And they all went marching

Home sick today with little to do and no energy to do it. So how else is a girl to entertain herself but to write? Even in sickness, life is pleasantly calm at the moment. The sun is finally out (and I'm told it will reach twelve degrees at the end of the week! Twelve!) and our neighbour's cat has been sunning herself on our garden wall for the better part of two hours. My envy of her is extreme. Aside from my aching bones and heavy head, my only other irritant today is the ants who've decided to call our kitchen home. Fellow bloggers have been commenting for weeks about these wee beasties who've suddenly appeared in houses from Glasgow to Bournemouth and, sadly, Anthony and his friends decided to finally bless us with their presence about a week ago. 

Our attempts at being cruel to be kind have so far not deterred them and it seems any spare scrap of food, neglected sweet or open packet is forfeit in this war. And so, with groaning belly, dizzy vision and tired legs; my mission today is simple. Get the house ship shape and completely spotless. That orta starve the little ratbags out of here. 

Easter

The thing about compulsory holidays is that they're usually more depressing than they are relaxing. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot that's right about Easter, Christmas, Melbourne Cup Day and all the rest but there's always a slightly forced edge to any celebrations. Easter especially managed to achieve this for me this year. There's the obvious problem with it that it makes me miss my younger siblings and cousins and of course the combination of tonnes of chocolate and a sudden awareness of how much winter paunch I've gained... never a great mix. 
One thing that was great about Easter over here though was the Easter Sunday Dinner. Full sized roasts, vegetables, sauces, pies and desserts. That right there is a tradition I can get behind. Might be something to bring back to the Aussies one day.

Anzacs and Tea

Access to a fully equipped kitchen is a rarity when travelling, but I am currently one of the lucky few who can claim exception to that. As such, bouts of loneliness for my homeland are rather easily cured with favourites from home. Anzac biscuits (kind of like a chewy Hob Nob) are one of Australia's greatest creations and celebrating them with new friends has allowed me plenty of opportunity to smugly show off my own humble cooking abilities. And really; nothing can beat the Anzac as a tea dipping biscuit. Three of these and a cup of Lady Gray tea create something magical out of what would otherwise be just another rainy British day.


Recipe after the jump.

A Very Merry Christmas

And so ends my first Christmas abroad. Or at least; the first Christmas abroad without family. In a modern world of instant email and video calls this is much less of a big deal than it once would have been, but the wonders of Skype are bittersweet at this time of year. But of course, when does the festive season ever pass us by without a little bit of drama?

Stories from fellow travellers about their experiences of foreign Christmases have always varied. Some, like my boyfriend, remember massive backpacker barbecues under a scorching, summer sun. Others remember joining distant, rarely thought of relatives and the awkward attempts at family bonding that followed. Those staying in hostels usually remember terrible food, masses of cheap alcohol and a giant tree, but stories from these folks usually detail hour long walks through cold streets looking for the one off-license that stayed open on Christmas (and I'll bet you anything the owner of that store has a much, much sadder story to tell). Some remember sponsor families from their student exchanges whilst others, like myself, are temporarily adopted by the families of friends.

My Christmas involved a full Christmas dinner, champagne and sparkling juice, baileys (how could it not) and a near heart attack after realising how much chocolate I'd eaten. Christmas eve was probably more fun as I got to watch my boyfriend's mother and sister spend most of the day in the kitchen producing not one, not two but ten different kind of sweet treats; from mince pies to hob nobs to a pavlova and chocolate log. An evening in the local pub resulted in a slightly hung over Skype call to my family on Christmas morning, but the time spent listening to Christmas hits and nineties pop was well worth it.

 

My family back home worried a bit more than I would have hoped and have rather over done it in terms of gifts this year, as the pile of twelve books now sitting on the bed can testify to (I am being persistently mocked about how I intend to transport all my presents back to Australia in a year or two). A funny  hat from my sister and online vouchers from my father were reminiscent of gifts from last year, but the difficulties of overseas postage and online orders were evident. The detailed declaration of content (or the "Surprise Ruiner" as I now like to call it) on the packages from back home and the book written in German that my grandmother accidentally ordered from the Book Depository are clear evidence of that. But as the saying goes: it's the thought that counts.

And so it does seem that a merry (although not snowy) Christmas has indeed been had, despite all odds. Next comes New Year, which I can only hope will be appropriately epic and, of course, completely soaked in alcohol.

Leaving (for) home

On the penultimate day of quite a long trip, you would think feelings of either relief or devastation would be passing through me. Strangely, neither emotion has made an appearance, and my casual approach to completing my journey seems to be ticking people off. The nerve!

It seems I missed the memo that the ending of a trip must be accompanied by fanfare and dramatics. People are oddly perturbed when I don't tear up at the idea of leaving them behind or burst into sobs of joy because I'll see my friends back home. Don't worry (dear friends), I do love and miss you, but does it really bother you that much that I don't base my entire existence around your presence in my life? Really?

Seriously. You're not that great.

Uruguayan morning tea- another thing I'll miss

What I have missed, and what I am going to miss is food. I miss home cooked meals so badly that my first may leave me in fits at the dining table. I miss baking, I miss cooking, I miss the cheap Indian place near my house and I miss my normal supermarket. But my god I'm going to miss Argentinian icecream. Holy crap! This stuff's so good it would make Adriano Zumbo say “holy crap this stuff's so good”. (Yeah, the Z-man and I are tight)

What I won't miss is the smell of mate. Mate (the E is audible) is a herbal tea everyone here drinks at every possible opportunity. It's foul. The smell haunts me in my sleep. Hate hate hate hate hate.

But you know- it's cultural, so I guess I'll have to pretend I miss that, too. Otherwise more strange looks from fellow backpackers will result. Jeez.