Antipodean Adventures on the Continent #2 – Montreux

Thanks to the razor-sharp forward planning of yours truly, in our still heavily jetlagged state we were only up for about an hour’s drive to our next port of call, the Swiss resort town of Montreux. Home of the famed lake-side walk, the medieval Chateau de Chillon, a rather unattractive casino (not a patch on Vegas!), and, not to be forgotten, a statue of Freddie Mercury (what the?! – more on this later).

Our hotel for the night was apparently one of the most ‘beautiful historic hotels of Switzerland’ – and it was certainly very quaint;

Although the highlight had to be the view from our balcony;

The first day, we walked. And walked. And walked. Actually it wasn’t that long, and it was actually mostly flat, and along a lake and really pretty. But I was really jetlagged! All that aside, it was incredibly beautiful, and if I’d had a motorised scooter it would have been absolutely perfect! OK I’m kidding. Here are a couple of moments I captured along the way;

When we finally reached the casino we were somewhat disappointed to discover it was quite unexciting-looking (although we had been spoiled by over-the-top casino glamour in Vegas only a week before so the poor old Montreux joint admittedly had a hard act to follow). After all this walking for what seemed (to me) like miles (I think it was actually about 3km, just so you know I’m not a total flake), we still couldn’t see any sign of the mythical Freddie Mercury statue which was erected in his honour after he moved to Montreux (for the serenity, apparently) and built a recording studio here where he recorded his last album – pretty cool! BUT what was not cool was the fact that no matter how hard we tried (admittedly I did stop trying once the sugar hit from my Calippo wore off) we could not find the darned statue. This was such a vexing state of affairs that we trudged back to our hotel, stopping  on the way to hang out with some really cute little lizards;

On our return, we promptly fell asleep for a stupidly long nap, which meant we went down to dinner looking like we’d been whacked in the head with a mullet. Actually I think the correct expression is that we looked like stunned mullets. Whatever the case, we were wrecked, but still managed to find amusement in the fact that our 4-course dinner was served to us with much pomp and ceremony by bustling ladies in long skirts, striped blouses and maid aprons a la Fawlty Towers. As we couldn’t understand everything on the menu we were preparing ourselves for a pot luck meal, although we were spared the suspense when some English vacationers at the next table began translating it for themselves very loudly. Even funnier was when a guest at another neighbouring table declined the ‘saumon fume’ (smoked salmon) entree as she was a vegetarian, and, as a replacement, she was brought (with much pomp and circumstance as the occasion required) a plate of sliced honeydew melon served with a celebratory cocktail plume; honestly I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it was a big toothpick with a bunch of magenta-coloured lame glitter kind of sprouting out the top like a lopsided firework (that’s supposed to be like ‘lah-may’ with a fancy acute thing over the ‘e’, although let’s face it, either adjective works); I suppose the chef must have thought the magenta set off the green colour of the melon quite nicely; anway, dinner accomplished, we went back to our room and slept some more……

The next morning, my husband set off on an exploratory mission before I was even awake; he went for an enormous and exhaustive run around the lake, and returned with the devastating news that even on this reconaissance mission to end all others, he still could not find the Freddie Mercury statue. We consoled ourselves with some breakfast in the hotel dining room, where we ate some lovely home-made bircher museli out of bowls that we later realised were coffee cups (oops – our cups just aren’t that big in Australia, ok!?) then we decided to take a little hike to the Chateau de Chillon before we hit the road once again.

It turned out to be a great decision; this castle was really amazing and painstakingly restored to give an idea of what it would have been like in its medieval heyday. Because we were there on a Monday morning the place was nigh on empty, and when we wandered through the dungeon we were the only ones there.

There were some scrawlings on the walls, it’s unknown who did them or when, but along with all the names carved into the pillars as we walked through, what looked like some old blood stains on the walls, and the post where the famed Bonivard was supposedly chained for a few years, it all combined to have a pretty spooky effect (the hotel keys on their 5-kg metal keyring (why!?) jangling around in my husband’s pocket sounding like chains clanking didn’t help either);

Next it was up to the part of the castle where the lordly type of people lived, which was much more civilised; we took a walk along the sentry walk

and checked out the amazing view through the holes in the rock walls (OK actually I’m just putting this photo in to show how arty my photo-taking abilities are)

Then up to the top of the tower for a view over the whole of Montreux (still couldn’t see the Freddie Mercury statue! Is it all a big hoax!?)

 

And then it was back down many steep flights of stairs and onto our next destination; the fabulous cheese and chocolate pastures of Gruyeres!…..

 

Antipodean Adventures on the Continent #1 – Geneva

Despite the rather long-winded title, basically this series of posts is going to be about my fabulous and crazy adventures in Europe. On the 27th of May I left Sydney, Australia with an extremely heavy suitcase (oops) and a mere 24 hours later, found myself staring at the Swiss alps floating by under the wings of our Boeing 737 like so many fluffy marshmallows.

We were flying so close I could actually see markings in the snow, and, far from being scared, I was so filled with wonder I was in danger of breaking out into ‘The Sound of Music’. Imagining Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer and all their good-looking children scaling the peaks to escape the evil grip of Nazi Germany, it was lucky that my husband distracted me before I was moved to start in on ‘Climb Every Mountain’ .  That potential crisis averted, we landed in Geneva, Switzerland and picked up our chariot for the next 6 weeks, a noble Peugeot 207 .

Impressed with its sleek interior and inbuilt navigation system, our excitement soon dissipated when we realised it was so hi-tech that we couldn’t figure out how to turn the radio off whilst leaving the sat nav on. And so it was that on our drive into Geneva we ended up straining to hear the directions to our hotel over some extremely bizarre Swiss avant-garde choral music – yes, welcome to Europe you silly uncultured Australians, this is how we roll over here! Consulting the manual for the Peugeot, I realised that, extremely helpfully, it was all in French. Oh dear. Struggling into our hotel after 24 hours in transit, the receptionist took one look at me and upgraded us to a mini-suite (yes occasionally it is actually an advantage to straggle around looking like something the cat dragged in)… and so our day in Geneva began!

The Old Town was the first place we visited, and I was slightly surprised to find myself walking the ‘Rue du Purgatoire’ (or ‘Purgatory Street’) – right next to the church, no less! I thought I would have had to wait until after I died for that particular privilege!;

Wandering around other parts of the city, there was no mistaking the fact that we were in the watch-making capital of the world;

Or that we were now in yahoo of the greatest number of chocolateries known to mankind (be still my beating heart!);

There were a few unwelcome surprises, such as this mannequin in a children’s clothing store (what were they THINKING!?), which, once seen, was not soon forgotten (a very successful representation of Chucky – note to proprieter: perhaps not the best way to sell lots of clothes to children?)

All horror-movie characters aside, we also enjoyed promenading along the lakefront near the big fountain;

And even saw some beautiful swans swimming on the lake;

After a good sleep it was time to leave Geneva behind and strike out for our next stop; Montreux!

 

A Motto to Live By…

A Path At Windsor

There are those who build a path, and those who tear it down;

There are those who continue to walk a path, and those who stray from it.

I wish to be a person who forges a path;

A person who persists in walking a path

No matter what; until the end, I will keep walking, keep running.

Even if I should fall along the way, and return to the dust of the land,

Because I believe in those who will succeed me along this path,

I will not have a single regret.

- Daisaku Ikeda

My Song ‘Winter’ & The Lost Child

OK – so it’s not really a ‘song’ as such in that it has no words!! But this piece was inspired by the idea of watching snowflakes fall gently outside the window, and the childlike wonder and magic of a world coated in glistening white. It was also a metaphorical title (as all my titles seem to be) – there was an element of longing and wistfulness I wanted to capture, the sense that something precious is just out of reach – perhaps a longing for a childhood we cannot reclaim, or the wish for a return of innocence. I have long held precious the notion of ‘The Lost Child’, and it’s a theme that has recurred often and sometimes painfully in my work, particularly ‘Ophelia of the Spirits’ songs. I remember having a conversation with a composer of my acquaintance where we agreed that composing music, or any creative activity really, is essentially a moment of reconnection with our ‘inner child’ – the untarnished creative force which suddenly springs out from behind our inhibitions and doubts and allows us to experience moments of pure joy through our creativity. The element of longing or sadness inherent in the piece ‘Winter’ also springs from the fact that, as we grow older, we are often disappointed with life. People let us down, the world seems full of cruel and horrible things, and sometimes it seems like it is impossible to believe in anything anymore. When we are children, the world and its possibilities seem endless. It’s only by returning to that moment and reclaiming it for ourselves in the present that we are able to understand just how much we have lost along the way. I guess that ‘Winter’ gave me the chance to say all of that, even without words! Sometimes, communicating the feeling is enough.

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‘Winter’ is an instrumental piano piece featured on the EP ‘Ophelia of the Spirits’.

Click here to buy Ophelia of the Spirits at Angela’s online store.

Click here to buy Ophelia of the Spirits on iTunes.

Armchair Philosophy II – What Is Art?

Every artform is a reflection of another, and all art is a mirror which reflects not only ourselves and our lives but the experiences of all humanity.

To truly appreciate art we must understand its symbolic significance, its past and its present, its history and its future, its connection to ourselves and the world around us. Never does there exist only one layer of meaning. Nothing is what it seems. As Oscar Wilde once said, “All art is at once surface and symbol.” Nothing is by accident, and everything is one. “There are many philosophical systems – such as Taoism and Buddhism – which make no distinction between creator and creature. People no longer try to decipher the mystery of life, but choose instead to be part of it…The Spirit finally merges with the Material, and the two are united and transformed.” (from ‘The Witch of Portobello’ by Paulo Coelho)

In our society we are taught from birth to trust the logic and rationality of our conscious mind. But many of us exist without ever understanding that “completely new thoughts and creative ideas can also present themselves from the unconscious. They grow up from the dark depths of the mind like a lotus and form a most important part of the subliminal psyche.” According to Jung, we can unlock our unconscious through our dreams. “One cannot afford to be naïve in dealing with dreams. They originate in a spirit that is not quite human, but is rather a breath of nature – a spirit of the beautiful and generous as well as of the cruel goddess. If we want to characterize this spirit, we shall certainly get closer to it in the sphere of ancient mythologies, or the fables of the primeval forest, than in the consciousness of modern man. I am not denying that great gains have resulted from the evolution of civilized society. But these gains have been made at the price of enormous losses, whose extent we have scarcely begun to estimate.”

Many of us have lost touch with the ritual, the spiritual, the mystic, the sacred. Many of us have lost touch with emotion, experience, empathy and humanity. It is art which reminds us that we must once again embrace “the edge of certainty beyond which conscious knowledge cannot pass.”It reminds us to feel again, to lose ourselves in something which is both beyond reason and before reason – something both primeval and eternal in the same moment.

A Poem of Paris from Harold Pinter to Lady Antonia Fraser

I was reading the Good Weekend magazine a couple of weeks ago and saw this article about Lady Antonia Fraser and her love affair and ultimate marriage to the playwright Harold Pinter. In it, there are two poems which captured my imagination, but this one especially:

PARIS
The curtain white in folds,
She walks two steps and turns,
The curtain still, the light
Staggers in her eyes.
The lamps are golden.
Afternoon leans, silently.
She dances in my life.
The white day burns.

Eat Pray Love

It must have been at least 6 months ago that my friend Dan sent me a link to a TED Talk by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of ‘Eat, Pray, Love’, but it was not until a few days ago that I actually meandered into a bookshop, saw it sitting there right in front of me, and bought it as if it was the very reason I had walked in there in the first place. I always trust that there is a reason behind my seemingly reasonless actions. I know when I am being led somewhere, for some reason. Sometimes I just don’t know what it is yet. Anyway, when I first listened to Elizabeth’s talk all those months ago, I was so relieved to hear her point of view that, up until relatively recently, artists were not thought to BE a genius, but to HAVE a genius. Now, some people might feel cheated by this notion, wanting to feel that it’s all about them, but personally I know the feeling that when something really good comes, often it feels like it’s coming through me, not from me – many times it’s when I’m driving (I’ve heard Tom Waits had the same problem) and I have to pull over and frantically hum into my iPhone so as not to lose it before I get home. This was the ‘process’ for writing ‘Your Angel’ from the Ophelia of the Spirits EP and ‘Someone Like Me’ from The Secret Garden. They seemed almost fully formed ‘song children’ (as Tori Amos calls them). Anyway, you can watch the TED Talk here: