See you on the other side!

This little blog has been usurped by its cousin over here. Much happened in between the two; a pregnancy, a big belly and finally a beautiful little baby, Lola Betty. The new blog chronicles what The Shanburys did, as the little family of three (including Arthur!) grows a bit bigger. xx

Merci Julie

I sometimes play that game, Who Would You Want to Play You in a Movie About your Life?

My answer: Julie Delpy. She is so incredibly talented, in so many ways. Writer, composer, actress, singer, and more recently mother. Golly.

I have her films "2 days in Paris" and "Before Sunset" on dvd and will often turn to them on a Sunday afternoon or when I'm feeling a bit unsure about life. They give me perspective. I love her poetic approach to life and the way she writes about relationships and day-to-day stuff.

I love our life

I re-discovered my 2009 to-do list.

Happily, I've achieved quite a few of these to-dos which is such a nice feeling. There are definitely more destinations to add to the list, and my work focus has changed slightly.

I've started meditating at home, doing more yoga and this week, I indulged in two glorious Chinese massage sessions. I'm feeling a bit calmer about life and work and equipped to handle the busyness of this time. I told myself I would enjoy this dry season.

Today at a cafe, I noticed an older couple near us, clearly locals. The lady said to her husband: I love our life. That made me smile.

Back in Alice

Descending into Alice Springs.

Straight red lines of road form perpendicular connections, as boundaries to miles of flat land on which waves of low bushes lie, arranged like currents in a body of water. But water is the last image conjured by this landscape. Trickles of trees line waterways, results of recent heavy rain, but these are the only signs of wetness.

A beige dam appears, shaped like a dialogue cloud. Then, the ranges appear, jutting up like pinched pastry around a pie for as far as the eye can see.

We teeter on a breeze, rocking back and forth towards the air strip, passing houses, a highway and the train line, which takes the Ghan to Alice on its journey up the guts of Australia from Adelaide to Darwin.

The town of Alice is hidden on the other side of the Macdonnell Ranges, a glimpse of which you can see peeking through Heavitree Gap.

Stepping off the plane, its cold! We're about to embark upon three days of work at the Finke Desert Race, then three days of fun, enjoying tofu burgers and soy lattes in Alice Springs before doing some wintery desert drives.

Me and Dorothy

After talking about little black scottish terriers, I am further channelling Dorothy, finding some wonderful ruby red slippers which are tickling my fancy. I spied them at the Red Cross Op Shop as I was returning from lunch one day, and scooted in to investigate, leaving M to scuff his shoes on the sidewalk and people watch. Before you could say 'Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!' I had returned, $16 lighter and holding my new red slippers. I had been thinking of buying some red ballet-type slippers for a little while and all of a sudden they present themselves!

I hope a Top End version of a twister doesn't arrive to further the parallels....

Logan

I met Logan on Fannie Bay Road. He was scooting across the road on his little legs, avoiding cars as if in a game of Frogger. Luckily he made it across the road but kept running aimlessly so we pulled over and I jumped out to save him.

M and I were on our way to Deckchair Cinema, and had Arthur in the car.

Logan was a little black Scottish Terrier. He looked a bit like Arthur, but shorter and with a bigger head. He was adorable.

I ran up to him and he cowered, but let me pick him up. I could feel his little heart beating as I held him, looking around. I immediately checked for an ID tag, nothing. For a split second, I thought we might be taking him home.

But then there was a call and I turned around to see a man getting out of a car, and gesturing that I had something he wanted.

"Is he yours?" I asked.

"Yep. I opened the gate and he bolted."

"What's his name?"

"Logan," was the response.

I handed him back.

The name Logan has always reminded me of the suburb on the outskirts of Brisbane, half way to the Gold Coast and its not a place I remember fondly.

But I will remember little Logan fondly, with the burrs in his hair and his beating heart on his short adventure in Fannie Bay. How close he came to getting hit by a car... or coming home with us....

Arthur sniffed me suspiciously when I got back in the car, and we continued our drive.

Sydney - Toxing and detoxing

At first, Jen looked nice enough. She had a pleasant-sounding Irish accent, a pretty face and a tight bottom, and gently told me to take it easy during the class as I was new.

But on entering the class room, everything changed. Friendly Jen turned into Scary Jen, a yoga sergeant of sorts, barking orders and directing the ‘lesson’ through sharp claps of her hands. I was hit by a wall of hot air and the faint yet omnipresent smell of sweat.

Bikram yoga, or hot yoga, aims to help its devotees develop their lung capacity through deepening their breathing. But immediately on entering the room, I found breathing near-impossible. And that was when I was standing still.

The room had been heated to over 100 degrees. Other participants were in various states of stillness but fairly similar states of perspiration. Each of us needed a towel to place over our mat, I assume to soak up the moisture flowing from our bodies. Newcomers were asked to identify themselves, and then told to go to the back of the room (to avoid us mucking everyone else up?) We started with some heavy breathing in quick repetitions. Everyone around me was making a lot of noise
breathing, and I felt quite self conscious emitting deep, coital-like exhalations.
Happily, Jen told us that we wouldn’t be able to drink our water until the end of our third series of asanas. That took about 25 minutes and by then I was desperate for a drink.

“Ok, time to have a sip of water,” called Jen. I broke into a run to reach my bottle which I’d placed on the floor near the wall, about two metres from my mat.
Jen stared at me.

“Put your water next to your mat,” she said pointedly. “When you move away it disturbs the class.”

The postures continued and by then we all resembled mini waterfalls, with visible streams of sweat falling from our bodies and our clothes drenched. I’m sure that being out until 3am drinking red wine at a seedy Darlinghurst bar would have contributed to my state, but I was feeling terribly nauseous. I was in pain. My face glowed red raw and seemed slightly swollen in the mirrors that surrounded me and my hair plastered to my head unattractively. I do yoga fairly regularly and considered myself quite capable when it came to the practise, yet felt thoroughly hopeless at this.

Feeling like I was going to faint, I took the cue from others and started skipping a few poses, lying on my mat to rest. Jen didn’t seem to mind, and continued to direct and clap. She told us it was better to stay with our mats if we were feeling ‘weird’ and to continue the class when we felt we could. That was just fine with me.

The class went for an hour and a half. I was so glad when we reached corpse pose.
Standing at the doorway, Jen declared, “Good practice. Stay with your mats and rest. NAMASTE!” and left with a flourish of her toned arm as the door swung shut.
Wanting to avoid the shower queue, I jumped up to go, but felt woozy and was forced to balance myself by holding onto the wall.

Half an hour later I was showered and eating a healthy lunch at a nearby Iku outlet, full of a sense of achievement. My skin felt amazing and I felt thoroughly cleansed and was planning my next visit. Reminded me of what they say about childbirth: as soon as its over, you forget the pain, and could do it all over again.

Sydney with Robert

Once the decision was made to spend my short, sweet holiday in Sydney, I promptly bought tickets to see Robert Forster at the Sydney Theatre. He was performing his first solo concert in Sydney for many years as part of the Sydney Writers Festival.

J and I had front row seats and were so close to the man himself that I could see what brand of water he was sipping (San Pellegrino, in case you were wondering).
At the beginning of the concert, he told us that about a week ago, when he was thinking about the gig, he decided to do 'Fifteen songs of Sydney'.

He then proceeded to play a suite from his back catalogue, as well as one new song, which all have Sydney references or significance.

Between each offering he told us stories behind the songs or stories of the time they were produced. These stories each had a Sydney slant, and offered a wonderful insight into the lives of The Go-Betweens and Robert himself. We heard stories of road trips with Grant McLennan, midnight walks through Darlinghurst and origins of lyrics.

The consummate gentleman with wonderful onstage presence, he was resplendent in his suit and leather shoes. He showed his finger firmly on the pulse when, with his grateful return for an encore, noted being influenced by Vampire Weekend after seeing them live in Brisbane recently. He is wonderful. *sigh*

Up in the air

Despite the fact that I adore living in Darwin, I am conscious of not being here forever and endeavour to squeeze as much out of my time here as possible. There are many places to see while I'm here, and I've collated a list of to-dos while living in the Top End. There's the road trip to WA; Bali for the Ubud Writers Festival; Gunlom Falls; and another wintery desert getaway to Uluru. So for M's birthday, I decided to give him an experience; a flight over Kakadu. We drove out on Saturday afternoon, and attempted to cross the wet roads to Ubirr but failed, so did a steep walk up Mirai Lookout. The walk hurt, yet it was worth it for the spectacular view and experiencing the complete stillness of being so high up. All we could hear was the birds and the distant rumble of a car driving through the national park. We checked into the hotel, in the belly of a crocodile at Jabiru. Then early the next morning we drove to the Jabiru airport and climbed aboard a tiny plane to embark upon a one hour flight down the Arnhemland plateau, taking in Jabiru, Nourlangie Rock, Jim Jim and Twin Falls. It was a truly amazing way to experience Kakadu in the wet season when most land-based activities are closed.

Watch this space..

Oh dear web log, how I have neglected you!

It has been so long since I've darkened my blog's doorstep that I'm sure there must be virtual cobwebs growing in it's pages and I had to think long and hard about my log in password.

But this does happen when I am inundated with 'other' writing, namely paid work for glossy magazine. That has taken precedence lately over blog and diary writing. BUT, the creative tap-tap-tapping will resume today, so am corralling thoughts in an attempt to channel more thoughtful entries for this writing precinct.

The magazine officially went to print today (I think) so it is all done and dusted.

Other exciting news includes a shortlisting for the NT Literary Awards (yes, OMG! sounds big, doesn't it?)for a travel story I wrote on a day trip M and I embarked upon to a ranch outside of Buenos Aires last year. It was such a lovely day, and I wanted to write the story and find it a home, but I did wonder if it would translate to those who didn't experience it. So anyway, it is incredibly cool that I have been shortlisted.
The awards on are 13 May.

This weekend, last weekend, today

After a busy week and late nights, I am longing for days at home, soaking up our little kingdom. Time to fooster around the house and yard, time to read and sleep and be.

This weekend holds a Valentine's Day retreat for me and my beloved. A trip to Kakadu for a sunset picnic at Ubirr (weather permitting), overnight at Jabiru then an early morning walk at Gubara near Nourlangie.

Last Saturday we visited a garage sale, spent $15 on a tent, a camping mattress, book and yoga bolster. M set up the tent on his freshly cut lawn in the afternoon while I wrote and watched him from the window. A big storm last night tested the tent's resilience, but it came out on top.

Today brought news of a trip to Alice Springs at the end of March. Will try and add a few days either side to see some more of this part of the world.

January 2010

My beloved favourite writer every, JD Salinger, passed away last week. I re-read 'For Esme - with Love and Squalor' in commemoration. The papers were full of feature articles musing on whether his unpublished canon will soon appear. Part of me would love to read every single word that the man has written, but I also feel like it would be a slight betrayal considering his refusal to publish for so many years, despite admitting that he still writes prolifically.

Spent last week on hols in Queensland to visit new flaxen-haired nephew Sam. The week was a wonderful blur of restaurants, wine, family, drinking coffee and bobbing in the ocean. We were in Brisbane for four days, then Coolum for three. Arthur joined us on the trip, and flew down in a cargo box - quite comfortably it seemed. He emerged unscathed and mostly unphased by the experience, scooting out of his box, sniffing around and lifting his leg. I was definitely more stressed for him than he was. I think I projected my own claustrophic inclinations on Arthur, afraid of being cooped up in a box in the cargo hold of a plane for four hours. But he shrugged these fears off and managed the journey with aplomb. Well, as much aplomb as a small, odd looking terrier cross can have.

Now back in the Top End. Back at work. Ready to start the year with gusto and energy. Lots of plans afoot.

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!