JOURNAL
documenting
&
discovering joyful things
Country towns
It's our last weekend in Adelaide. Everything is packed, and we've spent the past couple of nights eating takeout and playing Uno because there is nothing else to do. So, today, we took ourselves on a little exploratory trip to some country towns we're not likely to pass again any time soon.
I forgot to bring the camera, but trusty Instagram kept me clicking.
Searching for ghosts
You cross the drawbridge and enter the ramparts searching for ghosts. There should be many; Carcassonne has a sad and brutal history that spans 3000 years. But if they are in the cité today, the ghosts are silent.
You are in southern France, not far from Toulouse. There have been Celts living here, then Romans, who built the northern rampart of the cité you are exploring today. Under the basement of the medieval Count's Castle, Roman mosaics and sculptures still glow from the walls.
But century upon century of bombardments, murders and changes-of-hand followed for Carcassonne, from the Visigoths to the Saracens.
At the dawn of the 13th century, Carcassonne enjoyed a brief period of peace and religious tolerance. Catholics and Cathars shared neighbourhoods and even homes, and the Jewish community was not far away. But in 1209 the city fell to a wave of Crusaders, and then the horror truly began.
The Cathars believed in living lives of humility and poverty. They saw God as the creator of eternity and spirituality, while material life and even time itself were creations of evil. By most accounts, they were a peaceful people. By contrast, the religious wars declared upon them were brutal.
Carcassonne as you wander through it today belies its history. Filled with sunshine and shops and cobblestones and tourists and pointed blue turrets, it appears more Disney than Dracula.
Yet throughout its 3000 year history, this picture-perfect cité seems to have suffered under a violent curse. Turbulence continued throughout the ages. Even as recently as 1944 when Carcassonne was delivered by the Allies, many people were killed around the train station.
It is such a beautiful place, overlooking a medieval town and a wilderness beyond. You whisper a prayer that this windswept, hilltop castle and the ghosts that haunt its stone walls may now enter peace at last.
Oh boy, 2011
Happy New Year! Are you excited? Renewed? Planning new adventures? I sure am, but it was rather therapeutic today to think through the year that was. (Hint: as you read this, you might even discover a special little surprise I've been keeping up my sleeve for a while now.)
January
Harvested a veritable vegetable bounty from our tiny back yard in Enmore, Sydney. An impressive feat given that only a couple of months earlier this was a black-plastic-and-gravel-covered parking space, and that even now it could boast only about half a foot of soil before the dense clay began.
February
Suffered through a heat-wave in our wonderful old Hogwarts house (twisting corridors, staircases that turn corners and go up and then down again for no reason, PLUS a genuine cupboard under the stairs). Though we loved this house, it was hot hot hot, about 10 degrees worse inside than out. (The picture is of the house as I had it made into a snowglobe. Oh, for snow!)
March
Married the funniest, smartest, kindest, most generous, most surprising man I have ever met, in the vegetable patch of the Hogwarts house (complete with a back door painted “Notting Hill blue” by my mother and father), in the presence of a small but wonderfully-loved group of family and friends.
April
Airmail came out. Suddenly had to discover social media: Facebook pages, Twitter, Goodreads, all kinds of groups and forums, and started a blog. Got excited about this new online world. Got annoyed that said new online world was taking over my life. Began to learn (still trying to learn) balance.
May
Packed house contents into storage. Bundled up dog, cat, office and a suitcase of clothes, and moved up to the Gold Coast. Stayed in a soulless one-bedroom apartment that overlooked the garbage bins. Em taught Oliver to swim. Airmail won “Rising Star” award and was featured on bn.com boutique.
June
Mr B went to America for work and, as well as missing him, it made me miss all my USA friends even more than I already did every day. Learned how to make really good cupcakes by using and adapting the Magnolia Bakery recipe. Got fat. Reconnected with a wonderful friend, who made the GC bearable.
July
New job for Mr B, in Adelaide = Packing. Organising removalists. Organising cleaners. House hunting. Thinking, “How did we accrue so much STUFF in Queensland after only 10 weeks?” Meanwhile editing a magazine on a very tight deadline. Joined Kristen Lamb’s brilliant #WANA711 blogging group.
August
Flew to the Blue Mountains to visit parents for Dad’s birthday. Flew alone to Adelaide to greet removalists at a house I’d never seen. Big relief! The house was lovely. Set up very own "dream study." Damaged back. Flew back to Qld. Joined Mr B, dog and cat for final two-day road-trip to our new home.
September
First royalty cheque arrived for Airmail! Not huge (not even slightly), but still special. Couldn’t bring self to cash it. To Paris for a glorious week with two friends I’d known and loved for 25 years. Cheese, wine, mussels, street art, galleries, parks, cobblestoned laneways, churches, love.
October
Took train to London to meet Mr B, Em, her cousin Maggie and Nanna. Unforgettable picnic in St James Park with dearly loved and greatly missed friends. Three weeks of explorations through London, Paris, Toulouse, Carcassonne, Nice, Venice. In Rome, the girls threw me a birthday party.
November
Back home in Australia, discovered a little stowaway who had been secretly riding with us since France. Baby Bulger is on the way! Spent the month embracing the questionable glories of utter exhaustion, morning sickness (all day and all night) and a body that was rapidly becoming not my own.
December
Learned how to cook vegetarian, egg-phobia and pregnant woman -related Christmas feasts. Baby Bulger passed the 12-week scan officially “low risk.” Christmas Day in Melbourne with friends, little cousins at Nanna's house, storms and floods. Nephew saved an old lady from her flooded car.
To be continued in 2012.
And a Happy New Year to you!
Adelaide weekend
Day 1: guests for the weekend - dear friends long missed; hugs and more hugs; exploring the Central Markets; eggs for leisurely breakfast at an old cafe; loading up with fresh cheeses, tomatoes on the vine, hummus, beetroot dip, radishes, still-warm baguettes and a tray of glowing nectarines; talking, talking, talking together; making lemonade with lemons from our tree; picnic on the lounge room floor; stroll to Jam Factory to look at local art; throwing sticks for the dog in the park until he hides in the shade under protest; good food and dry riesling over a long and lovely meal.
Day 2: reading the paper in the sun by the swimming pool; painting my toenails blue; fresh orange juice; breakfast of French crepes around the table; a hit-the-spot coffee from a cafe in Glenelg; strolling down the jetty to watch the divers and fishermen; walking along the beach, feet in warm sea water; small children chasing fish in the shallows like they chase pigeons in the park; a beer at the pub; fish n chips from newspaper cones outside in the sun; a spot of beachside window shopping; home for more fresh lemonade; watching Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra sing in Anchors Aweigh and placing bets on whether or not "He's going to dance in the fountain in this song"; a sad farewell.
Each of us was new
It was one of those gentle, magical days. A gift. We were in Nice, France.
We wandered through the Old Town until I found the perfect striped straw bag I had been searching for, then took it with us to the open-air markets. There we bought olives, strawberries and enormous green grapes, warm from the sun, and ate them as we walked. Down at the beach, sinking through pebbles, the girls dipped their toes in the Mediterranean Sea.
The day grew hot. I left the family swimming, and escaped for one of those perfect, lonely explorations that are best to be had in an old, foreign town. If a narrow laneway appeared, I took it. If steps curved around the corner, I climbed them. I passed shrines to the Mother Mary, washing strung from building to building, and stepped in and out of shops - refreshingly cool like caves - of olives and lollies and crisp, white linen.
Way up high in the distance I could see a waterfall, and the cool sparkle of its water was like a beacon. I asked a man, "How do I get to the waterfall?" and he answered, "You mean the castle," and pointed the way. The climb was long, and my throat dried with the heat. At the top, the pathway branched back into trees. Between them I could just see glimpses: now the ocean glinting far below me, now circles of terra cotta rooftops, casting patterns in the view.
The waterfall cascaded over barely-visible stonework, almost all that was left of the ancient castle. I sat on the edge of the pool where the water plunged, grateful for the soft mist that blew into and over my face.
Back down at the beach, I found my family splashing in the shallows in front of a row of blue and white striped chairs and umbrellas. Lazily, we drained one iced tea after the other, then wandered home as the sun set.
But it was more than the tea that refreshed me. Sometimes, even in the company of those you love the most, a breath of solitude can revive a weary spirit. I came out of those few hours of exploring Nice alone like the girls came out of the sea. Each of us was new.
How about you? Do you ever need to take 'time out' during a holiday?
The road. Again
On Friday Mr B and I took to the road (again) and drove 1500 kilometres in two days. That's not even close to a record for us, but it was still bloody exhausting. We do love a road trip, but this one somehow left us feeling old.
On the other hand, what a wonderful weekend it turned out to be. So wonderful that I completely forgot to take photographs, except this one from the car.
We stopped for dinner along the way at a pub in Nhill (pronounced Nil, I think), that looked positively derelict from the outside but inside had a delicious menu with things like duck crepes in hoi sin sauce, fish served up with cous cous and minted yoghurt, and an Asian style vegetable stack. You won't understand how welcome this was unless you've travelled in outback Australia where, more often than not, burgers, steak sandwiches and chicken kiev are the full extent of the menu for mile upon lonely mile.
Other highlights... getting out of Adelaide just in time to avoid the 38C day (will someone tell Adelaide that it's not even summer yet?); spending nearly two hours by myself exploring the fascinating Tutankhamun exhibition before it closes forever next week; wandering alone through Carlton Gardens, just one minute from my very own home (that one day I will live in, I'm sure); exploring the Melbourne Arts Centre with my fabulous friend Tonia while catching up on months of friendly gossip; cheap n cheerful Chinese dinner with friends; a morning visit to the Kangaroo Flat bakery for old fashioned cakes like finger buns, vanilla slice (aka "snot blocks" by Mr Glamorous B), lamingtons, chocolate eclairs and all kinds of other country-baked goodies; a family gathering in Bendigo; kids on sugar highs doing laps of the kitchen on scooters; chasing goats out of Gran's falling-down old house; a call from Olivia (aged 4) who missed out on the fun because she was sick: "Can you drive past our house and wave at me before you go back to Adelaide?" And we did.
Adelaide insta-weekend
At the park, rain-mist and a light breeze build goosebumps up and down my arms, welcome after a sweltering yesterday. We toss a ball for Oliver until he gets so weary he runs away with it and lies down under a tree, one paw possessively on the ball and a suspicious eye on the three of us.
Coffee and vintage shopping at E for Ethel, where hot drinks are served up with lines from children's storybooks; fashion lessons from a 1979 Woman's Weekly; and all kinds of "just so you know for Christmas" hints from Emily. We sit at the formica table and read our books and magazines, sip our coffees, share little stories with one another. It's a place that inspires lingering.
Later, we undertake an expedition of the thrift and antique markets at Port Adelaide. Outside, Mr B uncovers a childhood memory from more than 30 years ago. Inside, Emily indulges in a spot of face art.
A family afternoon. Fish 'n chips at the pub; dad and daughter rumbles (loud with laughter); sun bursting through clouds as we stroll back along the old port river; seagulls that swoop and catcall anyone who'll listen.
Back home: a dip in the swimming pool; a hot cup of tea; silly British sitcoms from the 70s on TV; joyful games on the carpet with Ruby. Isn't she adorable?
Our lady
I walked into a church last month and it felt like a mother's arms around me. I don't even like churches, let alone grand cathedrals. But in this one, you could almost see the prayers like butterflies, floating to the heavens.
The church was the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Paris, and I couldn't have been more surprised. I entered expecting tourism and history. I discovered prayer.
Here I was warm, I was safe, I was welcome inside the arms of Our Lady. Here was peace, bubbling around me in the hushed hub-bub of hundreds of different languages. Here, a priest blessed two tourists. There, a nun taught a little group of men.
I thought, "prayers are alive." I didn't know who heard them, but I knew they were heard.
Together, we lit a candle. Our little prayer mingled with the others, dancing like the tiny flame upon which it was cast. It was answered, of course.
