Travel

Family History Come Travel Friday–Amsterdam

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Postcards — Amsterdam

Remember the humble postcard? My maternal grandfather used to collect them…100 years ago. This week, I’m embarking a journey into K-Team history as well as glimpsing life in the past from a postcard taken 100-years ago.

I am amazed at what one can glean from a simple card. Imagine, a postcard in 1921 cost 1-cent to post from the Netherlands! On the flip side, a tiny little script in the middle reads “nadruk verboden”(copying is forbidden). I’m hoping from my understanding of copyright laws, that this restriction has long since expired.  That being said, I acknowledge the publishers “Weekenk and Snell, den Haag” and have shared this postcard for historical and educational purposes.

So, we travel forward in time, when my husband and I visited Amsterdam at the start of our European adventures in 2014.

We arrived in Amsterdam and after breezing through customs, Hubby rang up Renault to get someone to pick us up and drive us to the Renault office to pick up the leasing car, the Duster. ‘You’ll recognise us,’ the Renault guy promised. We waited half an hour. No guy, no van. Dragging my big red suitcase, Hubby paced back and forth along the front entrance and I trailed behind him, his smaller suitcase bumping over the pavement. After 45 minutes of no joy, no guy, and no Renault van, Hubby rang Renault again. Apparently, the pickup guy had made several laps of the Airport pick up area searching for us. Hubby suggested we rendezvous by a well-known hotel near the overpass. We waited there for a couple of minutes before Hubby got itchy feet and off he went a-wandering. I began to follow and then looked back. The Renault van rolled around the corner. I ran, and with my free hand I waved at the driver getting out of the van.

[Photo 1: Another mode of transport more common in Amsterdam—bikes, lots of them © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘Yay!’ I called out.

‘I was looking for a red suitcase,’ the guy said.

I apologised for my husband’s impatience and then we waved at him as he approached.

After picking up the Duster from the office, Hubby embarked on the challenge of driving in Amsterdam on the right side of the road. He took a little while to adjust to not over-compensating and bumping into the kerb on the right. Which he did a few times.

[Photo 2: Bikes abandoned over canal © L.M. Kling 2014]

We gingerly drove the short way to the service station and after parking and hunting through the French instructions, found how to open the fuel cap. Hubby had learned French at school, so was able to decipher the information without spending too many hours trawling through the tome of a manual. So, we filled up with fuel and began our journey to our apartment. Our navigation system, a Tom-Tom which we named “Tomina” since it had a pleasant, if not slightly passive-aggressive female voice, lead us to the highway and then off the beaten track, then told us to turn around. Back where we started, Tomina said, ‘Turn right.’

‘Turn right,’ I said.

Hubby obliged by tuning left and into the highway. Cars coming from our right tooted us as we entered the highway. We had to go ‘round the block to get back on track. Then we saw that where Hubby turned was a sign that read, “No Left Turn”.

[Photo 3: Rabbits in the car park near our hotel accommodation © A.N. Kling 2014]

We found the apartments and since check-in was only from three o’clock, we had the staff hold our luggage while we explored the local station. We admired the rainbow-coloured flags that decorated the apartment block and surrounds, thinking they looked so pretty and decorative. Hungry by this time, we ate lunch, then bought a card, wine and flowers for his aunt Ada who had her birthday on the 30th July. A highlight of the trip for Hubby was visiting his aunts and cousins that afternoon. Had a lovely time meeting and getting to know his father’s relatives over coffee and cake. Some of his aunts Hubby hadn’t seen for 40 years.

[Photo 4: Motorbike racing down rich Amsterdam road © L.M. Kling 2014]

The next three days in Amsterdam we spent walking. Hubby had taken it upon himself to become my personal trainer. We must get fit. We walked the roads of Amsterdam absorbing the summertime atmosphere, admiring the canals, the graceful architecture, the boats and hundreds of bikes—everywhere people riding bikes. The town was packed with people, tourists, and revellers, eating, drinking and shopping. As it turned out, we had chosen unwittingly, I might add, to spend the weekend when Amsterdam was celebrating the Rainbow Festival. We did see some unusual sights as well as the usual antics common to drunken behaviour. My foot suffered blisters as it adapted to new hiking sandals. Good thing we had a first aid kit and some blister pads from Rogaining a couple of years ago.

[Photo 5: Canals of Amsterdam © L.M. Kling 2014]

We did the usual tourist stuff, one day five hours in the Reich Museum, next day lining up and herding through the Van Gough museum-art gallery, and then an hour cruise through the canals. We had a 24-hour pass so we could hop on and off certain trams around the city. One tram though, decided to close its doors on me as I tried to get off leaving Hubby abandoned on the footpath. I alighted at the next tram stop around the corner and walked back. What joy to see my husband walking towards me.

[Photo 6 & 7: Canal cruising © L.M. Kling 2014]

Although we mostly ate at our apartment, the last day in Amsterdam we enjoyed pancake with apple and honey for lunch, and for dinner Argentinian steak—tender juicy steak. I’m not sure what it is about Argentinian steak houses, but in Amsterdam, they’re everywhere.

[Photo 8: Crowded Streets of Amsterdam © L.M. Kling 2014]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024

Feature Photo: Postcard of Amsterdam, Kalverstraat © Weenenk & Snel, den Haag circa 1920.

***

And now, for something different…from Europe…

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click on the links below:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981,

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

And escape in time and space to Centre of Australia 1981…

Travelling Friday–T-Team Next Gen: Coober Pedy

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Saturday 6-7-13

Coober Pedy

Meet by the Monument. What monument?

[Day 2 of the T-Team Next Gen’s pilgrimage to Central Australia to scatter Dad’s ashes…]

Mambray Creek greeted us with a picture-perfect morning; a morning that, in years to come, we could boast about to the T-Team who missed it in all its delicate beauty. Kookaburras announced the sunrise with their manic laughter. Parrots chattered in the trees. The air was calm, but not too cold.  And the shower in the stone toilet block was warm and refreshing. I wondered where the MB (My Brother) component of the T-Team had camped. If they had camped. And if they’d enjoyed a warm shower in the morning.

[Photo 1: Morning glow at Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

When I returned from my shower, Hubby was busy sizzling chops on the portable butane gas cooker. The aroma drew me in and soon I enjoyed lamb chop sandwich for breakfast.

[Photo 2: Hubby with cooked lamb chops © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then we were packed and ready to hit the road to Coober Pedy by 9.30am. The plan, meet the rest of the T-Team at Coober Pedy.

[Photo 3: A magpie wanted some chops too. Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

On the way, we stopped in at Port Augusta where we bought those inevitable forgotten items such as a wooden board and soap. Now, if I hadn’t had a shower that morning…and if Hubby hadn’t cooked breakfast…

We then commenced the journey on the Stuart Highway, flat, straight, gibber plains each side and the white dividing line disappearing into the distance. Hubby was happy to tackle this new kind of boring.

[Photo 4: Start of the Stuart Highway. Goodbye, Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Hubby’s phone tingled breaking the monotony at 11am. My niece informed us that the T-Team had already reached Coober Pedy.

‘They must’ve driven most of the night,’ Hubby remarked.

I had visions of MB and co not sleeping until they were on the outskirts of Coober Pedy.

As the phone reception was seriously patchy, the bare amount of information was exchanged. Arrangements were made to meet at the monument when we arrived. They would be spending the day at Coober Pedy, enjoying the sights and attractions of this mining town.

We continued our trek towards Coober Pedy, obeying the speed limit of 100km per hour. The Gibber Plains sparkled like silver. I took some photos of the gibber when we had a short break.

[Photo 5: Gibber Plains by the Stuart Highway © L.M. Kling 2013]

Six hours after the T-Team had called us, we arrived in Coober Pedy. In an effort to find the agreed monument, we took a scenic tour of Coober Pedy and its grid of streets. No Monument. No T-Team.

‘What does this monument look like?’ Hubby asked.

I shrugged. ‘Like a monument.’ I had a vague recollection from my youth and the T-Team’s trek with Mr. B in 1977. MB and I had our photos taken by this so-called monument, or on this monument. But finding something that resembled the fuzzy memory in my mind? Nup, not today.

I rang my niece. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’re at the playground with the giant tyres,’ she replied. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s the first thing you see when you enter Coober Pedy.’

‘We’re having a barbeque!’ Mrs. T yelled.

‘Where are they?’ Hubby asked.

‘The playground near the entry of Coober Pedy,’ I said, ‘We must’ve driven right past them.’

‘How could you miss them?’ Hubby snapped. ‘Are you blind?’

‘Must’ve been in a parallel universe,’ I muttered. Sure, there was no one there when we drove into the town.

[Photo 6: Had they fallen down a mine shaft? The many mine shafts on the outskirts of the opal mining town, Coober Pedy © S.O. Gross 1955]

Hubby wound his way through the straight streets to the playground with the tyres. He glanced at the giant tyre structure. ‘Did you mean this monument?’

‘I don’t know, but obviously the MB did.’ I pointed. ‘There they are.’

MB was fiddling with the barbeque hotplates while Mrs. T stood behind him with a packet of sausages. The T-ling girls played on the swings, while the boy sat in the van, eyes glued to his iPad. A sign near the picnic area warned that the barbeque was only to be used during daylight. The sun hovered just above the horizon.

Over sizzling sausages, Mrs. T apologised for deserting us. But she just wanted to reach Coober Pedy and spend the day there. We had planned to explore Coober Pedy on our way back, after spending a night camping there. However, Mrs. T had a sense that plans at the end of the trip may not work out and wanted to get Coober Pedy in on the way up to Central Australia.

[Photo 7: Opal from Coober Pedy cut by Hubby’s Omi (grandma) © L.M. Kling 2018]

‘Did you get any sleep?’ I asked.

‘We parked in some parking bay, just outside of the town,’ MB said.

‘It was terrible!’ the younger niece said. ‘We were all cramped in the van, and we got no sleep at all.’

‘Mum kept kicking me in the head,’ my nephew cried.

‘You were snoring!’ Mrs. T bit back.

‘No, I wasn’t. You were!’ Nephew laughed. ‘I was just imitating you.’

‘Yeah, the kids were pretty cranky that we didn’t stay at Mambray Creek,’ MB whispered to me.

‘Yeah, but, who wanted to have KFC at Port Augusta? Hmm?’ Mrs. T didn’t miss a trick. ‘I wasn’t going to go backwards once we had takeaway and had gone as far as Port Augusta.’

[Photo 8: More Stuart Highway, more gibber plain © L.M. Kling 2013]

In darkness we drove endless kilometres to some elusive free parking bay. Mrs. T’s dream was to sleep under the stars, just as the T-Team in 1981 had done. In the pitch blackness of night, about 9 – 10pm, we settled in a spare patch in an already crowded free parking area.

On the unforgiving stony surface, MB and wife constructed their questionable number of star accommodation of raised camp bed, piles of doonas topped with a tarpaulin. A little distance from them, actually, right next door, Hubby and I arranged our bedding on that rocky ground covered by tarpaulin then blow-up mattress. We had no camp bed, but we had our minus five sleeping bags in which to wrap ourselves. We also covered our swaddled selves with another tarpaulin. Hubby grumbled about this, but he had no choice; the ground was too hard to hammer tent pins in.

[Photo 9: Free camping and our questionable number of star accommodation © L.M. Kling 2013]

The T-lings opted to sleep in the van.

My nephew chuckled. ‘At least I won’t have mum’s foot in my face. I should get some sleep.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Photo: Those Gibber Plains © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

T-Team Next Generation–The Convoy…

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Trekking With the T-Team, Next Generation:

Central Australia Convoy 2013

[More than ten years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Over the next few monthly Travel Fridays, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation. Then, it’s about time I put this story together into a book.]

Friday 5 July, 2013

The Convoy that Never Was

T-Team Next Generation’s convoy to Central Australia only took six hours to fragment and evaporate.

The said convoy consisted of Brother T’s family Mistubishi van containing my brother (Dad), Mrs. T (Mum), and three Teen-Lings (one boy, two girls), and Mum T’s trusty Ford Falcon Station wagon with Hubby and me. Mum T with our sons (S1 and S2) would be joining us in approximately a week’s time, flying up by plane to Alice Springs.

That was the plan.

With camping at Mambray Creek in the Flinders Ranges in mind, the T-Team Next Generation Convoy, took a recess break at Port Pirie where Mrs. T checked out a craft shop. Nearby, what appeared to be a church, was in fact a Barnacle bills Family Seafood Restaurant. Mrs. T, armed with crafting supplies, allowed the convoy to continue. But thoughts of an easy takeaway had been planted in some of the T-Team Next Generation’s minds.

[Photo 1: Crafty Stop at Port Pirie © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then, there was the obligatory stop at Port Germein. For Brother T and friends who frequented the Flinders Ranges, a pause in the trip at Port Germein was tradition. Although the sun was fast sinking below the horizon, we braved the brisk winter air and took a stroll up the longest jetty in the Southern hemisphere.

[Photo 2: Dancing by the Port Germein Jetty in times gone past ©L.M. Kling 1984]
[Photo 3: Port Germein Jetty stretching into the distance © L.M. Kling 2013]

And so, at 6.30pm and in darkness, Hubby and I turned off to Mambray Creek…

And Brother’s team, driven by Mrs. T…didn’t.

I fumbled for my mobile and called MB. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Mrs. T’s decided to keep on going,’ my brother sighed. ‘Once she makes up her mind, you don’t argue with her. Besides, the kids want Hungry Jacks for tea a Port Augusta, they have vouchers.’

Hubby had made up his mind. We weren’t about to follow. We’d be camping at Mambray Creek and would continue our journey north fresh after a good night’s sleep. In the morning. After all, they promised to catch up with us in Coober Pedy; we had mobile phones to keep in contact, after all.

[Photo 4: Mambray Creek towards sunset © L.M. Kling 2018]

Despite the darkness, Hubby managed to set up the two-man tent in minutes. Then, although suffering the pangs of disappointment, we downed a light tea of bread, with packet soup and hot chocolate using water boiled from Hubby’s eco billy. ‘We’ll have the chops when there’s more light,’ I said, ‘in the morning.’

[Photo 5: Our trusty two-man tent on a previous visit to Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2005]

‘Now, to see if these minus-five sleeping bags keep us warm in the desert.’ Hubby snuggled into our co-joined sleeping bag. ‘Did I ever tell you how when camping with my family in the Flinders, I had to sleep in a cotton sleeping bag? It was freezing!’

[Photo 6: K-Team appearing suitably chilled in the Flinders Ranges © N. Kling 1982]

To which I replied, ‘Yes. But when the T-Team were in the Musgrave Ranges, it was so cold…’

[Photo 7: Chill in the morning near Mt. Woodroffe, Musgrave Ranges © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]

I looked over to Hubby’s side. Was he snoring? I snuggled close to him. I guess for him, this minus-five sleeping bag passed the test.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: Approaching Darkness at Port Germein © L.M. Kling 2013]

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

Family History Friday (with a bit of Travel)–Basel

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Postcards: Basel, Switzerland

[This postcard of the Basel Minster (German: Basler Münster) was delivered to its recipient in 1899. Theodora Bellan, the recipient was the house maid of my Great-grandmother (Sophie Basedow nee Hiller). Imagine! Those were the days when ancestors had house maids. My grandfather (Sam Gross) who was my Great-grandma’s son-in-law, collected postcards and so, ended up with this one. I wonder if he considered, back then, 80 to 90 years ago, that, one of his descendants (me) with the K-Team would visit the birthplace of my husband’s mother? Would he have envisaged the changes to this city and the challenges the K-Team faced visiting this city of Switzerland?

I might add here, that as far as my family history goes, I have several and varied connections with Basel. A branch of my Trudinger relatives lived and worked in Basel, I believe some do even today. And on my mother’s side, my two-times Great Grandfather and my Great grandfather studied for the ministry in Basel. No wonder, when I visited Basel, especially the Altstadt, I felt a connection to the place and seemed so familiar to me.]

K-Team Adventures in Basel — August 2014

Not so early, for once, on this Saturday morning, P1, Granny K, Hubby and I headed for Basel. We regretted not rising early. Near Zurich, cars on the autobahn came to a virtual standstill and continued that way till Basel.

[Photo 1: First impressions of Basel; Münster Fahre © L.M. Kling 1998]

Having taken twice as long to get to Basel, and then taking time to squeeze into a very narrow car park in the middle of the city, once released from the confines of the car, Granny went in search of toilet facilities. She found a toilet close by only to discover they took her Swiss Franc and failed to deliver relief as she couldn’t open the door. We hunted down the street in search of a toilet. Migros would surely facilitate the desperate. No, only if you patronise the establishment do you get the code to get into the room of relief. The Rathaus? No, joy there—closed for business. Ah, MacDonald’s! Off Granny and I ran. By this time, I was becoming a tad desperate for a wee break. I had a plan. Buy McChips and a McWrap and get the Mac-code and we’re in business. Had to line up, though. The men waited outside. We waited. They waited. Finally! Service and the sacred code of the Holy Mac-Grail, the toilet.

[Photo 2: The Rathaus closed for a meeting © L.M. Kling 2014]

When we eventually emerged, much relieved, Hubby said, ‘You took your time. We’ve been waiting 25 minutes.’

‘It’s not like Basel’s flush with them,’ I replied.

‘I guess that’s why I haven’t seen many people walking around with bottles of water,’ Hubby muttered.

[Photo 3: The crowds through the Rathaus Gate © L.M. Kling 2014]

We fought our way through the Saturday shoppers and holiday crowd over the bridge and to the Kleine Alstadt to find a bench to sit and eat our lunch. Ironically, free benches were the Holy Grail there, but toilets, now we didn’t need one, were in abundance, including open air urinals! Granny was horrified. What has her Basel come to?

We did find ratty old seats near a playground and youth nearby with a stereo booming out Spanish hip hop! Oh, well, it was a seat and I enjoyed watching the people and the happy ambience of the sunny Saturday afternoon.

[Photo 4: Altstadt (old town) © L.M. Kling 2014]

But P1 slouched in his seat and pouted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Granny asked.

‘We haven’t seen anything,’ P1 mumbled. He meant missing seeing the Matterhorn, thanks to the “Matterhorn Rebellion”. But that’s another story you can read…

However soon enough we did see some sights. We saw the outside of the Rathaus with its mural artworks—the inside still closed for a meeting! Approaching the cathedral known as the Basel Minster, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to see inside this cathedral with the tapestry roof for ages. Last time when we were here in 1998, we didn’t have time to look inside.’

[Photo 5: Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 1998]

‘It was Sunday, then and the Cathedral was closed for a service,’ Hubby said.

‘Oh.’

We entered the Basel Minster and marvelled at the simple beauty of the sanctuary. A service was starting in half an hour, so we had to be silent and not take photos.

[Photo 6: Inside the Minster’s sanctuary © L.M. Kling 2014]

After a while, Hubby found me and asked, ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No.’

Granny came up to us. ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No, he must’ve climbed the tower,’ I said.

Hubby texted P1 and he replied he’d been asked to leave as a service was about to take place. It just hasn’t been P1’s day.

[Photo 7: The Cloisters—Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 2014]

After meeting P1 in the square, we walked through the cloisters next door to the Basel Minster and then marvelled at the vista of the Rhine, the city and the mountains in the distance. Hubby pointed out the Blauen Hoch, the mountain we’d climbed while in Badenweiler.

[Photo 8: Rhine vista © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 9: Blauen Hoch in distance © L.M. Kling 2014]

On our way back to the car, we walked through the Altstadt to the Kunst Museum. Too late by this time to explore but Hubby and I hoped we could return next weekend to see the museum. Never happened…Next time??? 2024, and still waiting…

[Photo 10: Hubby and the Rodin sculpture in courtyard of Kunst Museum, Basel © L.M. Kling 2014]

And finally, Granny asked Hubby to drive past the church where she was baptised. Unfortunately, it was only a drive-by, more road works and nowhere to park. At least the church bells started ringing as we crawled past to the delight of Granny.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024

Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front and Back © 1899

***

And now, for something different…from Europe…

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click the links below:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981,

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

And escape in time and space to Centre of Australia 1981…

***

Or for travel into a parallel world of Science Fiction and Fantasy,

Check it out!

My novel that ventures into an alternate universe in the

War Against Boris Series…

The Lost World of the Wends

Where 19th Century Eastern Europe meets the 21st Century…

Travel on Friday–Schwarzwald (Black Forest) and Alsace…

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Virtually Revisited

[Over ten years ago, we visited the Black Forest, Germany and the following day the Alsace where we walked through the remains of the battlefield between the Germans and the French.]

The Battle of the Tom Tom in the Black Forest

Friday August 8, 2014, we braved the German highways and byways (our Tom Tom has a tendency to lead us astray down byways) and made our way via the scenic/economic route (thanks to Tom Tom) to Badenweiler on the edge of the Black Forest. My relatives, invited us to stay with them in beautiful Badenweiler. When we called them at lunchtime, our estimated time of arrival was 3.00pm. But, after Tom Tom had finished executing her agenda, we arrived at 4.30pm. I think Tom Tom was enjoying the quaint narrow roads and geranium garnished buildings, but we weren’t as we stressed driving down narrow lanes narrowly missing oncoming traffic. What joy to arrive—in one piece—and enjoyed good southern German hospitality and the kaffe und kuchen on the balcony overlooking their garden, then a balmy summer evening walk in the town.

[Photo 1: View of Badenweiler © A.N. Kling 2014]

Next morning, Anthony and I went bather shopping in the town. My cousin explained that Badenweiler was known for its warm summers and mild winters, so we must swim in the thermal pools while we were in Badenweiler. But, how could we bathe in the thermal pools if we didn’t have bathers? Some Germans do in the Roman baths but not us modest Aussies.

I entered the hairdressers who had a rack of bathing costumes displayed in the front of the shop. I asked the manageress if she spoke English. No, she didn’t. But somehow, I managed to understand enough German to select, try on and buy a pair of bathers. I couldn’t fault the German quality, style and service.

125 Euros less in our bank account later, Anthony then entered the store next door for men’s bathers. The man who owned the shop could speak English. ‘Did you forget yours? You know I make a good trade. At least 20% of the French who come here forget their bathers and I guess Australians do too.’

‘Yes, I did,’ Anthony replied. He then selected a pair—mini lycra pants. At least they weren’t budgie smugglers—Anthony avoided those ones.

[Photo 2: The Black Forest © L.M. Kling 2014]

After lunch we climbed a local mountain Hoch Blauen which is just a little higher than our (Adelaide’s) local rise, Mount Lofty, well 1165m really. Cousins told their son we’d be back by 6pm. We trudged up the gentle slope. I hadn’t climbed any mountains in years and like the tortoise ambled behind the others. Every so often they stopped for me to catch up.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘We can stop and go back any time.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

We reached a hut with a table and bench seats. While I drank water, the others ate croissants.

[Photo 3: Resting on way up © L.M. Kling 2014]

I gazed at the hillside covered with pine trees. Surely the top isn’t far. We set off again.

‘Look, Lee-Anne, some level ground,’ Anthony said.

But not for long and worse, a sign indicated another 4km to the summit.

[Photo 4: Basel visible from the summit © A.N. Kling 2014]

After a saddle, the slope grew steeper. But I soldiered on with the occasional stop to take snapshots of the forest, and the distant mountains. After plodding for what seemed an eternity, we reached the summit. I scrambled to a seat to sit and recover. Anthony still had energy to climb a tower. Basel was visible from there.

‘Oh, you must go to the guest house,’ my cousin said.

‘Nup, I’m not moving,’ I said.

But later, tempted by the panoramic view and a man floating in the sky with a parachute, I joined Anthony in a final trek to the guest house.

[Photo 5 and feature: Vista with paraglider © L.M. Kling 2014]

The return hike took half the time and effort. We arrived back at the house at 8pm.

Sunday, August 10, Anthony and I relaxed our weary muscles in the thermal pool. I sun baked and napped on the deck chairs provided.

Remembering a Battle 100 years ago

Monday, August 11, our hosts took us over the border to France. Their Sat Nav like the Tom Tom, lead us on a scenic and highland tour. They stopped to ask French farmer who directed us to drive further up the mountain. Our driver reversed his Rover, and asked another farmer raking leaves off the road. Yes, this was the right road.

[Photo 6: The farmhouse restaurant in Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]

My cousin drove the vehicle around the tight bends, and narrow alpine road. Great scenery, mountains like waves, rising and falling in the distance. Finally, civilisation—a cheese house. Again, directions were sought. Yes, just up and around the summit, the ‘La Grand Ballon’ at ~1400m. And…yes, up and around the peak, the farmhouse restaurant…and we were on time. I savoured an entrée of goat’s cheese on herb toast and then beef with mashed potato.

Then a quiet and meditative walk through the trenches of the French-German front of WW1.

Hard to believe the carnage. It’s so peaceful and what remains is overgrown with ferns, plants and trees.

[Photo 7: French WWI gravesite in the Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 8: Overgrown fortress © L.M. Kling 2014]
Photo 9: Overgrown mementos © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014

Tuesday August 12, we left Badenweiler, to contend with trucks, road works, traffic jams in Freiburg, and our wayward Tom Tom to find our way to Burgau in Bavaria. Our Tom Tom led us right to a dead end of road works, just five kilometres from Burgau. Anthony managed to find our way around the “dud” roundabout exit and we arrived ten minutes after I rang the manager to say we’d arrive in half an hour.

[Photo 10: Our half an hour in Freiburg © L.M. Kling 2014]

[Read about the battle with the Tom Tom continuing in Bavaria— click on the link here.]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2026

Feature Photo: Paraglider launching off the Hoch Blauen

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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Trekking Thursday–Franklin-Gordon River Cruise

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[Last week, Hubby and I were talking to someone who had recently visited Tasmania. They went to Strahan, but for some reason didn’t do the Franklin-Gordon river cruise. We recommended that next time they go to Tassie, they revisit Strahan and do the cruise. Hence, to encourage prospective travellers to Tasmania, a re-visit in my blogs to Strahan on the West Coast of Tasmania. Ah, memories of travels with my husband, his brother (P1), and cousin from Switzerland (P2), to Tasmania; a brilliant and beautiful destination.]

K-Team Adventures—Strahan and Gordon River Cruises

An early start, just what the K-Team love. We were to board the Wilderness Cruise Boat by 8.45am. Not as early as the last time I took the cruise. Then, in 2011, I journeyed with my mother (Mrs T), for whatever reason, the ship departed much earlier than 8.45am. Fearing we’d miss the boat, Mum and I rose at the crack of dawn and ate our breakfast at a hotel opposite the wharf while watching the sun rise on the calm waters of Macquarie Harbour; an oil painting in hues of gold and pink with ducks on the jetty. Mum’s breakfast of Eggs Benedict was less than perfect; uncooked, runny and the “whites” not white. She’s never had Eggs Benedict again. I guess there had to be some compensation for the ideal weather we had that August day in 2011.

[Photo 1: Calm on Macquarie Harbour before Eggs Benedict © L.M. Kling 2011]

Not so for the K-Team in 2016. A perfect mix of personalities, no conflicts—apart from some initial altercation between my husband’s phone GPS navigator and the Kluger’s Pandora navigational system. Now that was something out of the box, so we packed away any semblance of pairing our phones with the car’s computer system and relied on the navigational system God had given us—our brains…and some forward planning with Google Maps. So, instead we had the weather as our thorn-in-the-side member of the K-Team. At least someone up there, I mean God, had been looking after us.

[Photo 2: Sign of weather come. A hiking trail in Hogarth Falls near Strahan © L.M. Kling 2016]

When we booked our cruise, the lady asked us, ‘Do you want to go on the ABT Railway up to Queenstown?’

‘How much?’ I asked.

The lady showed the prices.

‘What time does it get back?’

‘Oh, 5pm.’

‘Nah, we’re meeting my cousin at 4.30pm. So, we’ll take the cruise.’

A narrow escape. We heard that night while dining with my cousin, Kiah who at the time ran the Strahan Visitors Centre, that fallen trees on the railway track had stranded the tourists on the train for several hours. They arrived back in Strahan at 8.30pm. The next day, on the cruise, Kiah overheard some girls who had been on the train trip say they were going to write a reality TV show about bored kids.

[Photo 3: Thankfully, not stranded at Queenstown; ABT Railway Station with K-Team, the younger way back when…Looks like my kids can get bored at Railway Stations too. © L.M. Kling 2001]

The cruise, definitely not boring. First a ride out through the narrow heads and into the full force of the roaring 40’s and rough seas; P2’s highlight of the Tassie Trip. Hubby was surprised I didn’t get seasick. I’d remembered to take my ginger tablets.

[Photo 4: High seas past the heads, but the birds hang on. © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 5: The safety of the lighthouse © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 6: The lighthouse keepers’ cottage? © L.M. Kling 2016]

Then, after returning back into the safety of the harbour, a tour of the salmon farms; big, netted rings full of fish.

[Photo 7: Salmon Farms © L.M. Kling 2016]

Kiah and her team would be our guides on Sarah Island, the worst penal colony in the whole British Empire in the early nineteenth century. We spent an hour or so on the island touring around the various sites, the tour guides giving lively and entertaining accounts of Sarah Island’s history.

[Photo 8: Sarah Island approach © L.M. Kling 2016]

Walking up the gangway, I studied the wilderness mountains jutting above the forest lining the harbour and detected the vague outline of Frenchman’s Cap, clouds shrouding it from a clear view.

[Photo 9: So different with Mrs T; Frenchman’s Cap perfect through swamped trees of Sarah Island. © M.E. Trudinger 2011]

As we raced up the river, the Captain rabbited on about Sarah Island’s convict history and then he said, ‘While we travel up the river, think about what it would’ve been like living in those times on Sarah Island as a convict.’

[Photo 9: The Lookout © L.M. Kling 2011]
[Photo 10: Mrs T contemplates while crowd listens to tour guide © L.M. Kling 2011]

I recalled the play we’d seen the night before, The Ship that Never Was; the political climate and social conditions of nineteenth century Britain that created the huge gap between the rich and the poor, unemployment and homelessness, and the solution to send shiploads of social rejects (the convicts) to Australia—the worst offenders to the most remote place on earth, Sarah Island. Yet, in all of that condemnation and hopelessness, redemption. Some of these convicts, when they received their ticket of leave (freedom), became leaders in the colony; their skills not going to waste. Treat people like they matter, give them a chance. This is how I understood David Hoy, Master Shipwright treated the convicts. I could go on, but best if you ever go to Tasmania, go to Strahan, do the cruise and see the play.

[Photo 11: Scene from the Ship that Never Was © L.M. Kling 2001]

And while we were there, clutching the mini hot water bottles loaned to us for the duration of the performance, and waiting for the play to start, the tour group we encountered the previous day, joined the audience. Some of them ended up participating in the play. So did P2 helping the ship (just a pile of wood, really) sail to close to the coast of Chile…before it…well, you’ll have to see the play to find out what happened.

[Photo 12: Perfect reflections on a perfect day up the Gordon River © L.M. Kling 2011]

After a tasty buffet lunch of smoked salmon, cheese, bread and salad, we had a half-hour walk in the rainforest. Amazed at the variety and abundance of plant-life and how plants grow out of tree trunks and stumps. The old Huon pine stump that had been struck down by lightning a decade or so ago, was now a garden of seedlings, native laurel, moss, lichen, and ferns.

[Photo 13: New Life springs from That old Huon Pine © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 14: A taste of a temperate rainforest © L.M. Kling 2011]

Then the race back to Strahan. In all we had travelled 140km on tour of the Macquarie Harbour, some way up the Gordon River and then back to Strahan.

P1 disappointed with the cloudy weather said, ‘How can I get good photos when there’s no sun?’

[Photo 15: And so, the sun sets on Strahan © L.M. Kling 2011]

‘They’re mood photos,’ I replied. Cheeky, I know, since in 2011, the sun shone on Mum and me, and I had dozens of chocolate-box photos of the Gordon River like glass reflecting perfectly vivid green forest trees. Oh, well. We were blessed that day in 2011. The western wilderness of Tasmania gets on average around 4000mm of rain a year. So more likely to get cloudy rainy days on a cruise than sunny, I guess.

Besides, did P1 have an Eggs Benedict like my mum had eaten that morning in 2011?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2019; 2021; 2024

Feature Photo: Chocolate Box Reflections on the Gordon-Franklin River © L.M. Kling 2011

***

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Family History Friday–The Romantic Road

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Virtual Travel—Postcards: Bavaria (Bayern)

[Over our Australian summer Holidays, I have been down that proverbial rabbit-hole of family history research.


While researching the Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne in Nördlingen, which my family have claimed the Trüdinger ancestors owned for a couple of hundred years until the 1960’s, I discovered that, according to the information provided by the hotel’s website, that Goethe lived there for a year in 1788.


It’s amazing how life works and how the threads of our lives weave in and out. How our attitudes and values are influenced by how we see the world, and who we see in it. While Goethe was living in Nördlingen, Captain Cook in the Endeavour claimed Australia as belonging to Britain (as one who belonged to the British Empire would back then). And I wonder what Goethe thought of Nördlingen and my ancestors. Did he give much thought to the discovery of Australia and that someday, a little over a century hence, a descendant of those Trüdinger ancestors, or perhaps a relative who may have visited the hotel, would be emigrating to Australia with their family…erm, from Great Britain. That’s another story, suffice to say, my great-grandfather, a Trüdinger from Bavaria, was not a fan of Bismark.


Meanwhile, in 1788, a former Swiss noblewoman, Henriette Jeanette Crousaz de Prelaz (her father had died leaving the young family of mother and ten children in financial strife) relocated to the Christian community of Herrnhut. Did she have any idea that almost one hundred years later, her grandchild would marry my great-grandfather Karl August Trüdinger and relocate to Australia?
Below is our modern experience of this famous road, joining the many people who have travelled it.]

The Romantic Road

We passed through Ulm which was featured in this postcard but didn’t visit Ulm. We stayed in a town nearby called Burgau for a few days while we explored the Romantic Road. Our Tom-Tom, which we named Tomina, took great delight in leading us astray. In our quest to reach our Burgau apartment, Tomina decided to take us on a roadway that was closed to traffic.
Similarly, over one-hundred years ago, this postcard chased Theodora Bellan across Bavaria, originating in Sofflingen (a town that Google maps doesn’t recognise), then Nussdorf, and finally found her in Ludwigsburg.

The Romantic Road was one part of Germany, that despite the wars and modernisation of the twentieth century, never lost its Medieval charm. A reason I so wanted to travel this road of the Romans when we travelled to Germany in 2014.

Romantic Road


The next few days we explored the Romantic Road, although Tom Tom always tried to get us on the freeway. Friday, we did Tomina’s circuits in by never obeying her commands and instead following the Romantic Road signs.
Highlights of the Romantic Road:
• Nördlingen–the town of my Trüdinger ancestors and having lunch in the Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne restaurant which, we believe, was owned by the Trüdinger family until the 1960s. We then walked around the medieval wall. Hubby amused fellow travellers by greeting them with an Aussie “G’day”.

[Photos 1, 2, and 3 Aspects of Nördlingen, 4 & 5 Wassertrüdingen © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 1: Red Rooves were filmed in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Photo 2: The Wall of Nördlingen.
Photo 3: Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne
Photo 4: Rain in Wassertrüdingen
Photo 5: Reflections in the water of Wassertrüdingen

• Dinkelsbuhl–the church, St. Georges Minster, the ornate carvings and artwork and the bejewelled skeleton of a martyr executed by Emperor Nero on display. And…that day, Goths and Emos aplenty.


[Photos 6 & 7: Dinkelsbuhl © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 6: St. Georges Minster
Photo 7: Segringer Tor

• Rothenburg ob der Tauber where we enjoyed the delicious sweet pastry as well as the beautiful sunny day that showed off its cobblestone roads and medieval buildings at its best.


[Photos 8 & 9: Rothenburg ob der Tauber (c) L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 8: Sweet Treats
Photo 9: Typical Rothenburg Street
Photo 10: Rothenburg ob der Tauber most popular

Challenges of the Romantic Road:


• Too many tourists especially at Füssen on the Saturday we visited, caused us to be trapped in a massive traffic jam that held us in a virtual carpark for an hour.
• So many tourists at Neuschwanstein (Mad Ludwig’s Castle). If we’d attempted to buy a ticket, we would have waited four and a half hours or more to enter the castle!
• Traffic jams and rain, both especially heavy that particular Saturday in August.

[Photos 11 & 12: Neuschwanstein and surrounds © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 11: Neuschwanstein with Schloss Hohenschwagau in foreground
Photo 12: Schwansee

    We took a break from the Romantic Road one day to visit my relatives. Tomina had trouble with the “dud” roundabout, so we ended up travelling the “scenic route” through the back way off the motorway through corn fields and behind slow tractors. The hour’s trip took two hours, but once we arrived, we had a wonderful day.
    Back in our apartment in Burgau we had no internet. I think Hubby coped…although to be honest, he was grumpy at times. I guess there’s something to be said to slow down to the pace of snail mail and send postcards as folk did over 100 years ago…especially when there’s no internet.

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2022; 2024
    Feature Postcard: Ulm © 1905

    Postcard Front: Ulm, Bayern
    Postcard Back


    And now, for something different…from Europe…

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    Trekking Thursday–Hike Around Dove Lake

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    [An unexpected shower while walking along the beach the other day reminded me of our Tasmanian adventure back in 2001, when our boys were young (about 11 and 8). That time Hubby was most concerned about keeping his charges dry. However, he went to great lengths to make sure all was done as frugally as possible.]

    K-Team, the Younger: Tasmania 2001

    Dove Lake Hike in Garbage Bags–Cradle Mountain National Park

    Hubby paced the floor of the mountain cabin. ‘Yes, that’ll work. Garbage bags’ll work.’ He was in his frugal element and raced around the small room as if he’d won the lottery. ‘Oh, and so cheap!’

    He spent the rest of the evening cutting and taping two garbage bags and fashioning them into ponchos for our young sons.

    Sons 1 and 2, unaware of the fate that awaited them, marvelled at the possum perched on the balcony.

    ***

    Next morning, a shroud of mist covered the valley.

    ‘Hmm, the weather doesn’t look good,’ my husband said. ‘Don’t know if we’ll see much of Cradle Mountain. Boys’ll definitely need the ponchos I made when we hike around Dove Lake.’

    Hubby grinned as he pushed the garbage bags into our packs.

    *[Photo 1: Possum © A. Kling 2001]

    I slung my camera’s bulky telescopic lens in its case over my shoulder and tucked it under my parka. I remembered the words of a professional photographer friend who had visited Cradle Mountain before me. ‘Even on cloudy days, you never know when the peak will appear. So, be prepared.’ Besides, I thought, mist and fog give the scenery character.

    In our hire car Ford sedan, we crawled in the tourist-congo to Dove Lake.  Signs warned us of an unsealed section of road suitable only for four-wheel drive vehicles. But did that stop Hubby? No, we bumped along the track behind a bus with him plopping in remarks. ‘Brachina Gorge was worse.’ Or, ‘What are they talking about, this is nothing.’

    After parking, Hubby leapt from the car. ‘Oh, looks like rain.’ He pulled out the “raincoats” and waved them in the air. ‘Come on boys, you need to be waterproof.’

    Son 1 recoiled. ‘I’m not wearing that.’

    ‘No!’ Son 2 screamed and hid behind me.

    ‘Oh, yes, you will!’ their father said. ‘You’ll get wet and a chill and then catch a death of cold, if you don’t.’

    ‘No!’ both boys squealed and then scampered up the path.

    A battle ensued; Hubby with garbage bag-ponchos verses sons refusing to wear the garbage bags.

    Dad won, and with the g-b-ponchos draped over two unhappy boys, the young K-Team trooped along the Dove Lake track.

    A blanket of cloud covered the mountain, and drizzle blurred the view of the lake. The shifting mist mesmerised me. I slowly pulled out my camera and then attached the telescopic lens.

    ‘Get this off me!’ Son 2 cried. He fought with his garbage bag in the wind, and then tore it off.

    ‘No! You must keep it on!’ his dad grabbed the bag-poncho and struggled to put it back over him. Then, with success, clasping his son’s hand, Dad marched ahead, dragging Son 2 behind him.

    *[Photo 2: All waterproof © L.M. Kling 2001]

    ‘I hate this walk!’ Son 1 cried. ‘Why do I have to wear this sack!’

    ‘So you don’t get wet!’ Dad said as they disappeared around a bend of pine trees, branches like arms all twisted and gnarled; monsters in the fog.

    As I progressed around that same bend, I spied No. 2 son sitting on a stump by the path. The sun peeped through the clouds. ‘I’m not wearing this,’ Son 2 said. ‘It’s too hot.’

    I glanced around. No Hubby. ‘Okay.’ I took the garbage bag cloak off Son 2, then peeled off my parka.

    The lake shimmered as rays of sun filtered through the mist and gaps in the cloud. A photographer’s paradise. I aimed my camera and snapped several shots of Dove Lake.

    *[Photo 3: Waterfall over Dove Lake © L.M. Kling 2001] 

                                                                 

    *[Photo 4: Dove Lake through pines © L.M. Kling 2001] 

                                                   

    ‘Mum! Come on!’ Son 2 yelled.

    ‘Hurry up!’ Hubby beckoned. ‘We’ve hardly started! And what are you doing without your rain cover?’

    More protests as Hubby wrestled with Son 2 to get garbage bag-poncho again over his head.

    Just in time. Dark clouds loomed, followed by rain pelting down on us. Hubby knew what he was doing; he was making sure the boys stayed dry.

    As we plodded along the path, once again wrapped and water-proofed, the rain turned to sleet. Icy drops cut into my face.

    ‘I’m tired,’ Son 2 whined. ‘How much longer?’

    ‘It’s an hour’s walk, I replied.

    The sun appeared, and so did the peaks of Cradle Mountain—fleeting, peeping from the curtain of clouds.

    *[Photo 5: Cradle Mountain in Mist © L.M. Kling 2001]

    ‘Wow!’ I halted, shed my rain-jacket, shrugged off the tangle of bags and camera equipment, then caught the image of the mountain before it disappeared.

    Son 2 shed his garbage bag-cloak too.  He sighed, ‘How embarrassing!’

    I packed the embarrassing cover into my bag and we continued the trek around Dove Lake. Every few metres I paused to take another photo.

    ‘Are we there yet?’ Son 2 asked as we crossed a stream.

    Hubby stood before us. ‘What’s taking you so long?’

    ‘There’s so many beautiful scenes to capture,’ I said. ‘The clouds are always shifting and changing. How can I resist?’

    ‘Should only take an hour. It’s been two hours and we’re only half-way.’ Hubby said.

    ‘But, the photos…’

    A pair of hikers passed us from the other direction.

    ‘How far to go?’ they asked.

    ‘A couple of hours,’ I said. ‘How long have you been hiking?’

    ‘From the boathouse, about half-an-hour.’

    ‘Not long to go then.’

    ‘Right, I’m off,’ Hubby said. ‘See you at the boathouse.’

    Hubby and Son 1 marched off while Son 2 and I shuffled behind. We tried to keep up.

    *[Photo 6: Dove Lake Through trees © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 7: Cradle Mountain Revealed© L.M. Kling 2001]

    Emerging through the twisted branches of snow-gums, the lake beckoned, then hints of Cradle Mountain begged me to photograph. Father and Son 1 drifted further…and further ahead, while I remained suspended in the fairyland of Dove Lake, Cradle Mountain and fast-shifting mist and cloud. Even Son 2 deserted me to catch up with his dad and brother.

    I arrived at the boathouse.

    ‘Four hours!’ Hubby greeted me. ‘That must be a record.’

    Our sons, minus garbage bags, skipped stones on the smooth surface of the lake while mist descended over the mountain. I extracted my camera and aimed, taking care to focus.

    ‘Hurry up!’ Hubby snapped, ‘It’s way past lunch.’

    During lunch Hubby scrunched up the green plastic of garbage bags and dumped them into a nearby bin.

    *[Photo 8: After 4 Hours… © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 9: K-Boys skipping stones © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 10: Cradle Mountain on a better, no, the best day 8 years later © L.M. Kling 2009]

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2019; 2023

    Feature Photo: Cradle Mountain Revealed © L.M. Kling 2001

    [Stay tune for next fortnight and see what a difference a few years make. And how the K-Team the younger, just a little bit older, tackle the hike around Dove Lake on a perfect sunny day in the summer of 2009.

    Next week I will be sharing some of my discoveries in my venture into family history, perhaps I can find the reason why I would take 4 hours to walk around Dove Lake. Is it written into my genetic code???]

    ***

    Want more? More than before?

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    Click on the links:

    The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

    Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

    To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

    And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia…

    Trekking Thursday–Free Christmas Treat

    / lmkling / 2 Comments

    PANICKED

    [Extract from Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari, available free on Amazon.]

    Rain, Mud and Lost in the Flinders

    Monday July 20, 1981

    Fat dollops of rain struck my sleeping bag, waking me.

    ‘Oh, al-right!’ I mumbled before peeling the sleeping bag from me. I slipped on my shoes and as I was already fully clothed, I shuffled to the campfire.

    The rain stopped.

    [Photo 1: Rain on the Road © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    Hours dragged as we struggled to eat our cereal, drink beverages, answer the call of nature, and then pack our bags.

    My older cousin, C1 was missing for what seemed an eternity. Younger cousin, C2 commented that his brother liked to read on his “business” ventures.

    I laughed, ‘Our toilet is inaccessible for hours when my brother goes. He doesn’t like books, so I don’t know what he does when he goes.’.

    ‘Well, at least it’s only twice a week,’ my body-building brother said.

    Dad’s eyes widened. ‘What? You only go twice a week?’

    ‘Yeah? How often do you go, Dad?’

    ‘Two or three times a day,’ he replied.

    ‘What?’

    ‘Yeah, that’s normal.’ Dad poked the coals and flames leapt into action. ‘Sure you’re not constipated? I’m not sure your Protein diet is a good idea.’

    [Photo 2: Desert Storm (c) C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    Richard shook his concoction and examined the plastic Tupperware containing Protein-powder mixture. ‘Nup, it’s fine.’ With a teaspoon, he stirred the raw egg floating on top of the bubbles, and then swallowed his liquid breakfast in three gulps.

    C1 returned shovel in hand and a grin spread between his over-night shadow. ‘Ah! That’s better!’

    Dad grabbed the shovel and toilet paper and disappeared into the bush. As we waited for each member to do their “nature-walk”, rain plopped into the sand.

    [Photo 3: Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    We left the Flinders camp mid-morning in the rain, then rattled over corrugations and lumbered through water-washed floodways. An hour into our journey, we stopped at Hawker where the boys selected lollies, and chewing gum to occupy their bored mouths for the hours of travel to come.

    C1 and C2 picked out miscellaneous items they’d forgotten to pack. C1 placed his purchases on the weathered bench and reached for his back pocket. He patted it, and his eyes widened. He jammed his fingers into his pocket, patted his side pockets, and pushed his hands into them and pulled out the lining. He glanced around his feet. ‘Oh, oh! I think I left my wallet behind in the creek,’ he said. While he continued to search the floor, and his pockets, we pooled our money to cover C1’s expenses.

    Despite C1’s lamentations that his wallet contained his driver’s license, passport, visa, and thirty dollars, a wall of steady rain threatening floods, discouraged us from returning to the camp. Dad was sure it was too late to find it. ‘The floods would’ve washed it away,’ he said.

    [Photo 4: Hawker © L. M. Kling 2007]

    On the road through the Flinders Ranges, Dad stopped driving for us to photograph the ranges cloaked in mist. On one of our photo stops, the boys discovered the sport of rock-throwing.

    Our family friend, TR tracked us with his film camera as we all tried to smash beer bottles with rocks.

    Further north, rain pelted our vehicle and lightening flashed. At the bridge near Leigh Creek, we passed a car, bonnet jacked up, and a couple peering at their dead engine.

    [Photo 5: Road on way to Leigh Creek and Woomera © L.M. Kling 2013]

    Richard, came to the rescue and within thirty minutes, resolved their engine issues and sent them on their way. I wish he could have been that efficient with the Rover’s pack-rack!

    While Richard was repairing the car, we inspected the railroad track, the bridge of the over-flowing creek, and then watched a Volkswagen splashing through a pool of muddy water.

    [Photo 6: Volkswagen having fun with puddles © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    At Lyndhurst, we filled up with petrol. Twelve miles out from there, we camped by a disused train track. We used some of the sleepers for firewood. Birds gathered in a cluster of She oak and eucalyptus trees. Stratus and high cumulous clouds gave rise to a stunning sunset of gold, orange and flares of red.

    [Photo 7: Desert Sunset © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    ‘Wow! What a glorious sunset!’ I said and then turned to C1. ‘Pity about the rain and losing your wallet.’

    C1 looked up from his book-reading and sighed, ‘I’ll have to manage without it, I guess.’

    [Photo 8: Skipping Stones © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    ‘Perhaps we can look for it on the way back.’

    ‘Ah, Lee-Anne, always the optimist.’

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2020; 2023

    Feature photo: Railway Track Leigh Creek © C.D. Trudinger 1981

    ***

    Christmas Treat Free!

    How did, I as one eighteen-year-old girl with five men, survive camping two months in the outback?

    What did the T-Team discover as they boldly explored where few people have gone before?

    And, did C1 ever find his wallet?

    Find my travel memoir on Amazon and in Kindle.

    Click on the link below:

    Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

    Free Christmas Treat

    Download your Kindle copy for free from today, Thursday 21 December till Monday, Christmas Day, 25 December 2023.

    Time Travelling Thursday–Postcard from Basel

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    Postcards: Basel, Switzerland

    [This postcard of the Basel Minster (German: Basler Münster) was delivered to its recipient in 1899. Theodora Bellan, the recipient was my Great-grandmother’s house maid. Imagine! Those were the days when ancestors had house maids. My grandfather who was my Great-grandma’s son-in-law, collected postcards and so, ended up with this one. I wonder if he considered, back then, probably some 80 to 90 years ago, that, one of his descendants (me) with the K-Team would visit the birthplace of my husband’s mother? Would he have envisaged the changes to this city and the challenges the K-Team faced visiting this city of Switzerland?]

    K-Team Adventures in Basel — August 2014

    Not so early, for once, on this particular Saturday morning, Hubby’s brother P1, Granny K, Hubby and I headed for Basel. We regretted not rising early. Near Zurich, cars on the autobahn came to a virtual standstill and continued that way till Basel.

    [Photo 1: First impressions of Basel; Münster Fahre © L.M. Kling 1998]

    Having taken twice as long to get to Basel, and then taking time to squeeze into a very narrow car park in the middle of the city, once released from the confines of the car, Granny went in search of toilet facilities. She found some close by only to discover they took her Swiss Franc and failed to deliver relief as she couldn’t open the door. We hunted down the street in search of a toilet. Migros would surely facilitate the desperate. No, only if you patronise the establishment do you get the code to get into the room of relief. The Rathaus? No, joy there—closed for business. Ah, MacDonald’s! Off Granny and I ran. By this time, I was becoming a tad desperate for a wee break. I had a plan. Buy some McChips and a McWrap and get the Mac-code and we’re in business. Had to line up, though. The men waited outside. We waited. They waited. Finally! Service and the sacred code of the Holy Mac-Grail, the toilet.

    [Photo 2: The Rathaus closed for a meeting © L.M. Kling 2014]

    When we eventually emerged, much relieved, Hubby said, ‘You took your time. We’ve been waiting 25 minutes.’

    ‘It’s not like Basel’s flush with them,’ I replied.

    ‘I guess that’s why I haven’t seen many people walking around with bottles of water,’ Hubby muttered.

    [Photo 3: The crowds through the Rathaus Gate © L.M. Kling 2014]

    We fought our way through the Saturday shoppers and holiday crowd over the bridge and to the Kleine Alstadt to find a bench to sit and eat our lunch. Ironically, free benches were the Holy Grail there, but toilets, now we didn’t need one, were in abundance, including open air urinals!

    We did find some ratty old seats near a playground and some youth nearby with a ghetto blaster booming out Spanish hip-hop! Oh, well, it was a seat and I enjoyed watching the people and the happy ambience of the sunny Saturday afternoon.

    [Photo 4: Altstadt (old town) © L.M. Kling 2014]

    But P1 slouched in his seat and pouted.

    ‘What’s wrong?’ Granny asked.

    ‘We haven’t seen anything,’ P1 mumbled.

    However soon enough we did see some sights. We saw the outside of the Rathaus with its mural artworks—the inside still closed for a meeting! Approaching the cathedral known as the Basel Minster, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to see inside this cathedral with the tapestry roof for ages. Last time when we were here in 1998, we didn’t have time to look inside.’

    [Photo 5: Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 1998]

    ‘It was Sunday, then and the Cathedral was closed for a service,’ Hubby said.

    ‘Oh.’

    We entered the Basel Minster and marvelled at the simple beauty of the sanctuary. A service was starting in half an hour, so we had to be silent and not take photos. But I did take some anyway…

    [Photo 6: Inside the Minster’s sanctuary © L.M. Kling 2014]

    After a while, Hubby found me and asked, ‘Have you seen P1?’

    ‘No.’

    Granny came up to us. ‘Have you seen P1?’

    ‘No, he must’ve climbed the tower,’ I said.

    Hubby texted P1 and he replied he’d been asked to leave as a service was about to take place. It just hasn’t been P1’s day.

    [Photo 7: The Cloisters—Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 2014]

    After meeting P1 in the square, we then walked through the cloisters next door to the Basel Minster and then marvelled at the vista of the Rhine, the city and the mountains in the distance. Hubby pointed out the Blauen Hoch, the mountain we’d climbed while in Badenweiler.

    [Photo 8: Rhine vista © L.M. Kling 2014]

     [Photo 9: Blauen Hoch in distance © L.M. Kling 2014]

    On our way back to the car, we walked through the Altstadt to the Kunst Museum. Too late by this time to explore but Hubby and I hoped we could return next weekend to see the museum. Never happened…Maybe next time???

    [Photo 10: Hubby and the Rodin sculpture in courtyard of Kunst Museum, Basel © L.M. Kling 2014]

    And finally, Granny asked Hubby to drive past the church where she was baptised. Unfortunately, it was only a drive through, more road works and nowhere to park. At least the church bells started ringing as we crawled past to the delight of Granny.

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020

    Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front and Back © 1899

    ***

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    ***

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