I spend a fair bit of time travelling in cold climate countries.  The coldest I’ve ever been was in Oslo (Norway) in mid-January, when one night the temperature dipped to -18 C.  I learned that at that temperature it doesn’t matter how many layers you have on, how fast you walk to warm up or how much hot coffee you drink, you’re still cold.  In fact it was so cold in Oslo that when we left and arrived in Bergen (on the west coast of Norway) we actually started stripping off the layers.  It was still -2 C.

Last December Rob and I went to Prague, and whilst it certainly wasn’t as cold as it had been in Oslo I still remember getting to the point where I was fed up with shivering and not being able to feel my feet.  One day, on a particularly long walk to the Bohemians football ground, I threw my toys out of the pram and had a tantrum.  I’m an Aussie, and December is meant to be filled with trips to the beach and sunbathing on the grass in the back yard, not wandering around post-Communist Prague trying to figure out whether my feet are suffering from frost-bite.

Now that I’m back from the UK again, patiently awaiting a letter from the British Consulate to tell me whether or not they will give me a student visa to study at Edinburgh, I’ve realized that Australian winters can be just as nasty as their European counterparts.  I know, I know - Australian winters, cold?  Laughable!  A frosty morning in Queensland, the ’sunshine state’?  I must be joking!  Unfortunately for the ice-blocks that have now replaced my toes, it turns out that winter in Australia can feel as cold as it does in European countries, and it’s our sunny climate that’s to blame.  You see, the majority of Australian buildings aren’t constructed for cold weather, they’re built to be cool, to let in breezes, to make the most of whatever shade is provided by nearby trees, to turn away from hot sunlight instead of towards it.  Our windows are single glaze, we tend to have shutters and blinds instead of curtains, and many of our floors are tiled or wood instead of carpet.  The covers on our beds are summer-weight not winter-weight, and many of our homes have air-conditioners instead of heaters.  The radiators that are so common in each room in every house in Britain simply don’t exist here.  In winter our houses feel cold because they are cold - often they’re only a few degrees warmer than the outside temperature, which in Brisbane can dip below freezing on some nights.  Whilst European countries may have much colder winters in terms of temperatures, when you’re inside with central heating, double glazing, fluffy bed covers and soft carpets you simply don’t notice it.

So next time you come across a hapless Aussie in a northern-hemisphere winter, wading through drifts of snow or chipping icicles of their hair, don’t pity them.  They have serious cold weather experience.

The Grand Canal, Venice (Italy). Photo taken from Rialto Bridge.

Exactly one year ago Rob and I were in Venice, Italy. We hadn’t planned the trip to Italy around Valentine’s Day specifically, it just worked out that we were in one of the most beautiful cities in the world on a day traditionally associated with ‘love’. Although the 14th of February is supposed to be a day for showing your love for that special person in your life, I found that I instead fell in love with a city slowly sinking below rising sea levels. From the over-the-top glamour of Basilica di San Marco to the understated grace of Santa Maria della Salute, to the hidden courtyards filled with children celebrating Carnivale with handfuls of confetti, to the acqua alta (’high water’ - the term used to describe the tidal rise of water that fills St Mark’s Square), I fell head over heels for a place which in the nineteenth century was described by architects as being in a state of disrepair.

In fact, few people realise it, but if it wasn’t for John Ruskin (a brilliant nineteenth century philosopher and architectural theorist who wrote ‘The Stones of Venice’) and the subsequent impact his work had on William Morris (founder of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, the forerunner of the National Trust in the UK), St Mark’s Square and Basilica di San Marco may not be standing today, or at the very least would not look as we expect them to. Venice had fallen on hard times and was not as rich as it once had been, and the Industrial Revolution’s polluted air had caused huge damage to the delicate marble and gold leaf exteriors of many buildings in Europe - not least the buildings of St Mark’s Square. The Italian government had plans to completely refurbish the exterior of the buildings lining St Mark’s Square and to completely overhaul the Basilica, and the plans were only halted because of public outrage led by Ruskin and Morris (and several national governments) and because of a lack of funding. How lucky we are that these forward thinkers stepped in when they did, else we would not today still be marvelling over the incredible beauty that is Venice.

The front of Basilica di San Marco. Taken from St Mark’s Square.

We’re back from Prague, and I can happily say it was amazing… if you ignored all the other tourists. I’ll leave that particular complaint for a separate post I began composing in my head while we were in Prague, entitled ‘An Open Letter of Apology to the People of Prague’.

Prague itself was beautiful - the weather was good for 90% of the time we were there, and even when it wasn’t there were plenty of shops and alley-ways to duck into to shelter from the drizzle. The Old Town Square was filled with stalls for the Christmas Market, and everywhere you could smell roasting nuts, cinnamon, mulled wine, and slowly roasting meat. The architecture was incredible as well - some of the church interiors were so lovely that you had to take a seat to take it all in. The area around Prague Castle was great as well - St. Vitus Cathedral had the most breath-taking stained-glass windows I’ve ever seen. At one point we got sick of the main tourist traps and went on (a very long) walk from where we were staying to see the Bohemians football team play. Although they are near the bottom of the Czech league, they seemed to be a strong team, and the supporters were out in force even though it wasn’t a big game. Their mascot, oddly enough, is a kangaroo - the team went on a tour of Australia in the 1930s and were gifted with a pair of kangaroos, and they decided it was a good idea to keep the symbol as their team emblem.

The odd Australian connections continued when we were having dinner in a beer hall and were accosted by an Oompa band who demanded to know which countries we came from. When Rob answered ‘Australia and Wales’, the tuba player got excited and gestured to some koala souvenirs he was wearing which he had obviously been given by some fanatical Aussie tourists. The band then proceeded to play ‘Skippy the Bush Kangaroo’ for me. If I hadn’t been so mortified, it may have made me home sick.