Getting to know the NHS - finding medical services and getting help when you're panicking

Last night, I almost had a heart attack.

My daughter, carrying her skipping rope down the steep, narrow staircase, took a tumble. I heard the sickening, rolling thud-thud-thud and saw her land, on her head, on the last step, stopped only by the wall. For an agonisingly slow moment there was quiet and stillness. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do. I let out a scream. She started crying. And soon she was in my arms, her face smeared with blood but her neck mercifully unbroken.

I went through the typical panicky stages.

She can't be hurt.

She must be hurt. Or worse.

She's alive!

Call an ambulance!

No, don't call an ambulance, she can move, she's alert, nothing's broken... we can take her to hospital ourselves.

Does she need the hospital now? A doctor tomorrow?

Who can we ask?

Thankfully, in the UK, NHS Direct operates a 24-hour telephone advice line. A quick Google search brought up the number, 0845 4647. And, despite the web page's warnings that it might take a while before someone could address our inquiry (due to swine flu-related increased call volume), an assessment of my daughter's state began immediately. A nurse asked detailed questions and was able to advise what to check for, and where to take her if she displayed any of a list of symptoms of serious injury.

For a person new to the area, the country, and the British medical system (and especially such a person in a panic), this phone service is an absolute godsend. Without it, I would have been forced to choose between calling emergency services on 999 or the Europe-wide number, 112 (and potentially wasting ambulance time and resources), or just sitting at home praying she would be all right until I could find a doctor the next day, not knowing what to do or look out for in the meantime. Not a good range of options!

We are, at least, registered with a GP, and my daughter has been assigned a child health visitor, who, last week, conducted a 3-year-old development check. We've also been assigned NHS numbers and so are part of the system, and therefore much more prepared for illness and emergency than we were for a long time in Germany. (If you have relocated to or within the UK and need to search for a GP, dentist, pharmacy or other health services, this NHS services search page may help.)

In Germany, I didn't take good care of my health because I didn't have a doctor. It all seemed too hard. Finding a doctor I could communicate with was tricky, and making appointments with the receptionist was even trickier. I neglected myself because it was easier, that's the honest truth. And then one Sunday morning, around 4 or 5 am, I woke up quite suddenly ill, and had no idea where to go or who to see. I didn't even know where the nearest hospital was, apart from one that only took outpatients during business hours, Monday-Friday. I had no idea who to call, no idea what to say to anyone if I did call, and generally... no idea. It took a couple of hours to work out where I could go for treatment for a condition too urgent to leave untreated for another day and a half, but not urgent enough to be ambulance-worthy.

And now that I'm here in the UK, I'm thinking I really should go to the GP... but I need about 4 appointments just to cover all the aspects of my health that I've neglected. So I put it off a bit longer, because it all seems like such hard work. I just don't know where to start.

One thing I should do, though, is learn some First Aid, so I'm better prepared for my daughter's next emergency. Yes. I really, really should. I'll add it to my list of Things to Do in Order to Become a Less Bad Mother.

A new home for my packing boxes, and a new mouldy dilemma

Well, it's done.

I have moved out of the maths house (though I hate to think what I left behind, stuffed down the sides of the couch, behind and under beds, and stuck inside the washing machine). And now, at last, I’m establishing myself as Coventry's newest, and possibly maddest, "Australian lady".

I'm living in a packing box-piled, semi-organised terrace house, doing civilised things like walking to the shops and walking my daughter to nursery. I am, to all intents and purposes, Settling In, although sometimes I feel that confusion follows me everywhere I go. Little things shock me, too, like mail suddenly poking through the letterbox in the front door, while I'm in the front room. My daughter, hearing someone, wants to throw the door open and see who's there, while I, feeling strangely violated, want to hide behind the couch. How dare those letters and junk mail enter my house without my permission?! They could have knocked first! Or gone into a letterbox at the front gate, a respectable distance away... yes, that would be far less intrusive.

(For those of you who find this strange, I grew up in a house that Australia Post didn't even visit. All our mail went to a post office box. This slot in the door thing is quite a shock to my system.)

The house has given me some bragging rights – yes, it has a renovated bathroom, six-burner stove, huge oven, nice little garden out the back. I’m also proud to announce, to the folks back home who think attics are Rich People's luxuries, that I do have a storage loft, with cute little pull-down stairs. (My puffed-out chest must deflate slightly as I admit I haven’t actually pulled them down myself yet, let alone climbed them. But I’ve seen it done, so I know it’s possible.)

And so, thanks to the loft, all the packing boxes will have a home until the next move. They’re ready to be reused yet again. Still sturdy, I think their willingness to keep moving will outlast mine.

On the downside of the house, it is, at its narrowest (the bathroom at the rear), a mere 172 cm wide. No bathroom cupboards. No room for the little cupboard that’s come all the way from Canberra to Potsdam to Coventry. (It’s sitting in the backyard, wrapped in bubblewrap, waiting for a home in the house, and hoping it doesn’t get rained on.)

Even the lovely stove/oven has its drawbacks. Evidently somebody got a bit vigorous with cleaning it in the past, and most of the information near the dials (oven temperatures, burner settings etc) has been scrubbed clean off. The grill is also extremely difficult to get going, and almost as temperamental as I am. We came to an understanding that allowed me to grill some cheese on bread this afternoon, but I’m sure we’ll fall out again soon.

And now, of course, to the all-important question.

Is the house mouldy?

The answer, my friends, is that there are some suspicious black spots above the kitchen window. And, unfortunately, some mould in the washing machine.

At this point I’d like to open myself up to suggestions. What’s the best way to get rid of mould, and the mouldy smell, in an otherwise wonderful washing machine? Any tips will be gratefully received.

Toilets: a brief comparative guide

Thanks to The Simpsons, I knew that water swirls down northern hemisphere drains in the opposite direction from the way it swirls Down Under.

But, honestly, I didn’t really expect all the other little differences between bathrooms. My previous trips out of Australia, prior to moving to Europe, had only been to Asia. Obviously you’d expect some differences there (e.g. squat toilets flushed by buckets of water, plumbing that can’t handle toilet paper, that sort of thing). But moving to Germany, I was qute naïve. I packed my Little Squirt, a device used for washing the soiling off nappies and directly into the toilet bowl. The Little Squirt hooked up to the toilet pipes in Australia and was one of the best purchases a cloth-nappy using household could make.

I did have some idea that the Little Squirt might not be compatible with the German toilet. However, I was unprepared for the fact that German toilets had no external pipes at all. The back of the toilet fitted directly into the wall.

My German bathroom - note the way the toilet pipes, cistern etc are all concealed behind tiles

I was unprepared for other German toilet issues, too, such as the matter of the Shelf Toilet (also known among my friends as the toilet bowl with Obervation Deck). Truly frightening, these toilets catch your bowel motions and hold them up on a shelf, out of the water, in order that they may boldly present themselves for your inspection before you flush. Nobody can help looking at the shelf's offerings, even if they don’t want to see. (An informal survey of fellow foreigners in Germany revealed that we all had the same horrifying problem of involuntary but compulsive stool inspection when faced with these abominable toilets.)

An Observation Deck Toilet (or ODT) may be useful if you live in a region (or an era) where you need to check fastidiously for worms. It may also be useful if you’ve been landed with medical orders to ensure that your stools are strictly 3 or 4 on the Bristol Stool Scale. But, honestly, I had one eye on that chart myself for months after childbirth, and I managed fine without an Observation Deck.

My hatred of the ODT was so great that, had my German flat been fitted with one, I probably wouldn’t have rented the place. It was bad enough using an ODT at a friend’s place, or in a shopping centre or café, without having to put up with one at home. Even when no bowel movement was involved, a trip to an ODT was always a revolting experience. If I needed to be put off my own bodily functions (and I didn’t, as I already found them disgusting enough, thank you), an ODT would have done it straight away.

And so, it was with great pleasure that I left German toilets behind and headed for the UK.

• Normal bowl shape: check.
• Free to use in public: check (no more worries about running out of small change to take my little girl on her third trip to the loo).
• Children’s toilets, wheelchair & pram accessible toilets and nappy-change facilities, all easily located in public: check.

The UK is a great place to be out and about, in terms of toilet availability (unlike Germany, where few parents venture out with nappy bags, possibly because there are so few baby-change facilities available that expeditions are mostly kept short and timed to occur between changes and feeds). In the UK, toilets are easily found, accessible, and in my experience, generally kept in good order. I don't need to leave the house with a mental Toilet Plan. I just go out, safe in the knowledge that there will be toilets. No need to panic.

My one, unexpected gripe is that my friendly local toilets all seem to flush with levers, rather than with buttons. And so, my little girl, who used to be so proud of going to the toilet, and wiping and flushing all by herself, can no longer flush every time. She tries hard, practising many times a day, but she’s frustrated that, just like when she was younger, she needs an adult with her for every trip to the loo.

Lever flushes, however, are a small price to pay. As far as I’m concerned, a British toilet is a good toilet.

A humble example of a standard British toilet - note the pipes, flush and normal toilet bowl

The rules: what not to do when you've been sent to Coventry

It may well be that UK house-hunting is over (for the time being). Looks like Coventry may become my new home.

I am developing a set of rules to remind myself of how I should behave, in order not to turn the whole of Coventry against me during my stay.

1. I must not imagine I am Lady Godiva. True, she's quite the local legend, but I suspect my own figure is best covered up by more than my hair. Also, I don't have access to a horse, and riding a bicycle/scooter/rollerblades/the bus naked would probably be misunderstood by both the general public and the police, and would definitely have no influence on tax rates.
2. I must learn how to respond when I approach a shop counter and receive the somewhat confusing greeting, "Arraight?".
3. I must not attempt to use the above-mentioned greeting in my own accent.
4. I must not attempt to use the local accent. Ever.
5. I must not pronounce any local place names unless I have received private coaching first, e.g. "Cheylesmore is pronounced Charlesmore" and "Stivichall is pronounced "Sty-chill". Whoever heard of a silent V?

Is that a squirrel on my head?

Still suffering from international-movingitis, I've been away from the blog for another week. Pathetic, I know, but electronic communications only remind me that I can't communicate with my friends or relatives in any other way right now. So, let's just say that I've been avoiding my computer where possible, and staring out the window instead.

Despite the grey skies, there are some very cheering sights: rabbits chasing each other and nibbling fallen fruits, and squirrels darting about with their bushy tails in the air. I walk through a wood in order to get anywhere (except the bus stop). A wood! There's something I could never say in Australia. I feel like I'm finally close to living out my girlhood Sylvanian Families fantasy, except I'm human and the animals are not wearing clothes. Oh, yes, and my temporary home looks like a two-storey block of public toilets (according to my sister, who's seen the photographs), not a cute woodland cottage.

I'm feeling a trifle exposed - some of the windows have no curtains and in the mornings, there are people outside, mowing the grass or walking dogs into the the thick vegetation at the edge of the lawn. I can see out, but people can also, possibly, see right in. I wonder if they can see the ironing board, piled high with solo, partnerless socks (why is it that when you're living out of a suitcase, half your socks disappear within a day or two?).

I wonder if they can see me in my pyjamas, crouching in front of the armchair (on top of a pile of Playmobil and coloured pencils) until they've gone and I can make a break for the stairs, which my daughter will chase me up, ensuring that it takes me half the day to get washed and dressed and back downstairs.

Perhaps my birdsnest hair, untended by a hairdresser* for nearly 27 months, and poking up over the top of the armchair, is within the dog-walkers' line of sight.

Come to think of it, perhaps my birdsnest hair is what's attracting so much wildlife. I don't need a wood to do that, as long as I'm sitting still, with my head screwed on. And, as I realise when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror or one of the curtainless windows, my head is, sadly, firmly attached at all times.

*Note: my hair, while straggly, split-endy, suddenly greying and grown out of its former layered cut, is definitely clean. Even using the "power shower" here (which dribbles out water in alternating hiccups of scalding hot and freezing cold), I manage to get it washed regularly. But as we all know, headlice prefer clean hair, so it's entirely possible that squirrels do, too.

Mould, old and new

Well, I've done it. I have fled the old flat, left Germany, and arrived within the city limits of... Coventry.

A bottle of Sagrotan, some toothbrushes and cleaning cloths saw significant reductions in mould around the window frames, skirting boards, doors, fridge, freezer and tile grouting, and a coat of paint or three soon fixed up most of the walls. (Huge thanks to those who lent a hand - I was very lucky to find such wonderful friends in Germany.)

And now it's time for a huge sigh of relief! Look at the very unmouldy bedroom left behind!

Unfortunately, since arriving at my temporary Coventry accommodation, I've discovered what English mould smells like. Very different from German mould, and just as unpleasant in its own way. Luckily, the mould in this house is mostly confined to the peculiar rear bedroom/mathematician's heaven. (It scares me, and not just because of the smell.)

Missing Germany, missing friends, and hoping life in the UK soon feels normal.

Potsdam's treasures (accent and supermarkets not included)

The last week has disappeared in a bubblewrap-filtered blur of packing and panic... and farewell dinners. 'Tis the season for departures (and mosquitoes).

It's now a matter of days before the removalists arrive, and I'm not enjoying this international moving experience any more than I did when I left Australia. In many ways, it's worse this time.

In between trying to organise the move, I've been trying to see a few things around Potsdam, one last time, but there won't be a chance for much more of that. (I did manage to eat two "last" ice creams, though. Mmmm.)

So, here's a view of some of the places I'm leaving behind... sadly, there are no videos of the local supermarkets, so palaces and gardens will have to do for now.

There's a good range of footage of Park Sanssouci and the New Garden in this next video, but I should warn you, the voiceover is all in German. If you don't understand, just pretend you're me: listen politely, watch carefully, and nod and smile, or say "oh" whenever there's a pause. Pretending to understand is an essential Ausländer/in skill, even if only used to fill the gaps when you're struggling with a new language. It feels good when you get away with looking like less of an ignoramus than you really are.

(Note: I can't identify the narrator's accent. Definitely doesn't sound like a Potsdamer/Berliner, so it's not an accurate reflection of the Sound of German I experience every day.)

And now, I really should try to get some sleep; all this upheaval is feeding my insomnia. (Like it needed any help!)

Homesick already! (But look, it's my tram route!)

As I pack up all the belongings in my flat, not only do I contemplate burning everything instead, and dancing around the bonfire (or putting it all out for hard waste collection, which wouldn't be so satisfying without the dance), I also feel just a tiny bit... homesick.

Yes, it's true. I'm starting to miss Germany, before I've even left. Then again, I used to miss Canberra, and everybody (except those born there, who've never left) knows that Canberra is a boring old hole full of public servants and oversized roundabouts. And yet, I missed it when I left. I missed the comfortable habits, familiar haunts, the second-hand book fairs... and yes, my pleasant public service job.

Relocating to a new town or city, a new state, and especially a new country changes every aspect of life. It can be a frightening prospect, not exciting like a holiday, because there's no option of going "home" again. (And moving isn't relaxing, either: the preparations are so time-consuming and wearying that I haven't even been near my blog in nearly a week. Ooh, dear.)

Every move gives me somewhere new to miss. Leaving Germany makes me homesick for everywhere I've ever lived, for every hope, every dream of settling down somewhere and being comfortably boring forever. I miss, too, the thoughts I've had that are tied to the places I've had them in. All those little reminders of people and experiences get left behind when you move. In a new place, I won't have the comfort of walking past my memories every day.

Obviously, England promises an easier life (for starters, I ought to be able to communicate with people properly), and a society I can be more actively involved in. Once again, I'll be able to understand TV shows and newspapers and answer the telephone without a feeling of dread.

But, on the other hand, I'll never again watch the seasons change in Park Sanssouci, or scoff Milchschnitte when I'm hungry late at night. I won't hear this announcement when I get off the S-Bahn, because there won't be an S-Bahn:

The footage on that one is a bit wonky, but perhaps if I just listen to the sound on an endless loop it will help me sleep better at night once I hit the UK. (Either that, or I'll go mad.)

I'm not sure who films all these public transport trips, but a quick glance at YouTube leads me to believe that the train/tram spotters make up a bigger group than I would have expected. Or, alternatively, there could be just a small band of very enthusiastic guys filming public transport everywhere and watching their own videos thousands of times, plus commenting under countless pseudonyms. Hmm. It might be possible.

At any rate, here's another video: the tram (Potsdam tram 91, on its way to Bahnhof Pirschheide) stops at the end of my street at approx 1:30. If I ever get desperately homesick, I can just look at these, I suppose... thanks, all you YouTubing public transport fans. You perform a valuable public service!

To drool over: Welsh food!

I hadn’t known much about Welsh food before I started planning my trip, but I made a point of trying traditional fare, such as cawl or Welsh cakes, whenever I could. Delicious!

Traditional Welsh food is flavourful, unpretentious and filling, and the quality of fresh, local produce really shines through in a well-prepared dish.

One of the attractions of staying in a B&B was, for me, the option of a hearty cooked Welsh breakfast, and I wasn’t disappointed. We stayed at the Old Radnor Barn in Talgarth, where the accommodation was delightful and the hosts were kind, friendly, helpful and patient with all our odd behaviour. (We had never stayed in a B&B before, and I think it showed!)

The Old Radnor Barn is child-friendly accommodation (complete with splasher pool in the garden if you visit in the warmer months). We booked a double room with a portable cot (available for use in any room for £5), but, as the family room was unoccupied that night, we were lucky enough to be upgraded to the larger room.

Breakfast was as wonderful as I’d hoped, with the most delicious bacon and sausages (from the famous Morris Butchers of Blaenavon) on offer… and I should point out that I'm not particularly carnivorous, but this was really good meat! (Had I wanted something lighter or meatless, there were, of course, plenty of other tasty options.)

When we arrived in the evening and were welcomed by Lynne (after somebody in my party - no names - accidentally barged straight into her kitchen and gave her a bit of a surprise), she was very helpful in suggesting local places to eat. In fact, even though it was late and we hadn’t pre-ordered dinner at the B&B (which you can do), she offered to rustle something up for us herself if we couldn’t find anything else.

There were a couple of family-friendly Talgarth eateries just a short walk away on Bronllys Road, including a fish and chip shop adjoining a pub (where you can apparently eat your fish and chips in the pub, a novel concept for me), though the fish and chip shop was shut that night, and a new Thai restaurant (the Gatha Thai) adjoining another pub, the Crown Inn.

This was the only time in my life that I’ve sat in a pub (with a Coke from the bar) waiting for my takeaway Thai. But what a memory! My daughter ran loose with the other (local) kids, everyone said hello… and suddenly, I saw the appeal of pubs, despite never having liked them in Australia. It was warm, friendly and very comfortable. And, to top it off, the food was pretty tasty, too.

I was very sorry to have to leave Talgarth so quickly. It was a beautiful spot and I would’ve loved to explore the wider area of the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains thoroughly. (Maybe next time!)

Moving onwards, through cawl and delicious brown bread at Carreg Cennen Castle, and into the big city, there was a wide range of international cuisine to be found in Cardiff (and a good selection of child-friendly restaurants, offering children’s menus and colouring materials/activities).

If you expect food in Wales to be awful, you’re very much mistaken. There’s a lot of marvellous, quality food to be found… and even if you just want something quick and greasy, there’s plenty of good, vinegary fish and chips to be had!

Further information on Welsh food, for those who really love to eat

• An introduction to traditional Welsh foods
• Traditional Welsh recipes, so you can try cooking Welsh food yourself at home when you miss Wales (which I’m certain you will, once you’ve visited!)
• Local Welsh growers and producers – find out what's available at your planned destinations, or perhaps plan some extra pit-stops!
• Some suggestions for where to eat out "in style" in Wales
• Restaurants with rooms – a bit different from the B&B, and a mouth-wateringly good concept. It’s worth noting that Wales has two Michelin-starred restaurants, the Crown at Whitebrook and Plas Bodegroes, both of which are restaurants with rooms. (Here's a list of 5-star restaurants with rooms, as well as B&Bs and other accommodation, but this is just a starting point.)

Screamless: a small girl runs free in South-East and Mid Wales

My daughter doesn’t have the greatest liking for stuffy, indoor, grown-up carryings-on. She's never liked sitting still, or being pushed around or carried through museums, galleries or palaces. She has always preferred to run free.

Wales was, in retrospect, a stroke of genius in terms of choosing a family holiday destination. Firstly, because Mummy was desperate to visit, and secondly, because it was a destination that a small girl could enjoy. It was a place she could run almost wild, make noise, and make friends with strangers (adults and children alike). It was a place where she was welcome, and welcome to be herself.

Gall henebion fod yn beryglus - Rhaid goruchwylio plant bob amser (Ancient monuments can be dangerous - Children should be supervised at all times)

A visit to an awe-inspiring ruined castle or abbey is the perfect activity for anyone with children able to walk. You can all get some fresh air, explore, and even the youngest children will have a wonderful time, while burning off some excess energy that may have built up during a car ride. There’s no need for you to hold onto them constantly or hiss “Shhh! Get back! And don’t touch!”

And, without constant grizzling and pleas to leave (or glares from security guards worried about Junior's sticky fingers or muddy boots), the interested adult or older child can take the time to read their information leaflet or guidebook. Everybody wins.

Having said that, ruins do pose their own dangers. They’re not adventure playgrounds, and for the sake of the site, other visitors, and your own kids, adequate supervision and “no climbing” instructions are vital.

Many castles, too, have other dangers onsite, in the form of cliffs, steep and narrow staircases, missing floors, dark tunnels/stairwells, holes, steep hills, and so on. It’s all part of the experience and the excitement, but caution is vital.

Sites run by Cadw (the historic environment service of the Welsh Assembly Government) offer family tickets for two adults and any accompanying children under 16, a very good deal indeed if you have a medium or larger family! (Note: children under 5 have free entry.) And, whether you're accompanied by children or not, if you’re planning to visit a few sites within a limited timeframe, there are also good value 3- or 7-day Explorer Passes to choose from.

Most sites either have their own toilets/baby change facilities, or are within close proximity to such facilities (if you’re not sure, check the Cadw website for facilities and accessibility information).

Many popular attractions also have other family-friendly aspects, such as the working farm at the base of the walk to Carreg Cennen Castle. My daughter was fascinated by the farm animals (and so was I), which included some rare Welsh breeds. There were also farm buildings and displays to see, which added a whole new dimension to our castle visit, and gave us all an insight into another way of life.

The walk up the hill to the castle, past gorgeous sheep and stunning views of the countryside, was nothing short of exhilerating. (From the moment we’d seen the castle appear on the hill as we drove towards the farm, I’d had trouble believing it was real. The view was the stuff of my childhood dreams.) I couldn’t wait to get up there, and when I did, I wasn’t disappointed.

Although there had been plenty of cars in the carpark, the castle wasn’t crowded at all, and there was a very friendly atmosphere of a big family day out. Older children made friends with my daughter, even trying to speak Welsh with her (although her foreignness was obvious enough that friendly grownups asked plenty of questions about her origins). We had hired torches to take down into the cave below the castle, but found the way down a bit too difficult with a toddler. Carreg Cennen Castle is definitely one of those sites that requires parents to keep their wits about them, but it's well worth visiting if you get the chance.

Cardiff: a very quick glimpse (as seen by mother chasing toddler)

While there’s a wealth of things to do in Cardiff, many of them perfect for older children, my focus was, naturally, on finding things to do with a toddler. She was delighted to run loose in Bute Park, and around the Bay, where she had her first ever carousel ride (with me). She’s since seen photos of the carousel and demanded to go back to Cardiff!

My daughter even enjoyed popping inside the Millennium Centre to get out of the weather for a bit. We had a stop at one of the cafes there, and yes, took advantage of the excellent toilet/baby change facilities. I would have loved a tour of the building (and of the beautiful Senedd building close by), but on this flying visit, and with that toddler, it wasn’t to be. We did take her to visit the Doctor Who Up Close Exhibition in the Red Dragon Centre, which, perhaps surprisingly at her age then, she really enjoyed. I think she’d enjoy it even more now that she’s old enough to enjoy pretending she’s a “baby Dalek”. (Don’t ask.) And then there’s her reaction if she sees a man who she thinks resembles David Tennant…

My verdict: yes, I'm just bursting to take her back to that carousel!

(For more photos, please see the slideshow on the right-hand side of the blog.)

Across the Severn and beyond: an introduction to Wales in a hire car

The best tip I have for visiting Wales is to take a car.

Despite the merits of using public transport, and tourist-targeted railways through scenic spots, access to a car affords tremendous freedom (especially if used in combination with other forms of transport). Isolated spots are more easily accessible, you can travel at your own pace and to your own timetable, and you can make as many impromptu stops as you like. Some places can be difficult to reach for the independent traveller who is relying on public transport, and some scenery is just too breathtaking to watch speeding by through a window. Sometimes you need to stop and explore the castle that appears out of nowhere on a hill, or the ruined chapel that peeks out from between the trees.

To that end, it would also be a wonderful place to take a cycling or walking holiday. Unfortunately, we only had a couple of days so couldn't afford such a relaxed pace of travel. In our case, a car was perfect.

Hiring a car

We arrived at Luton Airport (from Berlin) and picked up a hire car. Researching prices in advance, we found it was much cheaper to book a car through 1Car1, whose Luton branch is a short trip from the airport. We called them on arrival, they sent a car to collect us, and then we sorted out the paperwork and installation of the child car seat (which cost an extra £15 to hire). The whole process took quite a while, and I admit to feeling a bit impatient, but a little extra time saved us a lot of money over picking up a car at the airport.

(Note: a quick internet check revealed that 1Car1 went into administration in March 2009. I'm unsure of the business's fate.)

Don't get lost!

I recommend a sat-nav system if you'll be doing a lot of driving in out-of-the-way, unfamiliar territory, or a street directory, at the very least, if you can get hold of one along the way.

We managed to make our way through the entire trip using only print-outs of directions, from an internet service such as the AA's route planner, and a 1:650,000 scale map of Britain (picked up in Germany before departure). While this method was OK, and saved money (yes, I'm a cheapskate when I can get away with it), I have to confess that the starting points on the directions were not always entirely clear, especially if we were leaving a location that had, say, three exits on three different streets, or a car park that was located off the site of the attraction. (Although, a quick look at the AA website recently gave me the impression that the directions provided there are somewhat clearer than the directions I had at the time.)

While we were always able to head in the right general direction, and in most cases we made it to the target location without too many problems at all, we did have a problem reaching our Cardiff hotel after heading into the city from Caerphilly Castle. We drove around in circles for at least an hour in the city, due to the fact that our city maps, printed from the internet, didn't reveal which streets were only one-way, or which were closed to vehicles during peak traffic times. And, of course, our prior knowledge of Cardiff was zero.

If you enter Wales via the M4 Second Severn Crossing

• Make sure you have cash to pay the toll, as credit/debit cards are not accepted.
• Ideally, have the appropriate amount in coins so you can use the automated coin machines (which, as of 16 June of this year, have only "limited availability"). The staffed toll booth is probably not the best place to break your crisp £50 note. (Better yet, fellow foreign tourists, don't allow your bank to issue you any £50 notes at all. I had real trouble spending them in England, though no problems in Welsh shops.)
• Don't attempt to cross on a bicycle. There are no foot/bicycle lanes. Use the (old) M48 Severn Bridge instead.
• Check the latest information on tolls, closures and maintenance work here.

First views of Wales: through the car window

Wales is, immediately over the border from England, decidedly Welsh. (What a surprise: there really is a difference!)

Traffic signs are bilingual (Welsh first in some places, English first in others). Red dragons flutter on their white and green flags, and in late March, the ground was covered in clumps of daffodils (the floral emblem of Wales), more daffodils than I could have imagined. They seemed to spring up in every available space, and, as we headed into the Brecon Beacons, they almost covered some of the fields. Viewed through the soft, golden light of the setting sun, the colour alone was enough to make me gasp, especially when offset by the sombre grey stone of ruined castles and churches poking up, surprisingly often, in between.

The Welsh countryside is full of beautiful ruins, and home to over 400 castles (a very high concentration for a nation only about 20,800 square kilometres in area). And, unless you've researched them all thoroughly and know exactly when and where to expect them, as you drive around Wales, these castles and ruins seem to appear out of nowhere as you round a bend. At times like this you'll wish you were on a bicycle, so you could savour the view slowly, stop, and probably take a photo. In a car, sometimes you're gone too quickly and the most beautiful spots often don't have a safe place to park the car off the road.

Furthermore, any photos you take, or view, of the Welsh countryside will struggle to capture the real beauty of the place. Looking at the trees on the hills near Tintern Abbey, for example, I was fascinated by the softness, the painted-on look of them. A photograph couldn't quite capture that.

But, having a car does enable you to stop wherever you can park, and I certainly found myself stopping unexpectedly at Llandovery when I caught sight of the castle and shiny statue of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd Fychan (not to be confused with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd) on the hill.

(Note for parents: this is a great place for your kids to stretch their legs. Clambering up to the castle is great fun, but there's also a playground/park behind the hill. As it's in town, you can also find the all-important food and drink.)

Before you drive off

If you're coming from abroad, you should make yourself acquainted with the basic UK-specific road rules and penalties for their infringement; even if you're an experienced driver, driving in another country, possibly on the other side of the road (depending on where you come from) can be a strange experience. Before you hire a car, you should also check with the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency to make sure your licence is valid in the UK (though most are).

Go away: it's Sunday and I'm couch-bound!

Unfortunately, I've missed the last couple of days of lovely weather (of which there haven't been many this summer), due to some mystery illness that's seen me drifting in and out of sleep on the couch.

Even my BBC Pride and Prejudice DVD was sick of it all today, deciding to play up in patches. And no, before you ask, I haven't worn out the part where Colin Firth jumps in the lake. I'm no Bridget Jones.

I made a huge effort to get up and feign good health this morning, for the benefit of a couple of prospective new tenants of the flat. Why they had to come on a Sunday, I don't know. The property manager didn't come - since she doesn't work on Sundays - so I was a bit put out that I couldn't declare the flat closed, too... like all businesses dealing in essentials. (I did miss 7-day shopping when I arrived here, though I'm used to it now.)

I considered using my illness as an excuse to shut the flat for quarantine purposes, but my German is too limited to make elaborate excuses. I could have croaked "Schweinegrippe" through the intercom when the visitors arrived, but that would have been about it. If only, I thought, I could have implied that I was suffering something mould-related, that would've sent 'em running.

Instead, there were quizzes about electricity and heating costs, how much sunlight gets into the flat in the mornings (considering it's partially underground), and when, definitely, the property would be vacant (leaving on August 31 - flights to Birmingham are booked). All of this took place in German, giving me the chance to make a complete idiot of myself by getting halfway through a sentence about electricity consumption before realising I didn't know how to finish it. It only emerged just as they were leaving that they could speak English.

"This my room," my daughter said proudly, pointing.

"Yes, your room," one of the visitors said. "It's pink!" And indeed it is. Here's proof: a photo of my daughter, then aged 16 months, in her newly-painted room.

After that, the visitors said "goodbye" and "danke", and went outside, where they burst out laughing as soon as the building door was closed. It was all clearly, uncomfortably audible due to the open windows. (Ventilation is vital in the fight against mould.)

Nobody likes the feeling of being laughed at, but I've become used to people thinking wrong things about me here (ie that my daughter has "two mothers", or that I'm English), so I decided that whatever they were laughing at, I didn't care.

Besides, if they move into this flat, the final joke will be on them.

Tales from Wales: how one little girl's obsession began

One of the easiest (and cheapest) ways to escape your everyday life is to pick up a book.

Some stories fade as soon as you read them, and some stay with you for life, informing your attitudes, your conscience, and your vision of the world around you. And sometimes, they kickstart unexpected obsessions.

When I was about eleven years old, on my summer holidays (just after New Year), I borrowed a book from my cousin, who I was staying with at the time. The book was The Earth Witch, by Louise Lawrence (the pen name of Elizabeth Holden, an English writer with a passion for Wales). It took me right out of the world I knew and into a damp, dark landscape of brooding, eerie power, a world where nature is menacing and terrible as well as life-giving. This was my first glimpse of the beliefs and mythology of old Wales, revealed through the prism of a modern setting. It's a story that doesn't retell any one particular myth, but draws on the author's wide knowledge of tales of the Mabinogion and other myths and folklore. The richness of intertextual references whet my appetite for hunting down those old stories, as if somehow I could find the "truth" contained in the fiction. I craved knowledge of Welsh landscape, history and literature and mythology. From then on, I was hooked on the subject, even though I lived on the other side of the world and had no Welsh heritage at all.

The best place to start for anyone wanting to read Welsh mythology is, of course, the Mabinogion, a collection of myths (the Four Branches of the Mabinogi), tales and romances (Welsh versions of Arthurian tales). There are, of course, plenty of debates about accuracy of translation, origins of stories and so on, which I won't enter into here, as I'm certainly no expert!

One of my favourite stories from the Mabinogion is the story of Lleu, Goronwy and Blodeuwedd (also spelled Blodeuedd), contained in "Math, Son of Mathonwy", one of the Four Branches of the Mabinogi. The Visit Wales website has a light, easy-to-read retelling (along with a couple of other tales), and some links to local websites that give readers a look at the real backdrops of the tales. Even if you can't or won't visit Wales, a look at the landscape really helps bring the stories to life.

The following experimental film, inspired by the Lleu-Blodeuwedd-Goronwy story, also gives a look at some relevant locations.

This particular story, while not very long, has been retold and reinterpreted many times. One famous and very enjoyable example (yes, for adults as well as younger readers!) is Alan Garner's book, The Owl Service. I first read it as an adult and found it quite compelling.

The following tale, of Bran and Branwen (from the branch "Branwen, Daughter of Llyr"), is a straightforward retelling for children (and will suit those who don't enjoy experimental interpretations).

(For more information on the DVD, see the Valley Stream Cultural Media site.)

For a broad and fascinating look at Wales, which ties myth and history together with landscape and culture (an "evocation of every aspect of Welshness"), try Jan Morris's Wales: Epic Views of a Small Country. It allowed me armchair travel to Wales, when I was too far away and too poor to afford a real trip, and later, when I finally made it there, it gave me plenty of background information on a place that was every bit as fascinating and beautiful as I expected it to be, and even more so.

Books ignited my obsession, but a visit only fuelled it...

This post has, obviously, barely scratched the surface of the wealth of literature out there. Any suggestions on further Welsh-themed reading would be more than welcome!

Even sealed plastic is no protection!

Ugh. Another mould disaster.

This time, I'm not talking about the fuzzy white blobs flowering on the wooden furniture (I'm either cleaning those off, or cheerfully ignoring them for the time being). No. This time I'm complaining about the contents of my kitchen cupboards.

I just took out a packet of par-baked bread rolls to put in the oven for my lunch. Par-baked rolls are cheap in Germany, cheaper than buying fresh rolls (and don't even think about sandwich loaf here - it's inedible). These packets of par-baked rolls usually keep well, but I've just found, in a packet with a month left before its expiry date, that every roll was covered with blue-green mould blobs. The packet was sealed, only purchased a couple of days ago... and very, very mouldy.

This isn't the first time I've opened a sealed packet of food, to find the contents green/blue/grey and fuzzy. The worst culprit is desiccated coconut... bleurgh!

Somehow, bugs seem to colonise sealed packets of food, as well. Ground hazelnuts are a particular favourite of these sneaky creatures.

I don't know how it happens (especially the bug problem), but it drives me nuts when I want to prepare food and it turns out that my unopened, within-date ingredients have to be turfed out, and I can't make the recipe I was planning. I always thought sealed packets were good protection against bugs, although I know by now that nothing stops mould! (And leaving a packet of, say, tea leaves, open in the cupboard is just an invitation to disaster. Don't do it. You have only yourself to blame, which is no comfort when you're throwing out that mass of tea-leaf shaped mould squiggles.)

My only tip is... don't keep a store cupboard full of useful plastic-packaged ingredients, even if the packet is sealed and the expiry date is sometime next year. Try to buy these ingredients only as you need them, because things that you might expect to keep well, won't necessarily do so.

For a distraction from mould (I know I need one), I've posted a YouTube player at the bottom of the page (under the posts), displaying some videos of south Wales, which mostly relate to places I visited in March 2008. I've also posted a slide show of some of my own photos. Related blog posts to follow soon!

Tantrums without subtitles

There's something deeply unsettling about a nation full of children who don't throw hissy-fits. I spent a long time, after my arrival in Germany, wondering where to find the German supermarket screamers, the train-riding terrors and the non-violent activists in training, staging their solo sit-ins in the middle of the footpath. Because for a very long time, the only tantrums I saw here were carried out by either my daughter, or some other child with frazzled, foreign parents.

My daughter used to do a terrific job of convincing every German we encountered that I was the worst mother in the world. Whenever she cried (which was almost every time I took her on the bus, for starters), everybody would look at her tenderly, and click their tongues, and say things that I assumed meant "poor baby", or similar. Even when she was being really, really naughty.

I knew there was nothing the matter with her, in most cases, and nothing I could do. Often she was simply angry that she was on the bus, and I could hardly solve that by getting off in the middle of nowhere, just to please her. (Besides, then she would have cried because we had to walk, or wait for the next bus.) Other times, she cried because she'd been asleep, and always woke up extremely irritable. She cried for up to an hour, post-afternoon nap, most days.

Once she got wound up, nothing would please her. It only took a couple of minutes of screaming and bellowing before she was completely hysterical. She was a semi-professional tantrum-thrower, a child who could vomit of her own free will, simply by crying and forcing herself to gag.

Still, I found myself acting against my own better judgment, making what I knew to be futile (or even counter-productive) soothing attempts, just to escape the watchful eyes and unhelpful suggestions of those around me.

"Give her cake," people would say. "Feed her."

So there I'd be, proffering plain biscuits or sultanas or a drink of milk, even though that only made her more cross. (Eating was one of her most hated activities. There's a good reason, other than her genetics, that she's the size of the average German child, a year younger than herself.) But I had to be seen to be doing something; most Germans don't seem to be of the opinion that a small child will cry without a legitimate reason. Therefore, a parent deliberately ignoring crying is seen as nothing short of cruel.

One German mother I know, whose children did like to kick up a fuss on public transport when they were young, once let one of her children cry for a while, despite the increasingly angry glares she was getting from her fellow passengers.

"What kind of a mother are you?!" one of them exclaimed at last.

"A bloody good one," she answered, and continued to ignore the tantrum. Nerves of steel, I tell you!

I've often wondered why German children are generally so calm. They sit quietly in their prams or strollers (even the ultra-old fashioned prams, in which a sitting child has no backrest, and is strapped in with a sort of leather harness that allows them to move about but presumably not fall out), wearing calm, blank faces.

Admittedly, these quiet children are often eating. Bread rolls or pretzels are popular, and toddlers can often be seen feeding themselves juice from a bottle. (A big no-no in Australia.) So this is clearly why everyone recommended feeding my daughter - it works on most German kids.

Other problems I had with my daughter in public included her trying to climb out of her stroller as I was pushing her (she once fell right out in the food hall of KaDeWe, Berlin - people looked at me like I was an attempted murderer); my daughter running away out of my sight in shops (passersby tell me to let her, because "she will be all right"); and my daughter going absolutely ballistic, armed with a children's trolley, in the supermarket.

The nice thing is, nobody ever says, "Will you shut that kid up?", which people might, elsewhere. And on a recent trip to the supermarket, when my ears were filled with constant, blood-curdling screams emitted by the hot-headed little creature sitting on my hip, nobody said a word. Certainly, they looked, but there didn't seem to be any serious disapproval or malice. It must have been a bit like watching a foreign film, without the subtitles.

I, like my daughter, am a classic crazy foreigner. My voice gets louder when I'm upset or agitated (not quieter, as is the German way). I laugh, cry, gesticulate and shout too much. My face is never still. And even if captured in a still photo, I wouldn't look German; I even dress like a foreigner. My daughter does, too (surprise, surprise). Ethnicity aside, her clothes mark her out, boldly, as a foreigner. (I haven't even bought her any sensible German shoes... they don't appeal to my aesthetic, I'm afraid, no matter how well-made they are.)

I don't know why German children seem so content and calm, but while I'm very glad if they are (and even happier for their parents), I think it's impossible for any child of mine to be like that. The tantrums are just part of the package: a package that also includes dancing in the street, a yearning for music, a theatricality, and a wild and passionate nature. I love her imagination, her exuberance, and her loving, sensitive ways; but, like me, she's also capable of getting very, very upset. There's nothing too strange about her tantrums, really; after all, I had them when I was young, too.

Now that she's getting older, and I'm getting more self-assured as a parent (and a foreigner), I deal with her tantrums as I see best, without worrying too much about the impression I give others. I certainly have some very frustrating trips to the shops, but gradually, it's all getting easier.

I do see the occasional little German having a tantrum, too, which is a relief, really. It proves to me that there's no great German secret for manageable kids. And even if there was, I wouldn't really want to change my daughter... I'd just like a bit less screaming, and a bit more staying-with-Mummy in the shops. Sadly, I'm not going to achieve that with cake.

China: Prussian style

The Chinese House, which sits in beautiful Park Sanssouci, Potsdam, is known to my daughter as the "pretty house".

I'm afraid I don't share her opinion. It's a striking structure, I admit (all that gold does catch the eye), but I find this example of 18th century Prussian chinoiserie... well, baffling.

The statues of "Chinese" musicians surrounding the pavilion are obviously modelled on Europeans playing dress-up in whatever vaguely oriental-looking clothes they could find. And I'd be very impressed if anyone could explain how the architecture of the building itself resembled any authentic Chinese structure.

If something like this was built today, it would be considered incredibly ignorant and embarrassing, at best. But, hey, I'll cut the poor old park-and-palace building Prussians some slack... except for the general bad taste/ugliness, which I'm afraid is evident in all sorts of "theme" rooms in Potsdam's palaces. (Seen the shell-covered grotto room in the Neues Palais, anyone? Ghastly! No photograph does justice to its hideousness. It's so ugly, it's worth a visit.)

The tent room (Zeltzimmer) in the Charlottenhof Palace, designed to give its inhabitants the impression of being on a far-away expedition, is definitely more tent-like than the Chinese House is Chinese, so it scores higher on accuracy. But still, full points to both for imagination, I suppose! Let's give credit where credit's due... while reserving the right to shriek: "UGLY!"

Confessions of a reforming pantihose hoarder

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just done a terrible thing.

(And no, I'm not talking about purposely vacuuming up live spiders. That was yesterday, and I don't feel nearly as guilty about that as I probably should.)

No, what I'm talking about is a grave, grave sin. The sin of waste. The crime of Throwing Something Away, Even Though it Might be Useful Later.

Given that I'm moving overseas in about a month, I thought I ought to go through my drawer and see what, in that overstuffed tangle of pyjamas-that-need-mending, embarrassing panda socks and holey, laddered hosiery, I could actually get rid of.

"I'm clearing it out," I told myself sternly. "Anything unwearable goes."

I pulled out a couple of nice pairs of pantihose, well-worn favourites. "Lovely," I said. "Just a couple of holes, a ladder here, a tiny ladder there. Nothing a bit of clear nail polish won't stop. Nothing that can't be hidden by a longish skirt and a pair of knee-high boots. No. I 'll keep them."

And then I pulled out a pair of footless teal tights. "Haven't worn them in a while," I admitted. I examined the three ladders extending downwards from the seam. By my own logic, the flaws could be hidden, so the tights were still wearable. But something inside me said, "I'm not going to wear them again," and I snapped. I put them down on the floor, starting a pile destined for the bin.

Every fibre of my being screamed, "Noooooooo! They might come in handy! You could use them to tie a tomato plant to a stake! You could use them to hang out a wet woolly jumper on the Hills Hoist clothesline! Don't throw them away! Old tights are worth their weight in clothes pegs, at the very least!"

I looked at the tights sadly, drew myself up to my full height, and reminded myself that the days of tomato plants were left behind when I moved out of Mum and Dad's place. I don't grow plants. I don't have a garden (just two pots of herbs that I'll have to leave behind when I move). Worst of all, I don't even live in the same hemisphere as my parents, so my tights are no good to their garden, either... and they don't have much water, anyway, so their need to stake plants is significantly less than it used to be.

Naturally, I don't have a Hills Hoist, either. I have a weird clothes rack with wings, an evil washer-dryer, and, for my heavy woollies and things that might stretch while drying, a couple of nets on curved frames, so I can lay the clothes flat. (Note: don't hang these off your shower rail. It will rip out of the wall.)

It's time for me to get used to this simple fact: old, unwearable tights have no use in my life anymore, and they're no good to anyone. They're just taking up space in my drawer, and if I keep them, they'll only add to the expense of moving, along with all the other useless junk that ought to go out, and would have, but for that voice in my head screeching, "what a waaaaste!".

And so, the tights are in the bin (under some food scraps by now), along with some unfixable, falling-apart knickers, some laddered knee-high stockings, an old, now ill-fitting bra with rust stains, and a pair of socks which are in good condition, but which, let's be honest, I just hate.

Now I need to work out what to do with the several pairs of perfectly serviceable, opaque blue tights that I've had, unused, in my drawer for at least 12 years (when I stopped wearing them to school). I consider them a mental-health hazard. Nightmares about being back at school are bad enough, let alone daytime flashbacks caused by wearing part of my old uniform. But I can't give them away; who wants second-hand pantihose? (No... don't answer that.)

So perhaps, unless I happen to meet someone who needs to stake some plants, I might go a sin further and Throw Away Something in Perfectly Good Condition.

Priests on standby, please. Confession coming soon.

Sommerszeit=Nacktheit

Summer. Public nudity.

These are two things that belong together in Germany, the home of Freikörperkultur (lit. "free body culture").

For the prudes out there, the foreign types who think that even statues should always be clothed (fig leaf, minimum), there are certain public, outdoor places to avoid.

1. The nudist beach, known as the FKK-Strand or Nacktbadestrand. These areas are usually adjoining one end of the general beach, and while there may be some fencing to protect privacy, there also might not be. So, if you don't want to join the nudists, and you don't want to see them, pay attention to the signposts and head along the beach in the opposite direction. (Note: these beaches are commonly found on lakes, which leads me to my next point.)
2. Parks surrounding lakes. Chances are, if the lake allows swimming, it has a dedicated nude swimming area. It's entirely possible that you will find yourself copping an eyeful of a naked man, backstroking towards you across the lake. This might be a bit of a shock if you're taking a wide-eyed, touristy stroll through a park, on the opposite shore to the swimming beach. Especially if you happen to have your camera (with telephoto lens) out, and you're taking some photos of the pretty German scenery, when suddenly, you catch sight of pink flesh on the water, and can't quite believe your eyes.
3. Other parks. They might not contain much total nudity, but parks such as the Tiergarten in Berlin are full of semi-naked people on warm days. It's not nudism, it's just sunbaking, but for those of us who might expect semi-nakedness, but only on the beach, topless women and barely smuggled budgies can seem a strange backdrop to your picnic on the grass. (Beware: if you decide to sunbake nearly nude in a park, especially if there's water nearby, your vulnerable body is in danger of being randomly attacked by cranky swans.)
4. Children's playgrounds - especially those with water features. Here, the adults keep their clothes on, but many of the children don't.

I feel like a bit of a freak, sometimes, insisting that my own daughter doesn't leave our flat without clothes. After all, on a nice day, the neighbours' children in the next building can be seen, naked, running around in their garden. And the playgrounds are full of sandy, naked kids. So why don't I want her to join in?

There are several reasons why I don't like the idea of my daughter being naked in public. The first is simply because I come from Australia, where people not only swim in bathing suits, but in boardshorts, T-shirts and hats, and I'm well-versed in the dangers of skin cancer. I don't want my daughter getting burnt. The second reason is because I've also been well-versed in the dangers of paedophiles. The third reason is that I don't like the idea of my daughter being photographed naked, even accidentally, just as part of the background, because of the ever-expanding ways in which photos are published and distributed. I prefer that she has some modicum of privacy. (For the same reason, I'm careful to avoid taking photos of her if there are naked children in the background.)

It's a lovely idea, that there's no reason to be afraid, that there's no danger of paedophiles worth worrying about. And it sure beats some of the over-the-top protective measures we've had in Australia, such as banning cameras from many public pools because children might be photographed (by paedophiles) in bathing suits. But are children really safer in Germany than in Australia, or is there a possibility that some parents here are simply too trusting?

As far as sun exposure goes, I can understand why people here aren't so worried about that. Most of the year it feels like there's no sunshine at all. And children, in particular, are almost entirely covered up to keep them warm through the long cold months. It feels good, healthy, necessary even, to get some sunlight on your skin when it finally comes out. We're all desperate for a few warm rays.

For this reason, 2009, with its tiny number of sunny days, has been a good year for prudes, and a bad one for nudes. (The summer of 2008 was a more naked one.)

But, here's a warning for the prudes out there. Even if you avoid all the naked places you can in public, and you don't have saunas or have a shower in the gym, there's still a chance that, like my friend in Berlin, you might look out your kitchen window on a Sunday and see, on the other side of the street, a naked man standing on his windowsill, pressed up against his window, trying to fix something and blissfully carefree about whether or not anyone notices his full-frontal nudity. (And indoors, in front of windows or not, people can go nude all year round.)

My friend noticed, all right, and she (a self-confessed prude) was quite put off her brunch.

Berlin S-Bahn: shock, horror!

The very day I wrote my first post, commending German public transport, Berlin's S-Bahn system went almost right off the rails.

According to the BVG, the S-Bahn service in Berlin is "limited", due to technical difficulties and "extensive special maintenance problems".

Grumblings around here blame "greedy private operators" for their unwillingness to dent their profits by paying for required safety checks and maintenance programs, until investigation of an S-Bahn accident lifted the lid on the neglect.

While it's unbelievable that in Berlin, the S-Bahn system is not expected to be running as normal until December (5 months away!!!), there are alternative ways of getting around. It may take longer, and it may require more planning, but it's still possible to get from A to B (even if some trips have become simply too inconvenient to bother making).

The "disgruntled passenger" in this Time article, who described the transport chaos as like "being in the Third World", should really try travelling by public transport outside Germany. Many developed nations' public transport systems are still worse than what's currently on offer in Berlin. And in the developing world... well, let's just say that "disgruntled passenger" would get a serious shock.

First escape: Copenhagen

Our first escape from the humid, dungeonesque flat (which had sprouted mould all over the skirting boards after just two weeks, long before our furniture arrived) came in mid-November 2007. I'd booked cheap flights from Berlin to Copenhagen on a whim, a couple of months earlier while we still lived in a guesthouse (and therefore had an internet connection).

September and October saw me fantasising about the trip constantly.

"How amazing," I thought, "to get away from all this, and sleep in a bed again. Oh yes, bring on a hotel!" (Two months sleeping on an inflatable mattress was taking its toll.)

About two weeks before the trip, our telephone/internet was finally connected, so, mostly using the Wonderful Copenhagen site, I could plan the trip online. Having decided that we wanted to pack in as many sights as possible, mainly because of our then 16-month-old daughter's short attention span, I balked at the high entry prices to most attractions. The hotels, too, were pricey. Even the ones that had shared bathrooms... The only cheap part of the holiday was the flights.

The CPHCard

I started investigating the CPHCard as a way to save money, and when I added up the admission prices of the places we'd like to see, plus public transport costs, I could see that the CPHCard would pay for itself pretty quickly (despite the fact that it, too, seemed very expensive, particularly when converting the price back into Australian dollars... ouch!). The CPHCard also had the advantage of being able to be used from the moment we arrived in Copenhagen and took the train from the airport into the city. Therefore, we had no need to work out the local transport ticketing system (which was much more confusing to a foreign tourist than the German system).

Our CPHCards arrived in the mail very quickly, along with a trip planner which was more user-friendly than the website. For this reason, I'd recommend that anyone planning to buy the card does so in advance, rather than picking one up on arrival.

I was disappointed when I realised that many attractions were completely closed in November, due to the weather and the short daylight hours, but I still found so many things to do that we were flat-out for the 72-hour duration of our trip, and could easily have kept busy for days longer.

Planning to get the most out of each day: opening hours and public transport

Because many attractions (castles, for example) open late and close early in the winter months, if you travel at this time, it's a good idea to check opening hours in advance, and plan the order of each day's itinerary according to the location and opening hours of each attraction. It sounds obvious, but some planning is advisable when it comes to navigating the public transport, especially if you choose to visit castles which lie a bit further afield. (I recommend using the DSB website to plan your trips in advance. Take a copy of important timetables with you, if you can, especially if visiting the city on a weekend, when transport departs less frequently.)

During the evenings, there weren't many options for a family with small children, but we solved this by visiting two attractions, both of which had entry included on the CPHCard in 2007.

The first option was Hans Christian Andersen's Wonderful World (next to Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, which we had no interest in visiting). A visit won't keep the family entertained for too long, but it was interesting, different, a welcome respite from the cold, and our daughter enjoyed it (apart from a scary giant rat in one of the displays) much more than the castles and museums she'd seen during the day.

The second option was the Tivoli Gardens. Luckily for us, it had just opened for the Christmas season, and was decorated beautifully and set up with a Christmas market (of the more expensive variety) and plenty of special displays. There was also some rather potent gløgg, a mulled wine with interesting extras, including raisins and almonds, on sale.

The lights and Christmas/winter scenes were fascinating for our daughter (even though she was too small to go on any rides), and amusing enough for us to spend two evenings there. Like most attractions in Denmark (castles included), the Tivoli Gardens have good nappy-change facilities. There is a nice little stand-alone parents' room, which was easy to find, clean and convenient, and equipped with a microwave for warming bottles, as well as chairs for feeding.

Castles

Although I'm Australian, I don't harbour any Princess-Mary-who-might-have-been fantasies, so I wasn't as excited by the sights of modern Royal Copenhagen as some of my compatriots might be. However, we did stop to see the changing of the guard outside the Amalienborg Palace, as well as the museum in Christian VIII's mansion. More interesting to me were the older castles of Frederiksborg and Kronborg (Hamlet's castle), which require a little bit of travel outside the city (though they're still within the travel zone covered by the CPHCard). The train trips are a great way to see a bit more of Denmark, even if you're in a hurry, and from Kronborg, you can stand on the roof of the Telegraph Tower (accessed via the Maritime Museum) and look over to Sweden.

If you have children who are getting bored with the castle, Kronborg, like others around Copenhagen, has been fitted out with a children's play/activity room. It's also a castle where children can walk around fairly freely, look out windows, and let their imaginations run wild. My daughter grizzled her way through Versailles (understandably), but Kronborg was fine. She didn't even mind the Casemates underneath (though I for one wouldn't like to be locked in there, even with a torch).

Frederiksborg has a stunning baroque garden, which we walked through after the castle had closed, since the garden is open much longer.

Rosenborg, which was only a walk away from our hotel, had a lovely park and even some pigs (or similar - I don't know my swine) kept near the castle, much to our daughter's delight. It's a great spot to visit, but a word of warning: if you have a noisy child, especially a screaming one, avoid the treasury (which houses the Danish crown jewels). It's been fitted with a sound-activated alarm, which, if set off, will trap everyone inside the treasury (below ground) for a couple of hours. (How do I know this? A security guard started panicking when my daughter started wailing.)

Other sights (and tastes)

• For anyone who's ever wanted to push their child's stroller up a tower (go on, you know you want to!), you can't go past the Rundetaarn. It's got a great view of the city at the top, and only a minimal number of stairs. The rest of the tower is like one giant spiral ramp (a bit steep, though - if you park the stroller, make sure to put the brakes on!).
• Nyhavn is a picture-perfect spot, lined with places to eat and drink on either side of the waterway. Nyhavn happened to play host to a free Christmas beer tasting on the day we visited, as well as a Christmas market. It's well worth checking events listings to see what the locals are up to, and maybe participate in something yourself.
• Of course, everyone feels obliged to snap a picture of the landmark Little Mermaid statue. It makes a good stop on a self-guided walking tour of the city.
• Strøget is the main (pedestrian only) shopping strip, and there are some lovely things on sale (if you avoid the tacky souvenir shops), though price is certainly an issue, especially if your currency isn't worth much against the Danish Kronor. In November we enjoyed picking up some delicious warm almonds, with their crunchy, sweet and lightly spiced coating, from a street stall here. The smell was divine and the taste was just as good. There are other warm winter treats for sale, too, such as roast chestnuts.
• Lunch in the Glyptotek is a lovely, relaxing experience. In the middle of the museum, the cafe is situated beside the Winter Garden. (The Glyptotek's exhibits are worthwhile, too, of course!)

Copenhagen: a child-friendly city

Parents' rooms, nappy-change facilities and amusements/distractions for children are easy to find in Copenhagen. Unlike Germany, I never had to worry about where I'd find the next change-table.

Breastfeeding is perfectly acceptable in public. I saw plenty of nursing mothers in cafes (which again, made a nice change from Germany, where I've seen fewer mothers nursing in two years than I did in Copenhagen in two days.)

Public transport is easily accessible with prams or strollers. Train stations are equipped with lifts.

My verdict

Copenhagen is a beautiful, fascinating, charming and friendly city. I wished I could have stayed there, rather than returning to Germany (even though my furniture had arrived by then, so at least I was going home to a real bed).

Travel there in summer would be amazing, but winter (especially the five or so weeks before Christmas) is wonderful in its own way. The crowds are small and the experience is special, especially if you're from the southern hemisphere!

My advice: if you fancy a trip to Denmark, do it while the Danish Kronor is at a low! So... now's not too bad a time!