Ol' Brighty

Parts 1 to 4

I can't believe how disorganised I can be. When I booked a flight from Bishkek to Brussels I lazily thought I'd be arriving at the main Brussels airport close to the city centre, and would then just zip over to Bruxelles Central station by metro, so I could meet my daughter Manu as she arrived on her train from Germany.

But there's 2 airports in Brussels, innit.

The one I arrived at is called Bruxelles Charleroi, which is a bloody con, because it's absolutely not Brussels, but a small town about an hour and a half bus ride away.

So, not only were both my flights delayed, but when I finally got to Central I was very very late. Like, hours late.

But Manu was very understanding.

When I saw her for the first time in 18 months however, and, filled with unbridled joy, I instinctively burst into song, she immediately disappeared into her book, rather than have anyone in the waiting room even suspect that she had any association with me whatsoever.

I don't blame her.

I stopped singing, and she gingerly acknowledged my presence.

It was so amazing to see each other again.

It was cool as I left Bishkek, at a ridiculous hour.

I met the most amazing Finnish woman on the bus, Sana, she was on her way to Osh, to climb a mountain called Peak Lenin, which towers over 7,000m above the town. 7,000m is very high, in case you didn't know. Everest is about 8,800m. Sana's a mountaineer, and has climbed peaks all over the world. We had a lovely connection, I really hope to visit her in the French Alps, if I ever get there.

Hangin at Bishkek Airport

On the Pegasus Air flight, a Turkish airline.

Heading off from Bishkek

It didn't take long to reach the mountains

Eastern Turkey

Not only did my flight leave late, but it also couldn't land as scheduled at Istanbul's Sabiha Gökçen airport. The captain announced that we'd been redirected to Istanbul's main airport, Atatürk.

My heart sank.

That meant I'd definitely miss my connecting flight, as it was leaving from the originally scheduled airport, and I wouldn't have time to get across Istanbul in time.

I really wasn't sure what to do. Manu would have to stay in Brussels alone, and we'd have to catch up the next day. Major bummer.

But then just before we arrived at the new airport the plane swung around again, and the captain announced that we would, after all, be going to the original airport.

Phew.

I had no way of contacting Manu about my lateness (out of range, no airport wifi when we finally landed), but I knew she'd be tracking my flight on an app she has, as she loves that sort of thing. She even shot her screen so she could show me my convoluted route through the skies above Istanbul.

I haven't had such a convoluted route in ages.

Swinging away from Istanbul's main airport

Close to airport #2

Istanbul's a big city these days, the 15th largest in the world, there's now about 15 million sardines living down there.

I had a pinkel in the tuvaletler

My Brussels flight was delayed too. It was basically a shitshow in that airport shed.

And I didn't get a window seat either.

It was raining when I finally got to Charleroi. Welcome to northern Europe in summer.

I jumped on a bus to a metro station near Central, and a local Brussel Sprout told me if I was sneaky I could jump on an Intercity train to get to Central quickly, even if I didn't have a ticket. He said it was unlikely anyone would check my ticket in that short a distance.

The thing is, when I got to the platform the train was leaving and the automatic doors were closing. But I jumped on anyway, narrowly missing the doors as they slammed shut. Phew!

I got to Central station, but then immediately got pulled up by the station guard, who started angrily gesticulating at me and blabbering off in French.

I said "Je ne parle pas français," (I don't speak French), pretty much the only French I know, so he switched to English without missing an angry syllable, and castigated me profusely for jumping on the train while the doors were closing.

"Don't you ever do that again!", he exclaimed, "those doors could've closed on you, which is very dangerous yada yada yada."

I was very apologetic, which seemed to calm him down completely, and then he almost became apologetic himself.

Strange that.

The good thing was, he'd been so focused on my speedy jumping antics that he completely forgot to check if I had a ticket (which I didn't).

So somehow I had the last haw haw haw.

Coming up to the main concourse in Bruxelles Central.

There were smurfs flying around everywhere. They were originally born in Belgium.

I was so happy to see Manu, and she was so happy to see me too, once she got over my embarrassing singing antics.

Manu about to fly off to our Airbnb.

Manu as happy as a pig in sheet.

Outside Elisabeth metro station. Reminds me of Paris. Especially the billboard thingy.

Dutch is pretty funny, jaa

The Brussels Sacre Coeur. It's actually called that. Paris has one too, as you probably know, and the translation isn't sacred cow, but Sacred Heart.

A missile shot past as we were walking down the street.

At Nestor's house. Nestor is our Belgian Airbnb host, he has a young wife and the cutest little son.

Met A Girl In Brussels

Manu and I choofed off in the morning to get brekky. It was actually a nice day.

Weird-shaped peaches.

Deeeelishus! Pastries and yoghurts and flat peaches.

We walked all the way to the city centre to meet up with a friend, Ester.

Being in Brussels is like living in a French/Dutch dictionary.

Statue outside the Palace of Justice (the main court building in the city).

I met Flemish Ester in Mullumbimby a few years ago. She'd arrived very late on a delayed flight to Coolangatta, and my housemate April had offered her a bed at our place, as it was way too late to find a bed in a hostel.

She's a nomad, like me, and had arrived in Australia after spending a few years living in Capetown, South Africa. We hung out for a few days, and I showed her around the traps.

Ester's a super interesting and really sweet person, she's a lawyer, now working for an NGO based in Brussels, and travelling for work a lot. She was heading to Tanzania later in the week to set up a new office for her NGO in Dar Es Salaam, and actually lives in Barcelona with her boyfriend.

We were super lucky to catch her while she was in Brussels, and super luckier because she's so nice, which I already knew of course. She also bought Manu and I lunch, she's so generous too. It was so lovely and super interesting to see her again, we had so much to talk about.

Smashed avos, eggs and smashing coffee

The stunning Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert, inaugurated in 1847.

Grand Place, one of the true architectural jewels of Europe, is an incredible city square, featuring an amazing eclectic blend of different architectural and artistic styles, particularly Gothic and Baroque.

Many of the stunningly ornate and grand buildings were built in the 1500s, but were destroyed by continuous bombardment by troops loyal to French king Louis XIV in 1695.

Meanies.

But the square, which lay at the heart of medieval Brussels, was completely rebuilt, a huge testament to the enormous wealth and pride of the citizens of the mercantile city at the time.

Magnificent innit.

Ester was so kind to us, she decided not to go back to her office for the afternoon, and worked online from here, looking after our luggage for us.

The Stock Exchange

My kinda street

We wandered over to St Nicolas Catholic Church, with the other peasants

The clergy have won loads of Oscars, must be for their superb acting during all those pedophile court hearings they're always cast in.

Belgium is famous for chocolates, in case you didn't know

It's also famous for beer, fries, waffles, Tintin, Smurfs, and Ester.

Oh yeah, and Brussels is famous for Brussel sprouts of course, those cute little mini cabbages that normal people absolutely love but some weird people hate.

Every single person in Belgium loves Australian Home Made Ice Cream, which they can get all over the place here. And when they're planning trips to Australia they can't wait to get over there and find it on pretty much every street corner and keep gutsing on it.

But when they get to Oz they discover it's nowhere to be found, it doesn't even exist (except in Belgium), and that they've been conned, poor bloody buggers.

Ya wouldn't bloody read about it.

So then they just go back to Brussels and eat pink chocolate and get happy again.

Manu and I waited for an eternity in a queue to jump on the Eurostar, which zips under the French Channel (or the English Channel, as the Poms like to call it), from Brussels to London. Ester patiently waited in line with us, eating German chocolates (compliments of Manu), and chatting.

Then we said a sad goodbye to Ester and headed off. It was amazing to hang with her again, what a beautiful kindred spirit.

Manu looking incredibly blissed out, because she loves trains so much and is actually sitting inside one.

Supermarket lunch, just like the old days

French wheatfields

Zipping through Londres

Mon Bradman

Brad collected us from the Brighton railway station.

He's man of my own heart, one of the warmest, most generous and sweetest men in the whole of the cosmos. And, as if that weren’t enough, he also has the best collection of vinyl records in the universe, which kept us both entertained for days on end.

Actually, listening to the vinyls was just one part of the music entertainment. Brad’s extensive and intricate knowledge of the British music scene, from his childhood all the way to now, provided the lion’s share of the fun.

He knows everything about everyone musical. Hawkwind are his heroes, and he can tell you more about them than they could probably remember. He has an anthology of anecdotes, stories and facts about musicians, right on the tip of his tongue, and he told me so much about the scene here, including stories from when he was just a young strapper, going to gigs that blew his mind (more than it already was, due to the kind help of various herbs and spices).

Brad even showed me YouTube clips of Inner City Union gigs from the 80s, where you can see his young glaze-eyed head moshing around with his beautiful girlfriend from that time, Doris, who the camera operator kept focusing on almost as much as the band.

I don’t blame him.

Stepping into Amy and Brad’s house was like coming home. Manu and I felt incredibly welcomed right from the word stop. Amy is Brad’s partner, she's an incredibly interesting, warm and generous woman herself, and made Manu and I feel just like part of the family.

Both of those guys squeezed us into their working lives, and still found time to cook for us, hang out with us, and be the most generous hosts ever.

What a gift to humanity they are.

I stayed in the summer house in the beautiful garden. Manu had her own room inside the house.

A real live home

Part of the pleasure collection

Brad brandishing his own birth certificate, trying to prove he’s human. He’s not. He’s celestial.

I lived in Brighton once upon a time, with Manu's mum, Carmen. In fact, Manu was conceived in our house there, on the very same day that Brad's daughter Maddy was born. Carmen and I were living with Maddy's mum María at the time, and were actually there for the birth. It was beautiful.

Brad reminded me about us all hanging there right after the birth, when I apparently played the song "Blackbird," and after we finished singing an actual blackbird started singing in the garden.

Cosmic.

But that sort of thing's just normal for Brad.

Manu doing her Brighton seagull impersonation

One day we went to visit an old friend Yasmin. It was so great to see her, but she was a little unwell, so our visit was short lived. I even forgot to take a pic.

Yasmine's front garden

There was a horserace meet on at the Brighton racetrack. When that happens they block the road during each race so the horses have enough space to run on after the home straight.

England looks like this

Manu made me pose for this

Radial telegraphy

We walked down to the seafront

Offshore windfarms

Rust never sleeps

The "famous" Brighton Palace Pier

Flying is allowed

Old school kitsch

Brighton Pavilion, built in stages from 1787 by George, the Prince of Wales, who became Prince Regent (the successor to the throne), and then eventually King George IV in 1820. George used to go down to Brighton so he could sneakily hang out with his mistress, Maria Fitzherbert (who, it seems, also fit George). George's physician also advised him that hanging out down at the seaside would be good for his chronic gout, which plagued him constantly, due to his unceasing penchant for a tipple.

The building was designed in an Indian-Saracenic style, which was common in India at the time, and rather trippy to build in England.

The Greek God of the sea (Poseidon), also known as Neptune to the Romans.

One of Brad's trippy music videos.

"I don't have to do anything. I just need to go to Canada." I came to see Manu now because Canada's a little far from Kyrgyzstan.

It ain't Vegemite, but Manu's brekky is (almost) better than nothing.

Trashy

Brad and Amy's cul de sac. Manu advised us that the literal translation of cul de sac is bum of the bag.

Queen's Park

The dogs play football in this country

No, it's not marijuana, unfortunately.

Pippin the Cat

Manu was dying to get into this place

Good spot for a charging station, right by the car parks.

One day we went to see Sue, a good friend for many years, who also happens to be the mum of Tondi, a really close friend I met in India many moons ago, and who now lives in the Byron area.

Great lawn for astrotravellers

Sue cooked us the most delicious lunch, we had blush wine and beer in the middle of the day, as the sun tried to be an actual sun. It was so great to catch up with her after such a long time, we chatted for ages with her and her boarder Sila from Sao Paolo in Brazil.

Full bellies and empty glasses

Sue is the most interesting woman, and appears to have been suffering from the bite of a travel bug for pretty much her whole life. She lived in Kenya for many years, brought up her kids there, and now that she's living back in England still gets away as much as she can. She'd just returned from Spain when we visited, and, as usual, was the most generous host, offering us super delicious food, drinks, and the most sparkling conversation.

It was election night in the UK, the chance for Brits to finally exile the Tories, after 14 years of complete incompetence, and the systematic and blatant transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich.

And they did it with one of the biggest landslide wins in the history of the UK. Labour, under Keir Starmer, won an unprecedented 412 seats, and the Tories only a measly 121.

'Bout fucking time, that's all I can say. Many many people were celebrating, after an eternity of political and economic polarisation, nastiness and austerity.

We stayed up late to watch the results, especially Amy, who finally retired well into the morn.

The tv coverage was sorta weird.

Manu and I strolled about every day.

The Lanes is a very cool part of Brighton, a collection of laneways full of small hip shops, cafés and stalls, patronised by a large contingent of leftist commie hippy scum, like us.

Anyone know what this is?

I was surprised to see a place with the name Pamir. The Pamirs are a mountain range in Tajikistan that I might visit in a month or two. I got excited when I saw the sign.

The European Football Championships are on at the moment in Germany. England's been mainly winning, but not playing as well as people want them to. So, as usual, people have nothing better to do than to criticise the English team ad nauseum, despite the fact that they won their group and their first knockout game.

Brad and I watched part of a game between someone and someone else, I can't remember now. Someone won. I think. Or it could've been a draw, I'm not sure. Then someone would've won on penalties.

We also watched the England/Switzerland highlights.

Brad is a saint. I mentioned wanting to play a guitar, so what did he do? He went and bought one from a charity shop didn't he. For £15. It's a good guitar, but it was in a right state, which is what an English person would say if something is actually in a wrong state. The original strings on it were so old they'd actually lodged into the woodwork. True story. I restrung it and gave it a service, with Brad's help for the tricky extraction part.

The guitar was very happy, and so was I.

Brad cooking up the most delicious palak paneer in history. Yes, the boy can cook too.

It was Indian feast night. Hail Shiva, as they also got kulfi icecream for us all. Their kindness knows no bounds.

I gave it peace and love.

Manu's face when she saw the feast. You can tell she's related to a Leo, can't you.

I find your allure so appealing

My poor little heart's hit the ceiling

Dumbstruck with desire

I dare not enquire

If it might be a mutual feeling

Shonky dealers on the hustle

What Brighton looks like during a long long winter when you have no cash

Rest his soul

Brad unsuccessfully trying to hide his unfathomably long legs

The dragonflies are quite large around here

They hang around flowers

Dave, Jim and Bobby, looking very poparty

We used to put coins in these, and we could speak to people far away. For a really short while.

Apparently it's summer here

The famous Brighton comedian Max Miller. He looks cheeky. Plus he's wearing a sarong, so he must've been cool. Well, around here he would've been cold.

We had an amazing night at Tom and Rosie's place. Tom is the brother of Tondi, my friend from Oz, and he lived in Oz for a while many years back. He's the most beautiful man ever, plus he loves music and plays guitar. And he cooked up a feast too. Like Tondi and Sam, Tom grew up in Kenya, so we had no choice but to sit around and drink Kenyan beer, which, strangely, we could buy from the store around the corner from his house in Brighton.

Small world innit.

But I wouldn't wanna paint it.

This is their dog Jack

Tom and Rosie's oldest daughter Imani is so amazingly switched on and full of soya beans, she loves acting and playing music, and, surprise surprise, was besotted by Manu's voice and piano playing. Just like the rest of us.

Rosie is amazing too, but unfortunately she wasn't there, as she was in London for her final assessment. It must've gone really well, if her happy (slurred) phone call on the night is anything to go by.

Just when we thought it was impossible for life to get any better, our beautiful friend Rich came down to visit us all the way from Stroud in Gloucestershire. I haven't seen him for about a generation, and his amazingness has multiplied over all those years, which is hard to believe, given it's extremely high starting point. His wonderful partner Imo came too, who plays bass and is also an amazing artist. We jammed deep into the night, and jammed deep, into the night.

I had no idea Rich was such a talented singer and guitarist, as he sneakily hid it from me when we first used to hang out in Brighton, way back in a previous millennium.

I also had no idea that so many incredible people existed in the world. I keep pinching myself to check if I'm dreaming, as they keep turning up all over the place, and somehow I get the chance to hang out with them without even having to buy tickets.

The sun sets in the west in Brighton. Incredible.

The band....

Rich looking decidedly Dave Gilmoreish.

Imo shredding it

Manu inspired by the heavens

Me trying to solo while Brad's Kyrgyz sandal taps away. Brad ripped into some amazing vocals too btw, but his agent wouldn't allow me to publish any photos of him doing it.

The next day we strolled to the "beach" again, in our winter jackets, which you need here in the summer.

Unless you're Imo, in which case shorts'll do.

Rich about to draw, as we had a duel. Imo couldn't look. I accidentally shot her in the back.

Manu found this naturally occurring pebble art

She was so stunned she dropped her phone

Be careful

Manu practising her seagull flying again

And again

This says it all. Brighton in summer.

To be fair, Brighton people tell me there is actually a summer here sometimes. But I've never ever seen one and I don't believe them.

These were the duelling pistols Rich and I used. I killed Imo and he killed me.

A Redcoat's red coat. This poor guy's head was sliced off by a Napoleonic unFrench sabre.

We went to an art exhibition. There were amazing cut-art works in there.

In my head, every day, I sang my special song, a hidden thing, a simple waltz, that went around and around and around, just like how the world goes around and around.

I looked at the world as my song sang along, and I saw the whole thing as one long dance that would go on forever. And then one day I heard someone else singing my song and of course it was you.

I never knew that your song was my song is now our song, and when we're gone this song will keep on going around and around, to keep on telling the people of the world how sweet life is.

Sorry, but I forgot to find out who the artist is.

Ho hum. Another 17th Century building.

Spidermum

Fanks. 'Appy to be 'ere.

Rich, practising his catwalk strut

More Sad Goodbyes

Manu and I have had the most beautiful, heartwarming, nurturing and supremely restful stay in Brighton. It's been so inspiring to be part of a family again, and not just any old regular dysfunctional family that you get anywhere, but part of the warmest and cosiest family in the history of love.

It's so hard to leave.

But leave we must, as a vagabond's life is necessarily full of suffering and heartbreak, and would completely lose its vagabondness if you just stayed somewhere and remained happy, like normal people.

So, with heavy hearts and full bellies, with goosebumps from the cold, as well as from the warmth, it was time for Manu and I to head to our next distant land, which actually isn't that distant, just a little bit distant.

Yes, my friends, next up we're off to the land of jigs and fiddles, of old castles and shivering sheep, of battering winds, poetry and warm black beer.

Yes, the time has come, for the first time in our lives, for us to go to Ireland❤️

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