home – Sandy Barker

#ArmchairTravel is (literally) the only way to go

March 25, 2020March 26, 2020sandybarker

So, we are in very strange times. The world has been sent to its room and now we must find a new kind of balance in all that we do, when all that we do is in the confines of our homes.

As a lifelong traveller, someone who longs to go, see, and do, this lockdown means I need to find a new way to travel. And to do that, I will be reaching for the books of my colleagues in the travel fiction and travel biography genres.

I’ll be picking up Frances Mayes and Julie Caplin, Kiley Dunbar, Linn B. Halton, and Paige Toon. There are dozens of us who write about faraway places and evoke just what it’s like to be there.

My next book, That Night in Paris, will take you on a whistle-stop tour of Europe, and the one after that, A Sunset in Sydney, to London, Hawaii, New Zealand, and Sydney. You could even catch up on my first book, One Summer in Santorini, which will whisk you off to the Greek Islands.

So in this unprecedented time when the only way to travel is from the comfort of home, seek out your travel adventures within the pages. And from me is a promise to keep taking my readers to wonderful locations.

See you amongst the pages.

Image by Hans Braxmeier.

A love letter to Australia

January 26, 2020January 27, 2020sandybarker

It is Australia Day 2020. January 26th is a contentious date, because it marks the arrival of the First Fleet―the first European settlers who arrived in Australia in 1788.

Of course, by commemorating this date, Australia ignores that in 1788 we were already populated by hundreds of nations of Indigenous Australians forming the world’s oldest civilisation. January 26th marks the date of an invasion and the beginning of a genocide.

This post isn’t about whether or not we should change the date of Australia Day, although we absolutely should. This post is a love letter to my home, my country, my Australia.

Byron Bay

Ocean Beach WA

The Gap at Albany WA

My Australia

My Australia is the person at the tram stop who sees that you’re lost and points you in the right direction with a smile. My Australia is the person at the party who draws the introverts into conversation, and makes sure everyone is heard. My Australia has a hearty sense of humour―often bawdy, always self-deprecating, and sometimes a defence mechanism.

My Australia has skin, eyes, and hair of every colour, and is all genders, faiths, and identities, for My Australia is all of us. We have lived here 60 000 years and 6 days. Our roots are deep and just starting to grow. What we share is beyond cosmetic; it is a connection―to each other, to our land, to our country.

My Australia bears scars―from when we went to wars and defended our shores, from being ravaged by fires, floods, cyclones, and drought, from dark times of hatred, anger, and entitlement, bearing those scars with humility, pride, or shame.

My Australia reaches out when someone is in need. We rally, we show up, we dig into our pockets―we care. We weep together, lean on each other, support and cajole each other. We extend our hands willingly, not afraid of the blisters or back-breaking pain we’ll incur as we rebuild.

My Australia is not the scurrilous and self-serving politicians who banter obscenities at each other and extol the virtues of ‘clean coal’. It is not the hatemongers or nationalists or the bigots. These people are the minority, one that is slowly dying out.

My Australia is adventurous and intrepid, both at home and abroad, with well-stamped passports and battered luggage, with postcards that loved ones have sent from the corners of the earth taped to the fridge, with plans for trips and getaways and long weekends and stay-cations. We must go, see, and do.

My Australia loves the sea, the sun, and the sand, we love the deserts and sunrises and sunsets, we love the rain forests and eucalypts, our native animals* and red, rocky monoliths. We love the bustle and energy of our cities with their sky-scraping towers, and the warm friendly welcome of our country towns, where the local pub feels like home.

My Australia is brilliant, with an intelligent mind, a creative spirit, grit, athleticism, and the ability to see the future. We are doctors, scientists, artists, teachers, communicators, technicians, builders, athletes, and change-makers. We are on the edge of the future, speaking up, taking risks, saving lives with medical breakthroughs and art that feeds the soul. We build, create, and solve. We are―as always―batting far above our average on the world stage, a tiny nation of 25 million achieving wondrous things. We also make the best wine and coffee in the world.

My Australia is home―my home, our home.

And though she is being ravaged as I write this, I have to believe she will recover, wearing her scars with pride as we come together and rebuild.

And on our current bushfire and climate crisis, this image by artist, Melina, evokes what I struggle to put into words.

*Except maybe the spiders―we have some really, scary spiders.

Settling back in

May 28, 2019May 28, 2019sandybarker

It’s been four months since Ben and I moved back to Melbourne post-sabbatical, and it has been anything but dull.

Since arriving in late January:

We apartment hunted for the perfect rental and were elated to get a place in the heart of the city with an incredible view. It has an office for me, enough space for Ben’s VR set-up, a guest room, a winter garden and a wrap around balcony. I love it.

I job-hunted and landed a plum role in professional development (a field I love) at my pre-sabbatical employer, which just happens to be across the street. As in, my commute is about one minute (please don’t hate me). So far, I haven’t bothered to wear a coat or take an umbrella, because, well, one minute – plus most of the walk is under cover. My work has already taken me to Adelaide (twice) and I work with incredibly smart people, who maintain an impressive chocolate stash in the office (this may be why I choose to work from home a couple of days per week – too much temptation).

This was my desk when I arrived at work on my birthday.

Ben has become an Australian! I wept like a weeping willow throughout the ceremony, but at least had the presence of mind to take photos. When the Lord Mayor of Melbourne had the Aussies in the gallery stand up and make the oath to Australia, just like the newly-minted Australians, I could barely get the words out. #ProudAussie #SoProudofBen

We’ve caught up with friends. Our friends in Melbourne are our family-away-from-family and we adore them. Especially fab are the ones who popped around to put together flat-pack furniture, although they all assured me that they love doing it (weird). My bestie personally made our couch from scratch – impressive stuff. I promise I plied them all with good food and booze for their efforts.

We’ve had visitors! We love having people come and stay with us. The most recent guests spent the week of my birthday with us, my dad and step-mum. They helped me celebrate a milestone birthday with style. Here’s my pre-party dad rocking a fab new outfit at the age of 71.

We’ve planned a trip across the country. This week we head of to my home state of WA to celebrate some more milestone birthdays in the family, and my belated birthday trip. (I have pretty much perfected the concept of the birthday festival, which can extended several weeks in either direction from my actual birthday.) We’ll be catching up with family and friends and then heading south to the stunning wine region of Margaret River. I’ve checked the forecast and can’t believe that the first week of June (winter down here in Oz) will be sunny and 25C (high 70s).

Maybe not so surprisingly, we haven’t been in a hurry to travel. Home is so precious to us post-sabbatical. This is our first trip together since we landed back in the country in January.

And there’s the author stuff. I’ve secured an agent; I’ve written more than half of my fourth book; I’ve edited my first book for my publisher, Avon Books; I’ve been marketing my little bum off: organising a book blog tour with my agent, doing interviews, securing quotes from other (amazingly supportive) authors, planning a book signing, and engaging with readers daily on social media; and I have celebrated all the little milestones on the journey to publication – T-minus 3 weeks and 6 days for the ebook and just under two months from the print version being in my eager little hands. Squee!

So, yes, 2019 has been an incredible ride so far. We’re looking forward to the rest of it.

Wherever I lay my head…

March 12, 2018sandybarker

The expression, ‘wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home’ has never been as relevant for me as it is now. As I only wear a hat on occasion, however, I think of it more in terms of wherever I lay my head.

Since we handed over the keys to our apartment on Feb 2nd, Ben and I have been on the go – first to New Zealand and currently in Western Australia where we’ve been visiting family and friends. We have stayed in 13 different places in the last 6 weeks, and in each one we’ve found a way to think of it as home – even if it’s only been for a night.

Nesting

I am a nester. I am being told by spellcheck that ‘nester’ is not a word, but I have been a nester for as long as I can remember so I will respectfully disagree, spellcheck, thank you very much.

As a nester, I will always unpack certain things from my luggage even if we’re only there overnight. These things help the location to feel like home. I plug in my electronics, I unpack my toiletries, I pop something familiar on my bedside table. Instant ‘home’.

Drawers

If we’re somewhere for a few nights or more, my nesting goes to a whole new level. I put things in drawers! Imagine that!!

I am especially looking forward to Bali (our next stop) because we will be in one location long enough to unpack completely and put our luggage away. Since Feb 2nd, we’ve been travelling with packing cubes. They are excellent for keeping things organised and mean that I don’t have to go rifling through my whole suitcase every time I look for something – they’re kind of like drawers for your luggage.

But this morning, after the seventieth time one of us opened or closed a zip, I realised that I was done with the sound of zippers for now. Drawers! I am ready for actual drawers.

Tahoe and Squirt

We’ve been travelling with Tahoe (he’s the bear) and Squirt (he’s the turtle) for over a decade. They’ve been everywhere we’ve been. Even when we’ve travelled alone (for work or play), Tahoe and Squirt have gone along. They’ve been to places I’ve never been, like Ireland and Argentina. Having them with us makes wherever we are feel like home – and they’re very adventurous travel companions.

P1040241 — Ready for a massage in Mexico

P1000760 — Looking out the window in Vietnam

Ben

Ben and I have lived together since December 2008 in four apartments in two cities. No matter where we are in the world, he is now my strongest connection to feeling like I’m home. He is my home.

So, until 2019, until we sign a new lease and get a set of keys again, wherever Ben lays his head, that’s my home.

Excess packaging

February 3, 2010sandybarker

I have a somewhat minor frustration that comes up on a daily basis. Packaging.

I realized the other day when I was unsuccessfully trying to open a cheese stick, that U.S. manufacturers do not seem to discriminate between things that can poison us if ingested, and actual food.

Trying to extrapolate the highly delicious and somewhat nutritious cheese stick from its extremely excessive packaging (a tough plastic bag that won’t open without scissors, and a shrunk-wrapped plastic ‘easy-to-peel’ tomb) resulted in so much contortion, a co-worker thought I was trying on a girdle.

My eye cream comes in an even more ridiculous array of packaging: inside a jar, inside a plastic shell, inside a box, inside shrunk-wrapped plastic. By the time I get the eye-cream out of its packaging, I have three more frown lines on which to put it.

My favorite example of excess packaging is anything that comes in a plastic bottle. From vitamins to ketchup, I must first contend with the shrunk-wrapped hard plastic seal that surrounds the lid. It has perforations so that I can do this easily, but for some reason (perhaps because they suck), these perforations do nothing. I have to get out the scissors.

At this point I can twist off the lid, but underneath the lid will be a foil covering stuck so tightly to the neck of the bottle, I have to dig under its edge with a fingernail. Even the ones with the handy pull tab cannot be pulled off. I invariably resort again to the scissors, which I wield with an agitated stabbing motion. I have missed a few times and stabbed myself, but this only provides another reason for expletives to pour from my mouth.

Once the foil lid is removed, I can usually access what is inside the bottle. If it is vitamins, I have one more gauntlet task: a wad of uncooperative cotton wool. Imagine the clown car at the circus. Pulling the wad of cotton wool out of a 5cm vitamin bottle is like watching the clowns get out of the car in a never-ending stream.

When I can finally reach the vitamins, I check the ‘use by” date to ensure that they haven’t expired while I was trying to open the bottle.

All of this may seem exaggerated, and as I tend towards the hyperbole, you will be forgiven for thinking so. However, long-suffering boyfriend can attest that these exact enactments are real.

This brings me (the very long way) to our giant clean out a few weeks back.

Our home is spacious for a one bedroom apartment, but it does have its spacial limitations and we were not optimizing the space that we do have.

It did not look like this

but it felt like it did.

I felt tightly bound by too much stuff, too much clutter, too much useless junk, too much excess packaging. I was starting to feel claustrophobic in my own home. I was freaking out.

I mentioned in passing to Ben that we should have a big clean out. He looked a little less than enthused. I tried talking it up.

“Yeah, it’ll be great. We’ll go through the whole house and open everything up, pull everything out and then throw away what we don’t need. Then we can organize all the cupboards and drawers!” The Virgo that rose in my Taurean chart when I was born was rising to the challenge. The Scorpio I live with was not.

I tried a different tack. “I hate my closet! I hate it. I hate that I can’t find anything and everything falls all over me and I hate it!” This tantrum went on for another 45 seconds until strong arms went around me, and I calmed down. I looked up at the owner of the arms (Ben). “I want to clean out our place and make it feel like home again.”

He responded in the only way a man can when he is faced with big hazel puppy dog eyes, “Okay, Babe.”

And that is how it came to pass that one Saturday we opened every cupboard, drawer and box in our apartment. We pulled out everything and only put back what we wanted and needed. The crap was thrown out, recycled, donated and given away. (It is only crap to those who don’t want it). I bought tubs and baskets to organize all our stuff.

We took a trip to the tip and visited Goodwill. We filled 8 bags for the garbage and recycling. It took 6 hours, including the time to thoroughly clean our apartment.

We stripped bare and reconstructed our home, ridding our selves of all the excess packaging. At the end of a long day, we sat sipping a much-deserved glass of wine and admired our handiwork.

Devoid of clutter, our apartment felt like home again I no longer felt suffocated.

I still have my daily battle with actual excess packaging, but I am slowly becoming more skilled with my scissors.

Leaving home and homeward bound

September 26, 2009sandybarker

Sand1

I have been home in Sydney for the past week to finalize a work visa for my new job in Seattle. The trip, while being ‘immigrationally necessary’, has been the greatest gift.

When I landed the position at Groundspeak two months ago, I was thrilled – and then a little sad. I realized that it meant I would not see Australia, my home, for at least a year and a half.

Hence, the reason I have treated this week as a gift. The work visa was approved on Monday morning, and while I awaited the return of my passport, I enjoyed every moment of being home.

I have hugged old friends and chatted excitedly on the phone to others. I have swapped stories, gossip, concerns and triumphs, catching up on nearly a year of absense. I have talked at length with my dad, and spent an evening of laughter and tears at my aunt and uncle’s dining table.

I have indulged in many cups of coffee made by top-notch baristas, and stocked up on Jaffas and BONDS undies. I have taken dozens of photos of the most beautiful coastline in the world, filled a ziplock bag with sand from Bronte beach, and raided my storage boxes for much-loved books I want to take back to Seattle. I brought one suitcase, and I am taking two back. I have a tan.

And after just a week on Aussie soil, and my accent is as thick as ever (Ben calls it my Aussie accent ‘reboot’).

Sand3

In a few hours I will be jetting across the Pacific Ocean on my way home. When I get there it will be one hour after I left, which I love, because it feels like ‘time travel’. I lost a Thursday on the way over, but am happily swapping it for two Saturdays.

On arrival, after hugs and kisses, and unpacking and showering (is there anything that feels better after a long-haul flight?), Ben and I will head over to our friend’s place for their housewarming party.

I will get to hug my new friends, and swap stories about our escapades over the past week, and plans for our upcoming holiday season. I will spend the rest of the weekend trying to get on Seattle time as quickly as possible, for on Monday morning I (finally) start my new job. I cannot wait.

So, I leave home to fly home, just as I did a week ago. When you have two places you call home, you are prone to twinges of homesickness, you will always miss loved ones, and you will sometimes slip into the annoying habit of comparing the two places – even if only to yourself.

But you will also have more love in your life, more joy, more nostalgia, and more hope for the future than you can possibly imagine.

I do. And I am very grateful. For all of it.

Settling in Seattle

January 8, 2009sandybarker

I am a little hesitant to use the word ‘settling’, because of its connotations about settling down and settling for less – neither of which describes my move here. I am however, settling in.

After a fruitful trip to IKEA, I now have drawers, and having lived out of a suitcase for two months, drawers are more exciting to this girl than a sale on shoes AND bags. I could have kissed Ben when he put my bedside table together – in fact I did. I won’t say what he got for putting together my dresser.

Tahoe and Maui get settled in Seattle

My boxes – all four of them – arrived bang on schedule. We actually picked them up after Ben picked me up from the airport. Over the subsequent days they exploded all over the living room as I pulled things out and exclaimed, “Oh cool, I forgot I packed this.” Then the contents made their way into drawers, closets and various nooks and crannies. I have had to nudge my way into some of the nooks – and the crannies – as I sweetly ask, “Honey? Do you think we can find somewhere to put this?” Once or twice I have suggested that something of his could be, um, ‘recycled’ (removed from our universe).

Piles of recycling and rubbish post unpacking

Ben, through all of this, has shown incredible patience. I think perhaps because we are making a home together here, which is a joy to us both.

Over the past week and a bit we have traipsed around furniture stores and sat on dozens of couches and dining chairs. Finally we have narrowed our selections and have ordered something to sit on and eat at. These items arrive in three weeks or less. Meanwhile we are making do with the recliner rocker, the Love Sack – a giant cube of a beanbag – and Ben’s desk. (I have to say that Ben’s desk set up is a little more than ‘making do’, as it is quite impressive. It just doesn’t make the greatest dining table.)

So, as I caught the bus to Social Security today and then walked home in the rain via the bank, the grocery store and the post office, I felt happy. Seattle is home now – for us both. But we won’t be settling down in the traditional sense. No, no. This weekend I am off to Las Vegas to see family and catch a show, and while I am away Ben is going skiing with friends. We will still be us – only with furniture.

Settling in Seattle

January 8, 2009October 12, 2012sandybarker

I am a little hesitant to use the word ‘settling’, because of its connotations about settling down and settling for less – neither of which describes my move here. I am however, settling in.

Tahoe and Maui get settled in Seattle

Piles of recycling and rubbish post unpacking

Ben, through all of this, has shown incredible patience. I think perhaps because we are making a home together here, which is a joy to us both.

Chaise Lounge

November 1, 2008September 18, 2015sandybarker

This is my living room sans couch, dining suite, and pictures on the wall. Ironically, it now shares common traits with the Seattle apartment, where we have yet to buy a couch, a dining suite and to put things on the wall.

Ben and I started looking at couches, dining suites and things to put on the wall while I was there a few weeks ago. I think we share a common vision. I say this, of course, with the understanding that we may be seeing that common vision from completely different perspectives.

We have agreed, as a start, that the entertainment system is all him, and the kitchen is all me. While that division in domesticity may reek of 1950s ideologies, it is a fair call on our part. I love to cook, and have very specific ideas of how I want ‘my’ kitchen. And Ben knows more about electronic components and how to make them ‘talk’ to each other than I thought was possible. So, in this arrangement, we are playing to our strengths.

We have other differences too. Last weekend my boyfriend admitted that he has added to his collection of plastic 2:1 scale musical instruments (Rock Band, Guitar Hero), while I confessed that I have bought 4 pairs of new shoes in the past two weeks. He loves video games, I love shoes. We’ll make room for both, somewhere.

In the meantime, we get to choose a couch that says, “Ben and Sandy live here.” Likely it will NOT have one of those fabric contraptions with pockets that hangs over the arm and holds the remote controls.

We did find one we both sorta liked. Mostly what we liked about it was that it had a chaise lounge on one end. That says to me, “stylish, yet perfect for snuggling.” To Ben it says, “I can watch TV horizontally.” The point is, we both like that style of couch.

I had to be honest with my soon to be ‘domestic partner’ when he mentioned that ‘La-Z-boy’ had couches on sale that recline on both ends.

If we get a couch like that, I worry that we will become a couple who have ‘his and hers’ end tables, mine littered with empty tea cups and books yet to read, and his piled high with remotes and back issues of ‘Fortune’. We’ll head to our respective ends, recline and get comfortable. Comfortable, we three feet of leather between us. Yes, the couple with one of these is a couple that no longer enjoys a passionate relationship.

His response to my impassioned argument was to laugh, and say, “Well, it IS true that we are defined by our furniture.” He is teasing me, but I think we’ll be getting a couch with the bit that sticks out.

These are the details that will be a welcome relief from paperwork and red tape, packing, giving away, storing, and sorting, and from the endless lists that govern my life at the moment.

Today my home looked like this:

and this:

and this:

as I packed, sorted, sold, and gave things away.

So, I am looking forward to working through a new list, a list for the next chapter in my life. So far it looks like this:

Buy a couch
Get a job
Make some friends
Join a gym
Learn new running routes

Yes, all that to look forward to, but notice that the couch is number one on the list.

When Ben and I stayed at the B and B in Yosemite, I was busy nesting – unpacking and looking in cupboards – and I heard a call out from the living room, “Honey, come in here.” When I got there, Ben was sitting on a big, lumpy, seen better days couch with his arms outstretched. “Look, Honey, we have a couch. Come sit with me.” And I did, and we sat for quite some time on that big, lumpy, see better days couch, enjoying the simple pleasure of snuggling up on it together.

That is why it is first.

Third Date

October 2, 2008October 2, 2008sandybarker

I have been very candid about my month-long love affair with Seattle dating back to January of this year. We had a rocky start, though. It was a Seattle rain storm that took from me a favourite hat and an umbrella, but we soon made up and I embarked on a whirlwind romance with the city. I loved its restaurants and vistas, its culture and its people. I was smitten.

We had a brief fling in April – 6 days of five-star luxury while Ben attended a conference. We flirted, Seattle and I. I dressed pretty, I let the sunny days kiss my nose, and we drank each other in. Brief, yet passionate.

Now I am back, and this visit is a little like a third date. Now I know I am moving here, Seattle is starting to let its guard down, and I am seeing sides of it I haven’t seen before. Some are delicious, like the nooks and crannies of the Pike Place markets, where Ben and I bought aromatic oils and spices the other day, and some a little too revealing this early into our relationship.

I went for a run yesterday, and waited patiently for the pedestrian signal to change from red to green. The roads are wide thoroughfares – 6 lanes – so this took a while. I didn’t mind. It was a sunny day and I was in Seattle, working out new running routes for when I move here. I eventually crossed and started running at a warm-up pace. I got about two blocks before signs indicated that the ‘sidewalk’ (I read American) was closed and I would have to cross to the other side. SIGH. I hit the signal button, then waited, and waited, and waited. The light did inevitably turn green, and a couple dozen cars waited impatiently – or patiently – I couldn’t really tell as I jogged across the street. Of course, now I was back on the wrong side. And I was in ‘Butt-crack America’.

This is my affectionate term for those parts of the states – here in Seattle, or anywhere – that do not exactly show the country off at its best. That stretch of road, just three blocks from home, with its cracked pavements and warehouses, its homeless wanderers and youthful loiterers, is almost certainly the butt-crack of Seattle. I kept looking ahead to see where the pedestrian bridge Ben had promised was.

Like a beacon in the distance it stood proud and beautifully constructed, unaware that it was in the midst of decay and mess. I hit my third little round button of the day, and waited, and waited, and waited. “Oh, come the F@*k on!” I was losing patience. So far my run had consisted of two sprints and a lot of waiting. FINALLY the light turned. I headed up and over the bridge which traverses the railroad tracks, and started my ‘run proper’.

It is hard to marry the waterfront parkland with the street parallel, because they couldn’t be more different. On the other side of the bridge are tracks for pedestrians and cyclists, lush green grass, and park benches. On clear days you can see across Puget Sound to the Olympic mountain range in the west. The frightfully large seagulls of the northwest, duck and weave along the shoreline, and fishermen lazily dangle their lines in the water.

Once I actually started running along the waterfront, my tetchiness eased and I hit my rhythm. The air was salty and clean, and the sun hot on my shoulders. I glanced at the scattered few who were lying on the grass and soaking up the late-season sun. They had the distinctive look of ‘locals’ – comfortable enough in their environs to casually lounge around in public. I wondered when I will start to feel like that, but this being only my third date with Seattle, that is a little way off yet.

I hit a natural ‘turn-around’ point, and started running back towards the footbridge. I had already decided to overshoot it and find another way home. I knew that if I kept running and passed the apartment, I would get to another crossover closer to downtown.

Running back towards the city lends a spectacular view. The skyline has its distinctive icons, but there is so much I have yet to explore I wandered with my eyes, taking in as much as possible. I am starting to place myself within this city. I am learning street names, shortcuts and landmarks.

Just before the crossover to the other side of the tracks, there is an outdoor sculpture gallery. It is a favourite spot in Seattle, because it is a junction of sorts. The waterfront, downtown and our neighbourhood converge there. It is 5 minutes from the apartment, 5 minutes from Ben’s work, and right on the waterfront, where cafes and storefronts jut out over the water. Oh, and the sculptures are kind of cool too.

Not long afterwards, I made it back to the apartment with the sense of satisfaction I have after a long run, but also with something else. I am getting to know this city, much in the same way I got to know Sydney when I first moved there and discovered its many delights and frustrations.

At the moment I straddle two cities. I curse the Sydney traffic as I crawl along each afternoon, and think about living in a city where traffic is much lighter, and ostensibly we will likely live without a car. However, I know I will miss the coastal walk between Coogee and Bondi beaches, because there are few views in the world more beautiful. I will enjoy living in a city where there are literally 100 restaurants serving the cuisines of the world, but am mindful that the minor frustrations will reveal themselves soon enough.

No place is perfect to live in, but there is always more to learn about, more to appreciate and more to love. I think I am ready to ‘go all the way’ with Seattle.

P.S. Check out Ben’s FLICKR page for some more recent shots, including views from our roof.

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