Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide

So we’ve been told, and some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong, wait and see
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

Rainbow Connection. The Muppets

Sydney is painted in rainbows.

Host to the 2023 World Pride, the city is being transformed into a Rainbow City and the famous colours can be seen everywhere. The Sydney Opera House lit up with the Progress Pride Flag. A Rainbow Sculpture at Manly Beach, the Queen Nyani Gorilla at the Taronga Zoo draped in a giant rainbow cape flowing down his back. Streets and public places painted with the iconic symbol of hope and love.

2023 is a massive year for the Australian queer community and its allies. Marks year the 50th anniversary of Gay Pride Week in Australia, as well as the 45th anniversary of the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. It is the reason why all through the city, 45 free public artworks celebrating Pride can be found. And it’s an important year for Sydney, as it is the first city in the Southern Hemisphere tohost the event. So after two years of pandemicsand restrictions,thecity is ready to celebrate love!

Even in our small Newport in the Northern Beaches, the rainbow flag can be spotted: on storefronts, supermarket displays, and public buses… everyone is getting on the bandwagon, or should I say the parade float. Some for more honest reasons than others. Even the rain and the sun are playing along, forming a multicoloured arc in the sky. No matter where, how, or why. A rainbow stands for hope and love, and what can be better than that?

A big week for the city, a busy week for me. Parent meetings, class excursions, doctor’s appointments (I get to that later), pedicure sessions… By the time Saturday morning finally comes around, I am glad to be sitting at my favourite spot at Newport Beach, watching the sunrise and reflecting on the past week. Or weeks, I should say.

I have not written anything in a while (not sure anyone noticed, but I certainly did). Part inertia, part feeling uninspired and a bit frustrated with my writing. I was waiting for that rainbow to appear to inspire me.

And it did – that early Saturday morning, sitting in the slightly damp sand at the beach in the semi-dark, watching the sunrise before the sun rises – it came to me.

I watched the black night sky above the ocean, speckled only by a few tiny stars, slowly turn into a deep violet colour. Violet turned into indigo, and indigo turned into blue. Long before the sun even made an appearance, the colours of the rainbow were dancing in the sky in front of me. Yellow was next, orange, and finally – when the sun appeared above the ocean line, stretching its rays out to light up another beautiful day – a deep dark red.

And so I started to think about the different colours of the rainbow in my everyday life here in Downunder. Started to look at the past few weeks through my own personal kaleidoscope.

VIOLET. The violet of the gorgeous morning sky in front of my eyes. Deep and dark and rich. The violet of the Tibouchina flowers growing in the front of my granny flat, announcing the arrival of fall. Violet, the colour of the Sydney Olympic Stadium, where Ed Sheeran performed in front of 85,000 fans.

INDIGO. A bit of a sad story this week. Next to the gigantic wooden Mary statue I inherited from my mother, a beautiful engagement ring is the only thing that I have left to remember my mother by. I have worn the ring since her death 13 years ago. A simple golden band, with a deep indigo blue Lapis Lazuli stone in the middle of it, is one of the few pieces of jewellery I always wear.

Until I lost it last week in a pub. Not the whole ring, but the blue stone in the middle. The ring was still on my finger, the empty frame silently reminding me of what I had lost. Now and then. Part of me was devastated, as it felt like I had not looked after my mother’s memory well enough. The other part was wondering if this was a sign to let go of the past and to move on. If the ring had done its job?

In the end, the sentimental part won, and I brought the empty ring to a jeweller to have the stone replaced with a new one.

“Is it worth it?” I asked, wondering how much this would cost.

“It’s sentimental”, he said, “so it’s always worth it!”

Maybe he was just a good sales person, but I agreed and left the ring sand rock in his professional hands.

BLUE. I have never seen anything so blue as the sunny sky down here in Australia. We had a few heavy downpours in the last couple of weeks, with wet carpets in the classroom and little rivers running in front of my classroom door. When it rains in Sydney, it pours!

The moment the clouds start breaking up, shifting apart, and revealing the azure blue sky behind it, however, never fails to make me smile. The sky in Australia does look bluer than in the rest of the world, and I even googled why that is. The high density of Eucalyptus trees? The clean air? The reflection of the ocean (or was it the other way around?)? Many reasons can be found on the internet. I think it’s that rainbow magic doing its trick again.

GREEN. Watching the sunrise, I thought to myself: Green will be hard. There’s no green in a sunrise. But as I reflected on the past days and weeks, I realized there had been quite a few “green” moments in the last little while: the greenery surrounding me while I am writing this article.

The new green Swiffer that does a magical job at cleaning the wooden floors in my granny flat.

The shirt of the man sitting next to us at the Surf Club (who may have been insulted or confused – or both – when I asked him if he could turn around, so I could take a photo of his back).

The green Hot Mama Pickle in a Pouch found at Newport’s newest store, the American Candy Store (just what Newport needed)!

There was hope!

YELLOW. The song by Coldplay comes to mind.

“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you. And everything you do.”

The stars and the moon and yellow school hats bopping through the zoo. Each one shining its own little light and brightening up my days and nights.

ORANGE.

Knock. Knock.

Who’s there?

Orange.

Orange who?

Orange you glad I said orange?

Old joke. A new colour is on the horizon. The sun is slowly working its way up the sky, suppressed by the dense cloud cover in the morning sky.

On the weekend, I try to go for a long run around the lagoon. I have a half-marathon coming up in six weeks and for some reason, my times are not improving. Could be the lack of training. Or the fact that I stop every five minutes to take a picture of the sun painting the night sky a deep, rich orange. The other day, I received a notification from Google photos that my storage was almost full. I am sure that half of these photos are pictures of sunrises. Say what you want, Google! I keep taking pictures of the morning sky burning bright with a fiery light.

The 12 Days in Victoria

On the twelve days in Victoria, I got to see 

Twelve thousand bush flies a-nnoying

Eleven cows a-grazing

Ten sheep baa-baa-ing

Nine bloody galahs a-screaming

Eight koalas a-hiding

Seven parrots kweek-kweeking

Six kookaburras a-laughing

Five blue fairy-wrens (Five blue fairy-wrens)

Four wallabies

Three alpacas

Two kangaroos

And a fine tasting Rare Hare at the winery 

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Getting lost in cute animal reels? Spooning Nutella straight out of the jar? That song by Celine Dion that makes you sing at the top of your lungs?

Ok, all these are my guilty pleasures, but I am sure we all have something that we enjoy despite feeling and knowing that it is not generally held in high regard.

My greatest guilty pleasure is reality shows. Surviving. Cooking. Baking. Brunching. You name it – I have watched them all! And the guiltiest of all guilty pleasures: reality dating shows – reality romance without much reality to them. Indian Matchmaking, The Ultimatum, Love is Blind. I love them all and binge-watch them whenever I can. But I have to admit –  it affects my life! My language. For a while, I kept calling all my girlfriends “baby girls” because that’s what they say in Love is Blind all the time. I also learned important things from that show – for example, guess what, that love is NOT blind! Shocker! Should have asked the Face Reader from Indian Matchmaking. Now that’s real science if you ask me! Also, my dream job!

This year’s summer addiction was The Circle – Singles. Two seasons of the cringy popularity contest waged online through selfies, two-sentence bios, group chats and private DMs by competitors isolated in their own apartment units were not enough. The third season was meant exclusively for singles – or those pretending to be.

Take Marvin, for example. Marvin really wants to win the 100.000 Dollars but is afraid that he might get distracted by one of the female singles on the show. Or two. Or all of them. Marvin quickly falls in love with the blue-haired Raven because he feels “they have a real connection” and calls her “my queen.” Which, I learned, is the ultimate compliment for a woman these days and equivalent to telling someone you love her. Until Tamira joins the show. Marvin also calls her his queen. Needless to say, neither queen is too happy when they find out. They want the questionable title to themselves. 

But who says you can’t have two queens  – or more? Works in chess, works in tarot –  sure works when travelling Australia. 

In the last twelve days, we visited both Sydney and Melbourne, New South Wales and Victoria State. We often got asked which one we liked better. And I decided that instead of constantly comparing the two, making lists of pros and cons, I will just love them both and call them both my queen! Just like Marvin did – but without the repercussions!

We loved the beautiful beaches of Sydney. Loved the Iceberg rock pool at Bondi, the crystal clear waters of the ocean, the winding coastal walk to Tamarama Beach. Loved the surf and the sun, but not the sharks. Loved Bondi Beach in the rain when it’s deserted, and the seagulls were the only ones with whom you have to share this endless iconic beach. Loved fine-dining with a view and the art at the new wing of the Art Gallery of NSW. We loved the hazy Blue Mountains and grassy Southern Tablelands. My queen. 

And then there is Victoria – the other queen. The real Queen. The state was named after Queen Victoria of England in 1851 when Victoria separated from New South Wales to form a separate colony – founded on questionable treaties that took away the land from the Aboriginal people in exchange for food and trinkets. 

Victoria State has matured over two hundred years. The second-smallest state in Australia, Melbourne is close-to- second to Sydney, with almost 5 million people living in the city. Victoria is the most densely populated state, with 6.6 million people in the entire state. Also, a culturally diverse state, with 35% of all inhabitants being immigrants.

Both cities, Sydney and Melbourne, offer a unique Australian flavour, and the states they are located in are beautiful. And they definitely both deserve to be called Queen!

We enjoyed the sensational fine food and wine, the cafés, restaurants and bars of Melbourne. We were impressed by the seemingly never-ending nightlife in the city, especially when sharing one tram with all of Melbourne’s partygoers. We immersed ourselves in the Australian Opens with everything the event had to offer – the sport, the merchandise, and even the sausage, which, by the way, is called sausage on bread in Victoria and not sausage sandwich like in NSW. 

Yes, just when I thought I had some Aussie terms down, this state springs a new set of words on me. A bubbler is a drinking fountain (makes sense to me), swimmers are bathers (as in swimsuit), an ice block is an icy pole (aka a popsicle), and the nose bleed section we were sitting in at the tennis match suddenly turned into a blood nose section. I give up!

Victoria, my Queen  – that was the excitement of Melbourne, the beauty and the delicious wines of the Mornington Peninsula (which, I have to admit, reminded me a lot of Niagara-on-the-Lake, just with kangaroos!). Victoria is Philip Island with its rugged coast, lighthouses, and tiny penguins (though, sadly, the only penguin I saw was a dead one at the beach serving as lunch to a seagull). Victoria is the grassland of the Gippsland Region. Sitting on my deck of our Airbnb White House, overlooking the Australian Savannah, the wind playing with the field, the giant gum trees swaying along, I felt like Meryl Streep saying, “I once had a farm in Australia.” Maybe my sister had been right, and what we had seen on our train ride had been giraffes and not kangaroos.

Things I saw on our trip through Victoria: wallabies hopping through the bush, koalas hiding in the trees, a dead fox and a dead penguin, sheep and alpaca and lots and lots of cows. Dairy cows first arrived in Australia in 1788, when the First Fleet landed in New South Wales. Two bulls and seven cows made the long trip from England and escaped into the nearby bushland shortly after arriving. The nine animals survived, however; after six years, they’d become a herd of 61. 

Today, the region has a bit of a poop problem, as too many cattle produce too much manure! Which, in return, is the perfect breeding ground for the bush fly – which we saw, or better felt, thousands of! Bush flies are worse than snakes and spiders, and sharks combined! They go for your skin to get to your sweat and tears! 

As the local beetles are used to the dry poo of the marsupials, such as the wallabies, kangaroos, and koalas, they are useless in the battle against cow poo! Bring in the ex-pat dung beetle! Imported from abroad, these little fellas are supposed to help with the 500,000 tonnes of cow manure dropped on Australian pastures daily. Now, these brave beetles definitely deserve a title as well. Dukes of Dung? Or Prince of Poo? I digress.

Our journey culminated in a few days spent in Wilson’s Promontory. Wilson’s Promontory, also known as Yiruk and Wamoon in the Gunai and Boonwurrung languages, respectively, is a peninsula that forms the southernmost part of the Australian mainland, located in the state of Victoria. The promontory was first occupied by indigenous Koori people at least 6,500 years prior to European arrival. Its inhabitants subsisted on a seafood diet – no dung problem there. 

The Promontory, or the Prom as locals call it, is sandy beaches and rugged cliffs, bushland and mudflats. The white sands of Squeaky Beach that squeaks when you walk on it. The Prom is cockatoos and galahs, blue wrens and lorikeets. It is also campgrounds and snack bars, hamburgers and potato chips. It is the Australian flag hanging off a tent to celebrate Australia Day. 

As a visitor to this country, it is difficult to decide how to commemorate this national holiday best. Difficult to understand how you can have fireworks and parades to remember the invasion of a country and its people. 

While it seems wrong to bring up my queen in connection with this difficult day, I am going to use these words to express my adoration for the beauty of this country. Sydney, Melbourne, NSW, Victoria, Australia – my queen! 

As for Marvin from the TV show, having more than one queen didn’t work so well. The two queens got together and used their power to block Marvin. He got kicked off the show. Poor Marvin.

Hopefully, the same thing won’t happen to me, having all these queens.

Cheers!

Road trippin’ with my two favorite allies

Fully loaded we got snacks and supplies

It’s time to leave this town, it’s time to steal away

Let’s go get lost anywhere 

Let’s go get lost, let’s go get lost

Blue, you sit so pretty west of the one

Sparkles light with yellow icing, just a mirror for the sun

Just a mirror for the sun

Just a mirror for the sun

Road Trippin’. Red Hot Chili Peppers

“G’day, ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls! 

This is your buffet captain David, speaking. Welcome aboard the XPT train with service from Sydney to Melbourne. Our buffet crew has changed in Albury, and we are super stoked to serve you from here on all the way to the great big city of Melbourne. 

Come and check us out – and don’t forget to get food and drinks! Hot meals and fresh sandwiches, hot drinks and cold. We got coffee and tea, water and soda. We even got beer! So come and drop us a cheer! 

That’s it for now from your buffet captain David. Now sit back and relax and enjoy your ride! But don’t forget to come by to say hi!”

We are aboard the XPT train from Sydney to Melbourne. An 11-hour train ride that covers the over 950 km distance between the two largest cities in Australia. Left behind swimming in the rock pools of the Northern Beaches, body surfing at Bondi, and museums and fine dining in lofty spaces, to make our way to Melbourne.

Sydney Central Station early in the morning – three women, five pieces of luggage. And the holy balloon. We settled into our somewhat dated but very comfortable seats in the First Class saloon and started our journey through the scenic countryside of New South Wales and Victoria. With a slow but steady clackety-clack, we were making our way South, passing through grassland, farms and numerous little townships along the way: 

Kilometre 134 (1 hour and 42 minutes) – Moss Vale. A town in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, in the Wingecarribee Shire. Did someone say the Shire? Time for a second breakfast! A coffee in a tea bag? I go for a Coke and Australian Sea Salt Potato Chips.

Kilometre 168 (2 hours and 31 minutes)  – Goulburn. A small city in the Southern Tablelands of NSW and Australia’s first inland city, as proclaimed by Queen Victoria in 1863. I visit the saloon’s toilet for the first time. A compact little metal compartment that serves as a toilet and a shower at the same time. Fold down the toilet seat. Do your business. Flush. Fold it back up. Fold down the sink. Wash hands. Fold it back up. All the while, the shower head is looking over you and the plastic shower curtain whispers from the rhythmic movement of the train.

Kilometre 236 (3 hours and 47 minutes) – Yass Junction. Three hours southwest of Sydney, through the stunning scenery of the Southern Tablelands, is the picturesque town of Yass. The town’s name derives from the Aboriginal word for running water, yarrh. I don’t see the Yass Valley river, but I discover the water bubbler on board our train. I refill my bottle and return to my seat.

Kilometre 351 (5 hours and 47 minutes) – Junee. We are halfway between Sydney and Melbourne, and it is time for a hot meal from the buffet car! With a wide variety of meal options, we settle for a dry Spaghetti Bolognese and Chicken with Rice. Though clearly not very appealing to the eye, both meals taste surprisingly good. Or hours and hours of dried grassland swooshing by has numbed our senses. With no Wi-Fi or in-seat entertainment onboard this train, you begin to appreciate the little things. I read half a book. I look out of the window. I see two kangaroos. My sister says she saw a giraffe. She’s just jealous.

Kilometre 454 (6 hours and 13 minutes) Wagga Wagga. Another weird and wonderfully named Aussie town. The word Wagga Wagga comes from the Wiradjuri word waga, meaning a place to dance, a place of celebration. To commemorate the event, we order another round of tea bag-coffee and Mar bars for afternoon tea. We are crossing into Victoria State. The mood is celebratory. Only five more hours to go!

Kilometre 646 (7 hours 31 minutes) Albury. Located in the Indigo Valley at the state border to Victoria, this is where the NSW railway line and Victoria line first met in 1883. It used to be that all passengers had to change trains to continue their journey to Melbourne. Since 1962, the train’s passengers can rest in their comfortable blue seats and continue without switching trains. Since then, not much improvement has happened in the Australian railway system.

A high-speed train option to connect Sydney and Melbourne is being discussed regularly, but so far, with little success. In November 2022, the Federal Parliament of Australia passed the new High-Speed Rail Authority Bill 2022, marking the start of the establishment of the High-Speed Rail Authority and supporting and developing a high-speed rail network in Australia to connect major cities to significant regional locations. A high-speed rail network could allow passengers to travel between major cities and significant regional cities at speeds exceeding 250 km/h. 

Our train currently chugs along at a maximum of 160 km/h. Introducing a high-speed train that travels at 200 km/h would cut our travel time almost in half. And then there is the idea of using a bullet train. Travel time between Sydney and Melbourne across the proposed 900 km high-speed train line would be around 150 minutes. That would require an average speed of 360kph. The average speed of the Paris-Lyon TGV is 263kph. The Shanghai-Beijing service, the world’s fastest bullet train, averages 306kph.

But who wants that?  I wouldn’t be able to finish my book, see the horses and cows grazing on the pasture, and wouldn’t be able to go to the buffet cart to say hi to David and check out his hot and cool crew.

Kilometre 653 (9 hours 28 minutes) Seymour. A historic railway township located in the Southern end of the Goulburn Valley in the Shire of Mitchell, Victoria and 100 kilometres north of Melbourne. Seymour has a population of 6,569. And quite an impressive water tower. My sister wants to play Battleship. I pretend to be sleeping. Again.

Kilometre 866 (10 hours 50 minutes) Melbourne. After a day of dry grassland and lonely trees and cows hiding in the shade of the lonely trees, we slowly pull into the Southern Cross Central Train Station of Melbourne. With squealing wheels, we crawl beneath shiny high-rises and grey stone buildings. We are on our way to explore this beautiful city that we had last visited together in the final weeks before the lockdown in March 2020. We are here to explore the shopping in St Kilda, the beaches of Melbourne Harbour, the fine dining of the CBD and, of course, the excitement of the Australian Open. We are here to enjoy this beautiful city, and what better way to make an entrance than by slowly creeping into town by train? 

I have taken a few trains in my lifetime: from Germany to Greece, with a rucksack on my back and goats on my lap. Across the magical beauty of Canada in the winter. And I still dream of making the epic transcontinental crossing aboard the famous Indian Pacific from Sydney to Perth.

The XPT train may have no Wi-Fi or power. It may be dated and slow. It shows us a side of Australia that we would never have seen otherwise. 

And that kangaroo was not a giraffe! 

Cheers!

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!