Education in Sydney

Changing schools, be it down the road or transcontinental is every parents nightmare.
So the keyword here is research, research and research. I aim to help you as much as I can as I have just recently been through the whole rigmarole in searching for and securing a place for my two primary school aged kids.
Education in Sydney is mainly divided into Primary education or K-6, Secondary education or Y7-Y12, and Tertiary Education provided by University's like the University of Sydney and University of New South Wales (UNSW); and tertiary vocational training provided by TAFE (Technical and Further Education) institutes.

My main focus today will be on Primary Education.
Primary Education in Sydney is mainly provided by the Public school system. Almost every suburb has its own local primary school. Catholic schools are the other main stream of primary education. These places are fee paying. the third stream is the Private or Independent school stream. Whilst Catholic schools can be deemed to be Private schools in a sense the fees one would have to pay at a Catholic school is much less than what one would pay at an independent school. Most of the independent private schools have a run through kind of education where they cater from Kindergarten to year 12. Some of the prominent Private institutions have long waiting lists and some parents even try to put down names prior to the birth of the child!

The decision of where to educate your child is entirely a personal choice. This choice will mostly be governed by the financial/budgetary limits, educational ethos subscribed to, residential locale and so on and so forth.
If you are entirely new to Sydney in one way things are very much easier. You can decide where you want to live depending on where you want to educate your child/children.

1. Where to live - this will depend on the budget, place of work and location of schools. I would advise to make a shortlist of suburbs that are within an acceptable commute for either or both the parents. http://www.realestate.com.au and http://www.domain.com.au are both good sites that can give an idea of what property's cost to buy or to rent. Bookmark them as they are going to be your new best friend. Take into consideration train lines, travel times, desirable amenities etc when coming to your decision.

2. Which School - Next make a short list of the schools in the possible suburbs. www. bettereducation.com.au and the my school website are great resources to check and compare schools and how they perform academically. Also run random searches on google with your preferred schools name and see what comes up. You can always get valuable snippets of information from various forums etc. Try and get in contact with a few schools and check for spaces etc. If you know when you will be going they may be willing to hold a space for you- ask, for you never know!

Another thing to remember here is that if your kids are academically gifted/talented there seems to be more of a trend in catering to their needs in Oz. Certain public primary schools run Opportunity classes with  these kids in mind and entry to these classes are competitive. 
See http://www.schools.nsw.edu.au/learning/k-6assessments/ocplacement.php
Again there is the opportunity for kids to sit the competitive selection tests for the selective high schools as well. So these are avenues that you might want to explore before deciding on a school. 

There are also enrichment program's for gifted and talented kids in other schools which do not run OC classes. So it might be well worth enquiring about what else your school offers by way of enrichment program's, support program's, extracurricular activities and classes/clubs, presence or absence of after and before school care etc.

Sydney Fish Market and Paddys market.

Went to Sydney Fish Market today. It's located in Pyrmont, a short drive away from Darling Harbour where we're staying at the moment. I was looking forward to this visit since even before we arrived. One thing I really missed in England was fish. Salmon, trout, mackerel, sprats, sea bass and sea bream - that was my repertoire for the last 10 years. Unless I went  to the Indian shop for the frozen variety. Fish and seafood availability was the other reason I envied those living in the Middle East.

Anyway back to my to much awaited visit -- the fish market lies somewhere beneath the approach to the Anzac Bridge and offers spectacular views of the bridge. Ample car parking when we arrived. 3 dollars for an hour. There are a few fish stalls outside the main building and a few more inside. Once inside there are many sea food restaurants offering to cook fresh to order. We made a quick round of the stalls outside and inside, photographing prices for ease of comparison. Finally went into Claudio's for squid and fish--you ask the staff to pick them for you and they finally get them cleaned and sliced if needed. I went to Musumeci's for the crab and prawns. Eventually ended up buying something called the Bonito also - simply because it looked similar to the 'choora'.

Bought a thermocool box for our piscean friends and made a quick exit as it was getting quite hot. Came home and  stuffed the freezer before heading out to Chinatown and Haymarket. Paddys market is at Haymarket and renowned world over.

Chinatown

It's wares are wide and varied and has a bustling fruit and vegetable market. Maybe due to the strong Far eastern influence the veg stalls are inundated with all varieties of leafy vegetables most of which I hadn't  the faintest clue as to what they are called. Anyway after hearing that spinach is very high in Oxalates I've wilfully dampened my enthusiasm for the fine vegetable as it does no good for fibromyalgia.

Mangoes are our weakness - a huge weakness I should say. I remember my Uncle Sunno, my aunts husband, making it a point to bring home nice juicy mangoes for me whilst we stayed  with them many moons ago in Cochin.

Our introduction to Aussie mangoes were from a roadside vendor who was selling Mangoes from the Northern Territory. Needless to say I ate myself sick that day.





Today mangoes were being sold at 3 for 5 dollars for the smaller ones and a box of nine for twenty dollars for the bigger ones. When I say small they are actually the size of the huge ones you get in Britain. OH says that mangoes are one fruit that they never used to get in Dubai. So anyway we couldn't scrounge with mangoes - bought as many as we could load Sammys pushchair with!
Japanese lunch with incomprehensible names later we head back to the apartment hot and exhausted with a creaking heaving pushchair.

Sydney -one month on.

I come  to Sydney not as a tourist, hungry to savour her beauty, but as a migrant. Yes that oft repeated and hateful word-migrant.

But that does not deter me from enjoying what she has to offer and it also encourages me to look a little bit deeper under her external veneer.
Sydney is a fairly new city by almost all accounts . 

There is almost no mistaking the fact that about 300 years ago it did not exist in any recognisable form other than that of maybe a few indigenous settlements and tribes living ?harmoniously together.Anyway our journey from one of the oldest and indeed most well known city of the modern world to Sydney was uneventful and pretty smooth save for the interminable wait at immigration at Sydney International airport.

Barry was born and bred in Sydney. Barry was my angel. He came to collect us from the airport and settle us into his own flat right in the city centre otherwise known as CBD or Central Business District in australianesque.

On that very same note let me highlight early on one very important fact that would be migrants and other interested people from around the world tend not to realise - though the two nations, England and Australia, purportedly speak the same language English and the Anglo-Saxon descendants of the early settlers are proud of their ancestry, there is very little in common with the two cultures! Surprise! Surprise! Not really.
Australia’s inhabitants are just that – Australians! They speak different, talk different, hear different, drive different, swear different, eat different, dress different and most importantly have a different sense of humour.

Sydney is famed the world over for her stunning Opera House and for her Harbour bridge. Equally stunning is the Anzac bridge I would say. The walk from circular quay toward the Opera House is not only magnificent but also certainly one made for the relaxing tourist.

Central Sydney or should I say Sydney CBD is essentially multicultural with a strong Far Eastern influence. It's vibrant and bubbly with scents that scintillates the senses. A gourmets heaven. One doesn't have to go far to sample cuisine as varied as Spanish and Japanese and Thai and Korean. Capitan Torres offers some great Spanish sea food, while a yummy Taiwanese breakfast burger isn't that far away.

Spirituality and cuisine lie intermingled on Sydney's streets. There's a Scientology church on Castlereagh, a Catholic one on George's and so on and forth one can find a rich variety of houses of worship in a square mile of Sydney's heart.

In Sydney the old and the new lie side by side, skyscrapers easily intermingling with century old, meter thick, stately buildings. In the summer heat the tall buildings enclosing each street turn the streets into hot tubes of sweltering madness- not a pleasant place to be. And I guess that's why Sydney has some beautiful beaches to make it up.

Bondi

Having visited only Bondi I shall limit my comments to it. It's beautiful and blue (other than when it turns red)! But if you've been to North Yorkshires Scarborough, and I have (in fact lived there for a year and a half), then you can see what I mean when I say that Bondi isn't even a tenth as great a beach as Scarborough, if only S had the same sunshine and temp.

But as God doesn't give everything to one person and shares blessings out-Bondi gets the fame and the weather, and Scarborough gets the glory ( at least from me!).

The following is for 'would be' migrants, especially those from the UK.

As I mentioned earlier we are migrants to this city. On the evening of our first day here we ventured out half dazed to get some grub. Did our first woolies shop and met Hungry Jacks - good lad for some refuelling.

What surprised me in our lil night walkabout was that I hadn't heard even a single person speak English on the streets! Also surprised by the almost rarity of Anglo-Saxons. Yes, over the next few days, as we ventured out more along York street etc there were suited and booted Anglo-Saxons about--but far fewer than I would have imagined.  So my point is, Australia is no longer a British colony of Anglo-Saxons. It lies in the east and feels and smells very much like the east, albeit with a Western democracy. I beg no one to take this the wrong way--its simply a statement of fact as I perceived it.

So here I'll summarise my tips and thoughts for would be migrants under three broad headings. It can become ten time permitting but for now its just three. The same I had actually written in one of my posts on Pomsinoz!

Customs

For those of you(like me) who watch border control and are scared stiff of customs my advice is--chillax! They are not too bad. We had tons of meds and food with us--declared them all on the slip we were given from Singapore airport. At customs they asked us to put some of our bags which were piled high down at ground level for their dogs to take a sniff. Guess if there is no animal matter you should get through. They also orally confirmed that the meds were for personal use--they didn’t ask for any prescriptions etc.

The second time I came through customs it was from India and again done the same--declared everything. This time they opened the box, cursory look--I even had pickle in it. They said nothing.

So the bottom line is--Declare if in doubt. Any fresh fruit or stuff like that they are not keen on--even if its stuff from the plane.

At the end of the day they are doing their job and it is our duty not to bring in stuff that would endanger the environment in which we are planning to live in.

People

Sydney, esp central sydney is very multicultural. If we just consider Oz to be an asian country then that would be a good starting point for would be migrants. Yes Australia has a western democracy. But in cities, esp like Sydney the very fabric has a multicultural identity--more so asian. This influence is enriching and neutral. Nothing to worry about and a lot to enjoy and take from. There are again parts of Sydney and certain cultures or behavioural practices that might remind one of parts of London or Birmingham--basically take care of yourself and your possessions as you would do anywhere.

Bulk of the people you meet are just normal everyday people. The grumpy lot, the cheerful lot, the helpful lot and so on. Much less ‘put on’ pleasantness compared to the UK--may be good and bad. Be yourself, and try and get to know people. You might find more people come over and try to get to know you--be they neighbours, co workers etc--they are assessing you as you are them!

You will find some that you want in your life and some that you wouldn’t mind keeping a healthy distance from. Always keep an open mind.

Nature/Landscape

The farthest I've been from Sydney in the past month is Bathurst. Sydney city is beautiful--its tall buildings adding glamour to the lovely beaches. The blue skies are uplifting. As it gets hotter we often have some rains to cool things down. When it rains its not a British rain but a very Asian rain--reminds me of South Indian rains--nice big dollops with a bit of thunder.

As you drive out of Sydney into the Blue mountains the surrounds are more scraggly and patchy green compared to the lushness of Britain. For some reason or another long drives here dont seem to agree with me. I feel hot and nauseous(even with aircon). But that might be just me. Whereas never felt the same in England.

So all in all new migrants to this beautiful land please remember Australia is Australia, more Asian in landscape and weather than European; quite multicultural which I find good, and has breathtakingly blue skies to assuage years of grey sky syndrome.

Dancing lights in Darling Harbour windows

Kollam--the land before time and of time.

Been in Kollam for the last week and a half. Time is measured in Kerala in 'kollam' and its calendar is called the 'Kolla-varsham' (Kollam year). Kollam is a beautiful land - nestling beside the Arabian sea on its west and caressing the Western Ghats in the east its always a song in rhyme!







From the ancient kingdom of Desinganad, Kollam has come a long way and absorbed and inculturated all along the way. Called Quilon by the Europeans and known as such for many more years until recently when it reverted back to Kollam.

Colourful boats that bring in the daily catch

Breakwater--Tangasseri

Kollam is spectacularly beautiful, dirty at times, vibrant even in slumber, an eclectic mix of cultures and languages and in short its a microcosm of the world.

Fatima Mata National College

Its people are earthy, worldly wise and yet have a curious form of honesty about them. The many educational institutions that dot its landscape is ample evidence to the importance that its peoples give to education. The average Joe will be a university graduate and teaching is one of its favourate professions. In fact Kollams main exports are cashews and teachers to the world over.

It's almost time...

It's almost time! The last few days have been spent visiting friends and places, saying our goodbyes, cherishing time together and looking forward to welcoming near and dear ones to the land down under. As the days are slipping away its gradually becoming hours. Hours before we leave this dear country which has been home for many years. But I can't complain, can I? After all I am the perpetual migrant--the one who chooses to play different parts and roles in the rich tapestry of life against a varied   backdrop.
At junctures such as these any migrant such as you and me will pause to think--am I doing the right thing? Will the future be more difficult than the past? Can I cope? Do I have what it takes to take life by its horns and enjoy the ride? Or would weariness cast its unpalling gloom ahead? Would this new life overwhelm the person in me? Will it suck out my verve and vivre?
I'm thinking aloud through this blog for I haven't had a moments space to sit and think earlier. To be honest I just don't feel gloomy. I feel enthusiastic, have a long list of things to do, and a plan! But sometimes I feel that my to do list becomes a barrier for me to enjoy life. I really enjoyed our NFA time while we were waiting for the visa and had nothing to do because there was nothing we could do other than give thanks and praise and enjoy life. Once the visa came through the ugly head of lists has reared!
If there is one thing that I need to teach myself it's to let go and chillax, that's right-- I need to be able to do that and learn how not to put off the feeling of pleasure until my jobs are done. For in migration every list leads to an immediate target or end point which is closely followed by the next set. And it can take months before we feel settled and 'list-less'!
Anyways, forgive me for going off on a tangent, as I warned you I just used the time writing this blog as therapy and self examination time.
Let me make the decision right now to not stress about things that need be done but to live in the moment cherishing and savouring it.

The Migrant Journey - We are officially NFA!

“We are now officially NFA” said dear husband as we were taking the last exit out of Chesterfield.  “What’s NFA?” asked me never having heard that abbreviation before. 

Apparently he was echoing my exact thoughts albeit in abbreviated form! As we left our last home behind I was mulling over the fact that we actually had ‘no fixed abode’ for the foreseeable future. Though we can’t claim the romantic notion of being ‘penniless and fancy free’ we were at long last free – free of a home, free of belonging, free of bills and so on and so forth. Guess this sense of being free of all such things is a quirky notion in itself as most people are in search of these very things!

Anyway it so came to pass that this was our destiny. As with all things inevitable it pays to take life by the horns and live it to the full. First stop Doncaster the very big ‘town’ in Yorkshire that still hasn’t been accorded city status. As opposed to many places in the world, in the UK, city status has to be conferred upon a place rather than be earned by virtue of population or size or facilities.  Note another of the quirks of Her Majesty’s land!

The little big village of Cottingham in the East Riding of Yorkshire is a place that I hold dear in my heart. It was my desire that we revisit her before we leave the shores of this nation. So our second NFA stop was Hull and the East Riding. In Hull we were treated by friends to a very South Indian meal at ‘Swadh’ in Trinity Hotel. ‘Swadh’ being the name of the restaurant.

Following lunch we visited Castle Hill hospital and the village of Cottingham. Hardly anything in the village appeared to have changed, whereas the Hospital has grown by leaps and bounds to being a well accomplished Lady in her own right; a far cry from playing the younger sister to Hull Royal Infirmary at one time.
As does all revisiting—it brought back memories from years gone by—the fun times we had with our lovely bunch of neighbours - the barbeques, the fireworks, the doorpost chats; memories of mum playing badminton with the neighbours kids (most painful as she is now a shadow of her former self since afflicted by Alzheimer’s), the birth of my son, the friendships formed and retained—and so on and so forth.

The drive out of Cottingham was as usual plagued with traffic queuing up so it gave us time to say a long goodbye for we fully know that we may never return.

So from Cottingham our chariot ride took us back to Doncaster in the evening. The next day was a planned night drive to Rotherham which is very much a close neighbour of Donny. Took about half an hour to get there. The chill of the October night was unforgiving within the walls of the church we went to. But nevertheless the presence and love of God that I experienced whilst there kind of made up for it.

Back to Donny from Rotherham after midnight, more work for the website I’m creating in the morning, followed by a long drive down to London in the afternoon. Life sure is eventful for an NFA!

Venice -- there was no one like her.

Dear Venice,
 I’ve been longing to cross your waters ever since that beautiful golden gondola graced my parents drawing room and captured my imagination. You were that romantic city caressed by the criss crossing canals upon whose undulating curves sailed the golden gondolas carrying the most beautiful people.

But unfortunately life goes on and you  never  were a priority in the grand mosaic of life – until recently that is. Once we had decided that we were coming to see you we quickly booked our flights and hotel after a bit of research as usual—but nothing much, nothing like usual. Just ensured through tripadvisor reviews that our hotel was going to be nice, clean and comfortable within a quick walk of San Marco. Once that was sorted we decided to fly by British Airways just for the simplicity of it—no hidden charges and  baggage allowance included in the fare. Expedia expedited the whole process and we had no cause for concern this far.

Once the tix and hotel was booked we just left it at that – myself because I had several other pressing jobs that needed my attention , OH because he usually leaves this sort of thing to me and couldn’t be bothered(anyway I did tell him he would have to check transport options etc as I didn’t have the time to allocate for it).

Anyway our ‘spur of the moment’ kind of trip to see you  took off without much of a hitch—car parked at Gatwick Long stay, bus boarded  to airport, flights taken and finally we landed at Venice Marco POLO.  Now from the airport we needed to figure out how to get to you—I mean the real you—after all airports are seldom within the real location of its name. We figured that our options were either to take a private water taxi for 110 Euros or go by the Alilaguna for 15 Euros a head. Opted for the second. Now we had to figure out how to get to the boat station as we would call it anywhere other than in Venice. We walk out the airport and look around for signs and find none so continued straight ahead. Sensing that all was not right i ask the nearest uniformed person I find if we were on the right path. No we weren’t! We were shown a semi covered walkway that was made to mimic a tunnel or at least a half tunnel leading to the left from when you exit the airport. A brisk 7 -10 minute walk gets us to the boat station. Next we had to figure out which Alilaguna we needed to take as apparently there were three different lines - colour coded into blue, orange and green. Decided that the blue line was the best bet and waited patiently.

Along it came eventually and we boarded uneventfully. Got some good seats and set sail. 
I feel, dear Venice, that the approach to your shores can hardly get any more dramatic than this. Speeding on the freeway of the seas, the wind blowing against your hair and the quite unmistakable scent of the water - it felt most James Bondesque! Bit by bit, slowly but surely, you Queen of the Adriatic sea was revealed to the world.

Almost an hour and a half later we touched down at the San Zaccaria Jolanda pier--a busy bustling pier and surrounds. Tourists milling around, hawkers with makeshift shops selling the usual touristy ware, photographers clicking away joyfully -- we passed them all and peering into a map tried to figure the way to our Hotel. 
We went down your tiny alleyways which were in fact called streets(I've seen wider alleyways), up and down a few bridges bags pushchair and all-- no all in all I cant say it was too easy especially because of the pushchair that we had to carry up and down the steps of all those bridges! And finally we just chanced upon our hotel quite unexectedly! Check in at the Colombina was smooth, staff escorted us to our room and helped with the luggage. No change or smaller denomination Euro notes so porter consequentially received a very large tip from OH.

to be contd

 

Chapter 4-The migrant journey continues

This week I have been battling with ‘stuff’ . Yes, all the stuff we have accumulated over the years. Essential stuff, comfy stuff, sporty stuff, nice to have stuff, ‘I forgot to throw away’ stuff, lost and found stuff, ‘things I didn’t know I had’ stuff, ‘things OH bought forgetting that he already had one’ stuff, medical stuff, toysy stuff, booksy stuff, and a lot of other stuff. 

I’ve been rummaging,digging, pulling, washing, wiping, throwing(yes even that—though you wouldn’t tell from what remains),organizing, sorting, piling, boxing, cleaning, and doing all sorts with all sorts of stuff. All this is in prep for the shippers due next week. They are supposed to make it easy and pack everything for us ready for storage and shipping but I now feel I might have been better off doing the packing myself for all the effort its taking to sort things and organize them so that I know what’s where when we reach the end of this journey. Okay, I maybe obsessing a bit here but guess I am entitled to, after all this.

So now there is no mistaking the fact that we are on the move—yes again. If one good thing is coming out of this it will be that we have now lightened our load tremendously—about a decade worth of stuff has been sorted and sifted thoroughly(at least as thorough a couple of hoarders can be). Next we need to pack our bags and start our journey into the unknown. We have made no plans so that helps. Once our stuff goes into storage we are free—free to do as we please with our time and decide what we would like to do and where we would like to go.

Do we visit dear friends who have asked us to stop by? Or do we go farther afield and do a bit of touring? When I mentioned friends I just remembered something – friends feature very highly in a migrant’s life. They ARE the family we create for ourselves in the land of the unknown. They come in all colours and shapes, all peculiarities and tastes. But one thing for sure is they will have your back if in need. Sometimes comparing them to family could be misleading – because for some, family may not be the people who will watch your back but rather from whom you need to be watched!(smiley here and I'm not talking about my dear family)

So for any would be migrants out there—remember—always make and cultivate friends –wherever you go. The best way to do that is to be a good friend yourself. Be there for people—some may use you but over time you will be able to sort the wheat from the chaff so don’t worry. Be genuine, be yourself and give to others how much you can comfortably give. Love in good measure and listen to what they say. Listening is too underrated – it’s a valuable life skill which is never taught. So teach yourself some of that—how to listen with your heart and how to be empathetic.

I’ve been blessed – for the many friends that the good Lord has given me. Just as essential a suitcase is for The Journey, is the friend for life’s pit stops!

Chapter -3 Middle England.

Now for someone not familiar with my beautiful belle England, the term Middle England would not mean much.
In actual fact, though Middle England could be taken to mean the geographical middle of England which is now called the Midlands, its rightful place of 'honour among terms' comes from the sociological allusions it casts.The irony is I probably might have aligned myself alongside the Middle England had I not come to live here!
BBC's Home Editor, Mark Easton puts it like this - "Middle England, one supposes, is a comfortable place, neither rich nor poor. Conservative. Law-abiding. Decent. It is in the middle."

The aspiring lower middle class and middle class Daily Mail readers who holiday at Centreparcs whilst in the UK and in the south of France and Switzerland for their European fix; who come from hard-working stock and don't take kindly on the benefit recipients, and most importantly are almost homogeneously white middle class British in whose ranks no minority might find a place. Well, as mentioned earlier--these are just some of the sociological allusions to the term. And like all allusions and generalisations there are exceptions galore to every statement.
 You may be wondering why  I said I may have aligned myself alongside middle England had I not come to live here. Honestly they are nice people. They are polite, courteous and the epitome of 'Englishness'. They are the people who have made speaking without words into an art form in itself. And the unspoken, as we all know, speaks the loudest.
 Having got used to the forthrightness of the Yorkshire man (and woman) and the absolute down to earth easy camaraderie of the Irish-English descendants in North Lincs, Middle England seemed to be an entire world away that communicated in a totally different language - a language I knew I could grow to learn, but one which I wasn't keen to.
Middle England provides a lot of stereotypes for the global love affair with England--most of our favourate characters from childhood lived in Middle England. Next time you see Miss Marple or read Christies' novels, remember that there is a 'place' called Middle England, a place where the sun will never set and where the world will never be put quite right again!

The Migrant Journey. Chapter 2 - Suitcases

A quintessential part of a migrant’s journey is the suitcase. If suitcases had mouths, what tales would they have told?

Our journey too began with a few suitcases. To think that one can condense an entire life into a few suitcases seems unimaginable now—but that’s how a migrants life begins - as long as airlines have baggage restrictions anyway!

Our suitcases were crammed with clothes, books and toiletries. Everything to help us get by for the first few weeks. This initial phase of seeming sparsity is soon followed by the next phase -- the dreaded phase of acquisition. My OH attacked Phase 2 with a vengeance. New country, new job, payslip with £ signs, coupled with a sense of new found freedom and being the master of one’s own destiny in a new land makes a heady cocktail recipe for retail therapy. Our once sparse two bed townhouse couldn’t have been packed in 10 suitcases 6 months down the line. I must confess that much of our initial largesse were of the essential kind — kitchen stuff, bedding(my wonderful king-size 13.5 tog duvet with matching duvet covers and curtains that I still have), Christmas tree and decorations, etc etc.

But as time went on purchases went from ‘need to have’ to ‘nice to haves’. Then came the kids! They were the perfect excuse for some more expensive clutter. House moves now required specialist removal firms as our contents couldn’t be ferried by our mere car (and this was even without any furniture, mind you)! We always rented furnished homes so it was just our ‘stuff’ that needed to be moved.

After living in innumerable rented homes over several years we finally decided to buy our own home. And this we did with great precision and planning. Even ordering our sofas before exchanging contracts! All home owners may remember the thrill that comes with owning your first home (in actual fact nowadays the bank owns it and you pay them for the privilege). The thrill is closely followed by the exhilaration at the prospect of shopping for the new home. We were like excited kids masquerading as mature adults – trying to do the responsible thing and shopping wisely, looking for bargains and deals, putting quality and safety before bling and so on and so forth. One thing I can tell you is that this ‘mature adult’ thing is overrated. Now that I’ve overcome the ‘having to prove oneself’ phase I can say that loud and clear.

I’ve read somewhere that an Englishman’s home is his castle. Is it true? I know not. Life in our 3 bed home was comfortable and met our needs but was a far cry from being a castle – but that maybe because I’m not an Englishman! It was where we built our small family, shared our joys and sorrows, overcame great adversity, praised the good Lord with joy and triumphed with fortitude – it was our home. The first place I felt like home in a long while.

This sense of belonging is a funny thing. It does not succumb to prescribed rules, but has a heart and soul, rhyme and reason, all of its own. An industrial town in North Lincolnshire with low social index scores might have been an unlikely candidate for the accolades I grew to bestow.

One day when I go far back into the past I’ll tell you that story - why my birth place had never felt like home for a long while in my life. Being the perpetual migrant that I am many other places have I called home and in England this was my home. We were lucky to live in a great parish with a very welcoming and friendly parish priest. The parishioners seemed to take after him and were always full of joie de vivre. One felt welcomed from day one and we soon were part of the local community. Fortunately we were able to give to our community in proportion to what we received from it.

But like all goodbyes this one too finally came along – we knew it’s time to fly, but not without a heart rending sigh!

On hind sight this was the beginning of the end of this phase of our life. We had decided that we needed to move for better educational and professional opportunities. We made the move, heart wrenching as it was, to the heart of middle England. It took me ALL of three days to realize that middle England was never going to be home. But where will be?

Bye for now—until next time. Ciao.

The Little Big Village of Cottingham

The village of Cottingham, arguably the largest village in modern day England, lies within the boundaries of the East Riding of Yorkshire. Its next door neighbour is the City of Kingston upon Hull who has been trying desperately hard over the past several years to change the rather unsavoury reputation it had gained over the years. While deprivation and joblessness may have been the story of Hull, its cute little neighbour can hardly be put in the same bag.

Cottingham, I would describe as a stately old lady, whose demeanor is so soft and inviting.Cottingham makes you feel at home, both its people and its streets. Its lovely treelined streets and flowery tributes in spring makes the heart sing.




It has a very busy and 'everything there' kind of village center. The lovely little library had everything one would need and was a hub of useful information. It stood quite next to the council offices on market green if I remember correctly. A very handy postoffice across the street and buses to take you anywhere to anywhere.

A walk along the back lanes of Cottingham invariably brings you across a horse and its rider. Needless to say horseriding is a very enjoyable pursuit to many of its residents. With ample wide open spaces and clean air, its a lovely place to live.

 Cottingham also proudly boasts of numerous churches.St. Marys was the oldest and grandest Anglican church. The most remarkable memory that I have of the Catholic church was suprisingly not about the church itself but the priest. Fr. Pat Day. He was so friendly and welcoming. There was a seperate section in church where parents with little kids could sit. We had our own musical instruments to play along with the hymns.I bet the parents enjoyed it more than the kids.

 Another thing that I fondly remember is the walk about--cant remember what it was actually called--walk of witness I guess , that took place on Good Friday every year. Parishioners from the different churches used to come together and walk the streets.Prayers were said and hymns sung. It was a wonderful mark of ecumenism.

Now an account of Cottingham  however small would never be complete without the mention of Castle Hill Hospital. Though it started off as the small sister to Hull Royal, over the years Castle Hill Hospital has grown by leaps and bounds. It now plays host to a worldclass center  for Cancer and Cardiology among many other things.CHH is said to be located on the grounds of the old Cottingham Castle. I can fondly remember walking on the grounds of the hospital with my baby daughter - it hardly had a hospital feel to it, felt more like home. We used to watch the rabbits hurry past and play hide and seek in the bushes. Squirrels scurrying up tree trunks.

My first experience of  that wonderful substance called snow was whilst living in Cottingham.

This picture  is one of the first I captured of it on my lenses and shows some buildings of Castle Hill Hospital in the background.

Come spring or winter, Cottingham is a lovely, magical place to live.

The Migrant Journey. Chapter 1- First Impressions of a beautiful land.

The beautiful rolling hills of England; her valleys and her plains, have been our home for the past several years. The greenery that surrounds you gives such a sense of lushness and plenty-ness that it quenches the thirst of the barest soul. I love Britain—quirks, crooked spires and all. But this love wasn’t a love at first sight—it was a love grown out of habituation, visualization and understanding. It was a love that sprung forth out of integration and assimilation, out of friendships formed and handshakes exchanged.

My first impressions of Britain were far from appealing. I despaired at the sameness of everything, the monochrome facade of the buildings – the sandstony walls  that hemmed in every narrow street giving it barely enough room to breathe. My despair owed a lot to preconceptions gained through reading Enid Blyton from my very early days and from watching films that portrayed a very idyllic  and romantic view of Britain.

Where was the beautiful sun creeping through the blinds, where were the colours in this beautiful land,where were the sky scrapers one would expect to see in a developed nation? Instead there was this persistent drizzle masquerading itself as rain and a grey sky imposing itself on all life beneath. No skyscrapers anywhere to be seen–the tallest building that I saw in my little town was all of three  stories high.(okay–here I’ve discounted the spire of the local church–forgive me.)

Just as monochrome as the architecture, were the attire of its people. I had never seen so many ‘black wearers’ in my life maybe except at  funerals! It seemed as though the grey skies hypnotized an entire nation that they felt compelled to match it in black. Black with a bit of white thrown in—all in just slightly differing shapes and proportions—this was how the working population dressed,give or take a few.

These are but a few things that struck me totally in a bad way. I despaired beyond belief – unable to fathom how I would live the rest of my life here. The only solace to my ‘dull monochrome’ weary eyes were the flowers. Oh! What wonderful and beautiful flowers adorned the paths of this land. They came in very size and shape and in bright and vibrant hues—one would be drawn to forgive every grey blemish in the joy that their riot of colours bestowed. Even the leaves of autumn seemed to cry out in colour, glorifying their creator!

And there, through despair, regrets, joy and flowers, my first days in this land I was to call home began.

The Migrant Journey

One thing common to most of us is that we are all at some point of our migrant journey. We are either thinking of making such a journey, or have already made that journey.

Some people are itinerant migrants—they will make that journey several times over in their lives. Our journey need not be across the oceans—it could be just across our village, town or city. Or it could be across our state borders plunging us into a vastly different culture and language milieu.

But we all know that the journey begins when that germ of a thought is born, the thought of ‘why not’ and ‘can I’? Or maybe it begins far earlier than that—even before the germ of self questioning is born. Maybe it was subliminally embedded in our consciousness through the tales and narratives of other migrants and their journeys. The riches they have made, the places they have seen, the gifts they bring home with them, so on and so forth.

If such a subliminal embedding is possible then very possibly in my case it would have been an intra-uterine one! My parents were already traversing continents when I was conceived. But this story is not simply about me—it’s about you and it’s about everyone.

I invite you to walk with me over the next few weeks and months as I make this journey from the past into the future; a journey that traverses continents and seas and oceans; a journey that may bring out the worst and best in our family.

I’ll take you through the circumstances, situations and socio-political landscape that formed the germseed of my journey.I don't promise that each and every bit of the past history is true to the nth degree but simply endeavour to portray my story in as much authenticity as possible. Maybe somewhere along the line you will recognize parts of your life in ours. It’s inevitable—because the migrant journey is one we will all identify with, for we have been there — at some point in time — either in thought or in being.

London

Paris and London within the space of a month, 3 weeks to be a bit more exact.! What can I call it --providence, chance or cultural overload??? May be all that and a bit more perhaps?


Anyway here goes--- the English capital called London, the one time power capital of the world from where its kings and queens ruled much of the known lands of this earth was established by another mighty empire called the Romans around 43 AD. The name London is said to have come from Londinium --its original Latin name.There is also a view that the name is Celtic or pre-Celtic even.


Though initially first formed as a town by the end of the first century it became the capital of Roman Britain later after replacing Colchester in this regard.

Anyway modern day London, the great and famed city by which sometimes the whole of Britain is known, is a mish mash of architecture with history strewn in for good measure. If one was to critically evaluate London one would quickly see that the historical significance of its many 'sights' far outweighs its aesthetic beauty. But this is not to say that London is ugly--far from it! The palace of Westminister and Saint Pauls are ample evidence of the beauty that lies within her bosom.


Now lets get to sightseeing in London. The greater London area  is quite huge and covers 607 sq miles in area. Luckily most of the sights are in and around central London.


1. Historical sights
      The Tower of London towers above much else for its stature and gory importance in London's rich and illustrious historical winding road, and is said to have begun with the invasion of William the Conqueror in 1066. The white tower is said to have been built not long after and more can be read here.


Built over the tower hill in various stages in the last millenia it now houses the crown jewels which is the major exhibit. The yeoman warders or the 'beefeaters' as they are called, and the gory tales they recount in their booming theatrical voices are the next great attraction at the tower. Then of course there are the various bits of architecture, the towers, the strongholds, etc etc that can make a visit worth your while for the steep cost of the entry tickets!


The Palace of Westminster, which now houses the parliament is a beautiful sight to behold.Its grandeur in size and architecture makes it the most beautiful building in  London for me.--Not to forget is the Big Ben--the iconic symbol of London.


Buckingham palace is almost on every visitors wish list to see. Try and catch the changing of the guards  whilst there if possible.


Windsor castle though not exactly within London as its in Windsor obviously--isn't too far out from London's transport links and can be easily reached by train.


Random sights from around the Hyde park-Buckingham area.

2. Historical/Religious
    Westminster Abbey and its location was the prime reason that the Palaces of Westminster were built at that location. The Abbey replaced the church to St Peter and was established by St Dunstan as a Benedictine Abbey 960AD and existed in such form till it was dissolved by HenryVIII in 1540AD. Edward the confessor had an affinity to St Peter and wanted to be buried there and then set about building the Palace of Westminster. The earlier church was called the Westminster to differentiate it from St Pauls which was in the eastern part of the city--in the Roman Londinium. Its been the coronation church since 1066.


  St Pauls Cathedral is London's cathedral and the present one is the fifth to have stood on this site since 604AD.It was designed by the famed architect cum astronomer Christopher Wren.


3.The Modern Attractions
   The London Eye now called the EDF energy London Eye gives you a wonderful view of the city of London and westminster from the inside of a capsule and its 30 minute flight.


  Madame Tussauds Wax Museum was initially opened on Baker Street in 1835 by Madame Tussaud herself. Born Anna Maria Gorsholtz in 1761 in Strasbourg, France she learnt the art of wax modelling from a Physician interested in wax models. She later married and came to be known as Madame Tussaud. There are now wax museums to her name in many major cities of the world!
The museum has since moved to its new address on Marylebone Street. Its one of the more overpriced attractions of London where one gets the opportunity to take photographs with the waxen images of many important personalities the world over. I had mine taken with the President of the United States whilst my husband chose Albert Eistein as his better half!

Stratford Westfield Shopping centre

  The Olympic Stadium has only recently been inaugurated and in future would be a major attraction in itself alongside the Arcelor Mittal Orbit the steel scultpture which is Britians largest piece of public art and is 115m high.


4. Museums
  London is richly blessed with several stimulating museums and offer more than the ordinary. 

Parturition chair

  The Science museum is an excellent place to go with inquisitive kids and they have their very own launching pad to explore science with their own hands! Its free, designed over 5 floors and also has an i max theatre with special shows.
To the left is something I found quite funny amongst the medical exhibits for though being a medica I must say i've never come across a 'Parturition Chair'!






The Natural History Museum is another that might be of even greater interest with all its dinosaur exhibits that are obviously very popular. They are not too far away from each other so you could easily plan a Museum day and not have to walk far though I must say that its a good fifteen minute walk from the South Kensington Underground to get to the Science Museum, important to bear in mind if you are going with kids.


Greenwich maritime Museum and The Royal Observatory are located in Greenwich. It is easily accessible from the DLR station at cutty sark. the royal observatory and the Meridian Courtyard is a good 15-20 minute uphill trek through a beautiful green paradise!


5. Shopping
  Harrods - The eternal shopping paradise of the affluent in the heart of the city!

CAVIAR Counter --the blue tubs on the right costs upwards of £200 each!

Harrods was founded by Charles Henry Harrod and was sited at various locations around London until it moved to the current site in 1849. In 1898 Harrod introduced Englands first moving staircase  which we would now call an escalator!

Food hall at Harrods

Harrods was the holder of several royal Warrants from 1910 uptil around 2000 when Al Fayed the then owner of Harrods had them taken down and burnt.

Below is a picture of the 'altar' built to remember the unfortunate death of Diana, the Princess of Wales and Queen of hearts, and Dodi Al Fayed.

Visitors can freely walk its halls and view the wares on display. Its a virtual storehouse of designer labels and a shoppers paradise.


Once you exit Harrods you will notice that the surrounding streets are home to many easily recognisable brands such as those below.

Though I personally haven't visited, Covent garden and the streets around that area are supposedly good for shopping and eating I've heard!


The Canary Wharf area is the only bit of London that lends a modern global look to London with its tall differently designed buildings with tons of shiny glass and steel! 

Thats all for now--Thank you for reading--Until next time...

m