St Canice’s has been journeying with the community at Railaco in Timor-Leste for many years, supporting a school, medical clinic and nutrition program.
For the past few years, I have become personally involved, and feel very close to the people up there. This video provides a good update.
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Friend since 1975, Edmundo generously hosted Cocktails for twenty-five old friends of mine to say hello and to meet Andrew, on his first trip to Florida. We all repaired to the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables where Edmundo’s evening extended for dinner amongst the palms on a balmy Florida evening.
After seafood dinner here in the Brickell area on Christmas Eve, we go to midnight mass at the Miami Cathedral to celebrate the joy of Christmas. To my surprise, the cathedral is quite a way out of town in an area where Haitian immigrants have moved in. The congregation is primarily black, and the Archbishop speaks in tongues – Creole, English and Spanish. It’s the singing of some of the Christmas Carols in Creole that really touches me. So beautiful and more impressive with everyone singing so passionately.
Christmas Night at Peggy’s was the thrill its always been – Christmas tree and gift giving before my favourite stone crab claws and shrimp.
On Boxing Day, Ricardo and Michael Iñesta host us with a group of old friends to marvellous Brazilian fusion dinner (with Ricardo adding Puerto Rican touches to create the other side of the fusion). – again in the balmy air on their terrace.
Andrew and I stayed in a very modern 2-bedroom apartment in a new Swire Hotel on Brickell, ‘East’. So central and being Christmas week, so buzzy.
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So ‘Americana’. Let us out of here!
The next morning, we find the cutest little town that has its roots back in the 16 century when the Spanish first colonised this part of the US.
Britain had done a deal with Spain giving them title to Florida in exchange for their taking over Cuba.
During the mid-1560s, the Spanish Empire expanded from its Caribbean strongholds northward, to what is Florida today. The first colony which was founded and remained continuously occupied was St. Augustine. Spanish settlers began immediately to establish a Catholic church.
The old buildings of St Augustine now house ice cream shops, souvenirs, restaurants, bars and so much else. But retains the colonial traces everywhere.
In the Garden of Good & Evil
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Mercer House located on one of the wonderful old ‘squares’ in Savannah was easy to find on our horse and carriage tour. Only on driving out to Bonaventure Cemetery to see the other part of the story did we find that we’d both forgotten the plot.
So back to town for some crawfish and a cold beer by the river.
The landscape we’ve been passing through here in the ‘Deep South’ has been flat and monotonous. So today we head out into the back roads to see more of ‘America’.
Dramatically cut short it was when I happened to remember that my passport was back in the room safe in Savannah. Andrew turned around without a whimper. What a good driver!
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“GETTIN’ THE WORD & GETTIN’ THE GHOST”
AT MOTHER EMANUEL AFRICAN METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH
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It was here in one of the United States’ oldest black churches, long been a site for community organization around civil rights, that white supremacist Dylann Roof murdered nine African Americans including the pastor, in a shooting massacre in 2015.
Andrew and I were not disappointed with the two hours that we sat and stood and sang along with the mixed congregation including many white folk like us. The black women, so many in their Sunday best white suits and hats, were devoutly involved. I recall my dear friend Clara in New York days telling me that here Sunday mornings at church were the best times of the week for her. Clara, I now understand!
Our plans for going on to the Catholic Cathedral for the Sung Mass afterwards were askew as we got more and more involved with what was unfolding at this lively service. It wasn’t just the singing, the organ music, trumpet, drums; it was the people, whipped-up to fever pitch by the pastor. All were elevated by the Word, joining in the singing, swaying, waving arms in the air, and punctuating what the pastor was saying with frequent loud praises, ‘Jesus!’ or ‘Amen!’
It was only Eric, our horse and carriage driver later in the afternoon who shone a light on the rather concerning event during the service when one poor black woman came forward for the pastor’s blessing crying inconsolably, before throwing herself on her back and screaming words to God. “The Holy Ghost was in her” says Eric. Here we calls it “Gettin’ the Ghost”.
Eric also turned out to be very knowledgeable on the history of the area since the days of the British colonial times through the Wars of Independence and the Civil War. We clopped over the cobblestones of the historic quarter on a horse-drawn tour, travelling back in time to the colonial beginnings of Charleston. passed by the old churches, antebellum mansions and lush gardens of Charleston.
CREATION
“In the beginning”, God intended humanity to cooperate in the preservation and protection of the natural environment. There would be few places on earth where such respect for God’s ‘Creation’ is taken more seriously than here in the beauty of Grand Teton National Park.
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It takes a a few days in one of the world’s largest intact ecosystems here in north western Wyoming to shake me out of my apathy. Taking in the grandeur and beauty of the Grand Teton mountain range is but a start. Snow-capped ranges under clear blue skies can disappear, lost in a blanket of white during a snow storm; and clear to provide a saw-toothed silhouette above which the most beautiful sunsets play out in the darkening skies.
Out in the national park and national forests, up close amongst moose, elk, deer, longhorn sheep, eagles, and swans in their natural habitats in mountains and in valleys, only now I can start to understand the morally decaying scenario of our attitude and behaviour towards creation. And realise that this is obscuring our call to take a proactive role in caring for creation. (Do I say, ‘thank you Pope Francis for your exhortations that prick my conscience”?)
It’s experiencing an area as majestic and tranquil as this coupled with an extremely knowledgeable and passionate young guide Gerard to enflame my interests. Learning enough to start understanding how this fragile eco system works, and has been functioning since the beginning of time is a wake-up call for me.. Gerard opened my eyes wider to the wonders of Nature.
TRANQUILITY IN THE RUN-UP TO CHRISTMAS
Christmas carols on a repeating loop haven’t made it into the snow here in the Tetons as yet.
Days to enjoy peace and tranquility in this wonderful valley with a book for company (and a television handy that I have yet to switch on). Of course, I enjoy meal times with Andrew, and we take the odd exploration together to better understand the animals and the local ecosystem.
MORMON TABERNACLE CHOIR PERFORMANCE HERE IN SALT LAKE CITY
It was worth going out on a -6° crisp chill Utah morning here in Salt Lake City to attend the Christmas CBS half hour performance of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with full Orchestra. We were seated in the 21,000 person hall across from the Mormon Tabernacle on Temple Square. Simply perfect acoustics, as you might well expect for such an organisation.
Interesting to see in this city that is the home of the Mormon faith that there is a very large Catholic cathedral from the 19 century Cathedral of the Madeleine. We had time to walk the few blocks and reach there in time for the Sunday sung Mass, a strange but beautiful work for organ and Choir by Benjamin Britten.
There’s not a store or restaurant in the whole city open on a Sunday. It’s like going back in time to my Brisbane days as a youth when you could fire a cannon down Queen Street and not hit a soul.
After Mass, we hopped the free tram down Main street alighting at our hotel to partake of the spread-out buffet at our hotel; with local families of all ages already filling the ‘Garden Restaurant’; they obviously like to dine here early even at lunchtime.
The Christmas lights on Temple Square were quite something else. I could say that I’ve never seen so many families out on any evening, but then I think back to the Sydney New Year’s Eve fireworks or the Vivid exhibits on the sails of the Opera House, and then Australian families come out in force also.
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Phil went off to India more than sixty years ago at the age of just 20 to become a missionary. He stayed there for more than fifty years living and learning from the local people of the lower castes. The many experiences he related from his days living with the Indian tribes were always ‘informing’.
However, on one recent occasion at the same time that Pope Francis was in South America, he spoke of personal ‘Freedom’, a concept that clearly resonates with me:
In South America this past week, in his home, Pope Francis seemed unbound, liberated to speak his mind.
He seemed, in a word, free.
Fr Phil went on:‘Freedom’ . . . is the hallmark Jesuit virtue.
Not piety, as some might think.
Not scholarship, as others may believe.
But freedom.
The freedom to be who you are,
to say what you believe and, above all,
to proclaim the Good News.
Fr Phil Crotty SJ
From the Gold Coast to Brisbane I was more than fêted during this past week.
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I may have watched on lazily as Anne shelled the four of them as my ‘home-coming’ treat, but I was put to work a couple of nights later under Trevor’s watchful eye with the butterflied leg of lamb and Mediterranean vegetables on the BBQ.
It was reassuring to see that Trev’s recent health scare with a stroke that had him in hospital for 5 days hadn’t got in the way of his healthy appetite. Thankfully he is on the road to full recovery again.
Shamelessly, I say that the three of us demolished nearly 1kg of spanner crab meat.
After the Gold Coast sojourn, it’s into the car to drive to Brisbane where Mark and Jenny hosted host us to lunch at their Brisbane home to celebrate Tony’s 82nd birthday – a repast that carries-on through to 8.40 pm.
And this morning, nieces Emily and Lucy came over after breakfast to say hello to their aunt and uncles along with Andrew’s wife Meghann, and her two littlies. Lovely to catch-up after so long.
Not sure if Bill remembers that his old uncle has been keeping tabs on the ‘life of Jude’ in pictures since he was born in 2010.
The posts languish away on a joint blogger account and only get added to when I take the effort.
I for one find it interesting to look back, and you can too. PLEASE CLICK HERE.
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Music may have been in the children’s blood, but the only thing on their minds then was to get an education and to rise above the life that their parents had to endure under Indonesian occupation.
usic forms a great part of Timorese life, as does the Liturgy. But nothing prepared me for the ceremony, and standard of singing by today’s talented students that I so enjoyed at this Opening Mass of the new Railaco parish church dedicated to Our Lady of Fatima, and at the Confirmation Mass for 700 candidates outdoors the following day.M
I share below a three-minute video of the Opening Procession.
Imagine: This is a community in a remote setting in the mountains outside Dili, East Timor.
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At the end of the Opening Mass, his Proclamation advising that Railaco is to be canonically elevated to the status of full parish draws rapturous applause.
A clearly excited parish priest Fr Phuong after hearing the Bishop's Proclamation conferring full parish status on the Railaco parish.
This has been the dream of the parish priest, Fr Joseph Phuong SJ. Fr Joseph’s flock in the surrounding sub-districts of Railaco, has been the focus of his hard work since coming to Timor. He trained catechists in the villages and devotes his ministry to encouraging the youth and families.
Today, one-thousand people have come to be part of this big event. And all will stay on, to share in the Festa. Six cows have been killed by the villagers who unite to prepare the feast and feed the masses.
y previous visits to Railaco have been focussed on the humanitarian activities of the parish.M
Over time, I have become very attached to the people, so it is very rewarding personally when I can come, visit the school, and accompany the volunteers on the mobile medical clinic and children’s feeding program and feel at home. That feeling is no stronger than at meal times when I can join Fr Joseph, Fr Bong and other Jesuits, understand what situations they’re grappling with, and be welcomed as one of them.
On the Sunday morning, I came to the breakfast room to find the Bishop sitting there and ready for a chat. There was also a huge tray of mushroom omelette and a basket of fresh bread rolls made by the novices in the nearby convent brought across for us to enjoy.
I have many more photos with captions that let you scroll through and see so much more. PLEASE CLICK HERE to view Google Photo Album.
You can also view the blog for all my East Timor posts since 2009. PLEASE CLICK HERE.
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In more recent times, when it comes to planning holidays, another good friend and oft’ travelling partner Edmundo and I have come to the conclusion that we like a minimum of three days in any place, preferably more.
Now, in this past week, I get to perfect the art of holidaying even more, with another ex-Amex friend, Frank. We may have had only three days in a place, but we scheduled breakfast for nine, and didn’t leave for sightseeing before 10.30. Civilised! And always back in time for a lie-down before dinner.
Even with reduced ‘hours’ on the road, you’ll see in these photo albums that we managed to cram in a lot of sightseeing (and eating!) into six days touring four of the Hanseatic cities in the north of Germany.
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Of greater significance in world history though is 500-year ‘trading’ connection from 12th to 17th centuries of free, independent cities, primarily in Germany. During this week on the road, we’re visiting four of them – Hamburg, Lubeck, Wismar and Stralsund.
These were known as Hansa cities of which Lubeck was the ‘pearl’. Because of the free trade, those cities got so rich.
Collectively the Hansa cities supported each other fighting pirates, pestilence, plague and other challenges, with trade remaining as the major focus.
Teresa May and Donald Trump could learn lessons from ‘history’ and re-think their isolationist strategies.
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We stay down in the docks area, sitting at an outside table as the sun goes down, enjoying a marvellous bouillabaisse at Restaurant Marseille, located at the fish market Hamburg-Altona, the counterpart to Vieux-Port in the partner city Marseille.
The following evening, in Blankenese where ‘die Hamburger’ have dinner outdoors by the River Elbe, host Manne welcomes us warmly knowing that I’m an Australian and he’s experienced great Australian hospitality 20 years ago when he sailed in the ocean classic Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.
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Of course, with camera ready, I’m drawn immediately to the well-recognised symbol of the town, the Holstentor (Holsten Gate), a red-brick city gate (completed 1478) that defended the river-bounded Altstadt (old town). Pity the sun was coming from the other side, but there’s time!
Lübeck was a Red Cross City and bombed only once during WWII, so many original buildings remain. It was always more important than Wismar because it was closer to Hamburg and represented the centre of Salt route. We stroll through the old town and visit the Market and see the Town Hall before sitting quietly for a time listening to the organ music inside the Marienkirche, a 13th–14th-century red-brick landmark that widely influenced Northern European church design. It was rebuilt following WW II restoring many significant features.
We enjoy lunch in the back garden of the Schiffergesellschaft, an old restaurant still owned by seafarers who must show that they have captained a ship, and still live in Lübeck.
Susan, a teacher (and don’t we know it!) proves though to be a very good local guide here in Stralsund, a town since 1234 where nothing has changed from the 13th and 14th centuries. It is a good representation of towns of the Hanseatic League, and capital of Swedish Pomerania 1628 – 1815, when Prussians came.
As part of the 500-year Jubilee of the Reformation, in the Cultural Church of St. Jakobi in the Old Town of Stralsund, German Pop Art artist, Moritz Götze, creates the biblical stories from the perspective of the Bible, and translates them into the world of today.
It’s quite confronting to see his large work of the almighty dollar (actually the Euro!) raised like in a monstrance and positioned in front of what was the main altar of the deconsecrated church.
In these days we’ve been travelling, it’s been herring for lunches, but come evening, the fish soup always gets the nod. Tonight it’s a little spicy, almost a goulash, but deliciously different.
Frank and I are sitting by the sailing boats reflected in the water, lap lapping rhythmically as the sun dips.
It’s so still and quiet we hear the fishes breaking the surface ‘talking to us’, and gleam in the last rays of light before ‘splatting’ back into the water. Frank calls it an orgy as it becomes a frenzy as night falls. Seagulls make a din competing for our attention.
We wait for our white wine before dinner of Turbot, and as always, potatoes. This fish almost surpasses the North Sea Plaice that I enjoyed so much on our last night in Hamburg. At €17, the seafood up here is so much more reasonably priced than down in the Mediterranean).
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In narrow, winding laneways, behind rambling rose hedges in large thatched roof houses, it’s not hard to guess that there’s another ‘community’ of well-heeled folk who come from other parts of Germany to enjoy the quiet. A sort of ‘Hamptons’.
I love the Berlin nightlife, but only from my bathroom window. After the rather busy few weeks traveling, I’m happy to take it easy over the weekend here simply enjoying catch -ups and meals with old friends from working days in the ’90s.
Sailing up the Thames before dawn and under Tower Bridge to dock by HMS Belfast right opposite the Tower of London is an experience for even the most jaded travellers to beat
Indeed lucky to be heading off to the Royal Edinburgh Tattoo tonight, with reserved seats in the Royal Enclosure.
We take a novel route to the Castle under the leadership of a humorous Scot, John. Leaving the Silver Wind, with the hills of Fyfe looming hazily across the Forth, we drive past the building that inspired J K Rowling to develop Hogwart’s School – Fettes College, where Tony Blair went to school.
Seeing the old honey-coloured sandstone stone buildings of 19th century, now coloured to crepuscular grey, in the ‘New Town’, which was developed to get away from the smog and coal dust from Edinburgh. Makes me want to return and see more. Palace front stone terraces with grand porticoes in the centre surround private gardens of established green in the Squares, with gas lights.
Our convoy gathers for a security check at the start of the ‘Royal Mile’, and with motor cycle Police escort we make the steep climb to the reach the Royal Box overlooking the Esplanade of the Castle.
The spectacle of 9,000 people gathered in the stands and the excitement as the massed pipes of the regiments come streaming out of the entrance to the Castle ‘like a conjurer pulling coloured ribbons from the sleeve’, bagpipes swirling. Bands of many countries perform not only band music but also dances reflecting the cultures of their countries. These include India, France, and the USA.
An unexpected spot of entertainment was the singing of Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ with the finale sung by a soprano from the Japanese Armed Forces. The video is included in these pictures.
Then, high up in castle battlements everything goes dark; a sole piper appears playing a soul-stirring lament; followed with lines from Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Lay of the Last Minstrel’, and for effect, spoken in darkness.
“Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e’er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Scotland. Scotland the Brave!”
. . . and bagpipes swirl and fireworks explode filling the sky.
Last week Prince Charles and Prince William took the Salute. Tonight it is a French Rear-Admiral. After the performance, we joined the ‘brass and braid’ set for a Champagne and Canapés Reception before driving back to Silver Wind.
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WE TAKE THE SLOW ROAD . . . TO THE BONNIE BONNIE BANKS.
We weren’t going to let the grey and dreichy day spoil our excursion from the ship to the west of Scotland. Lunch in front of a log fire in an old Scottish coaching inn near the banks of Loch Lomond is medicine enough for low clouds and rain blotting out nearly all the light from the ‘bonnie bonnie banks’.
Hanging pots of fuschia and begonia outside little cottages, and bright red and orange rose hips intertwined in the hedges, add the touch of colour.
It didn’t matter that the sun was never going to peep through today. I’d written about the Trossachs and Loch Lomond fifty years ago, and I’ve never been.
And, despite Ken’s hesitation, I ordered haggis for the first time, an £11 experiment. At least I can now tell you that it is fifty percent oats with ground lamb, onion and heavily spiced; all tucked into the natural lining of a sheep’s lung. We all tasted. We’re all still breathing. But we’ll remember the salty Cumbrae oysters and beef and guiness pie better.
Postscript:
Making our way out of Edinburgh from the ship, our Scottish chatty cabby, Douglas, wants to show us the exclusive Fettes College, which J K Rowling used as the basis for her ‘Hogwarts’ Academy in the Harry Potter stories. (Tony Blair was educated here).
There are so many beautiful areas of this city – of squares, elegant stone mansions, established ‘green’, and wide streets (from the era when horse and carriages had to turnaround).
Then, over the Forth Bridge, and on the slow back-roads through little Scottish villages, forests, and fields of cows and sheep to reach Lake Lomond, gateway to the Highlands.
Ken suggests a pint in a traditional local pub, ‘The Trades House’, which we admire for its turned wood, stained glass, and colourful Victorian decor, only to find that it is a clever make-over of an old Bank!
Walking for a mile in the heat (yes, in the heat for the first time since leaving Australia), we reach place 3. Modern! Lifeless! But there is roast beef and Yorkshire pudding (yesterday’s!) on the menu. So-so.
I take-off on foot to Dundee’s ‘Discovery Point’, centred on Antarctic exploration, and the sea. It’s exciting to see Captain Robert Scott’s 1901 preserved Antarctic research vessel RRS Discovery moored in a dock. Right next to the old three-master, an architecturally impressive new V &A Museum of Design (that, from certain angles, also resembles a boat) is under construction. I imagine the locals are hoping that it will become a magnet for visitors just as Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum breathed life back into what were old railway yards in Bilbao.
https://goo.gl/photos/zLA41YSrWkdYycXL6
Sailing into the Orkneys in the early morning and stepping out on to a wet balcony, I feel the cold wind and rain lash across my face. I can sense the remoteness. The whistling of the wind has such an eerie feel and I have the notion that Agatha Christie has been here before me.
Disembarking at the dock in Kirkwall later in the morning, the lashing rain and wind returns but when the sun does peep through in the afternoon it creates such a gentle quality of light.
As sightseers, we find our way to the main street and the wonderful 11th century St Magnus Cathedral. Across the way, there’s the ruins of the 17th century Renaissance-style Earl’s Palace built by Patrick, Earl of Orkney, the illegitimate cousin of King James VI. The whole area is welcoming and provides many photo opportunities.
Sydney friends, Sue and Graeme Crabbe had been to the Orkneys for a few days over Easter. They were all for my venturing south of the islands to a little bistro on the cliffs on the southern tip of South Ronaldsay. That we do, and so easily, after we engage local taxi driver Gail outside the Cathedral. And what a great local tour guide to boot, all for £40 per hour.
We bet that the weather will be better on the way home, so we don’t spend too much time at the Churchill Barriers or the Italian Chapel, and continue our drive through pasture lands in the rain. Beautifully situated along twists and turns of country lanes, we find Skerries Bistro, a few metres from the cliff, and in good time to get a window table with the whole panorama of sea and Scotland before us.
The scallops were just delicious, crisp on the outside from the hot pan, and moist and flavoursome. Even the orange roe, so sweet, that I don’t usually like was delicious. Eat your hearts out friends, while I eat the ‘partan’s tae’, the delicious claw of an Orkney crab – just a wee part of my local seafood platter that followed. Looking at Pam’s organic salmon fish cake, I was wishing that I’d had more room.
Coming back to the ship in the sunshine, we stop at the Italian Chapel, a beautiful Roman Catholic chapel on the edge of Scapa Flow. The chapel consisting of two Nissen huts was built by WWII Italian prisoners of war captured in North Africa and put to work on the Churchill Barriers. It is the most visited tourist attraction in all of the Orkneys.
I don’t believe that all four of us fronted up for Afternoon Tea with hot scones and little sandwiches when we got back to the ship. Mea cupla!
‘MIDSOMER MURDERS’ IN THE SHETLANDS
‘Miss Marple’ hasn’t been seen tucking-in to a bowl of mussels and eating chips in a pub, but her double was there with a sparkle in her eye just across from me at lunch at the Scalloway Hotel in the Shetlands today.
And ‘Doc Martin’ hasn’t been seen holidaying in the Shetlands, but, seemingly, it was he walking past the window of our pub on a grey drizzly seashore.
I half expected ‘Vera’ to rock-up in her battered old 4WD and get out in her tatty old rain coat and hat and come into the pub in Scalloway looking for a murderer.
But it was only we four, Pam and Ken, Jim and I, fantasising about nothing as we sat there with a beer hoping that something exciting might occur as we waited for the freshly caught lobster to be brought to the table. The lobster was indeed fresh, and the meat in the claws particularly, so sweet.
Showers and drizzle never make for a nice day out, and even less so in this wind-swept island of bleak old Victorian stone houses on the North Sea. Back to the boat for a read, but as usual, the reading soon gives way to more sleeping.
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Rain and fog as we drive around three of the eighteen Faroe Islands, but the experience couldn’t have been more bright with our local guide and driver, Birnir Hauksson illuminating the whole proceedings. One of the beautiful little villages on the west-side of Vágar is Bøur. It has a magnificent view over the sea and salmon farms to the rocky islet Tindholmur with its many peaks. The village has charming old wooden houses and a traditional church from 1865.
I’m getting this posted before I race for my Stematil and to to batten down the hatches. The Captain has just interrupted our civilised afternoon tea (cucumber sandwiches and hot scones) to make an announcement. “We’re leaving port right now, and sailing at full speed to reach the the Shetlands before the onslaught of an approaching really bad weather depression for the area. Expect stormy seas, high waves, and gale force winds overnight, and hang on to railings in staircases”.