks into its path.
She lets our an ear piercing scream and kind locals come running with containers of Tiger Balm. She’s fine but my nerves are shot.
Her plastic Crocs shoes are broken.
So, this is why we find ourselves in the Hoian Market looking for new shoes.
They do not have the right size. But, "Wait" the stall holders implore, they will come back with some that will fit.
It is then that I make the fatal mistake of looking too intently at a pair of custom made boots. Before I know it colour swatches are out and the tape measures is sizing up my sweaty calves.
Lucy's shoes arrive. She, her father and brother, Patrick, duly race off to hop into the hotel pool.
But Hannah and I don't escape so easily.
As we walk out the beautician buddy strikes, with her promise to thread every bit of facial hair she can see and then some. “Ouch” I say.
“No pain, no gain,” she says menacingly.
My resistance is futile. And it turns out to be one of the funnier moments of our Vietnam adventure.
We start our Gap Family Adventure in Hanoi where we hook up with three families and our guide, Lap Nguyen.
The reasons for signing up for the package tour vary. One family is a single parent with two children and other is made up of three children with their dad and stepmother. They are wanting some adventure without the hassle and headaches and this is exactly what we get.
The children generally match up age wise. My Lucy is the odd one out and over the holiday she becomes something of a spare fairy.
Having explored the wonders of Hanoi in planned and free time a much anticipated highlight is the overnight stay in Halong Bay, about three hours by bus.
The bus trip is long for those who, like my son, suffer from traffic sickness. We have not packed anything that resembles a tablet. Fortunately our fellow travellers are better prepared.
In the meantime, my husband is nursing the sick bag, waiting for the stop at a craft outlet to deposit it in the bin.
Halong Bay, once we get there, is magnificent. We hop on one of what seems like hundreds of junks and set sail.
The rooms are very comfortable and the kids are in seventh heaven with all sorts of vantage points from which to see. We make a stop at the limestones.
It is so serene. The stay involves incredibly sumptuous food and wonderful service. The kids are intrigued by the dragonfruit with its black spots.
"It’s very posh," observes Patrick.
As the night fades the more adventurous of the group start jumping into the water from the junk. One of the parents hops in to make sure they are safe. They are having a ball. Patrick is reluctant but I can see he will be very hard on himself should he not give it a try. After some time he takes the leap and then can’t get enough.
“Jumping into the water from the boat was one of the best things I have ever done,” he insists.
By night we are passed by party boats and floating markets.
The stay ends all too soon and we make our way to Hanoi to catch an overnight train to Hue (pronounced Way). We are amazed by the locals ability to fit just about anything precariously on the back of a motorbike. It becomes a competition as we spot toilets, goldfish in plastic bags, eggs, seat and assorted cargo.
The guide tells us that we are in the first class and the beds are hard because the train is new and they haven’t been worn in.
The ride is fun for the kids. Then we strike a landslide and find ourselves arriving late in Hue.
This is something we soon come to realise in Vietnam. Natural disasters can follow you and will alter your best laid travel plans.
Hue is another extraordinary place with its pagoda and temple. A highlight is a cyclo ride to the Citadel.
While dining at a restaurant we spot local children performing. Wondering whether we should tip them as street entertainers, we are told they are practising for the upcoming Moon Lantern Festival.
The next day we make our way to HoiAn which is particularly beautiful and also famous for its tailoring.
We see some temples and take up an offer to do an optional cooking class. This turns into one of the best memories.
With our instructor, Nam, we walk to the local HoiAn fressh food market which backs on to the wharf. My youngest, Lucy, calls this the stinky market and I fear one of the three children is going to be ill they are so repulsed by the fish guts all over the floor.
We are shown an amazing array of vegetables and then return to his restaurant, the Hong Phuc.
We set about creating our own feast. Mindful of the littlies chopping their fingers with knives, we cut and stuff a fish which is grilled in bananas leaves, making a tasty salsa and
preparing and frying yummy spring rolls. The kids are raving about the taste of lemongrass and sampling dishes in Vietnam that at home they would baulk at.
“This is one of the best things I have ever eaten,” says Hannah, eagerly eating the fish. I can’t disagree.
It is during our stay in HoiAn that we learn of Typhoon Ketsana, making its way from the Philippines. This proves inconvenient and delays our trip. There is only one thing to go. Shop. We spend the time sorting out some tailoring orders.
The results are on the whole great. With some thought on my partthey lts could have been even better.
The Typhoon means we find ourselves staying longer and we watch as local methodically go about their preparation with sandbags and shifting valuables out of harm’s way.
There is a lot of damage but villagers seem philophosical and just clean up. We are able then to fly out from Danang to bustling Ho Chi Minh City.
Immediately we see how much bigger and busier and modern it is than Hanoi. Our schedule has been affected by the typhoon but we are all philosophical and appreciative that we have not had the headache of sorting it out.
Instead of an overnight stay on the Mekong Delta, which we had been looking forward to, we do a day trip.
This proves another highlight. We visit Coconut Island where an army of workers knead, shape, cut and wrap coconut sweets at break-neck speed.
Then it is on to Turtle Island. The children have snakes, harmless we are assured, wrapped around their necks.
Back in Ho Chi Minh we venture into the huge market.
It has shelves of goods stacked skyhigh and narrow laneways. Not much fun if you are claustrophobic or a cute fair-haired little girl. The vendors take a liking to Lucy and their unrelenting attention freaks her out. We have to leave.
All too soon is it is time to go home. We are disappointed that we did not allow more time at the end of the trip to further explore Ho Chi Minh at our own leisure.
But our appetite has been whet for Vietnam. We have found the trip a fantastic, comfortable and safe way to travel with our children.
Although we have undertaken international travel with our children, they all regard it as the “best trip ever”.
And mum, who is usually burning the midnight oil trying to fine tune independent travel arrangements via the internet for weeks on end, couldn’t agree more.
Claire Heaney is a Melbourne writer.
The young girl comes closer, spinning her hands and fingers around like a crazed spider trying to trap me in her web.
"I make you more beautiful" she promises.
My daughter, Hannah, 10, laughs nervously.
At first I am confused, then it finally dawns on me that the fine thread she is flicking around is her toolkit. She is a mobile beautician, practising the ancient art of hair removal by the threading technique.
Minutes earlier I am talked into ordering a red pair of boots from a local shoe shop.
Things happen in Vietnam when you are not looking.
Earlier, my nearly five-year-old has her foot run over by a motorcycle in what is possibly the quietest street in the whole of Vietnam.
Having survived hair-raising crossings of busy Hanoi streets, where you clasp hands tightly and step out with conviction that you will make it to the other side, we have a false sense of security.
In HoiAn, in central Vietnam, the road is closed and our travelling party of three families is wandering along when a motorbike speeds past.
I shouted to Lucy to be careful. She is startled and walks into its path.
She lets our an ear piercing scream and kind locals come running with containers of Tiger Balm. She’s fine but my nerves are shot.
Her plastic Crocs shoes are broken.
So, this is why we find ourselves in the Hoian Market looking for new shoes.
They do not have the right size. But, "Wait" the stall holders implore, they will come back with some that will fit.
It is then that I make the fatal mistake of looking too intently at a pair of custom made boots. Before I know it colour swatches are out and the tape measures is sizing up my sweaty calves.
Lucy's shoes arrive. She, her father and brother, Patrick, duly race off to hop into the hotel pool.
But Hannah and I don't escape so easily.
As we walk out the beautician buddy strikes, with her promise to thread every bit of facial hair she can see and then some. “Ouch” I say.
“No pain, no gain,” she says menacingly.
My resistance is futile. And it turns out to be one of the funnier moments of our Vietnam adventure.
We start our Gap Family Adventure in Hanoi where we hook up with three families and our guide, Lap Nguyen.
The reasons for signing up for the package tour vary. One family is a single parent with two children and other is made up of three children with their dad and stepmother. They are wanting some adventure without the hassle and headaches and this is exactly what we get.
The children generally match up age wise. My Lucy is the odd one out and over the holiday she becomes something of a spare fairy.
Having explored the wonders of Hanoi in planned and free time a much anticipated highlight is the overnight stay in Halong Bay, about three hours by bus.
The bus trip is long for those who, like my son, suffer from traffic sickness. We have not packed anything that resembles a tablet. Fortunately our fellow travellers are better prepared.
In the meantime, my husband is nursing the sick bag, waiting for the stop at a craft outlet to deposit it in the bin.
Halong Bay, once we get there, is magnificent. We hop on one of what seems like hundreds of junks and set sail.
The rooms are very comfortable and the kids are in seventh heaven with all sorts of vantage points from which to see. We make a stop at the limestones.
It is so serene. The stay involves incredibly sumptuous food and wonderful service. The kids are intrigued by the dragonfruit with its black spots.
"It’s very posh," observes Patrick.
As the night fades the more adventurous of the group start jumping into the water from the junk. One of the parents hops in to make sure they are safe. They are having a ball. Patrick is reluctant but I can see he will be very hard on himself should he not give it a try. After some time he takes the leap and then can’t get enough.
“Jumping into the water from the boat was one of the best things I have ever done,” he insists.
By night we are passed by party boats and floating markets.
The stay ends all too soon and we make our way to Hanoi to catch an overnight train to Hue (pronounced Way). We are amazed by the locals ability to fit just about anything precariously on the back of a motorbike. It becomes a competition as we spot toilets, goldfish in plastic bags, eggs, seat and assorted cargo.
The guide tells us that we are in the first class and the beds are hard because the train is new and they haven’t been worn in.
The ride is fun for the kids. Then we strike a landslide and find ourselves arriving late in Hue.
This is something we soon come to realise in Vietnam. Natural disasters can follow you and will alter your best laid travel plans.
Hue is another extraordinary place with its pagoda and temple. A highlight is a cyclo ride to the Citadel.
While dining at a restaurant we spot local children performing. Wondering whether we should tip them as street entertainers, we are told they are practising for the upcoming Moon Lantern Festival.
The next day we make our way to HoiAn which is particularly beautiful and also famous for its tailoring.
We see some temples and take up an offer to do an optional cooking class. This turns into one of the best memories.
With our instructor, Nam, we walk to the local HoiAn fressh food market which backs on to the wharf. My youngest, Lucy, calls this the stinky market and I fear one of the three children is going to be ill they are so repulsed by the fish guts all over the floor.
We are shown an amazing array of vegetables and then return to his restaurant, the Hong Phuc.
We set about creating our own feast. Mindful of the littlies chopping their fingers with knives, we cut and stuff a fish which is grilled in bananas leaves, making a tasty salsa and
preparing and frying yummy spring rolls. The kids are raving about the taste of lemongrass and sampling dishes in Vietnam that at home they would baulk at.
“This is one of the best things I have ever eaten,” says Hannah, eagerly eating the fish. I can’t disagree.
It is during our stay in HoiAn that we learn of Typhoon Ketsana, making its way from the Philippines. This proves inconvenient and delays our trip. There is only one thing to go. Shop. We spend the time sorting out some tailoring orders.
The results are on the whole great. With some thought on my partthey lts could have been even better.
The Typhoon means we find ourselves staying longer and we watch as local methodically go about their preparation with sandbags and shifting valuables out of harm’s way.
There is a lot of damage but villagers seem philophosical and just clean up. We are able then to fly out from Danang to bustling Ho Chi Minh City.
Immediately we see how much bigger and busier and modern it is than Hanoi. Our schedule has been affected by the typhoon but we are all philosophical and appreciative that we have not had the headache of sorting it out.
Instead of an overnight stay on the Mekong Delta, which we had been looking forward to, we do a day trip.
This proves another highlight. We visit Coconut Island where an army of workers knead, shape, cut and wrap coconut sweets at break-neck speed.
Then it is on to Turtle Island. The children have snakes, harmless we are assured, wrapped around their necks.
Back in Ho Chi Minh we venture into the huge market.
It has shelves of goods stacked skyhigh and narrow laneways. Not much fun if you are claustrophobic or a cute fair-haired little girl. The vendors take a liking to Lucy and their unrelenting attention freaks her out. We have to leave.
All too soon is it is time to go home. We are disappointed that we did not allow more time at the end of the trip to further explore Ho Chi Minh at our own leisure.
But our appetite has been whet for Vietnam. We have found the trip a fantastic, comfortable and safe way to travel with our children.
Although we have undertaken international travel with our children, they all regard it as the “best trip ever”.
And mum, who is usually burning the midnight oil trying to fine tune independent travel arrangements via the internet for weeks on end, couldn’t agree more.
Claire Heaney is a Melbourne writer.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
I don't want to see another church, art gallery or museum
NEWS that some kids are AWOL from school for up to one in four days made me realise I wasn't such a bad mother, after all.
Having just yanked my own three kids out of school for a total of 30 school days for an overseas trip, I didn't feel quite so guilty.
While my kids were climbing the Eiffel Tower, travelling on the Eurostar, seeing Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona, and marvelling at Monet's Garden, some kids routinely don't make it to the school gate because either they, or their parents, can't be bothered.
There is a trend among us older parents, with accumulated leave and mid-life crises, to indulge in overseas trips.
For us the decision was simple. Take on tradies to renovate or traipse around Europe. The timing was perfect. The youngest was old enough that we didn't need strollers, nappies, bottles and naps.
The eldest goes into Grade 6 next year which, for those of us who haven't enrolled our children at birth at expensive private schools, spells a busy year of open days at prospective secondary schools.
The children's teachers were excited for them, saying they would learn so much.
A few weeks back into school, the children are playing catch up. The older two are whingeing that they missed out on cross country. The eldest declared that she was so behind in Greek she doesn't know the Greek word for zucchini. The preppie is stuck on her golden words (was, that, the, is) while most of the class are ahead and some are reading independently.
Given she is the third child I am hopeful that she is not doomed to reading failure. It suddenly ``clicked'' for her older sister, who wasn't any better at that age, and by the start of Grade 1 was devouring Harry Potter books.
Taking kids out of school to realise your own dreams is selfish. I am reminded of my eight-year-old son's plaintive cries twenty minutes into our visit to Madrid's Prado Museum.
``Mum, I'm sick of seeing gruesome pictures of Jesus. I don't want to go to another art gallery for the rest of my life,'' he moaned.
Friends without kids tut tutted when I told them I left, but secretly I was a bit over them myself.
But it's also selfish and short-sighted to allow kids to have days off for no reason.
These kids falling through the gaps need more support.
Higher retention rates, as apprenticeships have disappeared, means there are kids enrolled that maybe shouldn't be there.
My kids love the routine of school, their friends and the wonderful programs on offer.
But, I am not sure if fining parents is the answer. During our trip we were stuck in Seoul because of the volcanic ash and a British couple were panicked because their girls were late for the new term. Although they had a good reason and would escape fines, their absence could affect the school's ranking.
The difference between my kids and those kids habitually missing out on school is that mine will catch up. Between the complaining, they are excitedly talking about living in London when they grow up, future holidays and taking snaps to show and share.
Although, my son was underwhelmed on the first day back at school to learn of an upcoming excursion - to the National Gallery of Victoria.
``Not more galleries,'' he exclaimed.
Having just yanked my own three kids out of school for a total of 30 school days for an overseas trip, I didn't feel quite so guilty.
While my kids were climbing the Eiffel Tower, travelling on the Eurostar, seeing Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona, and marvelling at Monet's Garden, some kids routinely don't make it to the school gate because either they, or their parents, can't be bothered.
There is a trend among us older parents, with accumulated leave and mid-life crises, to indulge in overseas trips.
For us the decision was simple. Take on tradies to renovate or traipse around Europe. The timing was perfect. The youngest was old enough that we didn't need strollers, nappies, bottles and naps.
The eldest goes into Grade 6 next year which, for those of us who haven't enrolled our children at birth at expensive private schools, spells a busy year of open days at prospective secondary schools.
The children's teachers were excited for them, saying they would learn so much.
A few weeks back into school, the children are playing catch up. The older two are whingeing that they missed out on cross country. The eldest declared that she was so behind in Greek she doesn't know the Greek word for zucchini. The preppie is stuck on her golden words (was, that, the, is) while most of the class are ahead and some are reading independently.
Given she is the third child I am hopeful that she is not doomed to reading failure. It suddenly ``clicked'' for her older sister, who wasn't any better at that age, and by the start of Grade 1 was devouring Harry Potter books.
Taking kids out of school to realise your own dreams is selfish. I am reminded of my eight-year-old son's plaintive cries twenty minutes into our visit to Madrid's Prado Museum.
``Mum, I'm sick of seeing gruesome pictures of Jesus. I don't want to go to another art gallery for the rest of my life,'' he moaned.
Friends without kids tut tutted when I told them I left, but secretly I was a bit over them myself.
But it's also selfish and short-sighted to allow kids to have days off for no reason.
These kids falling through the gaps need more support.
Higher retention rates, as apprenticeships have disappeared, means there are kids enrolled that maybe shouldn't be there.
My kids love the routine of school, their friends and the wonderful programs on offer.
But, I am not sure if fining parents is the answer. During our trip we were stuck in Seoul because of the volcanic ash and a British couple were panicked because their girls were late for the new term. Although they had a good reason and would escape fines, their absence could affect the school's ranking.
The difference between my kids and those kids habitually missing out on school is that mine will catch up. Between the complaining, they are excitedly talking about living in London when they grow up, future holidays and taking snaps to show and share.
Although, my son was underwhelmed on the first day back at school to learn of an upcoming excursion - to the National Gallery of Victoria.
``Not more galleries,'' he exclaimed.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Dan's Wish
Claire Heaney
FOR a long time our household seemed to be a soft target for the charity canvassers.
More nights than I can remember, just as the child wrangling was beginning in earnest, the phone rang.
Sometimes I pretended I was the nanny and fobbed them off, but more times than not I wasn't quick enough.
Invariably, the caller would start off by thanking me for a past donation and before I knew it I was pledging more money or agreeing to sell a wad of raffle tickets.
The causes were all so compelling. Plenty of them ticked the box for relevance to me and our extended family. How could I not support research into diabetes, multiple sclerosis, childhood cancer, breast cancer and infant mortality?
We've been touched by all these.
And anyone who knows me knows I can't resist a raffle ticket - whether it's a mansion on the Gold Coast in the Boystown Lottery or a chook raffle at the Richmond Bowling Club on a Friday night.
But then one day I surveyed my kitchen bench.
Six raffle ticket books. I would end up buying all them.
They were evenly divided between charities and organisations we were involved with largely through the children.
Anyone who has kids knows that once they start going to creche, kinder and school and doing organised sport your charity dollar starts being spent a bit closer to home.
You start saying no to other causes because you are fundraising for new play equipment, books, turf and all manner of things.
It was about that time I started to commit to a few charities each year. I felt less guilty being able to say: ``No, I am supporting other charities''.
For many years Make a Wish was a firm favourite. The organisation, as the name suggests, makes wishes come true for sick kids.
My train-loving nephew was due to fly from Coffs Harbour to Puffing Billy through Make a Wish.
Sadly, he succumbed to the brain tumour before he could make the much-anticipated trip.
A few years ago, close to a decade after his death, we decided to put Make a Wish on the reserve bench for a while.
And then over Easter we went camping near Ballarat and spent some time with 11-year-old Dan.
He's the nephew of Tess, a friend since the first day of prep.
Dan is suffering from Muscular Dystrophy, an incurable muscle wasting condition.
Over the weekend we learned that Dan, now largely confined to a wheelchair, was going to Disneyland in July.
My kids, who have been lucky enough to go to Disneyland, were excited for him, talking about all the rides on offer.
In the subsequent months we have learned that his passport has arrived and that he is learning how to drive a new motorised chair.
He is crossing off the days on the calendar.
His trip has been a topic of regular conversation at our house.
Among many things, it has made us review our charities for the year. Make a Wish is being reinstated in the next financial year, the kids even offering to tip in pocket money.
It might not be coming up with cures, but if it puts a smile on the faces of sick kids and their families I am all for it.
As for Dan. We hope he and his family have the time of their lives.
FOR a long time our household seemed to be a soft target for the charity canvassers.
More nights than I can remember, just as the child wrangling was beginning in earnest, the phone rang.
Sometimes I pretended I was the nanny and fobbed them off, but more times than not I wasn't quick enough.
Invariably, the caller would start off by thanking me for a past donation and before I knew it I was pledging more money or agreeing to sell a wad of raffle tickets.
The causes were all so compelling. Plenty of them ticked the box for relevance to me and our extended family. How could I not support research into diabetes, multiple sclerosis, childhood cancer, breast cancer and infant mortality?
We've been touched by all these.
And anyone who knows me knows I can't resist a raffle ticket - whether it's a mansion on the Gold Coast in the Boystown Lottery or a chook raffle at the Richmond Bowling Club on a Friday night.
But then one day I surveyed my kitchen bench.
Six raffle ticket books. I would end up buying all them.
They were evenly divided between charities and organisations we were involved with largely through the children.
Anyone who has kids knows that once they start going to creche, kinder and school and doing organised sport your charity dollar starts being spent a bit closer to home.
You start saying no to other causes because you are fundraising for new play equipment, books, turf and all manner of things.
It was about that time I started to commit to a few charities each year. I felt less guilty being able to say: ``No, I am supporting other charities''.
For many years Make a Wish was a firm favourite. The organisation, as the name suggests, makes wishes come true for sick kids.
My train-loving nephew was due to fly from Coffs Harbour to Puffing Billy through Make a Wish.
Sadly, he succumbed to the brain tumour before he could make the much-anticipated trip.
A few years ago, close to a decade after his death, we decided to put Make a Wish on the reserve bench for a while.
And then over Easter we went camping near Ballarat and spent some time with 11-year-old Dan.
He's the nephew of Tess, a friend since the first day of prep.
Dan is suffering from Muscular Dystrophy, an incurable muscle wasting condition.
Over the weekend we learned that Dan, now largely confined to a wheelchair, was going to Disneyland in July.
My kids, who have been lucky enough to go to Disneyland, were excited for him, talking about all the rides on offer.
In the subsequent months we have learned that his passport has arrived and that he is learning how to drive a new motorised chair.
He is crossing off the days on the calendar.
His trip has been a topic of regular conversation at our house.
Among many things, it has made us review our charities for the year. Make a Wish is being reinstated in the next financial year, the kids even offering to tip in pocket money.
It might not be coming up with cures, but if it puts a smile on the faces of sick kids and their families I am all for it.
As for Dan. We hope he and his family have the time of their lives.
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