Dreams of sourdough

Saturday, 3 June 2017

Dream: a bomb in Hiroshima

In this dream, I am staying in a hotel room on the 19th floor. Standing next to the window, the time outside seems to be early evening. There is no sign of the sunset, and the clouds hang grey and close to the horizon. The world looks somewhat colourless and drab, and I cannot identify where I am from the many tall buildings around me, though it feels like Japan.

My grandma is in the room with me and she is pottering about. Though she shuffles just like how she does in real life, she seems more sprightly, more alive than she really is. I keep watching the outside world through the window, and I am increasingly aware that darkness has fallen upon the world.

Suddenly in the distance I see a flash. It is so fast that my eyes don't register it fully before it is gone. Though the night is now totally dark, I can see smoke coming out of a building. It looks perhaps three or four blocks away, and my heart starts racing because I feel like it is some sort of bomb. I try to look for information on it on my cell phone but all the news agencies haven't reported it yet.

I bundle my grandma into a wheelchair and head out. The air is cold on the street, and it feels like it's raining but there are no raindrops. It feels grey and depressing as we walk through the streets. There are people rushing around, coming out of a subway station on the next block. We head into the underground, still uncertain where we are. Soon we are lost and we cannot find the exit to come out to the street again. The people are rushing by faster now, their faces blurry in their haste. I cannot catch anyone to ask for directions.

Then we head through a small doorway and we are back on the street again. My phone beeps and shows news of a bomb that has gone off just at the peace memorial - so we are in Hiroshima, I think to myself. Suddenly I am terribly worried about my dad and where he might be. We want to go back to the hotel but now I am totally disoriented and cannot even remember where the hotel is.

My grandma says she wants to use the toilet, so we head to the nearest shop which is a betting parlour (this bit surely is from "Singapore Pools" which is not a swimming pool association but the gambling place!). People are huddled around tables playing games, and when I ask for the toilet someone points to the back.

The sign says

Toilets

Tonsils

Grandma disappears into the bathroom and I ask a man nearby for directions back to the hotel. He tries to explain the way but it seems convoluted. I take out my phone again to see if I can call for a taxi, but it has gone blank and doesn't work at all. He calls a taxi for me, and gives me instructions to tell the taxi driver.

It's tricky, that hotel. He says. Ask for the pillar of Xiao Fang Xiang. he writes the letters for me but I don't recognise them - what language are they in?

Then I wake up

Friday, 12 May 2017

Dream: darkness in Africa

In this dream the days and nights are undulating, as if the relative duration of the days shifted with time. I am with a large group of about 20 people and there are several clear factions which are roughly separated into two groups. We are all travelling together, staying in large open spaces with our own camping gear. Regular squabbles break out amongst the group members but I don't pay any attention to what they are about.

One day we are in a small town, run down and dusty like every other town we pass through. I spot a small knick-knack shop, and it seems so out of place in a place that is desperately poor and hungry. Inside are strange relics from other people's lives - a few plates here, a decorative jar there. I find a box of books and pick two. When I take them to the counter, the man tells me it'll be $66 for the two books. I am shocked but when he explains that they are the taxes to be paid for leaving this place, I feel somewhat reassured and pay up. One small red-covered book is nestling within the other large white-covered book, but I can remember neither.

I go back to the camp and they are arguing about what to to do next. I secretly know that I will need to leave this group soon. One half wants to build rafts to go down the river, and the other half of the group want to walk. The pros and cons are debated back and forth till I fall asleep next to the fire.

The next day we are all out walking in a cemetery, through lush green grass, like a thick carpet underfoot. The sensation of moisture and scent of fresh grass is exceedingly strong, and I wonder how such lush grass can exist in Africa. We continue discussing which route to take, and eventually the two subgroup leaders decide the group will split up. Friends in both halves appeal to me to join their side - one girl who looks like the violist Natasha from ADO in particular tells me that I have to be in her raft. I tell her that I need to see a map of where we might join up again, because I don't want to lose touch with the other half of the group.

The big leader, who is a frizzy haired girl called Lizzie, comes up to me and says that she needs to talk to me before I decide to split off from the group. I ask her how she knows about my intentions to leave the group, and she says she knows everything. When I press her further she says that I was spotted at the bus station looking at bus routes, something that I don't even remember doing.

She shows me a map of the region and I struggle to recognise any countries on the map, let alone the shape of Africa. She points to where we are, at the mouth of a river in the middle of the desert on the western side of Africa. But it's not the Sahara and the shape of the desert is all wrong. I follow the river with my finger and it traverses the continent from west to east, gradually opening up until it drains into a huge lake. What is this lake? I ask Lizzie. She says she doesn't know, and on the map it is labelled simply as "crater". On the eastern side of the crater is all green, huge swathes of green that do not exist in real life. I see a small country labelled "Liszt" and know that I must go there.

I trace back all the way to where we are, seemingly thousands of kilometres away. I tell Lizzie that I will not join the group in either rafting down the river or walking alongside it. She asks me what my plans are but I have no idea.

At dawn the next day, I make my way to the bus station next to the market. Here there is the strong smell of decomposing vegetables and animals, something which is familiar to any developing world traveller. Several rusting metal hulks sit in the parking lot, wearily chugging out black gas. I look at the front of the buses searching for clues to where they might go, but the script is unrecognisable and I have no idea what language they are in. I ask someone where the next bus goes, and they point to one of the buses. When I climb aboard the entire bus is filled with frightened people. They look terrified, their eyes bulging out of their sockets, holding onto each other for comfort. I take a seat somewhere at the back, and wait for the bus to leave.

Soon a man in a dress shirt and proper pants, easily the best dressed man in the entire town, gets on the bus and sits next to me. He starts telling me about how the bus is going to Bamako, where these starving people are looking for their family. He tells me about the new wave of slavery in the post modern age. I wonder to myself which age we might be in, and how slavery can exist again. He shows me pictures of old men, and as he scrolls across the faces I wonder what they mean, whether they are relatives of people in the buses. Then he takes a small plastic bag out of his big satchel, about a pound in size in a ziplock bag.

They catch these people, and grind them to a powder. He says, running the coarse sand-like granules through his fingers.

There is no more food left in the world, so we must eat these people. The granules look not unlike pet food, brown-grey in colour. They are the new slaves of the world.

Then I wake up.

Saturday, 15 April 2017

Dream: sidewalk serpentines and slushy Ribena

In this dream I had pulled up my car in some suburbs that vaguely looks like the Rocks. I parked around the back streets and locked the car, an anonymous ?car rental that was entirely forgettable. I walked towards the main street and found a small alleyway that emerged onto the cobblestone pedestrian area.

The first thing I notice is that everyone is walking in the middle of the street. This is strange because the shops line both sides of the road, but no one is anywhere near them. People huddle in defensive posture, stepping cautiously as if there were puddles on the ground. I look down and see rivets of dark - and the dark is moving?

When I look closer it looks like a black starfish with very long limbs. I bend down to look and one limb strikes up suddenly and the mouth opens, lashing out to get me. I pull back suddenly and avoid it just in time, my heart pounding. Suddenly I realise the serpentine starfish are everywhere and no one can avoid them, hence the rushing along in the middle of the street. J comes along and takes my elbow, her company so welcome now that my heart is racing. She whispers we must follow the crowd and try not to be bitten.

The sky looks increasingly dark and heavy as we come out to an open area not part of the real Rocks. There is a bridge to our right and we go towards the bridge. I can see two evil starfish in the way, and we try to avoid them. This is a dream! I say to myself as we cross them. J is wearing a bright pink blazer, which I somehow think will deter them. This is a dream! I say again as we get onto the bridge.

The scene cuts to a living room. No one else is around and I see a range of drinks with a number of glasses on a side table. I suddenly feel very thirsty so I check out the drinks. When I pour the Ribena into an empty glass, it seems to congeal. I taste it - orange juice? I read the label and check the colour inside the bottle - purple? I drink the rest of the orange juice slushie which is not entirely unpleasant, and pour out some more Ribena, but it's still orange and slushie once it hits the glass.

Then I wake up.

(Context for this dream: first night on call ever as staff, minimal sleep)

Sunday, 9 April 2017

Return to Darwin

A week ago, I left Sydney on a cold morning for Darwin again. Six years ago, this blog started partly because MSN Spaces had shut down my old blog, but also I wanted to write about my time in Darwin. What a fantastic year I had in Darwin in 2011, with some epic adventures, great friends and lots of laughter. What will happen this time, I wonder?

The weather has been sublime. I really arrived at the right time this year – right at the end of the Wet, just the occasional tropical shower here and there but doesn’t feel soggy at all. The skies are a majestic blue and some day they seem to stretch forever into the sea. The clouds are just as fluffy as I remembered, big blobs of marshmallows to break up the piercing blue. The heavens open and the rain pours down, but ten minutes later it is clear again. The dragonflies are out, and the dry season is coming!

Every day that I was near the sea for sunsets, I couldn’t believe this is where I am living again.

These sunsets are just some of the best I have ever seen in my whole life.

I remember all the little things I loved about Darwin – no traffic, no looking for parking, no parking signs (mostly), no meters to feed. You just drive where you need to drive, and park right outside. I love not being stuck in traffic, and the word “commute” means so little here. People are friendly, and most people are so unbelievably down to earth that it feels like the real Australia.

Can’t beat this amazing view at De La Plage, the new cafe next to the Surf Lifesaving Club.

Foreshore cafe, Nightcliff

And of course, the hipsters are slowly infiltrating Darwin too – I have heard of so many cafes in Darwin now, and there is even a wine bar and a microbrewery! For the most part though, the city remains compact and unpretentious.

Rapid Creek is the same as ever. The lady who sold me papaya salad every week has the same beaming smile, and we were like longlost sisters. The noodle man is still there (expanded to a lot more eskies than last time!) and the tofu lady is still in the same spot too. I recognise many of the people at the markets and had fun chatting with them whilst shopping for fresh vegetables.

First market haul

I went for a daytrip to Litchfield, revisiting all my favourite spots.

So much water at Wangi falls!

I also discovered Tolmer falls this time, which is now my favouritest waterfall in Litchfield. What an incredible setting it has, at one end of a deep gorge, plunging into a deep green pool.

I enjoyed reading my first book in Darwin – burnt shadows by Kamila Shamsie – by the shady creek near Florence falls.

And before I know it.. my little moving holiday (Toronto -> Sydney -> Darwin) is over, and it's time to go to work. I quote myself, 19 January 2011

I am filled with so many unanswered questions - a giant adventure lays ahead of me.

Saturday, 8 April 2017

Dream: painting a green facade

This is a strange, placeless dream. It is raining and I am walking in a city. It feels busy enough to be a city, but not so big - the streets are still somewhat narrow. I wonder for a moment if it is Springwood - but the shops don't look like that of the Springwood main strip. In the next moment I wonder if it is Bendigo - but I haven't been there, so how will I tell if it really is Bendigo?

I am walking the streets seemingly alone, but soon I become aware of a girl who is walking just slightly behind me. I have an umbrella but she doesn't seem to have any rain gear, so she stands in the lightly falling rain, gently getting wet. I look down and our shoes are very similar - standard black loafers, almost like school shoes. The edges of our shoes are wet and this makes quite an impression on me.

We turn the corner, the girl following me silently. I look across the road and construction is taking place around what looked like the facade of a church. The girl comes up to me and softly says - that was the train station. I struggle to make out any features of the train station, but I wonder again if this is Bendigo, whether the train station is supposed to be my way home.

We walk along further, now next to each other. The girl stops in front of an unremarkable door, and we enter the house. Inside, there are three floors. The walls are a very strange shade of green, a light mint colour that is reminiscent of an avocado shake. I don't think I have ever seen a wall painted that colour before. The railings are all very old and look like they would collapse under any weight. I look up and there is a man on the first floor, making an oil painting on an easel. He is painting the inside of the building, the three levels clearly represented in the painting. In the painting is also another easel, which does not exist in the correct position in real life (and there is no man making an oil painting).

He is far away enough that I have to squint to make out what is on the easel. It is a bible, no mistake, and there is a black cat resting on top of the open bible.

Then I wake up.