Colleges, punts, bowler hats and gargoyles in Oxford

This is the blog of Mark Wordsworm, the travelling worm. I’m a 25-year-old bookmark and can proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC).

Today’s travel notes

Me and the TC stayed in Abingdon for a week this month, using it as a central point from which to visit friends and family in England. One morning we found ourselves in the nearby big smoke: Oxford.

My impressions? Mellow stone. Autumn melancholy.

The book I’m in

Harvesting the Heart, by Jodi Picoult. This worm is an admirer of Jodi Picoult, and has spent time in a couple of her books. But Harvesting the Heart is not her best, I feel. Ms Picoult’s books are by their nature intense. Usually they have a flair and an interesting theme that lifts you out of the depression. This time, although I’m well into the book already, that flair has not yet appeared. I feel the urge to tell the characters to snap out of it and get on with life. Perhaps this worm is not in the mood for this book at the moment.

Travel tip

Go inside any of the buildings that grant you entry. The inside is as good as the out.

Recommended restaurant

Quod Brasserie, on the High Street in Oxford. Good service and reasonably good food, in the old banking hall of the Old Bank Hotel.

The photos

Me inside the Oxford Town Hall. Note the ominous creature looming over me. The TC does put me in the most awkward situations, for the sake of a holiday snap:

The Oxford government website describes the Town Hall as a “magnificent grade 2* Victorian building”. This worm wondered briefly about the meaning of “2*” and decided he gives it a grade 1^:

Another view of the inside of the town hall:

The modest entrance to Christ Church College:

Peering in to the quad, we encountered this dude, who was studiously not guarding the entrance. This worm admires the bowler hat and noncommittal slouch:

Moving on, we came across Magdalen College:

The college walls are encrusted with sculptures. Two people embrace:

Nearby a gargoyle grimaces:

Punts tethered on the River Cherwell, next to Magdalen College:

A poignant moment, courtesy of this worm – the punts are filled with water and autumn leaves, and shadowy reflections of the bare trees above:

The TC, bless her cotton socks, has visited Oxford a few times. She delights in telling us that, for her, the city is characterised by the mellow colour of the stone. Here is the museum:

Chequers Courtyard and The Chequers pub, which dates back to the 1500s:

The Chequers boasts a giant in its history, and is still haunted by the screams of dying monks from one of its less salubrious periods. The badge on the wall tells all:

The High Street, with a rare patch of colour complementing the usual stony grandeur:

Let’s leave the big smoke and take a look at the ducks in Abingdon, at the join of the rivers Thames and Ock:

That’s all for today, dudes.

A quick crawl around Oahu, Hawaii

This is the blog of Mark Wordsworm, the travelling worm. I’m a 25-year-old bookmark and can proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC).

Today’s travel notes

Making our way from Sydney to Chicago, we spent yesterday on Oahu, the most populated of the Hawaiian islands and home to the city of Honolulu. It’s not often that this worm admits to a mistake, but I do confess that up to a few weeks ago I thought Honolulu was on the island of Hawaii. If prodded (which is probably not a good thing to do to a worm) I may even admit that I assumed Waikiki was an island itself. But no, it’s a suburb of Honolulu.

We landed at Honolulu airport, spent a couple of hours getting lost in the city and surrounds, then found our hotel in Waikiki. Early next morning we enjoyed a couple more hours getting lost in the city, before finding the road that leads east. We drove across the island to Kaneohe on the east coast, then north to Kahuku, then back inland via Haleiwa and Wahiawa. We narrowly missed Pearl Harbor and caught our Chicago flight by the skin of our teeth.

The TC did not brush her hair all day.

My impressions? Honolulu is a city much like any other, and caters very well to the TC’s proclivity for getting lost. The east coast of the island is gorgeous. I want to go back and see the rest of it.

The book I’m in

The Midnight Road, by Tom Piccirilli. Satisfyingly weird, this book starts with the words, “Flynn remembered the night of his death more clearly than any other in his life”. I’m in the middle of the book, and wishing the TC would find the time to move me on a few pages so that I can see what happens to Flynn and the ghosts that populate his life.

Recommended airline

Hawaiian Airlines is friendly and efficient, and keeps the fuss of US travel down to a minimum.

The photos

Me at Kualoa Point, on the east coast of Oahu. With a palm tree, of course:

Honolulu, seen from one of the surrounding hills:

Palm trees, of course, outside our hotel in Waikiki:

The military presence on the island is noticeable. This number plate, spotted in a Honolulu parking garage by the TC once removed, is a case in point:

When we were in the queue at the airport waiting for the security checks, there was an army dude in full military togs in front of the TC. One of the officials leaned in and informed him very respectfully that he could take the express queue next time.

A military aircraft and a palm tree, of course:

The velvety striated range of hills that lines the east coast:

Mokolii Island, seen from Waikane on the east coast of Oahu:

A closer view of Mokolii, also known as Chinaman’s Hat island because of its shape:

Kualoa Point:

A Red Crested Cardinal, pretty but beady-eyed and not a worm’s best friend:

The TC admiring the view. Yes, it’s a bit gusty. And as I remarked before, she did not brush her hair all day. I think this preyed on her mind. I was careful not to remark on her dishevelled state, even after she boarded the aeroplane that evening.

Another gorgeous beach somewhere on the east coast. Probably Laie Bay. Applause to the photographer – no palm trees in close view:

Water. I steered clear, of course, but the TC has no such qualms:

Is a worm nowhere safe? First the Red Crested Cardinal, and now a Peahen lying in wait in a stairwell at Waimea Botanical Gardens. Neither bird is native to Hawaii, I might add:

Me, making a tactical retreat from a Peacock:

A steep hillock in Waimea Valley:

A Hawaiian temple, or heiau, at Waimea. This one is dedicated to Lono, the god of agriculture. It’s called the Hale o Lono, which means “house of Lono”, and was built between 1470 and 1700 AD.

The colourful bark of a Mindanao gum tree, spotted at Wahiawa. This gum tree is native to western Pacific islands such as Papua New Guinea and the Phillipines. Not, surprisingly, to Australia. It was introduced into Hawaii in the late 1920s.

At this point we remembered that we had a plane to catch, and hare-tailed it out of there. Alas, we spotted some signs to Pearl Harbor and decided to drop in. We got lost (again). We were definitely in the area:

By the time we saw the official signs we were already late:

We did go down that route, but discovered that seeing Pearl Harbor is a big deal involving boat trips and the abandonment of all bags, purses, large cameras, and what have you.

So we got on a plane to Chicago instead. More on that in my next post.

The Chasm and a couple of Kea parrots in New Zealand

This is the blog of Mark Wordsworm, the travelling worm. I’m a 25-year-old bookmark and can proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion (the TC).

In my earlier post I wrote about our trip to Milford Sound, on New Zealand’s South Island. On the road to Milford Sound is The Chasm, well worth seeing and hearing in its own right.

The forest surrounding The Chasm:

New Zealand native forest at The Chasm on the way to Milford Sound

The Chasm is a gnarled and whorled channel dug into the rock by a river. The TC started this video with a view of some people, to give perspective, then moved down to the river, to try and show the size of the gorge and the swirling rock patterns:

You may encounter a Kea parrot on your way to and from Milford.This one was patrolling the car park when we arrived at The Chasm:

A Kea parrot at The Chasm

The TC, of course, cooed and clucked over the Keas.  This worm stayed safely in a book in the TC’s bag.

This Kea strutted up the roadside barrier while we waited our turn to go through the Homer tunnel on the Milford road:

That’s all for today dudes.

Cockatoos in Sydney

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1. You’ll probably want to read all about me and my Travelling Companion.

Today’s travel notes

The cockatoos in the area have discovered the TC. For those who haven’t been following my blog, the TC is She with whom I travel.  She is a soft touch for anything with ffeathers.

In the last week, the TC has been at home in the dying hours of the afternoon. A passing ffeathered ffiend happened to alight on the window sill and tilt its head in what some might call an appealing fashion. The TC rushed off to find some food that might satisfy the bird’s no doubt urgent hunger. Neither the bird nor the TC were experienced in the human-to-avian interface, so there was a bit of inept fumbling. But eventually mutual satisfaction was achieved.

Traveller’s tip

Never trust a bird, no matter how pretty.

The book I’m in

the Visitor, by Jane R Goodall.

Misty eeriness mixed with good solid detective work.

The photos

Me and a cockatoo. You’ll notice that I kept myself well shielded during the entire experience, using a good book as armour against the ffeathered ffiend:

Cockatoos in Sydney

Even I succumbed to the temptation to get just a bit closer. Dude, that’s a big beak:

Cockatoos in Sydney

Are you wondering how Peg has been recently? She’s keeping it together. Her role in the bird-feeding episode was unglamorous but necessary and above all safe:

Cockatoos in Sydney

The other birds in the neighbourhood soon heard about the free food at the TC’s place:

Cockatoos in Sydney

Inevitably, there’s a movie version too. Here’s a cockatoo checking out the action. He’s standing on the roof, sticking his head upside down through the window and looking ineffably daft:

Here’s the ffeathered ffiend as yet not ffed, attempting to look cute and beguiling. His ffriend struts his stuff on the tree behind:

Here’s one bird eating, but looking a trifle uneasy because another is attempting to join the ffeast. You can hear the footsteps clicking on the roof, then bird number two clambers down the window and muscles in on the action:

Not seen enough yet? There’s more on this worm’s YouTube channel.

That’s all for today, dudes.

Birdsong in Sydney

This is the blog of a 25-year-old bookmark. I proudly boast my own Hallmark serial number, 95 HBM 80-1.

Twenty-five years, and I don’t look a day older than one! Alas, I can’t say the same for my Travelling Companion. I spend most of my time inside a book (well, duh) while the TC sees the world. Read all about me and follow my blog posts to share my experiences as bookmark and travelling worm.

From time to time, I’ll say something meaningful. Like a t-shirt.

Today’s travel notes

Noisy creatures, birds. The Travelling Companion has been up and about, recording the dawn chorus in Sydney’s Northern Beaches. She also found a rather garrulous magpie in Curl Curl. I’ve put some videos on my YouTube site and also posted them below.

There are no photographs of me this time. Sorry to disappoint. I try to avoid appearing in the same space as a bird. On one occasion I did get perilously close to Jonathan, a seagull. There are some pictures to prove it in my blogpost about Surfers Paradise.

Traveller’s tip

The early worm catches the birdsong.

The book I’m in

Cry No More, by Linda Howard.

Linda writes really comfortable books.

The videos

The sun is still below the horizon in Sydney’s Northern Beaches. I don’t know the name of the first bird you’ll hear. Then there’s a raven’s mournful cry and a butcherbird’s yodel:

It’s a bit lighter now. The kookaburras are always naively cheerful this early in the morning. The currawongs chime in, and then the rosellas utter their first chirps of the day:

Here’s the sunrise, pretty enough if you like that sort of thing, with the rosellas still chirping and squawking away (they do that most of the day, I’ve noticed):

A magpie might draw a laugh and a bit of grudging admiration with his performance in this video. The hissing in the background is the sea at Curl Curl:

That’s all for today, dudes.