Ever walked down the beach with the sun burning down
Waves crashing in as the tide goes out
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Heard the crackle of a flame underneath the stars
Few good friends and an old guitar
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Good times whisper in the air
You can feel it everywhere
This is the sound of summer
You can hear a million colours
This is the sound of
Hearts beating in stereo
Sun singing in a red sky glow
Turn up everywhere you go now
This is the sound of summer

Busby Marou. The Sound of Summer

It is five to five. Five o’clock in the morning, and I’m up already. Awake before the alarm goes off. My eyes are still heavy from the night; I lie in my bed and listen to another day waking up. The ceiling fan above my sleepy head turns incessantly, its metal blades silently cutting through the thick summer night air. Through the open windows, I hear the faint sound of waves crashing on the beach. Palm leaves rustle gently in the early morning breeze. Early morning sound effects brought to you by Mother Nature.

The alarm goes off when I am about to drift into dreamland again. Five past five, and there it is: the bushman’s alarm clock! Also known as my good old pal, the kookaburra, laughing at me. As dawn breaks, a wild chorus of raucous laughter rises from the treetops above. 

What starts with a low chuckle is a mix of trills and chortles, belly laughs and hoots. The whole thing ends with a final low chuckle, and it’s over. The kookaburra is done marking his territory, and I am wide awake. I’d be laughing with him, but it’s the holidays, for goodness’ sake, and I could be sleeping in! Feeling groggy from having been yanked out of my early morning deep sleep, I get up.

In the grey light of the early morning, yet another hour ’til sunrise, I follow the sound of the ocean – the full moon on the horizon silently following me. Inspired by the grating song of the kookaburra, other birds also break out in song. The early mornings, being too dark for predators to look for food, make it the perfect time for them to sing. Doves, thrushes, wrens, warblers, and blackbirds. Magpies, lorikeets, cuckoos, and Willie wagtails. To be honest, I have no idea what they are called. But their names sound pretty, and so does their morning song. As the sun slowly creeps up on the horizon, bathing the day in hues of red and orange and yellow, another summer day is greeted by a symphony of waves and wind and birdsong. The sound of summer.

For each one of us, this season brings impressions and associations. Kids splashing in the water, the hum of a busy beach. Summer tunes playing on the radio. A lawnmower mowing, a leaf blower blowing. A game of cricket in the park. The sound of sausages sizzling on the barbie. The hissing sound of cracking a tinny. Australian summer sounds

Before the beach gets too busy with runners and walkers, coffee drinkers and talkers, I get up and return to my flat. Return to the silence and calm of my little paradise found. And as the day progresses, the summer heat rises, and the air gets more and more still, yet another sound takes hold this summer day: the deafening cacophony of cicadas desperately screeching for a mate. After all, the cicadas are an iconic part of the Australian summer, their dull drone song the soundtrack of a hot summer day. 

Each of the over 1000 different species of cicadas has a different name and tune: the Green Grocer, Yellow Mundy, Black Prince, Brown Baker, and – my favourite – the Piss Wacker. The cicada’s noise, which is used to find a mate as quickly as possible before being gobbled up by one of the many predators, can reach up to 120db. Loud enough for the female to hear the call from a mile away. And loud enough to drown out every other sound. Cicadas sing during hot weather and at night when predators like birds, spiders, ants, and bats are less likely to get them.  And so, as the day melts away and dusk arrives, the song of the cicadas intensifies. And as the kookaburra makes its final call, I return to the beach close to my little white house to watch the day disappear. Watch the light fade into the darkness of the night. Another summer day is done.

My first Australian summer.

I don’t like heat. I don’t like lying at the beach. I loathe the crowds. Still scared of the ocean surf. But I still love the Australian summer! Not only as a place but as a feeling. I love being on holiday and not having to go to school. I love that everyone’s away, and the place is quieter and more chill. I love wasting my days watching the sunrise, having a coffee, and moving slowly through the day. I love finally being brave enough to swim in the ocean and to visit the local rock pool (though I hear there are two blue-ringed octopuses hanging out at the pool that can kill 27 people at once should you be stupid enough to take a selfie with it). I love enjoying a relaxed pizza dinner at a red-checkered table with a bottle of red wine. I love how the trees twinkle in the night sky, and the stars above do the same. I love having wonderful visitors visiting me.

Spending my first summer in Australia on my own isn’t always easy. Or lovely. Or fine. It can be aimless and quiet and lonely at times. But its nothingness gives me time to sit and listen. To listen to what’s going on around me and inside. To watch yet another beautiful sunrise and listen to the sound of my summer.

There are times in life when the firmament of our being seems to collapse, taking all the light with it, swallowing all colour and sound into a silent scream of darkness. This darkness is not terminal but primordial; in it a new self is being born, not with a Big Bang but with a whisper. Our task, then, is only to listen. What we hear becomes new light.

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower. Maria Popova

Cheers!

It’s a wonderful world if you only take the time to go around it.

Jules Verne. Around the world in 80 days

A couple of decades later, and it was my turn to travel around the world. Not a Phileas Fogg, I didn’t make it to 16 countries – not even close!

Leaving sunny Australia the week before Christmas, my first stop was in Toronto, Canada. Trading beach and sunshine for snow and ice, seeing my family and friends warming my heart. Eating lobster rolls overlooking the frozen shores of Lake Ontario. A lovely Christmas dinner table with enough torturing tools beside each plate, Hannibal Lecter would have been impressed. Red-and-black checkered flannel shirts, warm woollen socks, endless scrabble games, and family gathered around the kitchen table. A generational winter storm that paralyzed the continent with blizzards, high winds, snowfall, and freezing temperatures. And so we were locked in our cozy house for Christmas, enjoying each other’s company. Fondue dinner, burning candles on the Christmas tree, piles of presents, and lots of inappropriate jokes. It was good to be home.

A week after I arrived in snowy Canada, it was time to pack our brand-new carry-on bags and continue my journey around the world. Next stop: Germany, where my family was waiting for us. The boys hadn’t seen their grandfather in almost five years, and it was the perfect time to get everybody together and visit. Except that not everybody was able to come along.

Standing at the check-in counter at Toronto Pearson Airport (and yes, that place is a mess these days!), we had to learn that our youngest son would not be able to travel as his passport was not valid for another three months. Aware of his travel documents expiring after his return from our trip, I was unaware that it had to be good for another three months. Why do they call it an expiry date when you can’t use it any more months before then? It’s like throwing out that yogourt weeks before it’s done. But I had no one else to blame but myself. Should have, could have, would have… Another item added to my guilt list as a mother. Walking to the departure gate, leaving my youngest behind, broke my heart. Even if the rest of my boys still surrounded me. 

“Why, you are a man of heart!”

“Sometimes,” replied Phileas Fogg quietly. “When I have the time.“

Jules Verne. Around the world in 80 days

We crossed the next ocean and landed in the land of Pretzel and Orange Fanta. Of french fries with mayo and Schnitzel … lots of Schnitzels. Thanks to the adventurous spirit of my oldest son (I wonder where he gets it from), we had a jam-packed schedule for our time in Germany: day trips to the medieval town of Monschau and castle Schloss Drachenfels, basketball games and hockey matches—shopping in Cologne and 3D glow-in-the-dark mini-golf. Even a road trip to Amsterdam where we all learned so much (another not-so-proud-parenting-moment, I guess).

And, of course, plenty of time to spend with the family and enjoy each other’s company.

My kids have been to Germany many times. The difference was that we were travelling as a group of adults this time. During our last breakfast together, I asked them what they thought about this place now that they were older.

“It smells less!” the first one answered. He was referring to fewer people around us that smoked.

“It seems less European (as in foreign). More like home.” another one added.

And then it was time to go home. Time to say goodbye to my family in Germany. To Opa. To Schnitzel and french fries with mayo. To travel as a family. One last trip on the infamous autobahn, where speed limits are far and apart. One last hug at the security check. And then my boys disappeared through the gates to catch their flight back to Toronto. And I continued my journey around the world – the train to Hamburg. The subway to the airport. A plane to Dubai. And another plane to Sydney. An Uber home, and there I was – back where I had started. Sunny Sydney. Except that it wasn’t so sunny – rather windy and wet instead. A little bit of Canadian winds and German rain to remind me of home.

Once around the world in 18 days. Not as many means of transportation as my hero Fogg had used (the hot air balloon would have been cool, though). Not as many countries visited. And definitely no money made (quite the opposite, in fact). But in my books, I had won – just like Phileas Fogg had. Not in dollar bills, but in memories that would last me a long time.

On our road trip to Amsterdam, somewhere between the German and the Dutch border, a song was playing, and it made me think. Not because every second word was a swear word, but because the words the artist was singing seemed to sum up my trip with my children:

And if you want, I can tell the truth

That this life takes a toll on you

I spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul

In the morning, I’m bulletproof

In the morning, I’m bulletproof, so

Keep your time, keep your mind, keep humble

Start your life in the middle of the jungle

You

Young Blood

Rub your eyes, be surprised, keep hungry

Stay alive, try to lose all of your money

You

Young Blood

Noah Kahan. Young Blood

I sometimes get asked what kind of mother leaves her children behind to work and live in another country.

It’s a tough question, but I don’t mind it because the people that are asking are interested to hear what I have to say – whether they agree with it or not.

I have spent a lot of time trying to come up with an answer, and it still doesn’t come out quite right. But to make it short: What kind of mom? A better mom.

I don’t know if I am a good mother – I think we are all just trying our best as parents. We do what we feel is best for our children. But that might not always be what’s best for us. Or even close.

Not getting on that flight back to Toronto with my children was hard. And sad. Turning around and walking the other way took a lot of courage and strength. It made me sick to my stomach.

But I kept walking because I knew that I was happier where I was going, making me a better version of myself. Making me a better mom. I may not always be around my children or even close by. But I try to be there for them and help them from a distance as much as I can. And when we are together, I cherish our time together. I love that we made so many great memories on my tour around the world. And I hope they all did too.

“But what then? What had she really gained by all this trouble? What had she brought back from this long and weary journey? Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but wonderful memories, which, strange as it may appear, made her the happiest of women! Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?”

Jules Verne. Around the World in 80 days (edited for my own purposes)

Friend, I've seen some
     Astonishing sights:
A lion keeping watch
     Over pasturing cows;
A mother delivered
     After her son was;
A guru prostrated
     Before his disciple;
Fish spawning 
     On treetops;
A cat carrying away
     A dog;
A gunny sack
     Driving a bullock-cart;
A buffalo going out to graze,
     Sitting on a horse
A tree with its branches in the earth,
     Its roots in the sky;
A tree with flowering roots.

Kabir. Brother, I’ve Seen Some Astonishing Sights

The baggage claim area at Pearson Airport in Toronto. After having travelled for almost 24 hours from Sydney via Vancouver, I had finally made it home for Christmas. Well, not quite. The hardest part of my journey was yet to come: claiming my suitcase! Not thinking clearly after 14 hours on the plane from Sydney, I had made the fatal mistake of checking my carry-on suitcase in Vancouver. The flight had been completely full, they were asking for volunteers, and so I did what, I thought, was the right thing and dropped off my tiny bag at the gate to be reclaimed in Toronto. Only that I had completely forgotten what a chaotic mess Toronto airport was ever since the pandemic.

And so there I was, in the midst of piles and piles of suitcases, at the luggage claim at my final destination, waiting for my suitcase to arrive. Me and all the passengers of three other flights. Nothing was moving, people were tired and hungry and stressed, and we all just wanted to be home for Christmas. To make things worse, every time the automatic exit doors opened, I could see my entire family (minus 1 of course) waiting and waving at me. So close and yet so far away. A robotic voice announced the wait time for arriving luggage to be over an hour, and I resigned to my fate. 

And then, out of nowhere, the most astonishing sight: my family standing right next to me! What a wonderful surprise! Not letting anything hold them back, my boys had simply entered the restricted area via the exit doors and were now on the wrong side of the gate. Or the right side. It felt so good to see them, hovering above me, making me look a bit like a superstar surrounded by her bodyguards. 

We chatted a bit, one eye on the conveyor belt that still was not moving. My boys eventually got bored and disappeared to explore the arrival hall. Only later did I learn that they had used the free UV-light telephone sanitizing machine not only to clean their phones, but also one of their shoes. Which, needless to say, brought the entire machine to an abrupt standstill, making a loud: Thump! Sound. Fortunately, they were able to retrieve the lost shoe by forcing the metal trap door open. Not sure the shoe was any cleaner, but my children were hopefully a bit wiser (though I doubt it). Before we could get into any further trouble, the belt started moving and soon thereafter my small suitcase arrived. Yet another astonishing sight! Suitcase and family and shoe in hand, we quickly made our way out of the airport to finally be home for Christmas.

Astonishing sight (definition): something that is astonishing is very surprising, amazing (Collins Dictionary)

This week, I received a message from a friend who was wondering if there would be a new blog post any time soon. My first reaction is always to feel slightly flattered and surprised that someone was actually reading my writings—a warm, fuzzy feeling in my belly. I hadn’t planned on it, but then I thought, why not. An end-of-year kind of post. Or my travels around the world in 18 days…

That’s when a writing prompt landed in my inbox: “Friend, I’ve seen some astonishing things.”

You know how social media feeds you Ikea ads just because you googled “cheap dining table.”  Or walking aids because you are getting old. Someone was sending me this specific writing prompt to inspire me to think about the astonishing sights I had seen this past year. And to write about it.

The first thing that came to mind was the obvious stunning visions I had been lucky enough to encounter this year. After two years of Covid and look-downs, I admit that I had taken every opportunity to find those stunning visions, both near and far. 

Ottawa in the winter. Finland in the spring with its lakes, islands, and Nordic charm. The cafés and architecture of Helsinki. A day trip to Tallinn, Estonia, to see this beautiful medieval city in Northern Europe with its cobbled streets, colourful buildings, and encompassing city walls. Exploring Prince Edward County and its delicious restaurants and wineries in the early summer. A trip down memory lane when returning to my hometown in Germany to see my family in June. The quiet and peace of the Muskoka lakes. 

And of course:  Australia! Exploring downtown Sydney on the weekends, wine tasting in the Hunter Valley, and the breathtaking beauty of the Great Barrier Reef. The year ended with spending time with my kids in Germany visiting Opa, enjoying astonishing sights like the Cologne Cathedral, the picturesque canals and bridges of Amsterdam, and the medieval charm of Monschau near the Belgian Border. 

Yes, I admit it – I did plenty of fantastic sightseeing this year, and I am very grateful for it. Grateful to be able to travel again. Grateful for exploring familiar and new places, cities and countries. Grateful for the people that I got to visit and that travelled with me. Grateful for all the astonishing sights this planet has to offer.

And then there are the small surprise. The tiny awes that make every day a little special.

In one of my favourite books of the year, “Love Stories,” the Australian author Trent Dalton offers a collection of stories of the many facets of love … the sustained, returned, lost, unrequited, deep, or fleeting. Throughout the book, the author describes simple things that people are in love with. We tend to overlook the small, astonishing sights of everyday life so easily. For the past year, I have made a point of writing down three things every day. Surprising, unique, astonishing, mysterious. And while it is not always easy to find something positive every day, it helped me develop an eye for the truly astonishing sights around me. 

The view from the bus window of the sun rising over the ocean on my way to school. A fresh snow cover glinting in the sun after a winter storm. My bench. Any bench.  A student’s love letter. A friendly face. A dog’s kiss. The sun rising over the ocean. The white of the sand, the blue of the sea, the green of the forests. And the people in my life. All the astonishing sights, big and small. The real and the invented. The good and the bad. The mysterious and unexplained. And the shoe that made it!

Cheers to an astonishing year!

Many times I’ve been told
Speak your mind, just be bold

So I close my eyes, look behind
Moving on, moving on
So I close my eyes

All the tears will clear
Then I feel no fear
Then I’d feel no way
My paths will remain straight

Home again, home again
One day I know I’ll feel home again
Born again, born again
One day I know I’ll feel strong again

Michael Kiwanuka. Home Again.

Home again. In the distance, the sound of the ocean. The soothing hum of waves crashing ashore. Birds are singing a gentle lullaby: magpies, parakeets, an owl, maybe. The last call of the kookaburra. A gentle breeze plays with the surrounding greenery. The setting sun bathes the wooden verandah in a warm golden light. Its rays warm my freckled skin.

Home again. It’s a quiet Saturday night in December. Two weeks until Christmas. Canada had its first snow. And I am sitting on my porch in shorts and t-shirt. “I know life’s unfair when I see palm trees,” my son comments when I send home photographs. I get it.

Home again. After four months of living out of suitcases, one Airbnb after the other, I have finally moved into my new home. A little white house in an old lady’s backyard, three minutes from the beach. A piece of Golden Triangle magic – sunshine, surf, and summer. 

The day started with packing my meagre belongings and waiting for my friend to give me a ride to my new home. Three suitcases, a couple of shopping bags full of shoes and groceries, and a clothes rack. We step out of the door of the Airbnb, only to be almost knocked over by a large group of runners:

“Hello. Entschuldigen Sie. Excuse me.” one of the runners shouts with a heavy German accent.

“Know you the Australian national song?” 

The Australian anthem? I don’t. My friend starts humming, trying to piece together the words.

“No, sorry. We are from Germany. We don’t know the Australian anthem!”

“Ah, from Germany!” the runner’s eyes light up. A landsman!

“We, too, are from Germany. We run this race. You don’t know the Australian song? That’s ok. 

Another runner comes up to me. A woman this time.

“Would you swap your shirt?” 

Twelve pairs of runners’ eyes are on me. Everyone is trying to catch their breath. I am holding mine. First the anthem, now my shirt? What kind of run is this? 

Before I know it, I’m taking off my t-shirt and handing it to the German. Stripping in a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of Sydney. Welcome to Australia! The runner hands me her sweaty top. A high-quality running shirt for a cheap t-shirt from the Gap. A good deal for me.

“Can I have your number?” the first guy interrupts our intimate moment of undressing and dressing in public.

My number? Was it because I had taken off my shirt without hesitating?

“Your number. We need to get someone’s number.”

Anthem. Shirt. Number. And it’s not even eight in the morning yet!

Before we know it, the pack of panting pacers is gone. Taking my shirt, and my number, leaving with nothing but a smile on my face. This is going to be a good day. My first day in my new home.

A little white granny flat in someone’s backyard. On a quiet street in Newport, one street over from the beach. It is unfurnished, and so I spent the rest of the day assembling Ikea furniture, shopping for everything from a toilet brush to kitchen towels. It has a washing machine and a built-in dishwasher, though no fridge – clean over cool. And so I will spend the weekend collecting furniture and appliances. People have been very generous with me, lending me a bed, a fridge, a microwave, a table, a chair … 

The evening is spent with my friend and a glass of warm bubbly out of new Ikea glasses on my new wooden verandah, sitting on new Ikea chairs. Pink cotton-candy clouds from the setting sun in the evening sky, a bird having a nightcup from the red day lily flowers, a bandicoot rustling in the leaves of the ferny hedge. We remember a poem that fits the moment perfectly:

Barely the day started and… it’s already six in the evening.

Barely arrived on Monday and it’s already Friday.

… and the month is already over.

… and the year is almost over.

… and already 40, 50 or 60 years of our lives have passed.

… and we realize that we lost our parents, friends.

and we realize it’s too late to go back…

So… Let’s try, despite everything, to enjoy the remaining time…

Let’s keep looking for activities that we like…

Let’s put some color in our grey…

Let’s smile at the little things in life that put balm in our hearts.

And despite everything, we must continue to enjoy with serenity this time we have left. Let’s try to eliminate the afters…

I’m doing it after…

I’ll say after…

I’ll think about it after…

We leave everything for later like ′′ after ′′ is ours.

Because what we don’t understand is that:

Afterwards, the coffee gets cold…

afterwards, priorities change…

Afterwards, the charm is broken…

afterwards, health passes…

Afterwards, the kids grow up…

Afterwards parents get old…

Afterwards, promises are forgotten…

afterwards, the day becomes the night…

afterwards life ends…

And then it’s often too late….

So… Let’s leave nothing for later…

Because still waiting see you later, we can lose the best moments,

the best experiences,

best friends,

the best family…

The day is today… The moment is now…

Home again. The next morning, at 4:45 sharp, I can hear him in the distance: my friend the kookaburra! I wouldn’t say I missed him, but it sure is good to hear his laughter again! In the distance, I hear a rumbling noise, almost like the faint sounds of a motorway. It takes me a few moments to realize – it’s the ocean I hear. The crashing and rolling of the waves endlessly beating the shore. I listen to the parakeets screeching, and the minor birds singing. The kookaburra must have turned around and gone back to sleep. I leave my mattress on the floor (no bed frame, yet), throw on yesterday’s clothes, neatly folded on a pile next to it  (no chair, yet, either) and go to the beach. The same beach, but on the other end. A new green bench. 

The sand is still moist and cold from last night’s dew. The pale light of the morning sun trying to escape the clouds in the sky. It is the third candle Sunday, and I don’t feel Christmassy at all. But happy nonetheless. I feel at home. Like I have finally arrived. In one more week, I will leave to return to my other home – Canada! And I can’t wait to see my family and friends. And in another week’s time, I will be taking all my boys to Germany, my home from home from home. I am a pretty lucky lady to call three places in three different countries on three different continents my home. 

It’s two weeks until Christmas and the days are busy: report cards, end-of-year cleanup, moving classrooms, meetings, Christmas parties, dinners and drinks. Haven’t had time to read a book in ages, though I managed to finish a tiny Christmas novella we read for book club. “Always, Christmas brought out the best and worst in people,” it read. And I agree. People are stressed and on edge, and tense. Having to write an eleven-paged report card when you should be strolling along Christmas markets, drinking punch, and buying useless Christmas gifts for your loved ones doesn’t help. But then there are the small, little things that make it a special time. Christmas-green margaritas with a friend, secret Santa gifts and one final excursion with my class. The prospect of a long summer, err winter break. And my little white house. 

“Why are the things that are closest so often the hardest to see?” my book club book asks. And I make a point to take an extra moment on my new wooden verandah to take it all in. Home again.

Cheers!

“The determination to know a particular place, in my experience, is consistently rewarded. And every natural place, to my mind, is open to being known. And somewhere in this process, a person begins to sense that they themselves are becoming known, so that when they are absent from that place they know that place misses them. And this reciprocity, to know and be known, reinforces a sense that one is necessary in the world.”

Barry Lopez. Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World. 2022

“Frau Koehl, why are we always going on an excursion?”

A student in my Year 2 class, sitting in the circle with the rest of the class, was asking just before we were about to line for … well, yes, yet another excursion. Carrying a backpack almost the size of her and a hat on her head (no hat, no play!) – she was ready to go. 

Good question. 

“Well, … because I believe that it is important to learn in different ways?!” 

Good teacher answer! After all, I had just finished an Additional Basic Qualification Course in Indigenous Studies. I felt up-to-date with the best teaching strategies: Making differentiated and real-world connections. And what better way to see the real world than to go on a field trip?

“Because I want to explore!” would have been the honest answer. I wanted to see as much as possible of the place I was living in for the next two years, and, I admit it, I was using my students as an excuse. However, they didn’t seem to mind.

“I like going on excursions – it’s way more fun!” one student shouted.

“And we learn stuff!” Another added.

“Can we go shopping?” Some students will never learn.

It was Friday morning, and we were ready to go on the final excursion of the year: The Australian Museum. A museum, you guessed it, where we would find anything Australian. Hence, the name. Everything from stuffed kangaroos to all the deadly things this continent had to offer. Our focus was going to be on First Nations Collection Garrigarrang. Garrigarrang Nura  – meaning Sea Water in the language of the Eora People, who have lived in the Sydney basin for thousands of years.

“Garrigarrang explores the rich cultures and spiritual traditions of the Salt Water People who call sea country home. Learn how they managed to live sustainably and harmoniously for tens of thousands of years. Hear their stories of first contact with Europeans and their ongoing struggle to preserve their living cultural identity.”

https://australian.museum/exhibition/garrigarrang-sea-country/

So the museum website promised. 

“The determination to know a particular place, in my experience, is consistently rewarded. And every natural place, to my mind, is open to being known. And somewhere in this process, a person begins to sense that they themselves are becoming known, so that when they are absent from that place they know that place misses them. And this reciprocity, to know and be known, reinforces a sense that one is necessary in the world.”

Perfect for us because we wanted to explore. We had been learning about explorers – Aboriginal and European explorers – and what had started with an excursion to the Barrenjoey Lighthouse was about to be finished with our field trip to this First Nations exhibit. The students would see firsthand the bark canoes the Eora People had used, the clothes they had worn, the weapons they had used to defend themselves, and the art they had created long before any European stepped ashore in their country.

I admit that I had a hidden agenda. First, I had never been to the museum. Second, I was currently learning about the Indigenous Peoples in Canada in an online course and was curious to make the connection to First Nations people here in Australia. And thirdly, I loved exploring. My neighbourhood, this city, this country, this continent. 

And so, I was going to take my students on as many excursions as possible before someone told me to stop. The Sydney Harbour Bridge, the German Lutheran Church Sydney, the Barrenjoey Lighthouse in Palm Beach, and now the Australian Museum. Not to forget my twice-weekly mini-excursions to local parks and on bush walks with my Out and About afternoon activity groups: the Wildflower Garden, the St Ive’s Rope Park, the beach, and oh, all the playgrounds we could go! Rocket Park, Flying Fox… the crazier the name, the better!

So here we were, ready for another adventure. The school bus was going to take us downtown to the Australian Museum, where we would learn about the real explorers of Australia –  the Aboriginals. Museums are tricky with 24 eight-year-olds. They are still tricky, even for me. Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things to see,  do and touch, one tends to start running from one display to the next, unable to take anything in. 

“Can we go shopping at the gift shop?” At least this student knew what she wanted to see and do.

And so, I created a little drawing activity for my students where they were to find objects in the Garrigarrang Exhibit and draw them: a tool, clothes, a piece of art, or their favourite thing. Completing their little assignment slowed them down, at least for a bit. And to me, there is no better teacher moment than seeing my students lie on the floor in a huge museum, entirely absorbed by what is right in front of them, oblivious to anything around them. Even the call for shopping ceased for a moment or two.

“Perhaps the first rule of everything we endeavour to do is to pay attention. Perhaps the second is to be patient. And perhaps a third is to be attentive to what the body knows.”

Barry Lopez

My explorations have been more local lately. I moved out of my boss’s home and into one Airbnb (very nice but not right at the beach – I’ve become spoiled!) and then to another Airbnb (not so nice but close to the beach). I love wandering the streets, exploring the different neighbourhoods with palm tree-lined streets, their little cafés, and the small shops (Can we go shopping-girl would be happy!). The flowers, benches, and little things. I have ventured into the City regularly and have explored different neighbourhoods. And though I am nowhere near to being familiar with this place, I am getting better at knowing my way around. I feel myself slowly (very slowly!) turning from a tourist into a local-ish person. Exploring helps me feel that I belong and fight the loneliness lurking in the dark hours. Sunshine or not.

“The effort to know a place deeply is, ultimately, an expression  of the human desire to belong, to fit in somewhere.”

Barry Lopez

We had a great day at the museum, learning about this place called Australia. We studied the First Nations, touched corral from the Great Barrier Reef, played with magical sand, ran from one display to the next, and slowed down making origami animals. We had lunch in Hyde Park and saw the statue of Captain Cook, who was not the first to discover Australia! And at the end of the day, we went back home on the school bus, tired and happy and feeling a bit more connected. 

When we drove past a huge shopping mall, I heard the familiar voice call: Can we go shopping? Some students still had some exploring of their to-do. And so do I.

Cheers!

I’m broke, but I’m happy
I’m poor, but I’m kind
I’m short, but I’m healthy, yeah
I’m high, but I’m grounded
I’m sane, but I’m overwhelmed
I’m lost, but I’m hopeful, baby

And what it all comes down to
Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a high five

Alanis Morisette. Hand in my pockets

12 dollars 40. That’s all I got. $12.40 – that’s what my online banking app shows, and reloading it several times a day doesn’t change the fact: I am broke! Broke but happy!

Happy. Happy birthday! Birthday day, birthday week, birthday month. The celebrations never end and come to think of it, that’s probably where all my money went. 

My happy day started with finding my very own place, my happy place. My new little blue house – only that this one is white. A granny flat, as they call it here in Downunder –  though I find the thought of poor old granny being banished to the garden shed a bit cruel!

But it’s perfect! Unfortunately, it is also not quite cheap, and a deposit had to be made two days later – two months’ rent in advance plus the bond of four times the rent. In case granny throws a party and trashes the place. I understand! And you wonder why I’m broke.

Next came an overnight trip to the beautiful Hunter Valley.

Picture Niagara Wine Region in Australia. Just with palm trees. And kangaroos. I had booked “a Bohemian and rustic cabin” in Broke, two hours northwest of Sydney. I’m not sure what Bohemian means, but it sure was rustic! And kind of broken, too – just like me. But it was cute and charming and the perfect place to celebrate my birthday. Broke in Broke! The five-course meal in an award-winning restaurant was only peanuts. Or Roasted Pine Nuts on a Bed of Garden Beetroot, rather. It was delicious!

Delicious was also the Mexican meal in a new restaurant with my girlfriends the night after! Frozen Lychee Margaritas and Loaded Nacho Chips – surely worth breaking the bank for!

Next, I moved to an Airbnb. Payed for my flight ticket home. Saturday morning papers. Large Cappuccinos with an extra shot. Organic apples at the local farmer’s market. A belated birthday bash lunch with my colleagues in a fancy restaurant. I know where my money went. I know why I’m broke. But I also know why I am happy.

One of my birthday cards read the following quote: Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions. (Dalai Lama)

While I hope not to be broke every month, I cherish and appreciate all the little and big things, the expensive ones and those that come for free. A meal with my friends, a weekend in a bohemian shed, a glass of good wine, and a beautiful place to call home soon … these are the things that make me happy. They are the actions I take to achieve happiness. And I’d do them again and again. Even if it leaves me without a cent!

I am broke. Broke but happy!

And guess what – tomorrow is payday! And I can’t wait to spend it all again.

Cheers!

‘Cause you make me feel like

I’ve been locked out of heaven

For too long, for too long

Yeah, you make me feel like

I’ve been locked out of heaven

For too long, for too long, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Bruno Mars. Locked out of heaven.

Bruno Mars is in town. And so is George Ezra. Macklemore, Elton John, Sting, and Ed Sheeran are lined up to play soon, and it seems safe to say: Sydney is ready again to party! After two years of lockdowns and pandemic restrictions, rain and more rain, the city seems to be bursting with energy and more people than I have seen since my return. Which is not hard since I was literally locked up here in heaven!

Sunday morning. Easy. 

Birds chirping (gross understatement. These birds are tearing the morning apart with the ruckus they are causing right in front of my bedroom window). 

Sun rising (at least I think she is rising. Another day of grey cloud-covered skies and a light drizzle). 

Getting a coffee and walking to the beach – my Sunday morning routine. My weekend heaven. Except for this time, I was locked out of heaven – literally! 

Rain jacket, money, keys… I unlocked my apartment door from the inside, but the door won’t open. I try turning the key – first gently and then with growing impatience. Try pulling the door, lifting the door, and pushing the door. The deadbolt won’t budge. I am officially locked inside my place. Which is not heaven or paradise – at least not at that moment.

I try a knife; I consider climbing down from the balcony only to quickly discard that option, looking down from the second floor I am at. It is early in the morning, and the building is still asleep (which I find surprising – doesn’t anyone else hear the birds? Maybe you tune them out after some time?). I text a friend – still asleep. I text my colleague, who owns the place and is currently in Austria, having a beer with his brothers. “Try again when you’re sober!” they advise jokingly, forgetting about the time difference. I am left to my own devices.

And so I call a locksmith – of course, it is Sunday morning, and the number I call is not very happy to talk to me. But he has a heart, and a couple of hours later, I hear his voice below my balcony.

 “Hey! Lady! Throw the key!” he bellows. I comply, and soon after that, I hear keys rattling at my door from the outside, mixed with a generous dose of Aussie swear words I hadn’t heard. The language barrier adds another level of difficulty to the already problematic situation.

“Lady! You got a Philips?” muffled, yelling through my apartment door.

“Sorry, a what?” 

“Ah, for fuck’s suck – a Phillips! A crosshead!”

Still not sure what the man behind the door, whom I have never met but who’s yelling and cursing at me, is referring to, I am going to take a brave guess.

“ A screwdriver?”

“ Yes, for Christ’s sake. You got one?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so?” (After all, this is not my apartment, and I wonder what the voice behind the other door makes of me. But then, what intruder tries to get out of a place.)

“Jesuuuuuuus!.. A string?”

“Excuse me?”

“A string!”

No string either. No string for the G. (no g-banga, no fart slicer… Gosh, the Aussie slang can be so much fun).

This was getting a bit awkward. By the time I had cut the string off my sun hat, I hear my neighbour’s voice. Never met him before either – now I had two strangers talking in front of my locked door. No idea what they were saying, as this was muffled Aussie slang now, and I was clearly not part of the convo any longer. Finally, I hear my neighbour’s voice coming from the balcony, calling me to hand me a screwdriver. Hi, nice to meet you, neighbour. There was no time for pleasantries.

Long story short, after much screwing and unscrewing, rattling, pushing and more Aussie swearing, I was free! Time to meet my saviour – drenched in sweat from the humidity and a job well done. For a moment, I consider throwing my arms around him out of sheer gratitude, but I quickly change my mind. Several thank-yous and a cheque for 385 Aussie dollars would have to do. Maybe a bottle of wine for my mystery neighbour later. But for now, I was going to enjoy my new-found freedom!

With 100% pure sunshine in the forecast, I decided to enjoy that new-found freedom to the fullest and planned a few trips for the following weekend: an excursion to Palm Beach lighthouse with my class. We are exploring explorers, after all, and this was a good excuse to get out of the classroom and into the sunshine and take them on a little hike to Barrenjoey Lighthouse. Twenty-three kids marching one by one (except for a few who always stray) along the beach, up the smuggler’s staircase, to the foot of the lighthouse. Wind blowing, sun shining, the ocean glistening around us, watching them sketch the sandstone structure in their little notebooks…this is why I am a teacher – for days like these.

Right after school, I wheeled my carry-on to the bus stop to take the bus to Bondi Beach. The annual outdoor art exhibit Sculptures by the Sea was on, and I was looking forward to spending the night at Bondi and enjoying the walk along the art pieces the following day. Heaven. Except that thousands of others had the same brilliant idea. The iconic exhibit, which transforms the coastline from Bondi to Bronte Beach into a two-kilometre sculpture park and features 100 sculptures, has an estimated 220,000 visitors each year. And so it was my turn to march along beautiful and intriguing pieces of art one by one. Deep blue skies, endless sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. Hurrah! Hurrah!

And to finish off a perfectly perfect week in a perfect way, I bought tickets to George Ezra, a UK singer unknown to me until my son recommended his music. Feeling empowered by my newfound freedom, I took a bus from my sleepy hometown of Newport to the big city. I have been to the city many times before, but this was crazy! Dirndl-clad girls and fake Lederhosen-wearing guys were stumbling to the Oktoberfest. People dressed up in scary costumes made their way to Halloween parties. Or the porn expo that was going on as well? Looking at some outfits, I wasn’t sure. 

And George Ezra fans, young and old, lining up at the concert venue at Darling Harbour. People were ready to party! The place was bursting with people and with energy, and it felt like everyone had been locked out for a while. People were singing and dancing and laughing and screaming. It was a heavenly madhouse. I just sat on a bench for a while and enjoyed the energetic and crazy atmosphere. This surely was paradise, and we all seemed to have been locked out for too long!

Cheers!

I hear the train a comin’

It’s rolling round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin’ on

But that train keeps a rollin’ on down to San Antone

…

Well if they freed me from this prison

If that railroad train was mine

I bet I’d move it on a little farther down the line

Far from Folsom prison, that’s where I want to stay

And I’d let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away

Johnny Cash. Folsome Blues

I had a foursome! For the first time in my life! And, guess what –  I loved it! One woman and two guys –  same age, same interests, same values in life. Loved the nervous anticipation, the fun we had during our time together, and the high that stayed with me after we were done. This is to Ash, Eddie, and Dani, my Foursome Blue.

It started back in July while I was waiting for my visa to go to Sydney. Following the Sydney news, I saw an article on Foura – a matchmaking service to help people find mates. Not dates! The concept sounded interesting to me – you fill in your details, answer some questions about your interests and values, and Foura sets you up with three strangers for a night out at a bar – or weekend brunch. No swiping, no endless texting back and forth – you sign up, get matched and meet up.

Once I had arrived in Sydney, I contacted the founder of Foura – Tam – and signed up.

First came the easy questions: name, age, and gender. Are you comfortable with a mixed group? Yes.

Then it got interesting… What do you enjoy doing around Sydney? 

What did I enjoy doing here in Sydney? Sitting on my bench. Watching the sunrise. Drinking coffee. Reading the paper. Reading anything. Running. Writing. I noticed that my interests weren’t very social lately. From a list of fifteen activities, I finally chose: eating, drinking, and wandering around. Option #15 None of the above, made me wonder how you would get matched choosing that. Was there a Foursome for all the “none of the aboves”? Maybe I’ll give it a try one day.

Next came, Which activities do you enjoy in your spare time?

Bench. Book. Beach. Again. Not an option, though. So I picked “Investing in personal development or learning a new skill.” It sounded much more sophisticated than “Binge-watching Netflix” and “Eating chips”. Though I really enjoy those, too!

Activity level – I run. Then followed a few pics you had to choose from – this was beginning to feel a bit like a psych assessment, but I was curious to see where “hiking in the bush” would put me. Wild? Adventurous? Lost?

Next came creative outlets? (writer – duh), other hobbies? what’s your tipple? (had to look that one up:  tipple (noun informal) alcoholic drink. Also, a verb: to drink AND to rain heavily, which seemed appropriate given our current state of nina-all-day rain in Sydney. 

Finally, the all-deciding question in the assessment: What three things are you most passionate about? After all this, I was back to reading, running, and writing. 

Common life experiences – check as many as you want.  Mmmm…. Parent. Have lived outside of Australia. Travelled around the world. Alone.

It was the “alone” part that got me interested in this matchmaking in the first place. Though I would consider myself an outgoing and social person, making friends as an adult isn’t easy. People at work have their families and friends, people in the neighbourhood have their own bubbles, and dating apps are exactly what they say they are – a dating app. Not a mating app, and that’s what I was looking for. Mates. Not dates.

Back to my questionnaire. The questions were getting more complex as I progressed. Which of these values are important to you? 

And this time I was only allowed to choose four!!! I have to admit, I was tempted to put down different values just for the fun of it: Looking attractive. Living a settled and stable life. Making lots of money. 

But for now, I decided to stick to the truth: Intelligence (don’t laugh,, lol!). Having a laugh (ok, go ahead!). Trying new experiences. Growing as a person. 

Ultimately, it was the last value that got me matched with my pod of people. 

What was I hoping to get out of Foura?

I guess I was hoping to meet new people, get out, and try something different. I am generally very curious and interested in meeting new people. And, yes, I admit it. I was tired of being alone, though it was by choice. 

The German author Daniel Schreiber wrote a whole book about being alone, and a lot of his thoughts and ideas resonated with me:

“Sometimes being alone hurts, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you have to break new ground and come to terms with it, or at least be open to the possibility of new paths. Sometimes you have to dare to venture out onto the lake and into the mountains, face the winter sun and hold on to all those friendly people who accompany you part of the way. To remember that there are different ways to be alone. Different kinds of loneliness.” 

And so I ventured and clicked submit.

During my first month here in Sydney, I got matched with three other like-minded strangers a few times, but every time I turned down the invitation. I was either sick, tired, or both. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready yet to meet a bunch of new people. 

Until I finally did it and accepted an invitation to Sunday Brunch with three people I had never met, that I knew nothing about, other than that we were of similar age and all interested in philosophical questions and trying new things.

The brunch was to be held at a café in Surry Hills. New to Sydney, I had to google it and discovered that it was over an hour and a half by public transport. But I had committed to it, so I was going to make the trip. Public transport is a bit unreliable here in Sydney, and I arrived way too early. Or maybe I just left home too early, restless and anxious to get there.

Each pod of four was given a colour to find the right table. Our colour was blue and next to me was a table with a white sign. Being the first one to arrive, I wondered what would happen if the other group was way more fun. Would anyone notice if I just switched tables?

But as soon as people started coming, these thoughts were quickly pushed aside. While the white group was a foursome of serious-looking women in their thirties (good thing I didn’t just put myself at that table), my group was a fun mix of different people. Ash from Ireland, Eddie from England, Dani from Australia and myself from… well, wherever it is I am from. Canada, Germany …. Home is where the heart is, they say, and currently, my heart was at brunch with a bunch of lovely strangers. 

What we had in common was wanting to try new things, so Dani talked about becoming a chef, Eddie showed us his beautiful art and Ash was just happy to be there. We talked, laughed, ate, and shared for over three hours (and stayed much longer than the boring white group!)

In the end, we exchanged numbers, and even created a Foursome Blue WhatsApp Group, and went our way. Ash went back to Bondi, Eddie and Dani back to East Sydney, and I started the track back to the Northern Beaches.

I don’t think the Foursome Blue will ever meet again. The WhatsApp group has been very quiet, and an attempt to get together was unsuccessful. Maybe we will get together again, maybe not. But that doesn’t really matter. What mattered was that we put ourselves out there and had a great time while it lasted. For a little while, we all held our faces in the winter sun and enjoyed each other’s company … until it started raining again. 

This is to you, my Foursome Blue. 

Cheers!

I’m so scared of getting older
I’m only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say my life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said, “Help me understand”
He said “Turn 68, oh, you’ll re-negotiate”

“Don’t stop this train
Don’t for a minute change the place you’re in
And don’t think I couldn’t ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly, we’ll never stop this train”

Oh, now, once in a while, when it’s good
It’ll feel like it should
And they’re all still around
And you’re still safe and sound
And you don’t miss a thing
‘Til you cry
When you’re driving away in the dark

Singing
Stop this train
I want to get off and go back home again
I can’t take the speed this thing moving in
I know I can’t
‘Cause now I see, I’m never gonna stop this train

Stop this train. John Mayor

A black bird is hard at work in the middle of the bush, hidden behind red gum trees and small grass palms. Scratching, collecting, and racking large amounts of plant debris and dirt into a huge leafy mound. What must have taken the animal weeks to build looks like not much more than a pile of dried leaves. When it is done, however, it will be an oven-like nesting mound with a built-in temperature controller to keep the inside at a perfect 33 degrees. 

May I introduce to you – the Australian brush turkey. Or bush turkey. Also called scrub turkey or Gweela bird. And despite its name, it is not related to the North American turkey. Covered in black feathers, a flat tail, and a bare red head, this bird is quite frankly not very attractive. Hanging from its neck, a bright yellow throat wattle tells us it is a male brush turkey. The female is nowhere to be seen. No wonder she has a reputation as Australia’s worst mom. Right up there with the cute little quokka, who throws its babies at the predators in order to escape. 

When the brush turkey male has finished building the perfect incubator mound, a female will show up to lay her egg inside before she leaves to look for the next perfect male with a mound. And another. And another. And another. In the end, up to 24 eggs from various mothers and fathers will end up in the carefully constructed pile of leaves. And for the next 50 days, the brush turkey father’s job is to control the temperature inside the nest by adding or removing layers of leaves and keeping away any predators. 

Once the brush turkey chick hatches, it is on its own. After two days of scrambling vertically through a metre of dirt and compost to reach the surface, it’ll have to fend for itself. Its parents have little to do with its chicks, and it has to grow up without any adults to protect it or show it the ropes. Like young sea turtles or crocodiles, there is absolutely no parental care. 

For the last ten days, I had my oldest son visit me from Canada, and while you may call me a brush turkey when it comes to parenting, I must have been the proudest and happiest mom in the local bush. I showed him my hood in Newport (which he called a “nice retirement community with a beach”) and took him to Manly Beach for dinner (which he liked much better with its cosmopolitan buzz and relaxed vibe). We took the bus, the ferry, and the train to see the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, walked through Hyde Park and had coffee in Paddington. And finally, we made it to Bondi Beach.

Calvin had been at Bondi before – though he didn’t remember it. Exactly twenty-four years ago, we visited this iconic beach. Back then, I worked at the German-Swiss School in Hongkong, and we went to see friends in Sydney. Obviously, he doesn’t remember this trip, as he wasn’t even a year old then. He doesn’t remember playing at Milson’s Park, feeling the first snow on his face in the Blue Mountains, or sitting in the warm sand at Bondi Beach, getting knocked over by a wave. I remember him not being amused back then. Life isn’t easy, just like the brush turkey chick would say.

The hardest part about moving to Sydney to live and work here is leaving my children behind. There is a lot of guilt connected with it. I try to justify that they are all (almost) adults and have moved out. That their father is still there to look after them (just like the brush turkey man). That I can text and talk to them any time. That they can visit me, and I will be home for Christmas and summer breaks. Yet, the guilt remains. What kind of mother leaves their children to live her dream?

I have come to the point where I know that staying at home with my children would not have made me a good mom, just like going away doesn’t make me a bad one. It’s never black and white when it comes to parenting or love in general. There is a lot of grey area. Going back to Sydney and finishing my dream of living and working abroad will make me a happier person and, thus, a better mom. 

When I was travelling with my son, it was good to show him what I love so much about this beautiful country: the beaches and the ocean, the rainforest and reefs of the North. We snorkelled in crystal clear waters and drove along the windy roads of the Daintree Rainforest. We walked along the beach at night, scared of crocodiles. Had breakfast at the beach, lunch at Maccas, and dinner under the stars. 

Of course, we had some tense moments, too – mostly when I was driving (needless to say, I wasn’t driving for long, and he took over). But overall, we had a great time. A time to remember. Proud momma moments. It was great to show him the school I am working at. As a teacher, he appreciated the uniqueness of the place and the large variety of resources. And it was good to show him that it’s okay to have dreams and to follow them – even if it comes with a dose of guilt.

We heard the rainbow lorikeets and kookaburras screaming in the tree in front of my bedroom window early in the morning. Saw the bin chickens go through the rubbish in Sydney’s Botanical Garden. Watched the cockatoos forage for pine nuts at the beach. Saw warning signs of the dangerous Cassowary bird along the road and laughed about the ancient Demon Duck of Doom. And we said goodbye to the brush turkey following us to our car on the last day of our trip before Calvin had to return to Canada.

It is Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend, and I think that brush turkey is better off staying here in Australia – bad parent or not. Though he may not even be a real turkey and taste rather nasty, people may not know that back home.

I give thanks for having my son visit, spending time with him, and realizing that maybe I am not such a bad mom after all. 

And to Australia for providing us with the most bizarre and entertaining take on the “turkey.” Gobble, gobble! Or Oo-oo-oom!, as the Australian brush turkey would say.

Cheers!

We lean, we learn, we earn, we turn, we burn
We lean, we learn, we earn, we turn, we burn
Then start again
Cause we’re delighted
We go again
Cause we’re delighted

The consequences are yours
The frequencies are yours
The possibilities are yours
Cause the vision is yours

Benjamin Clementine. Delighted

In the thick of the island’s tropical forest, a small wooden bench is dabbled in the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. On it is a random assortment of seashells, dried seeds, and pieces of dead coral: an ever-changing outdoor collection, tropical style.

Giant clamshells, innocent white cup shells next to deadly cone shells. After lying out in the sun for a while, there is no longer any danger of the cone snail shooting its venomous harpoon and instantly killing us. 

Drift seeds and nicker nuts, brown and shiny. Among them is the infamous Mucuna bean – or Burny bean. When rubbed hard and fast on a rock, it gets very hot and can burn someone’s leg or arm. A fellow tourist shows use the burn mark on her thigh where a friend showed her “the burning effect” of this seed. We tell her to find new friends!

And finally, a breathtaking variety of dead coral: beehive coral, brain coral, star coral, and tree coral. Broken into pieces and bleached by the water and the sun, they look like the fossilized version of their colourful counterparts in the water. Each one is unique in its shape and size.

A bench of beautiful things, the tour guide calls it—a place where anyone can leave anything they found on the island. No one will take anything from it, as the island has a strict “no taking” policy. As part of the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park, removing any species, including dead shells or coral, is strictly prohibited. Hefty fines apply, if not a jail term, for repeat offenders. “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” Though, I would have killed for a tiny piece of dead coral (pun intended). 

The Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, Australia – we have officially arrived in paradise! What was once nothing more than the topic of my son’s speech in Grade 6 suddenly became a reality. After a couple of fun but rather rainy days in Sydney, we soak up everything this place has to offer: the sun, the heat, the endless white beaches and the crystal clear ocean. The perfect place to dry our Sydney-swamp-feet!

We see little orange Nemo fish hiding in purple anemones and hear coral rubble clinking below our feet as we walk along the deserted beach of Normanby Island. We smell the earthy scent of the rainforest and feel the sun burning on our skin (it could just be my sunburn). We hear the sounds of the ocean waves in front of our bedroom windows when we fall asleep at night and wake up the following day. This is paradise!

As I sit here on the small porch of our beachside villa, the beach and ocean in front of my eyes, the sound of the ceiling fan whirling incessantly above my head, drowned out by the waves crashing ashore, I think that this is a writer’s paradise. And hell. So many things to see and hear and do: walk along the endless beach, go for a swim, wrestle a crocodile…it’s hard not to get distracted. 

At the same time, there is so much to write about that I don’t even know where to start. The crazy colours of the delicious fruits I had for breakfast? The drive along the windy coastal road for every sight of rainforest meets ocean requires a double-take (this can’t be real). Luckily, my son agreed to drive the monster of Chinese Wall Motors SUV, so I could enjoy the view. Or the fact that I swam in the ocean for the first time here in Australia, and I did not get eaten by a shark? Only charmed by a tiny orange fish, looking for his friend Dorie (who must have forgotten the way to the Reef).

Instead, I start my own imaginary bench of beautiful things – things I’m grateful for. And on it, I place the time I get to spend with my son here in Australia. This journey we finally get to make after having waited for over two years (thanks to the pandemic). And a bracelet of red beans I bought at the Palm Cove street market today, which will remind me of my wonderful time here. Until I visit again!

I am delighted!