Sydney in April
Usually April in Sydney is warm; balmy autumn where the evenings are still and you can go out to dinner with no need for a jacket over your shirt. This year there were numerous showers and the temperature cool. For two days late summer returned only to be blown away again by bitingly cold southerly winds. We expected to return home to similar chills to be confounded by a Christchurch basking in more Sydney-typical warmth of 24°.
Things to do in Sydney:
- take the train from the airport to the city - an easy & efficient journey
- get a red weekly [or whatever] travelpass for bus, train, ferry - great value
- for wonderful views of the harbour & several Sydney bays take the ferry from Circular Quay to Watson’s Bay
- have a pre-dinner drink in Zeta Bar, level 3 at the Sydney Hilton
- eat at Fishface in Victoria Street, Darlinghurst [you can book a table if you go before 7]; at Forbes & Burton also in Darlinghurst for excellent modern Australian dishes in a beautiful old stone room; at the tiny Spice Market [or take-away] in Double Bay [there is also a branch in Kiribili] where you will get exquisite Thai food - be sure to try the Betel Leaf Parcels and the Banana Flower Salad; at Blackbird - Balcony Level at Cockle Wharf - lively atmosphere & fast service
- buy food snacks & treats in David Jones foodhall [you can eat them there at the communal tables]
- browse shops at the huge Westfield Mall at Bondi Junction [DJ have a foodhall here also]
- take a train to Milson’s Point and walk back over the Harbour Bridge to the Rocks & Circular Quay
- take a bus to Bronte for the coastal cliff-top walk back to Bondi
- visit the art gallery in the Domain [in April the Archibald Prize paintings are on show]
- plus the contemporary art gallery at Circular Quay/Rocks
- visit the Chinese garden in Darling Harbour
- indulge your need for coffee & pastries at Fratelli Paradiso Challis Avenue Potts Point
& then music
One of the more hapless moments Lev experiences in London [The Road Home - see previous post] occurs at an orchestral concert. Fortunately our two recent visits to concert halls have been much happier experiences.
A couple of weeks back the Eggner Trio returned to play. Their programme that night consisted of Mozart’s Trio in G, followed by Island Songs by John Psathas. Mozart - what to say? i always like. However, contemporary chamber music rarely does it for me - but often there are bits of such works that are ok, and so it was here - there was a section in these songs, i think in the second movement, where the piano maintained a wonderfully intense and demanding beat for several minutes. I loved that.
After the interval the brothers played Tchaikovsky’s A minor Trio. Now Pyotr Ilyich was never intended for chamber music, he always needed a much bigger set of toys to play with. So he tries to cram a concerto into this trio and the guys did him proud - made pretty much the quantity of sound a small orchestra might have produced. And it was definitely Tchaikovsky - all his lush romanticism soaring forth with familiar phrases and themes popping up all over the piece.
More Tchaikovsky last week: the NZSO was back in town with their brilliant new conductor, Pietari Inkinen. If you’ve read my previous posts you’ll know already how much this guy impresses me - and no, it’s not just [but more than a bit!] his youthful blond good looks. I am now, after this concert, even more convinced Inkinen is a very very accomplished conductor with a fine understanding of the works he presents. I really like the way he gets the NZSO to play.
I don’t care for Lilburn’s music and would never choose to listen to it. Way too self-consciously serious, his compositions are, for me, cheerless. When Inkinen conducted his Aotearoa Overture on Thursday night the orchestra actually made this piece interesting and listenable. Gosh. And finding that the reviewer in the newspaper the next morning had experienced a degree of revelation also, gave me a feeling of some vindication for my previous disenchantment. [I'll put a link to a copy of the review down below.]
Next up that night visiting British cellist Natalie Clein played Elgar’s concerto. Again Inkinen, well i guess she and he together both leading the orchestra, produced a wonderfully understated rendering of this gorgeous music. The bases in a strong, slow, deep opening to the second movement were just amazing.
After the interval, Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony; a great deal that is familiar, but here too Inkinen breathed fresh subtleties and strengths, so that sometimes it was like hearing it for new.
Read what David Sell wrote in The Press.
another good book
Last week i finished reading Rose Tremain’s latest book, The Road Home. It is a delight and i warmly recommend it. The story of Lev’s journey from his dying East European village to find work in contemporary London, his struggles and triumphs there, and his eventual return to rouse his family and friends in the achievement of his dream, make captivating reading. Tremain creates an irresistably attractive being in her central character. Within a few pages of the book’s beginning you find yourself with Lev, sharing his fears and hopes, and yearning along with him for fate to cast a benevolent eye in his direction. She’s fickle, mistress fate, but the story is wonderfully affirming in spite of life’s inevitable trials.
I first came across Rose Tremain’s writing when the cover of The Way I Found Her compelled my attention in Scorpio Books. Beyond the striking blue and pink cover the blurb and opening page suggested something worth pursuing and i bought the book. I am so very glad i did. I love The Way I Found Her. That story of Lewis’s summer in Paris is equally masterful in all those most important book things: compositional style, plot development, characterisation, insight and comment on our world and human nature.
Read some Tremain; she’s very good.
book to film
Late last year we saw the film based on Ian McEwan’s Atonement. Good books deserve faithful or astutely perceptive adaptations into film; otherwise one just ends up resenting the attempt. The film of Atonement was very well done: the sets and the acting conjuring the intent and themes of the story to very large degree faithfully. When i went back and reread the book soon after i thoroughly enjoyed being reimersed in its world, while the visual memories of the film in no way detracted from my enjoyment.
Recently came news that Niki Caro is to direct a film version of Elizabeth Knox’s The Vintner’s Luck. I am both excited and trepidatious. This novel is amongst those i treasure most, and so of course i want the film to do it utmost justice. Of the few details The Press news item intimated, there seems considerable promise. The director is accomplished; it is a joint NZ-French production; and Sobran, the vintner, is played by handsome blond Belgian, Jérémie Renier [who, incidentally, appears in a minor role in Atonement], his wife by Keisha Castle-Hughes.
This news had to be shared with Séb, in France, since he too holds this book dear, having read it during his year studying English here in Christchurch. And just last week he came back to me with more promising news: Xas, the angel, is to be played - so very fittingly - by sexy M. Gaspard Ulliel. Better and better.
Montreal revisited
Way too long since my last post, i know - nothing has seemed to stir me sufficiently. But M & C have just been in Montreal, and we’ve just looked at the photos they took there. So Montreal revisited!
You may recall i wasn’t overly enthusiastic about Montreal after our visit - fine, but not really moving. Under snow Montreal takes on some additional charm in M & C’s photos. And one of the pleasingly curious things about their album on facebook is that quite a few of the photos are of the very things that we pointed our camera at as well. - Like the crazy Vietnamese restaurant in the Village, and much more predictably l’Hotel de Ville. Thank you M, C, for taking us back to the streets and squares of Montreal.
This year i’m taking a French class one evening a week at the Polytechnic - it’s fun - i hope to begin to be able to converse in French as i never learned to do when at high school. That was a long long time ago - but i surprise myself quite often at the vocabulary i can still recall. Now i just have to learn to think in it and string it into meaningful and fluently spoken sentences. Then maybe i can go back to Montreal and use my new skill in Francaise.
The God Delusion
I have just finished reading Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion. The discussion presented here is impressively broad and cogent, and immensely valuable. Richard Dawkins is doing good work through his books such as this, through his lectures, media appearances, speaking tours and website. I laud and applaud the man. And I am with him: those of us who can and do think for ourselves need and must take every opportunity to confront the nonsense, the evil that is religion. 
Dawkins is quite right that for too long and with dire consequences we have been too polite in our culture about religion. All religions’ idiocy and pernicious influence needs to be questioned and opposed at every turn.
Read more @ Richard Dawkins’ website .
And also read god is not Great: how religion poisons everything by Christopher Hitchens - you can read the first chapter here .
three Canadian cities
Completing the somewhat travelogue of our [now last year's] trip is way overdue.
When we left Berlin our destination was Montreal, and our first visit to Canada. We arrived tired on a too hot afternoon [later news bulletins spoke of a highest temperature in so many years] and our first impressions of Montreal were not appealing. The city seemed scruffy and undistinguished. I guess after London and Berlin its North American tendency to sprawl and appear over-sized in every way was an unfortunate contrast with the more human-scale European cities we had just visited and so enjoyed. That, coupled with the temperature and our tiredness maybe caused us to take a less than approving initial view of the city.
We had a quite pleasant time in Montreal, however the city failed to ignite any spark of delight in us. The old quarter is very handsomely maintained; is smartly presented to appeal to visitors. Similarly parts of the business and commercial heart of the city neighbouring the quarter are also quite stylish. Yet we felt there seemed no real centre or focus to the city and mostly projected an air of shabby tiredness. This was disappointing since i think we had expected Montreal to embody a degree of pizazz and French sophistication. Maybe we just caught it in a wrong moment; maybe we were in the wrong mood, a lull in the middle of our journey.
I don’t wish to suggest Montreal wholly displeased us. We had several perfectly pleasant experiences: our hotel suite was spacious and well situated between the old quarter, the Village and downtown; we admired the stylish Gault Hotel and would have liked to stay there but satisfied ourselves instead with an evening meal in their restaurant which was fine tho’ not outstanding; we found an excellent bakery in the Village that served quite good coffee and made delicious pastries and breads; and in a vast atrium beneath the Hyatt and near the Place des Arts we found the MBCo. Boulangerie which served superb pastries and sandwiches; also in the Village an ordinary corner cafe-diner were we could get basic food, beer and ok coffee, and watch the local gay community; the contemporary art gallery had an exhibition by two memorably arresting artists, Vik Muniz and Thomas Hirschhorn, both of whom were new to us and their work well worth discovering.
From Montreal we went by train to Ottawa.
Canada’s capital quite impressed us. Ottawa is a smart, prosperous-appearing city. We much enjoyed our time here, and while this was no doubt partly due to the favourable impression the city presented us in general, the major cause of our pleasure was the presence of friends. We would most probably not have thought of stopping in Ottawa had not Martin and Clodoaldo been living there, and their hospitality and services as guides to the city certainly made our visit very enjoyable and gave us much to remember. The presence of Allen, who came up from San Jose to join the four of us, served to increase this enjoyment.
One of the city-visitor things we did was tour the houses of parliament which included going up to the viewing floor in the Peace Tower which gave an excellent view over the city. 
We also spent a grey, damp Sunday afternoon at the art gallery - a building with several impressive spaces [the entry ramp to an atrium beneath 'teepee' skylights; 2 internal courtyards with geometric plantings and pool suspended over the entry foyer] and the usual range of art works - a reasonable number of which stopped us and asked for attention.
When we travelled on to Toronto, again by train, Allen journeyed with us. He was to visit family friends in the city, but we joined up again for a day together to seek out some of the major sites-to-see in the inner city. On that day we had an enjoyable time looking at the press photo exhibition at the Brookfield Centre Lambert Galleria; City Hall and the Eaton Centre; the old distillery quarter; Casa Loma and its astonishing stables.
We much liked Toronto - again our preferred sort of city: big, bustling and prosperous, with lots of variety in even just the few districts we explored. We were impressed and amused by some of the architecture we saw, such as the addition to the design school but even more so the Daniel Libeskind extension to the Royal Ontario Museum. [If only Christchurch could overcome its timidity and boldly tell Peter Beaven to let go of the nineteenth century.] We also played tourist and took a trip to Niagara Falls - fine to do once; yes, they are impressive - especially close-up to the vast onyx curve of solid water sliding silently over the top edge of the falls on the Canadian side - but after a little while, it’s just a waterfall. The Canadian town of Niagara appalled us in its Disney tackiness - the place must be a kind of hell in the height of the summer visitor season.
On our last evening we walked around the corner from our hotel to Jamie Kennedy’s Bar and Restaurant which we had read good things about. The reviewers proved to be quite accurate - this is a very good place. Kennedy is one of Toronto’s leading chefs – had worked in numerous other restaurants – this is his first own establishment. He serves ‘small plates’ – very up-market tapas – and the five we had were exquisite. We indulged ourselves and had the recommended wine with each – fortunately in small glass sizes – these were without exception exceptional – lovely, lovely wines – many of them Canadian which we’re not likely to taste again. The atmosphere has that nice buzziness, not too loud, but a busy buzz of people enjoying themselves and a staff who are on to it but not making a fuss about that. Our waitress was one of the kind you encounter in these good places every so often and wish for always. She was affable and loved to talk about the food and the wine, and knew what she was talking about – especially the wine. 
She gave excellent advice without the least pushiness and was genuinely interested in our reaction to and comments on what we had just tasted. This was a fitting frame and end to what had begun at Hutong. We left the restaurant elated, just as we had in Hong Kong, and the lantern of lights of Toronto’s skyline that appeared as we walked out onto the street seemed to reflect that mood as well.
We hugely enjoyed the whole of this trip. We could have borne for it to continue a little longer. However maybe best to finish thus, and there will be others - soon!
television
A week or so before we left on our excursion to Europe and Canada, TV4 began broadcasting the Channel 4 series Skins. Immediately we fell for its quirky brilliance - dialogue in the best English dramatic tradition, a character collection as individual as they are appealing, and plot lines that make you chuckle and wring your heart by alternate moments. Great to watch and then we’re gone. The series is not quite over when we get back but we’ve missed all the central episodes. No matter this is the age of the web and so we acquire the series and are in process of viewing it all through.
Skins is a great treat in the tv desert. So too is Spooks 
- for just the same reasons - great script writing, intelligent acting and plots that make the heart race and bring you to the edge of the sofa. [And one must not of course neglect to mention the gorgeous Mr Rupert Penry-Jones of whom we can scarcely see enough and of whom we have been in lust since the days of the likewise fondly remembered North Square, yet another of these great British series that are left virtually alone to redeem the tv medium from the abyss.]
There’s much to despair about the dross that presently screens as the majority of the fare on free-to-air television in this country. The major evening new bulletins on the 2 principal channels push sensationalism before balanced reporting and virtually never offer informative analysis let alone background to their subject matter which might make the events a little more explicable. The content range of the shows that screen in ‘prime time’ is so severely limited that often the only interesting stuff to view, when one can’t really take yet another cooking programme, is Deutsche Welle’s Euromaxx.
I should not grumble - this state of poor television means i can read more, and write this blog. And then when a really good tv programme turns up, i appreciate it all the more. Long live Skins and Spooks, Dr Who, Rick Stein exploring regions of Europe and The Simpsons.
Berlin
Berlin - hmmm - quite a different associative set for me than London. Of course. i didn’t grow up with a close familiarity with things German, since after all i was a post-war New Zealand child and England was the mother country. Nevertheless one came to understand that things German, Teutonic, embodied style - a smart style of precision and quality; good lines and solidity; serious. I loved in my adolescence a novel called The Wooden Shepherdess which, if i remember correctly, was set in Germany. Later there were Isherwood’s books and the seductive Cabaret which they spawned. My first car was a Volkswagen beetle: driving it at night i confess to running fantasies connected with Le Carre’s spy novels of coldwar Germany.
So i’d always paid some attention to Berlin. It possessed a certain enigmatic and intriguing cachet; that and its being a major world city of art and culture and national identity, it seems kind of surprising neither of us had visited it earlier. But now we have; and it didn’t disappoint in the least. We really enjoyed our scarce week there in Mitte which was the most brilliantly fortuitous base for our stay. Mitte was, pre-war, the cultural and energtic heart of Berlin, i understand. Under the grey succubus of the GDR the district fell into ennui and decay - you can see this still in many buildings and vacant lots. However reunification has breathed life back and Mitte today pulses.
Our hotel was in Oranienburgerstrasse - a short walk down Friedrichstrasse to the Reichstag or the Museum Insel; or towards Alexanderplatz and the Hackescher Markt. But the public transport system is excellent and we used that lots - the trams of the U-bahn and trains of the S-bahn: had we been intending to stay for a longer time we should have had to get bikes, the clearly favoured transport mode of so many Berliners. The atmosphere of the city, and of Mitte in particular, felt immediately pleasant. Everyone was welcoming; the place felt alive but not frenetic; after London it seemed somewhat empty yet there were a good many people about all the time; we enjoyed the ever apparent contrasts of old, tired, shabby and stylish, striking, contemporary; we ate some excellent food; saw numerous beautiful guys; and experienced many memorable sites/sights. For a first visit we had a most rewarding time, and there is doubtless a great deal more to Berlin that we might yet discover.
Amongst what we did encounter and fondly remember were the life of the streets of Mitte, the excellent Monsieur Vuong restaurant, tapas bars, breakfast at espresso Ambulanz, coffee and aprikosentarte at a Caras cafe, the walk along the Spree bank to the Reichstag, queueing there [alongside numerous stunningly good-looking young men] to go up to Foster’s Cuppola, the Pergamon on Museum Insel, the Jewish Museum, and the holocaust memorial, the restored Brandenburger Tor and rebuilt Potsdamer Platz, trams along Oranienburgerstrasse through Monbijouplatz to Hackescher Markt and its neighbouring Hof.
