Search Keywords

Flamingo kisses in 2011, Lesvos Greece

I have a very good friend who has recently started a blog all about stamps and her love for post, it is called i heart post and I am loving her work, but it has made me realise that I have no idea what my blog is actually about. My flamingo exploring has been a little thin on the ground of late and I don't seem to have any found any new overarching theme. I have explored, elucidated, postulated, pompously prosed on about hippos, garbage, Mr Darcy, art, skiing, life, the universe and ice creams on my little blog, but I have no nice little niche to bracket everything into.

Mine is a rather grass -roots following: ie I meet people I tell them about the blog and sometimes they read it. As well as my loyal and beloved readers I have discovered that sometimes people randomly stumble across my writing while searching for that particular something or other that their life is in need of.
I often while away perfectly good writing, eating and knitting time checking out the statistics that appear at the back end of the blog. So I know that people have found my blog by searching for:  

Sculpture, Venice, Italy

Naked boy rat Venice biennale 2011

Hytee

Darcyshire

Rogers Arena Canucks

Flamingos Lesvos

I was sorting out my possessions

The outside things of rogers arena hockey

Dennis Oppenheim Engagement

Flamingo packing tape

Where to see naked men in Venice

Bridge Harry Potter Scotland

English bay symbol

Flamingo habitat

Any restrictions on canoeing on a lake in Ayvalik Turkey with Flamingos

Glenfinnan Viaduct, AKA Harry Potter bridge, Scotland

Rogers Arena, Vancouver, Canada

 I don't know if their searches ended with my blog, I like to think that it sent them off in a totally new direction.  It is fun maybe being a part of someone else’s world exploring and hopefully inspiring them to get out and explore some place new. I love the different quirks, connections and pathways that make up a life, and I know that some of the avenues this flamingo adventuress has travelled down have been due to typing a few words into a search engine, following the words and pictures and packing my bag for the next adventure. So I like the idea that my little online bubble might participate in other peoples adventures.

 I also like to dream that they come back to visit Flamingo Rover of their own free will- but I haven't figured stalk my readership that well yet.

The things that people have typed into their search engine of choice and then clicked through to Flamingo Rover don't give me much help when it comes to figuring out which box my blog lives in, but pondering other peoples keywords has helped me imagine my blog as part of that larger online universe. 

Maybe my mission should be to make Flamingo Rover all about what it was in the beginning... maybe it could be synonymous with random adventuring to see what you can see. 

Then again perhaps it is Seinfeldian and about nothing at all.  

Ice Crash

It has been twenty days or so now and I am still having issues sitting down. Well the sitting down itself is ok, for brief periods, but the process of getting in and out of a seated position is unpleasant. It is not quite so bad as it was, but having to struggle with it does make you appreciate the simple things in life.

My self diagnosis is a bruised coccyx – and the cause is one or more of my spectacular crashes whilst cross country skiing in Hallingdal, Norway.

Early February in Scotland my downhill skiing had progressed to the point where I had more speed than skill and crashed a lot. Apparently this is quite a natural stage to get to. I hurtle past people, trying my best not to go too fast and hoping to hold on until the bottom, and invariably end up in a laughing tangle of skis, legs and poles trying to get myself upright again. It is fun at the start of the day and exhausting by the end.

Until we went to Norway at the end of February I had never done any cross country skiing.

Cross country skis are much lighter than downhill and you are only attached by your toes, with your heels loose to allow... well the crossing of country.

On-Piste there are ski sized grooves cut out for you by nifty plough type machines and the theory is that you coast along them smoothly on the flat, glide down on minor slopes, snow plough on more serious inclines and fishtail walk uphill. That's the theory. Like the theory of how you stay in control downhill the reality is a little tougher.

On Piste - Hallingdal

When I said we were going to Norway in late February the main question was why. And when the temperature at the start of February was minus 20-25 I had to wonder myself.

So it was a relief to have relatively warm conditions and sunny days- but it was bad as well because by the end of our week the nice fluffy snow I was quite happy to crash into had turned to ice and the experience of hurtling along out of control and then crashing spectacularly got a little scary, the results have left me just a little sore.

Traditional Norwegian mountain Hytte

You might think that sauna, roll in the snow, sauna (repeat until dinner is ready) therapy would help, and it did for some of our injuries, but not my very bruised bottom. 

Luckily as well as that rather unfortunate souvenir I came home from Norway with some lovely Norwegian wool to knit myself a balaclava- and it is all knitted up and set for the next adventure.

Norwegian wool balaclava at use on Glen Feshie walk, Scotland.

Why Ice Creams?

I don't exactly have a sweet tooth, I am much more of a salty savouries girl. But that does not mean that when J buys a six pack of Cornettos and goes away for a week he will be a full pack awaiting him on his return. Like so many others I like to eat ice cream, and perhaps unlike many others I also like to collect photos of kitschy ice cream cones advertisements.

A classic Vanilla cone, Ireland.

The question of why is a bit like the question of Why Flamingos? I don't have a good solid answer. Just little answers.

Because the colours are pretty.

a multi-flavour stack from the
 seaside town of Ayvalik, Turkey. 

Because you can find them all over the world- an amazing reminder of our interconnectedness- we may live far apart and have different cultures but:

Roadside near Jambiani, Zanzibar- Made my taxi driver
stop so I could take this picture on the way to the airport.

I scream

you scream

we all scream

for ice cream.

Iced confectionery is inherently linked to Stackhats, Milk Bars, bikes and childhood in my mind. One of the pieces of fiction I have had bubbling away for a while has the two main characters- 12 year old girls meeting under the shadow of a giant rooftop ice cream cone outside their local Milk Bar. 

They are an icon of the past and the present as well- so often associated with one of my other favourite things- fish and chips. Sadly the sculptural attempts at fish and chips I have seen thus far are not nearly as attractive as the ice creams.

getting it right in Comrie, Scotland

so wrong in Dingle, Co.Kerry, Ireland

Because in a

world of so many known unknowns ice cream is a good solid known.

Ireland

Because even when they are truly hideous they are still cool.

Granville Island, Vancouver

Covent Garden, London

Athens

Because they make me smile.

Venice, Italy

Venice, Italy

street view- Venice, Italy

close up- Venice, Italy

Scotland vs. France

Anyone who read my very first blog will recall that France was one of my original Flamingo destinations. Because life is topsy-turvy I have not been to France yet, but in February France came to Edinburgh for the Six Nations Rugby tournament - and because life is topsy-turvy I wound up spending a weekend with a bunch of French Rugby enthusiasts on their once a year wife free jaunt across the Channel.

Most Six Nations tourism is about drinking and laddish behaviour, the group I spent the weekend with embodied that perfectly- but they also came to play Rugby. 

The Six Nations France v's Scotland game was due to be played on Sunday afternoon, and on Friday night the Currie Rugby Football Club agreed to host the visiting Frenchmen for a friendly game under lights.

Everyone I spoke to in the lead up said that in the official tournament France would walk all over Scotland, because of that, and possibly because of other Channel rivalries that a colonial like me could not possibly understand, the Scotts did not want to loose to the French at the beginning of the weekend.

The Frenchmen were not exactly an intimidating opposition- they first played together in the early 90's and along with their football boots they travelled with a lot of wine and and a lot of pork. The Currie team fielded some token older generation players amongst the forwards, but the backs had skill, speed and youth on their side.

six packs vs. beer bellies would not be an inappropriate description.

Having grown up watching Aussie Rules I am a long way off understanding the ins and outs of Rugby, but I love to watch a local game and Friday night fitted my yearnings for a home game nicely.

Supporters at a local Aussie Rules game

There was a good crowd, I had a drink in my hand and there were men running about after a ball in front of me. So far so good. Even without having a clue why there were so many group hugs on the field and why they don't kick the ball more often I could easily tell which team was superior: the Scott's are lithe, fit, strong and co-ordinated and the Frenchmen were worn out by the end of the warm up.

The Scrum  (or so I am told) 

This is entertaining for a little while, but nobody likes a total walk over- not even the winning side, so at half time the locals did some jumper swapping, lending some young blood to the Frenchmen to even things up and really gave the French spectators something to sing about.

Thankfully, although the scores did not even out the joie de vivre of both sides was evident throughout and the happy mud splattered faces in the joint team photo showed why sport is so often the thing that obliterates borders and brings people together.

Back in the rooms after the game things were a little different from a post-game gathering in country Victoria- the French players knew not to keep the red wine in the fridge and had BYO'd their own butcher, prosciutto and sausage, and the Scots had a bagpiper to entertain the crowd.  Despite the many differences the atmosphere had familiar elements as well: there were very few females, everyone made a beeline for the bar and the two teams started the evening out on different sides of the room and were gradually induced to mingle by the sharing of wine and food and tales of the game just passed. I felt quite at home.

the French butcher, his produce and wine

Currie Piper

Friday left memories of on field heroics, new comrades and sore bodies- but Sunday was the reason for it all. We did the long slow walk to Murryfield Stadium with all the other supporters and arrived early enough to picnic outside the ground- cue more meat and wine and some French bread sticks to soak up the alcohol and grease. Drinking red wine out of a plastic cup and trying a slab of Foi Gras for the first time at a French picnic in Edinburgh is not easily forgotten- nor is the Foi Gras itself as it repeats on you throughout the afternoon.
For a Scottish February day it was pretty mild and when the sun came out briefly I turned my face to the warm glow and wondered how on earth I had come to be right here right now.

Foi Gras by the slab

This was my first large scale European game and going into the grounds with Scottish drums and pipes blaring, fancy dress raging, crowds thronging and excitement building felt a little similar to arriving at the Quidditch World Cup- at least that was the closest parallel my brain could draw.

Flamingo Rover and the men with cockerels on their heads

Despite what many had predicted the game was a close one, with Scotland leading much of the game. This unprecedented occurrence made for a highly watch-able game, and even with my lack of Rugby nous I happily cheered myself hoarse. In the end the French were victorious- but the Scotts could stand proud - the game was no walkover.

The weekend the French came to town was filled with rugby, wine, meat, smoking, singing and speeches. Being a solo girl amongst a group of French men meant that I got rather bombarded with French chivalry, seeing as how the Australian form of chivalry is to let the girl go to the bar for you, this was quite a pleasant change.

I definitely still have France on my rover list.

With thanks to the Frenchmen and Walkabout Scotland for letting me tag along on this boys own adventure.

Hardly a cloud in the sky

Before this post gets into full swing I thought I should explain what a Munro is. It is a word I used in my New Year List blog without any sort of definition, so in case I have fallen into a weird cult without noticing and not everyone knows what I am talking about: Munro is the name for the highest of Scotland's mountains, of which there are currently 283, and they are named after the man who first catalogued them, Sir Hugh Munro. The Munros are apparently among the finest mountains in Scotland, I wouldn't know because until recently my experience of climbing Munros could be summed up as all about bogs, rain, snow, false summits, runny noses, wet everything and spectacular scenery hidden by fog. 

Ben Nevis summit- September

It is not quite as bad as it sounds, summiting Ben Nevis completely engulfed in cloud made us all feel like proper adventurers and the moment during our decent when we popped out of the cloud and into brilliant sunshine was amazing.

That was a September Munroe, by December the adventure quota had amped up a little. Garich  did not have sunshine, it started in rain and bogs, rose to snowy cliffs and culminated in a total white out. It was absolutely exhilarating, with occasional amazing views- if I had not been so busy concentrating on learning how to use an ice axe I might have stopped to take some pictures.

We made it up to what was in all probability the summit, saw absolutely nothing but white and turned around again. I do sometimes ponder the determination to reach the highest point, but getting up up up on that day did have a good side. Because getting down steep snowy cliffs is a little quicker than going up- you get to slide down- using your ice axe to maintain a 'controlled' slide. Unfortunately after a few fun slides there is still the inevitable bog slog.

We finally made it back to the vehicles just on dusk and I went home for a bath and a whisky.

Somehow the day after this adventure I found myself on a not so romantic daytrip with J, as we set out to climb Ben Tealluch.

part way up Bein Tealluch- before the snow got going properly

 It was another snowy bog day and with pretty much every step our feet went through the snow, down into bog and then had to be yanked out again for the next step. We were continually hoping that the snow would be firm enough to hold our weight- and continually being disappointed. Snowy terrain can look pristine- but once some Munro baggers have tramped through things look pretty ugly. As soon as we started our accent my fatigue from the previous day's efforts set in and the going got properly tough.

Did I mention Munros are all false summits, snow, bog and runny noses and eating your lunch in three gulps so you don't get hypothermia.

Summit of Bein Tealluch- December,  not romantic

And yet at the start of February I found myself going back for more. Enter Mount Keen:

We had a crisp sunny day, the snow underfoot was covering not bog but a nice firm country road and as we ambled along I had to wonder why we only came across a handful of other walkers- because it was just about the most beautiful walk you can imagine. 

So if you were not lucky enough to be out adding  Mount Keen to your spreadsheet of Munros bagged here are some pictures of what you missed.   

setting out on the road to Mount Keen

monument to Queen Victoria

Queen Victoria once stopped to drink from this fountain, hence the monument being built for her in the middle of  a valley no place in particular.  A pretty nice no place if you ask me. Just after we passed this spot we got a fly over by two fighter jets- the sound reverberated around the valley- if we had not already known we were alive we did then.

 

a bog free path

J with the almost summit of Mount Keen in the background

looking back from the top of the world

There was hardly a cloud in the sky all day and we made it down to the car in time to check out a nearby castle. I knew there was something I liked about Munro bagging other than getting to eat a guilt free pub meal at the end of the day. 

a moonlit stroll to a castle at the end of the day- romantic!

Take a Walk

The many layers of a city take a while to explore, and for me one of the best ways to unravel the ins and outs of a city is on foot. Walking the streets of a new city at different times of the day, seeing the light change, seeing the habbits of the people and feeling the temperature shift are all things unique to being in a place- as opposed to looking at pictures in a magazine or on a hand held device. 

While I was in Vancouver I took many walks:

to my various backpackers

to the library

out to dinner

to Rogers Arena- the home of the Canucks to watch the ice Hocky

to Granville Island to get tasty and pretty things

to go and see the twinkling Christmas 'Lights of Hope'

Rogers Arena- Home of the Canucks

'Lights of Hope' St Pauls Hospital, Burrard Street Vancouver

The walk best worth sharing however is the one I did around Stanley Park on the afternoon after my Visa interview. I was pretty mentally worn out- having spent all remaining omph on getting my papers together and over the line. But after a post interview nap I set off outside again- the sun was out and the 10km walk along the sea walls seemed like the best thing for my tired brain. 

It was late November and although the sun was splendidly out when I started, it (and its warmth) were well and truely gone when I had finished. It was a people watching expedition, nature walk and sculptue walk all in one.  

The first sculpture I encountered was  Dennis Oppenheim's Engagement, this eye catching piece was originally only a temporary installation as part of the Vancouver Biennale, but it has recently been gifted to the city. Of course they speak of romance, commitment, promise and love, but the twin 'stones' on the rings, illuminated at night, also remind me of light house beacons, are they warning ships off? Or showing the way home safely.  

Engagement: Dennis Oppenheim,

An Inuk Shuk looking out onto English Bay

Some of the sculptures on my walk tell stories of Canada's indigenous population. The hefty stone blocks are an ancient symbol of Inuit culture traditionally used as landmarks, but also representing northern friendship and hospitality. Before I saw this sun drenched mammoth I had only seen examples of the Inuk Shuk dangling from key rings. The one on my walk was far more impressive. The same goes for of the grand, vividly coloured carvings telling first nation origin stories- they were the first real looking totem poles I had seen in Canada.



As the journey progressed I became anxious that I had missed my most looked forward to sculpture. I knew it was possible to miss her, as she is positioned out in the water, but I was reassured when I asked a passing local that she was still ahead. Many people refer to her as the mermaid, though any attentive glance will reveal that she is wearing flippers and goggles. I don't think of her as marooned there on her rock, she is just taking a break, The sun had gone from the harbour by the time I greeted her, giving her something of a lonely aura, but I imagine the swimmer takes on different attitudes in different seasons and it would be lovely to revisit her some sparkling morning.

Girl in Wetsuit: Elek Imredy

Getting back towards the city I re-visit the Meeting - a sculpture instalation I first encountered on a morning run on my first day in Vancouver. I love this serene circle of figures who mock world leaders who sit down to endlessly try and fix the worlds problems, but also reminds you that the act of sitting down together is probably the best way forward.

Meeting: Wang Shugang

The Drop: Inges Idee

By the time I got to The Drop my legs were weary and the air was cold. It is impressive- but more so are the views beyond it.

Making it back into the city as dusk was falling the 10km I had walked on concrete was making my legs very tired, that and the icy wind from Grouse Mountain told me that outdoor time was over for the day- so  I took myself for a feed in Gastown. Slightly re-invigorated after my meal I could not help finishing my sculpture filled walk at the Vancouver Public Library even though it was slightly out of my way.  The whimsical light installation outside this magnificent, and always welcoming curved building were great favourites of mine in Vancouver-

The Words Don't fit the Picture: Ron Terada

This work by Ron Terada makes me think: what words- the words in my head? The words in a book? The words on the forms I have to fill out? Does the bureaucracy ever fit with any picture of reality? No!

But we do it anyway- because sometimes it gets us what we want/ where we want to be.  

A walk helps you get to know a city, but it also sets me free, sends my mind spinning in new directions, fills in the blanks, reminds me that there is more to life than paperwork.

And the Stanley Park walk – packed full of mountains, trees, ships, bridges, sculptures and history... PERFECT.