Happy Aussieversary!

 Today is our first anniversary of arriving in Sydney.  I can't believe it's been a year already, but in some ways, it feels like we have been here for much longer.  We feel settled, if not yet fully established.  We have a good social circle, a flat (sorry, a unit), routines, (second) jobs.  We agreed that we would have a date night on each anniversary and discuss if we wanted to stay, but we knew months ago that we were both game for another year.  I think there are two primary reasons for that.

The first is our neighbourhood, Surry Hills.  We love it.  I am happy every day when I walk out my door onto Reservoir Street.  It's everything I want a neighbourhood to be: central, walkable, multicultural, charming, characterful, but not sanitised.  There are cocktail bars and restaurants, upscale and downscale galleries, and gays galore.  But there's also social housing, backpackers, dive bars and legal brothels.  I am happy here like I have only ever been in Chelsea and Clerkenwell.  My spirit feels uplifted walking these streets.

The second is that my greatest fear did not materialise.  Shortly before we left London, I shared this quote with my friend Mike to highlight my angst:

A melancholy lesson of advancing years is the realisation that you can’t make old friends.

- Christopher Hitchens

To which, proving he is wise as well as handsome, he responded:

"You can't make old friends" implies that deep, meaningful friendships can only be formed over time and new friends lack depth. Sweetie, I’ll take quality over quantity any day. I’ve lost so many friends over the years for various reasons: death, changing geography, changing paths, disappointments, growing up, bending with the road. Over time people change and grow. But there are new shared experiences with new people, who offer fresh perspectives, new energy. Just look at you & Larry and how you became fast friends over the shared event at the World Trade Center.  Old friends have a special place in our hearts, but the idea that we can’t make old friends overlooks the potential for meaningful connections with new people. Friendships form at any stage in life.

And he was right.  We have met a solid group of friends in our first year here.  There's not the same level of casual understanding that comes with having shared years of life with someone, but we have found some of our people, and we do not feel socially bereft.  We feel like we fit; we feel at home.  At 51, this is a blessing.

So a bonza first year.  Here's to year two!

G'day,

Shaun

Even the Fountain of Youth runs dry eventually...Sushil turned 40 last month!  We celebrated in a properly middle-aged way, renting a villa in Koh Samui, Thailand.  We had a week of good food, friends, cocktails and massages.  But very few hangovers, and even several good naps.

Cheers to the birthday boy man!

We had a few Londoners - Leslie, Craig and Johnny - join us on the island.

A highlight of the week: we had a personal chef come to the villa to make us lunch.  The som tum?  Was delish!

Sushil and Leslie worked off lunch with a vigorous game of water polo.

Contemplating life in a new decade.

Back in Sydney, Autumn has fallen on Surry Hills.

My belovéd Reservoir Street.  When Sushil and I were walking down it on 17 July last year to see the first flat on our list of viewings, I remember telling him 'This is exactly the kind of street I want to live on here.'  And that's the flat we took.

We had a long weekend in Adelaide, the capital of South Australia.  It's known for being a gentle, planned city, having the second-largest Fringe after Edinburgh, and, most importantly, having the best wine regions in Australia in its hinterland.

Napa or McLaren Vale?

Adelaide has fantastic wine bars to go with the fantastic wine - and the perfect weather for a cosy jumper and a glass of red.

Shaun H. Coley ~ Surry Hills ~ Sydney, NSW ~ Australia

Laoicious

We are rounding up our first proper holiday since moving to Australia.  I am writing this from the Cathay Pacific lounge at BKK, enjoying our last long-haul trip that will be covered by Sushil's BA status, which expires in April.  It's been a good run.

We decided to go to Laos as neither of us had been there, and we only had a week+, which we thought would be enough.  It turned out to be too long by several days, but we went into this holiday wanting a period of stasis and calm - we've had a lot of motion in the past half year - and we got that in our first stop, Luang Prabang.  We got a nicer hotel than we normally do (thank you, Qantas deals), and spent considerable time poolside.  LP had a hint of Varanasi to it, with its concentration of temples, displays of piousness, and tumbledown streets leading to a sacred river.  In fact, Laos in general felt like a much, much toned-down version of India, minus the readily-available vegetarian food, but heavily compensated by the ready availability of som tom.  We managed to peg together enough to do away from the pool, but I suffer pretty quickly from temple fatigue, so we were definitely pushing it, even with our ample dedicated relaxation time.

Our last three nights were in the capital, Vientiane, and, to be honest, we could've skipped it with little loss.  The 20th-century history is really fascinating for someone who grew up in the shadow of the Vietnam War (called the American War here), and just the word Mekong conjures up Cold War intrigue and a sense of the verboten.  But again, the temples.  We elected not to take any tours as they were shockingly expensive for this part of the world, and the itineraries were heavily weighted with temples and shrines.  But it was great to see the only calm capital of Southeast Asia while it's still relatively under the radar.  (Starbucks and the influencers have arrived, so that ship is rapidly leaving the dock.)  And the som tom?  Yum!

ໂຊກດີເດີ້,

Shaun 

Our first som tom of the trip.

The alms-giving ceremony is meant to be a highlight of a visit to Luang Prabang, but it's the second-worst tourist experience I've had (the first being the dolphin boat in Zanzibar).  It's meant to be a solemn and sacred ceremony, but it has been commercialised and commodified to the point that it feels more like one of those "native dance" shows you see at buffet dinners.  As we were walking into town, I started to get a sense of dread as we were passed by van after van of group tours en route.  Once we made it, there was nary a Laotian Buddhist to be seen, just group after group of (mostly) Chinese tourists, giving 'alms' of cheap tatty rice crackers and the like (rather than sticky rice and fruit) supplied by their tour guides (we saw one of the monks throw their accumulation away), jostling for the perfect Instagram shot, and talking and shouting when there is supposed to be reverent silence.  I think there is a cultural aspect to the inappropriate volume, but I wonder if it was amplified by a subconscious disregard for Buddhist sensitivities inculcated by decades of Chinese propaganda after the invasion and subjugation of Tibet.  Whatever the reason, it was ugly.

 

What turned out to be the highlight of Luang Prabang - and all of Laos - was the sunset tour on the Mekong.  We were on a small boat, only about 12 people, and it was gorgeous.  Recreating a high-school prom photo was not obligatory, but we elected to anyway.

 

I was initially sceptical of going to the Kuang Si Waterfall, but it turned out to be beautiful, and a great day out.  It's actually a collection of several different levels of falls that you pass on a very-manageable 20-minute or so hike.  However, as you'd expect in this day and age, behind the lens was a sea of selfie sticks and self-styled influencers.

  

The most interesting - it's hard to say best in this context - part of Vientiane was the COPE Visitor Centre.  This is where the victims of unexploded ordnance accidents receive treatment, rehabilitation and psychological support.  I knew that the US covertly bombed Laos during the Vietnam war, but I had absolutely no clue about the scale: the equivalent of a planeload of bombs every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years, making it the most heavily-bombed country per capita in history.  They seemed to have forgotten to mention that in my US history book.

There are signs like this all around Laos, so it's not hard to fathom who's winning the war for influence in this part of the world.  Perhaps America could start upping its game by fully funding the COPE Centre.

The Time Square of Vientiane.

We declined to sample the street alligator meat.

Final Mekong sunset of the trip, with Thailand across the river.

Shaun H. Coley ~ Surry Hills ~ Sydney, NSW ~ Australia

Cheerio guv'nor, g'day mate

Since the Brexit vote, I haven't felt totally settled in London England.  While the level of angst has waxed and waned with the passing of time and Prime Ministers, there's always been an undercurrent of What's next? in my emotional state.  But in recent years, as I have seriously and unseriously considered hypothetical new homes in my travels,  I've come to realise that, despite its faults and the political aneurysm of 2016, the UK is still a pretty good place to be.  And my paradigm within it - as a Londoner - is still top of the global urban heap.

Still, I've had that itch for change, for at least one more big life adventure before I am - seriously this time - too old to take such a big leap.  And I am going to have one: Sushil and I will be moving to Sydney next month.

While we put the plan into motion after our visit two years ago, the bureaucratic wheels turned very, very slowly, and our visas were only granted in April.  We, however, have not been slow.  Within days, we handed in our notices at work, bought our tickets, and started sharing the news.  We will fly out of London on 09 July, have a sojourn in San Diego en route, and arrive in Sydney on 17 July.  I am excited for the adventure, but terrified of pulling up the roots I've grown here; I didn't realise how deep they were until leaving stopped being hypothetical.  But as the date approaches, I am getting more excited than scared.

Our plan is to stay in Sydney for 2-3 years and travel around that part of the world.  So, please accept this as my invitation to visit us Down Under.  Or if you will be travelling somewhere in South/Southeast/East Asia, let us know and we can try to overlap with you.  If we don't love it, we'll be back sooner rather than later, so don't hang about, OK?  We're gonna be really far away from those we love - we're gonna need to see some friendly faces.

Cheerio,

Shaun

Despite the short timeframe to pack up our lives, we had a few trips already on the books.  One was to Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia.  Despite its Caucasian location, it definitely feels European, and most of it is prettier than one might suppose of an ex-Soviet capital.

But much of it is also as unpretty as one might suppose of an ex-Soviet capital.

A Soviet capital wouldn't be a Soviet capital without a grandiose monument or two, now would it?

Lara, Pops and I went to Málaga and Seville for Pops' birthday.  This was the view from our place.  ¡Muy bonita!

Salud from an Irish pub - how very Costa of us.

Seville was stunning.  Beautiful, sophisticated, interesting.  Despite the 40º, I wish we'd had more time there.

As we were in Seville, of course Pops had to go to...the barber. (Ba dum dum)

Pops spiffed up and classed up - ¡olé!

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK

Stromae

I learned about the Belgian artist Stromae from my Dutch friend, Lottie, when we were in Kolkata, on the way to a rural Indian village for the wedding of the brother of my Indian husband, Sushil, who I lived with in London and who I met on holiday in Mumbai with my Vegas friend, Russ.

It's a preposterous sentence.  But it's true, and the gist of which I said to (my German friend) Jan during one of our YouTube blackholes.  While the provenance of my knowledge of Stromae is an important factoid in TLOS, the reason I recall this particular blackhole conversation is that I remember telling Jan how I wish I could say this sentence to my seventeen-year-old self.  That with all of its compounded layers I could let him know that, as trapped as he felt then, as much angst as he had about the possibilities of the future, it was going to be OK: to tell him 'you are going to have a lot of adventures, and life is gonna be a lot of fucking fun'.

Now, my dissatisfaction with Las Vegas as a hometown is no secret.  But as the city and I both change and grow, it's become more of a trope than anything visceral.  The Vegas of today is not the Vegas of then, and being gay anywhere is different from how it was in post-Reagan America.  Understandably, the time and place are conflated to a degree in my psyche.  But Vegas no longer makes me 'itch' after a few days; now it's just like any other city, with its good, its bad, and its legendarily long traffic signals.  But this anytown is my hometown.

So as I started to approach my 50th birthday and think about how I wanted to mark half a century of life, the only thing that came to my mind was returning to Vegas - 50 just seemed like the time to go back to where I'm from.  So last month, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, groups of my friends and family from different places and times of my life came together for dinners, drinks, a whole lot of tomfoolery, and good vibes and love all around.  It was perfect.  And it was great to show my hometown to so many people for the first time.  You understand someone a bit better, I think, when you've been to where they're from.  And now they know this Vegas boy a little bit better too.

xo from the fifth floor,

Shaun

Hello, world!

Keeping it classy on Fremont Street.

America, fuck yeah! 🇺🇸

A very Vegas lunch - "a touch of Parisian charm" on a man-made lake in a master-planned community in Western suburbia.

Tomfoolery in action.  With a few very notable exceptions, most of the people I love most in life made it.

Lottie, of Stromae fame, taking in the local charm of Boulder City.

Me just after the birthday song at dinner.  Now that wasn't so bad, was it?  Didn't hurt at all.  Perhaps it was the margaritas...

One cannot have a milestone birthday without an elevator selfie.

The last ones standing (somewhat).

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

Maybe it's Because I'm a Londoner

12 August 2024 marks 19 years since I arrived in London.  It might seem an odd anniversary to note, but it means that I have definitely lived here longer than anywhere else, including my hometown of Las Vegas.  I don't know exactly when my family moved to Vegas, but it wasn't too far from my first birthday, so at most I had 18 and a bit years there.  I've also lived a lot more of my adult life here (19 years) than in America (12 years).

Not that it makes any meaningful difference, but I do notice that I am not fully of the place I left anymore.  In my mind, America is the America of 2005.  Likewise for its cities important to me: New York, Las Vegas, San Francisco.  No matter how often I go back, there's a growing sense of discombobulation as places change and deviate from my memory of them.  I've noticed this with my friends and family as well.  Not that walls have grown up between us or anything like that, but their last two decades of lived experience have not been the same as mine, so our presumptions, perspectives and expectations are not always as aligned anymore.

What it all boils down to is that, for the longest time, I felt like an American living in London, but I don't anymore.  I don't exactly feel British - and certainly not English - but I feel more of here than there.  All part of the immigrant experience, I suppose - at least the white, Anglo one.

I had thought that this milestone would feel a bit more momentous.  But while my years here have made me feel more local, living through the reality of those 19 years dampened the unalloyed joy I once felt.  But it feels like something - and I'd still rather be here than there, especially staring down the barrel of Trump 2.0.  I guess that's all part of living here versus being on vacation.  That feeling can't last forever, and you can either take the rough with the smooth, or you can leave.  Will I be here in 19 years hence?  Let's see.  But I'm not throwing in the towel on London yet.

Cheers,

Shaun

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

Bremen: die Stadt der Rathäuser

I am enjoying my week+ in Bremen.  I've been here several times before, but on full-family visits.  This time it is just Pops and me.  Lara and I coordinated this visit to overlap with time that her family would be away so that we could minimise the amount of time that Pops would be with a professional carer.  Pops doesn't need active care 24/7, but he needs someone to be generally around to make sure he is alright.  A side effect of this different kind of visit is that I am getting to know the city in the way that I usually would when I travel.  

Lara knows the city, has a car, and is a great cook, so when I am here we are mostly socialising at home, with occasional errands or meals (both usually by car) out at her favourites.  This visit, I have more time and no direction, so I am doing what I normally do: taking transit and exploring areas on foot.  It makes me feel so much more connected to the city.  On the first day I noticed a difference in my perception of Bremen: it's a lot more diverse, and has a lot more going on, than I had realised before.  Lottie also came for a visit and I took her on a tour, which meant connecting the various dots of previous trips together, as I was navigating us around by tram and foot.  It created a new, more joined-up mental map of the city for me, and I quite like it.  It's not Berlin or London or anything like that, but it has more character and breadth than I'd previously supposed.

What's been difficult has been seeing Pops' decline.  It's noticeable.  More forgetful, quicker to dip into repetition.  His facts are getting sloppier (he thinks he lived in Vegas for over 30 years; the "Prophet" of Whitby has become Mother's in one of his go-tos - not sure what he's conflating there), and he's physically slower and smaller.  The worst thing, though, is the vacant look in his eyes.  Sometimes it comes across as confusion or boredom, but many times it's like he's just done.  There's rarely a sparkle there.  Even when he's telling the story about "Mother's" it's like he's looking at some distant point behind me, as if he doesn't even care about the story, he just doesn't know what else to do but tell it.  There have been a few vibrant moments, but it's like he's slipping into a void.  Which I guess, in a way, he is.  I'm thankful that he's not angry, aggressive or (for the most part) paranoid.  But love him or loathe him (who could?!), my dad was always a lively character, and that is now fading along with his memory.

I am so thankful my Dad is here for this phase of his life though.  We've been mostly together, but he's gone out to do his own thing from time to time, because he could.  One, he has old enough knowledge of this city that he can remember how to get to his hideaways and back, but two, there are walkable neighbourhoods and public transport that allow him to have that independence.  He goes to the local bakery, the corner store, Netto, his favourite Irish pub or the library when he needs something, or is just bored and wants to get out of the house.  If he were still in America, he'd be stuck at home, all day, every day, with maybe a weekly visit to the nearest Walmart when the local senior transport was serving his area.  I can't imagine how much more his mind would've atrophied without this level of autonomy and stimulation.

Mit gemischten Gefühlen aus Bremen,

Shaun 

The old and the new on Bremer Marktplatz.

I originally planned a side trip for Pops and me to visit Lottie (and Wuppertal!), but when the reality of his condition set in, I cancelled on the morning.  Amazing Lottie and her husband discussed it and decided that she should come here last minute instead, despite having plans with their three kids and in-laws on the books.  Friends like that do not come into your life often.  Treasure them.

Bremer Roland has been looking over the town square since Joe Biden was born in 1404.  ("The Roland statue at Bremen is the oldest surviving example...the symbol of civic liberty and freedom spread to other cities and has become a symbol of the new Europe." - Wikipedia)

Since I've had more time in Bremen, I am doing one of my favourite city activities and checking out some of the local museums.  First on the list was the Paula Modersohn-Becker Museum.  It's the first museum in the world that was dedicated to the work of a female artist.  Apparently Hitler was not very impressed with it, but I was.

Next up was the Weserburg Museum of Modern Art, a mini-Tate, as it were.  There was some great stuff, but what I really loved was that there was this surprisingly large venue in the middle of the city that had so few visitors*.  For me, there is an occasional connection with a specific piece of work when I visit a museum, but mostly I just love the combined experience of place, people and art.  I've never been to a museum before that had so much on offer and allowed so much time and space to take it in.  I had most galleries to myself for the duration.  No silent ballet around others between viewing the works and reading the descriptions.  No pressure at all to move on from something I was taking in.  I was able to watch the entirety of 'We Are Here!' from Utopia Now (fabulous) without the distracting shuffle of people in and out of the room.

Tomorrow I plan to go to the Kunsthalle, but that will come after the publication of this edition.

*What I also love is that there is sufficient state funding to allow this.

Pops showing a brief moment of vim this evening at Gallo.  He loved that the waiter ("Alberto's man") recognised him and made sure we were looked after.

London?  Berlin?  Bremen?  They've got more in common than I thought.

Winter is (still) here

It's been an awfully long Winter.  And I don't just mean the 900 years of Tory government.  Like 2011-12, 2023-24 has been one of those years where Winter came in early Autumn and is still with us.  I love low, grey weather - I am happiest in a jumper and no sunglasses.  But even this many months of dreary, cold, wet weather is too much.  Will it ever end?

At least politically, it has finally ended.  Britain is basking in the sunlight of hope, if not actual sunlight.  Football might even finally be coming home.  But while I am happy to see the back of the Tories and a change in tone and political leaning, I really don't think life in Britain will be much different at the end of this parliament that at the start.  There will be some good-press stick-it-to-'em tax rises, and there might be a bit more money for the NHS, education and local government, but there is no civic or political will to change the fundamentals of broken Britain.  At best, we will see tinkering in the right direction over the next five years.  But that was the choice we had on 04 July, and we got the best option.  At least we're not in America's shoes.

While we haven't been able to escape the political tempest on these sceptred isles, we did get a break from the meteorological one.  Over Sushil's birthday we had a sunny holiday in Nairobi and Zanzibar.  New places for both of us, a little bit of gritty urban exploration followed by some relaxing downtime on hot, sandy beaches - and an upgrade to business class on the return flight - turned out to be a great break far away from it all.

Fingers crossed that hopeful sunlight manifests itself faster and stronger than anyone thinks.

Cheers,

Shaun

Nairobi is the 'New York of East Africa', a busy, buzzing metropolis full of opportunity and freedom for millions of people from Kenya and beyond.  It's notably in the developing phase of its history, with gleaming skyscrapers next to decrepit piles, and lush, gated residential estates lining potholed roads, but it has the energy of a place on the up.  We were there before the recent protests, though, so not sure if there's a different mood in the air now.

There are entrepreneurs everywhere, including those taking advantage of the TikTok economy.  Good lighting and cameras are expensive, so aspiring influencers can hire them from dozens of teams who line the streets of central Nairobi.

We made it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro!

My brand new sunbrella got to go on its first holiday with us.

First sunset in Zanzibar.

The turtle sanctuary in Zanzibar. Who doesn't love turtles?

One of the commonest things to do in Northern Zanzibar is a boat trip to the 'Maldives of Zanzibar', a gorgeous area of sandbanks and coral.  While it was genuinely beautiful, I was not prepared for the volume of boats that were doing the same exact route to the same exact Instagram hotspots.  When you see the pictures online, it looks like they are in pristine solitude.  What you don't see is that behind them there are 30 other boats full of tourists positioning themselves just so to get the same misleading image.  And we were there in low season, I can't imagine it at the peak.

And then the dolphins - the poor dolphins.  When any were spotted, all 30 boats would speed towards them and encircle them so people could jump into the water to take a snapshot.  They must’ve felt like they were being hunted and been terrified.  It was awful to see and I’m horrified I played any part in it.

Stone Town, the old colonial part of the capital, was more my vibe.  Touristed, yes, but lived-in, walkable and lively.  We opted to take a female-guided walking tour.  Despite the many Western visitors, Zanzibar is conservative and Muslim; female empowerment is low.  Our guide was great, clever and funny, and surprisingly candid about her life and the reality of women on the island.  She's still single because she wants to find a husband who will allow her to work after they are married.  In a sense, and within her paradigm, that is a sort of empowerment.  Ten or so years ago there were no female guides, and now there are more than 20.  Progress can be slow, but progress there is.

Memorial at the former slave market in Zanzibar. Arab slave trade, not European, some are quick to point out. Happening while under a British protectorate, less quick on that bit.

Wishful thinking in Stone Town.

Prison Island never actually hosted any prisoners, it ended up being used for quarantine instead, but is now a sanctuary for giant tortoises.

Final sunset in Zanzibar.