photography – Page 2

Our first summits in the European Alps

A restless night. Whilst our group was lucky and had a room right at the end, quiet and peaceful are not the words I would use for the night. Every call of nature from one of our group caused a squeaking of wooden bunks beds and clicking of doors to disrupt an already uneasy sleep, probably due to the altitude.

Then groups started having breakfast and leaving from 4.30am. The clunking of mountain boots was just a level above the other noises. And those groups made short work of the breakfast supplies as we found out at 6.30am. That, and a lack of coffee made for a poor start for the day.

But start we did at 7.30 in order to climb the Vincent Pyramid and the Balmenhorn at 4215 and 4167 meters respectively. I had to borrow some sunglasses for the day as mine went on a leave of absence for the day between packing my pack and putting on my crampons. Most annoying. The snow had frozen to provide a nice, firm surface to walk on. There were a few other groups, but by the time we reached our first objective after about 3 hours, the Vincent Pyramid, we were on our own. Obligatory high fives were followed by summit photos. Then the Balmenhorn summit was ticked off less than an hour later. It provided us with a fairly steep rocky scramble to the top and its Jesus statue.

Then back down and to the Gnifetti hut for something, anything, resembling lunch. That was followed by a 5 hour, just mooching around, wait for lunch. Literally, that was it for the rest of the day, just mooching.

Up into the Italian Alps

A sensational night’s sleep. The soothing sounds of the torrent of the nearby glacial creek helped.

A fairly early breakfast of good Italian coffee, fresh crusty bread, prosciutto, cheese and scrambled eggs was consumed as I needed to keep my strength up. Then off to meet the rest of the group I was going up into the mountains with at the café next to the cable car station.

So that made four of us plus Christian the guide. Introductions were made along with some basic background, like what was an Australian doing climbing mountains. Good question. Because it’s there, and because I can, were plausible options. So is insanity.

Three cable cars later we were up at over 3100 metres. Time to shoulder our packs and let our legs get us up the remainder of the 500 odd vertical meters. The sunny and warm conditions meant the snow was quite soft just like Australian snow, so I felt at home. Except for the mountains we were heading towards. Decidedly un-Australian, not a bad thing in this case.

We reached the rustic Gnifetti Hut after donning our crampons for some more grip on the steeper slopes. The rustic hut was built 1876 on a rocky outcrop at an altitude of 3647 metres under the Vincent Pyramid. It’s been renovated and enlarged a few times and now sleeps 176 people. No roads come here and all supplies are helicoptered in. Some hut!

Following a sensational lunch of real Italian al dente Taglioni and cerve ragu (that’s venison for non-Italian speakers), we again headed outside for some crevasse rescue training in the blazing sun. A great way to build up an appetite. That was certainly needed to give justice to the 4 courses we were served for dinner. Not much risk of losing any weight on this trip.

It is lights out at 10pm as the hut is not on mains power. Good thing with another long day coming up.

To Staffal, Italy

An easy day after enjoying the delights of a leisurely breakfast. A wander into town to supplement my equipment for the next few days, and to indulge in another gelato. There were more paraponters in the blue sky than birds.

Then back to my temporary home to pack and to wait for Christian, who was to be my guide and probable mentor for the next few days. He seems a cheeky bloke who had a varied life in the past before morphing into a professional mountaineering and ski guide.

We stored my bags in the camper bubble installed on the tray of his aging Hilux, and set off to pick up another participant Stephanie from a train station in Italy, then onto Staffal on the edge of the European alps in Italy.

The roads were what you expect in mountainous regions, twisty, turny, with sensational and varied views. A passengers delight. And I assume many drivers white knuckle these roads whilst breaking into a cold sweat.

On the way we drive over the St. Bernhard Pass, but unfortunately were not met by a big fluffy, brown and white dog carrying a revitalising beverage in a small wooden barrel under its neck.

Staffal is a mini version of Chamonix. Probably all mountain resorts are similar. Now to repack, again, in order to trim down what I was to carry up the mountain tomorrow.

Chamonix

The sun rises early here. And as my body is still partially in another time zone it did likewise. I grabbed my camera and went outside into the predawn, and minutes later the sun kissed the top of the mountains opposite my hotel.

The mountains, I could see the mountains. Not a cloud in the sky and the entire Mont Blanc massif was visible to me, including the Aiguille du Midi, today’s goal.

After giving the camera a short workout, whilst cursing myself for not bringing the polariser, breakfast was beckoning. Whilst the coffee was nice and strong, I do prefer Italian espresso to French press. It is just a little more mellow, whilst still having that essential caffeine kick.

But I do digress from the excellent baguettes, French cultured butter and cheese. I went back for seconds. Following this almost joyful breakfast experience, I once again grabbed the camera, this time along with my polarisers, and meandered through the back streets towards the cable car station.

A lot of the houses here retain, and are still built in the old French mountain farmhouse style, if there is such a thing. And a good thing it is compared to the soulless apartment blocks a few streets away. I know which I would be happy to photograph as something that brings a warm character to Chamonix, if not with the timber in their walls, then with the traditional roof lines. Even if they no longer covered in heavy slabs of slate.

The cable car was to take me up from 1035 meters via a change at Plan de l’Aiguille at 2317 meters, to the Aiguille du Midi at 3842 meters at the top. And it does this at an almost eardrum splitting 20 minutes, including the change.

Something about leaving the trees and the valley behind does my heart good, even when sardine canned into a cable car with 40 or so strangers. The air at the top was pleasantly fresh, and the views were eminently viewable. They were probably also very viewable by the people jumping off the mountain, only being stopped from slamming into the ground more than a thousand meters below by some paracord and a few square meters of nylon that they were attached to.

A short and steep ride down to the Plan de l’Aiguille just below the snowline, enabled me to go for a walk to Lac Bleu. This is a small lake filled with runoff from the snow and glacier fields higher up, so had a hint of that magic bluey green colour that glacial melt water has. On a still day it provides a mirror for the surrounding mountains. Now if it only wasn’t for the small horde of bare-chested, Scottish youths playing over loud Kris Kristofferson and other music.

I left, and headed back down to the valley. This time I scored a front position in the gondola and could see and almost feel the mountain fall away from me as we descended steeply. Whilst I enjoy this sort of thing, it is highly not recommended for anyone with any height issues.

Tomorrow it is planned to head towards the Italian Alps and its delights.

A Singapore river cruise and more food

Last day and I managed to get a late 2pm checkout, so almost another full day of exploration.

Did the tourist thing. A river cruise on one of the many “electric” Bumboats. Not what you think, but an Anglicised version of the dutch word Boom for tree plus english Boat. So the word tree boat that was canoe now became a small boat or ferry. But the once diesel powered motors are now mostly replaced by nice quiet electric ones.

Then onto more important matters. Food. Real food. At a non tourist hawker center tucked away next to shiny hotels and busy roads. How something the size of a small 2 story shopping center can be just tucked away and hidden is a good question. But I found it. A few Michelin Bibs in there and I managed to get the best Chicken potato curry puff with the crispiest pastry (no pictures, I ate it) and the best wobbly with crunchy crust egg custard tart I’ve ever sunk my teeth into. No air conditioning here.

Back to the hotel to dry and cool off before getting a taxi back to the airport. Singapore, an eclectic mix of the old and the new, the east and the west.

Singapore Bunkers and Slings

Last full day in Singapore.

First thing after breakfast time to join a guided tour of the bunker that was the Malaya High Command Center of the Allied Forces, and where the decision to surrender Singapore was made 15 February 1942 to the Japanese forces after their 70 day storm down the Malay peninsula.

This brought over 3 years of hardship to the 80,000 soldiers captured and many more civilians in occupied Singapore until the end of the war brought on by the dropping of the Atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Anyway, enough of death and statistics. The parklands and the ex military command center are a green oasis in the City. And hopefully history will not repeat.

On to the Colonial past and pleasures. The Singapore sling is a concoction of gin, curacao, grenadine, pineapple juice, cherry liquor and so on. Best consumed where it was supposed to have been invented, the Long Bar at the historic Raffles Hotel. Probably much better on a hot day than an air conditioned bar with peanut shells all over the floor. Yes, that’s right, peanut shells.

Apparently the custom is to throw the shells from the peanuts supplied in small hessian bags on the ground. If you are so inconsiderate as to pile the shells in a neat pile on the bar, the staff will clean up after you once you leave by brushing them unceremoniously to the ground. Anyway, it had to be done. The Sling that is, not the nuts.

On the way back to the hotel I passed preparations for the bicentennial of modern Singapore. This was founded in 1819 by Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, even though he was not the first to civilise the island. Nor did he build the hotel or parks or streets that are named after him.

Singapore temples and more hawker food

A slightly more casual start today as it was going to be an easier day, with only 2 sights to be seen. The Buddha Tooth Temple and the Tian Tian Hainanese Chicken Rice hawker stand in the Maxwell food center.

Both of these are on the edge of Chinatown. Also within blocks of the Buddhist temple are a mosque and a Hindu temple I discovered, but my interests lay with the Buddhist temple and museum full of artifacts spread over its 5 levels, the most significant being the Buddha Tooth fragment discovered in a collapsed Stupa in Myanmar in 1980.

The construction started in 2005 and the temple opened in 2007. Most of it is accessible to the public, but due deference and respect needs to be paid with headwear to be removed in the entire building. In the section where the Buddha Tooth is displayed shoes also need to be removed. I spend a good hour or so wandering the floors

Across the road in the Hawker center it is a different story, although queues were orderly when there were queues. Staff at the 2 Michelin star Waku Ghin had recommended this venue as number 1 to sample the Singapore national dish of Hainanese Chicken Rice. It turns out that Anthony Bourdain had spouted superlatives about Tian Tian also. And Mr. Bourdain was right. The rice was flavourful and fragrant enough to be eaten by itself.

To explain the rice is cooked a bit like an Italian Risotto using chicken stock, and I am sure 11 other secret herbs and spices. And the Chili sauce accompanying the meal was tangy as well as spicy. My only point of difference to the majority of consumers is, I prefered the roasted chicken to the standard steamed chicken. It was worth the walk. And the wait in the Queue. And I hate queuing.

On the way back zig zagging through Chinatown I finally got caught in a tropical Singapore downpour, which trapped me in one of the shops. And yes, I bought something. I needed that little extra horse statue anyway.

Singapore Gardens and Food

French Toast. They had French Toast. One of my favourite breakfast foods was right there at the hotel buffet. You can pretend it is healthy with fruit and yoghurt on it.

Gardens by the Bay next to the Marina Bay Sands hotel planned for today. So another pleasant 2 or 3km walk through the steamy Singapore morning to get bayside. When you get there and all the architecture comes into view you can see some of the attraction it holds to tourists.

The 3 towers of the hotel look like they have a luxury ocean liner parked on top of them. Then you have the futuristic mushroom supertrees that act as vents and power sources for the Cloud Forest and Flower Domes. The Cloud Forest I found well worth a visit with its layered plant exhibits and a 35 meter indoor waterfall. Quite humid but at least cool inside this huge structure. Outside it gets so hot at times that the cactus display has it’s own shade and cooling fans.

I gave all this a good looking over after a light lunch of real satay and beer from one of Singapore’s famous hawker style food outlets. After a few hours I retreated to the shopping mall next to the Marina Bay Sands hotel. No Kmarts or Walmarts here. And in contrast to the hotel it wa build into the ground by 3 levels. I needed to cool off prior to my special meal I had booked at the 2 Michelin Star Waku Ghin. It seemed I was the only guest for the early sitting. The Wagyu beef with yuzu soy and fresh wasabi was the winner for me.

During desert I got to watch the Marina Bay light show. Then to Supertree light show was a short walk away. It looked like an immobile fireworks on the 25 to 50 meter tall structures, a fitting finale prior to getting a taxi back to my temporary home..

To Singapore

6am alarm goes off. At least it’s an hour after my normal “go to work” alarm. Frantic coffee, piece of toast, get the indoor pot plants indoors after their outdoors holiday during summer.

Autumn is drawing to a close and the maximum temperature over the next week is forecast to be 15 Celsius, don’t ask about the minimum. The Audi Q7 with it’s chauffeur arrives just after 7. Glynis Google says turn right and we head towards the airport via Yarra Glen and Christmas Hills. Scenic, And apparently quicker than the Monash Car Park.

Check in via Qantas First (amazing what can happen with points and upgrades). Quick and easy. Through the passport and security check to Duty Free (I’ll pick up those two bottles on my return) and on to the Qantas first lounge. Luxury – hard to pronounce that with a Monty Python accent in writing.

After some pampering and a tasty breakfast it was on to the point end of the Qantas A380 and towards Singapore. Smooth, hardly felt the takeoff.

I could describe all the Neil Perry menu items in detail, but I’ll stop at the entree of Ocean trout Tataki with Soy, Jalapeno. Cucumber and Finger lime caviar. Umami mouth filling softness with a crunch of cucumber and Jalapeno adding slight bitter all balanced with the sweet saltiness of the soy and sour of the finger lime.

Between the food, the drinks, watching 3 movies in comfort and some reading the hours just flew. Customs and baggage pick up a breeze, and the taxi whisked me towards my hotel in no time.

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