Family legacy in Treviso

My unexpected hike in Germany

missmax — Sun, 18 May 2014 22:55:00 GMT

At age 17, I won a scholarship exchange to Germany for several months - 30 students from across Australia and New Zealand, where we spent the winter at our various host families' houses throughout the country-side. I was placed in Bad Schwartau, near Luebeck (about an hour away from Hamburg, way up north). As part of the exchange program, we are paired with our German "counterpart"; a host sibling, where we go to school together everyday, join in on their social life and generally stick to them like glue.

My German, however, was in Canada for the first week of my trip, so I was blessed with the lucky task of sink or swim, auf Deutsch. She was on exchange herself, so her parents were there to meet me and make me feel welcome, but school was a whole other ball game. My German's best friend, Tami, showed me around for the first few days, so it wasn't all bad, but my German language skills were novice at best, so it made for a few funny moments where I had no clue what was happening nor had the ability to have an input into discussions.

Anyway, my 3rd day, still no host sister, and my host mother said to me on the way to school (well, at least this is what I roughly translated it as) "I know you need to buy winter jackets and clothes, so after school, go shopping down the main street, then catch the bus home, or call me on the payphone if you want a lift". Sounded reasonable. So I had my day of school, bid my class farewell, then walked the few hundred feet to the main strip of Luebeck. I shopped, not untill I dropped, but untill I physiclly couldnt hold any more bags.

So I jumped on the bus, realised I had no clue which stop was the one I needed to get off at, asked bus patrons in laughable German whether they could help me, but was met with stoic silence. The landscape started to look familiar so I got off, then went for the longest, coldest, windiest walk of my entire life. 3kms in the -5 degrees wind, it was dark, lonesome and I quickly grew to realise that I had quite a stretch in front of me. Thankfully along the way I ran into a nice couple, who directed me to Hamburger Strasse (yes, I lived on the most cliched Deutsch street in the history of ever), where it was just starting to get properly dark, and ... I was locked out.

I was yet to have a key, because so far I'd been picked up from school each day by my host mother. I didn't have a phone, because again, day 3 - I was too busy eating sausages for breakfast and mandarines at all hours to be bothered about buying a phone. No hope of breaking in - say what you will about the Germans, but they sure know how to build an impenetrable house. Bloody fortresses. So I sat out the front for what totalled an hour untill eventually a car rolled up with my host mums' work colleague - apparently, she had said "I'll pick you up, or call me if you want to take the bus."

Damn it.

So naturally when I was a no show, my host mum freaked and quite seriously sent out a search party, which by the time they found me had been going on for 3 hours. The work colleague let me in, as apparently everyone but me had a key to the house. My host mother turned up within 20 minutes of being called, and we had what I can say with absolute certainty was the most awkward and embarrased hug of my life.

One of the things they don't tell you about international travel is that you will have the best, and the absolute worst times of your life. This experience wasn't nearly as bad as other incidents I've experienced since, but hot damn it sticks out in my mind. I was very grateful to my German mother, and we both kind of looked on it as a bonding experience. Kind of.

15, London, One week

missmax — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 15:45:00 GMT

For my 15th birthday, my family and I went to London for a week - and I know what you're thinking, what kind of posh nancy family goes to Europe for a kids birthday? (and not even a milestone birthday, mind you)

Well, to put the record straight, no my family is not stupidly wealthy, no we didn't bust the bank just for a holiday, and we certainly didn't stow away on the plane just for the laughs. It came about because I have Cystic Fibrosis - a chronic illness the affects the lungs and digestion of thousands of children all over Australia, and the world. But before you jump to any conclusions (too late, right?) I'm actually quite healthy. Never been hospitalized since I was diagnosed when I was born, and I have better lung function than anybody else in my family, including my 6ft 2' dad.

So anyway, I was age 14 when my mum casually mentioned to me that the Make A Wish foundation were searching for children to have their wish granted - maybe it was a slow year for them? - and I near did a backflip when it dawned on me that this was mum's way of asking what I wanted to wish for; I was eligible, and under 18. International travel was my first choice - and London seemed like the best choice for me.

After the whole process of the wish granting, there we were, July 2007, about to embark on a whirlwind week of sight seeing, stuffing our faces and mastering our fake British accents. My two elder sisters were also allowed to come, as they were both under 18 at the time of application - my eldest sister by 2 weeks, which was lucky.

We arrived in London, and we were off. The first few days were jam packed with every a tourist could wish for: Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Kings Cross, Hyde Park, Stonehenge, Windsor Castle, Kensington Palace ... but the big day, my birthday, the Make A Wish people pulled out all the stops.

They gave us a bright baby pink limo for the day (the same one used by the Spice Girls, apparently), where we rolled on over to Madame Tussauds for a few hours, taking the cliched yet necessary photos with all the great celebrities and world leaders - my personal favourite from the day was of Dad strangling then-PM, John Howard. A long lunch at a secluded restaurant, then another limo trip to the London Eye, where we took in the expansive and spectacular views of the city from above, loving every second of the half hour glorified ferris wheel. Back to the hotel, and after a desperately needed nap and cup of tea, it was off to the Hard Rock Cafe for dinner ... if I could have thought of a cool and fun way to celebrate a birthday, then the Make A Wish foundation did it at least 30 times better.

We had several more days in London after my birthday (including a spontaneous day trip to Paris), but it was just such a surreal blur of famous landmarks, dashing about with cameras and endless, truly endless cups of tea, that it flashed by all too quickly. And before I knew it, we were back in Australia, and on the road to my hometown of Griffith, in the Outback.

Few people could say that they've had such a kick ass birthday, let alone for something as unimpressive as 15. But I know that no birthday will ever top that in my books - I'm eternally grateful to the Foundation, and urge everyone, should the opportunity arise, to travel the world and fulfill a dream, and let your inner 15 year old have the time of their life.

A Monumentally Normal Day

missmax — Sun, 27 Apr 2014 19:30:58 GMT

It’s been three years since my romp around Europe with my best friend Laura, but the memories of our day in the highlands of Italy are still as sharp and as warm as if they weren't even memories at all. My friend is of Italian descent, so we thought it would be adventurous to hunt down her relatives, and the house her nonna grew up in. Being pressed for time, Laura hadn't written, but we had obtained an address and phone number in Crespano del Grappa - halfway between Milan and Venice, in the mountains.
We somewhat sheepishly called the number from our hotel, neither of us knowing enough Italian to be able to order a coffee, let alone explain who we were or how exactly we were related. After some confusion, they picked us up and brought us to their home, excitedly exclaiming “Gli occhi Valentini!”
They showed us around the farm houses, the one they lived in, and the older barn, the reason Laura sharply clutched at her Olympus PEN – the house her grandmother grew up in. The dust had settled quick thickly on the cupboards, and one could feel the breeze coming through the holes in the walls, but my attention was centered on Laura. Haunted tears appeared in her eyes as she gently slid her fingers along counter-tops and bedposts; her family had suffered much due to the wars, a familial pain that I couldn't share in. I sidled back outside, and was immediately surrounded by smiling cousins with innumerable hands, who guided me through the long yellow grass back to the house, who proceeded to try to teach me to cook.
After some time Laura joined us, where we ate pasta, drank far too much wine and played countless games of Mr Squiggle with all the younger cousins – we didn't understand a word of what was said around us despite our dictionaries and best efforts, we missed four buses back to town before we could communicate how late it was, and one of Laura’s uncles was adamant we were Austrian rather than Australian. The day had been truly remarkable – it was much quieter and slower than our other days of travel; we didn't see great monuments or visit a historic landmark, but we did experience a wholly unexpected connection to strangers, we did face the chasm between the generations, and we did leave that day with a greater understanding of the history of the culture … plus also a mild hangover. But hey, it’s Italy. Salute!