Bali.My sister of course. A week of drinking, catching up and being a foreigner, what more could you ask for.
Across the Top end.Chasing the sun and wet weather, though of course I will quickly learn to regret this decision, in my sun burnt water logged agony.
Down the middle.Long drives, hot weather, serial killers and dust, dust and more dust. hopefully somewhere a large red rock.
MelbourneAfter far too long travelling, I am now somewhere that I want to be, and more importantly wants me to be here too.
.......In the car on the way to the airport Ben and I discussed what was happening next, "you are the last of the goodbyes" I commented "from now on, it is all hello". What comes next will be no less difficult, but I am glad to say more positive, and as we hugged our farewells, my eine Vergangenheitsbewältigungsreise at last turned a corner....
...Through the Airport doors and onto my new life; I found myself imaging many of you Tao readers lined up and cheering me on, this point had been a very long time coming, and this was it, the start of my really big adventure. The signboard directed myself and all my most immediate worldly possessions (a handy, two carry on bags and dual suitcase scenario; God love the 43kg American luggage allowance), along the concourse to the check-in desk on aisle three for Air New Zealand flight NZ101, the carrier to my new world. The rapture of the crowd in my head grew louder, it felt like, for once, that I was at the front of a race, appearing in the part of the film where you know the unfortunate hero will finally be victorious.
But that died down pretty bloody quick as I stood there facing a row of deathly closed counters. I even managed a moment of reflection and allowed all of you who had made the imaginary effort to support me to shrug, sigh, and disperse dejectedly. 24 Hour times can be a bit tricky into real time conversion, particularly the bottom third quarter of the clock, it is all that minus 12 that needs to be mentally calculated; 9's mean 7, 7's mean 5 and that is even before we get further on into the whole confusing 20 is 8 and 22 is 10 thing. The flight was at 19:00, I should have been present for check-in at 17:00, but actually, a casual glance at my phone confirmed, I was two hours early even for that. Not a good start I thought, should have double checked the times when Ben asked and not just nodded my head in agreement to the "yeah I fly at 5 comment".
The flight out of San Fran was turbulent for many physical and emotional reasons and sleep was at a premium, though I took great solace in watching the sun rise through the windows of Auckland international terminal whilst waiting for my inbound connection; NZ is the furthest land mass East and so gets to see the new day before anyone else, it was a wonderful and spiritually fulfilling sight (which you should read a "something that took my mind off of panicking about landing in Sydney").
I have been hearing about how fearfully cold it is back in Blighty, to which I feel the need to point out, for no other reason other to illustrate how unadaptable an Englishman is, that I rocked up to Sydney with only one pair of shorts, but four jumpers, two winter coats, three trousers and of course, my beard. It was in the high 30's the second day here and my early morning appointment with the bank manager nearly ended in disaster as I almost threw up; a fiendish mixture of jet lag, unnaturally hot weather and a hangover. An impressive start to my new life I thought, whilst gingerly downing yet more water in the hope of stopping another gag reflex.
As the heat continued, the jet lag peaked and sensing that its time had finally come, the much vaunted cold that so many of you had predicted made a long awaited appearance, and my, what vintage it was. This fiendish flu based interloper took nearly a fortnight to shift, during which I would christen the morning sounding like a 40 a day man with a rasping hollow cough and for the rest of the day produced more snot than I thought humanly possible. This turn of events would have been easily manageable had it not been for an all too avoidable oversight on my part the first Saturday in town. Feeling like I needed some company, I strolled down to the Botanical garden, where we were married, for a bit of communing with the wife. In keeping with the communication protocols that were found in our relationship, she did not take the call and so, once more welcoming that familiar feeling of Tash-jection, closed my eyes for an hour of so in the overcast conditions and went to sleep. On waking I realised that I was hot, not the humid sweating that I am now familiar with, but that special kind of crispy crackling that amplified the quiet thought, that up until this point had been sitting politely in my head reminding me that I should have put on sunscreen that morning, to a large booming scream YOU BLOODY IDIOT WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU ARE SUNBURNT!!
The Sunday brought 60 people to the house, for Olive's, the mini munchkin that I live with, 2nd birthday, it was not hard for the guests to work out who the Pommie in their midst was as there was only one embarrassed looking person present wearing a deep red facial sun burnt complexion.
Being in a country for an extended stay, I now fully realise, is nothing like a holiday, there are statutory things to attend to, which, of course, most local's don't have to consider, or did them so many years ago that their reply is usually, "oh well that's easy", well of course it is, you already have a credit history, tax presence and insurance set up, I do not.
So this is a rant*; I hope that you can find it in your hearts to allow me this indulgence:
The aforementioned bank account - Which has only just started properly working three weeks after set up, thankfully I can use my English card here, but even that, I am constantly aware, is under reasonable threat of transaction failure every time I use it here, thanks to Lloyds ever helpful overseas unusual transactions security system.
A new phone number - ARRRGH! Only teenagers I deduce can understand the ridiculousness of a pay as you go system; I put credit on and it tells me I have also qualified for bonus credit, 300 dollars of something with an odd sounding animal name, you know the sort of thing, yet can I get to it, of course not, am I paying through the nose, of course. But still my London phone, the big brick, is actually now being used for the purpose it was originally brought for, email, web and PDA.
At some point I will start earning money and to not be taxed out of existence I must have a Tax file number, which to apply for requires me to have:
Medicare Card - The Australian national health service, no point in waiting until I am in dire need of it I have been thinking, but still haven't bothered, perhaps I feel, this feet dragging is a reaction to all those years spent making sure that our BUPA health cover was in complete order.
Compatible Photocard diving license - I have to trade in my English drivers license for a New South Wales one, all well and good, as this transaction will hopefully expunge the 3 penalty points that are currently hanging over my previously crystal clean eighteen years of driving, but even after coming to a decision as to whether I keep my ever expanding ginger beard for the new photocard, or not, I will have to brave what constantly seems to be the longest queue in the southern hemisphere at the local RTA shop (Road Traffic Authority, kind of like the English DVLA, but approachable).
*Last summer, in London, whilst ordering a beer at our local pub, I noted that the young bar keep looked disparaging at the coins I gave him, already knowing that he was an Aussie, I enquire as to why the scowl "Awww I dunno, it is all this bloody stupid money" came his reply and I knew enough to then follow straight away with the question "how long have you been here then?", two weeks apparently, he received some sagely advice, not that I was qualified to dispense it until now of course "give it some time, it will improve".
I spent three glorious days in Adelaide watching, as the side panel has long indicated, the end of the Tour Down Under. This year featuring the return of the King, Lance Armstrong. My reasoning was simple, I had managed to avoid seeing him for the seven years when he was only just a quick train ride under the Channel, so now we both were the wrong side of the world it seemed fitting to make the effort. Mr Armstrong is a very charismatic man, even at 45 kilometres an hour as he flies by and I am pleased that I have a couple of photo's of the great lycra dude, even if, as was the case, I had no idea who I was snapping at the time.
Here are some Lance-centric images from the three days, there are better pictures in the linked gallery, but as few of us know who the rest of them are.
My evenings there were spent with my mother's best friend, Eileen, who we last saw on our trip for Nate and Marisa's wedding
. Eileen and I have certain things in common and it was nice to talk to someone else who shares my status. We both have followed the positive route in bereavement, it is reassuring, I find, to discover that is OK to feel the way I do about 'Tash. Despite not letting on to any of you about this, I have been concerned for some time that perhaps my manner in dealing with the situation could be problematic, having been privately relayed one too many comments of the "well he isn't showing any raw emotion" or "he obviously doesn't care" variety to understand that simply accepting the event and all it entailed has confused a lot of people, and maybe I considered in my less positive moments, even me. Finding just one other person who also chooses to celebrate the entirety of their life together, rather then commiserate the singularity of the loss of their partner, is enough of an indicator to understand that there are others and with the others, the path I have been on becomes a well trodden route rather than a solitary ramble in the undergrowth.
To badly paraphrase the Doors; This is the end, beautiful friend, Bendigo, the end.
I am told that it gets cold here, the wide open countryside leaves nothing to hide, not even the heat, but have yet to experience it, this trip was bookend by two colder days of 35 degrees, the rest were 40 plus, which I find bearable, as it is a dry heat, humidity being my nemesis. During the week Melbourne went in to complete meltdown and its public transport system ground to a halt, we also experienced a couple of blackouts as the electricity grid blew a gasket.
Colonial turn of the century architecture dominates all the public buildings and hotels in downtown Bendigo, indicating when, historically, the town boomed (through gold mining in the 1850's). The only other Architecture of note, because the eye chooses to ignore the three blocks expanse of ugly one storey shops, is the new modernist and exceedingly colourful Bendigo bank building constructed since my last visit, leaving about 150 years of nothing but farming to offer subsistence and growth to the town. Though I should point out, Bendigo has the only regional stock exchange in Australia, so this joint has a mojo.
The 'Go has a velodrome too, though after driving past it I realised that my romantic notion of a full Olympic stadium was sorely wrong, it turned out to be a slopping tarmac oval track set into a sports field, basic; with a wall of death feel to it, one wrong move and you would really find yourself sitting in the lap of the front row of the spectators stands.
The beginning of my time here fell on Australia day, a source of great national pride and frankly a lamb chop barbecuing frenzy - In the outside world we only think of lamb coming from New Zealand, I kept that piece of information quiet - Nigel's brothers, their wives and their kids all came over, later on in the week I also met his parents, his father is called Bruce, it was with some pride that I greeted him, my first proper Australian farmer, with a proper authentic Australian name to boot.
The week settled in to a simple rhythm, as such a heat makes you, I would go out for a couple of hours each day exploring with my camera, though the weather and harsh sunlight put paid to any photography (the previous visit provided an excellent set of images from Lake Eppalock
), most of my time was spent driving through the countryside - not the lush green rolling hills I am used to, but the dead flat sun baked prairies, punctured at intervals by outcrops of iron barked trees so sparse that even with the considerable heat haze you can clearly see the brown green landscape behind them. There is little to see out here apart from gawp at the shear massive expanse unfolding before you, and sweat of course, even the Air Con in my little Yaris was struggling so I choose to go native with the windows down. Had I not, I might have missed a sign indicating the Burke and Wills memorial, 2 kilometres up a side road, on this side road. This bit of history was too good to miss, it was only afterwards, doing the research to get my facts right that I found that Burke and Wills memorials are ten-a-penny running the length of Australia's Eastern side. Burke and Wills for the uninitiated were a pair of Victorian explorers who set out on an ill fated expedition from Melbourne up to mount arse to open a trade route, however in the best Victorian-Colonial tradition, they sealed their fate by employing the time honoured derailing tactics of arrogance and stupidity. The Burke and Wills story is a sad tale of missed rendezvous and nearly, but not quite, rescue attempts, so, I accepted, after driving back and forth along the road three times, it was entirely fitting that the monument was impossible to locate.
Kate and I talked, as much as is possible for a near constantly breast feeding mother with an active two year old around, there is some pain that will take a longer time to heal. Abbey Natasha like her mother is a voracious reader and more of my time was employed in sorting through her library finding books that were actually readable - children's books for the most part I have concluded, are crap, few rhyme (a good rhyming book read in a spirited manner is in my opinion the only way to keep a young persons attention front to back) and even more have crazy narratives. However there was no hidden hardcore porn for me to read aloud and I was most certainly thankful for that.
As predicted, my list of things to do in the new life received yet one more tick in the wrong direction; Abbey streaked her way into that one whilst playing in the paddling pool and Kate even distinguished herself by becoming the first woman to show her appreciation of my delectable Chili Prawns by getting her boobs out at the dinner table, admittedly it was to feed Toby, but I would like very much to encourage that response to my cooking in those of you who do not have your husbands sitting directly opposite me at the time.
In leaving Kate, and Bendigo my eine Vergangenheitsbewältigungsreise was complete. There was no major feeling of relief as I left, as, after all, this journey is not in parts, it is continuous and there are only sign posts along the way to indicate where I have been. But now the balance must change and I must really start rebuilding my life in the shape that I want it to be, and I would start, I thought, by traveling home my way, relaxed and unhurried, favouring a couple of hours hanging in a departure lounge over a hell for leather run to the airport arriving with seconds to spare. So it was to my total bewilderment that the Virgin Blue check-in kiosk at Melbourne airport spurned my electronic advances, because, it quickly became apparent as I handed my paperwork to the stewardess, the plane was taking off as I was checking in. 4, means 2 and 5 is 3, the minus 12 issue raised it's languishing head into my life once more; $140 dollars for a new ticket, the completion of my first venture into reading the works of Hunter S. Thompson and several more hours later than had been planned, I found myself deep in conversation, at high speed, as is the way here, with a Sydney Taxi driver about the complexities involved in disconnecting yourself from the New South Wales electricity grid so your house can run solely on solar power panels you have installed, a venture which I suspected was a deeply illegal activity. "ahh I see you have your seat belt on" he at one point commented as we flew around a corner with great gusto, my brain attempting to quickly compute where the centre of gravity in a MPV such as this might reside and therefore what the centrifugal forces needed to overturn the Taxi during a manoeuvre such as this were likely to be, "Yes I think I have" was my reply left hanging in the air whilst I pondered with my eyes shut if the rest of my time here would be just as thrilling.