There’s no keeping ahead of the bloody mosquitoes swarming out of every crevice in Paul’s house here in Narromine in the Central West of New South Wales. They’ve been terrible since the recent flooding rains.

Despite spraying all bare skin with ‘Off’, I don’t count on the ingenuity of the biting insects getting to me in my nightshirt.

You figure it out!

 

 

 

“He’d go the opening of a door” is an old adage describing people with a busy social calendar.

I’m not so social these days, but this video may give you the impression that “I’d go to the Closing of a Door”.

Click on arrow to start this 1-minute video.
 
Thanks to the closed circuit TV in my building, and Terry, I can share this truly ‘stunning’ experience. And before you comment on my state of sobriety, I hasten to inform that I was not drunk!

I may have needed stitches but I ‘soldiered’ on. Now, two weeks later, the wide gash along the top of my eyebrow has finally healed.

In the mid-20th century, young nuns in the local Mercy Convent swam freely in a natural rock pool off Shelley Beach in Cronulla, south of Sydney. It became known by the locals as the nun’s pool.

Now, in the 21st century, “The Nun’s Pool” is also the name of a wonderful contemporary restaurant across the park from this once hallowed swimming spot.

The link and point of interest for me is in more than just the name!

 
 

My soon to be 86 years-old Aunt Monica is one of those nuns, who played like girls in the water of the rock pool in the early 1950’s. Although, on visiting her today in the Stella Maris Convent where she now lives in retirement, she tells me “I never stayed in the rock pool. It was boring. I swam out to sea!”

Young Anthony, the owner of “The Nun’s Pool” is a friend of mine, from his earlier days at the Grand National in Paddington. He always greets me with a welcoming smile and sends me away with cappuccino and homemade cake for Aunty Mon, and also Aunt Bobbie, who lives in the same home.

Father Frank from Berlin came with me for the drive today and we enjoyed a delicious corned beef sandwich with pickled onions, and a wonderful insalata caprese with my favourite oxheart tomatoes. I won’t mention the fig, walnut and cinnamon tart because I am still on my diet.
 

 

The Sardinian white at lunch. slightly cloudy with an orange hue, truly packs a punch!

 
 
 
After Mass at St Mary’s Cathedral where Frank kisses the ring of the Cardinal, we make it to Fratelli Paradiso in Challis Avenue, Potts Point for lunch. As it is Sunday, Frank grants me a dispensation to imbibe, and imbibe we do. I wish I’d stuck to my diet!
The ever-so-lightly battered calamari and simple Insalata Caprese are hard to beat, and how can I deny myself a dip of freshly-baked bread rolls in the dish of olive oil? 

We don’t stop at that, and needless to say, our plans for a drive to the sea. for breath of salt air and a macchiato on our only sunny day this week, are quickly abandoned in favour of an afternoon nap.
 
All the photos from Frank’s Visit – Double click to open in full screen.
 

Hardly a bargain, and not quite the raw prawn – but the raw scampi at Icebergs Dining Room overlooking Bondi Beach today was superb!

My old friend, Fr Frank Scheele from Berlin,had but one request from the menu, Tuna Tartare, a delight he had not forgotten from lunch on his last visit to Australia – at Bondi Italian, a beachside restaurant located at the other end of Bondi Beach. Frank was not to be disappointed here at Icebergs.

I think that my choice of the Raw Tartare Seafood Salad with raw scampi, blue fin tuna and ocean trout may just have won out though!

 

 
 
Picasa Web Album
 

 

My resolve to refrain from vino and sugar has nothing to do with Lent.

My self denial is focussed solely on making a sagging body (more) beautiful.

Enter my old friend, Father Frank straight from Berlin. Like the forbidden fruit, he unveils a tin with a towering Baumkuchen – a sweet German dessert cake, as a special gift. “Cake! Sugar! I am on a self-imposed diet for two months!”

Lent has nought to do with my fasting (and abstinence, I might add), but ever-practical Frank is quick to advise that Sunday is a day for dispensation. So what is a man to do?

Like Eve, I relent, and also have a glass of vino!

 

 

Grand-nephew Jude will be two years-old in a couple of weeks. And earlier this week Bill and Mindy took the little boy for his first day in pre-school.

We hear so often about tears on these occasions, and last Monday was no exception. Indeed tears were shed.

The funny thing is that Jude was as happy as a lark getting to play with children and hone his social skills. It was his father Bill who was in tears!

Quite by accident, I came across a new software for publishing my ‘Books’. (These were the old-fashioned tomes I used to write at the end of a big trip, and email to you.)

I would do this thinking that all the world (or at least my close friends) were reading and enjoying them. However, one day a Swiss friend told me bluntly that he had to be truthful and that he really thought they were boring. Others had suggested more subtly that they were so caught-up with family or other priorities, that they simply didn’t have the time to ‘read a book’.

Having picked myself up from these shattering revelations, I went about looking for means of communication that were more ‘telegraphic’ in nature – almost ‘sound bytes’. I set-about trying to ‘improve’ my photographic inclusions, including captions for some of my friends who grew up with comics, and have never read a book! And, all that lead me to the now famous blog – ‘the M chronicles’. (I know you check on www.mmusg.com frequently so as not to miss even one post!)

 
Here is one of the first of the old ‘books’ that I have uploaded into issuu, the new software. When you click on ‘Expand’ it should open into a full screen.

Shortly, I will add a new tab under ‘Travel Writing’ in the horizontal Menu Bar above, and you can read them all.
 

I need more than a fair resolve to publish a photo of myself looking like this!

Aaarghh!

 
But I’ve been brave enough to do so, as an added motivation to stick with an exercise regimen that I’ve signed up for, from tomorrow!

I have 2½ months before I take off again, and I am determined to put some shape back into that old body – soon to be 70!

 
Report from Day 3 of the Regimen:
Trainer Steve asks while stretching me after the morning work-out that concentrated on my legs, “can you feel that stretch in your quads?”
“Quads! What quads?” says I, feeling absolutely nothing in my foreleg.

The cappuccino after lunch at my favourite Greek Cafe is without my usual home-made, icing-sugar covered almond biscuit, a kourambiedes. That’s a sacrifice!

6th April UPDATE

After 7 weeks of ‘working’ with Steve, my Personal Trainer,
MY WAIST IS DOWN BY 1 ½” but my WEIGHT has remained the same. 
Muscle Mass is up a tad.
BODY FAT has reduced by 8%
STRENGTH on my left side has nearly equalised with the right.
 

 

Staying at the home of my old friend Edmundo in Key Biscayne, there’s been days when I was still in my nightshirt in the afternoon.

There’s a regimen to daily life living under Edmundo’s roof, commencing with a soft knock on my bedroom door at eight each morning, followed by Regina announcing “Coffee’s ready!” Strangely, I always drank a pot of tea, but I rather liked the sing-song sound of her “Coffee’s ready!” call to come out for the full Brazilian breakfast table groaning with sliced exotic fruits, berries, cake, and hot toast for the cheeses. How I’ll miss that!
 

 
It didn’t take any persuading for me to follow Edmundo’s practice of returning to the bed for an hour after breakfast, nor to an afternoon nap after Regina called us to tea at four.

As much as we vowed that my ‘break’ in Miami would be ‘without program’, we ended up ‘out to dinner’ with friends almost every night, mostly in local restaurants. Susan Kelley invited me to her home on Sunset Island as her ‘guest of honour from Australia’ for a wonderful dinner party around the pool. An intriguing guest list included a Syrian Mexican, now a Justice in the US Court System, and an Argentinian painter, who doesn’t let life in a wheelchair slow his energy in the slightest.

(Susan is another case of ‘enduring friendship’. We worked together from my early time in New York in 1975. On mum’s visit to New York a year later, Susan charmed her over afternoon tea on the porch of her Gramercy Park brownstone, and, for a fleeting moment, had mum wishing I had at long last found the ‘ideal woman’).
 

 
Edmundo’s close friend Tere Benach entertained at home with a delicious shrimp gumbo, and cake with guava paste – real Cuban home-style cooking. At the only dinner party at Edmundo’s, Regina excelled, spoiling the Brazilian guests with their favourite ‘o-so-sweet’ passionfruit dessert with freshly shredded grilled coconut. So good, Edmundo’s sweet tooth got the better of him in the middle of the night and he snuck to the refrigerator and polished the rest off.
 
 
I’ve been looking for a suitably sized object to replace Buddha in the black marble niche at the end of my hall in Elizabeth Bay. A Sydney friend suggested I find an old ‘Infant of Prague’ statue while in Brazil, but I never expected that

 

To me, Malibu conjures up memories of my youth; Beach Boys and Surfin’ Safari; movies and errant movie stars. In happily accepting Mike Abraham’s invitation to visit the Getty Italian Villa in Malibu yesterday, I was not expecting to find a museum of priceless Greek and Roman antiquities, all housed in a first-century Roman country-house.

In my travels, I visit so many spectacular ruins with hidden stories of centuries past. I listen carefully to guides’ descriptions trying to imagine how they looked, and to put them into a context of life at the time. I am not so interested in archaeological digs like Pompeii, Axum, or Leptis Magna – mounds of stones representing outer walls, and channels in the dirt don’t resonate. I hear more about sewerage systems in these than anything else. No wonder I’m turned off.
 

 
But, here in Malibu, Paul Getty, son of the oil tycoon, has ‘reimagined’ what was uncovered of an old Roman country house in Herculaneum buried by the eruption of Mt Vesuvius in A.D. 79. He has used architectural details based on elements drawn from other ancient Roman homes in the towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum to faithfully recreate the 2,000 year-old Villa dei Papiri here – on a hillside reaching up from Malibu Beach on the Bay of Santa Monica. The site closely resembles its original location next to Mt Vesuvius on the Bay of Naples, right down to the old scented Roman pine trees.

The visit is of interest to me from many perspectives. I feel I am ‘touching’ history. The only thing missing is the people. An integral feature of any Roman home is the gardens, and here Getty has recreated four with plants, bronzes and decorative motifs, as they would have been all that time ago. And of course, there’s the Museum, so well organised and presented that viewing the priceless artefacts from his extensive collection is a breeze.
 

 
My Picasa Web Album here contains a sample of what we viewed. Opening it into full screen allows you to go through the photos one by one. Hopefully the captions will continue my story for me.

Picasa Web Album More photos to be added

“Lobster caught by my own hand”, says Mark as he gently paints the delicate flesh with butter and lemon before placing them flesh down on the BBQ.

How’s that for a boast?
 

The lobster Mark caught by hand when diving in the Northern Channel islands off the California coast - on the BBQ at home

 
This visit with Marsha in LA is testament to yet another ‘enduring friendship’. Way back in 1969, Marsha and I worked together in a start-up tour operation for Amex in Sydney. We’ve remained solid friends ever since – 40+ years! Another guest at dinner is Michael Abraham, whom I have also known for 30 years.

Marsha’s partner, Mark, is an avid diver, spear-fiherman, and chef. I love coming for dinner and seeing what’s on the menu. I’ve heard of Santa Catalina island off the California coast, but the Northern Channel Islands are further north. This is where Mark dives.
 
Mark catches the lobster by hand, and also, while still underwater, prises open scallop shells firmly fused to the seabed rock, removing the delectable buttons of white flesh to bring up to the surface. How delicious, grilled with pineapple and bacon.

 

The diver and the diva - Mark the spear fisherman and chef photographing the delectable fruits de mer before we all dig in (fingers permitted at his table!), with Marsha and Michael A

I’m at breakfast by the pool of The Beverly Hilton Hotel, Los Angeles in Grammy Awards week with distractions a many – there goes my resolve to read the New York Times in the fresh air this morning.
 

 

Next to me under the palm trees stands a young music wannabe in t-shirt and cap on-backwards spruiking the successes of his band to a similarly attired tall young Asian (without the cap!), who listens attentively before returning his attentions to an attractive young Malaysian woman. On hearing me ask for more coffee, the Asian queries my accent and strikes up a conversation. This Dominic Lau is a nice guy. I learn that he is a presenter fro E! TV in Hong Kong, and is here for the Grammy’s.
 

 
What role could a Russian woman in pink leotards, black sheer top, and bejewelled necklace (glistening from the sunshine and sweat of her neck), have to do with the Grammy’s? Jewels at breakfast! That’s small potatoes. You should see the diamond watch, and the diamond on her ring finger. A slew of what I take to be Jewish impresarios joins her one after the other and share her breakfast while she unceremoniously smokes a cigarette.
 
I notice other wannabes excitedly giving their pitch to rather overweight older guys sitting alone at tables, whom I presume might influence their careers, for a favour, and then see them off with a “Thanks. I’ll call ya”.
 

This is not an “Only in America” scene, It’s truly, “Only in Hollywood”

 
Copacabana Palace Hotel in Rio had those wonderful phalaenopsis orchids hanging languorously in the shade of the huge canopied ficus elastica tree. Here at The Beverley Hilton,

At four in the morning, rain is peppering the surface of the large swimming pool of the Copacabana Palace while I skirt the perimeter from my room in the Annexe to the Lobby. Trendy young partygoers are still arriving and entering the dark and pounding disco . . . doof, doof! This is the closest I’ve come to Rio’s nightlife in the three days I’ve been here. I’m on my way to the airport for my flights to Lima and Miami.
 

 
Rio, Cidade Maravilhiossa is how the locals like to call their marvellous city.

The experience of arriving by sea has to be my first marvel. Sailing towards Rio de Janeiro, with Christ the Redeemer Statue on one side, Sugarloaf on the other, and the famous beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema in between, is one of those rare ‘Traveller’s Moments’.

Checking in and getting comfortable at Rio’s grand dame of a hotel, the Copacabana Palace is a marvellous surprise. I’m set to enjoy all the hotel has to offer.
 

 

Waiting for my room in the Annexe, how good is a Caesar salad in the shade of a large ficus; white and purple Phalaenopsis orchids on the trunk waving gently in the breeze; while I watch guests lazing on couches by the pool, in varying stages of undress, reading on their iPads and Kindles under blue and white umbrellas!

Stylised grey and white aprons of the waved Brazilian cobble footpaths, on all the staff in white, make such a statement. And my one beer comes with another, in a bucket of ice.

A perfectly sunny day for the trip in the cable tram to the peak of Corcovado Mountain to see the iconic ‘Christ the Redeemer’ statue is uplifting. After riding up through tropical rainforest, I walk the 240 additional steps to reach the statue as my little ‘camino’. This forty-metre high statue is the largest Art Deco statue in the world, and it is now one of the 7 New Wonders of the World.
 
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Beaches and nightlife usually spring to mind when dreaming about the attractions of this exotic destination. Unfortunately my skin doesn’t let me stay out and sunbake as in times of old, nor do I find it easy to stay awake after a good meal to go party. So, my marvellous experiences are a bit closer to home, and probably a little tame to some.

Climbing Sugarloaf is on my must-do list, but before doing so why not stop for lunch at the traditional Colombo Café de Forte at a table under the trees along the wall in this working military fort?

 
 
 
Soaring 40 metres above Corcovado Mountain looking out over the city to the sea, Christ the Redeemer statue has become an icon for Rio de Janeiro and Brazil.

We ride the cable tram through the protected rainforest of the Tijuca National Park for twenty minutes to reach the top. Bromeliads have attached themselves to tree trunks, and tangled vines fall from branches. Colourful heliconia, cassia and ginger bloom in the wild.

I take the 240 additional steps to reach the statue as my little ‘camino’. Christ the Redeemer is the largest Art Deco statue in the world, and it is now one of the 7 New Wonders of the World.

We are blessed with a wonderful day for viewing the statue, but would need to return in the afternoon to get the sun right to take a good photo of Sugarloaf and the famous beaches.
 

 
Judging by the crowds of all nationalities including women in burqas, and many Asians, I really wonder how many visitors still view it with the same religious significance as those who built it in the 1920’s.
 
PICASA WEB ALBUM

 

I’ve yet to see the sexy and scintillating – but the anticipation of arriving in Rio is palpable. 
 

 

Sailing towards Rio de Janeiro, with Christ the Redeemer Statue on one side, Sugarloaf on the other, and the famous beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema in between, is one of those ‘Traveller’s Moments’.

And then when we’ve had enough Sugarloaf, there’s a roast Suckling Pig calling out for me to come to lunch and relax around the pool on the deck downstairs (well, it’s the Brazilian Head Waiter Gustavo doing the calling).
 

 
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We are coming to the end of our 16-day cruise through the Caribbean and down the coast of Brazil to Rio.

I still enjoy my blogging every couple of days despite frustrations from atrociously slow internet at sea. It’s an absorbing hobby and it provides me with a handy single reference point for photos and stories in time to come.

There’s not too much ‘historical’ in the posts. If I’m brutally honest, I’d probably confess, “It’s more about me!”

Some friends and family even say that they live vicariously by following what I get up to on my travels. (I like to believe them.) Others still have problems with blogs – full stop! They dig in and say, “I’m happy to wait till I see you, and then you can tell me all about it.” (I sleep at night knowing that the latter does not apply to you.)
 

 
What’s been so wonderful about this cruise is that I am sharing the experiences and so many laughs with such old friends. John Thompson and I have been friends for nearly 50 years, since first meeting-up in hometown Brisbane. Amex brought Jim Kober, Edmundo and myself together in the 70’s, and we’ve been ongoing friends ever since – 40 years!

So perhaps, there’s a reason to scroll down through the cruise blog and see what we’ve all been up to – 4 Gentlemen at Sea.
 
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Turbaned women in voluminous lace-trimmed white dresses, the Bahainas, are on the dock to welcome us to the 16th century capital of Brazil, Salvador da Bahia. Seventy percent of the people in Bahia State are Afro-Brazilian, which adds an exotic dimension.
 

 
With bags clutched tightly to our chests as instructed, we take the public elevator up to the historic old town where there’s as many Catholic churches as there are days of the year – well, nearly – there’s 300!

We never look like being accosted, but Edmundo has to stop me from calling a policeman over when two smiling lace-trimmed ladies start demanding $10, each, for posing with me for a photograph.  “You should see how they live”, says the cavalier Edmundo with a shrug. Well, of course, I then took over ‘negotiations’.

We walk on to the Terreiro de Jesus, a wide plaza lined with 17th century houses in the heart of historic Salvador and stroll under the imperial palm trees taking in the spectacle of the major churches. The Jesuits are at one end, and the Dominicans are across the way. The Franciscans built their Church and Convent a bit further down past a row of most colourful colonial houses.
 

 
It is the Church and Convent of San Francisco that we visit. The Cloister contains 37 white and blue tile panels each with a scene from Greco-Roman mythology. The interiors of the church feature impressive Baroque-style carvings bathed in gold leaf.

The palms are not providing any shade or respite to us sweating in ninety degrees under a burning sun, so lunchtime is advanced. We hop a taxi to the Amado Restaurant in a beautifully recreated warehouse right on the Baia de Todos os Santos. (The entrance is completely covered with a seldom seen vine of red Quisqalis that grew in profusion along the side fence in my boyhood home in Brisbane.)

One Caipirinha, the local cocktail made from Cachaza sugarcane spirit, and the lemon ciruela fruit was nearly enough to put me under the table. But I’m glad, survived to enjoy the Grilled Octopus and then Sole with mango, papaya and cilantro salsa – all the time looking out to sea. When not looking at the glittering array of locals arriving – from a ‘Morgan Freeman look-a-like’ politician in starched white linen suit (with male secretary, two steps behind), and ‘ladies who lunch’. 
 

 
Our taxi driver returns and takes us on a quick tour past favelas and smart residential high-rises to have a quick look at a Brazilian beach, (or Brazilians on the beach). On returning to the ship, we forego afternoon tea and make a bee-line to cabins for a cold wash.
 
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Edmundo obviously knew something when he rang me in my cabin early this morning saying that a queasy tummy would keep him from coming on the river tour and rainforest walk today.

We sail for an hour down the Guama River with rain falling,seeing and learning about life lived along the riverbank, before climbing ashore up slippery, rickety old wooden steps to a forest landing.
 

Unseen birds twittering in the green; flying termites make straight for the back of my throat and up my nose; my sneakers sink into the mud and splash my pants; the largest butterfly I have ever seen, a beautiful blue one, flutters by to tease; while our local guide Cicero passionately describes in minute detail the medicinal qualities of each and every 249 plants we pass on the rainforest floor. Aaaphew!

 

 
Even my keen botanical side tunes out, and I decide to rely on the good commentary about life in the Amazon rainforest that we heard on the journey down the river.

On returning to the Whisper, John and I decide to stay on board the riverboat and skip lunch. We are the only two on the top deck setting out for a quick adventure into the port of Belem. Chugging out against a strong current, leaden skies open sending lashing rain and gusts of wind blowing the orange plastic chairs all around the deck.

Going ashore, totally paranoid by frequent warnings to leave jewellery and watches on the ship and to keep both hands on our camera, we don’t venture much further than the main street of the old town and markets along the river. The decaying, once colourful old buildings are very much like those in Havana.
 

 
With bag and camera clutched close to chest, and umbrella balanced under my arm, you can imagine trying to take photos, and also keep raindrops off the lens. Such fun!
 

Returning to the ship after the storm, the choppy Amazon finally gives me the brown contrast with the grey skies that I’ve been trying to capture in all my photographs today. Check them out in my Picasa album!

 
Crossing the Equator as we approach the mouth of the Amazon, King Neptune and his court board the ship. Unlucky first-timers are singled out for the ‘treatment’.