sandybarker

Window seat

July 7, 2008July 9, 2008sandybarker

I am not a window seat kind of a girl.

I say this metaphorically, and literally.

In life, I do not like to sit by the window and watch. I like to get out there in it, and invariably I end up a bit mucky for my efforts. But this is my preference. I actually feel for the ‘watchers’, those people who say stuff like, “I wish I could do that” or “If only I had [insert attribute or asset here], I would be happy”. I much prefer being an active participant in life, and sometimes I get injured or have a set back, but I often feel great joy.

I am not a window seat kind of a girl on a plane either. I prefer the aisle – the aisle affords me freedom.

Two days ago, I flew from east to west to visit my family and friends. Still at the terminal, I sat in my aisle seat patiently waiting for those who would be seated next to me. They didn’t come. As the plane pulled back, I realised I had three airline seats to myself, a rare pleasure.

I stayed in the aisle seat for about as long as it took for the young family across the aisle to make more noise than young families should in a confined space. I moved to the window seat, and stretched my legs across the other two. I had appropriated 2 pillows from the overhead locker above my head, so I was as comfortable as a person can be in coach.

My ‘special meal’ came 30 minutes before the meal service started, and I watched a film I had wanted to see for some time. Does airline travel get any better than this? (Well, yes, if you’re Ben who gets upgraded every time he flies, just for showing up.)

I even had a nap. For forty-five minutes!

When we started to make our descent, I lifted the window shade I had lowered for my movie viewing. The sun streamed in, as although it would be raining on landing, we were above the cloud line. We descended through the clouds and I watched as the earth emerged through the wisps of white.

I rarely see this type of view, because I almost always sit on the aisle.

The topography changed several times in as many minutes. It was beautiful, and the best part of a really good flight.

I felt a twinge, because I knew how many times I had missed this exact feeling.

I took shot after shot. The earth was drenched, and the colours vibrant – every shade of green. Then there were scars, great gashes of red earth ripped through the bush. Farms presented a patchwork of neat borders and varying shades and textures. Vineyards appeared, with their perfect rows of vines pointing the way to grand houses and wineries. And then the outskirts of Perth itself, where trees pepper an urban landscape in dark green tufts.

It is my home.

I love Sydney, which is why I have lived there nearly eight years. I love other places around the world, and I am sure I will love living in Seattle next year. Western Australia, however, is home. I will always come back here to see it, and my loved ones who live here.

It is so easy to take the familiar for granted, but on Saturday I got to see my homeland through fresh, somewhat misty eyes. I felt pride mostly, because it truly is incredibly beautiful and I cannot wait to show it off to Ben.

And I had this small, but significant joy all because I took a window seat.

Long Distance Relationships

June 28, 2008sandybarker

I have said before that no matter where I am in the world, I miss someone I love. Because I have lived in three countries and have spent my adult life being a traveller, I am fortunate to have forged lasting relationships world over. Of course, many of those I love are travellers themselves, and are scattered to the winds. It is somewhat corny, but highly appropriate that the ‘world wide web’ is my primary tool for keeping the threads of these relationships intact. I may not be able to make last minute dinner plans with these loved ones, but these threads are as important to my life as the relationships with those close by.

First thing every morning, after the wake-up-make-the-bed-visit-the-bathroom thing, I greet my cat, Jessie, and switch on my computer. Throughout my getting ready routine, I check my inboxes (yes, there are several) to see who on the other side of the world is doing what. Jessie does her yoga at my feet while I fill her in on the lives of my loved ones. Sometimes I laugh too loudly for her sensitive ears, and she glares at me and skulks off.

While world news bleat from the television, I flick between several web pages and catch up on the news that matters to me more.

Facebook brings the latest escapades of my American, Canadian and European comrades (plus Geraldine in Peru and Christine in South Africa), pics from my interstate friends, the latest ass-whipping from my Scrabulous opponents, and a poke from Darion. (I once asked Darion to ‘Quit poking me!’ but soon took it back, because I suspect it is a sign of affection.)

Inboxes bearing emails from far-off loved ones, bring as much happiness as a fruitful mailbox did 20 years ago. And when I see my mum or sis on IM, I know we can have a quick chat just to touch base.

I love getting an international sms – even those that come at 3 in the morning, as every text I ever get from Sharon, my Irish friend, does.

I indulge in interstate text messages daily. I will zap a ‘must see’ message to Dad and Gail about a program we all like. Dad sends me footie scores, or an update on where he and Gail are having a fabulous lunch. I will tell Mum I hope her day goes well. And she always replies with an ‘I love you’.

As well as the web and the mobile phone, there is a device that sits in my living room on its very own table, and is connected to the wall by a cord. It rings from time to time, and the cat and I look at each other and wonder what that sound is. We then realise it is the telephone, and I rush to answer it, knowing it will be my mum, my dad, my friend Mich (who now lives in OUTER Sydney, and has become one of my long distance loved ones), or Suzi in London.

Actually Suzi called the other night, and although I haven’t seen her since this time last year, and she now lives in London, she still feels close. She is my doppelganger in life, with parallels and likenesses in numbers too great to name. Even though she is literally on the other side of the world, when she calls our conversations are like those I have with friends I see all the time.

Threads.

And most importantly, there is the actual ‘long distance relationship’ I have forged with Ben since October ’06. Because we met overseas and live in different countries, all of these forms of communication have become the lifeblood of our relationship. We see each other as often and for as long as we can, but when we can’t physically be together, we still feature heavily in each other’s daily life. Phone calls, emails, sms, IM sustain us as a couple while we’re apart. We can can fill hours of air time talking about, well, anything and everything. And nothing. Sometimes, it is nonsense, which is hellishly fun.

None of this, of course, means that I do not want to defy the laws of the natural world, and move the homes of all these distant loved ones – everyone – into one land mass where we can all live close to each other. Nothing, nothing (!) beats being able to hug someone you love, or looking into their eyes while they talk to you. But, we have all these wonderful tools to keep us together when we’re apart.

P.S. I head west next week for some brilliant face to face time.

P.S.P.S. Ben and I are working on being on the same land mass.

Travel Meme

June 21, 2008June 21, 2008sandybarker

Questions and answers about my favourite topic. Play along at home, and drop me a comment if you want to add your own answers.

Where, of all the places you have never been, do you want to go to most?

Southeast Asia – Camobodia, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam. Intrepid Travel has a 4 week tour I really want to do some time in the next year or so. I have only ever been to Indonesia, and I want to see more of Asia. This part of the world intrigues and invites.

Where do you most want to go back to?

Greece. The Islands. Life slows down. Details are everything. I can breathe there. It is where I fell in love.

Favourite City?

This is excruciatingly difficult to choose just one, so I will cheat a bit. Favourite in Europe: Florence. Favourite in Australia: Sydney. Favourite in North America: Vancouver. I will add to this list as I live it.

Least favourite city?

Tijuana. Hell. On. Earth.

Do you speak other languages?

If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it. Too true. At times, in the past, I have had enough of the following to get what I wanted from the locals (take that how you like): French, Italian, Spanish and German. I can brush up pretty quickly, but despite studying French at university I know I will never be fluent (all those bloody verbs!), and I care very little.

How do you get by without being fluent?

Smiling, sign language, and some key phrases. Smiling is the most effective.

Best airport?

Once you’re through security, London Heathrow is like an up market shopping mall. Very posh! You will probably be shuttled from pillar to post, because they’ll change your gate 65 times, but the waiting is as pleasant as it can be in an airport.

Worst airport?

10 years ago it was Johannesburg (smoking inside, hot, stuffy, nowhere to eat and a little scary). Most recently it would have to be LAX (see my post on my last trips through there).

Best travel tips?

Before you fly, order a special meal. It will come about 30 minutes before everyone else’s. Take ear plugs and a sleep mask. Block everyone out.

Biggest travel mistake?

Wearing jeans for a long haul flight. Forgetting to ask for an aisle seat.

Best coffee outside of Australia?

Vancouver: Cafe d’Artigiano. BOWLS of steamy, creamy, strong, but smooth coffee. People line up outside in the snow!

Best meal while travelling?

Indulge me. There are three.

One: On Naxos, in a tiny village clinging to the side of steep hill, we arrived soaking wet, and were clothed and fed by Martina. She served us roasted goat, stuffed peppers, Greek salads topped with her homemade goat’s cheese, and rustic bread fresh from her oven. There was no menu, and it cost us about 10 Euros each. Ridiculously cheap.

Two: Flying Fish in Seattle. Three courses. Sublime food. Wonderful company. I cannot wait to go back.

Three: Somewhere in the heart of the Beaujolais wine region, is a tiny restaurant, whose sign is barely discernible from the road. There are four tables, one of which is on a balcony which overlooks a deep and wide valley. I sat on this balcony with colleagues from my touring days for several hours, and we ate four courses of the most exquisitely presented and tasting food. My dessert was a heart-shaped strawberry mousse sitting on a chocolate shortbread crust. We drank more than a bottle each of the local wine, and did not need any dinner.

Most breathtaking view?

Again, it is difficult to narrow this down, but two stand out.
Machu Picchu in Peru, is incredible. It is literally perched on the top of pointy peaks, and sits amongst clouds.

Milford Sound, New Zealand. Ben and I did an overnight cruise, so we slept on the sound and then awoke to these stunning views.

And that is a wonderful note on which to end…

More to come…

Pure Glee

June 13, 2008June 13, 2008sandybarker

I was having dinner with my friend, Patrice, and she described her best travelling moment as sitting on the lawn of a resort in Papua New Guinea, and eating coconuts. It was her first time on grass in three years, because she had lived in a concrete jungle, and the resort lawn overlooked the ocean. The coconuts were fresh from the palm tree, and were sticky and delicious. There she sat, eating and slurping away as she gazed out at a spectacular view and scrunched her toes into the grass. It was pure glee.

Glee is not only a great word (try saying it out loud – you’re smiling now, aren’t you?), it is a wonderful state of being. Glee only comes when you are right in that moment. When you’re in the thick of glee, there is no thinking and there is no worrying; there is only divine joy. There is no real formula for glee either. It is hard to seek out, because it just happens, and before we know it, we are basking in it.

For traveller’s, these are moments that we remember with clarity, the emotional snapshots we file away in our memories to revisit when we need them most.

Since that dinner, Patrice’s story has inspired me to write of my own moments of emotional alchemy, when I have experienced glee while on my travels. I thought I’d start with my encounters with creatures.

Snorkeling off the coast off Maui with green sea turtles was what started my love affair with these serene beauties. They move so slowly and gracefully, as though there is all the time in the world. All fears I had about being in the ocean vanished as I dreamily paddled above them, and I was delighted when a grand old soul popped his head up above the surface about two meters from me. I am sure he gave me a wink.

Ben’s shot of a green sea turtle

Llamas are my favourite land animal. They have spunk, and are damned cute to boot. When traversing Peru on motorcycle with my guide, Geraldine, we stopped at a llama farm. I was still recovering from salmonella poisoning, but my weariness was forgotten as I walked amongst alpacas and llamas. They ate from my hand, and I laughed out loud like a delighted child. “Llama, llama, llama.”

There’s something in my eye

Ewok

Shaggy

Up the New South Wales coast, at Copacabana, my friend Paulie has a beach house (It is his home and it is stunning, and I am jealous, but this isn’t the time or the place). The kookaburras love to come and visit Paulie’s beach house, because they know they will get a feed. This fellow hung around for about 20 minutes and ate raw meat from my hand, which intrigued a fellow party-goer aged two.

Look at you

For some reason, dogs love me. This has taken some getting used to. I have a long-held fear of big dogs since I survived a childhood attack by a German Shepherd. Regardless, dogs do not know this, and in my travels I often make as many canine friends as human ones. On Siros, in the Cyclades Islands of Greece, this dog met me and Ben in the main square, then took us on a tour of the town.

Ben’s shot of Siros, our dog

She was such a lovely spirited dog, and a little naughty too (she chased and cornered a cat, and wouldn’t come until we threatened to leave without her). After a couple of hours, she led us back to the square and we thanked her for the tour with a bag of chips. Many of the dogs in Greece are homeless, but this one had a collar so she belonged to someone. For those two hours, however, she belonged to us.

I love kangaroos. They are almost as cute and cool as llamas. My dad (Ray) and step mum (Gail) live on the south coast of Western Australia in the tiny hamlet of Denmark (yes, that was intentional). Their home is in a semi rural area, where the roads and gardens are shared with the native kangas. When I wake, and before I drink my freshly squeezed orange juice, I go and say good morning to the mob. They look up from their eating, perfectly still, except for their mouths that continue to masticate. After a few moments, they decide that I am not as interesting as I obviously find them, and they go back to their breakfasts.

In the afternoon, they lounge, or fight if they are boys and are bored, and eat some more.

Dad tells the story of a joey, fresh from the pouch, attempting to hop across the road. He was hopping with all his might, while his mother waited for him on the other side, but for all his efforts, he was only hopping on the spot. Yes, kangaroos are funny creatures.

Lambs like to frolic and there are few things more adorable than a frolicking lamb. I saw hundreds of the things all over New Zealand as we drove the winding roads. Leaping, jumping, running, frolicking. I would laugh aloud, as they are even clumsier than me.

On our quad bike tour I got to pet a lamb, which was probably not as much fun for the lamb as it was for me. He, she, it was bleating like I was choosing it for its shanks, but I just pet its curly little head instead.

Some days later, Ben and I were driving to Christchurch, and found ourselves being unseasonably snowed upon. We stopped at a tiny town – one church, and one abandoned shack – and took in the silence that comes as snow falls in the middle of nowhere. Well, almost silence. I could hear bleating. I went off around the back of the church, and there hiding in the woodpile was this little lamb.

He came to me like a dog would, and stayed close by my side.

The poor little mite had wandered too far from mum, and like in a lost kid in the supermarket, was scared. I pointed it in the right direction, and it ran off to reunite with mum (who seemed indifferent to her terrified child). I had lamb shanks for dinner that night. Yes, true!

I am not Dr Doolittle, but I do talk to animals. It is a reflex response now. I can’t help it. My voice travels up a few notches, and before I know it, I am having a one-sided conversation with one of mother nature’s creatures.

I remember once in a hotel in New Zealand I asked Ben a question. He didn’t answer even though he must have heard me, so I asked again. “Are you talking to me?” he replied. I looked around the room, empty of people except the two of us. “Um, yes.” He smiled at me, “I thought there must have been a bird outside and you were talking to it.” How could I argue with that?

I guess I talk to them, because I am in a moment that I don’t get to have everyday. These animals intrigue and engage me, and before I know it, I am not worrying or thinking about anything else. I just feel the glee.

More later on gleeful moments in natural beauty, glee in response to human beauty, and glee from loving where I am, who I am with and what I am doing.

Staying Put

May 31, 2008May 31, 2008sandybarker

Ben and I chatted today, and the first part of the conversation was about his eventful flight from the west coast to the midwest (of the U.S.). He had me laughing with the tale of the mother and teenage son, who held up the security line because they had clearly never flown before (the toiletries must come out of the bag, shoes off, and metal things WILL make the metal detector go ‘ding ding ding’ like the “Price Is Right” set.)

Once on the plane there was the mother and daughter who insisted he was in the wrong seat, because surely the ‘ABC’ of the seating begins on the aisle. He was happy to give up the window seat that they clearly wanted, if only they would understand that, in fact, he WAS in the correct seat and the lettering begins at the window. He stayed next to the window, and eventually the women settled in.

He survived all of these frustrating encounters with first timers only to be on the flight from turbulence hell. “I don’t think I have ever heard the pilot come over the PA that many times to make sure people were in their seats.” Subsequently, there was no opportunity to visit the bathroom or for any food service. Then when the plane neared Minneapolis/St. Paul, they were put in a holding pattern due to inclement weather. All of this explains why his text message to me after landing mentioned ‘home’, ‘starving’ and ‘peeing’.

I laughed through his tales – and credit to him, so did he, and then I asked if he would like to ‘guest author’ this blog entry. Not only is he a good storyteller, but I have little to write about for the time being as I am ‘staying put’.

A week ago I finally heard a decision that I had been waiting a few months to hear, only the answer was ‘no’ and I had been waiting for a ‘yes’. In March I applied to go on an adventure that would take me to Africa for two weeks, all expenses paid, and would let me stand on African terra firma for the first time. A tour company I have travelled with twice needed 8 people to complete one of its trips so they could film the trip’s promotional video. The call went out. Over 400 people responded, with videos and photos and stories proving just how ‘intrepid’ we all were. 30 people were shortlisted, including me, and then we waited.

Three months later, after many interim emails asking me to please be patient and telling me I was still on the short list, I received the email telling me, unfortunately, I had not been selected for this trip. It had nothing to do with me – because they believe I am terrific, and great on camera – they just needed to get the permutation of people right.

I did not take their decision personally, but I was still gutted.

In my mind I felt, rather, I really knew, I would be asked to go on that trip. I had started thinking of what to take – that my hiking boots would be perfect, as would my rain slicker and my canvas pants with the zip-off legs. There was no doubt that I would get to go to Africa in a couple of months.

I shed a few tears – mostly of frustration. I expressed to Ben that I know some people perceive me as ‘lucky’, but in reality, although I have lived a wonderfully full life thus far, I am no luckier than anyone else. I just see opportunities, and when I decide I want something, I work bloody hard for it. My ‘luckiness’ comes from the fact that I was raised by parents who taught me to keep my eyes open, to work hard and to enjoy the fruits of my labours.

In this case, I had seen the opportunity and prepared a terrific letter and selected photographs that showed me at my adventurous best. When I was contacted and asked to send a video, I enlisted help from friends, filmed, edited and sent a video. When I was asked to send MORE video, I did – with photos and another letter. I did all I could to get on that trip, which is why although I was disappointed, I did not take too long to get over it. There was simply nothing more I could have done.

As I hate the idea of wasting valuable holiday time, the ‘rejection’ forced me to look ahead to the next few months and really think about what I want out of them. I decided to fly to Western Australia next month, so I can see my parents, and family, and old friends. I am really looking forward to this upcoming trip, basking in the familiarity and love that I will find there. Beyond that, Ben and I will see where his work takes him – and us – but for the short term I am staying put.

And that, is just fine with me.

Five Minute Friends

May 22, 2008May 22, 2008sandybarker

Last weekend, I went away with strangers. Well, not just strangers. I went away with my ‘foodie’ friend, Simon, who organised a group of us to go to the Hunter Valley wine region for the Lovedale Long Lunch.

Lovedale is a region within the Hunter Valley, and each year a handful of wineries throw a huge lunch. People come, they eat, they drink, they indulge in general merriment, then they pile into cars and buses and drive to the next winery where they do it all again. As well as Simon, there would be Shona and her husband, Dan, and best friends Pelagia and Pat. And they would not be strangers for long.

It being my birthday weekend, I thought that the LLL would be a terrific way to celebrate. So, I packed my overnight bag, ate a light breakfast, picked up Simon and we drove the 160kms to the town of Cessnock in the Hunter Valley. We took the scenic route, which was definitely scenic, but had Simon begging me to return to Sydney via the motorway the next day. Windy roads = nauseous passenger stomach. I slowed down a bit, which did not detract from the stunning drive. The sun was breaking through the trees and burning the dew from the grass. Cows and sheep looked up from their breakfast as we drove past. The road was nearly empty, except from a few motorcyclists who must have been loving the curvy roads.

We drove through the tiny town of Wollombi, where the ‘outback’ has crept towards the city. I wanted to stop and explore this testament to times gone by, but we were on a deadline – there was eating to do – so I will have to go back soon.

Minutes later we were in Cessnock. Ahhh, Cessnock. Yup, that’s all I have to say about that. Nothing much going for this town except its location – right in the heart of the Hunter Valley wine region. There are some shops, some houses, and no character whatsoever. We were staying a motel, which was clean and nice enough, and filled to the rafters with other Lovedale Long Lunchers. We dropped our bags and drove out to the first winery of the day: Emma’s Cottage Vineyard.

As we pulled in the driveway, we were greeted by people dressed as pirates, a theme that was never repeated throughout the day, and baffled us a little. We parked, walked past a small family cemetery, and joined up with the excited crowd of people milling around the entrance. $25 got us a meal, a glass of wine, and our wine tasting glass for the day. And then I met my new friends.

(Thank you to Shona for this pic)
It was that sort of meeting where I knew right away that we would all have a brilliant time, as we were laughing together within minutes. I had made 4 ‘five minute friends’, new friends that seemed like old friends within minutes. Pelagia and I even discovered that my next door neighbour is one of her best friends, which was really trippy, because Sydney has 4 million people in it – what are those odds?

We spent the rest of the day at three other wineries, where we shared bites of delicious meals, and drank tasty Aussie reds and whites. Each winery showcased its wine and its setting, as well as teaming up with a local restaurant and local producers.

We planned ahead from our menus, but after two lunches and a dessert, all I could do at the last winery of the day (Gartelmann Estate) was taste wine, gawk at the increasingly ‘sloppy’ crowd, and talk the penned alpaca (cute!).

At five we wrapped up our long lunch (6 hours) and headed back to our respective accomodation. Shona and Dan were at the Crowne Plaza (NICE!), and Pat and Pelagia were at Pepper’s Resort (nice in a ‘nana’ sort of way). Simon and I drove to the Comfort Inn in beautiful Cessnock, where we stayed for approximately 27 minutes before going to visit Shona and Dan at the Crowne. We took cocktail stuff and settled in for the evening.

I know it may be hard to believe that we wanted to drink anything else that day, but we did and it was my birthday, so we had a room party with gin and tonics and chips from the mini bar. We laughed about stupid stuff, and shared details from our lives, consolidating our ‘5 minute friendship’. And then we went to spa!

I had forgotten my swimmers and so had Shona, so we donned knickers and tank tops, and wrapped ourselves in fluffy white robes. With Simon and Dan in board shorts, we four strolled through the hotel lobby like we owned the place and went ourside to the pool area. A young couple was in the spa, so we would have to share. I was more concerned about the rain. For me, it was too cold and too windy to show my knickers in public. I dangled my feet while the others shivered in a semi-warm spa and avoided the (we soon discovered) naked couple on the other side. It was a quick spa session, but our little gin-steeped adventure, and fun.

(Spa and pool at Crowne taken the next morning)

After quick showers and freshening up we went to meet Pat and Pel at the local pub, an Irish pub, which was huge and stuffed with people. We commandeered a table, and ordered light meals. Well, no that is a total lie. We ate pizza and sausages with mash, and a Caesar salad. You would never have known that we had eaten all day.

Then, I was crashing. I don’t know whether it was the long day of driving, drinking and eating that made me want to curl up and sleep on the pub floor, or the fact that I was another year older. I am a partier, but I was pooped. The night continued a bit longer; I know there was some dancing (not by me), a visit to Pat and Pel’s room (at Pepper’s Retirement Village – I mean, Resort) and a dingo sighting on the drive back. Then, at about 11 and with much relief I climbed into the starchy white sheets of the Comfort Inn.

I’d had a full and fun birthday, and met four lovely new friends, and broken bread with my favourite foodie, Simon. I had also spoken to my parents, and my sis, and the next day I would get to talk to Ben. Yes, it was a lovely way to celebrate my 39th!

The next day we were going to do it all again – this time three wineries and a stop at Tempus Two were on the cards. I was completely for all of that, except for one thing. I hadn’t gotten to talk to my favourite boy. Long distance love means Ben is 15 hours behind Sydney time. I wanted to talk to him so much, I said my goodbyes after the first winery of the day, and made the drive back to Sydney along the motorway.

I know from photos sent on by Shona and Simon that they all had another brilliant day, including a stop at the cheese factory. I am happy that they did, especially as Shona, Dan, Pat and Pel are all parents and do not have the chance to getaway as often as I do. And I am sorry I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to Pel and Pat, but I will hopefully see them soon.

And me? I cannot wait to get back to the Hunter. I hadn’t been there since 2003, and quite frankly, that is just too long between drinks. Next time, I will take Ben so he can see the wide blue skies, the beautiful bush wineries, and taste some of the most delicious wine in Australia. We might even see a wombat in the wild.

Oh, and we are sooo staying at the Crowne!

Long distances

May 18, 2008sandybarker

Yesterday I turned 39. I spent the weekend with new friends up in the Hunter Valley – a wine region two hours north of Sydney – and I have some great pics and stories to share soon. And I mean not to take away from the fun, friendship and festivities of the past two days (or from those planned celebrations to come) by saying that, on my birthdays I feel long distances more acutely than any other day.

My parents live in across the country. My sister lives in London. My boyfriend lives in Minnesota. I have family and close friends literally all over the world. This means two things. Firstly, it means that I am inundated with cards, presents, calls, emails and good wishes from all over the planet. I enjoy this, because the girl inside me is part princess and loves being spoiled with love and good wishes.

It also means that, on my birthday I miss my nearest and dearest even more acutely than I usually do. I mean not to bemoan my life as it is. I mean only to say to those of you I miss, a lot, all of the time, and especially yesterday, that I love you. And I look forward to the next time I get to hug you, laugh with you, shake a hair shimmy with you, and sit next to you, with your hand in mine, while you fill me in on all I have missed. You see, the best thing about a ‘long distance’ is the reunion.

Mantra

May 12, 2008sandybarker

I teach Drama, and today I went to a Drama class for Drama teachers. In an acting exercise I had to take off a piece of jewelery and state why it is significant to me. I took off the silver ring I wear everyday and said, “This is the ring I bought in Peru, and I wear it everyday. It reminds me always that I am a traveller.”

“I am a traveller.” This is something I know to be true about myself, even when I doubt other things. It has become a constant. This contradiction tickles me, because I have this constant in my life that is about fulfilling my need to move, and my needs for freedom, for newness and contrasts. That assuredness actually guides me, because I have a great fear of playing it safe and becoming stagnant.

To travel is to take risks. It is a leap of faith. We build up expectations and then we go to see how the real thing measures up. It could all go pear shaped. Every time we get in the car for a road trip, or board a plane, we are putting ourselves out there in the world, and exposing ourselves to all kinds of strife, sometimes even bedlam. But, for me, the risks are worth it. They have paid off ten fold: where I have been, what I have done, who I have met, what I have seen. These are now parts of the tapestry of my life.

AND most importantly, in between my travels, I can still be a ‘traveller’: I can be brave, I can embrace opportunities to meet new people, I can try new things, and I can seek out new places in my home city. ‘I am a traveller’ means movement, freedom and contrasts, whether that is here in Sydney or on the other side of the world.

Of course I have those days where I don’t leave the house and stay in my pyjamas – the power of the ‘Doona Day’ is strong – and I have real fears that sometimes cripple me, but ultimately my mantra has the power to steer me back on course. ‘I am a traveller.’ I must go, and see and do.

Falling in Like

May 11, 2008May 11, 2008sandybarker

I took my heart to San Francisco, but I didn’t leave it there. I tend to fall a little in love with cities. There are cities that I love all over the world. I love Sydney. I love Venice. I love Prague. My love affairs in recent years have mostly been of the north American variety, and include Vancouver (very passionate and too brief), and Seattle (developed over time and rock solid). I did enjoy my brief trip to San Fran, and I can see why people would fall in love with it, but for now I will happily commit to ‘I am in like with San Fran.’

We had two days there between LA and the start of our road trip. Ben and I both know that two days is too quick for such an iconic city, but it is just our first trip there, our taster. We packed as much as we could into those days, so here is 36 (waking) hours in the beautiful San Francisco.

The Bridge Coming from Sydney, another city where the bridge is a draw card, I was looking forward to seeing the Golden Gate Bridge in the flesh, or the steel. We started to walk along the coast from Fisherman’s Wharf, a pathway that took us up steep hills, and along grey sandy ‘beaches’. When it became apparent that Ben thought we were walking all the way to the bridge (about 11 miles), and I thought we were just walking to where we could see it, we had a minor tetchy moment, and then hopped a cab. This was of great relief to me, as I was fighting jet lag and the wind was doing my head (and eyes) in. The cab took us the eight miles remaining, and we were deposited at the lookout area. They have really spent some money here! I am sure at one time, this was just a semi-industrial lump of dirt that just happened to be under one of the world’s most famous bridges. Today it is a landscaped parkland with pathways and lookouts. The Bridge itself is stunning. It is long, proud and bright burnt orange. Yep, it deserves all the hype.

Galleries Ben and I discovered early in our relationship that we both love galleries, and we tend to enjoy the small, boutique galleries most. On the way to the bridge, we happened upon a (what is the collective noun for galleries? A ‘monet’? A ‘picasso’? How about a ‘da vinci’?) a da vinci of galleries, all in a row. San Francisco has a plethora of galleries, and the handful we visited boasted impressive artists, including Dali at Franklin Bowles, and Warhol, Picasso and Rembrandt at Martin Lawrence. But perhaps my favourite, was a smaller gallery exhibiting artists not known to me. At Dennis Rae Fine Art, an artist called Thomas Arvid caught my eye, with his photographic style depictions of wine bottles and glasses.

China Town We wanted to go to China Town for Chinese food, so we caught a cab on our first night. China Town was dead. A few stores were open, and there was only a handful of restaurants to choose from. We walked a couple of blocks, looking for recommended places, and came across a family style restaurant. It was filled with Chinese people, they were eating and they looked happy, so it was as good a place as any. Except it wasn’t. It was bad. We paid, we left, we tried to forget, and scolded ourselves for not having better directions. There are some spectacular things for sale in China Town, at shops with brightly coloured wares crammed into every space. I wanted to buy a silk purse, and maybe a paper lantern, but not then. I was not in the mood to buy something pretty.

Little Italy On the way home from our spectacularly bad dinner, we inexplicably ended up in Little Italy, which we found on Columbus Ave near Washington Square. “Let’s go in a cafe and order dessert and some wine,” I suggested, wanting to resurrect our evening. We chose Panta Rei, for no other reason than it looked warm inside, and had an Italian man sitting outside, who said “Bueno Sera” back to me. It was warm inside, and smelled delicious. We ordered cheescake and a bottle of Lapierotta Sirah, on the waiter’s recommendation. Both were incredible. The flirtatious waiter brought bread and oil when we’d finished the cheesecake, and we settled in. We took our time, and left a little tipsy as we walked hand in hand back down Columbus to our hotel.

Coit Tower On our full day in SF, we planned to go to Alcatraz. Once we’d bought tickets, we had about a two hour wait for the ferry. We wanted to go to the famous Lombard Street – the windiest and one of the steepest in SF, but we were a little far from there. A local directed us, instead, to Coit Tower, which is the highest point in SF. From where we were we climbed up dozens of flights of stairs through people’s backyards and alongside steep driveways. It was worth the climb. We paid the $5 to ride the elevator to the top – lots of Aussies and French that day. The views were incredible, and we could see Lombard Street, where we would go later that day.

Alcatraz We paid $24.50, lined up, caught the ferry, and once on Alcatraz, we were free to do as we liked and could catch any ferry back that afternoon. Just as the ferry docked, Bob, a retiree with a gift of the gab, was starting his talk on famous escape attempts from Alcatraz.

Bob moved the crowd of 50 a few times, pointing out various places, but the skill was in his story telling. We could just imagine the events unfolding as he described them. None of the stories had happy endings. Officially, no one escaped Alcatraz and survived. The rocks are razor sharp and the currents strong. We took the audio tour of the main prison block.

Incredible. You can stop and start it when you want. It guides you through the whole place at your own pace, and is narrated by a former warden and former inmates. I really enjoyed it. And of course, the most excruciating aspect of being on Alcatraz, is that is it SO close to SF. If the wind was right, inmates could hear the goings on of a city they could not step foot in.

Fisherman’s Wharf We stayed right near Fisherman’s Wharf, so walked its footpaths several times. We ate twice at a restaurant called Tarantinos – once for lunch and once for dinner. The food was outstanding, and we returned for dinner our second day, as it is positioned so you can watch the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. Spectacular. Try the chowder!

Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar There is a Tiki bar under the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco. No, really. After dinner at Tarantino’s, we grabbed a cab, and headed up the hill. The Fairmont in SF is really impressive, and decorated in a Parisian style. We entered the lobby, ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ under our breaths and started our hunt for the Tiki Bar. Could a bar like this BE is a hotel like this? It just seemed so incongruous, but we went downstairs, turned a corner and there it was. We were two of 6 people in there, as it was a little dead on a Tuesday night, but we made our own fun. We ordered a cocktail for two, with enough alcohol to sedate a bull elephant.

Lombard Street We hadn’t caught a cable car yet, so thought we could catch one up Hyde Street and then walk back down the hill via Lombard Street. The queue for the cable car was long, and we had just finished enormous Ghiradelli chocolate ice creams, so we walked up Hyde Street, which is so steep that your body is on a 45 degree angle as you go up. Paying penance for the ice cream, we grimaced at the people stuffed onto the cable car as it clanged past, “Lightweights,” I grunted. We made it, our walk up well worth it to see the novelty of a street where the footpath is steps and the street so steep that it switches back several times.

A terrific city. And in the immortal words of the Californian governor, “[We’ll] be back.”

Heart pounding

May 7, 2008sandybarker

I led a discussion in class yesterday, about ‘youth’. “Am I old or young?” I bravely asked a room full of 13 year olds. Without missing a beat, 27 voices chorused, “Old.” I laughed. We went on to discuss how ‘youthfulness’ can be a state of mind. In my heart and mind I am young. My body sometimes has other ideas, but like my 70-something great aunt, my hope is to live a long life with as many youthful assets as I can retain: a curious mind, a thirst for knowledge, a child-like sense of wonder and joy, and may I never lose the desire to laugh out loud. Most importantly, I want always to have an adventurous spirit.

So here I return to tales of my adventures, those endeavours that have thrilled me, terrified me, challenged me, and taken me far from my usually comfortable, urban life. I get grubby, wet, sweaty, cold, and hot, all while my heart pounds from exertion, fear or excitement. This is me in ‘Adventure Chick’ mode.

White Water Rafting Austria. Bali. New Zealand. Scariest: Austria. I was thrown in the water, and had to swim against the current while rapids rapidly approached. Hilarious, apparently, to those on the raft. Most fun: New Zealand. I can hear the guide’s voice in my head: “HOLD ON! GET DOWN!” We did as we were told, and we survived, all while I shrieked with gleeful laughter. Cold, wet, and worth it.

Sea Kayaking Queensland. Double kayaks, paddling out to sea and into the coves of Magnetic Island. I worked those back and arm muscles, while synching with Ben’s paddle strokes. Swam in a bathwater warm bay, breakfasted on white sands, and paddled past a sea turtle on return.

Snorkling Maui. Green Island and Magnetic Island, Queensland. Was little scared – out of my depth, but the fear was forgotten as soon as I saw the fish. In Queensland, I hand fed the fish while they swam around me. Best: Maui. Swam with giant sea turtles. Swam with a kaleidescope of tropical fish. Swam with Ben and laughed because with prescription goggles, I realised that ‘fish aren’t fuzzy!’

Sailing Whitsunday Islands. Cyclades Islands, Greece (8 days). Magnetic Island. My first few times on a yacht, I nervously clung to the railings, fearing a fall into the depths of the ocean. Now I seek opportunities to get back out onto the water, because I love it. Boomnetting is sitting in a giant net off the side or the back of the boat. It is mad, and scary, and fun. Ben climbed up the net, onto the boat, jumped off the front of the boat and latched onto the net as the boat sped past. Crazy.

Firing a handgun Las Vegas. My heart was pounding – before, during and after. It was thrilling, but I do not feel the need to do it again. I wanted to know what it felt like and now I do.

Glacier Climbing Franz Josef, NZ. We donned spikes and we climbed, up and up. It was cold, I feared falling into an endless crevice or toppling down the ice steps, but the icy landscape was otherworldly, and well worth the climb.

Mountain Biking Bali. New Zealand. Austria. The Bali ride was a road trek from Ubud, through villages and rice fields. Highlight: slapping hands with the kids who lined the roads to say ‘hello’. Wanaka, NZ: My first time off road, a 30 km trek along bush paths. Muddy, scary, fun, and a windy ride back along the lake.

Water-skiing Swan River and Waroona Dam, WA. Corfu, Greece. My first time was terrifying, until the boat took off and I skied across the dam. I was hooked, and skied every spring and summer for years. Someday I will dust off my ski and get back behind the boat.

Quad Biking Te Anau, NZ. The most fun I have ever had outdoors. These bikes have gears, and they go! We were on a working farm, so rode amongst the sheep and cows. We climbed a minor mountain, and sludged through the bogs. Muddy from top to toe. Exhilarated.

Paragliding Corfu, Greece. Terrified of being so high, but all that was forgotten as soon as we lifted into the sky. Peaceful and gentle with a great view.

Abseiling Utah. Western Australia. New South Wales. This still scares the hell out of me. Every time. But I do it, because the adrenalin lasts for hours.

Horse riding Western Australia. Paradise, NZ. I don’t have luck with horses – one tried to roll on top of me, one threw me, and one ran me through low branches. I got back on the horse last year in NZ. Wasn’t (too) scary, even though Seth had a mind of his own. The ride was spectacular, and included locations from The Lord of the Rings.

Hiking New South Wales. Peru. Hawaii. California. Austria. Blue Mountains. Switzerland. Most spectacular: Switzerland: Hiked from the last train stop before the summit of Jungfrau to Lauterbrunnen on the valley floor. Snow to start, grass to finish, blue skies the whole way. Yodellay-hee-hoo. AND Maui: From Seven Pools, south of Hana, to Waimoku Falls. Hot, sweaty and totally worth tripping over tree roots to get to the spectacular 400 foot falls. Ben and I ran through the bamboo forest on the way back, like Jack and Kate from LOST.

Waterhole swimming Western Australia. Maui. Hiking, climbing, crawling over boulders to get to hidden waterholes. Best: The Three Bears Waterfall on Maui. Ben and I climbed under a bridge, over giant boulders, and through trees to get to it. It was so cold that it was hard to breathe, but we did it.

Skiing Mt Hotham and Mt Buller, Victoria. Breckenridge, Colorado. Whistler, Canada. First time: 17, hated it. Fell down the mountain. Second time: 37, loved it. I am better at it now, but have been very scared on blue runs. Whistler was icy and terrifying. Mt Buller had no visibility, so I was more brave and skied blue runs – I have more guts than style.

Riding Shotgun Greece. California. Sydney. Peru. This is when I ride on the back of a scooter or a motorcycle. I love it. I rode a scooter when I lived in LA, but it is more fun when someone else is in charge. I fell for Ben a little while I had my arms wrapped around his waist and we followed winding roads around Greek Islands. In Peru, I was brave, as the motorcycle was big and the roads were deadly.

Skydiving Christchurch, NZ. Ben went first, and watching him get sucked out of the plane made my heart stop. The first 6 seconds when I plummeted to earth, strapped to a tall stranger, were the worst of my life. Freefall was exhilarating. The shoot opening brought me relief, until we started spiraling towards the ground, and the final 100 metres was like paragliding, and I loved it. “How was that,” Ben asked, smiling. “That was horrible,” I replied. And most of it was. Never again. But I did it. Adventure Chick did it.

Thank you to Ben, who took some of these with his camera.

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