We should be millionaires...

I'm not sure whether to blame it on the damp air from the wet season or the storm-related power surges, but both our washing machine and television blew up within two day of each other. Both had had a good run; we bought the machine from a friend who left town months ago, and the television was given to me by a presenter from work when I moved into my lady shack and I've watched it for nearly a year now perfectly.

Concerned by the mounting pile of wet, dirty washing and the thought of not being able to watch the daggy Christmas specials on television over the silly season, we priced new models. To our horror, both were around $600 each.

M happened to mention our plight to a mate, Smithy, who has been in Darwin for a long time, and possesses infinite wisdom in the field of new and secondhand. He suggested a bloke from Palmerston who refurbishes washing machines and dryers for a fraction of the cost, so we looked him up. The next day, they delivered a secondhand Simpson 5.5kg machine, in perfect working order for only $175! I felt very impressed and smug with our cleverness as I proceeded to wash seven loads of laundry.

Coming home from yoga on Saturday morning, M met me at the door saying he had a surprise. I walked in and saw a television, bought by M from a lawn sale around the corner for $50!

Hooray! We wash and watch again.

This time next week..

Looking down the barrel of Christmas (or 'the festive season' to be politically correct); it rolls towards me like a giant snowball (in Darwin?) picking up everything in its path, including me. I feel like my life has suddenly increased in pace significantly since December arrived, and my days are a frantic procession of jobs being ticked off, presents being bought, trips to the post office and dishes being washed. And now, suddenly, it arrives next week!

Just signed up to the library and checked out four books for four weeks. My summer reading list includes: 'Experience' by Martin Amis, 'Boy' Roald Dahl and 'On Writing' by Stephen King. Currently devouring 'Wuthering Heights', a birthday gift from M last year and a large heavy tome which I must rest on my knees in bed, such is its weight.

Treating myself to an early mark this afternoon and heading to a media screening for the new film, Bran Nue Dae with M and RM and AMMM from work.

Will miss the family on Christmas Day. But M and I have loads of fun planned including the tradition of champagne breakfast on the foreshore with mates and a big slap dash lunch, then siesta and walk on the beach. Arthur will get a fat ham bone to gnaw on, tied with a red bow.

Back

Back to work.

Back to the heat. And now the rain!

Back to my dog who has regrown his blonde mop and has put on kilos in our absence.

Back to see my articles in Resident, which was lovely, plus my feature in R4YL.

Three days in Sydney for marketing conference turned into 1.5 days at marketing conference and 1.5 days in Sheraton Darling Harbour spending time bent over toilet or lying in bed groaning. Darling Sarah traipsed over the bridge in her high heels armed with Buscopan. Ended up getting a big needle in my bottom from the hotel doctor.

All is better now though, thanks to returning to M in Darwin and chocolate ice cream under the fan.

And now its raining!

Acclimatising

Back to the steamy Top End with a case of jet lag and a sense of new beginnings. Have spent the last few days resting, reading, washing, and cleaning the house and yard from top to bottom. We've felt a tad lethargic; something to do with the jet lag and the heat. I've been going to yoga every day and we're detoxing from the carbo overload in Argentina. Miso soups and vegetables along with twice daily walks with Arthur.

I've been thinking a lot about next year and the things I'd like to achieve. The trip to Argentina has inspired me to learn Spanish properly and so enrolling in a course and getting together to practice regularly with a group is high on my list of priorities.

The magazine came out the day after we arrived home and I bought three copies, poring over them as I waited at the post office. It was so great to see my name and photo in print in the contributors section and the stories have turned out fabulously.

So good to see Arthur. He has been chewing his foam mattress to bits while we've been away so I went to Spotlight and bought some grey fabric with paw prints to make a pillow case for him. We went to the Salvos on our street and found a cool red sheet which I used for the other side of the pillow case. It looks so great and A-man loves it. M and I are talking about going into business with them; one of our many schemes.

Dos dias mas

Oh dear time is running out swiftly. Only two more whole days left prior to us departing Argentina's shores.

Snif snif!

Stop blogging and start frequenting cafes, talking to Portenos and soaking up the city.

Five cafes in one day

It all started with breakfast at El Federal; coffee and croissants over the Buenos Aires Herald.

I set off on a day of shopping to Palermo. Walked up to the Subte at Catedral and caught the green line to Pueyreddon, then wandered Ave Santa Fe for three hours shopping. Stopped around 3 for some empanadas, agua and coffee at a little bakery/cafe on Santa Fe. On consultation with my map, I summoned up enough energy to walk the remaining blocks to Malabia in Palermo. The place is amazing; leafy trees and wide streets which are more than two person wide. Kids in their school uniforms chat animatedly and the streets are lined with cafes and designer stores. By now its 4.30pm and I am meeting M at 5pm at Plaza Italia.

By now my boots have done some serious kms so we decide to head to the famous El Preferido in Palermo for some sustenance. The place is super cute with high bright green wooden tables and resident cats bat pieces of paper around the floor. I order a tortilla espanola, empanada and 2 cafes. It is all amazing; great coffee and delicious homemade food.
We wander again, taking photos of street art, looking in stores, wandering through the plaza. We decide to have a beer at a place called Dos Hermanos where we sit and watch children on a carousel in the park across from the cafe. Then we head to the Subte to go back to San Telmo, via the final cafe of the day, La Poesia for a light dinner of a sandwich, pumpkin ravioli and papas fritas.

What a delicious day.

A bad meal, a good meal, a good conversation

Despite a bad service experience at La Poesia yesterday, I convinced M to eat breakfast there again today. It is such an amazing little cafe and the coffee and food is so good, plus writers hang out there, I'm sure.
But once again, our bad 'camarero' Alejandro was working, frantically striding up and down the wooden floors, taking orders, delivering medialunas and generally looking very important. We sat and waited for a while, reading the Buenos Aires Herald and pretending we didn't care how long we had to wait. But we were both secretly fuming at his dismissive approach (or lack thereof).
After a delicious breakfast and a resolve to go somewhere else for a more relaxed breakfast next time, we headed up Defensa to do a reconnaissance to find a church which was holding a concert that afternoon. The San Telmo markets had begun already and we wandered slowly, stopping to browse and ask a few 'Cuanta cuestas?'. I managed to procure two delightful vintage dresses on the way, amidst confusion of my whereabouts for poor M when I went off to try on the dress in to a building and didn't return for half an hour. Once I was back and safe, he headed home with the bounty to rest his ailing ankle and I had some heavy duty shopping to do. I work best alone when it comes to shopping and I found a treasure trove of goodies. Within an hour I'd bought a pair of red leather vintage tango shoes; and they were my size, que sorpresa! Only $60 Arg ($20 aus). Then I picked up an antique lace and silk nightie, beautiful capped sleeves and super soft, looks like never been worn, only $40 Arg. Then I bought a little black leather bag with gold chain, kind of a Chanel rip off but not branded thankfully.

As I bounded down the stairs of the Mercado to head home, the sun was shining and all the Portenos were out eating lunch and enjoying the weather. Couples kissed at tables over papas fritas and the smell of grilled delights filled the air. I came home to M and told him we should head out to eat and he agreed so we went to a pub on our street which we've been dying to try; El Federal.

Owned by the same people as La Poesia and almost the same menu, but the experience was 100% better. Our camarero was so friendly and understood my Spanish (always good news) and the food was divine. We ordered a picado, or a plate of things to pick at. We had the Gran Federal plate with olives, salami, prosciutto, blue cheese, mantega cheese, tiny slices of tortilla, artichoke hearts and fresh soft bread. Oh and two cervezas.

With full bellies we left the restaurant and realising it was 3.30pm and the concert was at 4.30pm, we stopped home for a momentito to refresh then headed out to the church. The concert was a recital and live recording of a piece with percussion and piano and a choir of many. We had to line up to get in and luckily nabbed spaces for two on the tiny pews along with lots of old ladies dressed in their finery.

I noticed the two little ladies beside me were chatting to each other and sending text messages. They asked me a question which I didn't quite catch then we started a delightful conversation in Spanish; me telling them where we were from, talking about where Darwin is, them asking me where I learnt Spanish, talking about Barcelona and Buenos Aires; basic stuff but the most fruitful conversation I've had during my time here so far.

The piece then started. The craft of the music and voices were amazing, but about 20mins in, my bum was numb from sitting on the tiny hard pews, we were all cramped up together as there were so many people there and I fought hard to keep my eyes open. An hour and a half later it finished thankfully and M and I breathed sighs of relief, as did my new friends beside us. We had another chat with them and they told us about the old church and how they didn't enjoy the piece so much either (although they seemed quiet as church mouses and stoically sat up straight for the duration while I fidgeted).

M and I then said adios and mucho gusto to the ladies and wandered back home through the markets which were in full swing.

Finally finding the rhythm of the holiday

I've reached the stage of holidays when I can't remember which day it is, what we did yesterday and have no need to watch the clock. I've also reached the stage where I am a lot more comfortable conversing in Spanish and am used to the Argentine accent and (some of) the Argentinian words that are different to those used in Spain.

Sleeping in after a big day at the ranch yesterday, we read for a while and contemplated getting up and heading to breakfast at my new favourite spot, La Poesia. Its a true literary cafe, with black-framed pictures of writers on the walls and beautifully bohemian clientele. I imagined a little old man sitting near us to be a famous author and wordsmith a la Borges or Cortazar with his red vest, beret cap and artistic twinkle in his eye. We ate slices of fresh jamon and the tastiest cheese ever upon brown bread. I don't think I've ever tasted such a delicious ham and cheese sandwich. M and I've finally worked out which coffees suit us best; for me I've started asking for 'leche fria' or cold milk so that I'm able to drink it within ten minutes of it being served as its so hot; and M has found the Argentine equivelent of a mocha.

We've also finally mastered the art of catching buses (colectivos) and jumped on one to La Boca to see the markets and rainbow-coloured houses. We spent an hour or so at Boca, being true tourists snapping away at the streetscapes and M even posed with a tango dancer for $10. We bought postcards and paintings for family then jumped back on the bus to San Telmo for more markets and shopping. The buy of the day was a little peach-coloured jacket/shawl from an antique shop hidden away in the back of a tiled arcade. Cost a mere $ARG 80- $25 AUS roughly. So special!

Tonight is La Noche de Los Museos, an annual evening where more than 100 museums in BsAs put on dance, cinema, performances and music for free. We've pinpointed three museums around San Telmo to see some tango and jazz. After complaining about the lack of decent nightlife in Darwin, I'm so delighted to be doing this!

Getting caught in the rain with cowboys

Big adventure today with a day trip to an Argentinian estancia, or ranch at San Antonio de Areco, a town 112km north of the city. Our guide Laura was simply delightful from the start, telling jokes and slipping seamlessly from Spanish to English in her fantastic commentary (albeit a little close to the microphone). As we headed out of the city, the apartment buildings turned into the flat plains of the Pampas, true gaucho country. The estancia was called Cin Cin, because of the native trees in the hood. On arrival we were met with a man dressed in traditional gaucho garb; puffy pants, long leather boots, a red scarf around his neck and a thick belt covered in coins. He offered us homemade meat empanadas and salami which we all tucked into, including me, despite my so-called vegetarianism. The day was steamy so after a few refreshments, we had some tiempo libre (free time) to ride a horse or join a group on a carriage at the nearby gaucho yards and stables.

The storm clouds were slowly surrounding us as we headed back for lunch, the typical Argentinian asado barbecue. Places were laid for us at a long table in the dining room, and an Argentinian played beautiful piano for us as we tucked into the salads and uncorked bottles of local vino tinto. My bid to be discreet with my vegetarianism seemed to be working for a while. I said si to two of the plates of roast meat that came around by the minute; sausage, black pudding, steaks,finally succulent roast chicken. But after a bloody cut landed on my plate, slightly curdling my stomach, I had to admit my preferences to the New Yorker sitting across from me. He laughed and said he was 90% vego also. But he was heartily enjoying the carne.

After lunch was a show of folkloric dances. The sky outside was black, and the humidity soared. When we made our way to the stables for the gaucho displays and games it started to spit. The gauchos lit cigarettes and coolly aboarded their steeds as the winds increased their fury. We stood shivering under a corrugated iron roof as the cowboys thundered by on horseback, in a bid to collect a tiny ring with a small pen-like object. We laughed and applauded and then the storm reached its peak and we ran for the cover of the stables. The rain was coming down heavily and broken branches which had come loose circled around the shelter. The horses stoically stood with their backs to the wind. The gauchos laughed and talked quickly to each other, trying to find something to burn to light a fire and keep people warm. All were saturated. It was quite a sight; about ten tourists, most non-Spanish speaking, drenched, over and under-dressed, sheltering in a small stable with Argentinian gauchos.

Finally the rain lightened enough to make a run for the house where there was some hot mate waiting for us and some pan dulce.

The simple joys

The only items on our to-do list today were to visit an English bookstore around the corner from our apartment, pick up some strawberries and avocados from the markets and spend some quiet time reading.

Spending the morning inside, sleeping in and making tea, we fell asleep on the bed with the sunshine streaming in the double breasted doors. We awoke to banging on the door, and jumped up, bleary eyed and putting clothes on. A number of people entered the room with the intention of cleaning it so we swiftly got dressed and headed outside to the sun wearing thongs and tshirts. Our hair was still a bit askew as we wandered into the bookstore on Estados Unidos, one street up from ours.

The Walrus books store was amazing. Hundreds of literary offerings stacked strategically in the windows such as F Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Charles Bukowski. M and I browsed for about an hour, the only ones in the store apart from the introspective owner who was reading intensely at the back. I bought two books; one book of short stories by expat writers based in BsAs and another of interviews of 'uncommon' writers in Paris.

We then trundled down the cobbstoned streets to a cafe we'd been lusting after for days called Territorio. The music and mood was sombre, with David Bowie and St Etienne on the stereo and the waiter was wearing all black. It was 3.15pm by this stage, ideal lunch eating time, but strangely there weren't many in the restaurant.
We ordered brusqueta caliente for the first plate; toasted bread with brie, eggplant, roasted tomatoes and rocket. I gobbled it up, it was simply divine.

The second course was a huge salad for me with avocado, mushrooms, eggplant and roasted tomatoes and M had a giant meat hamburguesa with cheese dripping out the side and roasted potatoes and mayonnaise.

After coffees and warm thanks and a tip to the waiter, we wandered around to the markets to buy a little bag of groceries and stroll through the antique markets before walking home. We climbed the narrow stairs and opened the door to a shiny clean apartment. The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing on the blue and white striped lounge on the terrace in the sun reading my new tomes.

One week in to the BsAs stay and things are blissful.

Heavenly and earthly delights BA style

I've discovered two delights of Argentina. Empanadas and dulce de leche. They are local delicacies and available at every corner store it seems. And I'm taking full advantage. The empanadas are like little calzones; pastry folded over containing different delights such as tuna, vegetables, meat, jamon y queso etc. The dulce de leche is like creme caramel and comes in helado (ice cream) and in tubs at the supermarket. M and I bought a heavy duty batch last night. It didn't last a day.

Today's adventure took us to Recoleta Cemetery; the place where the wealthy and famous of BsAs and their families are laid to rest. Our plan was to walk up to Plaza de Mayo - about five blocks - then jump on the Subte to head to Plaza Italia and walk down to Recoleta. But the Subte lines were down all day today, on strike because of negotiations between the Argentinian president and the BsAs Mayor. So we decided to walk. Armed with our trusty laminated map, a hat and comfy shoes, we headed off. Roughly a two kilometre walk, we happily wandered down side streets and stopped at shops and sat in parks, so it turned into a longer meander. We walked through the leafy streets of Recoleta and Plaza San Martin, past designer homeware stores and shiny hotels. Finding the cemetery walls finally, we wandered the perimeter searching for the entry gates. It wasn't hard to find, we followed the street stalls selling jugo de naranja and ponchos (hot dogs). The cemetery was magnificent, in a sombre sort of way. It was weird to see hundreds of tourist walking through the cement sanctums, clicking away and having photos taken in front of peoples' burials. M saw a Japanese man walking along whistling 'Don't cry for me Argentina' heading towards Evita's grave. He likened it to a little empty city, and we were walking through streets of abandoned houses, with only the ghosts of the people who used to live there present.

After the big walk, we had a need to up the blood sugar again, so munched on ponchos outside the cemetery and chatted with in Spanglish with the street seller. We then made the long trek home to San Telmo, via a shop for empanadas. I had found a yoga school and just got home from my class. Was a great class but not good doing twists with empanadas in my belly.

the melancholic city

'Melancholic' is a word I've heard often when reading about Buenos Aires. There is definitely an air of seriousness about the place and the people.

M commented that he hadn't noticed many people laughing. And the tango is danced straight-faced in an almost sombre manner.

With the devaluation of the Argentinean peso, there are now many displaced Portenos living in poor conditions. Los Cartoneros (The Cardboard Men) work by rummaging through residents' rubbish to find food but more importantly recyclables which they sell to recycling companies. The BsAs residents are in turn very proactive in the separation of their rubbish items. Residents have to put their rubbish bags on the streets between 8pm and 9pm for collection. There are carefully cleaned bottles separated from flattened cardboard neatly arranged by doorsteps, ready for collection. Walking the streets you can see los cartoneros rummaging through bags, taking out and organising items, or pushing shopping trolleys with bits of metal.

As we flew in, we could see big blocks of square shaped patches of land with large houses surrounded by trees. They were estancias, or ranches, which have been opened up to tourists to experience the gaucho lifestyle. These wealthy-looking farms were interspersed with pockets of old ramshackled houses on the outskirts of the city.

I'd like to do a story on them, but not sure if my spanish is up to it. Am looking for lessons today. Have found a school which Francis Ford Coppola studied at when he was here....

M and I dropped in to El Rufian Melancolico yesterday; a book shop that I had been lusting after ever since I read about it in Qantas magazine... It is a little hole in the wall place, with stacks and shelves of old books, magazines, postcards and photos. The owner makes paper mache beings and these are sitting throughout the store. A little fluffy cat greets you as you walk in and jumps up on the piles of books as you flick through them.

The owner spoke a bit of English and we told him about the magazine article which was the impetus of our visit. He was very impressed and I gave him the ripped out pages which I had my handbag. I might go back and see if he has any ideas on local intercambio/ language exchanges.

Estamos aqui! or is it 'aca'

Today is day three of the Buenos Aires holiday. So far its been blissful. We've rented an antiquiated bohemian apartment in the old town of San Telmo, around a corner of cobblestoned streets to the famous San Telmo markets, a treasure trove of antique stalls selling old typewriters, vintage clothes, leather and faded photos. It is so inspiring to be here.

Yesterday we did one of those touristy bus rides around the city, just to get a sense of the place and our orientation. The buildings are so elegant and old and the city is simply amazing. There are large patches of green spaces (the lungs of BsAs)and fabulous street art everywhere.

One of the best things about this is the chance to practise my spanish again. Although many of the words are different, eg 'aqui' is replaced with 'aca' and the accent is a little confusing. But I'm bumbling through. And communication happens.

I love a city that kicks off at 10.30 at night. We're slowly getting into the rhythm of the place. Tenemos mucho tiempo.

Deadline day and lists

My last post was so cheerful and upbeat. This optimism has slowly diminished over the course of the last week as I 'pump out' another few thousand words. Copy deadline is today (!) and I am a tad exhausted. As I was telling M last night (when we collapsed into bed and had five minutes of proper time, not diluted with writing and work distractions) - I feel like I am writing the pieces more quickly now but it feels that the quality has diminished. He said that its just because I've become better at writing them and knowing the style and what is required. (he's v wise)

With 'proper job'and additional freelance, it has been v busy. But today was the last hurdle to jump (we also had an outside broadcast for work) so we've now reached the top of the downhill slide!

Am starting a list tonight of things to do before we go. Top of the list is to de-stress and relax. I'm taking an early mark this Friday and have booked a delicious body wrap and full body massage. Tick!

Words, words and more florid words

After my stoically cheerful approach to my burgeoning workload on Friday, I have just been offered another 1200 words to write as part of my latest freelance gig, which I have accepted with glee (and just a hint of underlying panic). It seems a bit insurmountable, but I'm sure I'll get through it all. It'll just mean writing right up until M and I jump on the plane bound for Brisbane and Buenos Aires. It'll make the time fly!

Those darling downs

Rewind.... 6 March 2009
We left Brisbane late. Despite best-laid plans to get away before lunchtime, it was two o'clock by the time Grandma, Jen and I crossed the Story Bridge, heading to the west.

The petrol tank was full; we had a stack of CDs, written directions and bellies full of anticipation. We were giddy with excitement at the prospect of the journey ahead; a trip to the family farm in Queensland's west for dad's 60th birthday party.
I was looking forward to six blissful hours gazing at the browning landscape, contemplating the future and spending some much-needed quality time with my beloved grandmother and mate.

I used this precious time to catch up with Jen before arriving at the party where our alone time would be scarce and shared with many others. After living together in a flat in West End for over two years, we are now based in different cities.

There was much to say. I animatedly told her about the new house I was living in and she talked about her job. I heard an account of a recent break up compressed into ten minutes and barely scraped the surface when telling her all about my new love. That's the thing about not seeing a good friend all the time; you only hear the abbreviated versions of important moments in life.

As we slowly ascended the lofty heights of Toowoomba's ranges; car weighed down with overnight bags, pillows and party goods; it was time to stop to buy Icy Poles and let the dog out for a pee.

We tracked the long stretch of road between Dalby and Miles, facing a relentless western sun. The grassy plains seemed infused with the pinkness of the sinking light, sunkissing the entire landscape with a rich crimson glow. Telephone poles lined the highway, leaning so far sideways into the black soil, it seemed as if the tension of the lines was all that held them upright.

We marvelled at the Downs which are called Darling for a good reason. Jen told us she had never been this far west before. The dog snored gently on the floor in the back. I drove on, squinting.

At about the half way mark, we started short bouts of Simon Says and I Spy to punctuate the journey.

Grandma dutifully regaled me with stories to keep me awake. She told me how when I was a little girl, I learnt to drive when I was only five in our old diahatsu van. She made me laugh, telling me tales she'd told me a million times before, but I never tired of hearing.

Jen snoozed now and then in the back, her head gently bumping on a pillow pressed against the car window.

We wanted to get to the farm by 8pm, so not to miss too much of the birthday dinner celebrations. But arriving in Chinchilla, we couldn't resist the warm glow of The Commercial hotel and its promise of a cool drink and a snack to tide us over. We all needed a bit of a break and my heel hurt from being perennially poised over the accelerator for so many hours.

While Grandma and Jen went inside to buy drinks, I took the dog for a walk in the dimly lit main street to stretch our legs. On returning to the pub, we joined Grandma and Jen sitting on plastic chairs in an empty outside beer garden. I noticed Grandma had applied lipstick in preparation for our arrival at the party. I ate salt and vinegar chips while she sipped from a small plastic glass of chardonnay and Jen smoked a cigarette and drank lemonade.

Satisfied and well-hydrated, we headed off on the final leg of our journey. From our instructions, the property was another hour from Chinchilla, following half-hidden sign posts along dusty, dark side roads. We drove in silence for the final fifteen minutes, eager to finally arrive.

Eventually, we saw the lights of the homestead twinkling erratically in the distance. I drove slowly through gullies and creek beds so not to scare the nearby horses. We could hear the rise and fall of laughter and music of a party in full swing. Yawning collectively, we prepared to meet the plethora of family and friends awaiting us after our long drive.

Destination; deadline

With a fistful of notes and list of stories, I cross the threshold into the weekend. I've happily embarked upon a freelance writing assignment for a local magazine which means writing lots and lots of words between now and 20 October. It also means some more pocket money for my Argentina trip in November, not to mention the glee of seeing my name in print and adding another story or two to my list of published pieces!

I've spent the last week coming home from work, taking Arthur for a stroll around the block, pouring a splash of tinto and settling in to do an hour or two of writing. It hasn't been a drag at all. I've loved the chatting to people in the community, knowing what is coming up and happening around town, and especially the writing process. The writing process with a destination in mind seems much more fruitful. Writing with a purpose. So often I'd sit at my desk, fingers poised over my keypad, waiting for the genius to start gushing onto the blankness on the screen.

I have four stories to write this weekend, then another four next week. Completely achievable!

Counting down the days

... until my sisters and I will be in the same city again. It'll be a fleeting two day flying visit to hometown, but will be oh-so nice to see the family again. Haven't been home since March. William has grown so much.
*Note to self* must be mindful not to overplan and try and jam pack too many activities into those two days. If I had my way, I'd be drinking divine coffee in cafes, seeing arthouse films at Dendy, eating out at Japanese restaurants, seeing 15 friends, spending QT with family, squeezing in a beach trip etc etc.

Slow down.

A walk by any other name...

We have a new route for our afternoon walks.

There is a suite of walking routes which we take depending on our mood and how much time we have. Sometimes we do a stroll around the backstreets of Ludmilla. On other days we cut through the block of low lying mangroves to reach an empty field and bushland in the back of Parap. Other days we drive to Casuarina and walk for miles along the deserted beach.

The new walk takes in both beach and bushland. We start at the carpark at Casuarina Beach ( near the nudist part ) and walk along a criss-crossing trail of paths through coastal reserve towards a place called Sandy Creek. It is a 6km walk one way and then we cross over to the beach, pull off our sandshoes, throw them over our shoulders, and return via the shoreline. Arthur loves it as he gets to run free off the leash, and the bush is a magical playground for a hairy pup who loves sniffing the many woody, leafy scents.

The other day when we were walking, he ran up to me carrying the bony remains of a possum, complete with wiry tail, as if to say; Look what I found!

I enjoy it so much that I channelled Anne of Green Gables, and felt an urge to call the walk a wonderfully descriptive and vivid name like 'Where the Pinetrees meet the Seasalt Amble' or 'Fragrant Bushland and Barefooted Beach Way'. But funnily enough we call it the 'Surf and Turf' walk. Not quite as romantic but it seems to roll more readily off the tongue.

A hot foray into Katherine and surrounds

A weekend away. Saturday we drove to Katherine for my first time visit. We packed the esky, Arthur jumped in the back, we had a stash of CDs,and we were off. Needing some time away, time to get some perspective on life and what better than to do some exploring! The plan was to leave Arthur with our landlords who lived in Katherine while we headed to the Gorge for a boat ride. It was hot. To avoid sun damage, I was garbed in jeans, cons, long sleeved top, scarf and wide-brimmed hat. A number of people (mainly older ladies) asked me concernedly if I was hot during the day and why was I wearing a jumper in this heat? Least I wasn't getting burnt...! The Gorge was lovely, and quite breathtaking. I ached to peel off my clothes and dive into the clear waters.

After collecting Arthur we headed off to our abode for the evening, at Mataranka. We were staying at some cabins 500m from the Bitter Springs. The cabins were great, surrounded by tall termite mounds and large sprinklers chick-chick-chicking around the grounds. We retreated to the A/C; whipped up a plate of cheese, dolmades and tasty treats; and indulged in a splash of vino. I awoke in the middle of the night to hear wallabies nibbling the grass outside our cabin. The next morning we swam in the cobalt blue springs and sweated it out discovering Katherine.
We sat in the park in Katherine to eat lunch and ring Dads for Father's Day. I told Dad it was hot, around 32 degrees. Later that evening I saw on the ABC news that it was a gigantic 37 degrees in Katherine that weekend. No wonder I was sweltering in my layers of clothing...!

A lovely quote sent to me by my friend Jen as she embarks upon a whirlwind worldwide trip to delicious places....

Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness, and its power of endurance - the cheerful man will do more in the same time, will do it; better, will preserve it longer, than the sad or sullen ~ Thomas Carlyle

Oh

Oh how the dry days roll by at a cracking pace! My last post chronicled the signs of the dry, and now, dear reader (s), the dry is almost at its end. The humidity has soared. The tourists are slowly refilling their motorhome petrol tanks litre by litre and buying up big at Coles for the long journey home. I see a light at the end of the outside broadcast/event calendar, signalling quieter days at work and some much-needed planning/recuperating time in the office.

The Darwin Festival is in full swing, so a gig/ art gallery/ dance hall/party is permanently installed in the park across from work. I walk past every afternoon at around 6pm, watching the lights being put up in the trees and the people slowly flooding in to sit at long trestle tables and eat delicious Hanuman curries before the gig.

The last of our long line of visitors left on Monday, returning our haven to the perfect place for three (inc pooch). We revel in this by spending nights at home, making glorious dinners, lighting candles and eating on the deck with Arthur at our feet or on the steps where its cooler. We spend weekends going for bike rides; foostering in the garden; watching the sprinkler, enchanted (you can't do that in Queensland); having long barefoot walks on the beach; reading Wuthering Heights aloud and seeing movies.

Yesterday I was overcome by a tingly wave of affection towards life. So much has been going on in life lately with visitors, work events, festival, love, writing, sewing, living. Holidays are booked in, work is slowing down, the wet season is coming (!) and life is good. I feel like going to a remote beach somewhere and letting off fireworks. I'm going to try and remember this feeling. Its nice to be reminded when things are good and life is wonderful. My adventures are very bright right now.

the signs of the dry

The dry season is near. We are on the cusp of cooler days, infused with the smell of burn offs and months of festivals. The harbingers of the changing of the seasons are everywhere.

Dragonflies orbit. The rain stops. Deckchair Cinema reopens. Mindil Beach market owners set up their stalls. Long-socked grey nomads are spotted hiking the periphery of the city. Work has become outrageously hectic.

Waiting for the bus, I sat across from an man at the bus stop who lives in the community across the road. He told me the 'knock-em-down rains' were still to come. That's when the long dry grass is flattened by heavy rain. It's a season in itself. But the dry is near.

The sunsets remain the same.

one week = one year

The last few weeks have been a blur; a jam-packed week-long holiday in Queensland for Dad's birthday; my boss in town for interviews and Tiwi Islands Grand Final weekend; and .... soon to be moving house!

Oh yes the lady shack has been usurped by a more grown-up abode. I have returned to the land of co-habitation. The house is a typically Top End pad; louvres from the floor to the ceiling, plunge pool, big yard, tropical garden, tranquil locale. As soon as I peered through the fence I envisaged lying in bed in one of the many bedrooms, watching the rain through the louvres on a wet season morning.

Pity they are heralding the dry season's return, oh well. And, best of all, I get to procure my pup ! The yard is large and dog-friendly ie lots of room to run and no way of escape. There is a shed too. I'm sure we'll find things to put in it. I've never had a shed before.

And so to the visit from the boss. We had many-a-social-occasion, having important business lunches and lolling at the Ski Club. He also timed it to be in town for the Tiwi Islands Grand Final at Nguiu on Bathurst Island. The day was long, hot, yet so rewarding and fun. We boarded an early flight on a light aircraft to get over there in time to set up the broadcast, which we did from an old truck which the locals dragged over to the side of the oval for us for the day. We busied ourselves setting up, then spent a few hours looking at local art sales. I bought some amazing Tiwi fabric and a 'goose'; a wooden sculpted magpie goose, intricately painted.

And the kids! They were so enthusiastic and talkative and interested. And super cute.

The trees around the oval had been chopped down, so there was little to no shade for the thousands of southerners to shelter within. At one point during the day, I saw a group of people huddling in a line of shade cast by a large pylon beside the oval. Someone was heard to ask; what are you lining up for?

Despite the heat, the lack of shade and the sandflies; the day was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I came home with chafe, bites and sunburn, but so happy to have had the privilege to see it. It was such a reflection of life in the NT. You really do live life with the volume turned up, life at 200%. The experiences I have had in one week up here have been more meaningful and exciting than one year of living in Brisbane. I am constantly reminded and gladdened by my decision to move here.

An update on my latest junket....

In a bid to become re-inspired, I packed up my new co-owned esky and headed to Kakadu for the weekend to enjoy my surrounds. We drove out past Jabiru to Nourlangie Rock, just as some imposing black clouds descended upon it. Parking the car, we hiked through isolated showers to a sacred place. The sign said that Aboriginal people once sheltered here for thousands of years.

Just as we arrived, a huge storm hit, preceded by swirly wind and heavy heavy rain which lasted for about 20 mins. We were the only ones there, and completely sheltered under this natural rock formation. It was so freakin magical.

The hike took about half an hour, and it rained most of that time, but it was so beautiful. This place is so different during the Wet Season. And there are no tourists.

We headed off to find a spot to eat rice paper rolls and homemade muffins. As we were gobbling our food, we noticed a blue-winged kookaburra, perched on a sign. I was able to get really close to take his photo.

After eating, we saw that there was a 250m walk we could do to a lookout. Thinking it wouldn’t take us long, we scooted off merrily, not bringing camera or water. We carefully jumped over a body of water (with slight concerns of disturbing nesting crocs), climbed a man-made ladder and then started an ascent up 45 degree rockface. It was like a rock kingdom up there, with wattle trees growing from the cracks and as we climbed higher, the view became more and more sublime. It felt like we were explorers, discovering this place for the first time.

There was not a soul to be seen, and it was oh-so-quiet, apart from the birds. We could see a huge billabong at the foot of the escarpment. FULL to the brim with crocs.

We booked a room at a nearby lodge with ‘Territorian’s rates’ and enjoyed the pool and BBQ facilities before turning in for a night of Movie Channel action.

The next morning we cruised the calm waters of Home Billabong and Yellow Waters, watching birdlife and the multitude of flowers which sprout up during the wet. Then bought Billabongs to eat, filled up the car with petrol and headed home, via Fogg Dam.

It felt like a true holiday, in only two days.

Looking ahead makes me happy

I'm feeling those northerly winds a-blowin.....

I have noticed my increasing tendency of casually investigating Spanish job search sites, and opening and scrutinising the emails promoting volunteering in Argentina that fill my inbox.

Yes and so returns that monkey on my back, the niggling longing to escape, the search for broader horizons. Instead I'll travel to nearby destinations. Maybe a weekend trip to Katherine Gorge or a drive to a remote community.

Time to throw myself into work again. Time to plan for the future, for 2009. Time to make goals, budgets, and to-do lists.

Looking ahead makes me happy.

1. Go bush walking
2. Write on streeteditors more
3. sell my writing/ get further pieces published
4. Take Spanish lessons
5. Run and yoga regularly
6. Get out bush once a fortnight
7. Give blood
8. Buy bike
9. Ride bike plenty
10. Save $
11. Do walks in Katherine Gorge
12. Visit Uluru
13. Try camping
14. Buy all vegies from local markets not Woollies
15. Spend more time drawing
16. Grow tomatoes
17. Nurture my garden
18. Spoil Dad on his 60th
19. Eat more raw foods
20. Think about buying a dog
21. Call family and friends more
22. Make coffee at home
23. Buy a typewriter
24. Play more tennis (maybe a set night a week)
25. Do more stuff that scares me
26. Reactivate volunteer xchange
27. Seek future opportunities in BCN and Argentina
28. Join the library
29. Write in my diary more

Visits from special southerners

It is the day after my two special visitors have left and I'm a tad forlorn.

Sister E was here for a week which was glorious; we went bike riding, took the croc to Litchfield, ate at restaurants, floated languidly in a pool and celebrated the new year together. We caught up on milestones, as well as the little stuff that you miss out on when living in different parts of the country.

J arrived at 12.30am on New Year's Eve. We picked her up after the party, retreated to my place with a bottle of champagne tucked under my arm, and talked into the night. We had lazy mornings drinking coffee and eating fruit and croissants. We realised J's dream to sit in a waterhole on NY day, and spent a blissful afternoon at Buley's Rockhole. We patronised the iconic Ski Club in between downpours. We sat in air-conditioned comfort to watch the Tiwi Bombers annihilate Southern Districts.

We sat on the wharf basking in the sunset light and eating fish and chips. We experienced an important part of the Top End's history through 'Australia'.

I remembered what a glorious place the Territory is.