Nice legs and a rosy complexion. Beautiful and elegant, yet surprisingly zesty and refreshing. Standing right in front of us, teasing us, tempting us. Her name was Gwen Rose. Church Road Gwen Rose 2018. The first taste in a long line of sample wines – one of the few we would remember – she left a lasting impression. You never forget your first wine. Or something like that.

Welcome to Hawkes Bay. New Zealand’s Wine Country on the east coast of the North Island. Known for its full-bodied reds and complex Chardonnays, sunshine, Art Deco and crisp, juicy apples. And furious winds!

On my journey through Middle Earth, this was like Rivendell – magical valley and home to the elves. Lush and green, peaceful and sheltered from the dangers of the world. Not so sure about the latter, considering the sign that greeted me upon my arrival in Napier, Art Deco Capital in Hawkes Bay.

Taking the warnings light-heartedly, I set off to explore this lovely town by the sea, oblivious to the dark clouds in the sky. Half way up Bluff Hill on my way to the local lookout, the wind was picking up and fat drops of rain started falling. Having gone too far to turn around, I soldiered on, braving heavy rain, gail force winds and lightning.

Palm trees and ferns were bending and bowing to nature’s force and I was beginning to understand the term The Roaring Forties. This was the 40th parallel south after all, and strong winds were very common in this part of the world (I actually learned about the Roaring Forties much later, along with the Furious Fifties and the Screaming Sixties , but it was indeed extremely windy).

In the end, I did get swept away. Not by the storm, but by a middle aged man (gruffly looking version of Aragorn maybe) and his messy, but very dry car, that came to my rescue, stopping right next to me, offering me a ride back down the hill.

“ I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to anyway!” Famous last words. He just laughed.

I did survive my first day in Hawkes Bay. Despite the storm and the stranger and getting stranded. The best part about travel often is the people you meet – locals and other travelers. Their stories, their kindness, their smiles and their friendship.

The next day I met Bucky. Bucky was a retired school teacher and my guide on a tour through this beautiful Art Deco town. Endless sunshine and blue skies, as if nothing had happened, I was willing to give this place another chance.

“Hi, I’m Gisela!”

“Oh, hi Diana! Nice to meet you!”

“No, it’s GISELA. With a G.”

“Ah, yes, Diana! I once knew a Diana… Diana Peterson. Very lovely lady.. Let’s go Diana!” And with a gentle push onto the road, he started the tour.

I let it go. Being Diana for an hour was okay with me, especially if it made Bucky happy. And I think it did. We zigzagged through town, dodging cars, stopping here and there, learning about the earthquake from 1931 that totally erased the town ( so maybe those warning signs should be taken more seriously ), about the reconstruction of the city centre within two years, about Art Deco and its bold designs and clear lines, colours and patterns. Time flew and soon it was time to say goodbye.

“Goodbye Diana! Nice to meet you!” Goodbye Bucky!

And then there was Chuck. And Janine, Clara and the couple from England, whose name I don’t remember. Together we went on a wine tour, exploring the famous grapes of Hawkes Bay. With a crowd getting increasingly rowdy, Chuck remained calm and collected, and drove us from winery to winery.

Church Road Winery ( where a lady from Saskatchewan – of all places – poured us our first glass of Gwen), Ross Hill Farm Winery (where it was time to reveal our place of origin – Clara from São Paulo, Janine from Sydney, the nameless couple from Brighton England and myself: a German from Toronto living in Sydney).  Ash Ridge Winery (where we all bought countless bottles of wine, because that’s what happens after three wineries) and last, and I have to admit, also the least, Te Mata Estate Winery. Beautiful scenery, heartless service.

The day ended with cheese and crackers  (and please, no more wine!) in Te Mata National Park. What had started with polite small talk at the beginning of the tour, had by now turned into heated discussions about Brexit and Trump (no matter where you go, there is always talk about Trump), life and loss and dreams coming true. And for a few hours this interesting mix of people became best of friends, sharing stories and a couple of glasses of wine.

As for Rivendell – I did end up visiting the real Rivendell near Wellington before leaving for the South Island. A truly magical place, with a group of magical strangers that I’ll never see again, but that I got to spend a few magical hours with on my journey through this magical country.

Bewitched and windswept by the Roaring Forties.

“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.” ( The Hobbit)

I’m having a PMM. Or actually a few. A whole week of PMM. In fact, I have been PMMing for a while now. Not to worry – I’m ok.

PMM – Pinch Me Moments. The moment you realize that your dream has become true. Or is just about to… and you – smack – right in the middle of it. Stuck in a dream. Your dream.

Pinch me. How can this be happening? This can’t be for real! Overcome by happiness and joy and immense gratitude, I get speechless. Not for long, but I do. That or I start swearing. They do that to me – those pinch me moments.

I am travelling in New Zealand for two weeks. On my own. Kind of like my own Eat Pray Love. If you’re gonna do midlife crisis, do it right. Julia Roberts would be proud of me.

Started at the top of this beautiful country and slowly making my way down. Or at the bottom going up? It all depends on your point of view.

New Zealand has been on my bucket list before that was even a thing. My teenage dream. You see, for a while I wanted to be a shepherd. In New Zealand. I had heard that they had quite a few sheep down here – 20 per person to be exact! Done.

I also wanted to be a priest by the way. Apparently I have a thing for herding things. And people. Anyway. For obvious reasons, neither one worked out. But my wish to travel to “the land of the long white cloud” (Aotearoa,Māori for NZ) remained on my list.

A little later in life, another wish was added to that list – travel to Middle Earth, which happens to be in … yep, New Zealand. Who knew?

I love everything Lord of the Rings. Read the books. Read them again. Watched each movie. Several times. I love the shire. And the hobbits. I love Gandalf and Aragorn ( who doesn’t love Aragorn?). My favourite, though, is Frodo. Love his sadness and his hairy feet. Love his hobbit ears and wisdom. I have learned a lot from this hobbit.

So when the travel agent inquired about what I wanted to see in New Zealand, I said…. No, I didn’t say ‘Frodo!’, because that would have been weird. Though I wanted to.

Instead I said: I want to see anything LOTR please.

And so this is what I’m doing right now – travelling through New Zealand, trying to find Frodo and his friends, encountering a few pinch me moments along the way.

PMM#1 Mount Eden, Auckland

Easy like Sunday morning, I decided to walk up to the Mount Eden Lookout to get a good view of Auckland, the first stop on my trip. Busy roads turned into suburban streets turned into wooded paths –  I was slowly making my way out of the city.

At the entrance of the park, was an old stony staircase, covered with moss and lichen. A weathered stone wall running along its edges, separating the steps from a beautiful lush field of green grass and small white flowers. Following the dark, shady way up the hill, the thick growth of trees and ferns suddenly gave way to a gigantic crate of a volcano that had been asleep for over 28.000 years. I must have said something like ‘What the heck!’, because a lone hiker in front of me turned and looked at me confused and a little concerned. Pinch me! I wanted to say. This was just too surreal – I had actually arrived in Middle Earth! But that probably would have sent him running.

PMM #2 Hobbiton, Matamata

Once the film set to both the Lord of the Rings as well as the Hobbit movie, this part of a sheep and cattle farm in Matamata near Rotorua is now a permanent tourist attraction on the Northern Island of NZ. In the summer, almost 4000 visitors daily. 40% of them have no clue about the story.

Well, I wasn’t going to be one of them. I knew what house Sam Gangee lives in ( the one with the yellow door), the name of the large tree overlooking the village ( the Party Tree), recognized the path that Bilbo Baggins runs down, shouting “I’m going on an adventure! “, the corner where Frodo waits for his longtime friend Gandalf…

And while I was looking over the green rolling hills, the little round colourful doors, the stone walls and wooden fences covered with (fake!) moss, I thought how unbelievable it was, to actually be in this peaceful, happy place called the Shire I only knew from the movies. If someone had played the Shire melody, I probably would have wept like Sam on Mount Doom. Only mine would have been happy tears.

PMM #3 Te Puia Geothermal Valley, Rotorua

If Hobbiton was the Shire, than this was Mordor.

I knew that there was hot springs and geysers around – the awful smell of rotten eggs hanging over the town as well as the mysterious misty clouds over the tree canopy kind of gave it away. But nothing prepared me for what was going to be a mix of Jurassic Park and Mount Doom.

Gigantic redwood trees and ferns, steaming rivers and bubbling mud puddles, yellow crusted crevices, and black lava rocks. The scenery was so surreal that it probably was more of a WTF moment than a PMM – which is pretty much the same, just much better.

So here it is, New Zealand, my dream come true. Thank you for giving me those pinch me moments that are so difficult to describe. I haven’t known you for long, but you have been on my mind (and list) for quite a while. And so far you are an absolute dream come true – despite the imperfections any place has.

I love how you start raining though the sun is shining. How, quite honestly, you stink ( though no one seems to notice but me). I love your people and your language and how you struggle with everyday problems like all countries do. I love that this small flightless bird called a kiwi is what represents you. I love how you make my dreams come true.

So what do you do when a wish comes true? You enjoy it (oh I do). You share it (doing that with you). And you are grateful (Thank you).

So somebody pinch me please! Cheers!

Early morning twilight. My bedroom tinted grey.  In the distance the faint sound of waves crashing ashore. Palm leaves gently rustling in the morning breeze. The first rays of sunlight quietly peeking through the closed wooden shutters. Good night Canada! Good morning Sydney!

I lie in bed. Still tired yet wide awake. I dread the unavoidable. Bracing myself for what will happen next. What happens every morning at the crack of dawn. Seven days a week. Sunshine or rain.

Sleeping with one eye open, gripping my pillow tight, I wait for it. And there it is. A low, hiccuping chuckle first, lonesome and almost testing. Slowly turning into a loud cackle, to finally end in a crescendo of raucous laughter joined by other fellow birds. 

Welcome to the infamous Kookaburra, laughing in the old gum tree right next to me. One of Australia’s best known sounds, contender for world’s most annoying animals. Every morning at dawn and every night at dusk, it sends its manic laughter-like call across the neighbourhood, letting the world know: “Hey, I’m here! Where are you?”

In bed, you bloody thing, trying to sleep! It’s not even six o’clock! Here they call it The Bushman’s Alarm Clock – who needs a phone when you got your own personal wake up call. It’s way too early, but after all that ruckus the thought of sleep seems impossible. I get up. I can still hear that darn Kookaburra laughing at me.

Spring has sprung in Sydney. What started three weeks ago, on September 1 to be exact, is in full gear. Colour explosion. Brilliant blossoms and blooms. Vibrant shades and curious shapes.

I usually don’t do flowers. Or birds for that matter. But it’s really hard to ignore either one of them in this beautiful part of the world. Some of them more shy and reserved, like the hardy shrubs along the coast with their tiny pink and white flowers, asking shyly for your attention. 

Others throw themselves at you, chase you, force themselves upon you, make you stop and look and shake your head in disbelief.

On my way out the door, bright orange trumpet flowers greet me, heralding the beginning of a new day. I have no idea what they are called – I call them orange trumpet flowers. Who cares?

Actually, I do care a little to my own surprise. A friend gave me this awesome book that categorizes all flowers by colours. Like cars (What car was he driving? – Err, a white one?) I look up the orange flower: Trumpet Flower (aka Clivia) it’s called. No shit, who would have thought! Told ya!

On my way to the bus stop, the morning sky from slowly rising sun  (the Kookaburra very quiet now – probably went back to bed, that bloody bastard), I get greeted by an impressive display of Australia’s flowers. Almost makes me miss my bus. While other early risers are getting their first coffee (I guess The Bushman’s Alarm Clock woke them up as well), I randomly stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at what grows on the side of the road.

 ‘Ah, the Canadian!’, they probably think, ‘admiring nature! They probably don’t have any flowers in the snow-covered world she comes from!’ –  We do, but not like this! Flowers on steroids! Spring in technicolour!

The bright red Bottle Brush hanging from the trees, offering a lone Rainbow Lorikeet some breakfast. I am so excited to see that bird, I later told the kids at school. They were not very impressed: “ A lorikeet? I have two living in my backyard – they are called Billy and Bob!” I guess you are used to having awesome parrots around when you have already given them names.

Or  the crazy Bird of Paradise Flower with its bright orange and blue bloom, which always reminds me of Beaker from the Muppet Show.

 A tree in someone’s front yard sprouting poinsettias I only know from Christmas markets back home. It’s only three month ‘til Christmas. Maybe I should bring some home.

At the roundabout, a gigantic totem pole like thing called a Giant Lily (again, could have told you so) pointing it’s blood red rosette towards the sky.

All over Australia, there are Aboriginal Dreaming stories linking people to plants. One local story tells us about the creation of this beautiful red bloom: A tribe was trapped in a cave after a landslide. One warrior survived, although badly injured. He went back and forth, helping the others make it. His injuries were so bad, though, that he slowly died. And as he did, so the legend of the Giant Lily, his blood seeped into the plant, causing the flower to turn red. 

Next, the Old Man Banksia with its shaggy look – I will not even attempt an explanation of its name, but I get it! 

And finally, shortly before I reach the bus stopn,  another trumpet shaped flower, yellow this time with brown stripes. Good thing I did not touch it in awe – after some research, it turns out The Golden Cup is poisonous! 

Australia is a land of extremes! Colours so vibrant, shapes so unique. And pretty much anything will kill you! Even the pretty flowers!

It’s the last day of school before our well deserved Spring break and I’m off for two weeks. Looking at the first signs of Australia’s technicolour spring, I’m almost sad to miss it. Kookaburra and all. But only just! I’m off to the Shire and I sure hope that bloody bird doesn’t find me there! Hooroo!

It had to happen eventually. Sooner or later. Ready or not. Not what I signed up for, but it happened anyway.

IT RAINED!!!

It rained! In paradise! With its picture perfect azure blue skies and endless sunshine, breathtaking sunrises and heartbreaking sunsets. Where winter means bring a sweater along and every day greets you with the happiness of dancing sunbeams and brilliant light.

It rained! Not a light drizzle or a quick shower. We have had before. No –  it rained like it meant it! Torrential downpours, floods like Noah’s Arch, winds and storms. Pelting, pouring, attacking me. And it just wouldn’t stop! Even the snails in my backyard were seeking refuge on my covered porch. I know that because I stepped on one-  barefoot! But that’s a whole different story.

It rained. And rained. And rained. Rained when catching my bus in the morning. Rained when trying to get to my fancy container classroom. Rained during bus duty after school. Rained on my way home. No gum boots, no play, no fun today! 

What was left of the day was spent on my cozy couch in my cozy house with my cozy blanket. Coincidentally, it happened to be Australian Reading Hour, encouraging all Australians to pick up a book and read for an hour,  and I was only too happy to comply – all week long! 

I love books. A lot!  In fact, I might be addicted to them. Made a huge circle around the beautiful local bookstore for the first month or so, until I broke down and entered the heavenly world of Australian literature. Asking everyone I met, what their favourite Australian read was, I purchased several titles that were now forming a brand new pile of books on my Australian night table, putting its Canadian counterpart to shame. Travel guides and nature books, classics and new releases, an autobiography by a local author. And on top of the pile Margarate Atwood’s new novel. Not because she is Australian (because she is not), but because I like it. 

Other great sources of reading material: local charity book sales, the library and the second hand book box at my school!

Every Thursday morning, pretending hard to be on duty, I go through this treasure box of discarded gems, only to find immense literary riches: The ALDI Cookbook (very useful!), The Thorn Birds (a classic!), The Tobacconist (one of my favourite novels) and my latest find… The Little Book of Morality (even more useful than the ALDI Cookbook)! Paired with The BON JOVI biography, it would make for an interesting read on yet another rainy day.

Back to the pile of books on my nightstand. On my couch, with the rain hammering and howling outside, I was rereading The Handmaid’s Tale to get ready for its sequel. The dark and somber mood of this story seemed to go well with the weather outside. A quote kept resurfacing from the ocean of beautiful words: 

“Nothing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it.” (Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale)

Climate Change Strikes were happening all over the world and it was amazing to receive live testament of people I knew, taking action around the globe. 

Sydney first, with over 80.000 people attending the demonstrations at The Domain in Sydney’s central business district, 50 families from our school among them. 

Germany next, with pictures of people gathering on Munich’s Koenigsplatz, calling for action. (No rain there, by the way!)

And last, but not least Canada. People were standing up for change and I should have been one of them. 

The other day, somebody asked me about Australia’s stand on the environment. Write only about what you know, I didn’t feel I knew enough to answer. I know there are heaps of mines, that there is a drought in large areas of the country (silly thought: send some of our rain there!), the slow dying of the Great Barrier Reef, and the call for more renewable energy. 

Don’t write about what you don’t know, write about what you feel. I feel that the people around me care a lot about the environment. Reusable coffee cups, wooden spoons, bamboo straws, litterless lunches, mug libraries at cafes and ice cream in palm leaves. Small steps, maybe, but steps in the right direction. 

And an immense love for this country with its animals and plants, flowers and nature surrounding us everywhere. It is paradise after all! Even when it rains!

And so, just like it started, the rain stopped. The sun reappearing from behind clouds on brilliant blue skies. Time to get off that couch and make my way to the beach. Book in hand. 

When it rains lemons, make lemonade. And when it stops, enjoy it! Cheers!

Her name was Ellie. Ellie the Uber driver. Platinum blond, bronzed skin, leather jacket, tight washed out jeans. A mole on her left cheek. My age.

Ellie saved the day. Or should I say, the night. Last night. But let me start at the beginning. The beginning of the end. The end of the day.

“Photo ID, please!”

Excuse me?

“Passport. Driver’s license. No entry without photo ID. Club policy.”

We were standing in front of a club. An RSL Club. I mention that, because this wasn’t your average going-out-on-a-Friday-night kind of club. Not what you would expect when you get invited to a concert. Definitely not what I was expecting when I had agreed to join a group of colleagues to go see a local band play.
Looking like a community centre in a residential area, that’s pretty much what it was: a community centre in a residential area.

RSL clubs , standing for The Returned and Service League, I got told, used to be local clubs formed after WWI to support veterans and existed in almost every little town in Australia. Worried what I had gotten myself into, I was relieved to learn that today these clubs were places for the whole community to get together. Basically a community centre with a liquor license. A place to grab a feed and share a cheap drink or two. Hence the photo ID.

Except that I was not going to be part of that community. Nor the cheap drinks.

Not in the habit of taking my passport with me when I go out at night, I tried to convince the guy at the door that I was neither too young (!), nor too old (!), didn’t look like a terrorist (see photo below), had come all the way from a far, far away country (at least I had the accent to prove it), that people (aka my colleagues standing next to me, photo ID in hand, a mix of pity and annoyance on their faces) knew me and trust me, that I had all my proper documentation, just not in hard copy…to no avail. The guy at the entrance definitely had no heart. So much for support.

Photo ID please

Ready to give up, I said goodbye to my friends, wished them a good time and tried calling an Uber.

“No reception out here!”

The annoying security guard again.

Seriously? What the hell?

Just when I started walking in my extremely uncomfortable, but very cool shoes, to get some reception in this godforsaken place, she pulled up. Ellie the Uber driver. Out of nowhere, her beat up Citroen appeared. Stopped right next to me and said “Get in!”

Without any reception plus the fact that I had forgotten my glasses, I had no clue whether this was actually my Uber, or any Uber for that matter, but I got in. I like to do what I am told.

Disco lights and dress up clothes, colourful wigs and funny accessories. Lollies and a small cooler with water bottles wedged between the two front seats. And Ellie behind the wheel – my first female Uber driver, ready to rescue me from the deserted parking lot in this Northern Beaches neighbourhood.

The next 20 minutes that it took to drive to my place, run in, pick up my passport, and get back to the club, were indeed “an awesome adventure filled with fun intelligent banter” like Ellie’s insta account later promised.

Within minutes of the ride I learned that she too had 5 children, that she was around 50 as well, and that she (and this is where our stories diverged from each other) grew up in a cult in the Australian outback, that her mom was able to flee with her and her sister from the brainwashing and abuse, that she left her husband a while ago, who left her broke, and after a stint of wild adventures with much younger men, found the love of her life and lived happily ever after.

That life was short and she’d rather be broke but happy, than rich and sad.

And then it was over. Arrived back at the club, said our goodbyes, “Call me if you ever need a ride!”, and she was gone. Her bright disco lights disappearing in the night.

My phone buzzed. “How would you rate your ride with Ellie?” 5 stars. Without hesitation. And I never rate my Uber drivers.

But this one was different. A bit like Carpool Karaoke with Ellie, just without the singing. Like speed dating on wheels (hey, there’s an idea!). An apparition maybe? I got charged for the ride, so it did happen. Just not sure what exactly had happened.

The rest of the evening was fun. I was glad I had not given up and returned to my place to sit on my couch, nurse a glass of wine and watch yet another episode of the Bachelor Australia. Glad I had gotten rescued by Ellie the Uber driver.

Proudly presented my passport at the entrance, signed the temporary membership, and joined my friends. The evening was filled with awkward conversation (“Where are you from? You don’t sound from here…Wait, let me guess – Please don’t say USA – Canada? I knew it! French Canadian???), cheap wine in even cheaper plastic cups, heaps of middle aged people like myself, and really, really good music.

Remember Feist’s 1,2,3,4? Well, it was the writer of that song – Sally Seltmann – performing as part of the Australian indie rock music supergroup called Seeker Lover Keeper. Matching outfits, a capella voices, local jokes I did not understand. Swaying people, hippies dancing, I thought about Ellie and her disco lights. Making every rideshare trip an awesome adventure. And maybe teaching you a lesson or two while you are on the road.

Life is just a moment in time

Too short to run and hide

I just want you to know

Wherever you go

It follows like a ghost

The burden’s not yours to hold

You’re a seeker lover keeper

“Prost!”

Six little first graders raising their orange juice bottles. Clinking glasses, smiling faces. Happy little Vegemites!

“Look Frau Koehl!”

Oh,  I AM looking. It’s my job – supervising these little kids. I AM watching you! Always!

“We are pretending this is beer and we are drinking – just like big boys!”

Oh boy! Just great! Here we are, lunch recess at school and my students are practicing cheers-ing! What should have been an innocent sausage snack is turning into a drink fest! And my Grade Ones right in the middle of it! Wondering, if this is part of the school curriculum, I remind them to stop toasting and to finish their Bratwurst. 

“Prost!”

I hear yet another cheer and happy laughter after. My happy little Vegemites! 

It’s German Day at the German School (obviously!). In September. Not quite clear about the idea behind this special day, yet, but it’s fun! And educational! 

We are comparing Australia and Germany. Our class decides to learn about the food from each country.

 “Liebe geht durch den Magen.” – “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Well, it’s definitely the way to any kid’s heart. And brain. We learned a lot – I learned a lot. Maybe I should start offering more gummy bears during my math lessons.

We start the day with large maps of Australia and Germany. 

Fun Fact: Did you know that the latter fits into this huge continent 22 times? Yet, it has almost four times as many people living in it. Canada, on the other hand, has about the same size as Australia. There seem to be quite a few similarities between Australia and Canada actually. The size, the number of inhabitants, people living on the outer edge of both countries, not so much in the center of it, because of the extreme living conditions. I could go on…

Back to German Day!

We read the picture book Possum Magic by the Australian author Mem Fox. A possum discovers the magical powers of Australian foods. Sounds wonderful!

We locate the major Australian cities and the feast begins… 

“They ate Anzac Biscuits in Adelaide”

Anzac Biscuits – not cookies! Originally called Soldiers’ Biscuits, these cookies, err, biscuits have long been associated with the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC!). Think Remembrance Day Poppy in Canada, only that you can eat these guys. And they actually don’t taste bad. Sweet and buttery, they get their distinct Australian flavour from the golden syrup. And they taste much better than a poppy.

“Morney and Minties in Melbourne”

Not sure what a bechamel sauce has to do with mint candies, but the kids like this sticky candy the most. Hard, white and chewy, this rectangular mint-flavoured lolli is the favourite in our class survey. I’m more worried about my fillings coming out – and sure enough! I have a dentist appointment booked for next week. Memorable Minties!

“Steak and Salad in Sydney”

Due to financial restraints, we do not offer this food. It does sound delicious though. I will make sure to try it soon!

“Pumpkin Scones in Brisbane”

If Minties were the favourite, pumpkin scones are not. A classic Queensland fare created by a famous woman named Lady Flo, this treat is a little dry and just cannot compete with the sugary sweet. Sorry Brisbane – nothing personal.

“It was there, in the far north of Australia, that they found a Vegemite Sandwich”

Maybe an Australian classic, but definitely an acquired taste. This thick, black spread made from brewers’ leftover yeast extract, does taste very salty and strong. Maybe you have to grow up with it? I don’t know. I think you either love it or hate it. It won’t grow on me, I’m afraid.

“Later, on the beach in Perth, they ate a piece of Pavlova”

While I love this meringue-based treat, I am not sure when or how it became an Australian delicacy. Imported from Germany, named after some Russian ballerina, there are many myths around this iconic dessert. At the end of the day it does taste delicious and I made sure there were no leftovers in class!

“In Hobart they saw a Lamington on a plate. Hush closed her eyes and nibbled”

And so did I. I like this Australian cake. Spongy, coated in chocolate and rolled in coconut. What’s not to like? The name maybe. For some reason I kept thinking lemmings while eating this treat. Sorry Lady Lamington! I still love what you’ve done with this.

There could have been many more pages to this culinary story. 

Tim Tams, the chocolate biscuits that you can turn into a Tim Tam Slam..  “Opposite corners of the Tim Tam are bitten off, one end submerged in the drink (any drink?), and the drink sucked through the biscuit. The crisp inside biscuit is softened and the outer chocolate coating begins to melt.” Wait until my grade ones about this one – Prost!!!

Or Avo Smash – smashed avocado on toast, poached eggs and bechamel sauce optional.

Bacon and Egg Roll to ring in any weekend.

Fish and Chips. With ketchup, which you call tomato sauce not ketchup. And mayonnaise, which isn’t actually mayonnaise, but aioli. 

And last, but not least, Macca’s. What you call McDonalds in Australia. I have yet to find one, but they do exist! Just not as wide spread. Which is a good thing, I guess. 

The day ends with some German treats – it’s German Day after all! Gummibärchen and Schokolade as samples of Germany’s fine cuisine is all I could find. The kids are happy and so am I. Happy little (and big!) Vegemites!

Life’s a game but it’s not fair

I break the rules so I don’t care

So I keep doin’ my own thing

Walkin’ tall against the rain  

Victory’s within the mile 

Almost there, don’t give up now

Only thing that’s on my mind

Is who gon’ run this town 

We gonna run this town

(Rhianna)

I run. I don’t walk. Unless there is a coffee shop at the end. Which there always is down here. People love their morning walks and cuppa at one of the waterside cafes after. What better way to explore the City? 

The only better way I can think of would be running. I run this town.

Sydney is a coastal city with over 100 beaches and about 80 km of coastline north to south. It is possible to walk most of the coastline from Barrenjoey Head in the North to Royal National Park in the South. 200 km of walking, or in my case, running. Well, maybe both, because Sydney is also extremely hilly. Lots of heartbreak hills around, as they call them here. But let me start at the beginning.

Part 1 The Northern Beaches 

Run 1  Pittwater

My first run in Sydney took me along the shoreline of Pittwater in the far North of the city close to my home. Surrounded by the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, Pittwater is actually not part of the ocean, as I first thought, but a separate large body of water fed by several creeks. Eventually, though, it does make its way north towards its mouth at Broken Bay, 1km from the Tasman Sea. The Kuringgai Aboriginal peoples have lived in this area many thousands of years. Today you can find tiny harbours with gently rocking boats, beaches and boardwalks, and, of course, cafes!

My early Saturday morning run took me from my home in Newport to Church Point, 10 km from my place. Me and heaps of other people! What could have been a peaceful run along the tranquil waters of this bay, turned into quite a dangerous excursion. Hundreds and hundreds of people on race bikes were competing for the winding roads and me against them all. Mental note: next time, start running at sunrise to avoid getting run over by crazy bikers! And bring money for a coffee! 

Run 2 Palm Beach Peninsula – Barrenjoey Head

Palm Beach – The Australian soap opera Home and Away was filmed here and so was the 2019 Australian comedy Palm Beach (surprise! surprise!). 

The northernmost point of Sydney is supposed to be one of the most spectacular beaches in Australia. It is also apparently a holiday spot for the rich and famous: Chris Hemsworth, Nicole Kidman, Cate Blanchett have been spotted here. No such luck! All whom I met were Anne and Udo from Stuttgart. Not famous maybe, but also very nice.

It is the Palm Beach Peninsula that separates Pittwater and the ocean. On the hammerhead tip of this northern most point of Sydney sits Barrenjoey Head with its lighthouse. Palm Beach gets its name not from the many palm trees that you can find in the area, but its palm tree shape when looked at from the top. Once you have made your way up a steep staircase built by convicts once upon a time, you are rewarded with a beautiful view of Pittwater to one side and the southern coastline to the other.

(My son #3 would get a kick out of this bit of information. Did you know that over 150.000 convicts were sent to Australia for petty crimes? And that around 20% of today’s Australians are descendants from these transported convicts? I’m beginning to understand my child’s fascination with this topic haha!) 

Once you shake the large groups of tourists, and find a quiet spot on one of the cliffy rocks overlooking the ocean, you can sit there for quite a while, watching the sail boats on the water and enjoying the serenity of this beautiful place. And a coffee after…obviously!

Run 3 Avalon to Newport Beach 

This is my turf … or in this case surf! Newport Beach – I love being able to walk to the beach any time of day and just sit there and watch the waves crash ashore. I never considered myself a beach person at all – I get restless and bored easily and the thought of lying on any beach for more than 5 minutes makes me anxious. Who would have thought that I would enjoy living at the ocean so much.

My landlady took me on this walk from Newport Beach via Bilgola Beach to Avalon Beach. It was a Sunday morning, 9am and it was busy! A never ending stream of walkers, runners, hikers were following the path that offered spectacular views of beaches, dunes, cliffs, houses perched above and rock baths. 

Rock baths are the perfect solution for people like me, by the way, that have an irrational fear of sharks whenever swimming in any kind of water, especially the open sea! Rock baths, also known as rockpools, or ocean pools, can be found at almost every beach in Sydney, some of them over a hundred years old. A safe place to swim, away from crashing waves, the current and shark attacks, they are Sydney’s version of a public pool. Newport Beach Pool is 50 metres long with a natural rock floor. I didn’t dare go for a swim, yet, due to the wintery weather conditions, but it’s definitely on my bucket list.

For now, a nice hot long black at the end of our walk seemed more fitting.

Run 4 Newport Beach to Dee Why

The next stretch on the map from Newport to Dee Why Beach was actually done in reversed direction in the form of a proper 13k run: The Pub to Pub Run.

After I got over the disappointment, that this race had nothing to do with visiting pubs along the way (now, there’s an idea!), we had great fun doing this run with a number of colleagues from school. 

The run took us along seven different beaches, with the first 800 metres actually being run on the beach (which sucks by the way, because you either get your running shoes wet by incoming waves or you struggle through the soft sand, feeling like you are running in slow motion, which you actually are!). 

The great thing about these races is that for tourists like myself, it offers the perfect way of sightseeing: cordoned off by police, clearly signaged, it tells you exactly where to run and you get to see all the amazing sights up close along the way without the fear of getting run over by one of Sydney’s reckless drivers. Stopping along the way to take photos, even gives you the chance to catch your breath and make it up the hill without looking like a loser! And there is always a friendly volunteer along the way to snap a photo of you with the perfect scenery in the background! What else could I ask for! 

Run 5 Manly to North Head

The final stretch of running along the coast of the Northern Beaches will take place tomorrow: The Manly Fun Run. Just as misleading as its Pub to Pub Run counterpart, this race has nothing to do with manly man, I’m afraid. But after days of incessant torrential rains, I am looking forward to running in the sunshine with my friends, enjoying yet again the scenery and stopping whenever I feel like taking a photo (or catch my breath!). And if it happens to rain again – maybe it’ll be raining man!!! (Which would make us The Weather Girls?)

Coming soon: Part 2 of I Run This Town 

City2Surf Run (City to Bondi Beach), Sydney Bridge Run and The 7 Bridges Walk

I have a friend. His name is Josh. I’ve never met Josh, yet we talk almost daily. Josh is 7. Josh loves animals. Especially exotic ones. And he has chosen me to feed his obsession.

Josh is my friend’s grandson. One day he got a hold of her phone and this is how it all started. An innocent text, asking if I had seen any animals in Australia yet. I hadn’t really. Other than my neighbour’s chicken.

Chicken?

I could tell, Josh was not impressed. When you expect kangaroos or gigantic spiders, chicken just won’t do.

Anything else?

Not really. It was winter still. Animals were dormant. I had a feeling, Josh wouldn’t accept this logical explanation as an excuse.

In my head I was desperately trying to remember other animal sightings that had occurred during my oh-so-short stay so far in Down under.

            A cockroach?

Indeed I almost had stepped on one in my apartment the other night.

            Ok.

If I had nothing else to offer, a cockroach would do. Any photos?

No, no photos.

Cockroaches don’t have the patience for the perfect insta moment. Neither did I – not when it comes to cockroaches. Plus, I don’t think it would have gotten me many clicks anyway.

Hey, did you like my roach photo the other day? #nofilter

A few days went by until the next text message arrived.

Any more animals?

It was Josh. I felt myself breaking out in sweat.

A bird! I had seen a bird.

The frown on Josh’s face was palpable through the phone.

            A bird? What kind of bird?

Gosh, gee. I don’t know. A white one. With a funny yellow feather crest on his head. Big. Super loud. Especially in the morning, when you could still sleep a little longer.

So I googled the bird. For Josh. A sulphur-crested cockatoo, I messaged him. Nice pic attached. He seemed happy for a while.

Until I received yet another inquiry from my young friend. This time in the form of a voice message.

What other animals?

His distorted voice message enriched by an army of animal emojis.

I have to admit, at that moment I contemplated lying to Josh. Making up some great story of the kangaroo that carried me on his back to school and the crocodile I had to fight on my way home.

            I saw a possum!

Wasn’t even a lie. Well, only a partial lie since I had only seen a possum’s tail above my head while sitting on my verandah.

This is what you have to look for!

Josh offered his help, sending me a picture of a kangaroo.

            I know, Josh! I’m trying hard here!

Even the cute picture of me dressed up as the Gruffalo wouldn’t appeased him. What to do when you can’t deliver. I thought about ghosting my little friend. Ignoring his messages until I could give him a satisfactory answer. But that didn’t seem right. Poor Josh – I had nothing!

UNTIL TODAY!!!

A snake. A real snake. A big one too. Looked a bit like a dead tire, but still. Josh would be so happy with me! I needed a photo. A good one. A close up. For Josh!

The animal had been sighted during first recess next to the Primary playground and the word spread quickly in the teacher staff room. This was my chance!

So I took my coffee cup, my phone and bravely went to said location to get a good look at  my first snake. Maybe I should say naively. Definitely enthusiastically though. This was going to be great!

 The first thing I saw close to the bamboo hedge bordering on the playground, was a Eastern Water Skink sitting in the grass. Well, I thought it was a lizard, but I’m happy to learn. So that was cool – quick photo for Josh, and my eyes continued searching for the object of desire.

And there it was – a Red Belly Black Snake, sunbathing on a rock right next to the playground, not moving at all. Generously posing for my first ever snake photo shoot. POISONOUS  snake photo shoot, I should  learn later. Which, in hinesight, made the whole thing ridiculously dumb and dangerous, actually. While this snake’s bite wouldn’t have killed me, it would have made me seriously ill. And that would not have been worth it. Not even for my friend Josh.

What I learned today? That there is a certain protocol you should follow, when seeing a snake in Australia:

1 Don’t approach it !! (Well, I certainly didn’t follow that advice!)

2 Back away QUIETLY – don’t scream or run around (Ok, I might have skipped away, but only out of pure joy over this amazing insta-moment!)

3 Tell a teacher !! (I AM the teacher lol)

4 Stay away -don’t go and look for it again ! ( Didn’t have to, thanks to the awesome pic on my phone).

In the end, all is good. I might have been daring or stupid or naive, or all of the above, and I certainly learned my lesson about showing respect for Australia’s wildlife. But I also have the perfect picture to send to my friend Josh. I haven’t heard from him since – maybe I finally made him happy. And that made it all worth it!

When August winds are turning

The fishing boats upon the sea

I watch ‘til they sail out of sight

The winter follows soon

I watch them drawn into the night

Beneath the August moon. (Sting)

Maybe it started on Thursday of last week. Dark ominous clouds forming in the bright August sky, posing a serious threat to our Out and About afternoon activities of adventure and exploring. Ten minutes of impressive hail. Blue sky and sunshine soon thereafter as if nothing had happened. Back to paradise.

By Friday, the strongest weather system of the Australian winter 2019 had hit south east Australia. A blustery weekend lying ahead of us. Sydney was in for a pummeling. Outside the classroom students’ hats and coats went flying, followed by garbage cans. No kids fortunately.

On Sunday, the stormy weather had over 70.000 runners participating in the City2Surf Run Sydney feel the chill. Wind chill – who would have thought that’s a thing in Downunder! Trading in  my optimistic running shorts for gloves and a beanie, I let the wind propel me towards Bondi Beach. While the wind wasn’t always in my back, I made it to the iconic place of white sand and hunky topless lifeguards. Only to find that my Bondi Rescue Heroes were basically wearing turtlenecks. The disappointment!

It’s winter. Winter in paradise. From June until August. With August being the windiest month of the year. People wearing hats and scarves, winter coats and Uggs. Others are barefoot and go surfing. Snow in the Blue Mountains close by, bushes in bloom in the city. Christmas Market and Beach Runs. It’s a little confusing.

With temperatures plummeting, so was my mood. Grey, overcast skies, gusty winds around me – I guess even in paradise you get to feel a little blue sometimes. Feeling “a bit crook” with my throat on a nice toasty fire. Missing my family back home celebrating my #4 son’s sweet 16th birthday at the beach (in the heat!). Binge watching dystopian movies on Netflix probably didn’t help lighten the mood. I’m  just having a bit of a whing!

So how do you weather the storm in paradise? Unslump yourself in Downunder? 

You get up in the morning, get yourself a nice cuppa coffee, catch the bus to school, soak up the beauty of the sun rising over the ocean. The bus driver wishing you a good day, a message from home, colleagues greeting you with a nice bright smile, an unexpected hug, flowers on your desk, kids telling to stay forever. Paradise.

Being on my own has made me so much more aware of my surroundings and the people around me. Has taught me to enjoy the silence and peace of my new home, the faint sound of surf in the distance, the rustling of the palm leaves in the wind. August winds. 

And if gets too quiet, I crank up that brand new stereo system of mine – a gift of yet another kind person here in paradise. She’ll be right. Everything is fine.

I’m back at the coffee shop. Another one this time. Rukus Cafe in Newport. My hood. Conveniently located on my way to the bus stop. Rukus – famous for its Jesus Cup: a free cup of coffee for random customers. And it’s me who is going to raise one – ruckus I mean, not Jesus.

Its early Saturday morning. Really early. Like the-sky-is-still-on-fire-from-the-sunrise early. Like the-birds-are-not-yet-done-causing-a-huge-ruckus early. Like I’m-the-first-one-to-order-a-coffee early. That doesn’t create the small commotion though . I got my weird long black down to a T now.

“How are you going?”

Completely focused on the proper coffee order, all I hear is the word ‘going’. Is the barista actually wondering where I am going? Because I AM going somewhere! And I am very happy to share that with him. Or anyone really. I mean, I went from living in a household of seven to staying at a silent retreat cold turkey. I am going through somewhat of a withdrawal when it comes to talking to people. I thirst for conversation. And coffee. But that’s secondary at the moment.

“Well, I’m actually off to the City for the first time to pick up my race bib at the Convention Centre because I’m running the City2Surf race tomorrow and I’m from Canada and it’s really windy today and I hope that tomorrow…”

The look on the barista’s face tells me, that that’s not what he wanted to hear.

“No. I mean what coffee do you want?”

Right. Rukus. Coffee. Jesus Cup. I have a feeling that it won’t be me that will receive the blessing of a free cuppa today. Or ever.

I mumble my order, hand him the bill (still struggling with the coins) and run for the bus. My face probably the colour of the fading red morning sky.

It takes an hour and 33 minutes to get to Downtown Sydney from where I live.

I live in Newport, suburb in Northern Sydney, part of the Northern Peninsula Beaches. The Pacific Ocean on one side, the Pittwater waterway on the other. It takes me 5 minutes to walk to the beach. Or the bus. Or one of the countless cafes, restaurants – or hair salons. There are 10 different hair dressers in a community that has barely 9000 people living in it. 15 cafes. 20 restaurants. All within 400m from each other.

A brand new bus system called the B line takes you along the Pacific shoreline all the way to the heart of the city. Sandy beaches, harbour coves, boats bobbing on the water, rugged cliffs. Mona Vale, Warriewood, Dee Why, Manly Beach… And then – there it is: Sydney Harbour Bridge. The Opera. Sydney Tower.

I spend an hour in the City. Pick up my race bib. Running pants and a buff to brace the cold gusty winds. A free beanie. Another sunhat. Actually two. The obligatory Starbucks mug and an almond croissant while I’m there.

And then I leave. Had enough. Get on the B line. Upper deck, front row and make my way back home. To the beaches, the hair dressers, the cafes. My home from home. I may not ever get that Jesus Cup. But im feeling pretty blessed right now.