We're going to Blackbutt!

Another weekend of music and fun – this time, in good ol’ Blackbutt. Yup, that’s the name of the town (and nope, I don’t know what they were thinking either). Location: 160km northwest of Brisbane. Population: 3,000.

So what’s a big city girl doing in a small country town, you ask, dear reader?
The sponsor-approved answer would be bringing classical music to the people, young and old, as part of the Brisbane Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra. The less glorified response: paid accommodation and transport to play easy music with fun people seemed like a decent form of assignment procrastination. 

Saturday’s children’s concert starred our BFG (in this case, Big Friendly German) trombonist in floppy grey ears and elastic-fastened trunk as The Elephant in Saint-Saens’ The Carnival of the Animals. Needless to say, the kids loved him. There was also some violent bow-snapping (sacrilege, I know), resulting in a One Bow Concerto. Then, a sing-along rendition of Old McDonald not only had the poor old man abandoning his farm for a band, but also somehow realising that “on that band, he had an orchestra”... But no biggie, the kids didn’t notice a thing. And to go out with a bang, the twelve of us played a Gaga medley in sunglasses that would have made the Lady herself proud.

After that, the evening was ours. I learnt a new game called List 10 in which you choose a category (or five) and list up to ten things in each until the first person finishes and calls stop. Sounds simple enough, right? But to make it more interesting, your word doesn’t count if another person has written the same or a more specific answer. So, in our attempt to be as obscure and specific as possible, we came up with some pretty interesting answers: “waterproof electric-blue eyeliner”, “fluffy purple handcuffs”... And in a moment of sheer panic, or genius, as I choose to interpret it, the only native Australian animal I could name was the Dropbear. I scored the point. The evening continued at the pub downstairs with many intense rounds of Quoits, free-flowing cider, beer and wine, and talking into the not-so-wee hours of the morning. 

But after a plate of pancakes, bacon and eggs and several cups of strong, strong tea, I was ready to play our second concert at the Bloomin’ Beautiful Blackbutt Festival. Oh no, back up, I forgot Garry!  He was the host of the reptile show that all the girls were getting a little smitten over. Tall, tanned, passionate but well-spoken... A spunk even without the gorgeous reptiles.

I also lightened my pockets for some new music pegs. Got to support the local economy now.

That afternoon’s concert was another success, despite a small audience. That the girls managed to stay upright while playing standing on our three-inch heels was an accomplishment in itself. We may, however, have been swaying a bit more expressively than usual. All in the name of good musicianship!

So after the Opera at Jimbour (another dot on the map 240km northwest of Brisbane) a few months ago, which brought 8,000 people to Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, and now Blackbutt, I feel like I’m ready to perform anywhere! As long as I have bug spray and mobile reception, of course.

¡Buenos días, Spain!

As much as I loved his work, Barcelona wasn’t all about Gaudí.

There was also the majestic Palau Nacional, which houses the MNAC (Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya) but also boasts one of the best views of Barcelona. So, having had enough of art galleries for the time being, I chose to sit outside and observe the hustle and bustle of Espanya Square instead. And it was from atop these steps that I watched my first Spanish sunset and finished reading the second book in Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy, my only constant company while backpacking across Europe.

I managed to behave myself in the artisan workshops in the Poble Espanyol (Spanish Village), but couldn’t resist the chocolaterie... No surprises there. I also saw an amazing glass-blowing demonstration which I happily captured on my brand new shock-, dust-, freeze- and water-proof camera. I had learned my lesson in Venice!

One of my favourite places in Barcelona was the picturesque Port Vell (Old Port). It has a bit of everything that the city has to offer – beautiful architecture, bustling restaurants, flowing palm trees, Jack Sparrow-worthy boats and the bluest of seas under a white hot sun. It also leads straight into the famous La Rambla, the place to go for shopping and tapas. I enjoyed the latter with a fellow backpacker (a German who spoke beautiful Spanish, as they seem to do with all the languages that they learn), and he told me the origin of the famous snack’s name:
 

One day, King Alfonso XIII stopped by a famous tavern in the windy Andalusian city of Cádiz where he ordered a cup of wine. To protect it from the beach sand, the waiter covered the glass with a slice of cured ham before offering it to the king. And so the tradition of serving wine with a cover, or tapa, was born!

My adventures in this lively city would not have been complete without a visit to the Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria (La Boqueria Markets), which date back to 1217. And like all good markets – Melbourne’s Queen Victoria, Brisbane’s West End, Rome’s riverside and Athens’ Monastiraki just to name a few – they made me supremely cheerful.

So it was with a huge smile, wide eyes and itchy fingers that I squeezed from stall to stall, tasting local delicacies and letting myself get lost in the exciting buzz of exotic voices, fragrant smells and vivid colours...

Happy.

¡Buenos días, Spain!

Or rather, bon dia, Barcelona. And since I never ventured out of Catalonia in Spain, my French actually turned out to be far more useful here than my Spanish pocket dictionary.

In many ways, Barcelona was reminiscent of Miami to me, and it was with nostalgia for my early teenage years that I walked through Les Rambles. There they were again – the bustling streets, the dancing palm trees, the Hispanic heat... 

But my favourite part of Barcelona was something that cannot be found in the States. Gaudí’s architecture. God, I have so much love for that man’s work. The Sagrada Família is one of the most amazing places I have ever set foot in (and if all goes according to plan, I will be able to say that again for the completed version in fifteen years time). 

The façades, the doors, the pillars, the ceiling, the stained glass windows, the spiral staircases... I don’t even know what to write about first, let alone which words might do them justice. It was just so completely unlike anything I had ever seen. They say that you either love Gaudí’s architecture or you hate it. Well, I guess they’re right, because I never even felt I'd been given a choice. 

I loved the way he drew inspiration from nature, shaping the pillars to imitate trees, modelling the ceiling above to resemble a canopy and positioning the windows to let light stream in like sunrays through a forest. A man with an appreciation for music (tick!), Gaudí also took great care in designing the church to produce the best acoustics possible. I cannot wait to hear the voices of a full choir accompanied by an 8000-piped organ ring out from the naves at the top of the temple. Getting goosebumps already...  

Later, in the Parc Güell, I fell in love with Gaudí’s mosaics, especially the reptilian features: the serpentine bench and his beautiful mosaic dragon. There were also the magical colonnaded pathways and the “bird nest” terraces lines by palm trees... And a perfect Spanish sky to boot.

Then, on Barcelona’s most famous street, La Rambla, I saw his Casa Batlló – a building that, for me, practically screams Tim Burton. And in case you weren’t sure, dear reader, that is a good thing. A very good thing indeed. The colours, the kookiness, the movement, and just the pure genius of Gaudí’s work – I would go back to Barcelona just for that. 

But of course, that’s not all that this beautiful city has to offer. And you know what you have to do to find out, dear reader: stay tuned!

Buon giorno, Italy!

Well, what have we here? Sure didn’t think I’d be hitting the big five-oh of blogging in just ten months. Guess that goes to show how much I actually like writing when it’s not affecting the future title of my name. I feel like I should say something funny/clever/profound to mark this historic occasion, but it will probably just come out soppy and nostalgic. So let’s just continue our journey through Europe, shall we, dear reader?

Ok, next stop: Firenze.

Florence was my favourite Italian city. She doesn’t have Rome’s constant hustle and bustle, Milan’s stylish shop windows, or Venice’s mask-adorned alleyways, but I always felt so at home here. It’s a feeling I like to call the ‘Lyon Phenomenon’. If Marseille was replaced with Milan, Montpellier with Venice and Paris with Rome, then the way I felt about Lyon in France was exactly that of Florence in Italy.

One of the first things I did (which began in Milan and turned into a habit for the rest of my trip) was climb to the dome of the largest cathedral I could find, happily burning off a few gelatos going up the almost-vertical staircases. And when I saw the beautiful Florentine rooftops, I forgot all about needing to catch my breath.

The basilica’s dark pink and green marble façade is bordered in white and carved into the most intricate designs. I couldn’t stop taking photos! It faces the impressive golden doors of the Battistero di San Giovanni (aka Florence Baptistery), which I was thrilled to finally see in person after hearing so much about them back home.

I did go see Michelangelo’s David, of course, but the real highlight in the Galleria dell'Accademia for me was The Rape of the Sabine Women, by Giambologna. Although this was only the gesso (chalk/glue replicate), with the real statue in the Loggia della Signoria open gallery across town, I must have walked around it, staring wide-eyed from every angle, for a good twenty minutes. The struggle of each of the figures – the older man, crushed under the strength of the younger Roman as they both fight for the young Sabine woman, desperately resisting his grasp – was exquisite.

I wandered the warm cobblestoned streets for hours on end with no destination in mind, making up for my earlier exercise with sweet Florentine cannoli and fresh basil and mozzarella pizza. Later, I found myself by the river, walking through the craft stand-filled arches to the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). It is by far my favourite bridge in Europe. If only I could afford the sparkling things on display behind the windows! One day...

Even though I was reluctant to visit Venice alone, I arrived in high spirits after my time in Florence. They continued to soar as I set off through the endless streets of elaborate masks and delicate glasswork. I didn’t even mind watching the happy couples rowing toward eternity on their gondolas. I thought Venice was just lovely...

Until I fell into a canal. And destroyed my camera, phone and iPod. ARGH.

So, long, embarrassing story short, wanting to snap a good photo of one of the pretty Venetian bridges, I decided to walk down a set of gondoliers' steps to get closer to the water. It was only after my foot landed on the algae-covered platform that I realised my mistake. Too late! I was already flying through the air in my own rendition of the iconic cartoon banana peel slip by then... Well, I sure got close to the water alright – the completely submerged kind of close. To make matters worse, a gondolier rows past at that exact moment (of course) and informs me rather seriously: "You're not meant to walk on those steps, you know!" Yeah, thanks mate, I know that NOW. A sign or railing would have been greatly appreciated! But yes, I know, even silly tourists aren't normally that silly.

And in case you were wondering, the water tastes slightly salty. It is also very deep and every bit as disgusting as it looks. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t die of a few nasty waterborne diseases. Especially after shivering all the way back to the hostel and taking a cold shower. Brrrr-yuck!

So that put a slight damper (no pun intended) on the rest of my holiday in Venice. I swear the sun came out the next day just to mock me. Ah well, it does make for a good story though, if nothing else. I can’t count the number of times I have heard the sly remark: “So, I hear you went swimming in Italy...” or the glee with which my friends retell my story.

Definitely one for the grandkids, I’d say.

Music, music, music, dance, PUPPY!

Oh, what a weekend. One of the best I’ve had in a while, actually. That’s not to say that my weekends are normally pretty dull; this just happened to be a particularly good one.

Friday was spent in the company of some fine people- Ah, Shostakovich 7 just came on! Pardon the digression, dear reader, I am currently obsessed with this symphony (also known as the "Leningrad"). And I’ll be performing it next month! *bops along excitedly to first movement’s invasion theme*

So, Friday. I went to see Hanna at the cinema with a good friend. An enjoyable movie if not analysed too closely. And of course, I was stuck whistling the pentatonic theme for the rest of the weekend. Why does my aural training choose to kick in now? My evening was spent at the final Corda Spiritus orchestra rehearsal. Such lovely people. They made tea break even more enjoyable than the actual rehearsal. Of course, the spread of cheeses, hams, and chocolate biscuits didn’t hurt... And a little mishap – in which my stand partner may have transcribed her bowings into the concertmaster’s part instead of vice versa – kept the first violins rather amused.

A double-pass to the Queensland Symphony Orchestra performing Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique kept me busy on Saturday night. It was fantastic, indeed. Especially since I won the tickets through a Facebook competition. See? Not just a highly-addictive waste of time after all. Yeah, I know, who am I kidding...

Then Sunday was my turn on stage with Corda Spiritus, playing the Koussevitzky Double Bass Concerto, Saint-Saens’ Cello Concerto and Beethoven’s 7^th Symphony. Excellent program, if I may say so myself. I don’t like performing solo (at all), but there is little I enjoy more than being a part of an ensemble. The rush it gives isn't stage fright-inducing, but it does sharpen the concentration so that everything seems to happen in slow motion yet double speed at the same time. Like having 20/10 vision (not that my 20/infinity eyes would know). I imagine that’s how Bella must have felt when she opened her eyes for the first time as a vampire. Yes, I just used a fictional character as an analogy and made a Twilight reference in the same sentence. It must be time for bed...

So, to top off my excellent weekend, I danced the night away at Casablanca’s Sunday Salsa Seduction and enjoyed some cupcakes and cocktails with a close friend. Oh, and the company of my new godchildren, of course – the adorable Caesar and Maximus. 

*proceeds to squeal and make disturbing baby noises* Ok...definitely time for bed now. 

Till next time, dear reader, goodnight and good week.

Buon giorno, Italy!

 

Rome was...delicious.

I had always thought that the hype about real Italian food was just that: hype. But it really is worth every last penne. Elizabeth Gilbert had the right idea – to “Eat” here for four months would be Heaven. The only difference being, angels don’t get fat.

One of the downsides to travelling alone was that I often avoided sitting down at restaurants for proper meals. And while little eateries and street vendors are great for a bite (or three), a glass of wine and a napkin across the knees gives you a whole different taste of the local cuisine. So, it was lucky that I had some company in this gastronomic paradise. 

My friend and I soon discovered that the secret to a good meal in Rome lies not in the busy, commercialised city centre, but in Trastevere. This little suburb across the river is an intimate network of narrow streets lined with bustling local restaurants. And best of all, almost completely devoid of tourists. I always say that you know you’ve come to the right place to eat if you can’t understand a word that’s being said around you. And so, it was in places like this that I cut through glorious layers of fresh lasagne, twirled my fork through handmade tagliatelle, indulged in slice after slice of greasy-but-oh-so-perfecto pizza, sipped through glasses of house wine, and savoured every last spoonful of raspberry-topped panna cotta... And don’t forget the hourly gelato fix. Your ice-cream experience isn’t complete until you have tried their melon and pistachio flavours.

To top it all off (because I haven’t had to buy new jeans yet), I tasted the best tiramisu I have ever had. It being my favourite dessert, I have tried quite a few, but this one... Wow.  
As the moist scotch finger melts onto your tongue, the coffee and alcohol cut through first, strong and aromatic. Then almost immediately, the creamy layer oozes forward, smoothing the harsher tones and coating your mouth in a layer of rich velvet...
It really was quite an experience.

You may be surprised, dear reader, but I actually managed to fit in quite a bit of sight-seeing in between all this eating! Though I won’t go into much detail about the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, the Trevi Fountain or the Spanish Steps. I did enjoy them a great deal, like the millions of other tourists that week, but I’m sure Google will be much better at informing you of their historical significance than I!

We spent quite a while in the Vatican City admiring the pope’s impressive language skills in person and taking photos in the Sistine Chapel. Yup, that's right, I took photos despite being forbidden to do so in six different languages before entering. If it had been for religious reasons, I would have put my camera away without a second thought, but for a Japanese company that wanted copyright protection for financing the restoration of the paintings? Ha, keep dreaming. If Michelangelo and the Pope don’t mind, I’m going to take home my own memory of this beautiful place guilt-free.

We also visited the gorgeous riverside night markets. As the normal dinner time for Southern Europeans seems to be around 10pm, it wasn’t unusual to find locals here enjoying a beer or a puff of Shisha at midnight. We passed on the smoking, but after a nice drink, we went exploring from stall to colourful stall. 

My favourite find? Singing bowls. Well, my friend’s find, actually. Without him, I would have walked straight past them. But channelling his inner Tibetan monk (being a Caucasian American, naturally), he grabbed my hand, put one of the beautifully engraved bowls onto my flattened palm, and began to run the wand (a clave-like stick) around the rim in slow steady circles. And a few minutes later, to my delight, the bowl began to vibrate and, well, sing! It was such a stunningly pure sound. 

The vibrations are said to have medicinal effects and the sound is used to alleviate stress. They are apparently also very popular in classrooms for encouraging group work and student concentration. Though I am having a little trouble imagining my old high school class adopting the practice... Somehow, big, gruff, footy-kicking boys and singing bowl-meditation don’t seem to fit too well together. Or maybe, that’s just the problem... 

...when you're having fun!

Time is flying by at an alarming rate. Juggling uni, three orchestras, dance, cooking, cleaning, exercise, seeing friends, premed study and soon-to-come volunteer work means that most nights, blogging won’t even make it out of the fridge, let alone onto the back burner. And this is only my second week back. Who knows what life will be like once concert and exam season kick in... 

AMAZING, that’s what. Because why live life if it’s not to the full? I need to feel like there are never enough hours in a day; that I cannot physically achieve anything more with my time. And one of my favourite – albeit morbid – things to say: I can sleep when I’m dead! At least this will be good practice for my future 80-hour doctoring weeks. I'll just have to make sure not to tell that to my patients...

So, this week's smiles, in snapshots (how appropriate):

600 photos. Printed. Albumed. Treasured.

New perfume. Or rather, a new bottle of old perfume.

A pot of steaming chai. A caramel slice. A driving lesson. A quest for otherworldly things. Old friends, new lives.

Incredible posters. A wall of postcards from around the world.

Feeling a Beethoven Symphony under my fingertips. His 7^th, to be exact.

My first durian experience. Too long overdue.

Sharing the joy of salsa. Dancing. Though the edible variety makes me happy too.

Well, that’s all for now, I’m afraid. My physical exhaustion is currently trumping my motto... but I promise to return soon with some Italian treats!

Till then, my dear reader, buona notte.