Category: Uncategorized

Drama Queen: Becoming a Novelist

sandybarker

Since I can remember, I’ve loved writing. I still have my Year 4 composition book and I was quite the short storyist (I also like to make up words). In my teens I wrote a gripping satirical piece on public toilets and started a novel (to date, still unfinished).

At university, while studying a BA in English and majoring in Literature and Theatre Arts, I wrote piercing exposes about sexism in classic novels and the sexualisation of men in Glam Rock – I know, also gripping stuff. I wrote angst-ridden monologues, which were somewhat sophomoric considering I was in my early twenties and no longer a sulking teen.

I kept a journal from age twelve, one of those small, but fat diaries with a gold lock that my eight year-old sister could easily pick. I upgraded to bigger and better journals, but stopped journalling about fifteen years ago when I realised I spent more time writing about my life than living it.

All of these writings and musings are where I cut my teeth as an author, but the one thing that has served me best as an author is Drama – my time studying performance and plays, my time on stage, and my time as a Drama teacher.

Drama taught me invaluable lessons I draw on every time I write.

Character motivations

Characters must have a motivation. It’s that simple. They must want something, even if they don’t (yet) know that they want it. Characters can also be their own antagonist – just think of how many people you know who self-sabotage. Any time my writing stalls, I ask myself, what does this character want and what will they do to get it?

Character arcs

Not only do characters need a motivation, they must move – and I don’t mean that they need to join a dance class or change their address. Characters – particularly the protagonist – must develop, grow, or change in some way. They must have an arc. They should be different at the end of the story from when the reader first meets them. It’s good for me as a writer to be able to articulate that continuum of growth, that arc.

Back stories

Acting taught me of the importance of back stories. Characters – again, particularly protagonists – need to be as fully fleshed out as possible. They should have histories and there should be reasons for their personality traits, their motivations, their flaws, their relationships. As a writer, I must create histories for my characters, so they ring true to readers.

Setting

In a play, there’s a great deal of attention to setting – how characters interact with it, how it’s referred to and how it is staged. On paper, a richly-developed setting can become almost a character in itself. And how characters engage with the setting can evoke a specific tone or mood. As I travel avidly, I tend to write about places I know well and aim to capture what it is like to be in those places.

Dialogue

I have received some terrific feedback on the realism of my dialogue, which I greatly appreciate because I tend to use a lot of it and I work hard to make it sound A) true to each character and B) natural and realistic.

Writing plays in the noughties helped me develop this skill. I was teaching at a girls’ school and was seeking out plays for student productions. There’s a dearth of well-written, easy-to-stage ensemble pieces which are appropriate for high school students – especially for an all-female cast. So, I wrote plays. (They have since been published on Drama Notebook in the US and have been performed by schools in Australia, the UK and the US.)

I also hone this skill every time I work on one of my novels. Once I finish a conversation, I read it aloud as the characters (with voices – I can’t help myself), and tweak the phrasing, words, tone and inflections. My aim is to make it seem like a real conversation that I happened to capture in print.

Scenes

I follow a lot of authors on social media through Twitter, Facebook, blogs and websites, and I’ve been pleased to see more and more discussions about writing in scenes. Rather than focussing on chapters, the author focuses on a scene where something specific happens – just like in a play. A scene could comprise a whole chapter, or it might be part of one.

I realised recently that as a novelist I always write in scenes – again, perhaps a throw-back to writing plays. It is easier for me to approach the over-arching story in smaller, self-contained chunks. As a reader, I’ve seen a shift in writing towards this format. Likely you’ve seen this too – authors denote the end of a scene within a chapter with a double space or a physical page break that looks something like this:

***

Where I used to have to finish reading a whole chapter before putting a book down, I can now get to the end of a scene and feel like I have a natural place to pause.

A quick nod to grammar

I mentioned that I studied Literature as well as Theatre Arts and it was through my Lit classes that I began my love affair all things grammar. I have since taught English and worked as a professional editor. It means I can conduct decent and thorough editorial passes at my own writing before handing off to a(nother) pro (always get another pair of eyes on a manuscript).

And a quick nod to my contemporaries

A good writer reads. A good writer reads widely. A good writer reads voraciously.

Reading teaches you what to do and what not to do – how to evoke time, place, passion, fear, love, loss and the human condition – how to avoid over-using a word – how to structure a phrase, a sentence, a chapter, a thought – how to make your readers laugh aloud and weep onto the page – how to play with words and ignore the rules for effect.

I want to be a good writer – sorry, make that a great writer – so I read. Every day. Across genres. Indie authors, emerging authors, well established authors, and sometimes super famous authors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Year’s Absolutions 2017

sandybarker

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Every year I think of the (sometimes silly) promises I have made to myself – or the albatrosses of obligations I have somehow bought into – and absolve myself of them. This is in the spirit of seeking (only) joyful, authentic, positive pursuits, and releasing myself from the pursuits that make me resentful, angry or bored.

My absolutions for 2017:

Reading books that are boring. I have actually become good at this: putting down books that are not engaging enough. Specifically, I absolve myself of finishing John Grisham’s latest, The Whistler, about a (yawn) whistle-blower. I wanted to like this book. I have read and liked Grisham for 25 years. Except that this book is boring. I got 30% in and was using it to put myself to sleep each night. It’s still on my Kindle, but I will not finish it.

Watching TV shows that I don’t like – or stop liking. It’s 2017 and we are spoiled for choice. We can watch anything and everything. We can watch across genres and on demand. We can binge watch – binging on TV shows like they are giant bags of potato chips. In 2016, I started watching Mr Robot. It’s good TV – really good TV – only I got sick of the premise. I didn’t like characters. I can appreciate the writing and acting without liking the show, but I no longer watch it.

Instead, I watch shows I continue to enjoy because time is precious and life is too short to watch ‘bad’ TV (which also applies to good TV that you don’t enjoy anymore). In 2016, I also stopped watching Scandal, Grey’s Anatomy, Rosewood, and Last Man on Earth. TV I am (still) enjoying: This is Us, Designated Survivor, Outlander, Madam Secretary, Modern Family, and Brooklyn 99. Oh, and the 4 episodes of Gilmore Girls that popped up recently.

Eating vegan/gluten free/organic/dairy free/Ayurvedic/Paleo. For about 20 years now I have subscribed to the 80/20 rule for eating/drinking: 80% of the time, I eat low-fat protein, whole grains, fresh fruit and veggies and drink tea (green, red and black) and lots of water. 20% of the time, I eat and drink what I like. This works for me. I don’t need to be dairy free because I am not lactose intolerant. I don’t need to eat gluten-free because I am not celiac. I have IBS, which means I have to be careful about eating uncooked fruit and veggies, but other than that, I’m good. If you need to eat differently to me to be or feel well, I will wholeheartedly support you. But I will not subscribe to a new way of eating just ’cause – Pete Evans, you lunatic.

Moving up the corporate ladder. I don’t want my boss’ job. He spends the majority of his time creating spreadsheets, writing tenders and taking meetings. In fact he spends more time in meetings than I do out of them. This is not what I want to do. I work in education; I want to educate. Like most industries, moving up at my company will take me further away from the thing I love. 2017 will be about exploring the breadth of my role, and discovering what my counterparts around the world are doing and sharing with them what I do. I want to make a difference more than I want to make a profit. This does not bode well for someone who wants to move on up, so, it’s a good thing that this isn’t me.

What I do want to in the next year: I want to travel widely. I want write across genres and for different audiences. I want to be fit and healthy. I want to make more of an effort to see my friends and family. I want to make solid plans to live elsewhere, and/or to expand my role, and/or to take on another role. I want to continue to learn and grow and be challenged. I want to give. I want to love.

Absolving myself of these things and more will give me time and space to pursue my loves, my dreams, and the things that will make me happy.

On that note, Happy New Year, everyone. May 2017 be grand, full of adventures and challenges, and replete with love and laughter. Be well, and be happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Our Little Miss Lucy

sandybarker

Lucy 2.jpg

When you get a pet, you know that it is very likely that you will outlive them. You risk the inevitability of them dying sometime in the future, because you know that before that happens, you will have the wonderful experience of being a furrent.

We had our little Lucy for nearly 5 years and she died peacefully at the vet’s office yesterday afternoon because her kidneys failed.

We adopted Lucy from a shelter in Seattle in 2011. I had been asking Ben about getting a cat for more than a year, and he finally relented saying we could go to the shelter to ‘look’. I had an inkling that looking would turn into getting, so I agreed.

The shelter had a no-kill policy so there were dozens of cats to choose from. There was even an offer that day to adopt a black cat for free. We checked out all the black cats, but none of them were ours. Then 7 year old Lucy caught our eye because A) she was very pretty and B) she was a chill little kitty who was lounging at the back of her cage rather than meowing like crazy for our attention.

When we approached her, she stood up, stretched and turned around to show us her butt. We both laughed out loud. We asked to cuddle her and when we did, she purred loudly and rubbed up against us. Then Ben pointed out that she matched our living room rug, and we both knew we’d found our cat.

It was a big deal for Ben to agree to get a cat. He’d never had one before – he was a dog person – and he was understandably nervous about possible bad cat habits she might have – like scratching and biting, ruining the furniture, general meanness and/or indifference, jumping on counters and spreading cat germs, and worst of all, sleeping on his face. Lucy turned out to be just as perfect at home as she was in the shelter – she had no bad cat habits.

She was affectionate – in fact, Lucy was borderline slutty. She’d flop in front of anyone with a pulse who walked on two legs, begging to be petted. She would happily sit on laps, purring loudly, or do ‘halvesies’ which was front paws and head on the lap, back paws and bum on the chair, also purring loudly. She’d stay like that all day if you let her. She took to sitting on Ben’s lap, staring up at him adoringly, as he worked. And if you were drinking something while she was sitting on you, she’d want to sniff it, just to see what it was.

She was funny – she’d catch sight of her tail and stare at it as if to say, ‘what the fuck is that?’ Then she’d pounce on it and chase it around and ‘round like dogs do. Like me, she loved leather handbags and shoes, but unlike me, her love of them bordered on obsession. I can’t tell you how many times we apologised to guests who’d abandoned bags or shoes near the door only to watch our cat making love to them – the handbags and shoes, that is. She’d rub up and down on them and purr like a mad little puss. When I planted potted herbs on our balcony, she’d took to having a morning constitutional where she’d stop and smell each herb. I didn’t know at the time that I was planting a garden for her, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she thought. She also thought birds and cats on TV were real, and would go around the back of the TV looking for them.

She was a total cat – she’d watch birds playing on the balcony and make this weird sound – ‘ah-ah-ah-ah’. I’d never heard a cat do that before Lucy, but apparently, it’s very catlike. She was terrified of thunder and fireworks, and would run into our bedroom and shove her fat little bottom all the way under the bed. We’d have to coax her out afterwards. She would plant herself in the middle of the living room, stick her leg in the air and start licking her nethers. When we’d laugh – as we did pretty much every time – she would stop and look at us as if to ask ‘What?!’ and then continue. She loved to be brushed. It was one of the two words she knew – the other was her name. Until she got sick, she’d come when called. She loved the red dot, the feathered thing on the end of the string, playing with shoelaces (we used to say that she was helping us get dressed), and watching her favourite TV show called ‘The Back of the Red Couch’.

Lucy was fun to have around, loving and sweet, and she made us laugh. She was family and we will miss her. Here’s to you, Miss Lucy, and 5 wonderful years together.

 

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I’m hopeless at being helpless

sandybarker

catPatient

I am writing this one-handed and I’m wearing pyjamas in the middle of the day.

Eleven days ago I had a shoulder reconstruction and since then I’m sporting bandages on my left shoulder and a sling. I have at least 3 more days off work in ‘complete rest’ mode, and then maybe I can start back at work doing light duties from home.

I have pain in my shoulder and arm and it is different day to day and hour to hour – throbbing, dull ache, sharp at the site of my stitches, not painful at all. They gave me really powerful painkillers, but these make me nauseous, so I’ve been OTC-only for a while.

The shoulder pain was expected and actually doesn’t bother me as much as limitations imposed on me as a patient recovering from shoulder surgery. I mean, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of stuff, but I wasn’t prepared for how that would affect me.

I don’t like it.

I am getting better at asking for help as I get older, but it is still hard for me. It is not a pride thing as much as me not wanting to trouble others with my needs. It’s probably a little bit of a pride thing too, because I am fiercely independent and self-sufficient. I do know the limits of my abilities and at those limits is where I ask for help, but the limits have suddenly and drastically changed.

Things you can’t do when one arm is in a sling and you can’t get your bandages wet and you can’t really lean forward and it hurts if you move too much:

  • make a meal – even putting cereal and milk in a bowl – this is a two-handed activity if you’ve been doing it that way your whole life, and can go very wrong if attempted one-handed – in the mornings, I sit at the breakfast bar and tell my boyfriend, Ben, how many flakes to put in the bowl – I am usually chief cook in our home so it’s frustrating not to be able to whip up dinner in 10 minutes like I usually do
  • wash my hair – the 1000s of times I took this simple activity for granted! My recent hair washing experiences have included plastic wrap, masking tape, the laundry sink, and for the first time ever, Ben
  • putting my hair into a pony tail – girls with long(ish) hair, try it – or even just mime doing it – you can’t do it alone. Ben can now do a neat low pony, but we have yet to graduate to the more advanced messy bun
  • drying off after a bath – when you’re an adult, bath time should be fun or a luxury – at the moment, it is neither – it is solely perfunctory – I feel like an overgrown toddler, needing help to wash under my right arm and to dry my back and legs
  • typing – actually I can do this – it just takes a looooooong time
  • car doors and seatbelts – sure, I can open the car door one-handed, but when I did it hurt like hell – I realised how much that one action relays to my other shoulder, so in this condition, it’s best done by someone else so I don’t bust a stitch
  • opening jars, bottles, etc. – see ‘car doors’ above
  • washing dishes – see ‘opening jars’ above
  • walking – yep, walking hurts – you move a lot of your body when you walk, and here’s a shocker, your body parts are all connected! Ow!
  • carrying – you can can more with 2 hands together than with 1 hand x 2 – this means lots of trips when moving rooms – and see ‘walking’ above
  • working out – I know this is an obvious one, but daily exercise has become vital for my general wellbeing – it gets the kinks out of my body and my brain – I rely on the endorphins, I like being flexible and strong – it keeps the aches and the blues at bay
  • general chores and stuff you do around the house 50 times a day without thinking – I am bumping up against this one a lot

How have these limits on my self-sufficiency affected me?

If I’m honest, I’m a little blue. I don’t like being helpless. I am a doer. I get shit done. All I have gotten done in the last 11 days is read 4 novels, watch 3 complete series on Netflix, trawl Facebook and Reddit 3 times a day, and develop an excruciating headache that sent me to bed for 2 days.

And healing.

I am very busy healing, and even though my current state frustrates me, I know this is my number one priority. I must heal so I can get back to doing all the other stuff.

Very special thanks to my darling Ben who has become my left hand. And thank you to friends for visits and driving me to the doctor and helping me do stuff I can’t do by myself at the moment.

 

sandybarker

A dear friend, whom I have known for 20 years, pontificates about what 40 means to a modern woman.

Mexico

sandybarker

The day we landed in paraíso

It was hot when we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac at Puerto Vallarta airport. A warm breeze blew across us, and despite my tetchy stomach, I smiled at Ben.

Immigration, customs, time-share hawkers, rental car shuttle, rental car, Walmart (for water and forgotten sunscreen), a lively drive through the city and then down a windy coastal road to the resort: Barcelo Mismaloya, a.k.a. “Paraíso”. We were given gold wristbands which we would wear for the duration of our stay. It was an all-inclusive package and that meant we had very few additional costs. Only the massages we’d have later in the week weren’t included.

You know that expression, “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven”?  Well, we lived that as we walked into our suite. It was bigger than our apartment. A dining room, a living room, two bathrooms, a large bedroom and an enormous L-shaped balcony that overlooked both the beach and the pools.

Waiting for us was a bottle of (good) tequila, a bottle of champagne and a fruit platter.  We changed into our swimsuits and headed down to the pool. As the sun got lower in the sky, we went upstairs to change for dinner. Dinner was at the buffet, which is where we would also be having breakfast for the next 7 mornings. The food was fresh, delicious and a good sampling of authentic Mexican food.  After dinner we retired to our balcony where we watched wedding festivities and let it soak in that we were here for a whole week. In paraíso!

The day we did nada

Day two of our stay we did something we rarely do when we’re traveling: nothing.  We ate, we lounged, we read, we chatted, we played table tennis (Ben retained his champion status), we drank cocktails and we walked down onto the beach at the front of the resort.  Relaxed? Oh yeah.

The day I fed a giraffe and fell down in the dirt

After doing ‘nothing’ for a whole day, we were ready to venture further afield. We planned a hike up to a waterfall about 6km from the resort. On the way (or as we opted, the way back) we could visit the Puerto Vallarta Zoo and the place where they make tequila (the good stuff).

They day was hot and dry, and we slathered ourselves in sunscreen before the big hike up the canyon. The road we followed wound through the tiny town of Mismaloya, not surprisingly a stark contrast from the resort.  We passed the tequila place, we passed the zoo and still the road continued.

We started to see signs for visiting the set of Predator, the 80s film with Schwarzenegger.  After more than an hour we reached gates that told us we were in Predator country, even though they looked more like the gates to Jurassic Park. This was apparently where the waterfall was too, and our visions of finding a secluded spot to swim under a waterfall disappeared. This place was geared completely towards tourists. There was the restaurant that looked like a giant hut Gilligan might have built and a zipline course. We sat for a little while, drank a couple of cold drinks and then decided to head back down the canyon. We didn’t swim, because the waterhole was set in the middle of all these activities and we would have had an audience.

As we left Jurassic Park/the Predator set/the zipline course and restaurant, buses full of tourists started arriving. We had decided to leave at the right time. And not long after that I fell on the gravel and scraped my shin. It stung – and would continue to sting for the next few days. My wound, I dubbed it.

We got to the zoo and at the entrance I debated about paying to hold one of their tiger cubs. $10 bought 5 minutes, $20 – 10 minutes and so on. I decided against it, because I felt funny about holding a baby animal that I felt should be with its mother and not sitting in an enclosure all day with other cubs waiting for someone to pay to hold them. We saw the cubs at the end of the zoo tour. There were 2 tigers, and 2 jaguars. They were super cute, but I still didn’t want to hold one.

We saw a lot of animals very close up. The lion enclosure for example, had thick wire mesh between us and the lions. The lioness was stalking up and down at the front of the cage and had I been stupid enough to, I could have scratched her on the nose.

Other animals were within touching distance too. Such an odd zoo. We saw the masturbating tortoise, the hippo lying in a pool of its own excrement and while looking at babies in the nursery a camel bit my hat.In this zoo they encouraged you to feed the animals, but only the stuff you bought from the zoo. I was naughty and fed an apple to the giraffe. I love giraffes and he had a sweet face.

Leaving the zoo, we headed straight for the tequila ‘factory’. I put that word in inverted commas because they still do everything by hand. It was there that I learned tequila is made from the agave plant (truly, I never knew this) and an assortment of other interesting facts about tequila. Most interesting to me is that the stuff I was drinking at the age of 20, the stuff that turned me off tequila for a couple of decades, the cheap stuff is made very differently to the authentic and good stuff. Needless to say after tasting the good stuff we bought some to bring home.

The rest of the day we spent recovering from our outing and sampling some more of the good stuff.

The day we held an iguana

Our 4th day in Mexico was focused on a day trip to Yelapa, a small seaside town that is only accessible by horse (or ATV) and boat. We opted for the latter, so drove about 15 minutes down the road to Bocca de Tomatlin where we hopped what he hoped was the water taxi to Yelapa. We had paid a man on the street for return tickets, yet no one on the boat asked to see them and we were not entirely convinced for the whole hour we were on the boat that it was actually going to stop at Yelapa. It stopped many times along the way, dropping off and picking one or two people and each time we wondered, “Is this Yelapa?” Finally, we pulled into a bay that looked like it could be Yelapa and I asked one of the locals, “What place is this?” She looked at me like I was an idiot, and replied curtly, “Yelapa!”

We got off the water taxi – and still no one asked to see our tickets.

We wandered up the beach and stopped at the first cafe we found. Ben for a beer and me for a coffee.  A man approached us with an iguana, “You want a picture with my iguana?” I did, but not before we bargained him down in price. We took the pics and off he went. He would ask us about 5 more times throughout the day if we wanted a picture with his iguana. I guess he had a short memory, despite the fact that there were less than 50 tourists on the beach that day.

We wandered further down the beach and took up on two sun-loungers in front of a very basic cafe. We got to talking with an older gentleman who worked at the cafe, and he offered to show us the way to the river. We promised to come back for lunch – mainly because I liked him. He had a good outlook on life, but also because lunch sounded delicious.

He led us through the back ‘streets’ of the town and apparently offered Ben some ganja, which he politely refused. Our path led us through front gardens of homes and eventually to the one bridge that crossed the river. The path on the other side of the river was much the same, more houses, some small shops and cafes, and very much a place of the locals who eyed us warily.

We made it back to the beach, only we were now on the other side of the river, and the way to cross was to pay the ferryman. Apparently I overpaid him, but I thought 20 pesos (about $1.80) was a reasonable rpice to avoid having to walk all the way back to the bridge.

We found our friend again and settled in for lunch: camarones (like small crayfish), salad, salsa, guacamole and beers. Fabulous. Also one of the pricier meals we would have in Mexico at about $40.

We were told that the water taxi would be back around 2:30, and we moved to the middle of the beach where it seemed people were gathering. They weren’t, they were just chatting, but one of the locals came down to the water’s edge and asked us if we wanted the water taxi. He said it would be a few more minutes, and when a boat did show up, cruising across the bay, our local whistled loudly and signaled to the boat to come and get us. Had he not been there, we would have been left standing on the beach.

This was a slightly nicer boat than the one that delivered us and when we got back to Tomatlin, one of the crew asked to see the ticket – finally.

We had another lovely and relaxed dinner at the resort and decided we would watch one of the shows that played nightly.

It was 10 dancers, who each had about 15 costume changes as they ‘danced around the world’. While we could see how hard they were working, nothing could make up for cheesy costumes and choreography.  When they asked for volunteers to get onstage for the final dance, we thought ‘what the hell’. It ended up that there were more people onstage than off, and we had a good time learning the dance. We didn’t go to any of the other shows that week.

The day that Ben did not go to jail

We wanted to head up into the mountains, so set a course for San Sebastian. It is a small town nestled in rocky mountains, that was once a bustling hub filled with thousands of gold miners and their families.  It was 60 km away and took us 2 and a half hours to get there. Firstly, it took us an hour to get out of the city because traffic is crazy. Then, once out of the city the roads were potted and we were wary of speed bumps, which are placed (seemingly) randomly along roads where the speed limit is otherwise 760-80 k.p.h. This means that unless you are following someone and can see where they sloe down for speedbumps, you have to drive slowly and very cautiously, so that you don’t go flying off the road.

When we were close, we calculated the time back to the city. We were doing an excursion that night and would have to be back in time to get on a boat.  We nearly turned back. We didn’t know how long it would take to get from where we were to the town, and the roads had turned into cobblestones.  We decided to proceed.

We were rewarded with the welcome to San Sebastian signs not long afterwards, and parked our car at the town square.  We saw a cafe that was open and climbed the steps where we were met with a smile. The patron offered us coffee, but I asked for beer. We sat and sipped and ate salsa, chips and guacamole (our now-standard snack), while we looked out over the very slow town life.

After lunch, we walked around the town – which took about 15 minutes – and then headed back to the car.  Had we wanted, we could have stayed the night and done one of various tours on horseback further into the mountains and to see some of the mines. We had no plans to do this, however, but were pleased to see such a quintessentially Mexican place during our stay.

Our drive back to the city was more eventful than it should have been. As we came to the main highway, there was no signage and we ended up heading away from Puerto Vallarta rather than towards it. That would have been okay, but we had to cross a causeway, negotiate major roadworks and then head several kilometers up the road before we could turn around. We then had to go back through that same traffic.  Once on the other side of Puerto Vallarta, we apparently did the wrong thing through a military checkpoint (on direction of the bored, young soldier at the start of the checkpoint) and about a kilometer down the road were pulled over by the police.

Then the shakedown began.  He had been speeding. He had done the wrong thing at the checkpoint. He seemed drunk. All of this was bullshit. He had gone the way directed at the checkpoint, and we were doing the same speed as the local traffic who all ignored the 40 k.p.h. signs. And Ben was not drunk. He’d had a light beer three hours before.

The officer pretended not to speak much English and then he took Ben’s licence and said that the fine was 15 times 60 pesos and that we had to drive out of town the next day to collect the licence from police headquarters. Ben handled it well. He asked – innocently – if he could please pay the fine then and there so that he could get his licence back.  They wold him to get out of the car and I begged him not to. I was terribly afraid by this time – and very angry. I had visions of having to contact the U.S. embassy to get him out of jail. Amazingly, the fine ended up being the exact amount of pesos he had in his pocket. he got his licence back, and we drove away at 40 k.p.h.  Cars passed us, many of the drivers angry at us,. the whole way back to the resort.

Our evening plans were suddenly  far from what I wanted to do. We were actually due at the marina an hour from then, and that meant driving back to town and through the same checkpoint. No thank you. We stayed in.

The day were we tourists

The next day we planned a whole day of touristy things. We drove into Puerto Vallarta late morning, parked up and walked through the markets, picking up a few presents for family.  We bargained with the local vendors and managed to avoid buying any of the hundreds of cheap trinkets that each stall seems to sell. The markets are situated on the long island that sits in the middle of the river that bisects the town. It is achingly pretty, and we chose one of the waterfront cafes for lunch.

Quesadillas were the choice of the day – with mojitos. It was a delicious meal in a perfect location.

We left there and headed to the beackfront. This was a whole different side of the city. The beach is fronted by building after building of condos. The locals are outnumbered by the North Americans who vacation there. We were on a mission, though, to find parasailing, so were indifferent to the unappealing culture.

We saw the giant, colorful parachute just down the beach and after a quick negotiation, Ben was in the air. I have been parasailing before and it is a truly glorious experience. I was really glad that Ben finally go to do it. He has some great shots from the air.

Our day wound up with a cruise to one of the resorts south of ours, where we would have dinner on the beach and then see a show called “Rhythms of the Night”. This would be sort of like attending a luau in Hawaii – local food and local artists.

The boat was filled with retirees and I could tell that the crew was used to a more lively bunch. They could barely give away the included drinks.

The sun was setting as we sailed south – so beautiful – and then the boat docked at one of the places we’d seen and admired from the water taxi. It is a resort without electric lights, lit solely by torches, fire pits and candles. We were directed along a walkway to a group of beachside tables. A buffet was waiting for us and we were offered drinks by the staff who attended us. It was so peaceful and the food delicious. The sound of a conch shell called us from dinner to the show. It was a huge step up from the show at the resort, with highly skilled dancers performing traditionally-themed dances. Their work was athletic and artistic, and the show on the whole was a spectacular sight. It included live musicians, acrobats, dancers, singers and animals – the most striking of which was the albino python. The ride back to the marina was a little anti-climatic with the crew doing some odd drag/mime numbers that we could have done without, but all in all a very fun night out.

The day I saved a turtle (and Ben’s birthday)

The resort had a nursery for turtles. Essentially, every time they see a turtle lay its eggs on the beach, they retrieve the eggs and bury them in an enclosure until they hatch. When the turtles hatch, they are kept safe until that night when they are released into the sea.

That morning at breakfast I looked over the balcony of the restaurant and into the turtle nursery. There was a turtle! And he was nearly at the edge of the enclosure and about to crawl through the fence onto the beach. I alerted the waiter, who called security (oddly, the staff tasked with turtle rescue), and ran down to the beach. The security guard had retrieved the turtle and let me hold it. I was over the moon. How cool!

We headed out as we had planned a day full of adventure to celebrate Ben’s birthday. Our adventure started with a ride on an ATV up into the mountains. It was extremely dusty, because their wet season was very short this year, so our gear included a bandanna to wear over our mouths and noses. The ride was fun, and took us to some spectacular views.

When we got back to home base, we swapped the ATV for harnesses because we were then going to zipline down into the canyon we had just seen from on high.  The zipline course was incredible and far more exhilarating than the first time we did it in Hawaii last year.  The lines are long and fast, and a couple took us through the treetops. Ben even opted to do one run upside down (no, thank you!).

The last line was a very short one across a creek bed. I could have done that one upside down, as I was only a few feet off the ground, but chickened out of that one too. I had been thrilled enough and was looking forward to lunch.

Our way out of the canyon was by burro.

Mine was small and white. I called her “Eidelweiss”, but she didn’t get it. “Ben, does my ass look big on this ass?”  It was slow, but steady going and I felt for the donkey, even though she was very naughty and would randomly stop to snack. Then she decided that she wanted to overtake the big one in front of us, only the path was very narrow and I had to work hard to convince her not to do that.

Back at home base again, we opted to stay for lunch, which as it was 7 hours since we’d eaten breakfast we devoured. There was just enough time to swing about in a hammock before our ride took us back to town.

We had booked a couple’s massage on our balcony – nice – and as the sun set we enjoyed a bottle of champagne – also on our balcony before we enjoyed another lovely dinner.

Happy birthday, my darling.

The day we packed and headed home

We were not flying out until that night, so we decided to squeeze as much resortness out of the resort as possible. After breakfast we headed poolside, and soaked up some more rays. We needed to check out by 12, and Ben was keen to go snorkeling, which we hadn’t done the whole time there. He headed down to the beach and managed to find a boat captain who was about to head out to a good spot and would have him back before checkout.

We had already packed up most of our stuff, so I spent that time reading by the pool, a thing I have decided I enjoy very much.

After checkout, they let us hang around for a few hours more, which included lunch, another drink and some more poolside time. Then it was time to head to the airport. We repeated all of our first day actions, but in reverse, and before we knew it, we were in Arizona where it took me over an hour to get through immigration.

It was a wonderful trip. I would highly recommend the Barcelo resorts, and also opting for the premium packages which as I said, include almost everything.

It was my second trip to Mexico, but the first in 20 years, and we definitely would love to go back.

A big bite

sandybarker

I live with an amazing person. Yesterday morning, despite a niggling cold, he jumps out of bed and says, “Let’s have tea on the roof.” So, we made mugs of tea, grabbed our books, and headed to the roof of our building to enjoy the morning sun, and our incredible view.

Looking back to the city
Looking back to the city
The Port
The Port

Yes, it is a little gray today (it was sunny yesterday), but we are so close to the city and the water that I love the view no matter the weather. That said, the next time the sun shines – more and more as we head towards Summer – I will take more pics.

Back to the person I live with: yesterday afternoon, suffering a little from cabin fever and too many video games, he says, “Let’s head up to that park we haven’t been to yet.” It is about three blocks from home, and is less like a park and more like a series of paths and trails that traverse the giant Queen Anne hill. The canopy of trees is thick, and the air smells earthy and clean. Walking the trails I could just imagine fairies and princesses doing the same. We climbed the paths to see where they went, and headed back home. The Spring blossoms have spread a carpet of pink over the neighborhood. I stood under a huge tree and jumped up to touch the branches. A rain of petals showered down, “It’s snowing pink stuff!”

Just a little excursion shook off the cabin fever, and the post-flu blues.

This is such a beautiful city, with many wonders – big and small – that we get to encounter every day.

This is on the drive home from Ben’s aunt and uncle’s house.

Woodinville, Washington
Woodinville, Washington

Woodinville is about 30 minutes from the city, and is a semi-rural neighborhood, with white fences, rolling green hills and dozens of types of trees.

Woodinville Christmas Tree Farm
Woodinville Christmas Tree Farm

On the way back from Woodinville, we make this crossing of Lake Washington on the 520 bridge. This was a day when the wind was whipping along the lake, and because the bridge is floating, the water can be rough on one side and calm on the other.

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And sometimes we get to share this city with visitors. My mom was here recently, and we took her to Bainbridge Island. We crossed Puget Sound on the ferry on a beautiful Spring day.

Seattle from the ferry to Bainbridge
Seattle from the ferry to Bainbridge

The main streets of Bainbridge Island are filled with cafes, stores and this church:

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And the shores are lined with trees and houses.

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For $6 dollar ferry ride, which is spectacular in itself, Bainbridge is a little treasure close to home.

More and more we are enjoying the company of new friends. Last weekend, our lovely friends Matt and Crystal invited us out on their boat, along with Monica and Brian.

Lake Washington
Lake Washington

It was still and peaceful out on the lake, and for some reason we were the only people who thought to get out there. We had the whole lake to ourselves. This blew us away:

Sunset over Lake Washington
Sunset over Lake Washington

Ben and I had our king and queen of the world moment as we headed back to the marina.

On Lake Union
On Lake Union

These are some snippets from our life here in a beautiful city. We are not sure how long we will be here – another year, or maybe more. We just want to be able to say we took a big bite out of this city. Oh, and to our friends here: keep the invitations to those parties coming!

At Gerry's 30th Birthday Party
At Gerry's 30th Birthday Party

Travel Assurance

sandybarker

Travel involves risk. Some types involve more risk than others, but there is a leap of faith that every person takes when they book flights, find accommodation, and make plans to be elsewhere. The traveller trusts that these plans will come to fruition. Yes, there may be changes of plans, perhaps an unforeseen glitch, but for the most part, the traveller believes that trip will go as planned. For the niggling doubts that something might happen, we buy travel insurance, and for my last trip thank god I had.

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Firemen in LA are kinda cute.

I know this because three of them showed up at my hotel room on the day I was supposed to fly home to Sydney.

Ben and I landed in LA on Saturday, late afternoon, and had a quick turn around before friends, Vince and Julie, picked us up for a night out. We’d eaten lunch at the Seattle airport and I was feeling a little off on the plane, even bringing up some of my lunch, but thought nothing of it when the excitement of a balmy LA night and the chance to see friends took over my thoughts.

We were a party of six and we dined at the Second City Bistro in El Segundo. The food was delicious and I enjoyed watching Ben easily fitting into a group of my friends – old friends and new. We moved next door to the Purple Orchid Tiki Bar for cocktails. Vince was all about this; it was the highlight of his night. We supped giant cocktails through six straws.

Sand Julie and Kirsten
We played probably the worst game of doubles pool in the history of North America. We danced to jukebox music, and then Vince and Julie bid us goodnight.

A short drive later, and now a party of four, Darion led us to Beaches in Manhattan Beach. A $5 cover, and another round of drinks and Kirsten, the boys and I hotted up the dance floor.
Shakin' our thang
When the place filled up with under-age girls and excitable boys, we moved up the road to a diner for second-dinner. I am a fan of second breakfast, which comes at about 10:30 on a weekend morning, but second dinner was to serve Darion’s screaming metabolism, and my need for ice-cream.

Ben and I ate through a hot fudge sundae with ease, and took bite of the offered pancakes (Kirsten) and fries (Darion). It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Kirsten saw us safely home and about an hour after we fell asleep, the horrors kicked in. Vomiting. At first I blamed the ice-cream as I am mildly lactose intolerant. Then I blamed the alcohol, but I had had a lot of water and food that night, and not enough drinks to make me throw up. When the diarrhoea started another hour later, and I was sitting on the toilet, throwing up into the tub, I blamed the dodgy chicken salad from the Seattle airport.

The next 6 hours were from hell. I was up two to three times each hour, and after waking Ben several times, with my sudden departures from bed, I decided to camp out on the floor next to the bathroom. It was just easier no to have to run through our suite to get to the bathroom two rooms away.

Ben woke about 7:30, a little oblivious to the night I’d had, and wondering why I wasn’t in bed. He talked me soothingly through the next few emergency visits to the bathroom, and then we decided I definitely needed medical help. I had thrown up over 20 times. Things that hurt when that happens, were hurting a lot.

Ben was on the phone, the third phone call in 10 minutes, when I heard him discussing getting me to hospital via a cab. I kept hoping that I was feeling better, but no, and as I sat again on the toilet and threw up again into the tub, I knew I would not manage a cab ride. I had also started to convulse uncontrollably. This part scared me most, as I struggled to remember my emergency response training. Was I going into shock? People died from that.

This is when Ben called an ambulance.

He helped me dress, and gathered all my vital documents. He had already called about my travel insurance, and arranged with the hotel to hold our room and everything in it.

Minutes later I could hear sirens, and minutes after that there was a forceful knock on the door. I was slumped on the couch, concentrating on remaining upright.

Ben opened the door to three firemen, and then it was all go, go, go.

“What’s your name?” asked fireman number one. I had to think about it.

“Sandy,” I replied, wondering whose voice I was using. I sounded 90 years old.

“How old are you, Sandy?” fired the fireman.

“Um, 38.” I was surer of my age than my name, as I forced my brain to focus. The questions came fast and thick. In the meantime, I was strapped to a heart monitor with those little suction cap thingies, and they pricked my finger to determine my blood sugar. Low apparently. I had a temperature, and low blood pressure. The stats were flying between the three men, and Ben stood by, also answering questions and looking concerned.

Finally it was time to get on the gurney. My first time. On a gurney. In an ambulance. I was scared.

We made it 10 feet before I vomited again, but this time into a bag thoughtfully provided by the firemen. I was worried we wouldn’t fit into the elevator, but we did, and Ben stood beside the gurney, holding my hand. It helped. The elevator stopped at a floor before the lobby, and the guy waiting for it, said “Oh,” with surprise. “You’ll have to get the next one,” I said, my sense of humour popping up to say hello.

The heat was like a wall as we exited the hotel, and there was an ambulance and a fire truck. The firemen handed me over to the ambulance officers and then I was hoisted into the ambulance. Ben would ride up front, and he squeezed my hand reassuringly, before letting go. I was in and out of consciousness as we drove to the hospital. There was no siren, as I was not critical, which in the back of my mind was a minor disappointment.

On arrival at the hospital, we discovered there was no bed for me. I was put into a wheelchair, which exacerbated my symptoms, and after too much answering of more questions, was wheeled into the waiting room where I immediately crawled onto the floor and fell into a deep sleep. I was woken less than an hour later when a bed was made available.

I was treated over the next six hours for dehydration and the nausea. I went in and out of consciousness, and the pain and sick feeling both dissipated. When I was finally permitted to take my first sip of water, it tasted so good I thought I would cry.

I could not fly home that night, and Ben’s scheduled flight out of LA was only hours away. He took care of everything. Our flights were rescheduled for the next day. We would stay on at the hotel, and my costs would be covered by insurance. Julie picked us up late afternoon, about the time that Ben was originally scheduled to fly. At the hotel, all I wanted was a shower, because I felt like death warmed up. And I looked it too.

We had a very restful evening, with room service and TV, and when I laid down next to him that night, he smiled at me and said, “This is bonus time now.” For two people in a long distance relationship, bonus time is a bonus.

I was feeling somewhat better the next day, and we had a good chunk more of bonus time before Ben flew out. We even headed to the pool and took advantage of the stunning LA weather.

Throughout my mini ordeal, I kept thinking two things: thank god that Ben was there to take care of me and everything else, and, no matter how sick I felt, I would get better. There are people in hospital who do not, and I was grateful to be otherwise healthy. It was horrid, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone (especially not Ben, who was subsequently struck down with it two nights later – a bug, not food poisoning after all), but it was a ‘count your blessings’ kind of day.

And I have many.

Thank you to Darion for the shot of Ben and me dancing.