What do you do when your city isn’t on the coast? Simple. You build a beach in the city! Streets Beach, South Bank, Brisbane.
It seems that all of the longest journeys I undertake these days are dictated by my youngest daughter. Not content with spending a year in the USA, she has decided to make Australia her home for the foreseeable future. Because of the distance (10,000miles) the Land of Oz would never have been on my radar. But blood ties are a powerful motivator.
So, at the end of January we set off on the marathon flight to the Land Down Under. At the time of writing, the Coronavirus is world news but when we started the journey it wasn’t much of a concern. At least not until boarding the plane on the first leg-Heathrow, London to Singapore. Being the Chinese New Year, a significant portion of the passengers were making the journey to celebrate with family there. The abundance of mask-wearing passengers was slightly disconcerting but I was determined not to let anything interfere with my joyful anticipation of seeing my daughter for the first time in a year and a half.
My globetrotting daughter, Tiarna and her partner, Eduan. Or as they are more commonly known, T and Ed.
13 hours to Singapore, followed by 7.5 hours from Singapore to Brisbane and we walked out into a balmy 30 degree Celsius (90 degrees Fahrenheit) morning. The fact that 24 hours earlier we left a wet and cold (5 degree Celsius) Belfast, made this the first in a series of pleasant surprises.
I had seen some photos, taken from the roof of the apartment block where Tiarna and Eduan live and thought it looked like a nice place but seeing it for myself was a real treat. The view of the Brisbane skyline was impressive during the day but once night fell it was stunning!
Brisbane skyline
Our second day in Australia was ‘Australia Day’ and coincidentally, Ed’s birthday. So, if ever there was an excuse for a party, this was it. Having said that, the Aussies are a bit like the Irish-they don’t need an excuse! Now, in Ireland we normally celebrate birthdays (and every other occasion) in the dry confines of a house, hotel or bar. So it was a whole new experience to celebrate the occasion/s in a swimming pool!
Happy birthday (Australia Day), Ed.
This was our first real taste of Australian hospitality. Though it would be more accurate to call it South African hospitality. The couple hosting the party and who would later share their home with us for a week, were Ed’s parents. They left South Africa around 20 years ago and now have a new life in Australia. Their story is typical of many nationalities who now call this country home. To illustrate this, only 2 of the people in the above photo were born in Australia!
Korcula (pronounced Korchoola) is a small island in the Adriatic sea, lying off the Dalmatian coast. Approximately 30 miles long and 5 miles wide, it is home to 15-16,000 people. It is a Croatian territory. When I left school in 1979, my history and geography lessons included a cursory mention of Yugoslavia but never made reference to the fact that ‘Yugoslavia’ encompassed several distinct countries with their own individual identity and culture. Today, we know them as Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Slovenia, Macedonia and Montenegro (I hope that is accurate!). However, my interest in this place was neither historical nor political. It was simply identified as a suitable location for a much needed ‘R&R’. I knew little about Korcula, or Croatia for that matter. But the allure of spending 2 weeks looking at blue seas and red roofs, with ambient temperatures in the mid 20s was enough to bring me there.
View from the Bell Tower of St Mark’s cathedral, Korcula town.A typical scene around the old town of Korcula.
When you have spent a lifetime travelling with children- from babies to toddlers, to teenagers-just two adults travelling alone is a bit of a breeze! The first challenge to this statement presented itself when we were dropped off at the pier where the ‘boat’ would take us on the short (10 minute) journey from the mainland to Korcula. Being a small island I didn’t have great expectations for the vessel that would ferry us safely across. Then again, I didn’t expect an oversize bath tub with a roof either! As we drew closer to the ‘boat’, we could see that it was already crowded inside and overloaded outside with suitcases precariously stacked ‘on deck’. Deciding to wait on the next crossing, we took a step back. But El Capitan was having none of it! He ushered us forward. Now if this was at home, I would probably voice a confident objection but being the unsure, subservient visitors, not wanting to offend anyone, we meekly complied with his directive. After all, as an Irishman, I felt it would be better to drown than hurt someone’s feelings in their own country! Once onboard, it was obvious that the boat was overloaded. As the pitch and roll of the vessel grew, two of the cases on deck took a nose dive into the sea! At this point, people started to scramble to get off. And this was the interesting bit. I learned a lot about myself and the Irish as a race. Instead of joining in the frenzied exodus, I found myself thinking, “once all the scared people get off, we’ll have a seat and be on our way”. And that’s what happened.
Croatia’s most famous towns are Dubrovnik and Split and, having visited Dubrovnik, I can safely say that Korcula is every bit as appealing, just smaller. Its ancient cobbled, narrow, streets exude a mystical character and the notion that these ‘streets’ have endured the footfall of subsequent generations for 5 centuries is food for the imagination.
A typical street in Korcula
A quiet moment
An interesting footnote for all those who think modern technology has all the answers-The streets in Korcula’s old town are built in a herring bone design to maximise the protection from the prevailing sea winds. Today’s architects and town planners are more likely to put their faith in computer aided design and algorithms rather than lessons learned from experience.
As I mentioned, we took a trip to Dubrovnik. It is a larger version, and consequently a busier and more commercialised version, of Korcula. The old town is a beautiful place where the streets and buildings are constructed from the stone that typifies the region. If you visit Dubrovnik, a walk around its walls will give you the best perspective. However, if you are unfit or claustrophobic, you may not be able to do this as it can be ‘challenging’ in places. Walking the walls, you have 2 views. Out to sea and into the properties enclosed by the walls. And while the sea views are spectacular, for me the most intriguing view was inward. Looking at the secluded gardens and cloistered walkways, I wondered about the lives of the people who lived here. How long have they lived here? What did they do for a living? How were they affected by the conflict of the 1990s? While the tell tale signs of bullet holes and shelling are still visible, they are easily overlooked as it is the beauty and character of this place that catches your eye and your imagination.
A view from the walls of Dubrovnik’s old town. The street appears wet but it is the buffing effect of the feet of thousands of daily visitors that gives the stone its sheen.A view from the walls down into what may have been a monastery or maybe just apartments. Given the serenity of the place, my money is on a monastery.Only resourcefulness and tenacity, not to mention a great deal of imagination, leads to a rocky outcrop becoming a busy bar and café.
Although we only ate in the hotel, the narrow streets of Korcula seemed like a pleasant place to enjoy an evening meal. The softly illuminated streets had a very appealing ambience and in my opinion, the old town was more attractive at night.
Diners in Korcula’s old town enjoying an evening meal and each others’ company.Diners on a boat in the harbour of Korcula’s old town.View of the setting sun from Korcula old town.
But here’s the thing! Yes, Korcula is a charming, relaxing, interesting, attractive place. And when you read the brochures and websites that promote the island, and the country, they do it justice. But they also talk at great length about the crystal clear waters and the quiet, secluded beaches. OK, first of all the water. Yes, it is the cleanest, clearest and the most vividly blue water I have ever seen. But the beaches? Maybe it’s just me but when I hear or read the word ‘beach’ I instantly think SAND. Nope! No sand. Anywhere! You will find every grade of stone and gravel, from coarse to not-so-coarse but you won’t find any sand. So, no need to pack your bucket and spade. But definitely pack beach shoes (not sandals because the stones get trapped in these). Luckily we had a nice pool at the hotel and it wasn’t a very busy time of the year, so no overcrowding.
A small harbour near the ‘beach’. A serene setting and a good place to unwind
So, while it was a bit surprising to learn that there were no sandy beaches, it didn’t spoil anything. Would I recommend it? Yes but maybe for a shorter stay.
One last thought. If you are visiting Korcula and you don’t want to be an extra in a mini version of Titanic, try sourcing a private water taxi to take you from the mainland…
2 weeks, 4 states and 2,000 miles after arriving in Atlanta, Georgia, it was time to return home to Ireland. Reassured that our daughter was settling in well to her new abode in the University of South Carolina, we were back in Georgia. We were spending our last day (and night) in Ringgold, North Georgia. We chose this location as it was a convenient break off point between Nashville, Tennessee, where we had spent the previous couple of days, and the airport in Atlanta.
Cabin at Ringgold, N Georgia.
The guesthouse we stayed in was advertised on Airbnb. And funny enough, the Irish diaspora being what it is, the place was owned by an Irishman who moved here in the 1970s! Kyran was an enthusiastic and welcoming host. His property was immaculate and homely. It was located in a tranquil wooded area with views over a small valley. Although we were only staying for one night, the refrigerator and larder were stocked with enough supplies to sustain an army for a short campaign. I remember being pleasantly surprised to see that the provisions included a bottle of wine. That evening as the sun was low in the sky, we sat on a bench overlooking the surrounding fields. Being the only drinker, I had to endure the hardship of tending to the bottle of wine, while Kyran spoke of how he came to live in Georgia; what he had worked at before retirement and his family. We were joined briefly by his wife Janet, a quiet, unassuming and gentile Georgian lady. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon a family of deer emerged nervously from a small clump of trees. It was hard to imagine this land as a bloodstained battlefield of the civil war or the site of a close call with a tornado a few years earlier. Watching the deer, I thought to myself ‘Sometimes it’s the simple things that make an ordinary day extraordinary’. As darkness fell we said our goodnights. We had only known them for a matter of hours but by the end of the day, they felt like old friends.
View from the bench
As we prepared to leave the next morning, Kyran’s hospitality excelled once more. He delivered two hot breakfast rolls that he had prepared for us. He had a name for them, which I can’t remember. But the taste was unforgettable. The only regret I have is that our stay was a short one. We keep in touch occasionally but if we ever find ourselves in the southern states again, Ringgold will be the first port of call.
The hosts with the most!
Update June 9th 2025. This morning, I learned that Kyran passed away in January of this year, at the age of 73. We kept in touch over the years by email but contact became more infrequent with the passage of time. I emailed him last week and when there was no reply, I searched the internet and found his obituary.
It was hard to take in because Kyran was larger than life and the type of person who made you believe that he would always be around. He was big and strong with a deep booming voice and hadn’t lost any of his Irish charm and wit. He was a generous man with a big heart. The year of our visit,2016, was a historic year for hurricanes in the southern states. Large swathes of the Carolinas were flooded and thousands of people were being advised to leave. Kyran contacted me and offered to let our daughter, who was in North Carolina, have the use of his cabin for the duration of the emergency. Acts of kindness like that are rare these days.
Our thoughts are with Janet and his family who will be trying to come to terms with the huge void that he left. The fact that he made such an impression on us in a very short period of time was a measure of the man and he will always be part of that chapter in our lives. May he rest in peace.
True to my contrary nature, I only spent a short time experiencing the side of Nashville that attracts millions of visitors each year. Don’t get me wrong. If you were spending a few days there, I’d recommend soaking up the music scene and having the odd afternoon beer in the countless honky tonks, enjoying the wealth of talented musicians chasing the big break. But we were passing through and settled for a brief behind the scenes glimpse of the history of ‘Nashborough’ as it was formerly known. See? That’s the type of nerdy info I like! And so, a chance encounter with Nashville Centennial Park taught me more in an afternoon than Google ever could! E.g. As a child I lived for a Saturday morning programme chronicling the adventures of Casey Jones, the driver of a steam train who had more than his fair share of adventures in the course of a working day. So much so that I always believed the character to be mythical. Then I happened upon one of the marble information stones, depicting the various famous and notable sons and daughters of this proud place….
All of a sudden my lazy childhood Saturday morning indulgence became an educational experience!
Numerous memorials of courage, defiance and exemplary acts of kindness and humanitarianism abounded in this place. Some inspiring, others humbling. But the most memorable discovery that day was a stone of granite with an excerpt from Robert Penn Warren’s book The Legacy of the Civil War. It struck a chord with me because it encapsulated the destructive aspects of war. I have come to believe that, in war, there are no Victors or Losers. Only Survivors. Any perceived gains are always outlived and outweighed by the losses. I found his words moving and profound. So much so, that I have read them countless times since that day. They have served to inform and reinforce my views on conflict. And I will always be grateful for that chance encounter in the autumn (Fall) of 2016.
If we do not learn the lessons of history, we are destined to repeat them
Robert Penn Warren’s book, The Legacy of the Civil War, describes how the civil war changed the ‘United States’ forever. Travelling through the southern states and observing the nuances, behaviours and attitudes of people, I sensed that legacy (but that’s another story for another day). Because of the poor quality of the photograph and because I find the words so inspirational, I will make the effort to reproduce them here:
….The civil war is our only ‘felt’ history -history lived in the national imagination. This is not to say that the war is always, and by all men, felt in the same way.Quite the contrary.But this fact is an index to the very complexity, depth and fundamental significance of the event…the civil war was, after all, a civil war..the prototype of all war. For in the persons of fellow citizens who happen to be the enemy, we meet again, with the old ambivalence of love and hate, and with all the old guilts, the blood brothers of our childhood…..
Cumberland River
calmer waters
A moment’s contemplation on the Cumberland River, Nashville. Quietly and anonymously absorbing the day’s new knowledge. The people on the bridge give you a sense of scale.
Tennessee sunset
Leaving Nashville
Giving in to my obsession with sunsets, I made an ill-advised and sudden manoeuvre to pull in and capture this amazing Tennessee sunset. Let’s face it. Some things you only see once!
For me the essence of a road trip is the experience of taking in the character and variety of the host country’s roads. That’s why, on the trip in 2016, I avoided the congested and featureless Interstates. As I drove along this stretch of Highway 11 (aka Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway) with the stubborn taste of boiled peanut in my mouth (see post ‘Lost in Translation’), I was struck by the unspoilt beauty of this part of America. It was relaxing, as driving ought to be but rarely is. I found my thoughts drifting to the hotel from the night before. It was in a nondescript small town named Duncan. It was a one night stay so we opted for a low budget, no frills establishment. The room had been booked online. At check in the teenage girl, arms heavily tattooed with scripture (kid you not), informed us that it was a smoking room. I pointed out that a non smoking room had been booked. To which she replied, “it’s the only room left but I can give you a can of Febreeze”. Can’t say fairer than that!
Bald Rock
It may sound like a stupid thing to say but I used to wonder where the Blue Ridge Mountains got their name. Standing on Bald Rock, adjacent to Caesar’s Head State Park SC, the answer became obvious. This view was of the southernmost reaches of the Blue Ridge mountain range which stretches all the way from the Carolinas, Georgia and Tennessee, up through Maryland to Philadelphia. The trees release isoprene into the air which creates a distinctive haze and a blue hue. Hence the ‘blue’ in Blue Ridge. I think isoprene would be a preferable air freshener to Febreeze…
I had always harboured the notion of a road trip in the USA. I thought if it ever happened it would be up the eastern seaboard or the west coast or maybe even the famous Route 66. As it turned out, my daughter decided to spend a year of her degree at the University of South Carolina and that was my road trip sorted. We travelled through Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee and Alabama. The cultural gaps were many but this photo will always remind me of one of those moments when you feel 2 feet tall. After leaving our daughter we started off on the Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway (Highway 11). I had seen a few signs for boiled peanuts and was feeling peckish since we hadn’t had any breakfast that morning. So when I saw this colourful roadside stand, I had to stop. Being Irish, i usually only eat nuts once a year at Halloween. Monkey nuts. The ones that you crack the shell open and eat the nut. The friendly peanut seller explained that they boil them until they are soft enough to eat but you have to let them cool down first. I paid for a cupful and, with Mr peanut seller looking on, I proceeded to blow on my first ever boiled peanut. When I was satisfied that it had cooled down enough I popped it in my mouth. As I chewed the fibrous mulch I wondered how anyone could eat anything this disgusting! But not wanting to offend the man, I tried to disguise my grimace as a smile. “You like that”? he asked. “Yes” I lied. Then in a typical southern drawl he said “ain’t never seen no one eating em shells an’ all! But if it works for ya…”. My humiliation complete, I bade him farewell and went on my way. You can take the man out of Belfast but you can’t take Belfast out of the man!
Occasionally I will take a walk through Belfast city centre on a Sunday morning. The shops and businesses don’t open until 1.0pm. It provides an opportunity to move at a slower pace. You can also take in some of the amazing street art. Having said that, Belfast is becoming an increasingly popular tourist destination. Consequently, the Sunday morning streets aren’t as quiet as they used to be. This mural was painted by the artist Mateo (aka MTO) on a gable wall in Belfast in 2014. The boy is holding a dove that has been slewn by the twin arrows that represent both sides of the religious divide. His message, I guess, is that adherence to a particular religious identity can contribute to the demise of peace?
Update January 2025. Although religion is often blamed for being the cause of wars, it’s never that simple. Religious belief is often a flag of convenience. It is used as a cover for perpetrators of acts of war. They use it to absolve themselves of blame and deflect criticism. The sad truth is that wars are created, sustained and facilitated by entities whose aim is to, first of all, exercise control of a country or region and then exploit that place’s resources to increase their own wealth and power. We only have to look at the trail of global destruction and carnage that has resulted from colonialism. Nowhere is this more evident in 2025 than in Palestine. The evidence is there for all to see. Few nations have suffered such a long and protracted onslaught as the Palestinian people have done since the beginning of the 20th century. I read an article many years ago and the author described ‘peace’ in the Middle East as ‘a bleeding dove’. When i saw the mural of Son of Protagoras, it seemed an appropriate name for my website. A mournful acknowledgement of the fragility of the world and a humble nod to the suffering of its people.
Believe it or not, this shot was taken through the window of a moving tour bus as we travelled through the Montañas Del Fuego on the island of Lanzarote. The clarity and almost artificial quality reminded me of the illustrations in the ‘World Book Encyclopedia’ that I retreated to so often as a child. The depictions were many but my favourites were the ones of the states of the USA. As a child I ignored the statistics of geography, climate, population etc. and found myself transfixed by the dreamlike images contained in those volumes. Escapism takes many forms but that set of books was, in my opinion, money well spent by my parents. It’s sad to think that the word ‘encyclopedia’ will soon become obsolete….
Central Florida is famous for Disney and the commercialisation that goes with it. But it was also the place where I captured this spectacular sunrise, thanks to my wife who seized the opportunity to get me out of bed. I don’t usually do early starts on holiday!
Belfast’s harbour district, like many around the world, went into decline along with the shipbuilding industry. I found the deserted wharfs and derelict buildings a strangely therapeutic place. Somewhere to escape the crowds. A breathing space where my thoughts were uninterrupted. Today the area is undergoing a revival, with redevelopment taking place at a steady rate. Warehouses are being transformed into trendy waterfront apartments etc. I suppose it’s part of a regeneration that on balance is a good thing. Still, part of me misses the deserted quays. Respite is found in unexpected places.
