Kerry Tolson's Blog
April 30, 2017
A splash of fairy dust in Brunswick Heads
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com 
Artist: Glenn Case, SuperWetPaint My latest project has me visiting all the local towns, villages, hamlets, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it two-abode communities and spots that are just so out of the way no one realizes they’re there. And like localities the world over, each and every community has something beautiful, interesting, fabulous and quirky… or just down-right head-scratchingly bizarre in it.
Funky Brunswick Heads has the lot.
Brunz, as the locals call it, is famous for many things – it’s incredible beach, it’s stunning river, the Bikes and Kites Festival, the Fish and Chips Festival – which is actually all about fishing and woodchopping…. yes, definitely two things you'd think about at the same time - and of course, it is the Vintage-Retro capital of the Far North Coast – no, that’s not an official State declaration, just me declaring a statement that should be made official!
This laid-back sweet little village is filled with fabulous vintage and second-hand shops at every turn, cafés quirked up with real vintage fixtures and shops of all kinds oozing retro flair; it’s as if you've walked into a mash of beautiful memories.
On this glorious Saturday, we’d popped down to Brunz to hunt out its street art. And to have a quintessential Brunz breaky – another thing Brunswick Heads is famous for.
Artist: Leon McLean Parking the car at the top of Fingal Street in readiness to do the café sweep, we don't get too far when out pops a spark of familiar bright red, blue and yellow – Lego bricks – stacking up a wall. Looking up we find two little Lego men with their equipment putting out a blaze on the wall, just above them another two Lego chaps with a crane are repairing the crumbling bricks. 
read more
Artist: Glenn Case, SuperWetPaint My latest project has me visiting all the local towns, villages, hamlets, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it two-abode communities and spots that are just so out of the way no one realizes they’re there. And like localities the world over, each and every community has something beautiful, interesting, fabulous and quirky… or just down-right head-scratchingly bizarre in it. Funky Brunswick Heads has the lot.
Brunz, as the locals call it, is famous for many things – it’s incredible beach, it’s stunning river, the Bikes and Kites Festival, the Fish and Chips Festival – which is actually all about fishing and woodchopping…. yes, definitely two things you'd think about at the same time - and of course, it is the Vintage-Retro capital of the Far North Coast – no, that’s not an official State declaration, just me declaring a statement that should be made official!
This laid-back sweet little village is filled with fabulous vintage and second-hand shops at every turn, cafés quirked up with real vintage fixtures and shops of all kinds oozing retro flair; it’s as if you've walked into a mash of beautiful memories. On this glorious Saturday, we’d popped down to Brunz to hunt out its street art. And to have a quintessential Brunz breaky – another thing Brunswick Heads is famous for.
Artist: Leon McLean Parking the car at the top of Fingal Street in readiness to do the café sweep, we don't get too far when out pops a spark of familiar bright red, blue and yellow – Lego bricks – stacking up a wall. Looking up we find two little Lego men with their equipment putting out a blaze on the wall, just above them another two Lego chaps with a crane are repairing the crumbling bricks.
read more
February 26, 2017
Surfing Byron Bay's murals
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
"Catsua" by NITSUA. Johnson St. Realising we hadn't been to 'the bay' in over a year and at a loose end on a glorious sun-soaked Saturday afternoon, we moseyed on over to Byron Bay and soon found ourselves at the Surf Festival drooling over sweet teepees, acid-swirled kombies and incredibly stunning 'wall-hangers' - surfboards so beautiful they double up as both blades for the waves and works of art for the wall. Along with mermaid fins, princess-seashell crowns, happy-clappy yoga tents, shamanic wands and 'happy high' ale; it was all so very gloriously Bryon.
But there's so much more to the clichéd bryonian vibe and as we drifted along on a wave of bliss we soon found ourselves surfin' Bryon Bay's vibrant urban art scene.
read more
"Catsua" by NITSUA. Johnson St. Realising we hadn't been to 'the bay' in over a year and at a loose end on a glorious sun-soaked Saturday afternoon, we moseyed on over to Byron Bay and soon found ourselves at the Surf Festival drooling over sweet teepees, acid-swirled kombies and incredibly stunning 'wall-hangers' - surfboards so beautiful they double up as both blades for the waves and works of art for the wall. Along with mermaid fins, princess-seashell crowns, happy-clappy yoga tents, shamanic wands and 'happy high' ale; it was all so very gloriously Bryon. 
But there's so much more to the clichéd bryonian vibe and as we drifted along on a wave of bliss we soon found ourselves surfin' Bryon Bay's vibrant urban art scene.read more
February 17, 2017
Curving the way to the New Year
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
I was looking forward to ending off 2016; it’d been a turbulent year – ills and spills, headaches at work, writers block, microphone attacks during public speaking engagements, only one-week-away the whole year – just to name a few of my sad-sack quibbles that had gathered... and let's not forget that the world at large had gone a little strange; all my 80's idols suddenly popped off to have a rave party in the sky and a reality Z-lister was becoming leader of one of the most powerful nations on earth... so I couldn’t think of a better way to wave it off than to spend the last day of 2016 looking at a bridge. And not just any bridge, but the award winning Henderson Waves Bridge.
When I mention to Mal I want to go visit a bridge, he looks at me in alarm, obviously remembering another New Years trip away – a drive through south-east Victoria - in which I insisted on visiting every bridge mentioned in the tourist-information pamphlets, there were a lot of bridges!
‘How many more bridges do you want to see Singapore?’ he asks me with bewildered amusement.
I know where he’s going with this – Singapore has some great bridges, from the gorgeous ornate Anderson Bridge, the delightful twisty-wisty Helix Bridge, the simply beautiful Cavenagh Bridge - that I drag him over on every visit and the formidable Esplanade arches which I drag him under on every visit. Yes I have to admit, I do love the bridges of Singapore.
read more
I was looking forward to ending off 2016; it’d been a turbulent year – ills and spills, headaches at work, writers block, microphone attacks during public speaking engagements, only one-week-away the whole year – just to name a few of my sad-sack quibbles that had gathered... and let's not forget that the world at large had gone a little strange; all my 80's idols suddenly popped off to have a rave party in the sky and a reality Z-lister was becoming leader of one of the most powerful nations on earth... so I couldn’t think of a better way to wave it off than to spend the last day of 2016 looking at a bridge. And not just any bridge, but the award winning Henderson Waves Bridge. When I mention to Mal I want to go visit a bridge, he looks at me in alarm, obviously remembering another New Years trip away – a drive through south-east Victoria - in which I insisted on visiting every bridge mentioned in the tourist-information pamphlets, there were a lot of bridges!
‘How many more bridges do you want to see Singapore?’ he asks me with bewildered amusement.
I know where he’s going with this – Singapore has some great bridges, from the gorgeous ornate Anderson Bridge, the delightful twisty-wisty Helix Bridge, the simply beautiful Cavenagh Bridge - that I drag him over on every visit and the formidable Esplanade arches which I drag him under on every visit. Yes I have to admit, I do love the bridges of Singapore. read more
February 16, 2017
A day of Hell in Singapore
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
'Come on, hold my hand, we're going to hell.' A sentence you wouldn't expect to hear from a parent to their child. But these were the tender words we hear a dotting dad cheerfully murmured to his sweet toddling son of about 3years-of-age as we followed them under an arch and into a cave.
And hell it was!
It had me pondering the question:
What in the hell do they put into Tiger Balm!
... and was this the result if you rubbed on too much?
Day three of our jaunt around Singapore found us wandering through the extremely bizarre garden-gnomes-on-crack wacked-out gardens of Haw Par Villa, theme-park and the one time home of the Tiger Balm barons and brothers, Aw Boon Haw and Aw Boon Par.
Though I should add, there's not a single garden gnome to be seen among the 1000 garden statues that make up this park. however gorillas, mermaids, camera wielding badgers, gun toting elephants, dali-esque giraffes, human-headed-sword-waving crabs are all there, mixing it with serene buddhas, jitterbug jiving couples and crazed-eye white rabbits that would look right at home in a Monty-Python skit. The acid-trip psychedelic landscape is seriously mind-blowing and has us spinning between the emotions of screaming with laughter and being seriously freaked out.
Just to give the heads up....
a warning
disturbing images coming up
like this one....
read more
'Come on, hold my hand, we're going to hell.' A sentence you wouldn't expect to hear from a parent to their child. But these were the tender words we hear a dotting dad cheerfully murmured to his sweet toddling son of about 3years-of-age as we followed them under an arch and into a cave. And hell it was!
It had me pondering the question:
What in the hell do they put into Tiger Balm!
... and was this the result if you rubbed on too much?
Day three of our jaunt around Singapore found us wandering through the extremely bizarre garden-gnomes-on-crack wacked-out gardens of Haw Par Villa, theme-park and the one time home of the Tiger Balm barons and brothers, Aw Boon Haw and Aw Boon Par.
Though I should add, there's not a single garden gnome to be seen among the 1000 garden statues that make up this park. however gorillas, mermaids, camera wielding badgers, gun toting elephants, dali-esque giraffes, human-headed-sword-waving crabs are all there, mixing it with serene buddhas, jitterbug jiving couples and crazed-eye white rabbits that would look right at home in a Monty-Python skit. The acid-trip psychedelic landscape is seriously mind-blowing and has us spinning between the emotions of screaming with laughter and being seriously freaked out.
Just to give the heads up....
a warning
disturbing images coming up
like this one....
read moreFebruary 14, 2017
Gross National Flavour - in Bhutan, there's never too much. Let's cook Ema Datshi.
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com.
Carpeting rooftops in ever changing hues of carmine and amber, piled high in conical mounds with a polished sheen in early morning light or draped in garland ribbons across window frames, they are the curtains of fire for the palate and the soul of every meal.
Packing a fiery punch, it is the warder of evil, the bringer of luck and the warmer of heart and body. A Kings delicacy and the everyday-mans staple, it is not hard to see the reverence the chili holds here in this mystical kingdom where the most venerated holy man was known as the 'mad monk' who bed over one
thousand women and a nations worth is measured in happiness. It is the embodiment of the spirited flavour this country exudes.
The blast of chilli - ema - is not just flavour to a dish; it is the main ingredient, served at every meal, eaten with gusto, and for myself, comes with great wads of snot and tears running down my face. No dining experience is not without a tinge of red to the nose or lingering mouth burning sensation.
Extrinsic to almost every part of Bhutanese life, there is a saying that you haven’t visited Bhutan if you haven’t eaten the national dish – Ema Datshi – at least once and you’ve only glimpsed Bhutan if you haven’t heaped it upon your plate, three times a day, and gone back for seconds.
Our three-week ramble through the hidden kingdom culminated with a cooking lesson to ensure we took home its very essence and for the next two hours we embraced the long red strip of intensity as we delved into its spirit and learned to conjure it up.
Taking place in a farmhouse kitchen, simple in design and infused with an aroma of sharp tang and warm sweetness, we note the spread of simple ingredients that make full-bodied dish. Silky palm-rolled balls of spongy white cheese - datshi - and knolls of newly picked red and green chilies, sliced longitudinally in quarters, still grasping their seeds line a long bench, grooved, dented and carved from the many family meals prepared on its soft muted timber. Beside the chillies and cheese is a onion of medium size – waiting to be diced, a large tomato – to be chopped, a bulb of garlic; its small corns smashed, exuding a glorious pungent scent and a generous pinch of salt. Already our eyes prickle from the mixing waft of chilli fumes and earthy fermented cheese.
Blue flames lick the side of a wok and Sonam, our host and cooking instructor pours into it a cup of water. It quickly boils and double handfuls of chilli, the onion and garlic are added. They bubble away for three minutes, the steamed fragrance hanging heavily and dampening the air.
We dollop a tablespoon of thick yellow unsalted butter into the mix and gently stir, every now and then delicately dipping the chillies beneath the surface and giving them a prod, testing for tenderness.
Sonam cautions about putting the lid onto the pan at this point, explaining it will trap in the moisture, causing the sauce to thin out. 'And it makes more fumes too, burn your eyes when you take lid off' he adds. I muse that perhaps we should all be wearing full face masks as I reach for a tissue.
When a pliable softness is detected (it takes almost fifteen minutes) two balls of cheese are roughly broken into chunks and dropped into the middle of the fusion. This particular cheese is unique to Bhutan, made from yak or mares milk, it is rarely found outside the country and so Sonam suggest we use Danish Feta as a substitute when we make this back at home. The cheese melts, blending and lightly coating the chillies, adding an extra gloss to their shine.
As it morphs into a thick sauce, we occasionally dab at it; it’s imperative that there be no stirring during this stage as to do so will have the cheese sticking to the pan and burning. And there's no way I want to be the one cleaning it!
After three minutes the diced tomato is added along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. It's explained to us that adding the tomato and salt towards the end will stop the cheese from setting, as well as reduce some of the punch of the chilli.
The pan is then covered for two minutes, bringing the cheese to a cauldron bubble and finishing the cooking process. We are assured that at this point the gaseous reaction of the ingredients is now defused and instead there is a promise of enticing mouth-watering aroma.
Extinguishing the flame, the dish stands for a moment before the lid is removed and the fusion is then gently folded into itself. 
Sitting down to eat we tentatively scoop ema datshi onto red rice, fiddlehead ferns fried with chili and lashings of spiced potatoes, also coated with their own fusion of cheese and chilli. Our portions are barely teaspoon size compared to the liberally ladled wodges gracing our hosts plates. The centre dish is refilled for seconds. Chilli is not just a seasoning, it is the whole vegetable as well as the side salad; there is never too much.
And those tears, we tell ourselves, that stream down our cheeks as we laugh-cough, wipe runny noses and gulp for air in search for coolness are the heady endorphin rushes of a flavoursome gross national joy.
Carpeting rooftops in ever changing hues of carmine and amber, piled high in conical mounds with a polished sheen in early morning light or draped in garland ribbons across window frames, they are the curtains of fire for the palate and the soul of every meal. Packing a fiery punch, it is the warder of evil, the bringer of luck and the warmer of heart and body. A Kings delicacy and the everyday-mans staple, it is not hard to see the reverence the chili holds here in this mystical kingdom where the most venerated holy man was known as the 'mad monk' who bed over one
thousand women and a nations worth is measured in happiness. It is the embodiment of the spirited flavour this country exudes.
The blast of chilli - ema - is not just flavour to a dish; it is the main ingredient, served at every meal, eaten with gusto, and for myself, comes with great wads of snot and tears running down my face. No dining experience is not without a tinge of red to the nose or lingering mouth burning sensation. Extrinsic to almost every part of Bhutanese life, there is a saying that you haven’t visited Bhutan if you haven’t eaten the national dish – Ema Datshi – at least once and you’ve only glimpsed Bhutan if you haven’t heaped it upon your plate, three times a day, and gone back for seconds.
Our three-week ramble through the hidden kingdom culminated with a cooking lesson to ensure we took home its very essence and for the next two hours we embraced the long red strip of intensity as we delved into its spirit and learned to conjure it up. Taking place in a farmhouse kitchen, simple in design and infused with an aroma of sharp tang and warm sweetness, we note the spread of simple ingredients that make full-bodied dish. Silky palm-rolled balls of spongy white cheese - datshi - and knolls of newly picked red and green chilies, sliced longitudinally in quarters, still grasping their seeds line a long bench, grooved, dented and carved from the many family meals prepared on its soft muted timber. Beside the chillies and cheese is a onion of medium size – waiting to be diced, a large tomato – to be chopped, a bulb of garlic; its small corns smashed, exuding a glorious pungent scent and a generous pinch of salt. Already our eyes prickle from the mixing waft of chilli fumes and earthy fermented cheese. Blue flames lick the side of a wok and Sonam, our host and cooking instructor pours into it a cup of water. It quickly boils and double handfuls of chilli, the onion and garlic are added. They bubble away for three minutes, the steamed fragrance hanging heavily and dampening the air. We dollop a tablespoon of thick yellow unsalted butter into the mix and gently stir, every now and then delicately dipping the chillies beneath the surface and giving them a prod, testing for tenderness.
Sonam cautions about putting the lid onto the pan at this point, explaining it will trap in the moisture, causing the sauce to thin out. 'And it makes more fumes too, burn your eyes when you take lid off' he adds. I muse that perhaps we should all be wearing full face masks as I reach for a tissue.
When a pliable softness is detected (it takes almost fifteen minutes) two balls of cheese are roughly broken into chunks and dropped into the middle of the fusion. This particular cheese is unique to Bhutan, made from yak or mares milk, it is rarely found outside the country and so Sonam suggest we use Danish Feta as a substitute when we make this back at home. The cheese melts, blending and lightly coating the chillies, adding an extra gloss to their shine. As it morphs into a thick sauce, we occasionally dab at it; it’s imperative that there be no stirring during this stage as to do so will have the cheese sticking to the pan and burning. And there's no way I want to be the one cleaning it! After three minutes the diced tomato is added along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. It's explained to us that adding the tomato and salt towards the end will stop the cheese from setting, as well as reduce some of the punch of the chilli.
The pan is then covered for two minutes, bringing the cheese to a cauldron bubble and finishing the cooking process. We are assured that at this point the gaseous reaction of the ingredients is now defused and instead there is a promise of enticing mouth-watering aroma.
Extinguishing the flame, the dish stands for a moment before the lid is removed and the fusion is then gently folded into itself. Sitting down to eat we tentatively scoop ema datshi onto red rice, fiddlehead ferns fried with chili and lashings of spiced potatoes, also coated with their own fusion of cheese and chilli. Our portions are barely teaspoon size compared to the liberally ladled wodges gracing our hosts plates. The centre dish is refilled for seconds. Chilli is not just a seasoning, it is the whole vegetable as well as the side salad; there is never too much.And those tears, we tell ourselves, that stream down our cheeks as we laugh-cough, wipe runny noses and gulp for air in search for coolness are the heady endorphin rushes of a flavoursome gross national joy.
January 29, 2017
And the Rooster crows. Lunar New Year 2017.
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com.
Inspired by the decorations we saw springing up all over Singapore in readiness for the coming Lunar New Year we were keen to welcome in the “Year of the Rooster”
and gave ourselves a little ‘nightcation’ in Brisbane, joining Chinatown’s vibrant celebrations. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye to the 2016 Year of the Monkey – Monkey had definitely lived up to his traits, it’d been a year of upheavals and mischief and I was eager to welcome in a crowing of new beginnings and awakenings. Lunar New Year (or Chinese New Year as it is popularly known) falls on the 2nd new moon of the northern winter solstice … or between the dates of January 21 and February 22. This year falls on January 28th. read more
Inspired by the decorations we saw springing up all over Singapore in readiness for the coming Lunar New Year we were keen to welcome in the “Year of the Rooster” and gave ourselves a little ‘nightcation’ in Brisbane, joining Chinatown’s vibrant celebrations. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye to the 2016 Year of the Monkey – Monkey had definitely lived up to his traits, it’d been a year of upheavals and mischief and I was eager to welcome in a crowing of new beginnings and awakenings. Lunar New Year (or Chinese New Year as it is popularly known) falls on the 2nd new moon of the northern winter solstice … or between the dates of January 21 and February 22. This year falls on January 28th. read moreJanuary 27, 2017
What is Not Visible in Not Invisible: Homeless Jesus and the surplus pots. (Part 2 of day 2)
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com.
Fifty minutes later we arrive back to Singapore central to a bucketing down deluge of big fat hard-smacking raindrops and grey skies. A blanket of mugginess wraps itself around us as we step from Raffles plaza onto the footpath.
Our next destination was to walk over to Marina Bay Sands and zip up to the sky park with its largest infinity swimming pool in the world, on the way stopping for a nibble to eat at one of the many cafes at the esplanade.
Instead we duck back into the shopping mall, down the escalator and find ourselves ‘picnicking’, Asian style – mouth-watering Vietnamese fare and cheap beer in enamel cups while sitting on cute plastic stools with a 'field of grass' table.
It's still raining after lunch, so we head for the National Museum of Singapore located in a beautiful 1887 Renaissance-style building filled with endless rows of arches and a massive ‘white-house’-esqe dome. The museum is the oldest in Singapore, although it’s original name was the “Raffles Library and Museum”.
Its building is a big favourite for photographers of all scopes. There are ‘shoots’ everywhere – wedding pics, fashion shoots, photography-workshops – all taking place while we wander through the stunning architecture - and inadvertently photo bomb the equally stunning images with 'the-drown-rat'-in-the-background' pose.
Read more
Fifty minutes later we arrive back to Singapore central to a bucketing down deluge of big fat hard-smacking raindrops and grey skies. A blanket of mugginess wraps itself around us as we step from Raffles plaza onto the footpath.Our next destination was to walk over to Marina Bay Sands and zip up to the sky park with its largest infinity swimming pool in the world, on the way stopping for a nibble to eat at one of the many cafes at the esplanade.
Instead we duck back into the shopping mall, down the escalator and find ourselves ‘picnicking’, Asian style – mouth-watering Vietnamese fare and cheap beer in enamel cups while sitting on cute plastic stools with a 'field of grass' table.
It's still raining after lunch, so we head for the National Museum of Singapore located in a beautiful 1887 Renaissance-style building filled with endless rows of arches and a massive ‘white-house’-esqe dome. The museum is the oldest in Singapore, although it’s original name was the “Raffles Library and Museum”. Its building is a big favourite for photographers of all scopes. There are ‘shoots’ everywhere – wedding pics, fashion shoots, photography-workshops – all taking place while we wander through the stunning architecture - and inadvertently photo bomb the equally stunning images with 'the-drown-rat'-in-the-background' pose.
Read more
January 26, 2017
Fighting dragons, dangerous turtles and the bird paparazzi - it's all there in the Singapore Chinese Gardens. Part 1 of day 2.
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com.
Singapore is known by many monikers from the ‘Little Red Dot’ and ‘The Fine City’ to the ‘Asian Tiger’, the ‘Lion City’, and ‘Chilly Crab Country’. But today it was the ‘Garden City’, and that is just what we planned to do today, explore its beautiful gardens… just as soon as we could drag ourselves away from our ridiculously sumptuous bed and our ridiculously scrumptious breakfast overlooking absurdly opulent views… particularly the little known but incredibly tranquil Chinese and Japanese Gardens. These gardens, nestled on two small islands in the Jurong Lake (which sits on the western side of Singapore) are just a short fifty-minute MRT trip away from the city.
[image error] It’s a brilliant day screaming out clear blue skies and with it comes a mugginess that has me breathless the moment I step from the air-conditioned train. This is a small problem we find with travelling around Sing… from the moment we wake up in our suite, we don’t step out of air-con into fresh air until we reach our destination. Our hotel leads directly into the Raffles City Centre, which in turn leads into the City Hall MRT, which takes you directly onto an air-conditioned train to another air-conditioned station. It’s not until we reach the Chinese Gardens Station an hour later that we realise how heavy and moist the air is.
read more
Singapore is known by many monikers from the ‘Little Red Dot’ and ‘The Fine City’ to the ‘Asian Tiger’, the ‘Lion City’, and ‘Chilly Crab Country’. But today it was the ‘Garden City’, and that is just what we planned to do today, explore its beautiful gardens… just as soon as we could drag ourselves away from our ridiculously sumptuous bed and our ridiculously scrumptious breakfast overlooking absurdly opulent views… particularly the little known but incredibly tranquil Chinese and Japanese Gardens. These gardens, nestled on two small islands in the Jurong Lake (which sits on the western side of Singapore) are just a short fifty-minute MRT trip away from the city.
[image error] It’s a brilliant day screaming out clear blue skies and with it comes a mugginess that has me breathless the moment I step from the air-conditioned train. This is a small problem we find with travelling around Sing… from the moment we wake up in our suite, we don’t step out of air-con into fresh air until we reach our destination. Our hotel leads directly into the Raffles City Centre, which in turn leads into the City Hall MRT, which takes you directly onto an air-conditioned train to another air-conditioned station. It’s not until we reach the Chinese Gardens Station an hour later that we realise how heavy and moist the air is.
read more
January 15, 2017
Emerald Dragons and Peacock Brides.
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
While I finish off my posts for Singapore, I thought I might share with you a reminisce of a trip past - to Cambodia back in 2007. I have cheated a little bit, as this is not a new write, but an article I wrote back in 2010 for a local daily.
The first time I had considered Cambodia as a travel destination was when I read Geraldine Cox's book - Home is Where The Heart Is. This war torn, landmine scattered country held both interest and caution to me - I wanted to delve into the temples and Buddhist beliefs of this damaged country, but it was the horrors of Pol Pot and landmines; the description of a prison without walls that kept me cautious of visiting.
Then I came across an article by David May in the Sunday Telegraph back in 2000 where the first paragraph read "Scarlet dragonflies hover like little helicopters around the half dozen Khmer women squatting beside trays of dragonfruit in the eerie silence along the pot holed road to ruins" The picture of huge tree roots hugging a decaying temple captured me. I needed to go there and in 2007 we did.
A beautiful country filled with beautiful heartfelt people, their delight in a better future wipes away any worries I have about where I go in life. They see hope in every day. They have seen the horrors of what man can do for control. Cambodia taught me in just 10 days to accept change and not try to always control.
read more
While I finish off my posts for Singapore, I thought I might share with you a reminisce of a trip past - to Cambodia back in 2007. I have cheated a little bit, as this is not a new write, but an article I wrote back in 2010 for a local daily.The first time I had considered Cambodia as a travel destination was when I read Geraldine Cox's book - Home is Where The Heart Is. This war torn, landmine scattered country held both interest and caution to me - I wanted to delve into the temples and Buddhist beliefs of this damaged country, but it was the horrors of Pol Pot and landmines; the description of a prison without walls that kept me cautious of visiting.
Then I came across an article by David May in the Sunday Telegraph back in 2000 where the first paragraph read "Scarlet dragonflies hover like little helicopters around the half dozen Khmer women squatting beside trays of dragonfruit in the eerie silence along the pot holed road to ruins" The picture of huge tree roots hugging a decaying temple captured me. I needed to go there and in 2007 we did.
A beautiful country filled with beautiful heartfelt people, their delight in a better future wipes away any worries I have about where I go in life. They see hope in every day. They have seen the horrors of what man can do for control. Cambodia taught me in just 10 days to accept change and not try to always control.
read more
January 12, 2017
Space-cadet elephants, Cat-in-the-hat chrissy trees & Gotham City. It's all very funky! Day 1 Singapore
by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
'It's not a successful day in Singapore if we don't get lost at least once,' I say to Mal as we stumble through an upmarket shopping mall food court where the edible delights on offer look like sculptured works of art and real art sculptures sit near escalators and in the centre of walk ways. Behind me I drag a suitcase on wheels - sans its handle (fell off on a previous long ago travel), so it keeps slamming into my ankles - and in front, Mal wears a large red backpack, which keeps slamming into other people every time he turns around. I'm also lugging a pillow under my arm.
We've just arrived in Singapore, one of our favourite cities in the world to celebrate one of my favourite times of the year - New Years Eve.
Ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you I'm one of the biggest bah-hum-bug christmas grinches going, but when it comes to welcoming in a new year, I'll be first in line to blow a kiss to sexy old-man-time and coochy-coo little baby-new-year. Every year we try to do something different: party on a tropical reef island (Hamilton), lead a congo-line (Norfolk Island), blow the twirly-paper whistle on the summit of Australia’s highest mountain, or hide-away in the dense forest of Boonoo Boonoo - as we did on the eve of the millennium... yes I certainly did believe all that bunk about the millennium bug! but I'll have you know we were well supplied up and didn't need to buy toothpaste , or wine, for at least two years.
This year however we were going to do it in style - in a flash FIVE star hotel - which was somewhere above this shopping mall... we just had to find how to get out of the Mall.
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'It's not a successful day in Singapore if we don't get lost at least once,' I say to Mal as we stumble through an upmarket shopping mall food court where the edible delights on offer look like sculptured works of art and real art sculptures sit near escalators and in the centre of walk ways. Behind me I drag a suitcase on wheels - sans its handle (fell off on a previous long ago travel), so it keeps slamming into my ankles - and in front, Mal wears a large red backpack, which keeps slamming into other people every time he turns around. I'm also lugging a pillow under my arm.We've just arrived in Singapore, one of our favourite cities in the world to celebrate one of my favourite times of the year - New Years Eve.
Ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you I'm one of the biggest bah-hum-bug christmas grinches going, but when it comes to welcoming in a new year, I'll be first in line to blow a kiss to sexy old-man-time and coochy-coo little baby-new-year. Every year we try to do something different: party on a tropical reef island (Hamilton), lead a congo-line (Norfolk Island), blow the twirly-paper whistle on the summit of Australia’s highest mountain, or hide-away in the dense forest of Boonoo Boonoo - as we did on the eve of the millennium... yes I certainly did believe all that bunk about the millennium bug! but I'll have you know we were well supplied up and didn't need to buy toothpaste , or wine, for at least two years.
This year however we were going to do it in style - in a flash FIVE star hotel - which was somewhere above this shopping mall... we just had to find how to get out of the Mall.
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