Snow on the Rock & Pillar Range

Daily Photo – Snow On The Rock & Pillar Range

There’s something deeply humbling, and slightly alarming, about rounding a bend to find a geological titan swallowing the horizon. Spread out before me was the Rock and Pillar Range, vast and imposing in a humble sort of way. The range didn’t peak in the sharp, dramatic fashion of the Southern Alps. Instead, it rose in a massive, undulating wall, with deep, icy gullies that looked from a distance like the face of a wrinkled old man, showing the weariness of time. Below this blanket of winter, the lower foothills rested in a desolate expanse of dry tussock, with weather-beaten rock formations littering the ground in every direction.

The contrast was striking. A clear blue sky above a frozen mountain range, and a prehistoric plain at my feet. I pulled the car over at a signposted rest stop, mesmerised by the sheer, unbothered scale of it all. Time seemed to stand still, frozen like the surrounding landscape.

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Boundary Fence In Lindenow

Daily Photo – Boundary fence in Lindenow

Since we’ve had two photos already this week from my recent trip to Australia (which was really just hanging out in Melbourne and riding the free trams), here’s a third. This one, however, is from an earlier trip several years back. I ended up in Lindenow, a small country town about three hours’ drive east of Melbourne, but less than an hour from the lovely and ever-popular Lakes Entrance.

Victoria has a habit of punching well above its weight. Along with countless small towns and spectacular scenery, the state has produced more than its fair share of remarkably well-known Australians. Among them are Australian cricketing great Shane Warne, singer Kylie Minogue, actress Cate Blanchett, and global media mogul Rupert Murdoch.

It can also lay claim to Chloe Dillon, Harley Reid, Nick Daicos, Molly Dixon and Troy Candy. Now, I don’t know who any of those people are, but according to a website I stumbled across, apparently they’re pretty famous. Just what they’re famous for, well, I couldn’t say. My guess would be wearing very little and dancing on TikTok.

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Red Gums, Twilight, and The Bushranger’s Canopy

Daily Photo – An Evening In Shepparton Regional Park

An early evening stroll led me deep into the heart of Shepparton Regional Park, a uniquely captivating Australian landscape. I found myself completely surrounded by the magnificent, sprawling floodplain forests of classic River Red Gums. As the fading daylight dipped below the horizon, a warm, golden sunset drifted softly through the dense canopy. The ancient trunks cast long shadows across the forest floor, framing the Australian twilight.

Standing here among the monotony of the trees, it is easy to see how a single step off the track could leave you utterly disoriented and lost. It was precisely this unforgiving, vast wilderness that colonial bushrangers relied upon, vanishing into the dense scrub to escape the law and evade the police for months on end.

What Australians historically term a ‘bushranger’ is really what the rest of us would call a common thief or outlaw. The most celebrated among them include figures like Ned Kelly, Harry Power, Daniel ‘Mad Dog’ Morgan, and Ben Hall, a collection of deeply anti-social fugitives wanted for an impressively long list of offences. They had a knack for vanishing into the unforgiving landscape, occasionally emerging to rob passing travellers, stagecoaches, and wealthy landowners before melting back into the scenery, sometimes not to be seen for months or even years. As far as hiding places went, Australia was so bafflingly immense that the opportunities for disappearing were almost endless, requiring a genuinely heroic level of commitment from the local constabulary to track the outlaws down. Modern Australians seem to love these characters as beloved folk icons, when in reality they were largely a collection of bullies and murderous thugs looking out for little more than their own gain.

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Simply Being Kowloon

Daily Photo – Somewhere Along Nathan Road

I took this photograph somewhere along Nathan Road, although I couldn’t tell you exactly where. To be honest, it hardly matters because there are countless buildings like this throughout Kowloon. They aren’t landmarks, yet together they define the city.

At first glance it’s simply an ageing concrete building. Then the details begin to emerge. Washing hangs from balconies high above the traffic. Windows are propped open despite the humidity. Every floor has been enclosed, altered, repaired, extended, or adapted over the decades until the building has developed its own wonderfully untidy character. Air conditioning units cling to the outside walls in such numbers that they seem almost structural, as though removing them might cause the whole place to collapse.

The more I stood there, the more I realised I wasn’t looking at architecture. I was looking at thousands of ordinary lives stacked one on top of another. Homes above offices. Businesses beside apartments. Families, shopkeepers, accountants, students and retirees, all sharing the same block while Nathan Road flowed relentlessly beneath them.

It struck me that this was exactly the sort of thing I like about traveling. Not experiencing a famous attraction or a postcard view, just an ordinary building quietly getting on with the business of simply being. In this case, simply being Kowloon.

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Exploring The Goulburn River In Northern Victoria

Daily Photo – The Goulburn River

I spent an afternoon near the banks of the Goulburn River, which has the honour of being northern Victoria’s largest river. Yet this peaceful stretch of water was once one of the busiest crossroads in colonial Victoria. Long before Shepparton existed as the quiet city it is now, when gold was discovered and everyone went bonkers heading for Victoria’s northern goldfields, sooner or later every miner came to a single river crossing known as McGuire’s Punt. It was a simple and crude, yet effective, set-up, with a decidedly rickety and primitive punt that carried people from one muddy bank to the other by way of a rope.

That also made it an ideal place for the less respectable members of society to take advantage of the busy crossing. Miners carrying pokes full of gold dust, merchants with wagons of supplies, wandering gamblers, escaped convicts, bushrangers, and every variety of drifter all passed through here, while others looked for an opportunity to relieve someone of their possessions.

These days the Goulburn drifts quietly past towering river gums, yet it’s fascinating to think that this tranquil river once held up the entire traffic of the Victorian gold rush. Before there was a town, before there were bridges, there was simply a river, a punt, and a queue of hopeful souls waiting to cross.

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The Secret Life of St Paul’s Cathedral

Daily Photo – Melbourne’s Grand Cathedral

Stepping inside St Paul’s Cathedral in Melbourne is a bit like walking through a time machine. One moment you’re surrounded by trams rattling along Flinders Street and thousands of commuters hurrying to catch a train. Next, you’re standing beneath soaring arches where the noise of the city simply disappears. It’s quite the contrast.

What I particularly enjoyed, though, was discovering that the cathedral has one of Australia’s more unusual traditions. Hidden away inside is a set of bell-ringing ropes connected to thirteen enormous bells housed in the tower. Rather than chiming automatically, these bells are still rung the old-fashioned way by teams of volunteers. It’s called change ringing, and instead of playing tunes, the ringers perform intricate mathematical sequences that can take hours to complete. To the untrained ear it sounds delightfully random. To the people pulling the ropes, it’s a carefully choreographed performance requiring remarkable concentration and teamwork.

I find something rather comforting about that. In an age where almost everything is controlled by computers, there are still people happily spending an afternoon hauling on ropes simply to keep a centuries-old tradition alive.

The cathedral itself is magnificent, but it’s knowing that somewhere above your head a group of enthusiastic bell ringers is quietly practising an ancient art that makes the place feel just that little bit more special.

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The Secret Hidden Beneath Belfast City Hall

Daily Photo – Reflection of Belfast City Hill

If buildings could talk, Belfast City Hall would probably spend half its time gossiping about pigeons and the other half complaining about people climbing onto its lawns for the perfect photograph. Completed in 1906, it’s an absolute showpiece, built to celebrate Belfast’s brief but spectacular spell as one of the richest cities in the world. By day it’s impressive enough, but at night, when it’s bathed in coloured lights and reflected in rain-soaked pavement, it becomes one of those buildings that practically insists on having its photo taken.

The quirky part of its story, though, lies beneath your feet.

Hidden under the grand entrance is a sealed time capsule placed there when the foundation stone was laid in 1898. Packed inside are coins, newspapers and documents from Victorian Belfast, all intended for people who haven’t been born yet. It’s the architectural equivalent of stuffing things into the attic and hoping your great-grandchildren find them one day.

I rather like that idea. While thousands of tourists wander around admiring the domes, columns and Christmas lights, there’s a little snapshot of everyday Belfast quietly waiting underground. One day someone will eventually open it and discover what people considered worth preserving. Hopefully they’ll also find instructions on how to keep the pigeons off the statues, because judging by the evidence outside, that mystery still hasn’t been solved.

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Strolling Along Harcourt Street

Daily Photo – Krystle & Diceys

The plan for my first morning in Dublin was simple: a quick stroll through the city centre, followed by breakfast with a few friends. So it was that we soon found ourselves pushing through the crowds of Grafton Street, past the Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre, and continued along St Stephen’s Green before crossing onto Harcourt Street. We were heading for what I was reliably informed was one of the best spots for breakfast in the whole of Dublin. 

Along the way, I found a nice bit of symmetry in the Dublin buildings, all decorated in Christmas cheer, before ducking into the Iveagh Gardens to work up an appetite.

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Sedan Chairs, Peak Trams & Victoria Peak

Daily Photo – Victoria Peak in Hong Kong

This is a view from one of the lookouts on Victoria Peak. The best way to get there is to take the Peak Tram, a 138-year-old railway line that slowly rattles its way to the top over a vibrating ten minutes, making numerous stops along the way as it still functions as a genuine piece of public transport.

Once you arrive at the top, you get pretty much the same view as the original residents of Victoria Peak in the 19th century. Before 1888, however, residents reached their homes by using sedan chairs, which carried them up and down the slope. No doubt this was much slower and considerably harder work, especially for the unfortunate souls doing the carrying rather than the sitting.

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The Coop Shot Tower & Flanking Lead Factory In Melbourne

Daily Photo – The Tower & The Dome

Being left to my own devices in Melbourne for a few hours, I found my way into the Central Place mall, one of those bustling, multi-storey hubs that seamlessly blends Melbourne’s love for heritage and the arts with a healthy dose of modern retail therapy. I instantly felt completely overwhelmed and started examining what series of decisions had taken place to lead me here.

Thankfully, I was able to distract myself with the large glass dome that covered the complex, beneath which sits Coop’s Shot Tower and Flanking Lead Factory. I’d read earlier that it was completed in 1889, with a 50-metre-high brick tower that, at the time, was the tallest building in Melbourne’s CBD until the mid-1940s. I’d also read that it was designed to manufacture lead shot for shotguns and that, from 1919, it was run by Ellen Coop, a position that was incredibly rare for a woman to hold at the time, and one in which she was extremely successful for more than two decades, until she was tragically killed after falling from the back of a Melbourne tram.

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A Visit to The Shankill Road

From the late 1960s to the late 1990s, Northern Ireland was gripped by “The Troubles”, a bitter nationalist conflict. On one side were republican paramilitaries (like the IRA and INLA), predominantly Catholic, who fought for a united Ireland. On the other were loyalist paramilitaries (like the UVF), predominantly Protestant, who fought to remain part of the United Kingdom. For today’s photo, we travel to The Shankill Road in Belfast, which became the heartland of the loyalist groups.

Daily Photo – Memorial wall, where the wreaths Rest


Major William Marchant
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon in April 1987, William Marchant stood outside the UVF’s headquarters above a Shankill Road chip shop. A hijacked car pulled up, and Provisional IRA gunmen opened fire, killing him instantly before abandoning the vehicle nearby. The IRA targeted Marchant because he was a high-ranking UVF figure, historically linked through intelligence reports and rumour to major loyalist operations, including the devastating 1974 Dublin and Monaghan bombings. His assassination was a calculated strike by republicans against the UVF’s leadership structure during a decade defined by intense, cyclical tit-for-tat violence between the rival factions.

Lieutenant Colonel James Trevor King
On June 16, 1994, senior UVF commander Trevor King was standing near a public phone box at the corner of Spiers Place, deep in conversation. Suddenly, a gunman from the Irish National Liberation Army (INLA), a republican splinter group, approached and opened fire. King was critically wounded and died of his injuries weeks later in hospital. The INLA carried out the hit to disrupt the loyalist command structure during a highly volatile period. With rumours of a ceasefire looming, paramilitary groups on both sides were aggressively targeting key figures to maximise their leverage before the political landscape shifted.

Volunteer David Hamilton
Davy Hamilton was standing beside Trevor King on that fateful June afternoon and was caught directly in the same sudden volley of INLA gunfire. He was rushed to hospital but died of his severe injuries the following day. King was the primary target of the attack, while Hamilton was an active UVF volunteer and part of the local command unit. The INLA struck them together, delivering a dual blow to the Shankill UVF’s operational core by capitalising on a rare moment when two key figures stood exposed on the open street.

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The Theft of The Irish Crown Jewels

Daily Photo – Dublin Castle

In the early summer of 1907, when it was announced that King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra of Britain would be calling by Dublin Castle the following month to pop in for a visit, a cup of tea, and to tap Lord Castletown on each shoulder with a sword, everyone got very excited. Clearly, there was much to-do in readiness for the four-day royal visit and naturally, everyone wanted to put their best foot forward and present a good showing. 

The visit meant, among other things, that the Irish Crown Jewels would be required for the King to admire and show off a little during the ceremony. Normally, they were kept under lock and key in a steel safe located within the Bedford Tower at Dublin Castle and a man named Sir Arthur Vicars was entrusted with that key.

Of course, before the King laid eyes on the regalia, just like the household silverware, it required a bit of a touch-up, a clean and polish so it would look its best for the King’s arrival. Yet, as the date neared and the time came to prepare the royal jewellery, the safe was unlocked, opened, and to everyone’s surprise, the jewels were gone! 

Which really wasn’t much of a surprise at all, as Sir Arthur was perhaps not the best man for the job. 

The problem was that Sir Arthur had three notable character flaws. Firstly, he wasn’t particularly nice to those who worked beneath him. Second, he was very fond of a drink, extremely fond, it seems. Thirdly, he had a habit of losing his keys. As far as character flaws go, it was the perfect trifecta: condescension, inebriation, and forgetfulness. Something his friends and co-workers took full advantage of. 

It seems it was an open secret that Sir Arthur would regularly wake from a stupor to find his drinking companions playing practical jokes on him, frequently using his own safe keys as props for their late-night amusement. So, when the safe was found empty, with a distinct lack of evidence for detectives to go on, all eyes naturally turned to Sir Arthur. After all, the thieves had simply walked up and turned a key. 

Naturally, the King was furious and Sir Arthur was immediately sacked, his career ruined. The investigation that followed read like a Victorian melodrama. Accusations flew wildly. High-society aristocrats were accused, as were Dublin’s artistic bohemians. There were even whispers of a secret society operating right under everyone’s noses. 

Yet the jewels were never found and the mystery remains unsolved, to this very day, more than a century later. No one is any the wiser and the disappearance of the Irish Crown Jewels remains one of history’s most enduring mysteries.

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Confidently Confused in Hong Kong

Daily Photo – The Vertical Everyday of Sai Yeung Choi

It was my first, full day in Hong Kong. I love travelling and finding myself in a world filled with signs I can’t read, food I don’t understand, maps that are confusing, and street layouts that seem to make no sense at all. Trying to decipher the public transport system can feel like an attempt to crack the Enigma machine. There are unfamiliar social etiquettes that you unknowingly break, currencies that feel like Monopoly money, bathrooms you can’t operate, and plugs, switches, and electronic systems that appear to defy all logic.

Most of all, I love being unable to read, write, or speak a word of the local language. And when I do attempt to converse, I inevitably butcher it, usually with profuse apologies and reducing my method of communication to a game of charades, accompanied by a confident smile and a great deal of pointing.

And I wanted to embrace the experience completely.

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The Blue Door Cafe in Melbourne

Daily Photo – The Blue Door Cafe in Melbourne

While roaming the streets of Melbourne, I decided to follow a hot tip I’d been given earlier in the day and went in search of the Blue Door Cafe, which I’d been assured was a great little spot with a nice vibe. After a couple of false starts, I found it in an unassuming laneway off Little Bourke Street. Three or four young professionals were busy on their laptops, tapping away furiously at their keyboards, while a few people were hunched around a table outside, engrossed in conversation around an iPhone on the table in front of them. I made my way to the counter, ordered a coffee, found a table towards the back, and happily read my book for a while.

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The Belfast Bean Stalk

Daily Photo – Victoria Square Shopping Centre

To clean and tidy up the city, Belfast officials poured £400 million pounds into a new complex which they named Victoria Square Shopping Centre. The crowning glory of the entire complex was a huge glass dome that sat an impressive 45 metres off the ground and provided an impressive 360-degree panoramic view of the Belfast skyline.

As impressive as all this was, the thing about building a viewing platform 40 metres in the air, under 635 panes, providing a 360-degree view of the city, is that once it is there, you have to get people up there to use it! This was solved by constructing what looks like a space-age plant from a futuristic version of ‘Jack and the Bean Stalk’. So everyone could see the wondrous complex on their way to the top, a glass elevator was installed so shoppers could soak up the vista on the way up, while a glass spiral staircase was wrapped around the outside for those feeling a bit more enthusiastic.

Earlier in the day, my wife and I had met up with a close family friend from home who happened to be in Belfast too, largely because she grew up in a village just down the road. Faced with the choice of catching up over coffee or joining me for a hike to the top of the dome to see the skyline, they had opted for the coffee, agreeing we’d all regroup once I’d finished.

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Hooray for Hollywood

Daily Photo – The Wild Uplands of County Wicklow

A few years back, I had the pleasure of spending Christmas with my wife and her extended family on the Emerald Isle, and at one stage we gathered near a village called Hollywood in County Wicklow, Ireland, for a little post-Christmas get-together. It was a delightful affair filled with good company, good food, and plenty of good humour. At one point, I took a moment during the festivities to step outside with my camera and tripod, which is when I took this photo.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ll be asking the obvious question: is Hollywood, California, named after Hollywood in County Wicklow, Ireland? Well, according to local folklore, a local named Matthew Guirk emigrated from the village to California following the Great Famine. Being a blacksmith and horse breeder, he built a cabin and a small racetrack in the northwest of Los Angeles, naming his homestead “Hollywood”, and thus the name stuck! Unfortunately, the truth is somewhat different and doesn’t involve the little Irish village at all, but let us not let the truth get in the way of a good story!

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Mong Kok In Hong Kong

Daily Photo – The Bustling Mong Kok Street in Hong Kong

Here’s a statistic for you: in Hong Kong, there are roughly 2,100 kilometres of paved road and over 800,000 licensed vehicles. If we do the maths, that means there are around 380 vehicles for every kilometre of road. Consequently, Hong Kong has the second-highest vehicle density in the world (behind Monaco), yet 90% of all daily passenger journeys are made by public transport.

Looking at those statistics, you’d think that when the motor vehicle first came on the scene, Hong Kong would have wholeheartedly embraced it – but no! Initially, early cars were widely disliked by the general public and viewed as noisy, smoky, unreliable nuisances that terrified horses. That didn’t stop the wealthy from getting their hands on these new “toys,” which is exactly how they were viewed: as novelties. Although completely useless on Hong Kong’s steep hills, the very first cars were imported by wealthy merchants who had made fortunes through international trade. They bought them for the exact same reason billionaires buy hypercars today: conspicuous consumption and bragging rights.

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The (Very) Big Laugh Out

Daily Photo – Fed Square & The Big Laugh Out

On one of my wanders through Melbourne, I came across Federation Square on my way to a place named the Transport Hotel – Public Bar. I was meeting my brother-in-law, who had promised me a beer before catching a train across the road at Flinders Street Station, and I seemed to recall being told it was just across the square near the bridge. Casting my eyes across the square, I noticed it was filled with deckchairs neatly arranged in rows and occupied by people, which I thought was very lovely, presumably so everyone could sit and enjoy the sunshine free of charge. It was only when I noticed that every chair was facing a stage that I realised something was going on. A performer was entertaining the crowd at an event called ‘The (Very) Big Laugh Out’, part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and I’d happily strolled straight into the middle of it. I apologised to those around me, spied a sign saying ‘Transport Hotel – Public Bar’, and headed directly for it.

Entering the Public Bar, the place was full of a lively crowd who were either incredibly well co-ordinated when dressing that morning, or a sporting event was on. Pushing my way through the mass of people, I noticed on one of the many TV screens that the Richmond Tigers were playing the Port Adelaide Power that afternoon in the AFL at the nearby Melbourne Cricket Ground (an imposing colosseum of a sporting ground if ever there was one) and, judging by the colours and paraphernalia, this was a Richmond crowd. The chatter seemed to be that although the Tigers had had a tough start to the season, and were yet to win a game, they had a good chance against ‘The Power’ that afternoon. Not that all of this really meant anything much to me!

Later that evening, I read in passing that Port Adelaide defeated Richmond 90 to 48. So it really wasn’t even close. Meanwhile ‘The (Very) Big Laugh Out 2026 was deemed an overwhelming success. Maybe all those Tigers supporters should have stayed in the square!

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The Dome

Daily Photo – The Solar Sail in the Belfast Dome

When Belfast needed a central city upgrade after the signing of the Good Friday agreement in 1998,they poured £400 million pounds into a new complex which they named Victoria Square Shopping Centre. Its designers had ambitious and lofty goals with the crowning glory of the entire complex – the cherry on top if you will – was a huge glass dome that sat an impressive 45 metres off the ground. Made up of 635 individual triangular panes of glass held in place by a massive steel framework weighing 200,000 kilograms – it was the equivalent of roughly 40 adult elephants floating effortlessly above the city. When finished, the dome provided an impressive 360-degree panoramic view of the Belfast skyline, which the public could enjoy from a public viewing platform, offering views that stretch from the historic Belfast City Hall and the contours of Cavehill, all the way across to the towering yellow Harland and Wolff cranes in the Titanic Quarter.

The only problem with all of this was that engineers quickly discovered during the design process that what they had created was in actual fact a giant hotplate above the streets of Belfast. On the rare occasions that Belfast had a sunny day, the dome would act as a massive glasshouse and without intervention, the viewing platform and streets below would become unbearably hot. The solution was a stroke of genius. Instead of pulling the whole thing apart, the solution came in the form of a simple rotating fabric solar sail designed to track the sun throughout the day, filtering out the intense glare and heat of the Belfast sun, naturally regulating the open-air microclimate below so everyone could happily go about their day without having to worry about being burnt to a crisp or spontaneously combusting while shopping for socks!

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The Night Markets of Temple Street

It’s easy to think of Kowloon as having always been a neon forest of concrete, but there was a time when Yau Ma Tei was dotted with vegetable plots, duck farms, rice paddies and fishing villages. People bought fresh produce from fields that occupied the same ground where apartment towers and car parking buildings now cast their shadows.

Daily Photo – The Atmosphere of the Temple Street Night Markets

If we were to stand in one spot outside the Yaumatei Tin Hau Temple in Hong Kong and somehow transport ourselves back to the 1920s, we would find ourselves in a very different place. The most obvious and dramatic change would be the fact that our toes would be standing on the shoreline rather than it being three kilometres further west. Gone would be the stalls offering four digital watches for $10 and silk pyjamas that dissolve into a puddle of static electricity at the very mention of a washing machine. But most of all, gone would be the restless, intoxicating neon energy of the night markets. What we would find is a dusty chaotic waterfront square crowded with fishermen stepping straight off their boats selling the morning catch while hawkers sold food and traditional herbal remedies from under makeshift stalls.

At its core, in most respects, and allowing for a little technological advancement, the market remains exactly how it was over a hundred years ago; a vibrant, bustling gathering space where people come to eat and socialise under open-air stalls.

Dublin’s Secret Garden

If you find the Iveagh Gardens in Dublin, and make your way to the large sunken lawn, you’ll find yourself standing on one of only two purpose-built archery fields in Ireland, which tells you all you need to know about Victorian nobility’s leisure activities. It looks like a remarkably elegant Victorian lawn, yet buried beneath the immaculate grass lies an elephant from Dublin Zoo, interred there in 1922.

Daily Photo – The Iveagh Gardens in Dublin

On my first morning in Dublin, my hosts informed me we’d be going on a little wander through the city centre before meeting friends for a spot of breakfast. Having just stepped off a twelve-hour flight from Hong Kong in the wee hours of the morning, an amble seemed a capital idea. 

After some cursory ablutions and a short car ride, we were soon pushing through the crowds of Grafton Street and past St Stephen’s Green where we meet friends. Following a round of introductions and much handshaking, it was announced that a detour through the Iveagh Gardens was required before breakfast. Not wishing to commit treason by complaining, I happily followed.

Known as Dublin’s “Secret Garden”, the Iveagh Gardens are tucked away behind walls and largely free of lost-looking tourists. On this particular morning, apart from a lone artist sketching near the Count John McCormack statue, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. So we were free to happily discover rustic grottos, fountains, winding paths and sunken lawns all combined to create a peaceful retreat from the city outside. 

The gardens spent much of their history in private hands. One early owner, the 1st Earl of Clonmell, was apparently so keen to avoid mixing with the public that he connected the garden to his townhouse via a secret tunnel. Later, the Guinness family enclosed the grounds so they could entertain other nobles with lavish parties and drink beer presumably.

The gardens finally opened to the public in the early 1990’s. Which is just as well, otherwise I’d have had to walk a heck of a lot further for my breaky.

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A Walk In The Melbourne Forest

Daily Photo – Melbourne’s Floating Forest Canopy

On a recent trip across the ditch to Melbourne, I found myself stepping out of the city’s familiar laneways and into the modern retail architecture of Collins Street, which brings me to the thing I like about Melbourne. Shopping malls, arcades, and gallerias are rarely spaces that inspire creativity, but at some point Melbourne has completely rewired that perspective.

Shuffling through St Collins Lane, suspended high above the modern, minimalist paths below, is an incredible architectural installation featuring hundreds of dark green glass cylinders arranged into a giant geometric dome. Above that sits a massive arched glass skylight, specially designed to allow light to swirl through as it hits the glass bottles.

Depending entirely on the shifting Melbourne sun, natural light filters down through the grid, refracting off the emerald elements to bathe the interior in a moody, earthy glow. It is a brilliant piece of design that completely strips away the standard commercial inner-city retail precinct, transforming it instead into a striking, floating forest canopy.

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Low Tide at Malahide

Daily Photo – Low Tide at Malahide

This is low tide at Malahide Beach which you can find on Dublin’s northern coastline. It is a wonderful two kilometres of pristine sand that transforms dramatically when the tide retreats. At the low tide the water reveals a fascinating pathway of seaweed, shallow rock pools and intricate patterns etched into the sand. 

Only a few hours previously I’d gotten off a long-haul, 12-hour flight from Hong Kong. Wanting to stay up as long as possible to reset the body clock, I went on a long walk to stay awake. I can’t remember how far I walked, but it was a decent enough way in the crisp Irish air.

The Corner College & Westmoreland Street in Dublin

Daily Photo – The Corner College & Westmoreland Street in Dublin

A while ago, while visiting Dublin, I found myself standing at one of the busiest and most historic intersections in the city. It was early evening, the crowds were streaming past in every direction, and the fading light had turned the sky a wonderful shade of blue. As photographers are prone to doing, I became completely distracted by the prospect of a good photo and paid very little attention to anything else going on around me, becoming completely absorbed in the spot where I was standing.

After all, this is the spot where Dubliners affectionately nicknamed a statue of poet Thomas Moore “The Meeting of the Waters”, entirely because the city decided to build an underground public toilet directly beneath his feet.

This is the spot where Victorian architects concluded Irish stone simply wasn’t dramatic enough, importing enormous blocks of pink Peterhead granite from Scotland just to make a bank corner appear suitably imposing.

This is the spot where deep underground vaults, once used to guard the gold and fortunes of the Provincial Bank, were later cleared out and transformed into a cocktail bar, allowing hotel guests to sip craft drinks within thick subterranean stone walls.

This is the spot where 18th-century planners from the Wide Streets Commission demolished a tangled maze of medieval lanes, deliberately carving out a grand triangular space so wealthy pedestrians could enjoy a better view of the parliament buildings.

This is the spot where millions of hurried commuters, confused tourists and perpetually late students have gathered for generations, mostly unaware they are walking directly above the long-buried course of the ancient Poddle River as it quietly makes its way towards the River Liffey.

And this is the spot where, while attempting to photograph the evening light over College Green, I became so absorbed in setting up my camera and tripod that I wandered off with my wife’s phone and wallet, leaving her stranded in the middle of Dublin’s rush-hour crowds wondering where on earth I’d disappeared to.

Fortunately, after a brief and entirely justified telling-off beside the Thomas Moore statue that included the phrase, “Where the hell have you been?”, the matter was settled in the traditional Irish fashion: with a visit to the nearest pub.

The Ever-Changing Canvas of Hosier Lane in Melbourne

Daily Photo – Hosier Lane in Melbourne

On one of my last full days in Melbourne, I spent the afternoon wandering between a few inner-city spots I wanted to tick off my list. First was the Old Melbourne Gaol, second was the State Library, and lastly, Hosier Lane. Even before I reached it, I knew I was close. Tourists with phones were drifting in the same direction while somewhere ahead a spray can rattled away against a wall.

For the uninitiated, Hosier Lane is best known as Melbourne’s famous street art laneway, celebrated for its constantly changing murals, graffiti, and vibrant urban art culture. Today, people come here for selfies, coffee, and street art tours. A century ago, you probably came for entirely different reasons.

Named after businessman Robert Hosier, exactly when the lane received its name seems to be as mysterious as why it was named after him in the first place. In fact, there appears to be very little recorded about Robert Hosier beyond the fact he was supposedly a local businessman. Still, he must have done something of note. After all, they don’t just go around naming alleyways after anyone, especially ones that would become associated with boarding houses, gambling rooms, brothels, and various other after-dark activities that tended to gather in less respectable corners.

Needless to say, the lane was named after him and for decades existed largely unnoticed behind warehouses, factories, and commercial buildings as little more than a rear accessway and somewhere to disappear to for a quick bonk.

By the 1920s, Hosier Lane had become closely tied to Melbourne’s garment trade and warehouse district. Trucks and deliveries rattled across the bluestones while workers shifted goods in and out of factories, clothing businesses, and storage buildings backing onto the alley. Through the middle decades of the twentieth century, very little changed. It remained a narrow service lane cluttered with loading bays, brick walls, metal staircases, bins, and the sort of industrial mess most cities try not to advertise.

By the late 1970s, as industry and manufacturing slowly drifted away from central Melbourne, the lane had become increasingly neglected. Funny enough, neglect is probably the very thing that saved it. During the 1980s, a new generation of graffiti writers and underground artists began appearing. While graffiti was largely dismissed as vandalism elsewhere, in Hosier Lane nobody seemed especially concerned, and artists were largely free to experiment.

As Melbourne’s laneway culture gained attention through the 1990s, Hosier Lane became part of a wider underground street art movement spreading across the city. Stencil artists, mural painters, and paste-up artists transformed the once-forgotten alley into a constantly evolving outdoor gallery where artworks regularly disappeared beneath fresh layers of paint.

Then, in 1998, Melbourne began embracing street art as part of the city’s identity and Hosier Lane effectively became an unofficial open-air canvas. Artists could work relatively freely, helping turn the alley from a neglected shortcut into a recognised creative space. The rest, as they say, is history.

Today, Hosier Lane sits somewhere between tourist attraction, outdoor gallery, and controlled chaos. Every few days something new appears, something old disappears, and another layer of paint is added to the walls. Somehow, despite the crowds and camera phones, it still feels rough around the edges, which is probably exactly why people keep coming.

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Behind the Grin of Melbourne’s Luna Park

Daily Photo – Luna Park in Melbourne

I spent the morning riding free trams around Melbourne and, with absolutely no plans for the day beyond having to be in the suburb of Brunswick late in the afternoon, I decided to get on a tram that said it was going to St Kilda. Not having the faintest idea what was in St Kilda, or how long it would take to get there, I settled in for a leisurely ride across Melbourne as the tram rattled from side to side, and some time later, after the property prices had clearly taken a substantial leap skyward, I decided I must have arrived.

On the way, as the scenery passed, I noticed a sign advertising ‘Luna Park’. This I found curious, as I thought Luna Park was only a Sydney thing. However, it turns out I was wrong. The clue was the giant, toothy grimace of the Mr Moon entrance to the park that left me wondering if he was welcoming me or considering having me for lunch. It’s a face that has seen a lot of things since 1912, even if it is a slightly unsettling smile.

The origin of Melbourne’s iconic Mr Moon entrance face traces back to the shores of New York, when a handful of ambitious showmen designed the concept of entering a theme park through a giant gaping mouth. It was pioneered at Luna Park on Coney Island, New York, which opened in 1903, and the creators of Melbourne’s park wanted to replicate the wild success of the New York original.

When the Melbourne version was built in 1912, it was thought of as “illusionistic” architecture, and the giant face was designed to immediately transport visitors out of their everyday lives and into a world of fantasy, nonsense, and fun.

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Tea, Opium, and a Short History of Hong Kong

Daily Photo – Nathan Road & Kansu Street In Hong Kong

The history of Hong Kong is a bit of a colonial “now you see it, now you don’t.” I’m certain Hong Kong wasn’t, then was, but now isn’t a British territory. It all started in 1842 when the British decided they quite liked the look of the island after the First Opium War. After some unpleasantness involving tea and opium, the British decided Hong Kong Island would make a fine trophy, using the Treaty of Nanking to wrap the whole acquisition in a layer of official paperwork.

A few decades later, in 1860, they added Kowloon to the collection when the British decided they quite liked the view across the harbor too. But the real kicker came in 1898 when the British signed a one hundred or so year loan agreement with China for what was termed ‘New Territories’.

I’m not sure about you, but to me, this sounds very much like wanting the lawn mower back you lent to the neighbours, particularly if it’s one of those fancy ride-on ones. Britain had spent a century turning what was essentially a barren rock into a glittering global financial hub. So, by the time the 1990s rolled around, China liked what they saw, and checked the calendar.

Because the New Territories held all the important bits (like the water and the space to actually put people), Britain couldn’t really keep the island and give back the rest – it was an all-or-nothing deal. So, on July 1, 1997, amid a lot of rain and some very stiff upper lips, the lease ended. The Union Jack came down, and Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region of China. It was the end of an era, proving that even in international diplomacy, you eventually have to return what you borrowed.

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All Roads Lead to the Arrow River

Daily Photo – Autumn in Arrowtown and Bush Creek

When Jack Tewa first found gold near the Arrow River in May 1862, it’s fair to say he would have been quite surprised, considering he was searching for lost sheep at the time. The valley of the Arrow River was so inaccessible that, for some time, the first miners had the place all to themselves. That was until their closely guarded secret was discovered by the rest of the world, and a canvas town sprang up almost overnight, yet getting there was no easy task.

During the 1860s gold rush, getting to the town we now know as Arrowtown, or Fox’s as it was known back then, was a gruelling test of endurance. Located in the Wakatipu Basin, it was one of the most inaccessible regions in the country and, before the development roads, miners used a combination of river trekking, mountain scaling, and sheer determination to get there.

The most common route was to travel to Cromwell and follow the banks of the Kawarau River through deep gorges and past vertical rock walls that were little more than narrow ledges high above the ferocious river. For those coming from the Cardrona Valley, the most direct path was also the steepest, over the rugged and often snow-covered Crown Range. Another common approach was via a steep ridge track that climbed out of the Kawarau Gorge and bypassed the dangerous river bluffs; this path was called the ‘Gentle Annie’. It was a punishing and brutal climb that was anything but gentle. Yet another completely different route was taken by those choosing to travel via Lake Wakatipu. They would trek to the town of Kingston at the southern end of the lake, take a boat to Queenstown, and walk the final 20 kilometres across the Frankton Flats to reach the Arrow River in the Wakatipu Basin.

Getting to the Arrow River was a brutal journey and not for the faint-hearted. It would be some time before anything resembling a road was created and, when they were, things didn’t get any easier. Wagons had to be dragged axle-deep through mud by teams of up to eighteen horses.

Life at the Arrow River was anything but idyllic and a far cry from the picturesque scene. In the early 1860s, miners arrived to find it loud, dirty, and physically grueling, a long way from the “Golden Arrowtown” we know today.

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The Magnificent Clutha River in Autumn

Daily Photo – The Magnificent Clutha River in Autumn

When I set out on this section of my trip, it had been my intention to stop in Roxburgh and call in to the Jimmy’s Pie shop (which just happens to be the best pie shop in the world, and I won’t hear a word against it) and grab some lunch. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and it was closed. So, instead I got some lunch in Alexandra and ate it sitting in the sunshine on the banks of the Clutha River, admiring the town bridge and the autumn hues reflecting in the river as it gently floated past.

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